Maybe Coach wants me in a single. Maybe he thinks I’m better off alone. Maybe I’m failing before the season even starts.
The thoughts shoved themselves in. Distracted me. The shell reacted with the most subtle lurch.
Damn it.
I inhaled hard. Tried to shut everything out.
I looked at the horizon instead of the boat in front of me. Loosened my grip. Lowered my shoulders. Let the boat breathe.
Exhaled.
And that’s when I felt it. The river opened up ahead of Braden and Mason like it wanted me there. Eldridge put me here for a reason. Right behind two guys I knew I could beat.
The truth hit me like cold water.
He’s testing me.
To see if I’ll obey and stay quiet in someone else’s shadow.
For a heartbeat, I felt that old instinct rise. The part of me that’s always played the good son. The polite teammate. The boy who follows instructions.
No.
I can’t be that guy anymore. The end of this year marks the halfway point through my college rowing career. If I don’t break out now, I’ll never be seen for who I am. Not just Alex Harrington—another legacy kid who couldn’t live up to the legacy.
I thought of Ethan. No legacy. No expectation. He just took up space without apologizing for it. Carefree. Happy. Himself.
I wanted that.
I wasn’t staying small this year. Wasn’t trailing behind anyone. I was going to lead.
The single didn’t feel like a cage anymore. And why should it?
I didn’t need a boat full of guys to disguise my flaws. The truth was I didn’t have many—not when it came to rowing. I had oars in my hands before I could drive. I’d spent more time in a single than most guys would spend in their entire careers. All of the summer programs, morning training sessions, regattas I’d won—it flashed through my mind.
The calluses. The pain. All earned.
My shell felt it.
Came to life.
I fell into the motion—catch, drive, release; catch, drive, release—the rhythm pulsing through my arms and legs. My muscles burned in a way that felt clean instead of panicked. My lungs opened wider, pulling in air like I’d stopped fighting myself.
Every stroke sent power up my spine. The boat surged with me, not against me, matching my heartbeat.
By 250 meters, I’d closed half a length on Mason.
By 300, I was level with him. I could feel his eyes flash toward me. His pace stayed steady. Mason wouldn’t challenge me.
By 350, Braden glanced over his shoulder. I saw the flicker of surprise.
Good.
The first clean slice of sun broke over the water, turning the river into liquid gold. The light caught the droplets flying off my blade. It was beautiful.
And that was my cue.
There was blood in the water.
