“Oh, no.” I shake my head between her and Leo, holding my hands up in surrender. “I didn’t mean... I trust your skills, Willow. You don’t need to prove anything to me.”
“I know,” she huffs, scrunching her nose at me. “But you said you wanted to watch me, so...”
“Sounds like a recipe for distraction,” Leo mutters.
“Of course not.” Willow bumps into my shoulder with hers as she steps up beside me. It’s the first time we’ve touched, and it feels like I’ve been branded somehow. I don’t like touch. I don’t touch anyone outside of professional handshakes and brief hugs from Penelope. “Weston is completely focused, right?”
I frown at her. She smiles back.
Why are you fucking with me?I want to scream.
Is it because I insinuated she must not be good at surfing if she doesn’t do it competitively? Maybe that was a dick move. But fuck—having her here absolutely steals my focus. She is the utter definition of distracting. I’ve never been so frustratingly intrigued by another person before in my life, and I don’t know how to make sense of it. She takes up every ounce of free space in my head, and then some.
Especially since whatever weirdness went down in her mom’s flower shop. I don’t know who Parker is or what he was to Willow, but he must’ve done a number on her based on the way color drained from her face when Darby said his name on the phone, and how Willow’s eyes glazed over with unshed tears when Darby advised him not to call again.
She’s clearly been through something with the way everyone in her life treats her like she’s shattered glass. Even without Leo’s hard-pressed rules in place, a guy with a past like minewould be a sure deterrent for a girl like Willow. I have no business thinking about her so often, studying her so intensely, allowing her to take up every inch of space inside my mind.
The only time I seem to be able to push her from my mind is when I’m on the water—and I can’t have her taking that from me now. Not when so much is on the line.
Telling her to leave would probably make things worse, though.
I decide I’ll push through today, and afterward I’ll pull her aside and ask her not to do this again. I know Willow is being playful, and at moments, I can’t help but toss it back. Maybe it’s a welcome distraction from whatever she’s going through, but I don’t think I can play that role for her. I think she thinks we might be flirting at times, and sometimes I wonder the same—but I’ve never flirted before. I’ve never been interested in it. In anyone.
I don’t know how to tell if that’s what is happening with Willow. If the allure is only because she’s my mentor’s daughter, because I’m always caught in her proximity, or if it is something more. What I do know is that it doesn’t matter. I can’t be around her—both to stay on track and because it’s one of her father’s rules.
She’s trying to have fun for the summer, rebel with what she thinks is some kind of bad-boy underdog before she goes back to college and continues constructing her perfect future with the blocks she’s been gently handed. I’m trying to save my own life. I’m holding piles of ash from my world that burned, and attempting to rebuild a house of stone.
Ihaveto stay away from her, and I’ll tell her that as soon as today’s session is over.
For now, though, I clear my throat and turn to Leo. “I’m good. Let’s get started.”
I stare dumbfounded,slack-jawed, in disbelief as Willow pops up gracefully, falling into an effortless rhythm—legs pumping the board in one fluid movement as her body rises. She presses her weight down and forward, then flexes upward, carving along the face of the wave with perfect fucking precision.
There is no flaw to her form, no misstep in her balance as she completes a cutback before snapping into a floater until the wave is nothing but foam. She hops off the board, skipping through the ankle-deep water until she regains enough control to balance herself on the sand. Her board skims over the shallow water beside her, attached to her ankle.
“Your turn!” she calls, shading her eyes with a hand.
“Why the fuck doesn’t she compete?” I ask Leo, breathless with astonishment.
“It’s not her calling, and that’s okay.” I turn to face him, expecting the same hard expression he’s often offering me.
Instead, Leo’s beaming at her, pride shining brightly on his face. I can’t imagine how challenging it must be to give your genes to someone, crafting a human built for something incredible, and having them not take advantage.
My mom used to look at me like that on the rare occasion she could get me into a competition without my dad finding out about it.
My dad thought surfing was a waste of time—and believed his fist was the best tool for driving the point home to both of us.
Carter and Penelope look at me like that too, I suppose, though it’s not the same. It can’t be. I’m not truly theirs to be proud of, and I’ll never see that look of pride on my mother’s face again.
“If she were competing, and you were judging, what score would you award her?”
“Eight-point-five,” I say immediately. “Perfect form, basic technique was flawless, but... I still think a more advanced maneuver was possible, even with a swell like this.” Like Livia said last week, the cove is great for developing foundational skill, but waves this small aren’t ideal for competitive tricks. Regardless... “An off-the-lip would've been doable there if she’d taken the risk. I’d reward a risk-taker.”
“Good.” Leo nods. “I agree.” He juts his chin toward the waves. “So, go repeat it, and convince Willow to give you a ten.”
Fuck.
My gaze finds Willow as she unstraps her board from her ankle before making her way back to us, breathing heavily. She catches her long blond hair in her hands, wringing out the saltwater.
