Page 56 of Whistle

No one had ever made me feel that consumed before. I hadn’t let go like that in, well, maybe ever. It had been such a fucking relief.

Which made it that much worse when he pulled back and put a barrier between us.

“Give Coach a message for me,” I said and threw up my middle finger.

Rush grabbed the hood against my back and yanked, making me shout. I spun, the hood tangling around my neck because he was still gripping it. Angry, I smacked his arm away, but it came right back to fist in the front of my shirt this time.

He dragged me in, practically lifting me off my feet. Heat singed the back of my neck at the way he manhandled me, and it just hammered home his observation of my lack of size.

“Drop the aggro, bro.”

Aggro = aggressive attitude.

My lip curled. “I thought you were East Coast now,” I spat. “Leave the surf talk for the locals.”

“Look, I get you’ve been through a lot. We all have.”

His words filled me with so much rage that the inside of my mouth turned bitter. Rearing back, I slammed both hands into his chest and shoved. His grip on my shirt dislodged, and we stumbled apart. Recovering quickly, I straightened to my full height, fists balled at my sides.

“Don’t act like you know me,” I said low. “Don’t act like you fucking care, you’ve made it clear you don’t. Hell, why’d you even come to Cali when I called?”

The muscle in his jaw jumped. “You’re right. I don’t know you. Not anymore. I’m not the only one who’s changed,” he said, his eyes burning a hole right through my face. I’d forgotten how intense Rush could be. I’d never been on the receiving end. Not until recently. “We might not be friends anymore, but I do care. That’s why I came.”

“Could have fooled me. Thought you came to gloat.”

He made a face. “What?”

I didn’t mean that, and I started to tell him, but the door behind us shuddered and opened.

A white-blond head appeared. “Rush? Is everything okay?”

Rush turned instantly. “Lars, hey. Yeah, everything’s cool, bro.”

“It looked like you two were fighting.” Lars’s piercing light eyes cut me with an accusatory glint. “He shoved you.”

Why was this guy everywhere? Why was he acting like he was a better version of me? Like he was somehow perfect and I was just leftovers of who I used to be.

Screw that apology. I did mean what I said. The anger and hurt boiled so intensely inside me that I had to give it an outlet.

Flicking my eyes back to Rush, I accused, “You only came to rub it in my face that you bounced back. That you’re better than ever. You have the college, the team, the friends. You have connections to get your disloyal ex-bestie out of jail. You just wanted to throw it in my face that you have everything and I don’t.”

Shock transformed Rush’s face, and then it went blank, almost as if he were looking at a complete stranger. “I guess that’s your opinion of me.”

Fuck.

He continued. “I mean, after all, you think I’m capable of murder.”

“Rush—” I began, regret sinking like a rock in my gut.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, cutting me off. “You owe me. You owe Coach. He pulled a lot of strings to get you admitted so late and that schedule in your hand. He went out on a limb, put Elite on the line to give you a spot on this team. And all this shit”—he threw his hands wide—“that you say I’m gloating about having, technically, it’s yours now too.”

I opened my mouth, but he cut me a harsh look, freezing my tongue.

“You want to throw away the second chance you were given? Fine by me. But like I told you before, don’t call me again. I won’t come.”

He spun on his heel, and Lars held open the door for him to go through. Feeling his stare, I met his eyes, letting him see the hate swirling inside me. He turned to go after Rush, the door slamming closed, leaving me standing on the sidewalk alone.

Wasn’t that how it always ended up? With me alone.

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