Rough Waters (10 page)

“That’s Toledo’s,” Topher says, pointing
across the highway.

A huge wooden building sits across five lanes
of traffic. It reminds me of the rustic beach house that I met
Topher and Miles in. Wooden, in the sand, just like an old surf
shack but much, much bigger. That’s what a fancy beach restaurant
should look like. I don’t know Toledo, but he was on to something
awesome.

“Why didn’t we just take the highway?” A.J.
asks. “You’re an idiot, Brooks.”

“I forgot,” Topher says. He sounds
unconvincing.

A.J. sighs and Topher says we’ll just make a
run for it when traffic clears. A.J. mutters about jaywalking, and
Emily complains that she’s in a dress. But neither Hooligan cares.
The very moment traffic slows, Topher yells, “Run!”

My eyes focus on the cars stopped at a red
light too close for comfort, but Topher grabs my arm and I move as
quickly as my flip flops will let me. I don’t even know if A.J. is
with us until we’re on the other side of the highway.

“Thrilling,” Topher says. “How many times in
your life do you get to run across five lanes of traffic with cars
on both sides?”

Tiki torches and twinkle lights decorate the
outside of Toledo’s Bistro and Lounge. I can’t deny that Colby’s
beach mansion is nice, and our condo is awesome, but I wish I could
live in a place like this restaurant. I love the wooden ramp
covered in sand and the tiki carvings. The entire atmosphere just
screams vintage beach. And we’re not even inside yet.

We ascend the ramp, and Topher asks the
waitress for a booth for five, “somewhere near the band because my
friend is the lead singer.” He turns back to A.J. and me and
promises we’ll have the best seat in the house.

The waitress sits us in a rounded corner
booth, which gives us plenty of room and a perfect view of the
stage. Jace has a guitar pick in his mouth, focusing on tuning his
strings. Summer Snow Alex waves to Emily and shouts something about
her dress.

“You look like a fish,” Topher says. “Well,
you know, your dress does. It makes you look like a fish. But like
a beta fish…or tropical fish…a good fish?”

Miles shakes his head. “Dude, shut up while
you’re ahead. She doesn’t look like a fish.”

“I could’ve said she looked like a piranha,”
Topher informs him.

If tonight’s highlight is a discussion over
which fish most resembles the flow and colors of Emily’s dress, I
will absolutely regret leaving the condo. Topher orders appetizers,
and A.J. orders another one after that since Topher is paying with
Vin’s Drenaline Surf credit card. I guess that’s Vin’s way of
trying to show Topher he cares. I don’t know if I’d trust him with
a company credit card. I take that back – I wish Topher would go
buy all the expensive clothes he wanted and charge them to
Drenaline.

Emily points out the blue and purple
chandeliers. She and A.J. discuss in depth how they look like
jellyfish, with the dangling swirls and electric glow. Why in the
hell is everyone talking about fish tonight? I bet the old people
in the Azalea Living Center are having more fun with Bingo night
than we are here. Somewhere between the waitress delivering
appetizers and Topher and Miles arguing about the best Hurley
surfer, a guitar strums, and I pray it’ll block out the argument
next to me.

A few cover songs later, Emily drags Miles
out of the booth and down toward Sapphires and Sunsets during their
break. She talks to Summer Snow Alex, and Jace buys a beer for A.J.
I walk with Topher to the cash register because he doesn’t feel
comfortable sending Drenaline Surf’s credit card away without
knowing where it is. He’s more responsible than Vin gives him
credit for.

“What’s the deal with Jace?” I ask as we wait
for a hostess to process Topher’s payment.

He shrugs. “I don’t know what you mean. He
doesn’t have a deal,” he says.

“No, not like that. I meant, what’s his
story? Who is he? I don’t really know him, just like I knew nothing
about Theo until you told me,” I say.

Topher looks back to where Jace and A.J. sit,
but he says nothing. A girl swipes the credit card and gives it
back to me instead of Topher.

“Jace was born on the wrong side of the
tracks,” he says. “He could’ve been like Reed. He could’ve been
that All-American guy. But he was a Horn Island boy. You remember
what I said about reputations. And he didn’t exactly hang out with
the right people. His two best friends were Horn Island’s
worst.”

“Do I even want to ask who?” Of course I do,
but I didn’t want to sound anxious.

Topher cracks a smile. “He ran with these two
wild ass idiots – Vin Brooks and Jake McAllister. Jace was a good
guy, though. Still is. He was the best of us, but he grew up living
next door to Shark. It’s just sort of how the pieces fell, like it
or not.”

I wonder why Shark left Drenaline Surf to Vin
instead of Jace. Jace seems more level-headed, more educated, more
driven. Plus he actually surfs. If both Vin and Jace were Shark’s
best friends, why leave a surf store to the one person who doesn’t
want anything to do with it?

Topher looks down at his cell phone when it
rings. “Speaking of Vin…” he says. “I’m going to step outside to
see what he wants. I’ll be back.”

He answers as he walks through the exit of
Toledo’s Bistro and Lounge. I wait a few seconds, hoping he’ll come
back inside, but whatever Vin is talking to him about takes longer
than I’d like. I walk back toward our table just as Jace is setting
back up on the stage. A.J. drinks some of his second beer.
Hopefully Jace won’t buy him another.

I slide into the round booth. Emily waves
from near the stage, motioning me to join Miles and her, but I
point at A.J. and shake my head. Now I see why Topher was so
adamant about not going alone with them. The whole third-wheel
thing has to get old.

Jace strums a few chords and then asks
everyone to grab their special someone and make their way to the
dance floor. Is this something he does at every show? If so, I’m
making a note to avoid all future Sapphires and Sunsets gigs. Even
if Vin showed up, he’d stay the hell off the dance floor. He’s
never said so much, but he doesn’t have to.

Jace waits until the area around the stage is
pretty full before he starts playing his own twisted, slowed-down
punk rock cover of a Bruno Mars song. He seems more comfortable –
and passionate – with a guitar in his hand instead of a surfboard.
I bet Shark knew that too.

“Hey,” Topher says, putting his phone on the
table. He remains standing. “C’mon. Since A.J. would rather drink
than dance with a pretty girl, you’re all mine.”

I don’t even hesitate. Maybe it’s morally
wrong to dance with your boyfriend’s brother, but I’m tired of
being the girl with an absent boyfriend. I strike through all the
reasons I should feel guilty and push them to the back of my
mind.

I can’t help noticing the smirk on Miles’s
face when Topher pulls me against himself. I look away because my
scarlet letter is probably showing. I wonder if A’s letter was
truly meant for me, like maybe the dress chose me instead of me
choosing the dress. Maybe she knew that someday a confused girl
would walk into Lorelei’s Second Stop, be drawn to the little black
dress, and it would lead her to something big – because the dress
expects it.

“You know, you should just ditch my brother
since I’m the one who always ends up dancing with you,” Topher
says. He laughs, but I’m not sure if it’s really a joke.

I try to think of some witty comeback.
Nothing. Then I aim for a defensive but lighthearted remark to
protect Vin’s name. Nothing. So I say the only thing I can think
of.

“Who knew Jace actually listens to Bruno
Mars?” I shout over the music.

Topher says something, but I can’t hear him
over the song. He holds me tighter and leans down to my ear.

“I got him to learn it,” he says, a bit too
loudly. “You said Bruno was your favorite.”

I tighten my arms around Topher and hug him
with all I have in me. Right now,
he’s
my favorite.

A.J. stumbles into my bedroom an hour after
we get home. Reed and Alston are already asleep. I’m surprised A.J.
hasn’t passed out already. He sits on the edge of my bed and
doesn’t say anything. I don’t move from my spot on the floor. I’ve
been unpacking boxes and sorting clothes to keep myself from
thinking about the scarlet letter in my closet.

“I’m going to say this one time,” A.J. says.
“Then I’ll never mention it again. I wish I was more drunk so I
could blame it on the alcohol. But you’re dating the wrong
brother.”

I avoid the box of bras and grab a stack of
tank tops to busy myself with. I don’t even know how to respond to
A.J.

“You know I’m right,” he says. “Did you know
we had this bet going before you moved here? It was just for
bragging rights, but Topher and I kept up with how many texts each
of us had from you. Friendly competition.”

“Who won?” I ask, not looking up.

A.J. laughs. “He did, by a long shot. I
didn’t realize you actually talked to him that much. I figured I
would win easily, but he had proof. I was impressed. He likes you.
A lot.”

I sigh. “Why are you telling me all of
this?”

“Because you actually seem happy when you’re
around him,” A.J. says.

I dare to look over at him. He just shrugs,
like it’s not that big of a conversation for us to be having. This
is an effing huge conversation, A.J.!

“I’m just saying,” he says. “Vin’s not coming
around any time soon. He’s been like this for months. We never see
him. Maybe he’s just in a bad place mentally or something. I don’t
know. But Topher’s been here nearly every day, and Vin has yet to
look under the hood of your car, and if I know anything about Vin
Brooks, it’s that cars come before all else. So that’s saying
something.”

It’s definitely saying something. I don’t
tell A.J., but I’ve heard Vin’s message loud and clear.

Vin grabs a stack of papers off his desk,
steadily talking himself through whatever it is he has going on
today. It’s a typical Monday morning at Drenaline Surf. He checks
his watch and then grabs the phone. I’m not sure whose number he
dials. I just linger around in the office because I have nothing
better to do.

“Where the hell are you? We have to leave in
less than ten minutes,” Vin barks at the person on the receiving
end. “Speed up then. I don’t have time for this.”

He slams the phone down and digs into the
middle drawer of the desk to find Drenaline Surf’s checkbook. Then
he gathers all the many papers he’s collected this morning and puts
them all into one folder, checkbook included.

“I have to go,” he says. “I have a meeting
about two hours north of here with a photographer who wants to
shoot some free surfing photos of Colby for an upcoming article.
And of course, they want to meet him, so he’s the guest of honor
that’s tagging along with me.”

Vin sounds less than thrilled. Colby’s been
in hermit-mode ever since the tabloid incident of him and the
coffee table. I texted him a few times after that, just to see if
he was okay or needed anything, but he never texted back. Reed
eventually took some groceries over to Colby’s house. I’m not sure
if he’s embarrassed, angry, or maybe just avoiding Vin. But no one
has seen him out and about since that night at Dominic’s party.

“Do you need another tag-along?” I ask. “You
know, in case Colby needs someone to reel him back in?”

He laughs and then gives me a one-armed hug
as he begins to leave. “I’ll handle him today,” he says, crushing
my hopes of maybe going along. “These photographers don’t care
about his bad reputation or the tabloids. They say all publicity is
good publicity, and they figure no one else wants to work with him
right now, so they’re taking advantage of it.”

Vin rambles on as he heads out toward
Topher’s truck. I follow him into the parking lot. We’ve all tried
to convince Vin to get an actual vehicle – aside from his
motorcycle – but he swears he doesn’t need one. If these business
meetings keep up, he’ll need one. I know Topher is tired of
sharing. Vin needs to invest in a Drenaline Surf company vehicle.
The store could easily pay for it.

I scan the parking lot for Colby’s truck, but
he isn’t here yet. I feel for him. He’d probably rather face his
parents again, lawyer included, than to take a four-hour roundtrip
with Vin anywhere.

“Can you do me a favor?” Vin asks, not
looking at me but around the parking lot.

Please don’t ask me to pass out flyers.
“Sure. What’s up?” I ask instead.

He motions me back into the store. I follow
him to the front register, where Topher sits reading the latest
issue of Shaka Magazine.

“I’m leaving Haley here with you,” Vin says
to Topher. “That way you won’t have to run the place alone. Meeting
the photographers will be about an hour, and then I have to pay
Colby’s and Miles’s entry fees for the Sunrise Valley Tournament.
So I should be back in six or seven hours, if Colby and I don’t
kill each other first.”

Topher’s eyes widen, like a puffer fish.
“Dude, you have to let me compete there. You can keep my paycheck
for the entry fee. I’ll pay it back,” he says, pleading with his
big brother.

“No,” Vin says, shaking his head. “We’re not
having this argument again. Unless you can find the money and take
it to Sunrise Valley yourself, then you’re not competing. End of
story.”

With that, Vin turns and exits through the
back office, assuming I’ll stay and help Topher. From now on, I’ll
be sure to stipulate that it depends on what favor he’s asking. He
knew damn well I wouldn’t abandon Topher or Drenaline Surf, but
it’d be nice to be shown a little appreciation now and then.

Topher slams Shaka Magazine against the
counter and buries his face in his hands. I wonder for a second why
Logan isn’t competing at the tournament, but it’s probably not best
to ask Topher. Especially right now.