Page 100 of Beached Wedding

“I don’t know.” Shane would be up and paddling out, no question, but there were a thousand places to surf. He didn’t have to do it here.

“I won’t worry too much if you don’t come back right away. Go for coffee or breakfast if he’s up for it.”

“Thanks.” I gave her foot a squeeze through the covers as I left.

Shane wasn’t at the equipment hut. It was a beautiful morning, the air still, the sky clear and glowing silver, the waves coming in on clean, measured sets.

I waded in, mind replaying dinner last night. Whitney had stayed in the bedroom, which had bothered Ash, but the rest of her family had warmed up to me. I’d been relieved by that, but I’d heard her mother’s concerns loud and clear and it was more fuel to my fire in terms of working things out with Shane. I didn’t want to lose the business.

I ducked under a wave and caught my breath with a shudder. The pressure to resolve things with my partner kept my shoulders tense. I tried to stretch it out in a long paddle, cresting the next wave, pushing through the crush toward the calm beyond the break line.

When I got there, a half dozen surfers were sitting on their boards.

“This fucking guy,” Shane said with a disparaging glance.

The others chuckled, thinking it was a joke, but their humor died as they realized Shane was serious.

“Just here to surf, mate,” I lied, sitting up on my board to study the sets coming in.

Silence reined and someone slid away, paddling in and dropping into the wave a moment later.

I was watching that surfer so I didn’t realize Shane had skimmed close enough to kick at my board until I was tilting into the water. I went under with asploosh.

“Grow up,” I said as I surfaced and slid back onto my board.

“You grow up. I saw the video. You’re a bloody idiot. You know that?”

“Didn’t know you cared.” And, because we’d screwed around like this a thousand times over the years, I brought up my own foot, curled my toes on the rail of Shane’s board and gave it a hard, downward shove.

Shane was a seasoned bull rider, though. He kept his seat and only sneered. “I don’t. Not for shitheads who insist on shoving in where they don’t belong.”

“That’s where we’re at?” Because that crossed a line. Shaneknewhow much of an outsider I’d always felt. Now he was saying all those years I’d been made to feel like part of his family had been me hanging on like a dag? He knew what a tender nerve that was for me.

“If you’re punching that low, we really do have nothing left to say.” I turned and began paddling to catch the next wave.

“Fox.”

It wasn’t my turn, but I flipped him the bird because there was only so much crow I would eat. Fucking prick, talking to me like that. All that history and what? Shane had only been tolerating me? Fuck. Him.

Seconds later, as I popped up, Shane dropped into my wave right in front of me.

I wanted to nail him, I really did. I waited until the last second to spin my board, delivering just enough of a clip with my board against his that we both wiped out and churned in the wash.

My board hit my shoulder and I came up spewing, blowing water out of my nose. My sinuses were stinging and my temper was at eleven.

I looked for Shane, saw him surface and shake his hair out of his eyes. That was as much notice as I gave him. I wanted to kill him, but I wouldn’t let him die. He was breathing so that was enough. We were done.

I grabbed my board and pulled it under me, paddling in.

“This is your fault!” Shane yelled as he skimmed in on the wave behind me.

“Sure is, mate. Buying a ring, dodging the prenup, sulking in the taxi, not even willing to get on the fucking plane and tell her yourself? That was all me. I did that.”

We waded toward the shore.

“Youpicked up her friend at the pub.” Shane accused. “That’s onyou.”

“She picked me up.Youinvited them to come camping with us.”

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