I still thought about that first morning when he’d shown up out of nowhere. There he was, this lanky, sixteen-year-old kid with shaggy brown hair and wary eyes, watching from a distance as I put my Tuesday group through their paces.
After the lesson was over and everyone had left, he’d slowly made his way over. He was shy at first but once he realized I was up for answering anything he wanted to know, the flood gates opened and he had a million questions about boards and tricks that told me he’d been studying.
I didn’t realize it then, but he’d had this guarded expression that reminded me of myself after my parents had died. This vibe that screamedI don’t need anybody.
Call me crazy, but I’d offered him free lessons on the spot.
The memory made me smile. Aunt Connie always said I had a habit of collecting strays, but with Beckett, it was different.
He was a foster kid that needed someone to care.
And I did. A lot.
“There he is!” Marley sat up quickly, immediately fussing with her ponytail.
I bit back a smile at her obvious crush. The unlikely connection between these two, one from the country club and the other from the life of hard knocks, was unexpected but somehow seemed to work. Most of the time they were bickering like brother and sister, but I wasn’t blind to the way Marley’s cheeks flushed when Beck smiled at her. The girl was smitten.
Beckett had the same crush. He was just better at hiding it.
Beckett jogged across the sand toward us, his old backpack bouncing against his spine. He’d filled out some since our first meeting, his skinny frame now showing the lean muscle of a dedicated surfer. But something in his gait was off today.
“Sorry I’m late,” he mumbled, dropping his backpack beside our little camp. “Got held up.”
“It’s fine,” I assured him. “We’ve got plenty of time.”
Beckett refused to meet my eyes as he pulled his t-shirt over his head.
That’s when I saw it.
An ugly purple bruise was stretched across the right side of his ribcage. Smaller finger-shaped bruises circled both his upper arms.
My stomach twisted in knots.
“Oh my God, Beck!” Marley gasped before she slapped a hand over her mouth.
His face hardened as he quickly reached for his wetsuit, trying to cover the evidence.
It was too late to hide it, though. We’d already seen it.
I balled up my fists. This wasn’t the first time he’d shown up with marks that told stories he wouldn’t share.
He wouldn’t say it, but I knew that someone in the home he was living in was responsible.
I bit my tongue hard. It was killing me not to ask questions. But I knew better. The last time I’d pushed him on it, threatening to call someone who could help, he’d disappeared for nearly three weeks.
When he finally came back, the bruises were gone and he’d acted like nothing had ever happened.
I learned my lesson then—push and I’d lose him.
“Beckett.” I sighed, unable to completely ignore what was right in front of me. “Whatever this is,” I motioned to where he’d just covered the black and blue marks on his body, “It’s not okay.”
His shoulders tensed. “It’s not a big deal.”
He was wrong.
It was areallybig deal.
I glanced over at Marley. Her eyes were fixed on Beck and she was being unusually quiet. She was getting a glimpse into Beckett’s real life.