I kissed him for the last time, slow and lingering, like maybe that could change the truth between us. His thumb brushed my cheek, gentle and sure.
Alex.He breathed.This doesn’t have to end.
I wish that were true.
His eyes flickered—hurt, confused, hopeful—all at once.
I never kissed Liam Moore again.
I pulled out my phone needing something to pull me out of the physical pain spreading through my chest. If I let myself think about that day with Liam or the idea of my dad knowing about it, I’d suffocate before practice even started.
I opened Instagram without thinking. Reflex. Numb distraction. My thumb scrolled through photos I wasn’t really seeing until a familiar shade of burgundy red and white caught my eye.
My stomach flipped. I should’ve kept scrolling, but I tapped the post anyway.
A short video filled the screen: the Riverside erg room, all concrete walls and harsh fluorescent lighting. A rower pulled hard on an erg in the foreground, but I barely noticed him. Because on the second machine from the back was Liam.
He was in a red Riverside tank, sweat darkening the fabric down the center of his chest. His hair was damp, messy in a way that made him look like he’d just come off the water. His arms moved in precise but violent rhythm. Legs driving. Core locked. Shoulders steady. Every stroke looked like an argument he refused to lose.
That was Liam. God, he was sexy.
I swallowed hard, unable to look away.
His raw power was different from the way I rowed. There was nothing refined about the way he moved in that moment. It was pure force. Pure will.
A flush spread up my neck. I loved how easily he pulled me in. How just seeing him in motion made something inside me pull tight and hot. I could almost feel myself leaning toward the screen, drawn into the intensity in his face as he drove through another stroke.
I let myself imagine what it would feel like to stand next to him again. Close enough to see the sweat on his jaw. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating off him. Close enough to—
I tore the thought off before it finished forming, pulse spiking.
No.
That was dangerous. My jaw locked as I shut the app.
This wasn’t about wanting anything from him. It couldn’t be. This weekend, I had to beat him. Cleanly. Completely. My father expected it. Eldridge expected it. Kingswell expected it.
And if I don’t beat him—
I didn’t let myself finish that thought.
I pocketed my phone, exhaled, and forced myself to walk toward the boathouse.
I had practice to get to.
I had a role to play.
I had a legacy to uphold.
Chapter 9: Liam
The Spaghetti Palace wasn’t fancy. It sat on the edge of Ashford’s downtown—a few blocks past the brick storefronts, vintage bookshops, and overpriced cafes. Out here, it was weathered strip malls and family-owned restaurants.
It had red-checkered tablecloths, dim lighting that flickered whenever someone opened the front door, and a giant ceramic tomato by the cash register that looked like it had been purchased from a yard sale in the ’80s.
But Emily loved the place, and tonight was “a celebration.”
I knew she was excited for the possibility of me becoming captain next year, but I was worried about this scrimmage with Alex.
