She’s quiet for a moment, staring at me with a conflicted expression before answering. “You didn’t ruin my life, Gabriel.”
Her tone isn’t convincing at all, so I push. “Was he talking about the abortion?”
She stops breathing for a moment, wide eyes finding mine again. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Well tough shit, Red. It’s time we talk about it.”
“No,” she says, and it’s only then that I realize she’s beginning to hyperventilate.
Zalea takes off her seat belt and opens the door, turning to look at me one last time. “You don’t get to decide when we talk about that. Not after you left me to deal with it all on my own.”
That shuts me right the hell up as she climbs out, slamming the door behind her before waving down a taxi and taking off in a rush.
So sheisupset about that. After all these years she’s still holding onto that hurt and anger? Is that why she built all these walls to push me out? It’s not like I haven’t tried to talk to her about it, but she just won’t let me in.
I punch my steering wheel several times before I start up the car and drive to the hotel, gripping the wheel so tightly that my knuckles turn white. When I arrive, she doesn’t answer her door, so I head back to my room and wait. She’ll have to come out at some point.
* “È una notizia fantastica. Congratulazioni!" = That’s fantastic news. Congratulations!
SEVENTEEN
GABRIEL
FOUR YEARS EARLIER
Today ismy first official day as the full-time Coach of the Saltwater Shredders, and I plan to make some big changes. For starters, everyone on this roster is over eighteen. There’s no reason we should still be branded as a youth team. And with the new team residence I had built over the last year—funded entirely by my tour winnings—It feels like the right moment to evolve.
One by one, the team pulls into the freshly paved driveway.
“Welcome back, Gabriel,” Griffin calls as he hops out of his Jeep with Koa and Colton climbing out behind him. “Or should we start calling you Coach now?”
I greet each of them with a side hug and a firm pat in the back. I’ve privately sponsored all three of them for years under the guise of my fathers company—now mine. They’re phenomenal surfers with raw talent and rough starts in life.
They remind me of myself at their age, except I had fewer opportunities. I made sure they wouldn’t face any barriers like board fees, travel costs, or training—whatever they needed, I covered it.
What none of them know is that this has always been my team. I created it, funded it, and hired their original coach whileI competed on tour. Coming back to lead them myself was never a question—just a matter of timing—but they don’t need to know that yet.
“I was shocked when I saw your old house getting torn down last spring,” Griffin says, staring at the new build. “But I didn’t think it was because you were replacing it with a mansion.”
After my father passed away from a boating accident while I was on tour, and I inherited his company, the last thing I wanted to do was return to this town to live in a house that never quite felt like home.
I laugh, glancing at the structure with pride. “Let’s head inside and wait for the others. I’ll give you three a tour.”
“Make that five!”
I turn to see Kairi jogging up the driveway with her board tucked under her arm, Maliah trailing close behind.
“Sorry we’re late, Coach,” she says. “The waves were too good this morning.”
“No complaints there,” I reply. “Glad you got out early. Are we just waiting on Zale and Zalea now?”
“Just me.”
Zale approaches, hands shoved into his hoodie pocket, and if looks could kill, I’d be fucking buried.
“Zalea isn’t coming?” Maliah asks, concern creasing her brow.
“She’s not feeling well,” he answers, brushing past me with deliberate force and no greeting.
