Authors: Lorelie Brown
I
t hadn’t taken Tanner long to realize very little had changed in San Sebastian. The place was a funny mix of half organic-eating, biofuel-spouting, crunchy ex-hippies and half young, heavy-wave, cutting-edge surfers. The only difference from his last time in town was that both factions sported smartphones that they put to entirely different uses.
The surfer crowd filmed themselves doing wicked tricks and had it up on the web in less time than it took to dry their hair. The hippies flash-organized protests when the local grocery store was discovered to be passing off regular grapes as organic.
The downside meant Tanner had to weave and dodge through them all as they were nose-to-screen wandering down the main strip.
The good part was the eclectic offerings at the heart of the town, smack up against the beach, right where the street led inland from the pier. The rental house he’d taken was intentionally less than three blocks up the beach from the retail section. He’d pretty much planned on parking his SUV in the garage and walking all over town, the way he had when he’d been a kid.
So far, mission accomplished.
Late in the evening, he wandered his way toward some grub. His hands slipped deep in his pockets, it almost felt like he was slouching in an intentional reclamation of his teenage years.
He’d been such a shit. More attitude than one too-skinny body should have been able to handle. But no one had called him on it because he’d had the talent to back it all up.
His dad had told him plenty of times that nothing mattered but winning and making sure everyone knew you’d won—keeping up your image.
Hank had gotten that right, and lived up to it to the utmost. Even if it had left Tanner holding the bag when it came to guilt and secrets.
Tanner shoved those thoughts away and let everything else go. Nothing got through to him but the quiet shush of his sandals over the sandy sidewalks. The cool breeze coming in off the water, scented with the salt he’d always considered a vital part of anywhere resembling home. Now he had the real thing.
The front doors of his father’s store—no, now it was his mother’s—were propped wide open. A rack of cheap tourist T-shirts had been planted outside the threshold, but the quality goods were on the inside. All the last-minute essentials for a day of good surfing, plus Sage’s surfboard-making studio in the back.
Tanner strolled on by. He might’ve even looked across the street as he passed the lit-up windows, in case his mom was manning the front counter. He’d come back, and he was dealing with the fallout of almost a decade of choices. Seeing his mom and Sage in Australia and Hawaii had always been bittersweet. He’d wanted so much
to tell them the truth of what Hank was like, about the secrets Tanner was forced to keep. But he knew how painful it was to have their father’s façade crushed. He didn’t want to inflict that on them.
The slot next door had been a psychic’s storefront when he’d been young. The place had always been draped in purple and gold, and Tanner had been fascinated with the dark-haired woman who’d run it. He’d never quite been able to figure out if she was a fraud preying on tourists or if she’d actually believed her spiel. Eventually he’d realized it didn’t matter. She was there, she did her thing, and no one seemed to get hurt. Good enough.
But Madame Rozamund was apparently gone. A candy store now filled the narrow storefront. Pyrex bins and giant tubes filled with brightly colored munchies lined three and a half walls.
Oh, he was totally getting some of that, though after the Sebastian Pro. Training was training. He couldn’t even say it sucked, not anymore. It just
was
. As much an ingrained part of him as the motions of surfing itself.
Though he passed a couple restaurants, he couldn’t seem to pick one. Instead, he wandered to the foot of the pier. The real wood of his childhood had been replaced with recycled material that sprung under his steps. He turned back to face the town he’d willingly abandoned for the better part of a decade.
Tiny streaks of light burned through the growing twilight. Mostly it was the main street, running east, that was still bright and populated. The houses to the north and south of the pier were lighting up, most of them with towels drying on the back railings. Expensive-as-hell beachfront property had racks of surfboards and wetsuits pinned up on clotheslines.
The slow-burn contentedness that swept over Tanner wasn’t as surprising as he’d have expected even two days ago.
He could practically taste the possibilities now. He was home. The town’s memory was starting to untie from his father’s. And Tanner dug that. They’d always been so intrinsically intertwined, the result of growing up in a small town where his father was a big shot. San Sebastian had always been Hank’s world. Sometime during the years of following the world circuit, Tanner had forgotten that it was his world too. His home.
The only thing better would be making new memories in the place. Taking down a championship would be the best start. Another good one might be spending time with Avalon. Though she was his sister’s best friend, they were all adults. Avalon could make her own choices. There was plenty of opportunity down that road for happy making. If it were up to him, it’d be her panties he’d be working on. If she was on board with the idea, naturally.
He smiled to himself as he leaned against the tar-stained railing of the pier. She wouldn’t mind. He knew women and Avalon was definitely a special one. Both clever as hell and also into him. It had been there after he’d stolen that superfast kiss. She hadn’t simpered, hadn’t gasped. She’d only flashed him one of the cheekiest grins he’d ever seen.
But he wasn’t allowed to continue his happy turn of thoughts. A dark, shadowy figure approached from the head of the pier. Tanner dismissed him at first, but then realized that that wasn’t going to work.
An accented voice came out of the darkness. “So here we are. In our father’s town and together.”
The disks of Tanner’s spine felt like they fused into one hard line of
what the fuck?
Small towns could bite it. Tanner’s jaw thrust hard and he kept his gaze locked down the street the way he’d been. “My father. And, yeah, maybe the asshole was your father too. You’re welcome to him. But there’s no ‘our father’ because there’s no us.”
Mako’s dark hair roostered up across the orange-streaked sunset behind him. It only got worse when he ran a hand through the mess. The narrow shape of his eyes bore very little resemblance to Hank Wright, but Tanner could still see the ghost of the man in the way Mako looked out sideways. All sly insistence that he could work things the way he wanted.
Hank had been insanely determined like that and willing to see only his own side, even if no one but Tanner seemed to realize it. Except he’d been more like a bulldozer than a snake. Slamming through resistance with smiles and jokes had been his specialty.
Tanner pushed away from the railing. He didn’t need this; that’s all there was to it. He had enough crap piling up in his life, and at some point he needed to make a choice as to what he was doing when he left the surf circuit. Mako simply didn’t figure in the picture.
“Look,” he said on a sigh. His bones felt weary, as if he were getting old before his time. He pinched the top of his forehead, where a sudden ache had set up. “I hope you have a very nice life, and I’m not being sarcastic. I don’t wish anything against you. But . . . dealing with you means dealing with all the shit my dad left behind. I figure it’s best to let the past stay buried.”
He didn’t want to be responsible for putting his mom through that pain, not if there was anything he could do
about it. With Hank dead and buried, there was simply no reason to. As long as he could choke down the memories that being in Hank’s house would bring, everything would be totally covered.
But Mako was shaking his head. “Thanks, but, no.”
“What the hell do you want from me? Thanksgiving dinners?” The words flew sharp from Tanner, but he couldn’t come close to stopping them. They swelled up from a dark and sickly place inside him that had been brewing for almost ten years. “I don’t fucking think so.”
Mako’s eyes narrowed further and his chin tipped farther forward. “Oh look, it’s like talking to Hank all over again.”
“Fuck you.”
“Thanks, brother, but I’ve got that much covered at least.” The smile he spooled out was incredibly smug and had a sharp edge of cobra to it. As dangerous as he’d always thought the man. “These California girls really do know how to make a guy feel good. And they’re so fucking gullible.”
“You’re pretty fucking smarmy, aren’t you?” That Tanner had been right about Mako all these years was a strange, unpleasant mix of vindication and distaste.
Avalon was a local girl, but she wasn’t gullible. Not by far. The idea of Mako taking advantage of her made Tanner’s skin crawl. He wouldn’t let it happen, not to her or to anyone like Sage, either. They were his important people, not this guy. Not Mako.
“Fuck you,” Tanner said again, this time more slowly. He wanted the words to drive home. He wanted to hurt Mako like his very existence hurt Tanner.
“So creative. Good to know what I’m up against.”
“Christ, why do we have to be up against anything?” Tanner shook his head. “Can’t we go our separate ways? You know what? I’ll start it.” He waved briefly and turned away. “Have a good life. Peace out.”
“I wanted to warn you that I did an interview with
SURFING
.”
Tanner’s feet stuttered to a stop. “Like hell.”
“It should be out the week of the Pro.” Mako’s jaw hollowed, a sharp tic of muscle right in front of his ear. “I didn’t pull any punches, either. It’s all out there.”
“You don’t have the right to wreck my mom’s and sister’s lives.”
Mako shook his head. The sun had dropped below the far line of the sea, swamping the town with dark. It seemed pretty appropriate for the discussion. Be damned if Tanner actually wanted to look at Mako.
“I think the world has the right to know what their precious surf idol was really like. Including the fact that he married your mom when she was only eighteen.”
“And he was twenty. It’s not that big a deal.”
“It looks a hell of a lot less pretty when he’s in his thirties and takes up with
my
mom when she’s fifteen, doesn’t it?”
Tanner’s hands curled into determined fists. His dad might have made this fuckup but that didn’t mean Tanner was going to let it get any worse. “You can’t do this. Pull the article.”
“That’s not in my control.” Except the way that Mako smirked said maybe he didn’t give a shit anyway. He was wrecking things exactly the way he wanted to.
“I’ll make your life a living hell.” Tanner had money and he had position in the surf world. He wasn’t exactly
sure what Mako’s weak point was, but if he threw all their dirty laundry out in the street, Tanner would dig until he made Mako pay.
Mako’s mouth pressed flat. “You might want to ask who owns your mom’s store.”
“She does. Nice try.” Tanner’s half brother hopped right on over to extortion. Good to know.
“No, I mean the building itself. Wright Break is on a thirty-year lease. Did you know that? Buying the building was never a priority to
your dad
.” Mako put an insidious emphasis on the last couple words, spitting them out with angry intent.
Tanner hadn’t known. The business had never been his priority, either. As a teenager, his head had been more focused on making the world circuit than running a tiny surf shop. As an adult, he’d known that his dad had cut him out of the will, so it really didn’t matter. But the place was still his mother’s lifeblood, the thing that kept her days filled.
Not to mention Sage’s surfboard shaping was done out of the back half of the building.
“You can’t evict them.”
“You sure, bro?” Mako was still spitting words around. The anger in the air was an almost palpable thing. “But as their landlord I can certainly inspect the premises. Introduce myself.”
“Stay the fuck away from them.”
Mako’s lips curled into a smile but Tanner didn’t feel particularly reassured. Pretty much the opposite. Bile rose at the back of his throat. The guy flat-out sucked. “No. I’m not withdrawing my interview. Plus, I’m meeting Eileen and Sage. I’m tired of being the dirty secret who has to hide in the corner. It’ll be up to you whether you . . . soften them up first.”
Tanner wanted to vomit. Right on Mako’s bare toes if at all possible. “I’m not sure who I want to punch more. You or Hank.” Tanner couldn’t take any more. He turned to walk away, but the twenty-year-old part of him that still fucking resented what he’d learned about his father couldn’t resist. He flipped a bird back over his shoulder.
“Nice. Classy,” Mako said. “I feel almost like a real brother.”
“One thing I can promise you,” Tanner said as he walked away. “You’ll never be my brother.”
T
he north side of San Sebastian was lined by a state park. The south side abutted the very pricey homes of Damian Cove. To the east were the outer edges of less nice suburban sprawl that covered vast stretches of Southern California—of course, that was the area where Avalon’s mother lived.
The dingy condo complex was made up of a half dozen buildings, each with eight units. The unit Candy lived in was at the far back of the setup, but at least it overlooked the pool. It was a green-tinged pool where the local teenagers smoked pot. What a bonus.
On second thought, Candy probably did count it as a bonus when she was running low from her own suppliers. Easy access to score.
Avalon hitched the bag of groceries she carried a little higher and rang the bell. Quiet chimes echoed on the other side, followed by the clattering of high heels.
“Coming. Hold your horses,” Candy called. She always sounded like she was about to laugh, if that made any sort of sense. Like she was always poised on the verge of looking for fun, anticipating finding a good time.
The door popped opened. At least Candy’s smile didn’t falter when she saw Avalon, not this time. “Darling,” she cooed, “what a surprise.”
Avalon lifted her eyebrows on a tiny flush of annoyance. “Funny thing. When my mom calls and asks me to come by, I usually do.”
“You’re so responsible like that.” Candy managed to make it sound like an indictment.
She fluttered a hand, then pushed back a heavy fall of bright blond hair. For an afternoon with no company expected, she was certainly dressed well. Her capris clung to a carefully maintained figure and the low-cut silk blouse showed off plenty of assets. The boyfriend she’d had during Avalon’s junior year of high school had paid for those.
Avalon had spent three weeks straight at the Wright house while her mom “recovered” from the surgery. Sure, the last week of recovery had been in Vegas, but, as Candy explained, sometimes a girl needed a little mental recovery after the physical stuff.
Avalon gave the brown bag in her arms a little wiggle. “Mind if I come in, Mother?”
“Oh! Of course not,” Candy said on a wide smile. She opened the door with an extra flourish and stepped back. Her four-inch heels clattered over linoleum as she led the way toward the kitchen.
Avalon set the bag on the island. Sometimes Avalon swore Candy dated blue-collar men so she could bring them home and have them do chores. Hopefully she’d date a tile worker soon. She could do with some new counters. The white tile had lost its glaze over the years and the grout needed replacing, but her mom would spend thousands on clothing before she sank a penny on home repair, if she could help it.
In the fridge, Avalon found nothing but a box of wine and stacked take-out boxes. She shook her head. “You live like a frat boy, Mom.”
Candy slipped onto a barstool. She already had a glass of white wine between her fingers. “That sounds a little like envy, darling.”
Avalon managed to hold back the snort as she filled her mom’s vegetable drawers with an assortment of fruit. She’d gotten the prewashed, precut versions along with a couple expensive tubs of ready-to-eat berries. If she hadn’t, the stuff would be wilting and molding the next time she came by.
Her mom liked stuff the easy way. She’d lived her whole life by the model, and in a way it was working out for her.
“I have good news,” Avalon said, but she kept her face carefully turned toward the fridge. There were certain concessions she had to make in order to keep at least a semblance of a mother-daughter relationship going. One of those meant not looking her mother in the eyes at certain times, in order to not see the disappointment.
“Oh?” Even without looking, Avalon could picture Candy’s carefully manicured, filled-in brows lifting and her highly lipsticked lips parting. “Did you finally snag yourself a man?”
The sting didn’t go away, not even when compared to the hot rush of thoughts of Tanner. The two feelings wove together under her skin in an uncomfortable mix.
That mixed slush of feeling was one of the hardest parts of her relationship with her mother. Avalon had never been able to come to terms with the fact that she still desperately loved the same woman she resented.
She shook her head, carefully keeping her hands from
shaking as she loaded a package of pineapple slices in the bottom drawer. “No. I got an awesome commission.”
“Oh.” The disappointment was audible in one tiny syllable. “You’ve put so much stock in that career of yours. It’s about time it started to take off. What’s the commission?”
There, that was almost the validation she needed. If she didn’t see her mother’s face, she could pretend that there wouldn’t be a tiny sneer of disgust knotted on her forehead. “I’m following Tanner Wright for the month leading up to the Sebastian Pro. Documentary-style. He’s got a good chance at winning the WCT, exactly ten years after his first championship. It’s a huge opportunity for me. Guaranteed spread in
SURFING
magazine. This could be my big break.”
She had to explain these little details because her mother made absolutely no pretense of following either Avalon’s surrogate family or the world in which Avalon had built her life. Surfing was nothing to her mother except that thing Avalon did.
“Tanner Wright?” Candy laughed and then the wineglass clinked against the tile counter. “I knew I made the right call all those years ago.”
“What call?” Avalon said, almost against her will. She winced as soon as it came out of her mouth.
“Why, letting you spend all that time with the Wrights. I knew they’d set you up well, and just look.”
Avalon ran out of things to put away. She shut the fridge and carefully laid the brown bag out on the counter. Her hands worked at folding the sack as she looked up from under her lashes.
The expression on her mother’s delicate features was a little difficult to interpret. Or maybe, difficult to
understand. Her collagen-plumped mouth seemed set in a self-satisfied smile and Avalon couldn’t understand what she thought she’d done that was so great.
She’d
let
Avalon spend time with Sage under Eileen’s guidance because it was easier. It had taken less time out of her dating schedule. Explaining the sullen thirteen-year-old girl sitting on the couch was a little bit difficult when she’d led her boyfriend to believe she was only twenty-nine.
Though lately she’d given up twenty-nine for thirty-nine. She couldn’t keep that gig up forever, much to her chagrin.
“Mom, repeat after me: Congratulations, Avalon.”
She lifted the glass of wine and took a healthy swallow. “What? I already said congratulations.”
That was her mom, exactly. Not abusive or intentionally cruel. Just . . . absent. Even when she was there. Avalon held down the soft wash of familiar pain.
Candy did her best. That was what counted.
And for those times when Candy hadn’t done what was best for Avalon, Eileen had always been there to pick up the slack. Hence, why Avalon would slice a vein open for Eileen if she ever asked. The fact that Eileen wouldn’t ask for that level of sacrifice was one more reason for her devotion.
Candy twiddled her fingers. “Anyway, that’s done with. Why don’t you get a drink? Sit down and chat awhile.”
Done with. How neatly and tidily Candy glossed over the most important development in Avalon’s career since she’d left school.
Of course, if she were to tell Candy about flirting with Tanner, that’d be a different story. Candy would be all over that and provide intricately detailed advice.
Putting a finger on what, exactly, Candy was became difficult. Though she liked drugs now and then, she wasn’t exactly an addict. When a man came along who didn’t like her pot habit, she easily put it aside. And though she adored her afternoon wine, she wasn’t an alcoholic. She was . . . a wanderer. Someone without purpose beyond what a steady string of boyfriends and husbands gave her.
Avalon thanked her lucky stars constantly for the gift of photography. For having a goal and a life. She was going to be a professional surf photographer. Eventually being a stringer for a major magazine wasn’t unfeasible. Everything else could follow along eventually, if it worked out.
She declined the offer of a drink. White wine wasn’t her favorite, as she’d told her mom time and time again, and Candy didn’t seem to have anything else in the house.
Avalon folded her arms across the counter and leaned on them. “So, Mom. How much do you need?”
Candy widened her eyes. “What makes you think I need money?”
Avalon rolled her lips in, the better to hold back the smile. It was either laugh at the situation or cry way too often. Her mom played the same games over and over. That Avalon played along was her cross to bear. “Hmm, dunno. Maybe because you only invite me over ‘to hang out’ when you need cash?”
Candy’s mane of blond hair tossed back over her shoulder. “That’s not true!”
It was absolutely and totally true. Candy was nothing if not predictable. Hanging out
meant a request for money. An invitation to the spa meant maternal guilt over her failings. A dinner meant a new boyfriend that she wanted to introduce. Strata and deposits, everyone had their place. Avalon knew hers by now. “How much?”
Candy huffed, looking out toward the tiny living room. But she slanted a glance back at Avalon out the corner of her eyes. “If you’re going to insist on money, I wouldn’t turn away five hundred.”
“Five?” Avalon asked on a fast jolt of surprise. Her hands spread flat over the cool tile. She did a couple fast calculations in her head, most of them revolving around the time of the month. “Your mortgage is due in three days. Are you going to be short?”
Candy’s manicured fingernails drummed along the edge of the counter. She wiggled a tiny bit. “It’s not my fault, Avalon. Really.”
She sighed. “What was it this time?”
“I wish you wouldn’t look at me like that. Teddy wanted to take me on a cruise, and my boss approved the days. It’s not my fault that bitch in human resources didn’t tell me that I’d be in the hole on vacation days.”
A sharp pain lanced down Avalon’s neck. All tension—she knew that—but even the careful application of breathing techniques Eileen had taught her couldn’t put a dent in the mom-headache. Avalon dropped her head against the sudden pressure inside her skull. “Most people keep track of their own vacation days.”
Candy huffed. “I’m sure it must be easy for you, since your job is running around the world to beaches. But some of us are working stiffs. My paycheck was three-fifty light!”
“Where’s the other one-fifty, Mom?”
“What?”
Avalon shook her head. Another helpless laugh built. “Your mortgage is five hundred short. But your paycheck was only missing three fifty. Where’d the other one-fifty go?”
A hot pink blush scored Candy’s cheeks, even under the layer of bronzer. At least she had the grace to be embarrassed. “This really beautiful pair of shoes. They were on sale and I figured . . .”
She’d figured she might as well since she was already going to have to call Avalon. That was an easy one.
Avalon nodded anyway. She had the money, no hardship out of her budget. Especially since she’d had to slink back to the Wrights’ house after she and Matthew, her postcollege boyfriend, had split, so she wasn’t paying rent. “I’ll call the bank and pay it direct.”
And honestly, it was worth it when Candy bounced up and darted around the island to toss her arms around Avalon. She shut her eyes and breathed in the sweet scent of perfume.
No matter her faults, no matter how much Avalon dreaded becoming rudderless like Candy . . . she still loved her mom. She was still going to help.
Considering the lengths she’d go to for the Wrights, it’d be criminal not to pay her mom’s mortgage once in a while.