I wasn’t chasing. I was hunting.
I drove through the last hundred like the boat was an extension of me. My catches were clean. Long, powerful drives.
No panic.
No noise except the slide of my seat and the pulse of water under the hull.
Next to me, Mason was still grinding, face tight. I edged up on him, my bow creeping toward his stern like it had been aiming for him all along. Another stroke and I eased past like he wasn’t even there.
Braden was still ahead, throwing down the kind of frantic stroke rate he used when he was scared. I saw his shoulders tighten. His body curl. His rhythm fall apart.
My precision was destroying him.
It felt good.
When I came level with him, he made the mistake of glancing over his shoulder.
Just once.
Just long enough.
His expression cracked. Shock. Disbelief. A silent “What the hell is he doing?” written across his face.
That look lit a fuse in me.
It’s over for you.
I lengthened. Sent the next drive through my legs like a strike. My bow slid past his, inch by inch, until he disappeared behind me and all I could hear was my own breath, the slide of my seat, and the happy thump of my heart.
Open water.
When I crossed the invisible finish line, I knew I’d taken it.
Coach Eldridge’s voice echoed from behind. “Alex—first. Braden—second. Mason—close third.”
This wasn’t about competition. Wasn’t about beating Braden, although it felt good.
This was about me taking center stage and learning how to be myself. I always undercut myself. Always thought I was less than everyone else.
People complimented me—told me how great I was, how determined, how disciplined—and maybe they were comfortable with those compliments because they knew I wouldn’t step into them.
They knew I didn’t believe it. That left them in control of me.
Not anymore.
I wasn’t some lazy legacy fuck-up. I was a badass and I was going to start acting like it.
Eldridge hadn’t put me here to trail behind Braden and Mason. He’d put me here because he wanted to pull this out of me. That’s what coaches do. He didn’t want me to stay in someone else’s wake. He wanted me to take control.
Today I did.
The locker room was warm—steam rising off the showers, tiles damp, everything smelling like eucalyptus. I peeled off my unisuit, trying to calm the adrenaline still simmering in my chest. My legs trembled, but it wasn’t exhaustion this time.
Pride.
I was halfway through toweling off when I felt someone staring.
Braden leaned against the row of lockers across from me. Arms crossed. Jaw tight enough to crack. He was still wet, water dripping down his bare chest, towel wrapped low around his waist.
