Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
GAbrIEL
FOUR YEARS EARLIER
Today is my first official day as the full-time Coach of the Saltwater Shredders, and I plan to make some big changes.
For starters, everyone on this roster is over eighteen.
There’s no reason we should still be branded as a youth team.
And with the new team residence I had built over the last year—funded entirely by my tour winnings—It feels like the right moment to evolve.
One by one, the team pulls into the freshly paved driveway.
“Welcome back, Gabriel,” Griffin calls as he hops out of his Jeep with Koa and Colton climbing out behind him. “Or should we start calling you Coach now?”
I greet each of them with a side hug and a firm pat in the back. I’ve privately sponsored all three of them for years under the guise of my fathers company—now mine. They’re phenomenal surfers with raw talent and rough starts in life.
They remind me of myself at their age, except I had fewer opportunities. I made sure they wouldn’t face any barriers like board fees, travel costs, or training—whatever they needed, I covered it.
What none of them know is that this has always been my team. I created it, funded it, and hired their original coach while I competed on tour. Coming back to lead them myself was never a question—just a matter of timing—but they don’t need to know that yet.
“I was shocked when I saw your old house getting torn down last spring,” Griffin says, staring at the new build. “But I didn’t think it was because you were replacing it with a mansion.”
After my father passed away from a boating accident while I was on tour, and I inherited his company, the last thing I wanted to do was return to this town to live in a house that never quite felt like home.
I laugh, glancing at the structure with pride. “Let’s head inside and wait for the others. I’ll give you three a tour.”
“Make that five!”
I turn to see Kairi jogging up the driveway with her board tucked under her arm, Maliah trailing close behind.
“Sorry we’re late, Coach,” she says. “The waves were too good this morning.”
“No complaints there,” I reply. “Glad you got out early. Are we just waiting on Zale and Zalea now?”
“Just me.”
Zale approaches, hands shoved into his hoodie pocket, and if looks could kill, I’d be fucking buried.
“Zalea isn’t coming?” Maliah asks, concern creasing her brow.
“She’s not feeling well,” he answers, brushing past me with deliberate force and no greeting.
The others exchange glances but wisely keep quiet. Unfortunately for Zale, I don’t let disrespect slide. Especially not now that I’m responsible for leading this team.
“Something you want to say, Evans?” I call out to him. “Or are you just in a bad mood today?”
He stops walking and slowly turns to face me. The anger on his face unfiltered.
“Hey,” Griffin cuts in quickly. “How about we give you two a minute and head inside?”
I nod and toss him the house key without breaking eye contact. We wait until the door closes behind the rest of the team before speaking.
“Spit it out,” I say when Zale continues glaring.
“What are you doing here?” he asks through clenched teeth. “Shouldn’t you be off living your celebrity surfer life?”
“Excuse me?”
He steps closer, shaking with anger. “Funny how now is the time you decide to retire and plant roots in Saltwater Springs.”
I raise a brow. “Was there a better time for you?”
He scoffs, looking me up and down like I’m something stuck to the bottom of his shoe. “Maybe a year ago, when you knocked up my sister.”
He turns his back to me and starts to walk toward the front door, but I’m not finished yet.
“Hey,” I shout out, following him until I’m close enough to grab his shoulder.
He spins faster than I expect and connects his fist cleanly with my jaw. Pain bursts across my face as I stumble back, gripping my jaw.
“That’s for leaving her to deal with it alone,” he spits. “I’ll never forgive you.”
This time he doesn’t head for the house. He walks straight past me, down the sidewalk, and keeps going until he disappears from view.
I feel something warm trail down my lip, and when I wipe it away, my fingers come back streaked with blood.
I swallow the urge to chase him and give into the fight he clearly wants, but I know that’s just my pride talking.
And if I’m being honest, his anger isn’t misplaced—not entirely.
He’s Zalea’s brother, and he’s protective.
If I had a sister and someone put her through the same situation, I might’ve done worse than throw a punch.
I text Griffin that I won’t be back until practice starts in a couple hours and slide into my SUV. There’s a tradition I keep whenever Zalea isn’t feeling well, and today feels like a day to honour it.
I park outside her house and grab the brown paper bag from the passenger seat before stepping out. Old habits take over before I can stop them, and just like when we were kids, I slip around the side of the house and toss a pebble at her window.
After ten minutes of standing there like an idiot and three pebbles later, I accept that either Zalea isn’t home or she’s deliberately ignoring me.
“Okay,” I mutter. “Guess I’ll use the doorbell like an adult.”
I circle back towards the sidewalk and do a double take when I find Zalea sitting on her porch, laughing, not sick at all. Beside her is none other than her ex, Paul McIntosh, close enough to make my jaw tighten.
She notices me first, and her laughter fades as her eyes travel over me, slow and assessing. I pretend not to register it, but Paul clearly does. He follows her gaze, sees me, and stiffens before standing.
“Well, look who’s finally back,” he says loudly. “Gabriel Matthews.”
“In the flesh,” I reply, walking over. I sneak a glance at Zalea before looking back to him. “How’ve you been, McIntosh?”
“Life’s been good.” His grin turns cocky as he glances back at her. “Me and my girlfriend here—”
“Paul—” she interrupts, a warning in her tone.
He just chuckles and faces me again. “We’ve been keeping busy.”
Girlfriend.
I look at Zalea again and she holds my gaze, but something is different. The warmth and softness that used to be there is gone, replaced by something guarded and cold.
This isn’t the same girl I left behind a year ago.
“What happened to your lip?” She asks casually, standing and brushing her hands on her jeans.
“Your brother,” I say, forcing a small smile as I lift the bag. “He also mentioned you weren’t feeling well, so I brought soup.”
She stares at the bag, emotion rippling beneath her controlled expression before the mask slides back into place.
I wish Paul wasn’t here so I could ask her what the hell happened. Why she stopped replying to my texts halfway through the tour, why she shut me out without explanation. I told myself she was busy—that we both were—but now I wonder if it started when Paul showed back up in her life.
It’s not like she and I ever made anything official, but still. I thought we had an unspoken understanding that we were exclusive, even without the official label.
“You’re not feeling good, babe?” Paul asks, turning toward her.
Babe.
The word makes my stomach twist in the worst way.
“I’m fine,” she says, her eyes still on me.
I lock my expression down to match hers, and set the paper bag on the top step.
“Well,” I say evenly, “in that case I’ll be seeing you at practice in an hour, Evans.”
Her brows lift slightly at the formality because she’s only ever heard me refer to her as Red, or Z.
I turn before I can second guess it, heading straight to my SUV, and back toward the Shredder House. But I’m not in the mood to pretend I’m a calm, and collected coach giving tours and motivational speeches.
I’m too wound up for that.
So I don’t go inside. Instead, I grab my board and head straight for the ocean. It’s the only place I know how to burn off the anger clawing under my skin.