Chapter 43

43

Bodhi

Emmett told me I didn’t need to compete in the first swim meet of the season. I could have a pass because I was still sore from surviving our death-defying plunge off a bridge, fresh from overcoming some debilitating water trauma, and then there was also the little detail that I’d been parked on the bleachers instead of training.

And no , that one lap I’d managed the other day didn’t count.

It would be perfectly reasonable to take the pass. The old me would have been thrilled.

Apparently, this “new” me was unreasonable and had something to prove because I did not take the pass. I insisted on showing up for the meet and swimming.

Em grumbled about it but then relented, and it just hammered home the other thing driving me to swap my thong for a Speedo this afternoon. He wanted me to swim. It was somehow important to him, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on the reason. He never actually said it. For all his “you will swim” lectures, he never actually made me get in the pool and train.

Maybe the coach in him was embarrassed to have a swimmer on the bleachers. As though it somehow reflected he was lacking in his job. I didn’t want to be an embarrassment to Emmett. Actually, to any of Elite.

Rush’s words from weeks ago replayed in my head often, showing up at random times and interrupting my day. You’re Elite now, and that means your condition affects the team. Your effort, or lack thereof, reflects on us all.

At the time, I acted like I gave less than two shits because, well, I didn’t. But now I did. I still wasn’t convinced I wanted to swim… Actually, I admit I didn’t want to. But I was Elite, and these bros had been pretty decent to me. More than I expected and deserved. The idea of letting them down today didn’t sit right with me.

But mostly, I wanted to swim for Em.

Em who was all in. Em who had told his daughter about me. Hell, an entire room filled with Elite. He told me he loved me.

I’d become a professional fuck-up in the last year, but I refused to fuck this up too.

So here I was, standing in the locker room in the standard black Speedo while anxious energy buzzed in the air. It had been a long time since I’d competed. Actually, since I swam at all. What if I choked in the water? Wiped out in epic fashion? What if the trauma I pushed through in the river the other night decided to rear its ugly head?

Bro. My thoughts be thinking. It was giving my anxiety anxiety.

“I thought you might need this.”

I looked up just as a small paper cup was pushed under my nose. After a cursory glance at what was clearly coffee, I followed the hand wrapped around it, up the pale-skinned arm, over a bare shoulder, and stopped on a face with piercing pale-blue eyes. Lars.

“What is it?” I asked even though I already knew.

“It’s a latte,” Lars replied, still holding it out. “I drink espresso before every meet. It’s my tradition. Most Americans I know don’t like to drink straight espresso or even black coffee, so I got you a latte instead.”

Was he rambling? I’d never heard him speak so many words. He’s nervous.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Why?”

He shrugged. “It’s your first meet here. Figured you might be nervous.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask if he’d poisoned it, but you know I was trying to be better, so I kept the scathing accusation to myself. Relaxing my stance, I took the cup. The warmth on my palm was actually kinda nice.

Reluctantly, I said, “Thanks.”

“Good luck today,” he offered, then turned to go.

“Why are you being nice to me?”

He paused before turning back. When he did, I couldn’t help but notice the definition in his upper body. He was conditioned. In shape. Good-looking.

Pissed me off.

“Because Rush cares about you.”

“If he cared that much, he wouldn’t have been so eager to replace me with you.” Oops. Did I say that out loud?

I felt some side-eye coming from down the bleachers. I knew some of the others were listening and probably preparing to jump in and defend their angel.

“If I really was a replacement, you wouldn’t be here,” Lars pointed out.

Scoffing, I took a sip of the latte. It was good. Dammit.

“Rush is important to us both. And Landry is like my sister,” he stated.

“So?”

“So aren’t you and Coach a thing?”

“Define thing.” It was like being a brat was my natural default.

Lars smiled. “He has total daddy energy.”

I tried to cut it off but was woefully unsuccessful and snorted a laugh.

Lars’s smile turned into a grin.

“I’m not into that daddy shit,” I deadpanned.

Lars took a sip of his espresso. “Okay,” he said and turned to go again.

“How would you know anyway?” I tossed the words at his back.

He came back, stepping closer this time so our conversation was slightly more private. Not that I didn’t totally know people were eavesdropping. These people were nosy as hell. All up in each other’s business.

“Because Rush kinda has those vibes too.”

I recoiled. “Rush and I were never a thing. I never looked at him like that.”

Lars nodded as if he’d expected the reaction. “I know. But he still has that in-control, alpha confidence. He makes everyone around him feel safe. So even if you weren’t involved like that, ” he intimated, “he still sort of filled a role, kept you grounded.”

I said nothing. My ears were buzzing. “You poison this?” I demanded, gesturing to the coffee.

Lars laughed under his breath. “And then shit went down, he was gone, and your life kinda went up in flames.”

“That some kinda joke because I burned down the Cobalts’ guest house?” I was defensive. And argumentative. Sue me.

“I think he deserved it.”

Why couldn’t he argue back? Ugh. “Damn right, he did.”

“And then you came here and met Coach. He checks all the boxes for you, right? Even the ones Rush couldn’t.”

“What’s your point?” Other than to make me feel fucking see-through. I mean, this was just rude. I was supposed to hate him.

How could I hate someone who seemed to get it? Get me.

“I’m happy for you. I know what a relief it is to find someone you feel safe with.”

I said nothing.

“Point is Rush is your friend. Coach is a big part of your life. And that means Landry will be too. They’re important to me, and you’re important to them. Not to mention, you’re Elite now. We don’t have to be friends, but it would be nice if we could at least get along.”

I drank more coffee, watching him over the rim the entire time. “Yeah, okay.”

Lars nodded. “See you out there.”

“I still hate your hair!” I called after him.

Over his shoulder, he said, “Don’t worry. Yours will grow back.”

What an asshole! “Hey, Rush, your bestie thinks you have daddy energy,” I called down the row.

Rush popped out from around his open locker door. “You better not tell Win you think that, bro!”

Laughter filled the space.

“They do say women are attracted to men that are like their fathers,” Ryan heckled.

Rush gave him the finger.

“Ahh, shit. Coach has the BDE,” Jamie cracked.

“You can’t just talk about other men’s dicks,” Kruger told him.

“You literally asked me if Max’s was pierced,” Wes pointed out.

“I was curious.” Kruger defended himself.

Prism snickered.

“Bros, I didn’t even know Coach had a dick. I was talking about that big daddy energy.”

Phweeeeee!

Who knew such a grating sound could make my heart skip a beat?

Coach strolled out of his office, whistle still between his lips. “I don’t know what the hell you all are gossiping about out here, and I don’t want to know,” he said. “Get your dry asses out to the pool. It’s time to get wet!”

“Yes, Daddy,” someone squealed.

Phweeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

“I hear that out of any of your mouths ever again, and it’s automatic dismissal. I don’t care who you are. Bunch of jagoffs.”

“What’s a jagoff?” someone whispered.

“Old people insults,” someone whispered back.

“OUT!”

The sound of locker doors slamming muffled everything else, and we all headed for the pool.

A short, high blip of the whistle made my feet stall. “Bodhi, get over here.”

With a swim cap and goggles in one hand and the coffee in the other, I walked toward Emmett who was doing a very poor job of concealing the hot way he perused my mostly naked body. Guess it was a good thing the place was empty.

“Yes, Coach?” I said, stopping in front of him.

“Don’t call me that.”

“But you just said I wasn’t allowed to call you Daddy .”

His eyes flashed, and he grasped the back of my neck, yanking me until I was nearly rubbing against the front of his body. I felt small in front of him, barefoot and in nothing but a Speedo while he towered over me, fully dressed and a backward hat on his head.

“Keep testing my patience, Goldilocks. It’s about to run out.”

I batted my eyes.

He scowled. “You sure you’re okay to swim today?”

“I said I was.”

“Tell me again.”

I rolled my eyes, and his fingers dug into the nape of my neck. I let out a little sound, relishing the strong hold he had on me. “I’m ready to swim,” I told him.

He seemed doubtful. “You’re not sore?”

“No.” I lied.

I was sore. Especially my left bicep. But swimmers swam sore all the time.

“Look at me.”

My stare went right to his. It was almost a relief to do what he ordered. I didn’t have to think at all.

“I can’t show favoritism out there.” His voice was low and delicious like warm honey coating my insides.

I nodded.

“But we both know you’re my favorite.”

My stomach dipped.

He gave my neck another squeeze. “You do know that, don’t you?”

I nodded.

“Words, Goldilocks. Say it,” he commanded.

“I’m your favorite.”

He leaned in, so close I felt his breath over my lips. “Good boy,” he whispered and then pulled away. “Go get ready.”

I made a dejected sound, then turned.

He moved so fast that I didn’t even know it was coming. One minute, I was pouting, and the next, I was spinning and falling into his kiss.

It was short but deep and satisfying.

“Go on,” he said after lifting his face. “I’ll be out.”

Out in the natatorium, the bleachers were full of friends and family members from Westbrook as well as the competing teams. A sharp pang of sorrow pierced my chest when I caught myself sweeping the stands for Brynne. She wasn’t here. She never would be again.

She’d always been my biggest supporter, and swimming without her here just felt… wrong.

“Hey.” Rush’s voice brought my head around.

I lifted my chin, silently gesturing that I’d heard him.

“I miss her too.”

What was it with everyone around here? They all acted psychic. I wasn’t that easy to read, was I?

“So, ah, you ready for today?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“If you don’t want to swim?—”

“I want to.” Geez. He really was as bad as Em.

“All right, bro. Chill with the aggro. Let’s go sit.”

After we took a seat with Elite, he leaned over. “You and me are gonna have a talk later about you and Emmett… and how the hell you ended up on that bridge.”

“Now who’s being aggro?” I muttered.

He laughed under his breath and clapped me on the shoulder. “Good to have you back, brah.”

I tried not to show how damn much that meant to me and just how tight those simple words made my chest. I covered it up by drinking the coffee Lars had given me.

God. I was going soft.

The meet started, and I sat so long on the bleachers that my ass went numb. I had to admit Elite was impressive. Maybe even more so than my old team at Pembrook.

Watching them basically smoke all the other competition created a fine buzz beneath my skin. Maybe adrenaline. Maybe anticipation. Or maybe fear.

I wasn’t sure because it could have been any or all of those things.

I took a few steadying breaths and shook out my legs when my heat was announced.

“You got this.” Rush encouraged me. “Don’t worry about the clock. Just swim.”

Easy for him to say. His time was killer.

And mine?

Pretty sure I saw a drowning turtle pass me on my way down the lane. I was the last one to pull my heaving, cooked-spaghetti-armed self out of the pool—just in time to see my time flash on the screen.

Worst in heat.

Pathetic.

Maybe it was good Brynne wasn’t here to see this. Unfortunately, everyone else was.

My wet, embarrassed ass slammed into something hard and dry on my way to lick my wounds, and I nearly slipped and fell. Emmett caught me with both hands, pulling me instantly back to my feet.

Refusing to meet his eyes—which I knew would be overfull with disappointment—I stared at his ivy-green windbreaker and the whistle hanging around his neck instead.

“Bodhi.”

I still didn’t look.

Warm fingers touched the underside of my chin and pushed. Even then, I didn’t meet his eyes.

“You did well, sweetheart,” he said. The words were so quiet I barely heard them over the loud, echoing crowd of people.

My eyes flew up. There was not one ounce of disappointment in his. “I’ll do better in the next heat.” I sucked my lip into my mouth to keep him from seeing it quiver.

“Don’t push yourself,” he cautioned.

I nodded.

When my next heat came around, I walked to my lane and took a few breaths. My stomach was tight, and my limbs were more fatigued than before. My eyes swept the space for Em, finding him by the pool, clipboard in hand.

Just seeing him there bolstered my confidence a bit. Noticing my stare, he acknowledged me with a reassuring nod.

“Let’s go, Lawson!” a familiar voice called, and I looked over to see Rush, Lars, Ryan, Jamie, Wes, Kruger, and Prism all cheering me on.

I wanted to make them all proud.

The second the signal sounded, I dove in and started to swim, pushing myself more with every stroke. Halfway down the lane, I felt something pop, and searing pain ripped down my arm.

My shout was muffled by the water, and I fumbled a bit but locked back in to try and recover. A burning sensation erupted, my arm on fire. Unable to hold proper form, I slipped under the waves again, grappling for the surface with my good arm. Suddenly, my calf muscles contracted, tightening into clenched knots. The onset of the cramps made it impossible to concentrate on anything else. I couldn’t kick or keep myself afloat because stretching the muscles to paddle was impossible.

The familiar sound of a whistle cut through some of the panic and pain, but I was too busy trying to stay afloat to pay attention. I slipped below the surface again but didn’t stay under because I was wrenched up as a solid arm anchored around me.

Gasping, I tried to swim and ignore the whole-body pain, but that was about as useless as balls on a dildo.

“Relax,” Emmett’s gruff voice demanded. “Stop swimming. It’s just going to hurt worse.”

“Em.” I panted.

“That’s right. I got you. Calm down.”

I went slack, letting the pain take over. The second we were at the edge, Ryan and Rush hauled me out. The team trainer was there, as was Win, and they both looked serious. A few medics who were on standby started forward, but Rush leaned down and heaved me into his arms.

He carried me into the trainer’s office where the medics could come forward and assess.

“I’m fine,” I insisted through gritted teeth as I grabbed one seizing calf muscle. “Just give me a minute.” My bicep screamed, and I slapped a hand over it too.

“Everyone out,” Coach ordered. “Rush, Walsh, Sinclair.”

“I can help,” Win insisted. Pretty sure he was a physical therapy major.

“Out!” Coach roared.

Everyone left except the medics and team trainer.

“You told me you were ready,” Emmett intoned beside the table.

“I am!” I insisted.

“You told me you weren’t sore.” He went on. “You pushed yourself too hard.”

“Could you tell us what happened out there?” a medic asked.

“I’m assuming leg cramps,” suggested the trainer whose name I couldn’t remember.

“He’s holding his arm too,” the second medic murmured.

“Probably a sprain,” the trainer conferred.

Through the hovering people, I found Emmett, tight-lipped and glowering.

“I’m sorry,” I managed.

“Not yet, you aren’t.” He promised. “But you will be.”