Chapter 13 #3
I study more photos, each one a bright memory of a happy life. Willow grows throughout the room, from chubby baby to young girl to awkward teenager. She’s always smiling, though.
I’m not sure a single photo of me exists where I’m smiling outside the ones snapped by photographers after I won Junior Worlds years ago.
I grab a frame off one of the shelves—a photo of Willow holding up a painting of a wave from the perspective of being inside the barrel.
The crest arches over the top of the canvas with a multi-colored sunset behind it.
The water reflects every color in the sky, sparkling with sunlight, somehow creating the essence that you’re right there in the ocean itself.
As if you can taste the salt on your skin, hear the waves crash, feel the heat of the sinking sun.
A gold first place ribbon is pinned in the top corner of the painting, and Willow beams into the camera as she holds it out in front of her.
“What’re you lookin’ at?” Leo drawls, startling me enough that I damn near toss the frame back onto the bookshelf, making the whole thing shake.
“I was . . .” I spin clumsily, knowing my cheeks are flushing at what I’ve been caught staring at.
Leo cocks his head, focusing on the photo behind me.
“Honestly . . . I’m not used to seeing family pictures.
” I laugh awkwardly, rubbing the back of my neck.
Might as well be somewhat honest. “I don’t even think I have any from my own childhood. Caught my attention. That’s all.”
To my surprise, Leo smiles wistfully. “I didn’t either.
At least, not until I was brought in by my best friend’s parents.
My mom for all intents and purposes—Monica—made sure to take a lot of photos after they began looking after me.
But before then . . .” He circles the room in search of something before he pauses, plucking a photo off a shelf behind the desk.
“This is the only photo I have left of my real mom and me.”
I step closer, narrowing my eyes to make out the faded image.
A young towheaded blond boy, who must be Leo, sits on a surfboard as a brunette woman in a red swimsuit stands behind him, the grandest grin on her cheeks as she holds his hand the same way Leo holds Willow’s in the first photo I grabbed.
I knew the folks Leo called his parents weren’t his real parents. I know he refers to Everett as his brother even though they’re not related by blood, but I suppose I never questioned what must’ve happened to his birth family.
“She died when I was eleven. I was with her when it happened. My dad abandoned me about a year later.”
My eyes snap to his, and there is too much familiarity swirling in his gaze. The same perpetual pain I’ve seen in the mirror every day for the last seven years.
He was eleven, I was thirteen. I was with my mom too, and I couldn’t save her. My dad gave me up to the state, not that I would’ve preferred to stay with him anyway. Not after I watched him kill her.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“I’m sorry too,” he responds before turning to place the photo of his mother back on the shelf. “Do you know why I asked to speak to you here, Weston?”
Because I can’t stay away from your daughter like I promised I would.
I only shake my head.
“Because it’s time for you to make a choice.
” He crosses his arms, facing me again. Fuck.
“You know I told you before that you have raw skill—God-given talent that can’t be taught.
I still think that’s true. I think you’ve been focused and determined.
You’ve applied the corrections I’ve given you, even if you’ve had a bad attitude about it at times.
” He pauses, eyes meeting mine. I swallow.
“You’re learning. You’re getting better.
And now . . . you need to decide what you want to do with it. ”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Well . . .” He flops onto the couch, getting comfortable.
“Your career can go two ways. We can start entering you into some competitions, work on landing you an agent. Sponsorships and championship titles. You’ll likely do well.
You could make decent money. A comfortable living.
” He shrugs. “Or you can buckle down and get serious. You could be an Olympian.”
My brows shoot up. Olympian.
I mean . . . of course I’ve dreamed about the Olympics. I think every athlete imagines themselves standing on a podium holding a gold medal. For a little while after winning my championship, I almost felt I could even see that future on the horizon.
Then I was charged and committed, and I was sure I’d thrown it all away.
Junior Worlds held a morality clause, and after my arrest, they took the title away from me and barred me from future competitions.
While I’m now eligible to compete in the World Surf League as an adult, I never thought I’d find a trainer who would be willing to work with me after the nightmare that is my past.
Sure, my charges were lowered to a misdemeanor, and the court records were sealed, but my initial arrest was public. Losing my title was a newsworthy scandal in the surfing world.
Training with Leo this summer, the picture he’d painted for me—an agent, sponsors, and a few decent titles—was more than I could’ve hoped for at this point. I thought I’d lost the Olympics long ago, if I’d ever had a chance to begin with.
“If that’s the route you want to pursue . . . I talked to Liv, and she’s willing to step in and help with your training. Put you on a regimen more catered to the Games. She’d be training with you, since she’s preparing for next summer in Tahiti.”
“You think there is actually a chance I could be in Tahiti next year with Liv?” I run a hand through my hair, astonished. My body sways as I suddenly become lightheaded, leaning against the desk for support.
“If not next summer, then in five years.”
I shake my head, all language stuck to the roof of my mouth. It’s been so long since I believed in any kind of potential for myself that hearing not only Leo Graham, but Livia Costa-Ramos see a future for me in Olympic surfing has me floating.
The question dawns on me then: “Why didn’t you ever compete in the Olympics?”
Leo huffs a laugh, rubbing his jaw. “I’d been in survival mode my entire life, and all I wanted to do was break the cycles.
I wanted to make money, make a name for myself.
I was running from heartbreak, and I wanted the route that would help me forget as quickly as possible.
I landed modeling jobs just about as easily as I won competitions, and it felt simpler.
” He sighs, deep in thought. “I trained, I worked hard, but I knew that even a gold medal wouldn’t give me the fame or the paycheck a cover would.
Surfing for me was always about escape and belonging and finding myself.
The harder I competed, the more I felt I was losing that sense of belonging—losing myself.
I never would’ve made it as an Olympian.
I wasn’t in it for the reasons an Olympian should be. ”
Leo’s eyes drift to a photo on the shelf behind me. I follow his gaze to a wedding photo of him and Darby.
“As soon as I found the only thing I’d ever really been chasing, competing didn’t feel like a priority.
Plus, I enjoyed training more than I ever did competing.
” He smiles to himself. “I like being a teacher. And I’m not saying you can’t find a balance in it all, but for me .
. . I was never going to work hard enough to be an Olympian, and deep down I always knew it.
You can’t just be good. You can’t just show up.
You need to be exceptional. You need to be one-of-a-kind.
” He looks at me again. “I think you could be all those things, but you have to choose them too.”
My gaze lands on another photo of Willow. She’s sitting on the beach in a blue bathing suit, facing the horizon, looking at the camera over her shoulder, grinning.
Leo said he didn’t want to work hard enough to be an Olympian, and I can’t help but wonder again about his rule that I stay away from Willow.
If it was merely for her benefit—because I have a criminal history and violent past, because I’m simply not good enough.
Or if it was for me too, because he thinks I have what it takes.
That I have what he didn’t, and he doesn’t want me to become distracted. A mixture of the two, I’m sure.
I wonder if he’d want Willow to end up with someone who can do it all. Not just to be an Olympian, per se, but someone who’s not afraid to show up. To be exceptional and one-of-a-kind, not just for themselves, but for her too.
Despite all he’s said about himself, I know the rest of the world finds Leo Graham to be exceptional. But no matter how impressive others find him, he’d want Willow with someone even better.
“I want to be an Olympian,” I say, looking at him again.
He smirks, as if he already knew my answer, before standing from the couch. “Good. I’ll see you tomorrow morning at six, then.” I nod, stepping toward the door, but the moment I begin to slide it open, Leo continues, “And Weston, I know you didn’t forget rule number three.”
I halt, a shuddering breath exiting my lips.
“I don’t want you to think I’m some controlling, overbearing father.
That’s not me. My daughter has the freedom to make whatever choices she wants, as do you.
I asked you to keep your distance because .
. .” He sighs. “I have my reasons, and they’re not because I’m crazy or because I think you’re a bad guy.
I’m just trying to protect her. So . . .
friendship is one thing, but I’d prefer you two not be alone together. ”
That’s a fucking sucker punch.
But I nod. “I understand.”
“Good. Oh, and one more thing.”
“Yeah?” I glance back at him.
“Keep your fingers out of each other’s mouths in my kitchen.”
Oh my fuck.
I swallow. Hard. “Technically she’s the one who . . .” The slow raise of Leo’s brow tells me to stop talking. “Understood. Won’t happen again.”
I don’t wait for his response as I slip into the hall and beeline for the guesthouse.