Page 173 of Whistle

I mean, damn, when you just list it all out like that… I’d have thought the same.

“It’s what he did.” His voice was hollow, half here and half… not.

“Who?” I asked, a sickness stirring deep in my stomach.

“Lance.”

“Lance died by… suicide?”

“And it was my fault.” The self-loathing in his tone made him almost unrecognizable.

“No!” The raw denial ripped out of my throat, coating my tongue with the tang of blood. “Whatever happened was not your fault.”

I might not have even known who I was anymore, but this I did know.

“Come down from there,” he pleaded, fingers digging into the sides of my bare waist.

“I’ll get down.” I agreed immediately. “Move back.”

He hesitated, his body nearly vibrating with anxiety and adrenaline.

Laying my hand over his, I gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I promise, babe. I’m getting down. I’m staying here with you.”

A sob broke in his throat. It was a deep, dusky sound. His grip slackened, and I pulled myself up, lifting one leg to straddle the railing so I could hop down.

Beeeeeeeeep!

The loud, unexpected blare of a horn came hard and fast, and my body reacted by jerking back. I fell backward over the railing, all attempts to catch myself completely feeble.

“Bodhi!” Emmett shrieked, and I looked up. He leaned over the handrail, mouth and eyes agape.

I love you, I tried to yell, but the grip gravity had on me prevented any words from making it past my lips.

The sound of rushing water grew deafening, and I braced myself for impact, glancing up for one last look at Emmett before darkness swallowed me whole.

And the last thing I saw was that whistle-blowing grump leaping over the railing after me.

40

Coach (Emmett)

Not today, Satan. Not. Fucking. Today.

He could rise out of the violence of the river and pull Bodhi into his clutches, but he could never claim him.

He couldn’t have what was mine.

The second I saw him slip off that railing and plummet into the misty darkness, it no longer mattered that Lance had died here first. It no longer mattered that my job and reputation were on the line.

I loved Bodhi Lawson, my Goldilocks, and I would live and die by that love.

Without an ounce of hesitation or internal debate, I leaped over that railing just as the night enclosed him. The river came fast, my feet breaking the surface and the rest of me dropping in like an anvil. The water was frigid, breathtakingly so, but I was conditioned to cold water and my body didn’t fight it.

I plunged into the dark water, the only light from the rise of bubbles and waves my body created.

The second I could, I took control, slicing my arms through the water, pushing toward a surface I could not see. I relied on instinct and pure skill, hoping my body knew the way to the top even if my eyes were currently blind.

My lungs were on fire when my head cleared, and I gasped in air, every breath stabbing needles of pain. The water was rough, the waves loud and tumbling. Unlike the pool, there was a strong current here, and I had to battle against it with every push of my arms.

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