Page 28 of Whistle

“Whatever,” Bodhi spat and then fled the room, disappearing down the stairs, the slam of a door echoing below us.

“I meant what I said.” Rush’s voice was quiet.

“I know.” I agreed, understanding completely. He had every right to protect himself, and I respected his boundaries.

“I appreciate you coming here with me,” Rush said, dragging the chair back as he stood from the table. “If he’s not here in the morning, I’m going home without him.”

I nodded. You couldn’t help someone who didn’t want to be helped. I knew it. I knew better than most.

So why was it still so damn hard to accept?

“There’s a guest room upstairs,” he said, pointing at the open railing that overlooked where we were. “I’m going to bed.”

I wondered if he was choosing two floors up from Bodhi so, if he left, he wouldn’t hear and be tempted to stop him, but I just agreed. “I’ll take the couch.”

He left his half-eaten dinner and went upstairs. The click of a door followed a few moments later. The house fell into heavy silence, and I stared at the dark windows without really seeing.

After a few minutes of nothing, I finished the bowl in front of me. I wasn’t really hungry anymore, but my body needed the fuel. When I was done, I eyed Rush’s abandoned sushi. Leaning across the table, I hooked my fork into the edge of the plate and dragged it closer. Stabbing one of the rolls, I held it up to my nose and sniffed.

The scent of uncooked fish slapped my nostrils. Nope.

I dropped the food back into its container and then put what I could in the fridge and tossed the rest. I thought longingly of a beer, or maybe something harder, but I didn’t go looking for anything because now was not the time.

I was the adult here. Even if sometimes that very thing blew my mind. I wasn’t a very good adult. I wasn’t a good man either.

I was a good father, though. And coach.

How I could be good at some of those things and not the others was something I didn’t understand… Except maybe I did.

You just don’t like the answer.

Shutting off all the lights except for the glowing stone of the kitchen island, I moved soundlessly to the large glass door leading out onto the deck. My mind was too churned up to sleep, so I slipped out into the windswept, salty night and into a wooden deck chair near the railing overlooking the beach.

Everything was dark, but the white-capped waves were white, and I watched them crest and crash onto the shore. The sound was relaxing, and the strong wind off the ocean might have been enough to blow the thoughts from my head.

It was love.

The reason I was a good father and coach. I loved my daughter more than anything else in life, and right behind her was swimming. I’d made more mistakes in my life, had more regrets than anything, but Landry? My baby girl was the best thing I ever did. Even if, yeah, she started as a mistake. I would never regret her, and in truth, she was probably the sole reason I was still here.

Swimming was also a reprieve. And coaching? A chance to make those boys better. Yeah, I rode them hard. Yeah, I was an asshole, and yeah, I blew my whistle more than I talked, but it was my way. My way of making them tough, loyal, and capable so they would be better at life than I ever was.

I put everything into coaching and fatherhood but nothing into me. Why?

I didn’t love myself.

Hell, most days I struggled to like the reflection I saw in the mirror. And no, I didn’t mean the way I looked. I’d been told more than once I was easy on the eyes. I didn’t care about that. It made me a catfish. Easy on the eyes… hell on the heart.

So no, I didn’t love myself. And I didn’t love being an adult. I didn’t much love humanity at all. So I put nothing into those things, and the places you don’t water die instead of grow.

I am stagnate.

So much for the ocean blowing away my thoughts.

Fuck it. I’m going to find a drink.

We were all adults here anyway.

That’s a dangerous thought, Emmett, and you know it.

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