He gave up on me.
He’d rather be Kingswell royalty.
I could live with that, except my body didn’t seem to get the memo. He was the only person who lit my nervous system on fire. Hell, even Emily couldn’t do that.
I'm not sure what that meant… but whatever.
It probably had more to do with the fact that he was my rival. All last year, we were neck and neck from erg tests to scrimmages. We were both top freshmen in our programs.
And this year was important. The rumor was Under 23 National scouts would be watching us both.
That was the pathway to the Olympics. This wasn’t some little high school regional regatta—this was the big leagues. If I could get into a U23 National boat, it would change my life forever.
My hands trembled on the next stroke. I was getting closer to him. We were parallel across the water but still a good distance apart. Then he noticed me. I should have turned around, but I was drawn to him.
He turned his head and our eyes met.
It was like someone jammed a live wire into my chest. Alex’s expression flickered—surprise, then something unreadable, that familiar cool mask sliding into place.
“Morning,” he called.
My jaw clenched. “Surprised to see you out here preseason.”
His mouth twitched. A smirk. God, that smirk.
He wasn't surprised. He knew I trained as hard as he did—if not harder. We drifted toward each other, drawn in by the current. Alex adjusted his grip on the oars.
“Could’ve sworn you usually sleep in,” he said. “Didn’t expect to see you out so early.”
He was starting in already.
“Some of us have to work for what we have.”
His eyes flicked over me, slow, assessing. “Right. Because grit is kind of your thing.”
“Don’t start.”
“I’m not. You started with me.” Frustration flashed across his face.
“Whatever," I said.
“You need to grow up, Liam.”
“Me? Don’t talk down to me, summer rich.”
He blinked, offended but trying not to show it. That was one thing about Alex—he was rich, he was legacy, but I knew the truth. He hated his life. I was the only one who knew what he hid under that mask.
“I wasn’t talking down—” He exhaled. “Never mind.”
“Great conversation, Harrington.”
His mouth tightened. “I’m not trying to mess with you.”
“Congrats. Want a medal? Or does Daddy have one engraved already?”
His mask cracked. I hit a nerve. Good.
“If it makes you feel better to pretend my father rows the boat for me, fine. But you still finish behind me. You always do.”
