“Remy.” He smiled and wrapped his arm around my shoulder as we walked along the dock, the evening sun on our faces. My skin tingled from the sun and saltwater and I felt like I was glowing from the inside.
We were Shane and Remy again. But this time, we didn’t have to sneak around because of my age, and we had nothing to hide anymore.
The four of us went to a seafood restaurant at the marina and sat at a tall table on the outside deck, overlooking the harbor and the ocean beyond it.
I was drunk on mojitos and high on life. We ate a mountain of king crab legs, watched the sun set over the water, and kept the drinks coming long after we’d finished our dinner. Jimmy and Sam, who reminded me of Jeff Bridges inThe Big Lebowski, regaled us with tales of their wild youth. I was laughing so hard my stomach hurt.
Alcohol blurred all the edges, and I was viewing the world through a hazy, rose-tinted filter.
39
Shane
Iwatched Remy laughing with Sam and my dad and filed it away in my good memories collection. My dad looking healthy and relaxed after a good day of diving, his eyes sparkling with humor. Remy in her pretty white dress, with her caramel sun-kissed skin and ocean eyes. Tendrils of hair escaped the messy topknot, the long, graceful column of her neck exposed. Who knew that necks could be so sexy?
Heads swiveled when she walked by, and I couldn’t blame people for wanting to take another look. The face that had graced so many glossy magazine covers was even more beautiful in the wild. Makeup-free. Messy hair. No airs or graces, she was stunning.
She caught me watching her and slid off her tall stool, leaning into my side. I wrapped my arm around her and buried my face in the crook of her neck, breathing her in.
“I love you,” she whispered in my ear. Instead of waiting for a response, she sipped her mojito and directed her smile across the table at my dad and Sam. They were re-telling a story I’d heard a million times, but I still loved it.
“… so we’re out there floating on our boards, talking smack, and we see this little blonde thing carrying a Malibu on her head. She was tiny with white-blonde hair all the way down her back and so damn pretty…”
“Beautiful,” my dad corrected him. “She was beautiful.”
“Yeah, she was,” Sam said. “So, of course we both got to watching, wondering if she’d be able to paddle out let alone ride the thing.”
My dad chuckled and shook his head. “Put us to shame.”
“She rode her first wave in and me and Jimmy are ogling her, drool dripping down our chins, like the fourteen-year-old idiots we were. By the time she paddled back out and joined us in the lineup we were both in love.” Sam took a pull of his beer, his eyes glazed over with memories. “We were caught in a bit of a triangle.”
My dad snorted. “She never loved you. There was no triangle.”
“Only because you followed her around like a lovesick puppy.” Sam puffed out his chest. “I was too cool for that.”
We all laughed at that one.
“I swept her off her feet with my charm and witty banter,” my dad bragged.
“They were glued to the hip from then on out,” Sam said.
“Yeah, we were. Me and my sweet, sweet hippie chick. Then Shane came along, and life was good. So fucking good.”
“Good times, good times.” Sam sighed. He and my dad still looked like surf bums—Sam with his long brown hair pulled back in an elastic, sporting one of his usual butt-ugly Hawaiian shirts and a muddy tan, and my dad in one of his faded-out T-shirts with that chilled-out expression on his face like he’d just had a good day of shredding. Old buddies who went way back and shared a long history.
* * *
Today had been so perfect,so good, that neither of us wanted it to end. Except for the scare when Remy had panicked underwater, it had been one of the best days I could remember in a long, long time. Remy was brave and strong, and that scare hadn’t deterred her in the least. That was one of the things I loved most about her. Her resilience. The way she bounced back from things so quickly, with a new resolve to try it again and do better next time.
The long day had taken its toll on my dad and he and Sam left twenty minutes ago, insisting that we stay and enjoy ourselves, so Remy and I had ordered more drinks. Now I wished we had gone home with my dad and Sam.
I used to see Tristan’s face all the time. And now I saw it again, from our table at the marina. John Hart’s dark eyes bored into me and his jaw was locked. If looks could kill, I’d be six feet under. I used to be his poster boy, the face of his brand. I used to wear his logo on my jersey, the HartCore sticker on my surfboards. When I used to see him in town, he’d stop and shake my hand, clap me on the shoulder and tell me that I needed to keep on winning.
“Everyone loves a winner, Shane. Winners sell wetsuits and T-shirts and ballcaps. Losers rack up credit card debt. Nobody is going to sponsor a loser. No more repeats of Peniche.” He shot me a finger gun.A finger gun. What a douche move. It took all my restraint not to roll my eyes or laugh. “What can I expect from you in Australia?”
I humored him. I didn’t win for him. I did it for myself. Becoming the world champion had been my dream since I’d won my first surfing competition when I was ten. “A win.”
And I had won in Australia. I had done what I’d set out to do. He’d called to congratulate me after my win at Bells Beach. Neither of us had been aware of what was going on between Remy and his son. Now, seven years later, John Hart and I locked eyes across a restaurant and all I could see was Tristan’s face.