Page 52 of Whistle

I shuddered and spun, the past warring with the present and the pain threatening to split me in two.

“Coach?”

God, I fucking hated that name on his lips. It was heinous. Wrong.

“Leave while I change.”

“No.”

I whipped around. “Excuse me?”

“Are you okay?”

Caught off guard, I blinked. “What?”

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m wet and cold,” I deadpanned.

“Better change, then.”

“Wait outside.”

“No,” he retorted.

“Tell me why you had a panic attack.”

“I’ll wait outside.” He stomped to the doorway of the office and planted himself there, leaving his back turned.

“You’re still in the doorway.”

“I won’t look.”

“Fuck,” I muttered and started stripping. My wet clothes joined his on the floor, and I pulled on a dry pair of ivy-green track pants with white stripes on the sides and a matching green T-shirt with RESCH across the back.

Once I was dressed, I grabbed the towel and dried my whistle.

A scuffle at the door made me look up.

“Bro, what the hell?”

“Language,” I called.

Yeah, yeah, I cussed like a drunk sailor. But I was the adult. It was my job to tell them not to be like me.

“Let me in,” Rush intoned.

“Back off,” Bodhi retorted.

“Both of you get your asses in here.”

Another scuffle. Bodhi appeared first, his eyes sweeping over my body. Once he saw I was dressed, he relaxed and moved out of the way for a scowling Rush.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, directing the words between us both.

I glanced at Bodhi, wondering how he wanted to play this.

“It’s fine.”

---