Chapter 14 Summer #2
Parker takes a prolonged sip of his soda, glancing at where I still hold him. “Don signed a partnership with the Sabres because they saw what you and I did with Brooks. And then assigned himself and Kendra to Alfie Norton’s recovery team.”
My own soda can claps down on the coffee table, fizzing furiously. “What?”
“It drove me over the edge. But I shouldn’t have quit. Not before having a plan, anyway.” He rubs absently at the arm I’d just been holding. “I’m a mess, Summer.”
“So am I. I’ve been avoiding town since your blowup with Denny.
I guess I know how my mom felt.” I hug a throw pillow to my middle.
“Except that these are people I grew up with. They babysat me, I babysat their kids. And suddenly, I’m nothing to them.
Maybe I shouldn’t let it get to me, but I don’t have very many people as it is. ”
Shame casts a shadow over his face. “I’ll fix it, I promise. I’ll knock some sense into them.”
“No—no more knocking. I need you to stay out of it.”
“I meant it figuratively. I’ll speak to them, and I won’t let you down this time—”
“I’m sorry, Park, but I don’t believe you.”
Parker flinches, his body pressing deeper into the sofa.
The fridge across the room starts to hum noticeably loudly, drawing further attention to the tense silence as though my stomach wasn’t already twisting because of it.
Parker’s anxious gaze sweeps the space, landing on the crumpled, tearstained paper on the kitchen island.
“Will you tell me about the list?”
Suddenly, Denny’s words are a welcomed distraction. I deepen my voice, drawl it out the way Denny’s sounds. “ ‘Honey, not everyone’s wife material.’ ”
Parker’s expression darkens. “How much money do you have saved up? I’ve got a few thousand at least.”
“Why?”
“I’m calculating my bail money. My parents would be useless, but d’you think Mels would contribute?”
“She just kicked us out of my own planning party.”
Parker grunts. “We should’ve taken the cupcakes.”
I huff a laugh, the first real one I’ve managed in a while. But then Parker’s gaze falls to my mouth and… heats? Again, I’m plucked straight from the familiar comfort of our friendship. Dropped somewhere a whole lot more restless, charged, and confusing.
A little… thrilling?
Good grief, what is wrong with me? This is Parker. And I’ve apparently become desperate enough to look for thrills where there aren’t any.
I slap his shoulder, shuffling onto the next couch cushion. “Come on, you gotta stop looking at me like that.”
Parker rubs at his face. “Denny had one thing right. You aren’t meant for him.”
“I know. I’m not meant for anyone.”
“Summer, that’s not what I’m saying.”
“No, it’s okay. There’s only so long I can go on ignoring the signs.” My gaze travels over his living room, landing on the pile of clean clothes now neatly folded on the dining table. “Do you ever think back to when we were younger?”
He nods. “Lately especially.”
“I miss what I thought my life would be, you know? I keep thinking about the me of back then, eighteen and about to graduate high school. I had all these big plans for myself. How I’d finish college, travel for surfing, meet the guy that was my perfect fit.
We’d get a house on the beach, have Sunday dinner with our families…
I wasn’t even dreaming that big, but it all turned out to be the stupid wish of a dumb kid anyway, with no idea what was really coming for her.
” For a moment, it looks as though he might reach for me.
But Parker slots his hands underneath his thighs.
“Part of me wishes I could go back and warn myself not to get my hopes up. And the other part just wants to be that girl again, so fucking optimistic.”
I get to my feet, venturing to Parker’s fridge just for something to do. It’s empty but for soft drinks and beer.
Beer. That’s what this day calls for.
I reach for a couple of bottles and hand one to Parker, taking a long pull of mine.
“But you know what? This was the wake-up call I needed. I deleted all my dating apps today and it actually felt… liberating.” I shake my head and my vision whooshes, the alcohol already taking effect.
“And then I thought, you know what I should do?”
Parker reaches for my beer. “Slow down, for starters. Let’s wait until the pizza gets here.”
“Forget food.” I snatch up my drink again. “I should be more carefree. Spontaneous; living in the moment.”
Parker makes a face. “Trust me, unless you’ve got some kind of nomadic gene like my parents, that’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
A nomadic gene. Inherently built to exist in solitude, wandering and exploring the world without pressure to return home—or to find yourself a home to begin with.
“That sounds nice,” I whisper. “What’s the point of the alternative when I can”—I snap my fingers—“lose everything just like that. Hell, even your sister—my so-called best friend—kicked me out of her house tonight.” Parker clears his throat.
“Best friend after you, obviously. My point is, it’s time I stop chasing a life that isn’t meant for me. ”
“What does that entail?”
Another long sip of beer, and I place my bottle on the table. “I don’t know—playing the field, no strings attached, for starters? Maybe…” I glare up at the ceiling, thinking hard, ignoring the feel of Parker’s stare.
And then the metaphorical clouds clear above my head, sunrays beam around the brightest, best idea that’s ever come to pass. “I’m going to enter Surf’s Up.”
Parker bobs his head. “This I can get behind. You used to compete all the time. It’ll be fun.”
“Not fun. I’m going to enter Surf’s Up. Win Surf’s Up. And I’m going to qualify for the Champions Tour.”
I think of Denny and his friends, who travel the world chasing waves on the competition circuit, living off their winnings and sponsorships. I’d have to place in the top two of Surf’s Up to make it onto the tour. But then I’d be…
Gone.
The Champions Tour runs for a whole year, starting at the end of the current surf season.
Even better, if I place high enough by the end of it, I’ll qualify for the Masters Tour after that—the elite level above it.
I wouldn’t be forced to wallow in my silent apartment day in, day out.
It wouldn’t matter that all my dates are dead ends.
Wouldn’t matter that I barely have a family.
For years, I’ve been trying to make a home for myself.
I thought I had one here, even after my parents left.
But then my friends started leaving, too.
The one person who made work tolerable up and quit today.
I’ve got no partner tying me down, no matter how hard I’ve tried to find one who’d do just that.
The people around town won’t give me the time of day.
What am I sticking around for?
“What do you mean, you’re going to qualify for the tour?” The quiet panic in Parker’s voice draws me out of my nomadic fantasy.
Shit. He’s in enough of a rough place without adding this to his pile. This will require easing him into. Making sure he’s in a better place before I make my triumphant exit.
“Easy tiger.” I pat his knee. “I only meant I’d qualify by default. Consider this an exercise in… revenge.”
That doesn’t seem to assuage his alarm. “I’m scared to ask what that means.”
“It means I’m going steal that twenty-grand prize right from under the nose of the guy who’s favored to win it this year: Denny.
Someone needs to show him he can’t toy with people’s emotions.
That there are twenty-thousand dollars’ worth of consequences.
I’m going to take it from him, and then spend the money on… shoes. Twenty grand worth of shoes.”
I lift my phone off the coffee table and open the Surf’s Up webpage. This is it. Exactly what I need. Making it onto the tour would be the perfect fresh start. A low-pressure lifestyle. Add in the shoes and revenge, and this plan sounds better by the second.
“When did you get a petty streak? This sounds like something I’d do.
” Parker watches my thumbs fly across my screen, entering my information into the online registration form.
“Do you think that maybe you’re using this revenge scheme as a way to avoid dealing with the contents of this list?
” Parker gestures at the crumpled sheet on the coffee table.
I shoot him a look. He sinks back into his seat.
“Never mind. Do you think you can win it?”
“At the moment? No. Hobby surfing is completely different from competitive surfing. I’ve got the skill set, but my body is nowhere near primed for competition anymore.
Which is where you come in, seeing as you now find yourself with plenty of spare time and happen to owe me several large favors after Denny-gate.
” Parker turns those deep blue eyes on me.
“If I’m going to win—to teach that lying, cheating scumbag a lesson—I’m going to have to build some serious endurance in the water.
The first of the three events is in a month.
I need you to get my ass in gear, and fast.”
Form complete, my thumb hesitates over the red SUBMIT button at the bottom of the screen. I meet Parker’s wary gaze. “Should I do it?”
There’s a pinch deep inside me, knowing I’m asking for his approval without giving him a clear picture.
That if he knew what I was really in it for, he’d snatch away my phone.
Tuck it out of reach until he knocked sufficient sense into me.
Parker wouldn’t get it—not with a family who loves him, the women around town clamoring for him.
He’s not on the outs with pseudo parental figures—doesn’t need pseudo parental figures to begin with.
And it’s not as though I’d just up and leave once I qualify for the tour. I’ll tell him, as soon as it feels right.
Parker sits back, tips his beer to his mouth.
He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t say a thing, clearly concerned for my sanity.
I can’t blame him. I’ve gone from wounded bird to vigilante surfer in the span of twenty minutes.
But he’s been the Thelma to my Louise since we were practically in diapers.
There’s no way he’d let me plummet off a cliff solo.
Squinting at my screen, Parker hits the SUBMIT button for me. His hand skims mine on the way, and I barely have a moment to contemplate why it’s accompanied by a rush of heat to my face before he says, “Let’s kick some adulterous ass.”