Chapter 8 - Echoes After the Whistle
The coughing wouldn't stop. Rourke was on his side at the gutter now, one hand hooked over the edge, the other pressed flat to the deck. Every breath came up wet and ragged. Water ran off his shirt in thin sheets and pooled under his shoulder. My hands were still shaking from pulling him in.
Tamsin's sleeves were soaked to the elbow. Strands of her hair stuck to her cheek. She kept one hand on Rourke's back like she could steady his breathing by touching him, and her eyes kept cutting to Ivy.
Ivy stood where I'd left her. Bare feet on the cold deck. Arms locked tight around herself. The blue goggles still hung around her neck, dripping. She was shivering so hard her teeth clicked.
That got me moving before anything else did.
I pushed up off my knees. My jacket was heavy with water and clung to my forearms. I walked to the bench where the team towels were stacked in a plastic bin and grabbed the top two. They smelled like chlorine and laundry soap.
Ivy didn't move when I came back. I wrapped the first towel around her shoulders and pulled it closed at her throat.
"Here," I said. "Hold that."
She grabbed the edges with both hands. I rubbed her upper arms through the towel, quick and firm, trying to get some heat back into her.
"You okay?" I asked.
She nodded, but her chin was trembling. Her eyes never left her mother and the coach.
I put my hand on the back of her neck, light. Her skin was ice cold and damp.
"Come on," I said. "Let's get you up off this wet deck."
I steered her back toward the bleachers. The metal was cold under my shoes. I sat her down on the lowest row and took the second towel and started drying her legs and feet. Her swimsuit top was soaked and her hair dripped down her back. I worked fast, not gentle the way Tamsin would have been, just trying to cover her.
"Better?" I said.
"A little," she whispered.
Behind us, Rourke tried to sit up. His elbow skidded on the wet tile. His whistle swung free on the lanyard and hit the deck with a sharp clatter. He caught himself on one hand and coughed again, hard, and spat pool water onto the concrete.
Tamsin flinched. "Easy," she said to him. "Just sit for a second."
She looked over her shoulder at us on the bleachers. I could see it in her face, the pull in two directions. Her hand hovered over Rourke's shoulder, then dropped.
"Ivy," she called. "Honey, are you—"
"She's cold," I said. I didn't raise my voice. The room carried it anyway. "She needs to get dry."
Tamsin stared at me. Then at Ivy wrapped in the white towel. She started to stand, then stopped when Rourke coughed again and reached blindly for the edge.
"Don't get up fast," she told him. She was talking to him but watching us. "You hit your head?"
"I'm fine," he rasped. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His polo stuck to his chest. His whistle lay against the deck, the lanyard tangled. He picked it up and let it drop against his shirt. The clink echoed.
I finished tucking the towel around Ivy's legs and stood. My breathing was finally evening out, but my jaw ached from clenching it.
I looked at both of them down at the pool edge. Her kneeling there in that cream sweater gone dark with water at the cuffs. Him sitting in a puddle with his hair plastered down.
"Nobody's swimming," I said. "Everybody needs to dry off and get to the lobby."
Tamsin blinked. "Now? He just—"
"Now," I said. "She's shivering. You're soaked. He's breathing. That's enough for out here."
Rourke pushed himself to sitting, legs out in front of him. Water squelched in his shoes when he shifted. "I need a minute," he said. "Locker room—"
"Then take it in the locker hallway," I said. "Not on the deck."
I held Ivy's hand and helped her stand. The towel slipped and she caught it. I kept my hand on her shoulder and walked her along the bleachers away from the water, toward the side gate that led to the hallway.
Tamsin got to her feet slowly. Her pants were wet at the knees. She looked down at Rourke once more.
"Can you stand?" she asked him, quieter.
He nodded and braced a hand on the deck to push up. He got to one knee, then stood, unsteady. He left a wet outline where he'd been sitting.
Tamsin took a step toward Ivy, then stopped. She wrung her hands once, water flicking off her fingers.
"Ivy—" she started.
"Walk with me," I told Ivy. I didn't look at Tamsin. "We'll get your bag."
I heard Tamsin exhale behind me. Heard Rourke's shoes squeak as he limped a few steps to grab his kickboard off the deck. The whistle clattered again against his chest with each move.
We went through the gate single file. The air in the hallway was warmer but smelled like mildew and rubber mats. Our wet footprints marked the tile. Ivy stayed close to my side, the towel dragging a little behind her.
Tamsin followed a few paces back. Rourke brought up the rear, coughing once, then breathing through his nose to stop it.
No one said anything else until we reached the split where the hallway branched to the locker rooms. The fluorescent light buzzed overhead.
May you like
I stopped and looked back at them. Wet, dripping, caught under that ugly light.
"Lobby," I said. "Five minutes."
