Page 81 of Reckless Hearts

Another vibration sounds from the nightstand, and I realize it isn’t my phone that’s blowing up because it’s still off from last night, but Alana’s. Reaching over, I grab hers as well, handing it to her before I bite the bullet and switch mine on to look at it.

“Shit,” I exhale when I see all of the messages and missed calls that fill my screen.

There are a million more from Jade, which is completely expected, and also one from her dad that I’m weirdly nervous about opening. But there are also messages from colleagues, from a reporter who’s always been super friendly with me, andone from the Director of Sports & Athlete Relations at the International Surfing Association.

“What the fuck?” I say, sitting up a little when I see that text.

“What? What’s wrong?” Alana asks, sitting up beside me as we both lean back against the headboard.

Mochi clearly takes us moving as a sign that we are awake and is immediately up from the blanket Alana put out on the floor for him, jumping around beside the bed. Pretty sure he’d be up here with us if he could make the jump, but the poor little thing’s legs are just too short.

“Jesus, hang on, let me just look through these,” I say, scrolling back to the top.

I bypass the messages from Jade, knowing they won’t tell me anything, and instead click first on the one from her dad.

Rob Whitlock: Hey Flynn, call me when you get a second. Jade rang last night in hysterics about you not coaching her anymore?

“Fuck my life, this fucking girl,” I say, moving to the message from the reporter.

Tim Rollins: Hey Flynn, long time no speak! Got a weird message today about something involving you and a competing surfer and a possible COI. You know I’ve always had your back with this stuff, so just wanted to give you a chance to get ahead of the story, control the narrative. Give me a buzz when you get this. I’m on your side.

I exhale at the last part, knowing that even though Tim has always been good to me, being the first to drop the incessant questions about my post-accident comeback, no reporter is ever truly on my side. All they want is to be the first to break the story, the first to post the clickbait that will see them at the top of the news feed.

I ignore his message too, scanning through a couple of others from friends and colleagues, all asking the same thing, or variations on it anyway.

What’s going on with you and Jade? You splitting?

When I finally get to the one from the ISA, my heart is pounding in my chest and when I open it, it’s short and to the point.

Danielle Thornton: Hi Flynn, it’s Danielle from ISA, just hoping to speak with you about a complaint that’s been filed. Give me a call, today, if possible. I’d like to sort this out before Maui Pipe gets underway. Thanks.

Groaning, I close my eyes as my head falls back against the wall with a thud. Alana sits beside me, and I can hear the gasps she lets out, presumably as she goes through her phone.

“Tell me how bad it is?” I ask, opening my eyes.

She’s staring down at her screen, her fingers pressed against her mouth, her eyes wide. Sitting up, I curl my arm around her shoulders, pulling her to me.

“Alana?” I prompt, my voice laced with concern.

She looks up, and I can see her eyes are filled with tears. It breaks my heart to see this, to know I am the cause of it. “Jade’s filed a complaint against me.”

“Yeah, me too,” I tell her.

“I got an email outlining the details,” she now says, waving her phone in front of me. “She’s accusing me of sabotaging her career, of misconduct and trying to poach her coach. Flynn, what the fuck am I gonna do?”

My eyes close as I pinch the bridge of my nose, sucking in a deep breath before letting it out. “Can I see?” I ask, taking her phone when she holds it out to me.

My eyes scan over the email, which I know is just a formality and not an accusation, but still. It’s a shock to get something like this, especially for Alana, who hasn’t been through this before and who’s only at the start of her career.

“I know this isn’t going to help,” I start, looking at her, tucking some loose strands of hair behind her ear. “But this is just the process, okay? This doesn’t necessarily mean they think you’ve done any of this stuff, nor does it mean anything is going to happen to you. But they take all complaints very seriously at ISA, so they are just following protocol.”

Alana nods, her bottom lip between her teeth as a tear escapes and slides slowly down her cheek. I brush it away with my thumb before leaning in to press a soft kiss to her lips.

“What did yours say?” she whispers.

I open my email app, wondering if Danielle has also sent me one of these. She and I have known each other for a while, not because of anything bad, but more to do with the fallout from my accident and the way the ISA wanted to handle that. I always thought we got on pretty well, but who the fuck knows.

My eyes find the email she’s sent through, scanning through the details.

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