I smirked. Fucker.
Braden stepped back. Turned. “Ethan, stay out of this.”
“No,” Ethan said, sliding between us. “You’re both dripping wet and nobody’s even kissed yet. This is boring.”
“Ethan—” I started.
He patted my cheek. “Hush. Let Auntie Ethan handle it.”
Braden rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Enjoy your little victory lap, Harrington. It’s not going to last long.”
He stomped back down to his locker to change.
I pulled on my shirt and shoes, then Ethan guided me out of the locker room.
“Someone’s testosterone is set to ‘boil,’” he said. “He wants to play out this family rivalry, huh?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe.”
“Or maybe he doesn’t like sharing the spotlight with the other legacy prince.” Ethan put his arm around my shoulder.
I didn’t respond.
The last thing I wanted was to inherit whatever crown my father thought he’d forged at Kingswell. I didn’t want hisshadow, his rivalries, or the weight of his name. I just wanted to be myself for once.
My own rower. My own person. Not some legacy puppet everyone expected me to perform as.
Ethan’s warm hazel eyes softened. “Hey,” he said. “Forget him.”
I nodded. Unclenched my fists. “I’m good.”
“You’re lying,” he said, cheerful as ever. “But that’s okay, because I come bearing gifts.”
He lifted his phone, screen already cued up.
“I got the perfect clip from your sprint,” he said. “Sun-drenched, water gleaming, your form disgustingly clean—it should be illegal to look this good at six AM.”
I blinked. “You... filmed it?”
“Obviously. The team page needs preseason content.” He grinned. “And you need to see what you look like when you’re not overthinking everything.”
He pressed play.
And for a strange, warm second, my anger melted and I just watched myself fly.
Chapter 7: Liam
The morning sun climbed high by the time Noah and I cut across the main quad. We had just finished breakfast and we were headed in the same direction—me to the boathouse, him to Emler Hall, the English and Communications building.
The air still held the last bit of early-morning coolness, but campus was already waking up. Students cut across the quad, clutching coffee, talking and laughing—the usual rhythm of Riverside coming to life.
Noah matched my stride, though he was a few inches shorter than me and a heck of a lot skinnier. He wore his usual jeans, boots, and a plaid button-down rolled at the sleeves. His leather satchel bag thumped against his hip.
It was odd how close we’d gotten over the last year, despite our obvious differences, but there’s something that happens when you live with someone in a Riverside dorm. You sleep next to them, you start and end every day together, and you suffer the conditions together. You get to know each other’s moods, flaws, and habits… in a very intimate way.
He carried himself with this calm, unhurried energy that felt at odds with everything buzzing inside my chest.
“So the debate team had our first meeting last night,” Noah said. “And Marcus Chen announced he’s stepping down as captain at the end of the semester. Some grad school thing.”
