Page 110 of Bring You Back

He turns his beaming face to me, but I’m too focused onBlondie. “Reyna. . .”

“Hey, I’ll meet you back at the shop,” she says to Banks, a verbal shove. “We’ll come up with something.”

Banks, with his still beaming face back on her, lets out another whoop, then does as she instructed, making his way toward the front of the shop with a spring in his step. He’ll probably get distracted on his way to the ice cream shop by something shiny or boob-y, but hey, she tried.

Reyna leans over the counter. “Look,” she says with the same tone I used when I said the word. “He’s gonna do it, anyway. So someone needs to look after him.”

I sigh, now feeling like a jackass. There’s a high chance Banks will fuck this up if he’s on his own, get himself into even more shit, but that doesn’t change the fact that, “I just don’t wanna be dragged into more of their bullshit.”

“I know,” Reyna says, an understanding that turns to assurance. “But don’t stress. If anyone can convince him to keep it tame, it’s me.” She flashes a knowing grin, and I chuckle despite myself.

“Thanks,” I hear myself say before closing more of the distance between us with a steady stare. “But be careful.”

“I will,” she says, nudging her nose against mine. I laugh, retrieving the clipboard as she pushes off the counter and scurries toward the front. “Hey, Mr. Fowler.”

My laughter dies and my stare snaps up to my father. He gives Reyna a wave as she hurries past him, then makes his way to me. I push myself upright, stand tall as I tell myself not to be a coward. My body’s not as tense as I thought it’d be the next time I’d see him.

Try again.

He can’t be wanting to do thisnow, at the shop.

Then again, maybe he can. Like with my friends, there’s plenty of time to chat right now. He knows we’re past the busiest part of the day.

Just shut the fuck up, Julian. He’s here.

He stops in front of me and knocks twice on the counter, leaving no time for swimming thoughts through unpleasant silence. “So, I was thinking,” he jumps right in, relaxing his arm next to the clipboard. “How’d you like to be a new surf instructor?”

Of all the things my dad could open with, this throws me. “What?”

“I think you’re ready to take next steps, and I want you on.”

I don’t know what to say. “I don’t know what to say.” He’s trying again, but he’s easing into it. Keeping it work related at work. An impromptu drop in to discuss heavy shit isn’t the greatest way to approach me.

“Do you still want to?”

Do Istillwant to?I’ve had training, but then stopped there when I found out I’d have to take the courses. School’s out forever for this ex-student.

The thought of Tiffany also makes me hesitate. The thought of the conversation that led to me hand delivering her to my father. The thought of the possibility that we’d be working alongside each other. That I’ll have toseeher.

I remind myself that surf lessons can be instructor and student. I don’t have to see her.

A spark of fury burns in my chest that she’s even still teaching here. I want Dad to fire her. Of course, I have to snuff out the flame, because I know why he hasn’t. One reason is she’s too good for business. Another reason involves their link to each other. Firing Tiffany would be like throwing himself to the sharks. Their relation-shit would be in rocky waters he can’t afford to swim through with a kid on the way.

She’s a fixture. And I can’t deny that teaching surfing for the shop is a goal I’ve been working toward since I caught my first wave. Maybe it’s time to get off my ass and take those next steps.

“I can set up a sort of practice run for you to be sure,” he continues. “If that’ll help with your decision.”

I don’t need a practice run to know I still want to do this, but he’s giving me an opportunity to try it on my own now. “Is that even allowed?”

“I can do whatever the hell I want with my own shop,” he says, and I almost smile. “Of course, there’s legalities involved, but I’ll get that sorted out. You just make sure no one gets hurt,” he adds with a half-smile.

Theyesnow on the tip of my tongue pumps me up. “Yeah, I—” I tone down the excitement once I hear it, dialing back with a simple, “Yeah.”

“Good,” he says, almost relieved. “Because you already have a volunteer.” He motions to the front, and I look past him to see Camille standing just beyond the open doors. My jaw tightens, feelings resurfacing from the night my dad just waltzed into the house after Reyna asked him to.

“Did she put you—”

“No,” he cuts in, swiftly denying Camille has any involvement in his wanting me to teach. “She met me outside, then proceeded to corner me and wouldn’t let me in if I was just here to cause more trouble,” he tells me with building amusement that loosens my tension. “So I told her what I’ve been thinking, and she volunteered.”

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