“I assume it’d be too much to ask you to withdraw your statements. They’ll pull the article if you said you didn’t want to talk.” Tanner knew a few people at SURFING. Not enough to get it yanked entirely, because some old-school journalists worked there. But enough that maybe if Mako said he didn’t want the publicity, either, they’d at least soften the angle.

“Not likely. Plus I thought you should know I’m considering buying Wright Break.”

“Like fucking hell.” He hadn’t even wanted the place, but that didn’t mean he wanted Mako to take it, either.

His hands fisted. Goddamn it, he’d take his toys and go home and, yes, he knew exactly how fucking absurd that sounded. He didn’t give a shit.

He snatched up his board, pivoting on one foot. The days of fistfights were long behind him.

So close to the World Championships, he couldn’t afford the bad publicity. But he’d be damned if he was going to stay around for the antagonism, either.

Mako’s voice drifted over the sand toward him. “Guess this isn’t the best time for me to be surfing this break.”

Tanner flipped the bird over his shoulder. Bullshit. He didn’t need this kind of stress right before the Pro.

The cool water came up to his chest before he realized Avalon wasn’t behind him. A look back up the beach showed her bending over her camera case. Of course she couldn’t leave that expensive equipment behind. He wouldn’t want her to, anyway.

What he didn’t dig in the least fucking bit was that Mako still stood over her.

Tanner’s ears roared and it wasn’t all the crashing waves so much as his furious blood pumping in his veins, blocking out any semblance of rational thought.

So he did what he’d always done. Paddled out, dove through the break. Let the ocean slam down over his head and drive out all other thought beyond purity. Peace.

There were three other surfers bobbing in the lineup, but they all nodded to him with the genial laid-back chill of stereotypical surfers. He sometimes envied people who could surf like that, for the perfection of each individual wave. Who didn’t have to push themselves to fucking win and take and be on top.

That all came from his father, anyway. Hank thought nothing was worth doing if it wasn’t done to win. He might’ve worn tie-dyed shirts and kept his hair long, but underneath had sliced the soul of a diving, cruel hawk. Who’d had Tanner in his sights most of his life.

The first years of his coaching had been solid and nice, until Hank realized that Tanner had world-class potential. When he’d made the world circuit, he’d been told he should have made it the year earlier. When he’d won his first championship, it should have been done with more flair. A fatter lead. The first sponsorships hadn’t been nearly big enough.

Fuck that noise.

Tanner caught wave after wave, waiting only now and then to give the other, older men on the water a chance. But if he had to be honest, once or twice he snaked waves right out from other surfers. Pretended like he didn’t see them poised for takeoff.

And when he sliced a pretty turn, then caught air and did a motherfucking Superman move, letting go of the board in the air, then grabbing on again, he knew it was the right choice. None of them would have hit anything half as hard.

Feeling plenty smug and not a little worn-out, he was able to smile when he saw Avalon swim out to his position. Her camera was wrapped securely by the strap around her wrist, housed in a plastic waterproof housing.

He grinned. “Don’t suppose you caught that one?”

“Actually, I did.” Her grin was almost as wide. “Should be a nice one.”

She gently paddled, floating next to the board he straddled. The water made her hair cling to her scalp and her ponytail was almost invisible with the way it had plastered to the back of her head. But she was still the most beautiful girl he’d seen in an unbelievably long time.

He leaned down to kiss her. A fast one, but she pulled away even more quickly. Her gaze slid to the left, where only one of the other surfers looked back at her. “Not in public.”

Every bit of annoyance came crashing back. The soles of his feet tingled and his back curved down into a calculated angle. “You didn’t mind kissing me on the pier.”

“That was different.” She slicked her tongue across her bottom lip, visibly searching for the words. “It was public, but it wasn’t. No one from our world around.”

“Fine. Never been someone’s dirty little secret before. We’ll have to see if there’s some kind of bonus that goes along with it. Maybe a little head. Haven’t gotten any of that yet.”

A cold splash of water landed right in his eyes. “Shut the fuck up, Tanner. You don’t get to be an asshole to me.”

He showed his teeth in a near approximation of a smile. “So, tell me, Avalon. What was Mako saying to you?”

Chapter 26

The lie had been almost instinctual. Tanner had asked what Mako wanted, and she’d meant to answer, but when she opened her mouth, lies had poured out.

By that afternoon, she was pretty much a wreck.

That she wasn’t a wreck immediately after she’d lied didn’t sit well with her, either. She’d kinda thought that Sage and Eileen had turned her into a better person than that. Yeah, her mom had instilled the value of a well-placed distraction, but Eileen had abhorred liars. She always said they weren’t being true to themselves.

Well, she was pretty much right, wasn’t she?

But it didn’t really matter, not in the bigger scheme of things.

She’d tell Tanner later. He hadn’t been in the place to hear anything like that at the moment. It had been obvious he’d been barely holding on to his cool.

And seeing Tanner shaken up wasn’t right. It was proof how desperately the whole family needed some help from her.

She wasn’t going to pretend she was a disinterested negotiator, not by a long shot. She loved the Wrights way too much for that. But she did have at least a little extra distance.

So she agreed to meet Mako that afternoon. When she knew Tanner would be in a meeting with WavePro.

The deception was making her sick to her stomach. Even walking along San Sebastian’s streets during the midafternoon siesta lull wasn’t enough to break through her tension.

At the back door to Wright Break, she turned in. Sage’s music blared with heavy guitar riffs. White dust flew through the air, the only snow this place would see for years and years.

But it wasn’t really snow. It was foam sanded off the polyurethane blanks used for the boards.

“Hey, Sage,” Avalon yelled, her hands cupped around her mouth to amplify the sound.

But the blonde still didn’t hear her. She had respiratory gear covering the bottom half of her face, and protective glasses, because God only knew what Eileen would do if she came back here and her only daughter wasn’t protecting her health. But the wrinkles of concentration on Sage’s forehead were pretty obvious.

Avalon yelled her name again.

This time, she must have heard. Her head came up. But getting everything set in order to have a conversation was a bit more complicated and one of the reasons why she really tried to never bother Sage at work.

Avalon knew the disasters that could come of interrupted creativity.

She thumbed off the power sander, then tugged her mask down. The sander went down on the white foam blank that would eventually become a surfboard. Then the goggles slid up over her ponytail. Worry creased the corners of her eyes. “Everything okay?”

Avalon smiled. Her hand curled around the strap of her camera bag, strung across her chest. “No one’s dying, if that’s what you mean.”

Sage rolled her eyes. “Once. I throw a diva fit exactly once and no one ever lets me live it down.”

“Why should we?” Avalon slipped her bag off and set it down next to Sage’s drafting board. On the floor, though. There was no chance of finding room among Sage’s normal clutter and disarray. Post-it notes scribbled with fin designs, cutout pictures of waves—none taken by Avalon, she was quick to note—diagrams of board cross-sections. None of it made sense to Avalon, but all of it worked for Sage.

Pretty well, in fact.

Sage had already made a name for herself as a maker of crisp boards that slid over the water with the efficiency of skim boards and the maneuverability of fish. But the extra little kick and grip was all her own. Surfers could simply move on one of Sage’s boards and they were willing to pay well for the privilege. Tanner regularly riding Sage’s boards didn’t hurt, but she’d kept her operation artisan-level small.

Reaching into the half-sized fridge she kept in the corner, Sage pulled out two waters and waggled one in Avalon’s direction. She nodded, then caught the bottle in the air when Sage tossed it.

“Out back?” There was a worn silver picnic table kept out there for breaks for both the store and Sage’s shop.

Sage nodded. “Sure.”

Avalon hopped on the top surface of the table, her feet on the bench. She leaned her arms on her knees and curled down into herself. Almost as if to underscore Avalon’s failure to find her calm center, Sage stretched out. She planted her ass on the bench, hitched her elbows backward onto the tabletop and cranked her incredibly long legs forward.

The table under Avalon had sucked up the warmth of a hundred suns, and gave back in a steady comfort. She’d always liked it back here, even though it was mostly a tiny courtyard of stucco walls. It was clean and quiet. Eileen wouldn’t have it any other way.