Always Summer

Always Summer

Nikki Chartier

Copyright © 2015 by Nikki Chartier

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Author’s note:

This book was previously published under the author’s maiden name, Nikki Godwin. This series was previously published as the Drenaline Surf series.

For Gabriel Medina,

the surfer who gives me eternal inspiration, eternal hope, and eternal summer.

Chasing Forever Down, book #1

Rough Waters, book #2

Always Summer, book #3

With You Around, book #4

Deep Blue Forever, book #5

Chasing Swells, book #6

Chasing Aloha, book #7

Chasing Islands, book #8

More coming soon!

Contents

1.Chapter 1

2.Chapter 2

3.Chapter 3

4.Chapter 4

5.Chapter 5

6.Chapter 6

7.Chapter 7

8.Chapter 8

9.Chapter 9

10.Chapter 10

11.Chapter 11

12.Chapter 12

13.Chapter 13

14.Chapter 14

15.Chapter 15

16.Chapter 16

17.Chapter 17

18.Chapter 18

19.Chapter 19

20.Chapter 20

21.Chapter 21

Thank You!

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

About the Author

It’s been sixty-three hours, but it’s not like I’m counting. Alright – I’m totally counting, but it’s hard not to count when Topher has ignored thirty-eight text messages and sent me directly to his voicemail seventeen times.

Call him again, A.J. says, stretching out on my bed. And when he sends you to voicemail, leave one telling him to answer his damn phone.

I thought maybe I’d catch a break when Alston finally went back to his own room and stopped sleeping in the spare bedroom of the guest house. Two nights of him bugging me about Topher was hard enough. Now A.J. is taking over. As much as I love them both, I just need to breathe.

I’m going for a walk, I say, slipping on a pair of flip-flops. I grab my phone and tuck it into my back pocket. There’s no way I’m leaving it here or else A.J. will call and leave Topher that voicemail all on his own.

Does that mean I’m not invited? A.J. asks. He props up on an elbow and gives me sad puppy eyes.

But it doesn’t work. Not today. Not now. Not when I’m in absolute panic mode because my ex-boyfriend’s little brother kissed me, ran, and has been avoiding me for nearly three days.

Sorry, but this is a solo trip, I confirm. I think I just need some air. I’ll be back soon.

As soon as my flip-flops hit the sidewalk, I bolt around the house to the beach. It feels like such a cliché now that I’ve been living here for a few weeks, but there’s a sense of freedom being near the ocean.

Right now, I want nothing more than to let the waves roll in and take all of these emotions back out to sea with them, to be forever lost among the pirate treasures and ship wreckages.

But upon reaching the shoreline, I just can’t let myself be one with the ocean. Maybe it’s because I’m still haunted by Topher’s near-drowning. Or maybe it’s the knowledge of how Shark really died and how Theo couldn’t save him. Whatever it is, I just can’t allow the ocean to have a piece of me.

For a moment, I understand Vin’s hatred for the sea. I understand the crushing fear that it’ll rip someone you love away from you. In a twisted way, I don’t blame him for leaving. The responsibilities of Great White Surf were insane, and I know he’d rather be under the hood of a car any day. But abandoning his family like that? I refuse to feel anything for him. I just can’t do it.

I back away from the shoreline and trek through the sand, my eyes focused on Colby’s house in the distance. He probably doesn’t know about the awkward kiss with Topher, and he won’t hound me to make phone calls or send texts like my roommates have been. I could ask about his parents and what his lawyer said. I could get updates on how he’s planning to fight this and strategize how we’re going to save his reputation with the surf industry. Any drama is better than my own drama right now.

As I near his oversized beach mansion, Jace’s black truck comes into view. Then Miles’s dreadlocks. And furniture. My chest tightens and I dart back through the sand in the opposite direction. Topher and Miles were supposed to move in with Colby this weekend. Miles shouts out an order to Jace in the distance, and I panic. I’m sure the Hooligans know, and I just can’t face them, even if they could force Topher into talking to me.

I rush around the closest house to hide from anyone who may be in Colby’s driveway. I inhale the salty air and rest my head back against a weathered shutter. My fingers trace the peeling paint, and without a second glance around, I know exactly where I am.

This is the beach house where it all began. Linzi and I joined Alston and Reed at a beach party where I roamed the sand looking for Shark McAllister, believing he was the party boy of the group named A.J. Miles won twenty dollars from Dominic in a game of pool, and Topher popped up on the pool table moments later and introduced himself as the best surfer since Shark McAllister.

I attempt to peer through the window into a back room of the house, but the windows are hazy with remnants of sandstorms and daily beach weather lingering on the glass.

I walk around to the front porch. Tire marks streak through the sand, and summertime furniture sits by the front door. Maybe the owners go up north during the summer. I can’t imagine anyone leaving Crescent Cove during this time of the year, though. Maybe it’s a rental house that no one wants to rent. Or maybe it has termites. I can’t fathom any other reason for this place to be abandoned.

I reposition one of the porch chairs away from the view of the street and curl up against the lime green and orange cushion. I wonder if Officer Pittman would haul me in for trespassing if I decided to stay on this porch forever. Maybe I can just sit here until the owners of the house come back and force me away. At least then I can ask them why they’d leave the most rustic beach house on the planet during the most beachy time of the year. Even more so, I’d ask them why they let the West Coast Hooligans, of all people, throw parties here.

A car door slams, and I jump up from the chair immediately. I wasn’t actually serious about staying here until the owners came home, but I clearly have magical timing. I ease over to the edge of the porch and watch a shadow move around the side of the house.

The messy-haired, blue-eyed boy who emerges isn’t exactly who I expected to see, but he can’t avoid me now. Topher freezes in the sand and stares at me, equally as confused as I am.

What are you doing here? he asks.

I could ask you the same thing, Mr. I Refuse to Answer Calls and Texts, I say, folding my arms over my chest. I planned on staying here until the owners came home and kicked me off the porch. Apparently, they sent you to do that job, though.

He shakes his head and forces a half-smile but avoids eye contact. Then he walks toward me, up the front steps, and to the front door. He fiddles with his keys for a moment before turning to me.

The person who owns this house isn’t coming home, he says. C’mon in.

He flips the living room light on and makes his way into the kitchen. He drops the mail on the counter and retrieves a glass from the cabinet. As he fills it with water from the filtered system on the refrigerator door, I grab the junk mail to see who lives here.

Jacob McAllister

2307 Dolphin Point

Crescent Cove, CA 56830

It amazes me how often I feel stupid for not putting the pieces together. Of course, Shark would live basically next door to Colby Taylor. Of course, the Hooligans would have access to Shark’s house. How did I seriously miss the dots that connected all of this?

Topher guzzles the glass of water. I’m not sure if he’s nervous, dehydrated, or just needs a distraction, but he doesn’t face me. I don’t want him to catch me watching him, but I don’t want to pretend to be interested in this Discover card application mailed to a dead guy either. Instead, I glance around the living room behind me. It’s bare of any real décor. Definitely a bachelor pad. Shark’s photography hangs on every wall.

The clink of a glass behind me turns my attention back to Topher. The glass sits on the counter, and he rocks back and forth on the heels of his shoes.

So, um, you want a tour of the place? he asks.

I don’t know what to make of him right now. He’s obviously avoiding the real topic at hand, but I’m afraid bringing it up may send him bolting out the door.

Sure, I say, breaking eye contact because it is definitely too awkward right now.

I keep my head down as Topher brushes past me. The scent of sunscreen and salt water is sensory overload, and I want so badly to throw my arms around him and tell him that everything is okay.

He motions his arms around the room. Living room, Shark’s photography, basic furniture, he says. Over here, there’s a ping in the wall where Theo threw a keychain that Shark gave him. I think it fell under the house or something because we never could find it later. Theo still looks for it every now and then, but he doesn’t come around here much. It’s too hard for him.

Not far from the living room, Topher motions around the game room, where Shark’s pool table still sits center stage. As we venture into Shark’s office space, which is cramped with surfboards and photography equipment, Topher doesn’t make eye contact. He’s completely silent once he steps into Shark’s room.

So, is this how it’s going to be now? I ask, blocking the doorway of Shark’s bedroom. You’re just going to avoid me forever?

Topher heaves a heavy sigh. He knew this was coming, but he evidently doesn’t want to face it. He buries his face into his hands and groans. Then he runs his hands through his hair and falls back onto Shark’s bed, once again avoiding eye contact with me and engaging more so with the ceiling.

You know I love my brother, right? he asks. Then he pushes up on his elbows and looks directly at me while I continue lingering in the doorway.

I nod because I can’t speak. I can’t believe this is how he’s going to talk his way out of this. He’s going to use the brother card – the same card that Miles told Vin not to use when Topher was in the hospital.

My brother is an ass, Topher says. "Like, jerk of the year kind of ass. He pisses me off, and if I could see him right now, I’d probably hit him. But he’s still my brother. He took me in when my parents kicked me out. He’s the reason I graduated high school. He’s the reason I have a sponsorship with Great White Surf. Like I said, jerk of the year, no doubt, but the jerk is my brother."

I wish he’d just say it. Really, I wish he’d just texted me all this instead. I think it would’ve been a lot easier to swallow via text. At least then I wouldn’t have had to stand here and actually hear him say the words.

He’s not all bad, Topher quickly interjects into his brother-love monologue. He pushes himself up into a sitting position now. He has a lot of really good qualities, but my point is, you were dating the wrong guy. All the things you liked about Vin weren’t really Vin. They were Shark, and Vin is nothing like Shark – but I am.

What was it Vin said that day in his office at Great White Surf? If Shark was here, he’d be the one dating me. It makes sense now. I will my legs to move, but they feel like sandbags holding me to this spot, unable to budge. In a way, I’m glad because I don’t want to leave an open exit for Topher to escape if this gets too weird, but at the same time, I need to be closer to him, to see the hues of blue in his eyes.

I’m sorry for avoiding you, he says. I’m sorry for all the awkwardness and for being impulsive and for being a stupid guy. But I’m not sorry for kissing you, he says.

I find my footing and dare to leave the doorway. I sink onto the bed next to Topher but don’t look him in the eye just yet.

Topher inhales and exhales, a bit more loudly than necessary.