13. Travis
Hearing Luca refer to himself as a drug addict hits really fucking hard. Not because I don't know it already, but because his realization, and his expression of that realization, is a monumental, life-changing thing.
This isn't something we can walk back from and deny it ever happened. There's no pretending everything's fine after this.
Nothing will be the same.
In a way, it's what I was always secretly hoping for. That he'd be the one to make the admission, of his own accord like he has now and not after he found out that his father and I knew all along and that I've been going behind his back to lower his dosages for the past almost three years.
But I never wanted him to have to go through the awfulness of a panic attack to get to this point.
Rafael's eyes dart from left to right as he stares at his son. "Oh, Luca."
Luca starts sobbing as he begins explaining he's been taking pills again. It shreds my heart, seeing him in pain, confessing the thing his father and I already know.
"It's okay," Rafael says when Luca's done. "We'll get you help. Everything's going to work out, son. I promise."
All this time, I've been kind of hovering just out of view. But when Luca turns his head and looks at me, his face smeared with tears, I can't restrain myself any longer. I rush toward him, crashing next to him on the floor.
"I'm so sorry," he says, with tears falling, because he thinks this is all new information for me. Even his two stints at rehab. He never told me about either one. Sometimes I wonder if that's why we broke up, so that he could do them without having to tell me.
I can't reveal the full truth of what I've been doing behind his back yet—I will when the time is right—so for now, I say, "I knew."
Luca blinks a few times. "Y-you did?"
I nod.
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"Because I know how proud Brazilian men can be." I glance over at Rafael who's doing what I did before and backing off a little to give me this moment with Luca.
I cradle Luca's face in my hands. "And because it doesn't change anything. I love you with all my heart and soul. You have a disease. It needs to be treated like any other disease so you can get better. It doesn't make you a bad person."
"I feel pretty rotten."
"Well, you're not. I love you unconditionally. And I know your father loves you unconditionally. You're safe, baby. And you've taken the first step. That's always the hardest part, isn't it?"
"No. That would be day two of rehab when the withdrawals really fucking hit."
Yeah, well they won't hit you as bad this time since someone's been lowering your dosages, but again, now's not the time to get into that.
"How about we take it one step at a time, yeah?" I suggest. "We'll think about rehab when we get to that point. Are you okay now? Do you need anything?"
"No. Thank you. This carpet is really nice."
"Total fancy shit," I agree. "Let's get you showered and into bed."
"Okay."
There's one more thing I need to ask. It might seem silly to anyone else, but I know how important this is to Luca. "Do you want to compete tomorrow?"
"Of course I fucking do," he replies with zero hesitation.
I grin as Rafael says, "There's my fucking boy."
"Um, excuse me." Richie steps up beside me, eyeing off the three cans of Blue Mule I've guzzled my way through and have discarded on the table next to me. "Freaking out is my brand. Get your own please."
"Uh, I have my own." I chug down the rest of my fourth can for the day and drop it next to the others. "Big-dicked kitesurfing fuckboy, thank you very much."
He sighs. "Do you ever get tired of talking about your dick?"
"No. No, I don't."
We both chuckle. I'm glad to be seeing my bestie and for the momentary reprieve from the nerves fluttering in my belly.
I'd be nervous before Luca's round anyway, but after the shit that went down last night, my nerves are at Richie level.
"What's going on?" he asks.
I tip my head toward the screen on the wall. Luca and his competitor are on the beach, getting strapped into their gear. "Luca's round starts in a few. If he wins this, you know what happens."
Richie steps in closer. "What's really going on?"
That's the thing about having a bestie, they can see right through your bullshit.
I drag a hand through my hair and tell Richie everything.
When Luca and I went to bed, he wasn't able to fall asleep right away so we stayed up for an hour or so, talking.
One of the things that came up was other people finding out. Obviously, that's the last thing he wants, but he did say I could share it with my inner circle because he knows how small and tight it is and how much I trust everyone in it.
"So despite it being a very full-on evening, Luca has agreed to check into rehab once the season is over."
Another thing we discussed in bed last night.
"Well, that's good. He's got enough self-awareness to know he needs help and is putting himself into the best environment to get it."
I make a noise.
"What?" Richie asks.
"This won't be his first time in rehab."
"Oh."
"He's been twice before."
Another thing we discussed.
To his credit, he raised it on his own, said he wanted to tell me because it was the right thing to do.
"Right. Well, you know…managing addiction is complicated and hard. He's taking the right steps. Don't project an outcome on anything. Focus on—and celebrate—every little step along the way."
"Thanks, mate."
That's actually real good advice.
Because I'd like to be able to say I'm not getting my hopes up, but that's a lie. My hopes are way higher than they should be.
I can't help it. I'm praying that this time rehab does the trick, and given what happened last night, maybe it will be different this time? Maybe his breakdown can lead to a breakthrough and he'll be able to kick the addiction for good?
But I've also read enough to know that other people's hope can feel like a burden for the person going through the recovery process, so I'm going to remind myself of Richie's advice whenever I'm around Luca. I can't fast forward to when he's better, I have to be with him for every single step of this long and difficult journey.
Richie's looking up at the screen. "The round's starting," he says, and then without taking his eyes off the TV, he smacks my hand away from the Blue Mule I reach for.
"Ow. Just one more."
"No. You've had enough of those shitty drinks. Do you know how much caffeine and sugar is in one of those things? Here."
I glance down at what he's holding out. "Hubba Bubba?"
"It's better than that shit."
"Fair enough."
I take it and start chewing as the round gets underway. As the camera zooms in on Luca, my nerves melt away. He's gliding along the water, carving through the waves with speed and agility, and he's got this. I know he does.
He catches the wind just right and launches himself into the air. Soaring against the backdrop of a deep-blue sky, he executes a flawless backflip, twisting and turning gracefully before landing back on the water with hardly a splash. The crowd on the beach erupts, the cheering infiltrating the player's tent.
"How's Terry doing?" I ask, my eyes never leaving the action.
"Good. Filming confessionals."
Our eyes remain glued to the TV as we continue talking.
"Is he okay with the plans for next year?"
"What other choice does he have?"
"He always has a choice."
"You know what I mean."
I do, and I heave out a breath, not liking it. "Has he started his search for our half sibling?"
"He has. He's reached out to an agency that specializes in that sort of thing."
"Right. And how are things with you guys?"
"We're doing really well. I mean, everything going on around us is less than ideal, but we're…happy."
"Glad to hear it, mate."
"What about you?" he asks, turning to face me. "Have you, uh, adjusted to us?"
My bestie and my bro getting together? Yeah, it was strange at first, but I love them both with all my heart, so why shouldn't I be happy they're together?
"Course."
"Cool." He smiles and turns back to the TV. "And with everything that's going on with Luca, how is it impacting your relationship?"
"You know what's really wild?" I briefly pull my gaze from the TV to look at Richie. "I feel like we're stronger than ever. Yes, this is some really tough shit to be going through, but previously, when we ran into an obstacle, it defeated us. It's not like that this time around. We're talking, we're working through things, and even though I know the weeks and months ahead are going to be some of the hardest we've ever faced, I'm more confident than I've ever been that we'll get through it."
"Wow. That's terrific."
"Speaking of terrific, holy fuck!" I point at the sight filling the screen.
Luca, lightning fast as ever, harnesses the energy of a wave and soars skyward. In a brilliant display of his mad skills, he twists his body midair, executing a complex double backflip.
But that's not the end of it. Oh no. Because as he descends, he seamlessly transitions into a series of rapid spins and flips, executing each movement with fluidity and control. He lands back on the water with a resounding splash, leaving no doubt about two things.
One, he's got this semi-final in the bag.
And two, his blistering form means we are in for one helluva grand final showdown in three days.
The day after Luca's progression to the grand final, I'm sitting with Troy and Terry in a secluded corner of the hotel's plush bar.
We're not filming, but two security guards are taking up the two closest tables, giving us a buffer from the general public as well as some much-needed privacy.
"We'll be fine," I tell my brothers, lifting my scotch to my mouth and wincing as I slug it back.
"Since when do you drink scotch?" Terry asks before sipping on his lemonade through a straw.
"Since I need to grow a pair and confront our father," I reply.
"What exactly are you going to do?" Troy asks.
"Like I told Luca this morning, I'm going to tell him that we're through. I don't want him as my manager or involved in my career in any way, shape, or form. Our professional relationship is over."
"And what about your personal one?" Terry asks.
I shrug. "Was there even one to begin with?"
Because for all of Dad's over-involvement in my life, it's always been about kitesurfing. He's never been interested in me, in who I am as a person.
Terry spots him first and whispers, "He's here."
Shit.
It's go time.
Dad notices the security guards first before his eyes land on me. He frowns when he takes in Troy and Terry. When he texted, he said he wanted to meet up with me. He didn't specifically exclude my brothers, but he didn't mention them, either.
But I don't care what he wants. I want my brothers here. The stuff we've got to hash out involves all of us. Because I not only want to end my professional relationship with him, I also want some answers. I highly doubt he'll give them, but I can at least put it out there, give him a chance to step up and do the decent thing for once.
"Boys," Dad says, his voice clipped. "I wasn't expecting to see all three of you."
"You weren't?" Terry asks, stopping midway to greet Dad.
They hug, but Dad keeps his gaze pinned on me. I don't bother getting up. Neither does Troy.
Dad takes the empty seat beside Terry.
And then…silence.
I count to twenty in my head before asking, "You wanted to see us?"
"You," he shoots back. "I wanted to see you."
"Why?"
"You're competing in the grand final in two days' time, why wouldn't I be here?"
"Ah, that's right. Wherever there's a spotlight, there you shall be."
He cocks a brow. "What's with the attitude, son?"
"No, no." I lift a finger. "You don't get to call me that. Only a real father can. A real father like Rafael Silva who loves his son unconditionally."
"Oh, please. That retarded fisherman who couldn't even afford?—"
I'm on my feet and lunging at my shit excuse for a father before he can finish whatever drivel was about to come out of his mouth. Troy manages to keep me off him before the two security guards take over from him.
The sonofabitch doesn't get to call Rafael that.
"I'm fine, I'm fine," I growl, brushing the guards off me.
They retreat back to their tables but position themselves so they're facing us.
The four of us sit back down. "Effective immediately, you're no longer my manager."
"Excuse me?"
I produce the paperwork I'd stashed on the floor under the table. "All the details are in there, including a severance package that I'm sure you'll find is more than generous. You'll be required to relinquish access to all bank accounts as well as my social media and any other sites you have login access to."
"You can't be serious."
"Oh, but I am. And in"—I lift up my phone and show him the time. It's quarter to one—"fifteen minutes, a statement will be going out to the media advising of this change. Just in case you had any doubts about how serious I am."
"This is going to look terrible."
"Yeah, for you," Troy spits out.
"This doesn't concern you, Troy, so stay the hell out of it."
"Stay the hell out of it?" Troy's voice drops low and is laced with so much hostility that it gives me goosebumps. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"
"Your father."
"In name only. Because effectively immediately, I'm firing you as my manager, too." He then leans over to me and says, "Can you send over the official paperwork so I can serve it to him, too?"
"Yeah. No worries, mate."
Dad slams his fists on the table, causing Terry to jolt. "I don't know what the hell is going on here?—"
"What's going on here, Dad," I cut in, "is that we've finally had enough. Enough of your shitty behavior. Swanning in at the last minute to keep up the appearance of being a happy family when you couldn't give a rats arse about us. Sick of you treating Troy and Terry like dog shit. And I'm sick and tired of you placing all your expectations on me. Why have I choked seven fucking years in a row? Because you get in my head—No, wait. Let me rephrase that. Because I've let you get in my head. Well, guess what? No more. You're out of my head. And you're out of my life. You're toxic and self-centered, and I'm done with it. I'm done with you."
A beat passes. "Have you been talking to your mother?"
"This has nothing to do with Mom. This is coming from me. It’s something I should have done a long time ago."
He shakes his head and scoffs. "And how many times did you rehearse that little speech in front of these clowns?"
Rage pulses through my veins, but I don't give him the satisfaction of biting. He's trying to provoke me, but it won't work. I'm laser-focused on what I want out of this situation. Through gritted teeth, I ask the only question I want an answer to: "Why are you like this?"
He shoots to his feet. "Go fuck yourself, Travis."
Maybe I've stumbled on some deep, deep part of him.
He sneers as he glares at the three of us. "What the fuck did I do to deserve having three faggots for sons?"
Troy lunges, but I grab him by his shirt and hold him back. "He's not worth it," I say, staring into our father's eyes.
He snickers. "You're just like me, Travis, and the funniest thing is, you don't even know it."
"I'm nothing like you," I cry out as he starts to walk away. "I wouldn't want to be anything like you."
A few heads turn our way.
"We're done, Dad," I yell.
He stops walking and spins around. "Yeah. Too right we fucking are."