That’s why her comments had pissed him off so much last night.
Well, this was pretty crappy. Last time he’d thought he was in love, he’d been rejected for another guy and because he hadn’t been in a very good place, he’d been kinda down about that for a while. But it hadn’t taken him long to get over that. He’d been focused pretty intensely on his surfing and getting over the crazy fears that had kept him out of the water and out of the sport he loved so much.
But now…fuck. The idea that Brooke didn’t return his feelings, the idea that she viewed him as an irresponsible, immature jerk, nothing but a business obligation, fucking tore up his insides. He felt like sinking to the floor of the shower and just sitting there.
He cranked off the water, yanked the shower curtain aside and grabbed a plush hotel towel.
He’d be seeing her this afternoon. He could talk to her then. Did he have the guts to tell her how he felt, knowing that she didn’t feel the same?
She’d sure seemed into him when they’d been in bed. His mouth twisted as he toweled off. Was that wishful thinking? Sex with her had been pretty special.
Pretty special. That was just stupid. Sex with her had been…not to get all sappy, but it had been fucking stupendous.
He walked naked from the bathroom into the hotel room. Okay. He’d see her later and play that by ear, but he had his own “business” to concentrate on too. He was in the middle of a competition he was determined to win. He had to focus on that. People were counting on him to do well in this competition and that was how he could show Brooke he was good enough.
After spending some time working on his boards and talking to Brett about some strategy for his heat, he went to a yoga class to get centered and limbered up. Then he headed to the beach to meet with Brooke and Holden. On the way there, he remembered what Holden had said about last night’s party being all over the Internet. How it had turned into an orgy.
Well, it had been a bit raunchy, but he wouldn’t call it an orgy.
But yeah, chicks had been taking their clothes off.
And then his gut cramped as he thought about taking Brooke home and then going back to the bar. He’d been pissed off and hurting. He hadn’t thought she’d ever know about that though. Now he was realizing she probably did.
He found Holden in the VIP tent, schmoozing as usual. They greeted each other and Dylan looked around. “Okay, where’s Brooke?” he asked. “Where do we want to have this meeting?”
“Brooke’s not coming.” Another guy stepped forward, dark red hair, friendly smile, lots of freckles. Dylan recognized him from the meeting at Jackson Cole. What was his name? Oh yeah, Tim.
“Hey,” Dylan said, forcing a smile. “She’s not coming? Why not?”
He could only hope this meant they didn’t have to meet about this and everything was copacetic, but somehow the crawly feeling on the back of his neck told him that wasn’t the case.
“She’s been taken off this project,” Tim said. “I’m replacing her. Let’s go somewhere we can talk.”
Dylan’s jaw went slack. “Off the project? You mean, my sponsorship deal?”
“Yeah. That’s right.”
He stood there staring at the guy. Then he gave his head a shake. “I don’t get it.”
“Hey, not your concern,” Tim said with a smile. He slapped a hand on Dylan’s back. “You need to be worrying about your surfing right now. Come on, let’s go sit at that table in the corner.”
Tim led the way to a small table and they all sat down. Holden and Tim. No Brooke.
“First of all, don’t worry,” Tim said. “Your sponsorship deal isn’t at risk right now. Nobody wants to stir things up right in the middle of a competition. Everyone wants you to do well this week.”
“Yeah.” Dylan licked dry lips. “Me too.” He forced a smile.
Tim smiled too. “Great. Now, I’m not gonna lie to you. The execs at Jackson Cole weren’t too happy about that party last night.”
“It was just a party,” Dylan muttered. “I didn’t break any laws.”
“Yeah, well, that’s good. Because we might be having a different conversation if that was the case.”
Dylan couldn’t even think straight. “I don’t understand why they took Brooke off this project.”
“Well,” Tim said. “She was given the job of bringing you back from Tahiti, getting things cleaned up and keeping you out of trouble. And last night she didn’t do it.”
“What the fuck?” Dylan stared at him. “They blame
her
for last night?”
“Uh…yeah.”
His head spun. “I don’t get it.”
“Brooke was the one who suggested Jackson Cole should sponsor you,” Tim explained. “Then you had that accident and broke your foot last year. Kinda looked like we were throwing money away, but she went to bat for you and convinced them that you’d be back and better than ever and still had a great future. So they kept the deal, but when you started acting up they were getting concerned again. Someone had to get things under control, and they figured it should be Brooke, since it was her idea. The executive team wasn’t too happy about it all. Brooke wasn’t either, but she knew she had to do it to save the deal. And her job, for that matter.”
Dylan nodded slowly. Yeah, that was basically what Brooke had told him. But she hadn’t told him it had been her idea. And she hadn’t told him she’d gone to bat for him. To save his sponsorship. And she hadn’t told him her job was on the line. Fuck! “Brooke didn’t get fired, did she?” he demanded.
“Hey,” Tim said. “Don’t worry about her.”
“
Did she get fired?
” He leaned forward and fixed his gaze on Tim. “Just answer my question.”
“Uh. I don’t think so. Not yet, anyway.”
“Fuck!” He glared at Tim. “I’m calling her.” He reached for his cell phone.
“You don’t need to do that,” Tim began, but Dylan had already punched the button for Brooke’s cell phone. She didn’t answer. He scowled.
“Hey, she’s off the project,” Tim said. “That’s probably why she’s not answering. It’s not her job to deal with you anymore. It’s mine.” He gave what was probably supposed to be a reassuring smile, but Dylan didn’t feel reassured. He felt pissed. And…sick.
“Fuck,” he muttered again, rubbing his forehead.
“So,” Tim continued cheerfully. “The folks at Daytrippers apparently were a little concerned about the media coverage from that party last night. That wasn’t a really wholesome image to present.”
Dylan stared at him. “Oh Christ.”
“But like I said, don’t worry about that now. Nobody wants to stir things up at this point, right? We just want you to go out there this weekend and do your best. We’ll talk more after; I’ve set up a meeting at the office for Monday afternoon.”
Dylan continued to stare at him. “Monday.” That would be after the Pro. “Okay.”
“I’m here to make sure you have everything you need and liaise with the media for the next few days,” Tim said with a smile.
Dylan could barely hear the man talk above the crazy thoughts that were crowding his head. They better not have fired Brooke. What if they had? What if she’d lost her job over this? And fuck, he didn’t want anyone else looking after him! He wanted her. He had to talk to her.
But that wasn’t going to happen. Despite his numerous attempts to call her, she wasn’t answering. His schedule was crazy busy for the next few days but he managed to go by her apartment a few times, only she was never there. He stopped at her office once in a lame attempt to see her, but she wasn’t there either. He even called her parents’ home and talked to her mom, who coolly told him she’d pass a message on to Brooke, and when he bumped into her brother Anthony just after an interview, Anthony too was polite but distant. Her family was looking out for her.
She didn’t show up at the beach, not at all, and that made him crazy too. He’d been so pumped to have her watching that first heat, to share his triumph with her.
The competition had to take priority, even though now it seemed pathetically unimportant, but when he was out in the water it took all his effort to concentrate on surfing and not on the fact that Brooke wasn’t there. He needed to put all that other shit out of his head and focus. Even though his heart ached and he had this antsy urgent need to chuck his surfboard into the waves and run to find Brooke, this had to be done now. Surfing was everything to him.
Well. Maybe not quite everything.
Weird how priorities and goals could change.
And he did win, somehow pulling off decent scores, despite his fucked up head and heart, moving through the heats. Corey and Matt showed up after a heat he’d won to congratulate him. And he got even more annoyed that they were there for him like that when he totally didn’t deserve it.
“What’s wrong?” Corey asked him when he’d snarled a response to their congratulations. “You just won. You should be happy.”
“I am happy.”
“You don’t look like it.” Corey paused, studying him. “Did something happen with you and Brooke?”
“Why would you ask that?” he snapped. “Jesus, the whole world doesn’t revolve around relationships.”
“Um. Yeah, it kinda does,” she said. She and Matt divided a look between them. “What happened?”
“Nothing happened.”
“Why isn’t she here?”
Fuck. He closed his eyes. “Okay, here’s the deal. Brooke and I weren’t really dating. She came to Tahiti on business, and our whole relationship was business. She agreed to come to the wedding with me because…” Again, fuck. “Part of her job was keeping me out of trouble, so she agreed. But her boss took her off my sponsorship deal a few days ago, so she has no reason to be here now.”
Corey’s eyebrows flew up. “Oh.” He watched her eyes flicker as she thought through what he’d said. “But—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Dylan interrupted. “It’s none of your business anyway.”
Her face fell. Matt frowned. “Hey, man, we’re just trying to—”
“Don’t bother.” Dylan lifted a hand. “It is what it is. And I have stuff to do. Gotta go.” He turned and left.
His stomach tight, his teeth gritted, he strode across the sand away from them, ignoring everyone else. He had to stay focused on one thing, and that was surfing. Thinking about anything else, caring about anything else, or any
one
else, wasn’t an option right then. If he started going there, he was going to lose it and he needed to keep his shit together to get through this competition.
Then it was Sunday and time for the men’s final. It was him and Heath, in the final heat. Just like he’d hoped for. Just like so many had predicted.
He had a pretty simple routine before he competed. He didn’t like to eat, he just had some water and listened to some tunes on his iPod. He liked to be the last one at the water’s edge when the heat was about to start, then he paddled out, surrounded by the Pacific Ocean rising and dipping beneath him, swelling and undulating. The sun sparkled off the water all around him and he was surrounded by blue. He tried to get a grip on his thoughts and emotions. This was it. This was the moment.
But he couldn’t let that take over. He couldn’t let that make him nervous. He had to control the adrenaline and use it to his advantage. He knew how to do that. He worked through some of the exercises he’d been taught to help him focus.
His frustration with not being able to get hold of Brooke, his frustration with her, started pushing up inside him. That weird feeling that this
wasn’t
the most important thing in the world returned. He needed that hunger, that edge if he was going to win. Didn’t he? Or did it even matter? Win, lose, whatever. If he didn’t have Brooke, it didn’t really matter.
Once more he reminded himself how long he’d been working toward this.
The stillness of the ocean, rocking him gently, the quiet out there, away from the hyper noise of the beach, sank inside him. He sat there, waiting, watching for that perfect wave.
For a moment, all that he’d learned about the ocean recently and all that he’d learned about the ocean through his life came back to him. The power and beauty of it. The world’s greatest wilderness, the mysteries of her depths, the beauty of her unpredictability.
The waves developed slowly, like patient lovemaking, taking their time to build and crest. The building pressure grew, and grew…and then crashed in an explosion of vitality. The waves didn’t last long, only moments, precious and fragile, yet powerful and magnificent. You had to take advantage of those moments, make the most of them.
Like life.
He watched the water swell toward him, eyeing it critically. Adrenaline flashed heat through his veins. This was it. He was going to catch this wave and do this.
Brooke watched the senior men’s final from the bleachers on the beach, sitting among the crowd of half-naked tanned bodies, the scent of coconut sunscreen and the ocean floating in the warm air. The beach was packed with people including television cameramen and photographers with giant long lenses. The booming voice of the announcer echoed up and down the beach.
She stared out at the ocean, watching, waiting for Dylan to catch a wave. God, he had to do this. Heath had just done an amazing run and the crowd was going wild, the announcer winding them up. She picked at the ragged cuticle on her left thumb as she gazed out at the sparkling blue ocean. She watched Dylan turn. This was it. The crowd surged to their feet and she had to stand too if she wanted to see anything. Beside her, Fraya grabbed her husband’s arm in a tight hold and bounced up and down a little. The boys watched from the other side of Brooke, caught up in the excitement.
Dylan caught the wave and began to ride it, twisting and turning his way along it, his body in a low crouch, also twisting and turning with apparent ease. “It’s a good wave,” she murmured.
“Yeah!” Fraya agreed.
It looked like his feet were superglued to the surfboard, he stuck to it so well as he surfed, and then he caught some air and rotated a full three hundred and sixty degrees in the air. Brooke’s breath caught and held as she waited for him to land, momentarily losing sight of him in the rushing white water, but there he was, still standing, still surfing. The crowd went wild.
“Look at that!” the announcer yelled. “
Are you kidding me?
Dylan Schell has got the groove today! Look at him just sitting in that wave forever! Holy barrel of monkeys! He is riding the heckballs out of that wave!”