Chapter Eleven #3
A few stars poked through the dark. He watched the sky alone and thought of how she’d told him about missing her father and not knowing who she was without surfing.
She’d looked so vulnerable. Everett wanted to do anything to ease her pain, so he’d opened up at dinner, feeling the urge to share.
He rarely spoke about his father. His memories were best locked in the vault.
Unfortunately, the door sprung open, uninvited. The scene came into sharp focus and unspooled with a clarity he hated.
Twelve years old. Everett sat at the dinner table.
His father sliced his steak with slow, precise motions.
Each portion fell in perfect symmetry to the plate.
“You’re either useful or you’re in the way,” he lectured.
His voice was neutral—he was rarely angry or happy.
Sometimes Everett would look into his father’s eyes and long to see something, a sliver of human fallibility so he wouldn’t always feel lacking.
It never happened. He learned young there were a thousand ways to fail quietly, without emotion.
“Charm is for men who don’t have résumés.
Feelings are for men who can afford them.
You think you’re young and none of this applies to you.
But learning lessons ahead of time will give you more opportunities. Understood?”
He’d nodded, but had no clue what his father was trying to tell him. Focused on cutting, lifting the fork, chewing slowly. It was a rhythm. He thought of his baseball game that week. They were in the playoffs. It was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to him.
“I expect you to practice batting tonight until dark. I didn’t buy you that cage for nothing. You may get only one time at bat and you need to make it count. What will happen if you don’t?”
He loved baseball, but his father turned it into work; a chore; a responsibility. “I’ll fail,” he recited.
His father gave a dead stare. Those brown eyes chilled as he said the words.
“Not just you. Not just me. The entire team. There’s no such thing as trophies for everyone, Everett.
You need to earn it, and if you don’t, you shouldn’t listen to those weak-willed people who tell you it’s okay.
It’s not okay. It simply means you didn’t push hard enough or do your job. Understood?”
Everett did. He’d learned early not to argue. To take the lectures with a seriousness and try to process. He lived best in his father’s world being very good.
He got perfect grades. He did what his father suggested.
He excelled at anything he took on because if he didn’t, he got the silent treatment.
Once, his father had gone ten days without a word, until Everett would’ve done anything for him to speak.
He cut out the parts of himself that made other people uncomfortable and placed them where they wouldn’t jeopardize anything.
He got his one time at bat. He’d hit a pop-up that was caught by the shortstop. His team ended up winning, but his father reminded him he hadn’t helped. Everett carried that weight for a long time. The next year, he refused to play baseball ever again.
The pain was a dull throb, like a wound that never healed correctly.
He closed his eyes. Instead of his father, other pictures flashed in his mind.
A rabbit with an unblinking stare.
A rickety surf shop where people gathered to watch the sunset.
A woman in a red dress sharing truths in the candlelight.
His daughter surfing and giggling while she stared with heroine worship in her eyes.
His phone buzzed. Everett went back inside and reopened his laptop.
Matthew again. He’d been quietly questioning all the initiatives Everett had put into place for Purity, and the staff wasn’t happy.
The designer had notes about the lobby flora.
There were two calendar holds tomorrow morning labeled Needs You—both from his assistant, polite code for back-to-back commitments that would push him through lunch.
All the tasks he once relished because he’d learned productivity washed him clean.
He stared at the blocks, suddenly irritated at their neatness.
He shouldn’t think about the surf lesson. He only said he’d try. Now that he trusted Rowan, there was no need for him to be there. It was impractical.
Everett shot off a few emails and went to bed.
When he woke, he fell into his usual routine of coffee, workout, then shower.
His clothes were neatly laid out, freshly pressed, a line of designer suits with matching ties and shirts so there was no thought.
It would be a long day. He had a shitload of things to do.
He almost got out the door.
Instead, he reached for the phone and texted Jessica, his assistant.
Can you clear 3–4:00? Need a personal block.
Three dots pulsed.
Done.
What was he doing? A grown man rearranging serious work to stand on a beach and watch a child do a hobby. Except the word hobby soured in his mouth when it was Kelsey. She’d been carrying a new brightness around like a secret; he’d be an idiot to pretend not to see it.
He still had time to reconsider. Kelsey slept in. He’d text her later.
At 2:45 p.m., Everett left the hotel and met them at the beach.