40. Matthias

40

MATTHIAS

B y midmorning, after cleaning the yard, Ciaran and I donned full wetsuits and drove to Surfrider Beach near the Malibu Pier. I expected him to ridicule the fact that we used my old SUV, but when we loaded up the surfboards it became pretty clear why.

At the beach, the water was crisply cool and refreshing while the unobstructed sun washed the day in warm, sunny tones.

We'd smothered sunscreen on our faces and exposed skin, so the combined scents of zinc oxide, sand, sea foam, and the ever-present fragrance of fish from the nearby lagoon permeated the air.

Families set up tents on the beach while kids and adults alike ran in and out of the surf. People were setting up their fishing poles on the pier while couples grabbed breakfast or a cup of coffee from the Cafe at the end of the pier.

"Why can't you teach me to surf at Point Dume?" Ciaran asked as we paddled farther out. "It's closer to home."

It pleased me to no end that Ciaran was referring to Vaulteneau estate as "home," but I didn't say it aloud. His blond hair was slicked back, and Ciaran's black and red wetsuit accentuated his long, muscular body as he sat astride his longboard.

It was difficult to concentrate on anything but him. However, with so many surfers already out on the water, I had to pay attention to our surroundings so that we didn't collide with others. Malibu's beaches could get quite crowded and Surfrider was no different.

Ciaran's question, however, was more about why were we at a beginner's beach. I suppose watching toddlers jump up on their surfboards and coast to the pier could discourage even the most determined learner.

"Point Dume is better suited for advanced surfers," I explained. "The waves can get powerful, which requires a better takeoff than what you've demonstrated thus far." Ciaran's first few attempts had been a fumbling mess each time he tried to stand on the board and catch a wave. Thankfully, the surf leash secured at his ankle kept his board from drifting away. "The riders there won't be as tolerant as they are here."

"So what you're saying is they're used to fuck-ups here?" Ciaran asked.

He was still coughing from his recent wipeout. Wiping out was, at best, disorienting. At worst, it felt like you were drowning. The good news was that Ciaran was used to being in the water, but that didn't mean he didn't swallow large gulps of water with each tumble.

Grinning, I said, "No, that's at every beach. Here, though, they are used to swimmers learning to surf for the first time."

Side by side, we paddled out beyond the break to give others a chance. Sitting on our boards, we watched the shore in silence for several long moments. The water gurgled and seagulls squawked overhead, while children yelled and laughed at the shoreline.

I just wanted to stare at Ciaran all day.

"We gonna sit here all day or…?" Ciaran teased when he caught me.

"Yeah, yeah."

Thing was, I wasn't exactly experienced in teaching others how to surf. I'd been on a board since before I could even walk, so it was almost like I'd learned to surf, walk, and swim all at the same time. Trying to explain to Ciaran that catching a wave was executed in one fluid movement while maintaining proper eye placement and body alignment was certainly easier said than done.

He watched me several times as I'd paddle in with a forming wave and then within a second or two, I'd fly upright onto the board. Without much thought, my back foot knew to make contact with the stomp pad while my front foot planted in the appropriate position to propel forward momentum to catch the base of the wave and surf toward the pier.

If Ciaran even made it upright, which he was getting better at, he'd almost always nosedive. Telling him not to look at his feet but instead to align his eyes on where he wanted to go seemed to go against his natural instincts.

"But I want to make sure my feet are in the right place," Ciaran explained after cursing at himself.

"It's a tough habit to break," I said, "but at a minimum you need to look up to ensure you're not crashing into someone else."

"Solid point." Ciaran studied me as we took a breather. Sitting side-by-side, our legs bumped into each other. The water lapped and gurgled around us. "How's the shoulder?"

Thankfully the athletic tape on my shoulder was still securely in place and I was wearing it beneath the wetsuit. We'd need to replace the tape in a day or two, but at the moment it was good.

"Not bad," I answered honestly. "A few twinges here and there, but your handiwork has been helpful." I knew what he was really asking, so I added, "Baby waves are okay. I should probably refrain from doing anything more strenuous than that."

"No aquatic back flips for you," Ciaran said with a laugh. "What time will Joan and Filipe get here?"

"Oh, I see how it is," I said with faux outrage. "Already tired of my company?"

"Far from it," he said as he leaned in toward me. We were close enough that Ciaran could kiss me as long as I leaned in as well. The front of our boards wedged and overlapped as our lips met.

It wasn't a long or lingering kiss but there was something special about it. We moved together in the water's sloshing waves, streams of sunlight flickered through Ciaran's hair and his eyelashes, and I caught his shy smile as he pulled away.

Ciaran's lips were soft, salty, and spoke of sweet promise.

It might have been the single best moment of my life.

"Well then," I said with an unexpectedly shaky breath. "If you keep doing that, I hope they never show up."

For the next hour, Ciaran and I went back to first point to try his hand again and again at jumping up on his board. I could tell he was getting exhausted, but when he managed to get on the board a few times and stay upright for a few seconds before wiping out, his expression was one of deep satisfaction.

He'd accomplished what he'd set out to do.

By the time Joan and Filipe paddled out to meet us, we'd learned that they'd been out on Point Dume all morning before meeting us.

"We wanted to give you two some space," Joan said when I narrowed accusatory eyes at them. Sitting astride her board, she tilted her head back to secure her wet hair in a ponytail.

Her black neoprene wetsuit had turquoise stripes around the shoulders and lats, while Filipe's dark gray wetsuit sported bright green stripes.

"I know we've basically just met, Joan," Ciaran started, "but since when do you give anyone space?"

"Damn," I teased when guilt briefly stole across Joan's expression before she smoothed it away.

Joan squeezed Ciaran's shoulder affectionately. "Gotta be careful what I say around you, don't I?"

Filipe let out a bark of laughter. "Joan's too competitive for Surfrider and she didn't want her darling Ciaran to see her nasty side."

I couldn't fault Filipe's statement. Joan was extremely competitive to the point that she'd lost friendships as a result. She was even worse when it came to rock climbing. If she wasn't the first to the top, she'd fume the rest of the day, and lash out at everyone.

Overhead, we watched a small grouping of planes smoke out a skytyping advertisement message for a restaurant near the Santa Monica Pier.

After they'd flown by, Joan let out a sigh. "Fine," she said. "It's true, but I didn't want to curse out kids and toddlers who got in my way. The way I see it, by not surfing here this morning, I didn't break the spirit of innocent children."

Ciaran laughed. "Do you mean the same children who laughed in my face each time I wiped out?"

"Those motherfuckers," Joan said, frowning. "Point them out to me."

"Whoa, Terminator," I said with a snicker, "put the big guns away."

"That's my other wetsuit," Joan said with a glint in her eye. "So…" she paused, "ready to discuss plans on getting Zoey on our side?"

"You're never one to beat around the bush, are you?" Ciaran asked.

"Oh honey," she said as she reached out to squeeze Ciaran's shoulder again. "You have no idea."

Her voice contained so much meaning that I couldn't suppress a laugh. Even Filipe smirked at Ciaran's blush.

The four of us were facing each other out well past the break and beyond the hearing of others.

"I've been giving it some thought," I said after clearing my throat. "I took Ciaran's advice and slept on the Zoey problem. As much as I don't want to, I think I should keep seeing Zoey. I don't want Coach Anderson to catch wind of anything. If he thinks everything is on track, he won't question me about it."

"And you think you can talk Zoey into helping us?" Joan asked. One thing I loved about Joan was that she was such a loyal friend, she treated my problems as her own, too. "You know her better than we do. What's she like?"

"As strange as this may sound," I started, "I treated it like a business arrangement. I never asked probing questions or attempted to get to know her better than a business associate. Zoey is nice and has been nothing but professional with me. Well," I hesitated, and everyone looked at me expectantly. "Let me amend that. Lately she seemed interested in making the relationship real."

"How so?" Ciaran asked.

I rubbed the back of my neck. "The last few dates, as I dropped her off at her dorm, she'd pause as if she wanted me to kiss her. There were a few times where she'd reach for my hand even though paparazzi were not around to photograph it."

"Shit." Filipe whistled. "Last night's events would have come as quite the shock."

"Yeah," I agreed.

"So not only would she have lost you as a business partner in her attempt to gain a foothold in Hollywood, but when she saw us kissing," Ciaran said, "she realized you weren't exactly a viable romantic partner, either." His tone was filled with empathy when he added, "Poor Zoey."

Joan scoffed. "You have sympathy for the blackmailer's daughter?"

Ciaran paused all of a sudden. "Okay, first off, The Blackmailer's Daughter would make a great title for a book. But I digress," Ciaran replied. "I'm not saying she's blameless here, but she's the least to blame. Can you fault her for hoping Matty might become interested? I don't mean for this to come across as offensive, and I recognize I'm a recent outsider coming into this glittery world of fame and wealth, but even if Matty is blocked from USA Swimming and unable to compete in the National tryouts, the Vaulteneaus have a billion other ways to make Matty's dreams come true. I don't see Zoey having those same options."

That seemed to mute everyone for several long seconds. Ciaran wasn't wrong. I might not make the tryouts, and my Olympic dreams might be dashed for a few years, but I'd still be better off than ninety-nine percent of the world's population.

"So you're on Zoey's side?" I asked. It wasn't an accusation but more a curiosity.

I understood where Ciaran was coming from, but my upbringing meant it wasn't as easy for me to sympathize with Coach Anderson's daughter when everything hung on me obeying the Coach's direction. At least Ciaran's influence was making me rethink my privilege.

"No," he answered simply. "I'm on your side and always will be, but that doesn't mean I won't call out bullshit when I see it. By putting ourselves in Zoey's shoes, it will shape our approach in gaining her support. I agree that you should continue to see her, and honor your agreement with Coach Anderson. She'll never be your girlfriend, but surely friendship isn't off the table, is it?"

"No, friendship is not off the table," I said.

Ciaran nodded as if he approved my statement. "Invite her to dinner tonight and explain the situation, one-on-one. I'll make myself scarce."

A slight pang made my stomach flip. "What will you do, instead?"

"I need to continue outlining my badger detective novel." When Joan and Filipe expressed confusion on what that meant, Ciaran explained the plot of the novel he was writing. The idea of a badger detective who solved casino heists had to be the most adorable thing I'd ever heard. By the way Joan and Filipe were responding to the story, they were enthralled, too. I couldn't wait to read it. Ciaran finished by saying, "If I run into another creative block, I suppose I should call my Vegas friends tonight. I've been guilty of ignoring them the last few days."

Another pang summersaulted my stomach when I remembered that one of his friends was Drew. I had to let that go. I wasn't used to feeling insecure, but Ciaran did admit that there was baggage with his former flame. It's nothing , I told myself. He needed to resolve those things, and if that meant talking to Drew, then that's what Ciaran had to do.

Filipe, who was still digesting the details of Ciaran's novel, asked, "The detective is an actual badger? That's not his name?"

Ciaran chuckled. "The actual animal, but he stands on his hind legs and can communicate in both English and the Mustelidea language spoken by weasels, otters, ferrets, and wolverines. It will come in handy for his case."

"Fascinating," Filipe said in a tone of wonder. "I can't even color in the lines and here you are creating a whole world in your head. We could use your detective right about now." To the rest of us, Filipe asked, "What are we going to ask Zoey to do?"

"That's what I've been thinking about," I said. "Ciaran's right: I need to tell her everything. I doubt she knows about the video. Once I explain the situation, I'll ask her if she'd be willing to delete the video for me. Her answer will let me know how to proceed from there."

"What if she says no?" Ciaran asked.

"I'm not above arson," Joan interjected.

" Legal answers, please," I said, my lips twitching at Joan's eagerness to rid the world of Coach Anderson's family. I'm sure it was kindly meant, but I could not give my friend any ideas. "If Zoey refuses to help, then I will still continue to see her to keep the ruse alive. Filipe and I would then find a way to get the Coach's phone during swim practice and destroy it."

"There's always the chance that the video is in the cloud or saved on his computer," Ciaran supplied.

Filipe and I swiveled our gazes to Joan. Ciaran, noticing, followed suit. "Here's your chance to shine, Joan," I said.

Her eyes sparkled. "I'm not above hacking his home network and wiping everything."

"That's my girl," Filipe said in a tone of love and wonder.

"Legal went out the window real quick." Ciaran looked heavenward. "It's a good thing I grew up in Las Vegas," he mumbled, "or I'd be running for the hills by this point."

"You're in thick now, my friend," Joan said. "Plus, it might give you ideas for your novel. Any regrets?"

Ciaran seemed to think about that. I wondered what he was pondering.

He looked at me when he said, "No," and that's all I needed to hear to know he was really on my side, as the four of us came up with a game plan.