Page 6 of Try Me

“There will be a few reporters around later,” McKenna said. “Make sure you’re seen leaving with her.”

“Got it,” Declan said, resting his elbows on the railing again. Maybe if he ignored McKenna, he would go away.

Declan wasn’t that lucky. McKenna took out a cigarette, lit the tip and leaned next to Declan. “You should try to enjoy her a little more,” he said, exhaling a stream of smoke into the air. “She’s paid for.”

Declan’s teeth gnashed together. “She’s not a whore.”

McKenna shrugged. “She’s willing,” he said. “And she’s got a great rack.”

Declan clutched the glass in his hand, wishing that it was something more than water. He never touched any of the women McKenna paid for. It was his hard and fast rule. He never broke it. Other than a kiss for the cameras, Declan kept his hands to himself. It was the only way he didn’t feel dirty about the whole situation.

“Don’t look so glum,” McKenna said, putting a hand on Declan’s shoulder. “You’re too serious. You need to work on that.” He gave his shoulder a little shake as if to loosen him up. “There’s only so much I can do to make you look like a fun guy,” he said, chuckling. “You think people want to buy aftershave from a square? No way.”

“I’ll work on it,” Declan promised, hoping McKenna would leave if he told him what he wanted to hear.

“Good.” McKenna took a drag on his cigarette, looking out over the sand.

They were quiet for a long moment, and Declan watched the crash of the waves, thinking of home. The waves would be giants on the North Shore of Hawaii. In the winter months, they were at their peak. This was going on his second winter missing the best waves.

“Thinking of home?” McKenna asked, startling Declan from his memories.

Unlike the bartender, McKenna sometimes could read his mind. Determined not to give McKenna any satisfaction, Declan ignored him. He sipped his water and pulled an olive into his mouth, staring straight ahead.

McKenna shifted beside him, and for a moment Declan thought he’d gotten lucky and the conversation was over. But McKenna was just standing upright to reach into his pocket. He wasn’t going anywhere.

“You know what this is?” McKenna asked, taking an envelope from the inside of his jacket.

The red color caught Declan’s eye. He squinted; unsure he could trust what he saw. Maybe it was a trick of the torchlight, casting a red shadow on an ordinary envelope? Declan took it, and as soon as his fingers closed over the paper, he knew it wasn’t a trick. He traced his fingers over the scrawling black letters that spelled out his name.

Rumor was that Duke Kahanamoku, the most famous surfer in the world, personally addressed the invitations to his contest. If so, that meant Declan was touching the ink from the pen held by the legendary Olympic gold medallist.

McKenna chuckled at Declan’s reaction. “I guess that’s a yes,” he said.

Only twenty-four of the worlds best surfers were invited to compete in the prestigious contest every year. Twenty-four from around the whole world, selected by a committee that included the most famous man in Hawaii. Unlike winning World Championships or the US Open, winning the Duke really meant something. There was a good chance Declan would actually be competing against the best the world had to offer.

If Declan won the Duke, he could rightfully claim the title of world champion. If Declan won, maybe he could look himself in the mirror without flinching.

But competing in the Duke meant going home and facing his past. It meant facing Keoni after the mess Declan had left behind. Declan’s mind whirred with the possibilities. Competing in the Duke meant competing against Keoni and finally answering the question he’d always wondered. Could he beat Keoni?

Declan slid his finger under the wax seal, prying open the envelope. He stopped short as a new and terrifying thought popped into his mind.

“Where?” he asked.

McKenna sighed. “You know you want this,” he said.

Warning bells began to toll in Declan’s mind. No, it wasn’t possible. There were plenty of beaches in Oahu. One hundred and twelve miles of them. The chances of the contest being at Sunset Beach were slim.

“Where?” Declan demanded again, clutching the red envelope.

When McKenna hesitated for the second time, Declan knew the answer.

“You can’t avoid Sunset Beach forever,” McKenna said. “I delivered by getting you a spot. Now it’s your turn to deliver for me.” McKenna squinted at Declan through the cloud of smoke between them. “You owe me,” he said.

With difficulty, Declan stifled his reaction. Instead of punching McKenna in the mouth as he longed to do, he tucked the envelope into his jacket pocket and leaned his elbows on the railing again. He refused to give McKenna, who couldn’t be trusted, any insight to his feelings.

“I’ll think about it,” Declan said, and then fell into a brooding silence as the idea of going home to face his ghosts took root in his mind.

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