Chapter 14

14

Bodhi

Westbrook really was the Pembrook of the East Coast. Money talked around here, as did being Elite—which I now was. Something that I knew but didn’t really register. I didn’t feel like a swimmer anymore. Or a college student.

I wasn’t a son or a brother… or even a best friend.

So what was I? Who was I?

Classes started tomorrow, and there was a schedule in my hand as I trailed behind Rush on our way into the natatorium for the second time of the day. It felt like the universe was mocking me. Reminding me of all the shit I used to have but didn’t deserve.

“A lot of us get together and do a second swim in the afternoons around this time,” Rush told me without looking back. “If you want to join, the extra practice might help get you back to where you used to be.”

I made a rude noise. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

His dark stare flashed over his shoulder. “We both know you lost your conditioning.” He was blunt, eyes dragging down over my chest that looked swallowed up in the sweatshirt Coach had given me.

He wanted me to call him Coach? I’d fucking call him that.

“So I lost some weight.” I scoffed like it was no big deal. It wasn’t. I didn’t need the muscle mass if I wasn’t swimming. That shit was hard to maintain, at least for me. I was naturally… not muscular. Thin. I’d always had to work extra to keep on the weight and strength.

Rush stopped right before pulling open the glass door. I nearly collided with him, my feet squeaking in my still-wet sneakers.

He reached out to steady me, but I flinched away. Glowering, he pulled back. “You haven’t been taking care of yourself at all.”

“What do you care?” I snapped.

He’d fled Cali and never looked back. Yeah, because of you.

“You’re Elite now, and that means your condition affects the whole team. Your effort, or lack thereof, reflects on us all.”

“You’ve changed,” I said before I could think better of it.

His eyes shuttered. It was a look I wasn’t used to seeing him wear, but it now seemed like half of his personality.

“Well, losing everything will do that to a person.” His voice was hard.

Touché. Also, ouch.

“Brah, from where I’m standing, you’re doing just fine.”

“Yeah? Well, it wasn’t easy to get here. You know that, bro ,” he lamented, and my stomach twisted. “And I’m serious about protecting what’s mine. I won’t lose this.”

“You mean them,” I said, flinging a hand at the pool doors.

He cocked his head to the side. “Yeah. Them.”

“Funny. You weren’t that determined to hold on to what you had before.” Like me.

I thought I saw a fissure of hurt flash across his face, but he twisted it into a derisive smirk. “Kinda hard to fight for something when you’re frozen out.”

This conversation was gnarlier than a strong riptide.

“Well, don’t let me keep you from your people,” I said, turning to leave.

His hand slapped onto my shoulder. “Coach wants you in his office.”

The memory of exactly how much Coach wanted me in his office this morning sent a rush of heat through me. Remembering the way it felt to be pinned across his desk while he deep-throated my dick made it stir in my sweats.

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.

To hell with this second chance. To hell with Westbrook. They couldn’t make me stay.

You owe me. You owe Coach. Rush’s words echoed through my head.

“I don’t owe anyone shit.”

What about Brynne?

I ran from the thought, left the rumination right there on the pavement and fled. I’d meant to cross the parking lot, disappear somewhere on campus.

Instead, I found myself in the doorway of Coach’s office, and by the time I realized where I’d run, he was already staring at me.

“Lawson. Get in here.”

I hated when he called me that. Just a name on a list. A swimmer on his roster. Nothing at all.

I came to tell you I’m leaving. “Rush said you wanted to see me.”

“That your class schedule?” he asked, motioning to the paper clutched in my hand.

I nodded.

“Let me see.”

My feet didn’t move. I stayed rooted in place. I didn’t want to stay, but I couldn’t force myself to leave. He appeared in front of me, his chest a wall blocking everything else out.

“Goldilocks.” His voice was quiet.

I looked up. Suddenly, it was easier to breathe.

“Let me see your schedule.”

I held it up, and he took it, glancing at the crinkled paper I’d tortured with my grip. “What’s your major?” he asked.

“Business,” I replied.

“These all fit with your degree, then?”

I shrugged.

“Meet with an academic counselor to make sure you stay on track and take what you need to graduate.”

I said nothing.

“Did you have a problem with tuition?”

I shook my head. Money was the only problem I didn’t have.

“Good. Did you get your books?”

“No.”

“Why the hell not?” he asked.

“They’re all online now.”

“Right.”

“Can I go now?” Why am I asking permission? Where the hell will I even go?

“No,” he said, walking back to his desk, my schedule still in his grip. “Campus housing just called. They were able to find you a spot in the dorm. Your roommate isn’t Elite, but you’re in the same dorm with the other swimmers. It’s all that was available, so you’ll have to make do for this semester.”

A rush of emotion overcame me, and I stared at my feet, blinking rapidly. I felt stupid. Stupid and overwhelmed. Maybe it was the argument I’d just had with Rush. Maybe the panic attack first thing this morning.

Or maybe it was because my entire life was upside down.

I’d handled all of that just fine until now. Okay, maybe not fine. But I’d handled it. So why did I suddenly feel like crying? He really is kicking me out. Sending me someplace with some stranger just so he wouldn’t have to look at me.

“Building and room number are here,” he said, sticking a yellow note to my schedule. “You can move in now.”

My chest hurt, my stomach ached, and the backs of my eyes felt grainy. Swallowing it all down, I strolled across the room to snatch the paper with my dorm assignment attached. “I hope my roomie likes to party.”

“No parties.”

“No?” I asked, lifting an eyebrow. “Is that against the rules?”

His face darkened.

I smiled, a big, beautiful flash of teeth. “I don’t recall a list of rules anywhere.” I made a show of looking at my paper. “Nope. Just a list of classes.”

The muscles in his jaws jutted out. It made me recall the way his scruff felt against my balls when he was deep-throating me. “You’re Elite. No parties.”

I made a sly sound. “I’m not much for crowds anyway. I prefer more intimate get-togethers. Two people.” I gave him a wink. “Maybe three.”

His eyes flashed and his hand shot out, taking a fistful of my hair.

I smiled serenely. “Is there a problem, Coach ?”

“You test my patience.” The words were practically a growl, his fingers tightening in my hair. I pushed my head closer, enjoying his possessiveness.

Like he can make me stay.

“Why’s that?” I batted my baby blues. “You don’t like the idea of me and a party of two?”

He yanked, and I tumbled forward, our chests colliding. This close, his eyes appeared green with flecks of gold still at the center. He stared intently, and I had the urge to squirm against him. Instead, I leaned in a little more, letting his body support mine. He smelled like chlorine and something more, something woodsy and deep.

His fingers gentled in my hair, scratching lightly into the strands and then dragging through them. He did it several times, and my eyelids grew heavy.

“You’re, ah, personal life is not my concern,” he said abruptly, untangling his fingers and stepping away.

I swayed at the sudden change, and he caught my elbow to steady me. “What?” I asked, trying to keep up.

“As long as it doesn’t interfere with swimming or the reputation of this team, it’s not my concern.”

Scowling, I pulled back.

“Sit down,” he directed, pointing to a seat at the front of his desk. I flicked my gaze to his desk chair, thinking of when I’d sat in his lap.

“I can’t. I have to move into my new place.” I spun away, but he caught my arm.

“Ass in that chair, Lawson.”

“Coach, you really shouldn’t talk about my ass. What would the dean say?”

His face pinched as though he’d eaten something rotten. “Since you seem to need a list of rules, I’m going to give you one.”

I laughed.

“Rule one.” He started. “Dorm curfew is ten on weeknights. Eleven on Saturday.”

He was serious?

“Rule two. No missing practice. If you have to miss, I need a doctor’s note or a damn good excuse.”

“I’m not swimming.”

“Rule three. Missed practices will be made up.”

I started to get up.

He blew his whistle. “Sit!”

I sat.

“Rule four. No drugs of any kind. No drinking.”

I scoffed. “I’m in college.”

“No drinking.”

Whatever.

“You have a physical scheduled for day after tomorrow. Drug and STD testing is mandatory.” He wrote a time and address on another yellow sticky and passed it to me.

I stared at it incredulously. Then I sneered. “Is that a rule for everyone or just fuck-ups?”

“You aren’t a fuck-up,” he said. The vehemence in his tone surprised me, and my eyes widened. “And yes, an annual physical is required for all my swimmers.”

“Five.” He went on, still handing out rules the way I handed out insults. “No fighting.”

“I have a right to defen?—”

“Six. No skipping classes.”

An inkling of offense whipped through me. Once upon a time, I was actually a good student.

But now, nothing about me was good.

“Seven.”

I groaned. “If I throw a stick, will you leave?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You will make an effort to bond with the team.”

I laughed. “No.”

“I don’t know how you did it in Pembrook, but here, team is family.”

My stomach quivered. “They hate me.”

“Elite does not hate you.”

“That’s not what Win said this morning when he followed me into the locker room.”

Coach stood so fast his chair skidded across the floor and smacked into the wall with a loud bang! “He did what?”

His outrage made me happy, and I wiggled down into the chair, suddenly very comfortable. “Mmm,” I hummed. “Him and Max. And the one with the good pants.”

“The good pants?”

“Arsen,” I said, remembering his name.

“Why were you looking at his pants?”

“They made his ass look good.”

Red splotches appeared on his cheeks, a bright contrast to the dark stubble covering his jaws. “Get out of my office.”

“I thought you were giving me a list of rules,” I said, positively serene.

“Rule six?—”

“We were on seven.” I corrected him.

He inhaled so deep that his nostrils flared, and when he exhaled, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “Seven,” he amended. “Stay the hell out of trouble.”

Grabbing a strand of hair, I coiled it around my finger. “I make no promises.”

He pointed to his door. “Go.”

Before stepping through the doorway, I turned back, taking in his broad shoulders, narrow waist, and buzzed dark head. A lump caught in my throat, and the urge to rush him assailed me.

Almost as if he felt the shift, his eyes met mine. The space between us seemed to shrink, and there was a tug in the center of my chest.

But I’d had enough today. Vulnerability and rejection stung like open cuts.

“Thanks for the address, Coach,” I said, waving the paper. “I’ll have my stuff gone before you get home.”

Something passed over his face, but I didn’t hang around to figure it out. I went off to get my three measly bags and go somewhere else I probably wasn’t wanted either.