Chasing Forever Down (Great White Surf Saga, #1) [Wattpad Featured Story] | ✔

Chapter 19: Colby Taylor

Vin's taillight shrinks into the darkness like a dying red star being sucked into a black hole.

"So...you found me. Impressive," Colby says. He steps toward me, still keeping his distance but seemingly sizing me up, as if I'm here to fight. "Care to tell me how you pulled that off?" He folds his arms across his bare chest.

"I could ask you the same thing," I say. "I mean, faking your death. A new identity. That's not exactly amateur stuff, you know?"

I watch him reach down and sling Dexter's Frisbee across the sky. There's no way I'm going to let him intimidate me. I've come too far.

His eyes pull away from Dexter and burn holes into me. "Hold up. Faking my death?" He shakes his head in disbelief, and I swear, I think he's actually offended.

"Okay," he says. "Let's just start this over. Would you like to come inside?"

He motions toward his gigantic beach house, and there's nothing more I want than to go inside. I would've stayed on his back patio the day of the storm if I'd known Vin wouldn't have thrown me over his shoulder and hauled me off.

"Seriously?" I ask.

"Well, you didn't bring a camera crew, screaming girls, or worse, my parents, so I feel like my secrets are safe," he says.

He leads me past his big black truck, around the house, and to the back patio. A string of wet suits hang against the wall, probably dry by now from today's burning sun. Three surfboards are propped against the house as well.

"One sec," he says. He quickly fills Dexter's water bowl with fresh water and dumps a cup full of dog food into another. Then he whistles across the ocean for Dexter to return home. And I see Dexter's home – a dog house made entirely of broken surfboards. Their colors are faded, and bits of them are cracked or chipped or outright split in half. I don't know how I didn't see it the last time I was here. But then again, we were focused on Colby's life that day, not that his dog's house was made of surfboards. I follow him through the back sliding glass door.

"Let me give you the official tour," he says. "This way."

He opens a door to his left, and had I been asked to guess what was on the other side, I'd have said a laundry room...or possibly an empty garage. But it's neither. It's like a showroom for his biggest trophy. A real Woodie, like from the 1960s – exactly like the ones you see in old beach movies. It's only the coolest station wagon-like vehicle I've ever seen. It shines like it's made of black marble with silver splotches of awesomeness in the shapes of stars and crescent moons. Great White Surf's logo is plastered across the passenger side, and there's the silhouette of an angel on a surfboard. "RIP Jake 'Shark' McAllister" curls beneath it in cursive.

Colby pats the hood. "Got this bad baby in Australia a few months ago. Vin said I should've taken the cash, but this thing was just too badass to pass up. I got to design it myself."

My heart overflows with pride as I constantly steal glances at Shark's name while I try to take in the rest of the car. It makes me so happy to know that Colby honored Shark like that, to see that he remembers where he came from and who gave him the chance to live his dream. He remembers who helped him chase forever down. Shark was like his salon lady Stella...or his coffee shop Tim...or his rock star Barney. Whatever Shark was to him, he remembers.

And as if the sentiment wasn't strong enough in the trophy room, his living room walls bleed Shark's photography. Forget the flat screen and huge sound system. It's a shrine to his mentor's work.

"The rest of the place is pretty boring," he says from behind me. "Bedrooms, bathrooms, the kitchen, surf stuff. Just make yourself at home. I'm going to go find a shirt."