20. Summer
Summer
The bell over the door jingles as I push it open. The white fluorescent lights of Coral Bay Market cut against the golden evening glow.
“Summer Hayes!” Luke calls from behind the register, way too pleased with himself.
“Luke DeLuca!” I say, matching his tone.
He gives me a big grin.
“See that? Didn’t even hesitate.”
“You want a medal?”
“At least. With a speech and a round of applause.”
I shake my head and grab a basket from the end of the counter. Luke’s still grinning when I head into the aisles.
I grab body wash and deodorant—between the work on the house and the gym, my toiletries aren’t going to last the week.
For tomorrow night’s book club: a bag of chips, peanuts, a tub of guacamole, and one of hummus.
Then I cut over to the pet aisle—a single shelf wedged between the cleaning supplies and the toilet paper.
I spot the dog treats. Dried beef, large-breed size. Perfect.
I set my stuff on the counter. Luke scans the items one by one, taking his time. His hand stops over the bag of treats.
“You have a dog?”
“No. But I know one.”
He runs his index finger along the scar that cuts across his forehead, thoughtful.
“Flip?”
I just smile.
“Okay,” Luke says, scanning the bag. “I’m not asking any questions.”
“Smart move.”
He loads the items into a paper bag while I tap my card on the reader.
“Summer… I’m still sorry about last time. Really.”
“For what?”
“For when you came in. For not recognizing you.”
“Luke, that was two days ago. It’s fine.”
“No, I feel bad about it. But since then, stuff’s come back. Like… the pink bike.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“You had a pink cruiser, right? You used to lean it against the surf school fence. One day the wind knocked it over onto a board.”
“Jace almost killed me.”
“There. That came back.”
He taps his temple with a fingertip.
“That’s how it works. The memories come back in pieces. Not in order, not the useful ones first.”
He slides the bag toward me. I leave it on the counter.
“Luke… what actually happened to you? You mentioned a skate accident, a head injury… but I don’t even know what happened.”
He crosses his arms. Not defensive—more like he’s picking up an old story he knows too well.
“I was eighteen. Second year on the international circuit. I was competing at the X Games in Southern California.”
He tells me about the ramp, the cameras, the crowd. A trick he’d landed twice in practice, never in competition. And the fall.
“No helmet. At eighteen, I still thought I was invincible. End result: headfirst into the coping. I didn’t get up.”
He points to his scar.
“Two days in a coma. When I woke up, I couldn’t remember anything. I couldn’t even read anymore. The letters were there, but they didn’t mean anything—like a foreign alphabet. It took me months to relearn all of it. Reading, writing, remembering certain people… Some things never came back.”
He gives a shrug too casual to be convincing.
“And now?”
“Now, I’m okay, most of the time. I get migraines. Memory gaps. Sometimes I lose the thread of a conversation and people think I don’t care, when really my brain just checked out without warning.”
He smiles, a little bitter.
“That’s life. One injury and your career’s done. That’s what being an athlete is. One day you’ve got a body that’s worth something… and the next, it’s worth nothing.”
I hesitate a second, then I tell him what I already told Miles. The skating. The fall. The broken foot. The sponsors gone. The career over.
“The injury cost me a lot more than skating,” I admit. “I had savings. Not a lot, but enough to feel more or less secure. And it all went to rehab, my rent in New York, my student loan…”
Luke doesn’t say anything. He waits.
“My grandparents left me the house,” I go on. “And I’m going to have to sell it to get by.”
“Your grandparents would be proud of you, you know. Even if you have to sell the house.”
My eyes sting. I pick up the paper bag and tuck it against my hip.
“Thanks, Luke.”
He nods.
The glass-front cooler hums. A bug taps against the fluorescent light on the ceiling.
“Luke… why isn’t Jace on the pro circuit?”
He freezes. His brown eyes search mine like he’s lost the thread. I laugh, for lack of a better response.
“Don’t tell me you forgot that too.”
“Of course not.”
His voice has changed. Lower, slower.
He studies my face, like he’s looking for something—a trace of irony, a joke about to land.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No…”
Luke opens his mouth and leans toward me over the counter.
A crash rings out from the back of the store. Something metal falls, then rolls between the aisles. Luke jerks upright.
“Cazzo, again?”
He grabs the broom propped behind the register and takes off between the canned-goods shelves.
I clutch the bag against me. My heart’s beating a little too hard for a simple surf question.
I replay the scene. Luke’s voice, his look, the way he said “you’re kidding,” like I’d said something outrageous.
But it’s not.
Jace was the best surfer in Coral Bay. Everyone knew it. Everyone expected him to make it onto the circuit. So why is he still here?
And more than that, why is the question off-limits?
I wait. Somewhere in the back, Luke swears in Italian. Something else falls, then hurried footsteps echo down the aisles.
Luke doesn’t come back. I head for the door. The bell jingles behind me.
What happened to Jace Walker?