Page 61

NOAH

You look broken

Surfing fixed most of my problems growing up.

It always made me feel better. If I got a shitty grade, surfing made it seem insignificant.

If I lost a footy game, a surf calmed me down.

Remembering the events of last week, the sight of Millie’s crushed face, the sting in her voice . . . even surfing can’t fix that.

“I’m not a miserable bastard,” I snap.

Mack waves his hand out towards me. “Exhibit A. Les Misérables .”

I know I’ve been painful to be around since everything fell apart with Millie. I foolishly held onto the tiniest hope she might change her mind, but two days after I showed up to her house, I hadn’t heard from her, and it was time to pack up and head to Hawaii.

It’s been almost a week since that fateful night.

A few months ago, I would’ve killed to be where I am right now.

People desperate for interviews, brands reaching out to promote ciders or surf gear or awareness of water safety.

Free promo packages are crammed into the PO Box Mack arranged, where he lugs them back to our hired house every day, calling dibs on his favourite items.

Not even staring out at the ocean, smelling the brine and listening to the crash of the waves, can distract me from the guilt and sadness that envelops me. Not only did I hurt my best friend, but I miss her so much it aches.

I haven’t texted or called her, because I want to respect her wishes. But it’s been so hard. I’ve picked up my phone to contact her more times than I can count.

My phone buzzes in my hand and disappointment floods my veins when I see the message from my lawyer.

Lawyer Bob

Morning, Noah. $50,000 AUD has successfully transferred to Millie Schofield’s account, as requested. Regards, Bob.

Me

Cheers, Bob.

The past few days have been a whirlwind I’d rather forget.

Mack organised a carefully crafted break-up post with Millie without my knowledge.

She shared a photo of the two of us smiling, with a caption that said we broke up in the new year and we’re still friends.

Seeing it pop up brought on a bout of nausea; not only because the entire thing was fabricated, but because I know she would’ve been fuming about lying.

Comments from the public are a mix of those thinking I used Millie to get back with Sofia, and those over the moon that Sofia and I are reportedly back together.

Mack says the general consensus from the public is our relationship was nothing more than a summer fling, and while Millie’s likely to be under a bit of scrutiny for a few more weeks, it’ll fade quickly.

At least there’s that. Part of me is waiting for a call from the World Surfing Association to tell me I’m out of the Championship Tour because I cause too much drama.

I didn’t vomit, fight or drink drive though, so maybe causing a cheating scandal with your ex is acceptable.

Sofia’s fans are loyal to a fault and would only increase viewership and numbers for the tour.

I can only assume that’s why Toby and Sam from Salt Skin haven’t pulled the plug either.

Despite the shitshow, I can only hope the money will help Millie out in the ways she initially hoped. That it will offer some relief and she doesn’t do something stubborn like not spend it out of principle.

Mack slows as we near the entrance of the building, holding an arm out to stop me. “King, hold up. We don’t have to do any of these interviews if you don’t want to.”

I quirk an eyebrow in disbelief. “As if.”

“It doesn’t mean I won’t lecture you about it for weeks on end,” Mack replies. “But I hate seeing you like this. And if I can see it, other people will see it too. You look broken.”

I hang my head, staring at the cement pavement beneath my feet. “I hate what this whole thing has done to Millie. You should’ve seen her. It was like talking to a robot. She thinks I lied the whole time for a quick fuck. I’m such a screw-up.”

Mack gives me a sympathetic slap on the shoulder. “No, you’re not mate.”

“Yes, I am,” I insist. “I don’t need you guys making excuses for me. I need to own the fact I made countless mistakes recently. Maybe I’m not meant to bounce back from them. Maybe karma is saying, no, you had your chance.”

I plop down on the front steps and squint ahead, the sun beaming down on the back of my neck. It might be winter in Hawaii, but it’s still warm, the sun beating down like she does all year round. “I don’t want to be King Fuckboy anymore, Mack.”

I should never have gotten Millie involved or gone past the point of pretend if I wasn’t one hundred percent ready for the fallout. I know things never end well once you cross that line, and I did it anyway. I didn’t foresee caring about Millie as much I do.

Mack joins me on the steps, hooking his arms around his knees. “You haven’t been King Fuckboy for months, buddy.”

I chortle. “Yeah, and I let down one of the key players in making that happen.”

Mack shakes his head. “Nah, you’ve been sorting yourself out for months. You’re self-aware, and working on the surf school idea, been present with us . . . you’ve been working hard.”

I glance at him. “Couldn’t have done it without you boys, either.”

Mack’s blue eyes gleam. “Mostly me, but yes, that’s true.”

It’s the first time I’ve genuinely laughed in a week. “I miss her.” The words tumble out of my mouth unexpectedly, a lump forming in my throat.

Mack nods. “I know.”

“I should’ve fought harder to make her see.”

“Maybe you still can,” Mack suggests. “She might just need some time to cool off.”

I drop my head in my hands and pull at the roots, groaning. “Maybe.”

Maybe Mack’s right. Maybe after some time apart, she’ll come back around and talk to me again. Even if she only wants to be my friend, I’ll take what I can get.

“I think she’ll come around quicker than you think,” Mack says, nudging my arm. “But it depends on you.”

I lift my head. “What do you mean?”

“First, you’ve got to stop moping,” Mack says matter-of-factly. “That’s an immediate ick for any woman.”

I snort. “Fair.”

“Second, you’ve got to let go of worrying about what others think of you.

Easier said than done, I know. But when you were with Millie, you forgot the rest of the world existed.

She fell for the real you, the Noah King who likes to have fun and loves his mates and family and bleeds salt water. Be that guy.”

I squint my eyes at one of my best friends. We give Mack so much crap, I forget how smart and insightful he is.

“Thanks, Mack.” He pretends to dust his shoulders and I give him a playful shove. “I mean it, and I’m sorry for always giving you shit. And for thinking you’d blab about the contract. You’re a good friend.”

“I am a good friend, but I’d be lying if I said keeping that secret didn’t nearly kill me,” he says, standing to his feet. He holds out a large hand to help me up and I accept, rising from my stoop. “Never pull that again.”

“It was your idea!”

“Yeah, well, don’t let me find out about that sort of thing,” he hisses, holding up a finger in warning. “My public relations stress levels can’t handle it. Come on, we’ve got interviewers to charm.”

He starts towards the radio station entrance and calls over his shoulder, “Remember. Be yourself.”