“I’m gonna fucking kill ’er,” I mumble with another humorlesslaugh.
Rogue slaps my shoulder roughly. “No felonies for you, my guy. But we can sure as hell make her suffer.”
“Get Coash. Let ’im know what’sh happenin’,” I say. The harder I attempt not to slur, the worse I sound, but he understands me well enough to nod and head straight toward Coach.
He’s going to kick my fucking ass and put me through a grueling practice that will surely have me puking in the corner, but I’m losing consciousness every few moments, and I will literally die if I try to swim right now.
“Kellan.” I flinch at the gruff voice snapping my name with the disappointment of a thousand neglectful fathers who have unreasonably high expectations of their offspring.
Immediately, a shot of adrenaline floods my bloodstream, and it’s enough to not only get my eyes open, but keep them open.
At least, I think they’re open.
“I shwear, thish shit isn’t my fault,” I say, forcing my blurred gaze to Coach.
He’s the only person alive who not only can scream in my face and not get decked in the fucking mouth, but who can actually make me hang my head in shame.
He’s always been a tall, burly man—one of the few people who match my height. Forty years ago, he was an Olympic gold medalist. Now, his muscles have softened, and he has a bit of a potbelly, but I know even at his ripe old age, he could kick my ass.
Currently, he’s eye level with me, bent at the waist, hands on his knees. An olive green hat sits atop his head that readsMaster Baiter—his good luck charm—and his sharp, gray eyes study me carefully beneath knitted, bushy, white and gray brows. The second he takes in my unfocused stare, he curses beneath his breath.
“You looked fine when you came in earlier. The fuck happened?” he asks, his weathered voice cracking like a whip.
“I meant to take shome Tylenawl. I think I took my mela-stonin inshtead by acshident,” I explain.
He’s always had pale skin with ruddy red cheeks, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen his entire face turn as red as lava until now. Tomato red, maybe, but fuck, he’s starting to turn purple.
“You goddamn fucking idiot, Kellan Sharpe. Do you know how many people are here to see you compete? Fucking ESPN is here—You know what? You’re going to give me a fucking stroke,” he rants, standing straight to swing his arms about during his tirade. Just barely, he manages to keep his voice from traveling across the entire arena, but if we were alone, the goddamn astronauts in space would hear him.
I swear, the asshole loves me, but his delivery has always been blunt and harsh.
It’s what also makes him one of the best swim coaches in the nation, which is exactly why he was selected as head coach for the next Olympics. He doesn’t pull any punches, and he knows exactly how to torture someone until they swim up to his standards.
He parks one hand on his hip and the other over his mouth as he glowers down at me, the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth deepening.
“Tell ’em I have a migraine,” I say. “Real bad one. Goin’ blind and shit.” I wave my hand to emphasize my point, but my hand just flops around like all my bones have turned to Jell-O.
“Jesus Christ, put your goddamn hand down and quit makin’ yourself look like a fucking nincompoop.”
Rogue quickly dips his head, releasing a quiet snort, his shoulders shaking, while I frown. “A what?”
He ignores me. “You and I are going to have a long fucking talk about this tomorrow, you hear me, boy?”
He points a sausage finger at me, which I’ve had in my face more times than pussy at this point.
“Yes, sir,” I mumble.
“You got anyone to take your ass home?”
“Olive and Junie are here,” I mumble.
Olive, my only other best friend, and her four-year-old daughter, Juniper.
“Rogue, get their attention and take Dread out of here. And for fuck’s sake, keep his state hidden as much as possible,” Coach orders. “I don’t need my captain subjected to a goddamn investigation mid-season. I’m already goin’ to have to deal with reporters up my ass asking about you all goddamn day now,” he complains, spearing the two of us with a glare. His finger is back in my face. “And don’t think I won’t be piss-testing you anyway.”
I’m too tired to do anything other than nod.
Rogue’s already locked eyes with Olive and subtly nods toward the doors while Coach angrily stomps away. Then, Rogue’s face is in mine,his hand tapping my cheek roughly.
