Chapter 38

38

Coach (Emmett)

The constant ringing broke into my spiraling, and I snatched the whistle off the mirror, crushing it in one hand while digging my cell out of my pocket with the other.

I snarled at the unrecognizable number, finger hovering over the reject button, but at the last minute, I chose accept.

“Bodhi?” I said, sounding near feral in the line.

“Uhh, this Coach Resch?” The voice was nearly overcome with loud music.

“Who’s asking?” I barked.

“This is Tom Cravitz.”

“I don—” I paused. “The bartender over at Yellow Pages?”

“You remember.”

“What do you want?” I asked, not wanting to take a trip down memory lane about how or why I remembered.

Bottom line was I hadn’t been to that bar in years, since college actually. A man couldn’t keep his preferences on the down-low by frequenting a gay bar in the next town over. Especially not when he was a high-profile coach.

“I actually own this place now,” Tom said as though he hadn’t noticed my foul mood. Maybe he was drunk.

“I’m hanging up.”

“One of your swimmers was in here earlier,” he rushed out.

My hand tightened around the phone. “Who?” I demanded.

“Didn’t catch his name.”

I prayed for patience. My prayer was denied. “Then how the hell did you know it was one of my swimmers?”

“Said he was Elite,” he replied. “Something about a swimmer who can’t swim.”

Bodhi.

“Put him on the phone.”

“Can’t.”

“Listen here. You put him on the phone right now, or I’m going to drive over there and personally shove it up your ass!”

“I’m realizing I probably shouldn’t have called,” he said calmly.

“Jesus Christ, Tom! Where is he?”

“Dunno. He left.”

Blowing out a breath, I turned my eyes to the time’s up scrawled on the mirror. “Where’d he go?”

“Dunno that either. One minute, he was heading into the bathroom with some guy. The next, he was running out, throwing me a few Benjamins and swiping an entire bottle of vodka. The guy from the bathroom came out looking like he got his balls turned inside out, and the kid disappeared all lickety-split.”

He went in the bathroom with some guy? If my blood pressure got any higher, my head was going to explode. “You’re sure he’s not there?” I pressed.

“Yep. Figured you’d want to know one of yours was running around town with a bottle of liquor.”

“If he comes back, call me immediately,” I demanded, then ended the call.

Jamming the phone into my pants and slinging my whistle around my neck, I ran through the house and out the front door. I didn’t bother stopping to lock it. It wasn’t like I had much furniture for people to steal anyway.

The aggressive, throaty purr of the Mustang mollified me just a bit, making me feel a little more powerful in a moment when I was splintering apart. The tires squealed as I ripped out of the driveway, thankful the hour was late and the roads weren’t busy.

Yellow Pages was located in the next town over, about a twenty-five-minute drive and a place I never went. In fact, I avoided it like the plague. And if I, for whatever reason, had to go over there, I took the long route, which added a good fifteen minutes to the clock.

I didn’t have time for that tonight. Hell, I didn’t even have twenty-five minutes. The mere thought of Bodhi wandering around drunk in a place he wasn’t familiar with while fuck knew what was going through his mind made my skin crawl. Anything could happen to him in twenty-five minutes.

Why did he have to be on that side of town? Why?

I smashed my foot down on the gas so hard that the car shot forward and threw me back into the seat. I didn’t slow down, though. I kept the pedal to the metal and sped toward a place I never wanted to go again.

Suddenly, it didn’t matter because I wanted him more. I’d crawl through glass, sleep on a bed of nails, and relive my greatest nightmare again and again and again if it meant getting to him.

Please be okay, I prayed. Please don’t do anything stupid.

Please.

My eyes roamed the streets, just hoping for a glimpse of him, and the longer I went without seeing him, the more anxious I became. My stomach was in knots, hands clammy, and the back of my neck tense. The past reached out its garbled, bloody talons, threatening to pull me back, but I resisted.

I couldn’t go back because Bodhi needed me in the present.

And then I rounded the bend, headlights illuminating a section of the two-lane road I hadn’t been on for twenty years. Foot easing off the gas, the car slowed slightly as the large bridge came into focus, the structure exactly as I remembered.

To most, it was probably just a metal structure built to alleviate an obstacle, a convenient way to get from point A to point B. But to me? It was a literal nightmare in the dark.

Gritting my teeth, I drove forward, muscles locking as I steeled myself to drive across. The last time I’d attempted to travel this way, I pulled over and puked on the side of the road and then turned around and went the opposite direction.

I drove forward, close enough now that my headlights illuminated the road stretching over the bridge, and everything around it was pitch black and made me feel like I had tunnel vision.

Just before my tires rolled onto the structure, I slammed my brakes so hard the back end fishtailed and the seatbelt tightened across my chest.

“Shit,” I cursed, resting my forearms on the steering wheel, and bowed my head. Lance’s face flashed in my mind, the last words he ever said to me echoing between my ears.

I’m sorry I can’t make you happy, Emmett. I can’t seem to make anyone happy.

I should have stopped him from leaving. I should have told him his words weren’t true. But I was young and stupid. Angry and hurt that he wanted me to be his secret.

That’s exactly what you made Bodhi.

The realization hit me dead center in the chest, robbing my air and making my eyes water. How could I have done this? I was selfish. A selfish bastard who only thought about himself.

Letting out a yell, I slammed my palm into the steering wheel and sat back, chest heaving. My eye caught on something down the bridge, a flash of movement, something out of place.

A knot formed in my throat as I imagined fabric caught on the metal railing and fluttering in the night air.

Shaking it off, I squinted through the windshield, trying to see what was just beyond the edge of the headlights. Unable to make it out, I crept forward. Halfway across the bridge, he came into focus.

A man sat on the railing, carelessly dangling his feet over the side as if he didn’t realize there was a wide, rushing river below. Or maybe he just didn’t care.

A prickle of something—panic, familiarity… both? —came over me as the man lifted his arm to tilt a bottle to his lips. Tipping his head back, he took a long chug before pulling the glass down and swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.

He was in all black. The shirt he wore was cropped and showed a wide strip of skin on his back… Bodhi.

Nearly choking on the heart that leaped into my throat, I scrambled for the handle, the car stalling out beneath me. Shoving it wide, I hurdled onto the pavement, the sound of rushing water below reminding me exactly where I was.

“Bodhi!” I roared.

He stiffened, turning to look over his shoulder. He was wearing my cap. And then, as if I were a stranger, he turned away.

“Get off of there!” I roared. “Jesus Christ! You’re going to fall!”

Ignoring me completely, he lifted the bottle again, pouring vodka down the back of his throat.

And then it dawned on me. He wasn’t worried about falling because he’d come here to jump.

Just like Lance did all those years ago.