Page 10 of Whistle

He barked out an unamused laugh. My daughter’s boyfriend was a class-A asshole. I’d say he had the ability to freeze the balls off a brass monkey, except he was too hot-headed for it. If someone had told me at the beginning of last year that my daughter would be dating a guy who not only got kicked out of his prestigious university but was banished all the way to the other side of the country because he was arrested for murder, I would have driven them to the looney bin myself and checked them in for the help they clearly needed.

Yet here I was, staring at his shirtless back standing outside her bedroom in the middle of the night. Not only that, but he was one of my swimmers.

Maybe it was me who needed the looney bin. Not that I hadn’t tried to forbid the relationship. I did. Loudly. But doing that was about as useful as a one-toothed beaver in a petrified forest.

Pointless.

Besides, Jason Rush might be an asshole, but I learned it was a defense mechanism. It was easier to be a stone-faced bastard than let people continually rip out your heart.

I understood that more than most, which made it hard to disapprove. Plus, he loved my daughter, Landry. Not even I could deny what was right in front of my face. Could have been worse, I supposed. She could have fallen in love with some spineless jellyfish that ran at the first scowl I sent his way.

I’d much rather have my only daughter date someone who would wield his cantankerous temper to protect her.

“What do you want me to do?” Rush said, frustration swelling his shoulders. I watched him lift a hand to his face and squeeze the bridge of his nose.

His gruff, harsh laugh echoed in the hall. “This is fucking rich,” he spat. “When I was in jail, you gave less than two shits. But now that you?—”

His voice fell silent, and then he burst out with, “Whose fault is that, Bodhi? Who?”

Recognition slammed into me, and I straightened. What I’d done between the sheets merely an hour ago singed me with shame.

Rush let out a gruff noise and spun, instantly seeing me standing a few feet away.

“Coach.”

I told him he could call me Emmett when we weren’t at the pool, but sometimes he forgot, and right now, he was clearly distracted.

“What’s going on?” I asked, not even planning to give him his privacy. This was my damn house.

And he was talking to my damn Goldilocks.

No. No, he isn’t.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Rush told me. Into the line, his voice was curt. “Hold on.”

He started to turn away, but I slammed my hand onto his shoulder and squeezed. “Don’t you take that drama where my daughter is sleeping. In the kitchen. Now.”

Rush’s eyes narrowed, and I met them head on. “Now, Jason.”

Surprise flickered in his expression, but it didn’t mask the relief chasing it. Clearly, whatever the hell was going on was something he didn’t particularly want to handle. The kid had scars whether he was willing to admit it or not.

With me, he didn’t have to. Like recognizes like.

I stepped back and gestured for him to go. He did, and I followed him down the stairs and into the kitchen. The only light was the one illuminated above the stove, but it was enough to see so I didn’t bother with the overhead.

“I’m still here,” he said into the line, then added, “Even though I should hang up.”

“Put it on speaker,” I ordered.

Rush’s stare whipped up. “What?”

Impatient and oddly anxious, I stomped forward and snatched the cell right out of his hand. He made a surprised sound but didn’t grab it back as I tapped the speaker icon on the screen.

“You are literally the last person left for me to call.” His voice filled the room.

My body didn’t move, but internally, the reaction was visceral. Adrenaline spiked in my veins, flipping my stomach and sharpening my attention.

“We aren’t friends anymore, Bodhi.” Rush’s voice was flat. Resolved. The way he shifted, though, screamed guilt.

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