The Summer We Fell (The Summer, #1)(38)
I SKIP MY GRADUATION. It wouldn’t feel like much of a celebration to me anyway, but mostly I’m worried my stepbrothers will show up and cause trouble.
On the night the guys are due back, I bike home from the diner. They surfed somewhere to the south on the way up, and they’re still in the garage pulling their stuff from Luke’s Jeep when I pedal inside, soaked to the bone from the rain that started halfway home. I prop my bike against the garage wall, looking like a drowned rat, and my gaze goes past Danny and straight to Luke. It’s an effort not to take in huge sips of him—his dark hair wet, pushed off his face but for a single errant strand, his eyes gleaming in the evening light.
Danny hugs me gingerly since I’m wet. “I’d have picked you up if you’d texted me.”
“That’s okay,” I tell him, wiping off my arms with a paper towel. “I had to bring the bike home anyway.”
Luke frowns. A year ago, I’d have assumed he resented Danny’s care or the mere idea of being forced to come get me. Now, I’m not sure what I think.
Over dinner, the boys talk about school, though Danny has more to say than Luke. The only time Luke really comes alive is when they discuss surfing. He went somewhere near Cabo for spring break, chasing another big wave. He also entered several competitions this spring and won each of them. It’s clear school is an afterthought for him at this point.
“You need to enter Santa Cruz this summer,” says Danny.
“There’s no way,” Luke replies, his shoulders sagging as he stabs his fork into his pork chop. “My board is garbage, and it’s a much more competitive field.”
“Luke, I hope you’re paying a fraction of attention to the actual reason you’re in San Diego,” the pastor intones. “You can’t make a living off playing in the water.”
“Kelly Slater makes three million a year,” I say before I can stop myself.
Everyone looks at me in surprise. Even I’m surprised. I never, ever, argue in this house.
The pastor’s mouth tightens. “I assume he’s a surfer, Juliet, but you’ve only proven my point: he’s the exception, not the rule, and I’ve never even heard of him.”
For a fraction of a second, Luke’s gaze meets mine. An entire unspoken conversation occurs between us, one in which Luke tells me not to bother arguing on his behalf, and I tell him I refuse to let the pastor crap all over his dreams. We’re silently bickering again, just like last summer, except this time we’re looking out for each other. We’re defending each other against them.
We’d be far better off if things would just go back to the way they were.
That night we go to the beach and meet the same crew we hung out with last year—Harrison, Caleb, Beck, their assorted girlfriends and two other guys, Liam and Ryan.
Libby and Grady come too. It’s good to have Libby back from school but I can’t say the same of Grady—now that he’s graduated and is about to begin his internship with the pastor, he’s even more
uptight and judgmental than he was. I still don’t understand why he even wants to be out here, listening to them talk about surfing.
Danny tells everyone he’s certain he’ll start this year because the first-string quarterback just graduated. They are kind in response, politely enthusiastic, but Luke is the one they want to discuss.
“Forget about football,” says Harrison. “Forget about college too. You need to start entering the bigger competitions. Like the WSL stuff. That’ll get you sponsors.”
Luke shrugs. “It’s too expensive. The guys who enter the best WSL meets each have four good boards and are spending about fifty grand a year on travel. I don’t have fifty grand to spend on something I hope might work out. I don’t even have fifty grand for something I know will work out.”
Except…there is nothing he would love more than to surf professionally. And what could be better than having a career you love so much you’d do it for free?
“Start a GoFundMe campaign,” I suggest quietly.
“I’m not sure Luke’s desire to surf counts as a charitable donation, Juliet,” Grady says with a derisive laugh, but no one laughs with him.
“There are lots of Go Fund Me’s that aren’t for charity,” argues Caleb.
Grady rolls his eyes. “He’s not making fifty grand that way.”
I glare at him. “He might at least get enough to buy the surfboards and pay some entry fees. It would be a start. I suppose your suggestion would be that he just prays for the money?”
“Juliet!” Danny scolds softly.
Luke’s gaze holds mine, the fire reflecting in his eyes. He raises a brow. “You won’t stand up for yourself but you’ll stand up for me,” that look says.
“Yes,” I reply silently. “Get used to it.”
I SING ON SUNDAY MORNING, but the second the service is over, Donna and I hightail it back to the house to get ready for a visit from Aaron Tomlinson, the head of the state church council. She tells the boys to go surfing so they stay out of our hair, and I struggle not to be irritated that I’m the only one who has to help.
Mr. Tomlinson arrives early in the evening, right after the boys get home—a pale man with chubby hands and a fake smile, driving a Ford Taurus that’s seen better days. He seems just as impressed with himself, however, as Donna and the pastor are with him.