Page 72 of The Last Five Yards

Maren blows her whistle sharply and loudly. “Eyes on me,” she says, voice calm in a way that cuts through the rising panic. “Everyone to the wall now. Stay low, stay steady.”

The kids respond the way they always do when she uses that tone. No questions. No hesitation. Just movement.

Rowan reaches the wall last and pops up, wide-eyed. “Was that the roof?” She asks, but her voice shakes too much for bravado.

“You are good,” Maren says. “Out of the water. Grab the towels. Go.”

Another crack of thunder slams into the building. The sound rolls across the tiles, deep enough to feel in the ribs. A little boy in lane two startles as he is climbing out and slips, his foot skidding across the wet deck. Maren is already moving toward him, hand reaching out.

“Hey, you are okay. Just keep walking for me,” she says, guiding him toward the locker room doors where the other kids are gathering.

The next sound is not thunder.

Her foot hits a slick patch as she turns back toward the pool. The world tilts. The tile slams up into her elbow and side with a burst of pain that knocks the air out of her. Her breath leaves her sharply, an involuntary sound she cannot swallow down.

For a moment, she cannot move. The edges of her vision pulse with the adrenaline, pumping through her veins.

And then Reese is there.

Kneeling beside her so quickly it feels like she has appeared straight out of the air. Her hands hover first, then settle on Maren’s arm as she checks where the impact landed. Her palms are warm. Her fingers shake.

“Maren. Hey. You are okay,” she says quietly. “You are okay.”

The storm outside answers with another roar. The lights flicker again.

Maren tries to push herself upright, but the breath she drags in is thin and unsteady.

Reese’s hand presses lightly at her shoulder. “Don’t move yet. Just breathe.”

Behind them, the last of the swimmers are ushered toward the locker rooms. Rain begins to hammer the roof, each hit louder than the last.

Maren swallows hard and finally nods. “I’m fine,” she manages.

Reese does not even pretend to believe her, not for a single moment.

Reese shifts a little closer, close enough that Maren can feel the warmth radiating from her even in the cold churn of adrenaline. The emergency lights click on overhead, flickering once in a thin pale wash. Reese looks up, catching the eyes of the older swimmers, and motions for them to get the younger kids into the locker rooms. They move the group to safety without a single word spoken.

“You hit hard,” Reese says softly. “Just give yourself a second.”

“I said I’m fine,” Maren tries again. There is a quiver in her voice she cannot control. Her elbow throbs. Her ribs ache from the impact. A dull buzz hums behind her eyes.

Reese hears every wobble.

“Just let me help you up,” she says.

Maren nods silently, because arguing at this point would take more energy than she has. Reese slides an arm around her back, careful and steady, patient in a way that feels unfair. Maren pushes off the deck with her good arm, and the world tilts for a moment before settling again.

“Easy there, mini-coach,” Reese whispers.

She keeps her hand at Maren’s waist longer than necessary, long enough that Maren can feel the tremor still running through her fingers. Not fear exactly. More like the aftershock of it.

“Are you dizzy?” Reese asks.

“No. Just… annoyed,” Maren says, trying for lightness and hitting harder than she intended.

The corners of Reese’s mouth pull in a way that is not quite a smile. “You scared me.”

Maren swallows. Her throat works around something tight. Before she can answer, another crack of thunder rolls directly over the building. The lights flicker again, harder this time, plunging everything into half-dark for a single stretched heartbeat.