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Hearing Coach call me son sends a surprising warmth through me I don’t get when I hear the words come from the mouth of my own father. There’s no derision, no passive aggression to them at all. I shake my head.
“I’m glad to hear it. You want to prove yourself? You want to hold on to the captaincy? Then here’s your chance. Be a good role model for these kids.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
“No need to thank me,” Coach says. “I don’t have to tell you, you’re one of my best players. I know what happened with Jasper was a wake up call for you. Now, it’s all about your choices moving from now on.” He gets to his feet, and I follow him to the door, shaking his hand when he holds it out to me. “I’ll see you in a couple of weeks for preseason training. Be ready to work hard.”
“Will do, Coach.”
As I make my way back to my car, I feel like a weight’s been lifted off my shoulders. It’s nice to know I’ve got at least one person in my corner.
* * *
TWO DAYS LATER, I slip into a pair of boardshorts and my Raiders t-shirt, throw on a ball cap and slather myself in sunscreen. I spent the weekend essentially avoiding my parents. Mum and I have a pretty good relationship, but I’m pissed that she’s kept something that seems so big from me.
I let out a sigh of relief when I get downstairs and Dad’s nowhere to be found. All he’s done is lecture me on what my community service will do for our image. It doesn’t make a difference to him that I actuallyvolunteeredto do this.
Fuck him.
I spot Ivy’s car in the surf club car park when I pull in, and my heart starts to race. I scan the waves, wondering if she’s out there. I’ve never seen her surf, but I have seen Brady, and the dude is impressive. Their dad was also a pro, so I’m sure Ivy has to havesomeskill out there.
I don’t see Brady’s car anywhere, so I can only hope to catch Ivy alone so we can talk. I felt like a real asshole after she left me in the changeroom, and the only thing I wanted to do was call her. The problem was, I’d promised her I’d delete her number–which I did. What I hadn’t done was delete our message thread. Semantics.
I secure my phone in my glovebox and step out into the sweltering heat. I fling my towel over my shoulder and make my way into the air-conditioned surf club.
A man in his forties approaches me with a wide grin. “Conrad?”
“That’s me.”
“George. Thanks for offering up your time this week. We had more junior sign ups than we’ve ever had before so any extra helpers are welcome.”
“No worries. What do you need me to do?”
“Keen to get into it,” he says with a chuckle, clapping me on the back. “I like that. Ray tells me you grew up in Blue Haven. How much surfing experience have you got?”
“Not much, I’m afraid.”
“That’s not a problem. You will be helping out with our junior beginner surf program, but you’ll be working alongside one of our club’s seasoned surfers. It’s good for the grommets to be taught by those that have come up through the program.”
“Grommets?” I laugh, picturing one of the Muppets from Sesame Street.
“It’s what we call surfers who are under eighteen,” George explains with a wry smile. “Anyway, you’ll have plenty of direction from our seasoned surfers.”
My muscles tense as I realise there’s a good chance he’s talking about Brady. I know he and Jordan are both lifesavers for the surf club. Does that include offering surf lessons to the young surfers? I guess I didn’t entirely think this through.
I’m trying to figure out my next move if the unthinkable happens, when George’s face lights up, his eyes alighting on someone over my shoulder. “Ah, here she is now. Right on time.”
I let out a sigh of relief. “She” means that it’s definitelynotBrady or Jordan. I turn around, but my relief is short-lived when I come face to face with a scowling Ivy. She’s got her wetsuit folded down over her hips and is wearing a pink and purple bikini top. I run my tongue over my suddenly dry bottom lip as I force my eyes to remain on her face. It’s a real effort because she has her arms crossed over her chest, which only results in pushing her boobs up, front and center.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, trying and failing to keep the snark out of her tone.
I glance back over at a now unsmiling George, whose eyes are darting between the two of us. “Is there a problem?”
“No,” I say quickly. “Right, Ivy?”
My gaze returns to her and I quirk a brow in challenge. I’m playing with fire goading her like this, but I need this to work out so I can prove to Coach that I’m willingly trying to turn my life around. Getting to spend a week working close to Ivy is just a bonus.
TWELVE
