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CHAPTER SIXTEEN

HUNTER

W ind whistles in my ears as I stare out at the water. The salty air blows my hair straight back and out of my face, which is actually convenient. I need a haircut. I kind of let it grow out once we hit the playoffs, more out of laziness than any sort of superstition. It’s reached that annoying length where it falls into my eyes half the time.

“Morgan! C’mere!”

I turn away from the ocean and toward Aidan. He’s spent the past fifteen minutes rubbing wax on the boards, supposedly so it’s easier to stand up. I appreciate the effort, but the repetitive motion is not very entertaining to watch. When I offered to help, he told me he had some special technique that couldn’t be taught.

I think he’s just enjoying being the “expert.”

The girls only stuck around for a few minutes, then set off on a walk. They’re three distant dots down the beach at this point. I can make out Harlow’s red hair and Rylan’s pink hat. But the figure I squint at is the one walking closest to the cliffs. Eve’s staring up, but I can’t make out her expression from here.

“Ready for the demonstration?” Aidan asks.

“Uh, sure,” I answer.

Conor looks equally cautious.

It’s not exactly sunbathing weather. It’s not cold out—I’d guess the temperature is hovering in the fifties—but it’s definitely not warm enough for swimming to sound appealing. We’re all wearing wetsuits, so I’m not worried about hypothermia, but I am worried this won’t be a pleasant experience.

We basically have the beach to ourselves. One older couple passed us by shortly after we arrived, and a middle-aged woman walking a Lab is approaching from the direction of the parking lot. If this really is some surfing hidden gem—like the article on Conor’s phone claimed—we came at the wrong time.

Aidan stands. “Okay, I waxed all the boards. So, if you can’t get up, it’s your fault, not the board’s. Make sure you’ve got the leash around your ankle.” Phillips wraps the black Velcro band around his ankle and then lies down flat on the surfboard. It must be about seven feet long, because it’s got more than a few inches on him. He slides closer to the back, head raised and back arched. “This is how you should paddle out. And this—” He suddenly leaps up to balance on the board. “Is how you should pop up to catch a wave.”

I glance at Hart, who’s studying Phillips’s movements closely. Conor’s crazy competitive, and Aidan has done this before, so I’m most likely going to be the only one bobbing out there like a buoy.

Phillips demonstrates how to stand on the board a few more times, then tells us to try it ourselves.

The pretend paddling part is easy. The whole push up into standing with your arms out and knees bent aspect? Way harder. And this is on flat, solid ground. I doubt it is going to be any easier in the ocean.

“Let’s go!” Aidan is still as enthusiastic as he was when he proposed this outing yesterday. Aside from the hot tub, it’s the most animated I’ve seen him this entire trip.

For Phillips, I’ll fall on my ass in the ocean.

Aidan’s already claimed his board. I grab one of the remaining two, Conor takes the other, and we walk toward the ocean.

I haven’t been swimming since some trips to the pool last summer. The salt water is chilly enough to numb my feet almost instantly. I’m unsure if that’s a good or a bad thing, but I continue battling the surf after Conor and Aidan.

The slight resistance of waves rolling into shore stops at about waist level. Deep enough to climb on the board and switch to paddling. Both Aidan and Conor do, so I follow their lead.

At first, it’s fine. The farther we go out, the more my shoulders tire. Whatever weight exercises I’ve been doing don’t strengthen these muscles, I guess. I attempt to adjust, and there’s a sharp twinge in my shoulder. I slow down a little.

And then Aidan suddenly stops and sits up on his board, letting his feet dangle in the water. He slicks his hair back and out of his face, then glances back and me and Hart. “Isn’t this awesome ?”

I stop paddling too. My arms feel better as soon as I relax my muscles, but my shoulder still twinges.

It’s peaceful, I’ll admit. All you can hear this far out are the sounds of the sea. Seagulls cawing and wind blowing and the rhythm of water lapping against the boards. Any noises from the shore—voices or cars—are too distant to hear from here.

Conor paddles a little closer to us, then sits up too. He twists to look back toward the beach, appearing surprised by how far we came.

I am too. Makes me feel a little better about my sore arms.

“Most shark attacks involve surfers,” Conor says casually. “Sharks have shitty eyesight, and a human lying on a board looks just like a seal from way down there.” He nods at the textured surface of the water stretching around us.

I sit up. “What a fun fact, Hart.”

He shrugs. “Harlow and I watched a Shark Week special a couple of weeks ago. It was pretty cool.”

“It would be cooler if you didn’t bring it up while we were in shark-infested waters,” I tell him.

Aidan shrugs. “I don’t think there are any sharks around here.”

“Right. Why would they be in the ocean , where they live?” I ask sarcastically.

Conor laughs.

I glance around. There are no shark fins in sight, at least. “What do we do now?”

“Uh…” Aidan looks toward the horizon. “Wait for some waves?”

The water around us isn’t completely flat, but I wouldn’t say anything resembling a wave is anywhere in the immediate vicinity of our current location.

“Wait how long?” Conor questions.

“Until a wave comes. You can’t control nature, Hart.”

“How many times have you surfed, exactly?”

Aidan blows out an irritated sigh. “More times than you!”

“Well, yeah. I’ve never been surfing.”

“Does this even count as surfing?” I wonder. “We’re just floating, waiting for a shark to attack.”

“If one does, punch it in the nose,” Hart advises.

“What if I miss and my hand goes right in its mouth?” I wonder. “Is that still a deterrent, or helpful for the shark?”

“Guys,” Phillips whines. “Don’t be assholes and ruin this for me.”

Conor grins. “So we’re just supposed to sit here in silence?”

“ Yes ,” Aidan answers emphatically.

“ You’re going to sit here in silence?”

I share Conor’s skepticism. Aidan is—by far—the chattiest of the three of us. I can’t recall a time where we just sat quietly together. Even watching sports, he talks a lot.

Aidan huffs. “I’m meditating.”

If Hart hadn’t brought up sharks, I’d probably be enjoying this experience more. My feet have adjusted to the water temperature, so sitting here is mostly enjoyable.

“Maybe we should go a little farther out,” Aidan suggests.

“You lasted three minutes, Phillips,” Conor tells him.

And then we all start paddling again.

When we get back to the car, I check my phone and discover I have a missed call from my mom.

“I’ll be right back,” I mutter distractedly, leaving my board with Conor and Aidan and wandering farther down the sidewalk before anyone replies.

My mom answers on the second ring. “Hi, honey.”

My “Hi” is cautious.

I haven’t talked to her since Friday night’s unfortunate events, just my dad.

Sean’s relapses have always hit my mom the hardest. My dad and I have gotten…accustomed to it in some ways, I guess. But my mom, she gives Sean a clean slate every time. Acts like each setback is a fresh failure and a fresh start.

“I’m sorry to bother you while you’re on your break.”

“You’re not bothering me, Mom. Is—is everything okay?

“Everything’s fine,” she tells me. “I was just calling about hotels.”

“Hotels?” I echo.

“Yes. For graduation. The spot we stayed when we dropped you off freshman year—I can’t believe that was almost four years ago—was so far from campus. Are there better options closer? Where are your friends’ families staying?”

Relief she’s not calling because something is wrong mixes with bitter recollection of how that trip ended, stalling my response.

“Oh. Uh. Yeah, there are closer options. They’ll be more expensive, though.”

My parents both work in education. My dad is the superintendent for the elementary school, and my mom is a third-grade teacher. Having my parents both work at my school embarrassed me as a kid. As an adult, I think it’s kind of cute they carpool and eat lunch together.

Their choice of careers means money has always been tight. My grandparents gave my dad a portion of the money they made from the sale of their farm, but I believe Sean’s multiple rehab stints have blown through a large chunk of that. One of the reasons I chose Holt, aside from its location meaning I could escape my brother’s shadow, was that they offered me a full academic scholarship.

“It’s your graduation, honey. I’m not concerned about the cost.”

I swallow. “Okay. I’ll ask around. Send you some options.”

“Great, thank you. Are you having fun on your break?”

“Yeah. I just went surfing, actually.”

“I hope you were careful, Hunter.”

“I was,” I assure her. “Made it back to shore in one piece.”

“Good.” A relieved sigh follows. I’m supposed to be the son she doesn’t have to worry about. “Well, I won’t keep you. Have fun with your friends. I love you, Hunter.”

“Love you too,” I reply, then hang up and start back toward Conor’s SUV.

Everyone else is already in the car. It’s the same seating arrangement as last night. Hart in the driver’s seat and Phillips in the back with the girls. We took Conor’s car again today because it’s a little roomier than mine, plus I’m hoping the spare will make it back to Washington.

“Everything okay?” Conor asks as I climb in.

“Yeah. Just my mom.”

Hart nods.

I catch the look he gives Aidan a few seconds later. I haven’t talked about my family very much. It’s always felt strange to exclude Sean and hard to include him. And neither Conor nor Aidan talked about theirs, so it felt less noticeable. But that’s shifted, a little, in the past few months.

After Harlow’s parents passed away, the close family friends she moved in with also happen to be Conor’s father, stepmother, and half brother. Harlow and Conor’s relationship seems to have been a tentative bridge to Conor communicating with family he was totally estranged from. His dad came to a few of our final games.

And Aidan’s relationship with Rylan seems to have allowed him to move past the fucked-up dynamic with his brother—who’s engaged to Aidan’s ex. His parents were there to watch us win the championship, which I know meant a lot to Phillips.

So I’m the only one still hiding skeletons.

“We good to go?” Conor asks, turning on the engine.

“One sec,” Rylan replies. “I can’t find my seat belt.”

“Pretty sure I’m sitting on it,” Aidan tells her.

Some muttered curses follow as they rearrange in the back.

I glance in the rearview mirror.

Eve’s on the far side, behind Conor. The yellow sketchpad she was drawing in on the drive here is clutched to her chest, a pencil poking through the spiral. Her hair is pulled back in two braids, which I find fucking adorable. And there’s more color in her face than there was at breakfast this morning.

Her gaze flickers from the back seat window to meet mine—like she can feel my eyes on her.

She smiles.

I smile back.

And when I glance out the windshield, it seems like the sunshine peeking through the clouds just got a little brighter.