“Speaking of crises...” Tyler said, eyebrows raised, “who rowed that unsanctioned sprint the other morning?”
My hands froze mid-motion.
Great. This. This was the exact conversation I never wanted to have. So I didn’t say shit.
Then, a tall, lean senior with short brown hair and a scar along his forearm from a boat crash when he was a kid, walked into the locker room. His name was Cal Richmond, Jace’s partner in the varsity double. He rowed stroke.
Cal gave me a nod as he passed, then glanced at Tyler. “You still obsessing over that ghost race?”
“Yeah, because it’s mysterious as hell,” Tyler shot back. “And this boathouse hasn’t had mystery since the stolen trophy.”
I perked up, grateful for the distraction. “Wait, what stolen trophy?”
Tyler’s eyes lit up. “Oh man, you don’t know? The IRA Championship trophy from ’67. Only national title Riverside ever won. Three years later—poof—gone.”
“Someone broke in?” I asked.
“That’s the thing,” Remy said, leaning against his locker. “No break-in. No forced entry. Just vanished overnight.”
Cal snorted. “Everyone knows Kingswell took it.”
“There’s literally a photo,” Tyler said. “Some alumni event in the ’80s. Trophy’s sitting in the background clear as day.”
“They claimed it was a replica,” Remy added with air quotes.
“Bullshit,” Tyler said. “That trophy is sitting in some Kingswell donor’s lake house right now, guaranteed.”
Jace shook his head. “Hale won’t talk about it. Says it’s ancient history.”
“Because it pisses him off,” Cal said. “His mentor was on that ’67 boat. Hale takes that shit personally.”
A few guys laughed, and the tension in the room eased. I felt my shoulders drop slightly.
Then Tyler turned back to me, grin fading. “Anyway—back to the ghost race. Someone was out there.”
My stomach dropped again.
Cal opened his locker. “Whoever did it was stupid. Going race pace with no launch? Asking for trouble.”
The wordstupidhit my stomach like a weight.
Tyler wasn’t finished. “I asked everybody,” he said. “Everyone. All the freshmen swore it wasn’t them, and the upperclassmen said the same. So, the only person I haven’t asked…” His gaze swung to me. “Liam. Buddy. Pal. You’re the only one left who’d be unhinged enough to do a full-on sprint in a single before the season even started.”
My pulse spiked. “Wasn’t me.”
Tyler raised an eyebrow. “You sure? Because rumor has it the guy out there looked big. Strong. Kind of pissed at the world.”
“Drop it,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
But Remy perked up. “No, wait. I heard something else. He wasn’t alone out there. Bow-to-bow with someone.”
Jace, pulling on a clean shirt, glanced over—just curious.
“Rumor says it was Harrington,” Remy added. “Kingswell golden boy. You two already race or what?”
My throat felt dry.
Tyler pushed off the lockers and stepped closer. Not aggressive, just too interested. “Dude, did you and Alex go head-to-head before preseason? Like... what? Trying to size each other up? Who even won?”
