Page 213 of Whistle

Too bad that was about to change.

“Out of the way,” the dean bellowed. Making a shooing motion with his hands, he said, “Back in the pool!”

Someone snorted.

“We’d like a word, Dean Cardinal,” Ryan said, stepping away from the large team.

“Then make an appointment with my secretary,” he snipped.

“The PC term is executive assistant.” Kruger corrected him.

“You want the entire team to make an appointment and walk into your office and make a scene?” Ryan asked, his dark eyebrow arching. “We can do that, but you’re already here.”

“This will only take a minute,” Jamie tacked on.

“You don’t all need to come,” Dean Cardinal said. “Mr. Walsh can represent the team.”

“That’s not good enough.” Ryan’s voice was even. Calm. Powerful.

Is this why they call him the fixer?

“We want to all be here when I say this. We want to leave zero room for doubt that every single one of us means this.”

“Fine. What is it you would like to say, Mr. Walsh?”

Behind the team, the doors opened. Because the wall of swimmers was so dense, I couldn’t see who arrived, but after glancing around, the team seemed unconcerned.

Seconds later, Rory, Madison, and Jess slipped around the group to stand against a far wall. They said nothing at all. Just stood there. Seconds later, Max, Win, and Arsen joined them. None of them made a sound.

“Excuse me. This is the Elite pool. You shouldn’t be here,” Dean Cardinal said.

“They’re with us,” Ryan said.

I heard Emmett come out of the locker room behind me and I felt his surprise at the standoff going on in front of him, but I remained focused ahead because this wasn’t over.

“Say what you need to say, Walsh,” Dean Cardinal said.

“We aren’t swimming without Coach Resch,” he said. “You tear up that resignation right now, or this university is about to be without its most prestigious team.”

Dean Cardinal made a sound like a tire being deflated. Kinda nasally, kinda whiny. I felt bad for his wife if that was what he sounded like in bed. Unfortunate.

“Excuse me?” he asked, bolstering his voice.

“Elite will not swim without Coach Resch,” Ryan repeated.

“That is not your decision to make,” Dean Cardinal deadpanned.

“From where I’m standing, it sure seems like it is,” Rush said.

“As members of Elite, as students of Westbrook University, you are under obligation to swim. We have strict guidelines, and barring illness or injury, you cannot simply opt out of training.”

“And who’s gonna make us get in the pool?” Jamie asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest. There was no trace of the laid-back charm he always flaunted. Just then, he was all six feet three, muscles, and frowny face.

The dean’s nose rose an inch or so in the air. “Might I remind you that many of you signed NLIs, a national letter of intent committing to this team? Many of you are receiving financial aid for swimming. These are binding contracts.”

“Those contracts are signed by both the swimmer and the college.” Max spoke up near the wall. “So I am sure you are aware that if the head coach leaves the institution, the swimmer can request a release from the NLI. And I’m pretty sure you also know the institute must grant the release.”

“Who are you?” Dean Cardinal snapped. “How would you know this?”

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