Page 113 of Whistle

“Don’t think so,” he replied.

I turned to flee, hoping it didn’t look like I was fleeing but a man on his way to do important shit.

“Actually, Coach Resch?”

I stopped and turned. “Yes, Dean Philips?”

“If your new swimmer isn’t ready to swim in the first meet of the season in six days, you will cut him from the team.”

An ultimatum.

“Of course, Dean Philips.” I was succinct, drilling my stare into his. “After all, it is my job to make sure Elite is nothing but the best.”

“Good.”

I strode out of his office with my head held high, past his assistant, and down the long hall and a flight of stairs. One floor down, I pushed into a restroom and after making sure it was empty, slumped against the wall, and hung my head.

Fuck.

25

Bodhi

Another day, another swim practice. Another early morning of my ass on the bleachers, twitching with anxiety every time I looked at the pool.

I didn’t even know why I bothered coming. Why I subjected myself to this early morning misery.

Phweee! The short blast of the whistle brought my head around as I watched Emmett—excuse me—Coach Resch drop at the edge of the pool and talk quietly to one of the swimmers. After a few nods and a light knock on the top of the swimmer’s head with his clipboard, the swimmer took off for another lap.

I pretended I didn’t know why I kept coming to practice, but I knew. If I didn’t come to practice, I’d have no excuse to see Emmett. It was pathetic, but that was something else I pretended not to know.

I said I’d give him time, but it was hard. A week living in Rush’s old room, staring at the walls and thinking about how he and Lars used to live there, was a mindfuck. So was the fact that Emmett didn’t call. And if he wasn’t going to call, then I wasn’t either.

My talk with Rush the other morning echoed in my head on the daily. It had felt good to get some of those things off my chest. Good to tell him my side of things. He’d said it was a fresh start, and I believed him.

But now here I was a week later, and things still felt the same. And I was trying. Do you know how hard it was to actively deny my natural reactions and feelings to everything? To tell myself I was just overreacting or immature? Or that I needed to consider everyone else and their points of view.

I’d been doing it. Smothering my own feelings and thoughts in favor of others, trying to accept the peace offering from Rush. Trying for a fresh start. Trying to give everyone their space.

Still, there was a whisper. What about me?

It made me feel selfish, but why couldn’t I be selfish? If I didn’t worry about myself, who would?

Being selfish was what got me in this mess, though, wasn’t it?

Try harder, Bodhi.

Phweee-phweee! Coach signaled everyone, raising his hand above his head. This morning, he wore a white baseball cap, the bill worn and curved so it shadowed part of his face. “I’m calling it! You look good today. Keep it up and we’ll be ready for next week’s meet. Hit the showers!”

Ryan hauled himself out of the pool, all muscle and dripping wet. He said something to Coach, who made a face, but then he played another solo on his whistle.

Everyone hated that sound, but me… I loved it.

Groans echoed around the natatorium. “Walsh has something to say!” Coach yelled, and the groans cut off as Speedo-wearing men all headed in my direction.

At one time, I would have thoroughly enjoyed that view. All those scantily clad muscles, strong thighs, and glossy skin on display would have been a total eye buffet, but not today. Not since I’d laid eyes on Emmett.

Everyone gathered and looked at Walsh expectantly. I mean, I’d been told Elite thought of him as a leader, but it was something else to see it firsthand. To experience it.

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