Page 216 of Whistle

“Dad?” Arsen said into the line. After listening briefly, he said, “Thanks, I appreciate this. Will do.”

Arsen disconnected the call and pushed the phone into his pocket. Prism appeared, bare legs sticking out below the blue jacket, and curled his hand around Arsen’s arm.

“Oh, Mr. Prism,” Dean Cardinal said, and Prism looked up. “Your father-in-law wanted me to tell you that if you need anything to call him.”

Prism’s eyes went wide.

“And I’m sorry if this has caused you extra stress.”

Prism’s ears reddened, and he turned his face away from the group.

“Is that all he said?” I asked, feeling impatient.

Dean Cardinal turned to Emmett. “It has come to my attention that as a private university with several large benefactors and a board comprised mainly of alumni, Westbrook is fully capable of making certain… allowances.”

My heart started thundering so hard that I had to strain to hear the rest.

“And because of this, your relationship with Bodhi Lawson is not grounds for immediate dismissal.”

Cheers erupted, people whistled, and clapping echoed around the natatorium. It was a full-on cacophony.

Phweeeeeeeeeeeee!

Emmett silenced all of it with a solo on his favorite sidekick.

I mean, really, should I be jealous?

“What are you saying, Philip?” Emmett asked when everyone fell quiet.

“I’m saying I never wanted to fire you. I warned you weeks ago, trying to avoid this. You remember that, don’t you?” the dean asked.

“What’s he talking about?” I said, turning to Em.

“I’m well aware of the conversation we had,” Emmett replied.

Dean Cardinal nodded. “Considering that, along with your impeccable reputation, successful team performance, longstanding commitment to the college, and, frankly, this impudent athlete loyalty, we would love to have you stay on as head coach.”

Emmett remained stone-faced. “What’s the catch?”

The dean looked at me. “You’re off the team. Looking the other way when he dates a student is one thing. One of his athletes is something else…”

I nodded. “Done. I’ll clear out my locker.”

I made it halfway to the locker room before I felt Emmett pull me around. “You aren’t doing this.”

“You heard the dean earlier. I’m not good enough for this team.”

Anger darkened his face. “Yes, you are. You just need to work on?—”

“I don’t want to swim.” Saying this aloud, finally, was such a relief that I could have melted right into the tiles beneath me.

He drew back. “What?”

“It just isn’t the same without her,” I confessed quietly. “I’m not the same person I was a year ago, and who I am now doesn’t want to swim.”

“But you overcame your trauma.”

“I did. You helped me with that, and I’m grateful. I did miss the water, especially surfing,” I said, wistful for the salty waves and a surfboard. “But I don’t want to compete. Not anymore. My heart isn’t in it. I want to do other things now.”

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