Page 43 of Whistle

“Not a thing,” I drawled.

Coach turned back to the group.

I coughed. “Nepotism.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rush stiffen. He started forward, but Ryan caught him around the waist and said something I couldn’t hear.

Coach rotated to face me fully. His face was dark, his jaw set, and his eyes sparked with heat. “You got a problem with the way I run my pool?”

“You want to have your daughter as second-in-command, that’s your choice.”

I could hear his teeth grind. All traces of any kind of want I’d seen in his eyes before were gone, replaced by a stony, flat expression. “Landry Resch is more than qualified for the assistant coach position. If you would like to question my judgment, feel free to take yourself to the dean where you can discuss it along with my decision to bring you to Elite.”

Embarrassment heated my ears as I felt the stare of too many eyes to count. Something inside me shriveled, and all the bravado I usually embodied seemed to flee as if I were a deflated balloon. I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to swim. Hell, I didn’t even want to finish college.

But the alternative was worse.

Averting my gaze, I said nothing.

After a long stretch of silence, Coach turned back to the team. “Since it’s the start of a new semester, I feel the need to remind you that there is no I in team.”

Groans echoed up to the high rafters.

Phweeeeee!

Several hands shot up to cover their ears.

“How do you expect us all to listen if you keep doing that?” Kruger complained.

“Yes, swimming is an individual sport, but we’re still on the same team. We’re all here to work. We have the same goals. Elite takes care of Elite. When someone needs encouragement, a lap counter, or some tips, we do it. A candle doesn’t lose its flame by lighting another.”

“That’s deep, bro. Did you learn that from Sally Jessie Raphael, Coach?” the dark-blond, massive swimmer asked from beside Ryan.

What the hell was Sally Jessie Raphael?

Someone I didn’t know leaned in and whispered, “It’s some old-person show Coach watches while he drinks tea.”

Coach sighed. “I will not have a battle of wits with someone who is unarmed, Owens.” Turning back to the group, he said, “As I was saying, I expect everyone here to get along. Out there”—he pointed to the large glass doors—“stays out there. In here, we’re a team.”

“And that brings us to our new teammate,” Ryan said, blue eyes steady on mine.

I lifted my chin.

“Malibu Barbie,” Win said.

A few whispers went through the group.

“Aren’t you the one that accused Rush of murder?” someone in the back called.

My shoulders tightened, and my eyes flew to Rush. Was that what he told them all? I wasn’t the one who accused him first.

The whistle cut through the whispering voices.

“This is Bodhi Lawson.” Coach smacked me on the shoulder. “He’s joining Elite from Pembrook.”

Silence.

“Tell the team about yourself,” he told me.

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