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CHAPTER23
JAYCE
Now
Two days later, I still feel like shit.
I haven’t been drunk or hungover like that since … the funeral—the aftermath.
I skip over that memory and hope an early morning surf will cure the pounding in my head.
Something has to snap me out of the foul mood I’ve stewed in since Zennor’s collapse at the beach. Too many similar emotions fester under my skin, and I vowed to leave those behind when I left Portugal.
Cornwall is my safe haven. My new start. And Zennor’s blown that to shit with her revelation.
She’s created as many questions as she answered with the news of what happened that summer. But at least I know where the hate comes from, even if I find it misplaced.
Hell, even if she’d have told me, I wouldn’t have been able to do anything for her. If I hadn’t left, there still wouldn’t have been a thing I could do to change what happened, apart from being there for her. And I would have been if she hadn’t shut me out.
A wave of anger grips me and pushes me into a gentle jog towards the water, needing to find some fucking peace.
Family.
A family is what I had with my friends around me out in Portugal. We weren’t blood, but the bond was more than that. They were my brothers in more ways than my real brothers are. My life wasn’t set up for conventional family visits and setting down roots.
At least until recently. And that decision was forced on me because I knew if the accident hadn’t happened, I’d still be surfing Nazaré whenever I could.
That itch doesn’t go away, and as I splash over a small wave coming to shore, it comes to life under my skin.
The waves aren’t big. There’s not even a decent swell, but hopefully, there’s something I can sink my teeth into and feel the connection that brings peace like nothing else.
As the waves roll in, I attack every single one of them, fighting them as I carve back and forth. There’s no challenge, no thrill, and I’m so stuck in my head, it does me no favours.
It’s like I’m fighting all of my demons with the waves—both the ones I laid to rest and the new ones I’ve uncovered.
The chill of the ocean does zap my head back on straight, and if nothing else, I’m grateful for that. Maybe now, I can concentrate rather than get riled up as I think over everything that’s happened since I ran into Zennor at The King’s Port.
As I give up on the surf, I head in and walk back home.
And it is my home now. The builders have finished, and I can finally enjoy the space as I want.
Starting with a fucking hot shower.
The wet room is just one of the indulgences I could justify. It means I can shower off, rinse my wetsuits, and clean up without having to bring sand and water up into the apartment. It’s odd for some, but living on the edge of the beach and my occupation means this is perfect.
The water does its job and rinses the sea and salt away, brings my body temp up and is the final step in feeling more awake. I dry off and head upstairs. Rob is watching the shop, and I didn’t need to be down for a while, so I occupy my thoughts and my hands with tidying up and getting some of my stuff out of boxes.
Therapy, in a way, but it can’t keep my mind from my past or my present.
“What can I do for you?” I ask as a woman enters the shop a few hours later. But as I look up, I recognise her.
“I’m -”
“Tegan. Zennor’s sister. I remember. I recognised you the other day.” My attention was on Zennor at the time, but I did manage to take in the fact that her sister had grown up, too. And was still local.
“I’m sorry she was so rude to you.”
“Not a problem.” I look down at some delivery papers on the counter and wonder what she wants, as I’m pretty sure she isn’t after surf gear.
