Page 194 of Whistle

Watching them basically smoke all the other competition created a fine buzz beneath my skin. Maybe adrenaline. Maybe anticipation. Or maybe fear.

I wasn’t sure because it could have been any or all of those things.

I took a few steadying breaths and shook out my legs when my heat was announced.

“You got this.” Rush encouraged me. “Don’t worry about the clock. Just swim.”

Easy for him to say. His time was killer.

And mine?

Pretty sure I saw a drowning turtle pass me on my way down the lane. I was the last one to pull my heaving, cooked-spaghetti-armed self out of the pool—just in time to see my time flash on the screen.

Worst in heat.

Pathetic.

Maybe it was good Brynne wasn’t here to see this. Unfortunately, everyone else was.

My wet, embarrassed ass slammed into something hard and dry on my way to lick my wounds, and I nearly slipped and fell. Emmett caught me with both hands, pulling me instantly back to my feet.

Refusing to meet his eyes—which I knew would be overfull with disappointment—I stared at his ivy-green windbreaker and the whistle hanging around his neck instead.

“Bodhi.”

I still didn’t look.

Warm fingers touched the underside of my chin and pushed. Even then, I didn’t meet his eyes.

“You did well, sweetheart,” he said. The words were so quiet I barely heard them over the loud, echoing crowd of people.

My eyes flew up. There was not one ounce of disappointment in his. “I’ll do better in the next heat.” I sucked my lip into my mouth to keep him from seeing it quiver.

“Don’t push yourself,” he cautioned.

I nodded.

When my next heat came around, I walked to my lane and took a few breaths. My stomach was tight, and my limbs were more fatigued than before. My eyes swept the space for Em, finding him by the pool, clipboard in hand.

Just seeing him there bolstered my confidence a bit. Noticing my stare, he acknowledged me with a reassuring nod.

“Let’s go, Lawson!” a familiar voice called, and I looked over to see Rush, Lars, Ryan, Jamie, Wes, Kruger, and Prism all cheering me on.

I wanted to make them all proud.

The second the signal sounded, I dove in and started to swim, pushing myself more with every stroke. Halfway down the lane, I felt something pop, and searing pain ripped down my arm.

My shout was muffled by the water, and I fumbled a bit but locked back in to try and recover. A burning sensation erupted, my arm on fire. Unable to hold proper form, I slipped under the waves again, grappling for the surface with my good arm. Suddenly, my calf muscles contracted, tightening into clenched knots. The onset of the cramps made it impossible to concentrate on anything else. I couldn’t kick or keep myself afloat because stretching the muscles to paddle was impossible.

The familiar sound of a whistle cut through some of the panic and pain, but I was too busy trying to stay afloat to pay attention. I slipped below the surface again but didn’t stay under because I was wrenched up as a solid arm anchored around me.

Gasping, I tried to swim and ignore the whole-body pain, but that was about as useless as balls on a dildo.

“Relax,” Emmett’s gruff voice demanded. “Stop swimming. It’s just going to hurt worse.”

“Em.” I panted.

“That’s right. I got you. Calm down.”

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