Page 37 of Whistle

Kruger: You can just say Prism, A. We know that’s who you’re worried about.

Prism: *bear emoji*

Wes: Why would Coach agree to this? Why would you, Rush?

Rush: … Honestly? I’m not really sure.

Jamie: Practice tomorrow just got a hell of a lot more interesting.

11

Coach (Emmett)

The small light over the stove was the only illumination in the very early morning hour. I was used to waking up before the sun did, my internal clock programmed that way for too many years to count.

Even still, I was up earlier than usual, dressed and ready to go. There was a lot to do with Elite swim season starting in just a few days. I was anxious to see how much conditioning my swimmers had lost over the summer and how much work we’d have to put in to get back to where I insisted we be.

Yeah, that was why I was awake. It had nothing at all to do with the body currently filling my couch. Not at all that every time I closed my eyes, I was back in that moment where the sound of the surf and tang of the salt air was a mere backdrop to the smaller body against mine and the sweet surrender of his lips.

I kissed him.

A brief brush of the lips.

I shouldn’t have. I knew better. His vulnerability and desperation made me fucking weak, and I surrendered, if only for a moment.

His mask slipped when the gun went off. When he forced his way back into the room, blind with fear so potent he shook like a leaf. Gone was the angry brat who would claw out your eyes, and in its place was a malnourished kitten who climbed up my body to curl up and cling.

This boy was filled with buckets of emotion, emotion so strong it made him extreme in every direction. So full that he was the physical representation of an active volcano, ready to erupt at any moment, for any reason.

Everything about him called to me. His anger to my challenge. Rebellion to my dominance. Need to my loneliness. Instinct told me he was greedy. Insatiable. And something in me wanted desperately to be consumed.

And that hair. Goldilocks.

Basically, Bodhi Lawson was my kryptonite.

So dangerous that when he tried to deepen the kiss, I was a heartbeat away from giving in and staking my claim. Oh, how I wanted to.

And it was that desperation that made me pull back.

This was wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

He was half my age. A criminal. Rush’s ex-best friend. My new swimmer.

I was his coach. An authority figure. The guy who promised to keep him in line.

You can’t save him.

Maybe I can.

Or maybe he will drag you down with him.

I slammed the coffee pot down on the burner and jammed my finger on the start button with so much force it slid backward on the counter.

The old machine gurgled and sputtered, spitting out a stream of dark brew into the glass carafe. I glared at it, mentally ordering it to hurry the hell up. When it continued with its usual too-slow speed, I stalked to the cupboard to pull out a mug and set it aside.

Helplessly, my attention veered to the body sprawled on the couch. Forgetting the coffee, I left the kitchen and crossed the room. Turn around. Walk away.

I had about as much obedience as my coffeemaker and stopped just beside the sofa.

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