Almost—
“Alex.”
I froze.
Braden stood by the bench near the doorway, arms crossed, still shirtless and damp from his shower. Water clung to the defined lines of his chest and shoulders. For a split second, my eyes traced the cut of his obliques before I forced them back up to his face.
Stop. Not him.
I hated this guy, but I guess it didn’t matter when I was horny.
His gaze flicked down and lingered for just a second on the towel at my waist before returning to my face. A slow, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“You good?” he asked.
“Fine.” My voice cracked. I cleared my throat, adjusting the towel, praying he couldn’t tell.
He studied me a second longer, like he was reading something I didn’t want anyone to see. Then he stepped closer—too close—so no one else would hear.
“I know about the race,” he whispered.
My blood cooled, arousal evaporating under a wave of cold dread. “What race?”
“The unsanctioned one.” His voice dropped lower. “You and Liam. Pretty bold move. I hope you enjoyed the win.”
I tried to swallow but my throat felt tight. He knew something. I’d told Marcus I won, but I didn’t tell him it was Liam. Plus, Marcus wouldn’t blow up my spot.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His smile widened just a fraction. “What would people think if they found out. Eldridge. The athletic board. Your father.”
The way he saidyour fathermade my jaw clench.
“Is that a threat?” I asked, keeping my voice level even though my pulse was hammering.
Braden shrugged, all casual menace. “Just saying... Your dad screwed mine out of a championship. Maybe... I return the favor.”
I held his gaze, refusing to look away first. This was his game—the same one his father played with mine back in the day. The rivalry I never asked for but inherited anyway.
“Good.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Then we understand each other. Just... be careful who you trust this year.”
He grabbed his clothes off the bench and walked past me toward the lockers, leaving me standing there—wet, flushed, and clutching my towel.
I made it back to my room and locked the door behind me, leaning against it like I’d just escaped something. I wasn’t even that worried about Braden claiming he knew something. Rumors spread fast around the boathouse, and he was probably just pretending he had more information than he did, trying to rattle me or get in my head before the race tomorrow.
I was worried about the way my body had betrayed me in front of a dozen teammates.
I sat on the edge of my bed and put my head in my hands.
This shouldn’t be so hard.
That’s what killed me most—the fact that itwashard. That in this day and age, with all the progress everyone talked about, with pride flags at corporate events and athletes coming out on Instagram, I still felt like I was choking on a secret that could ruin everything I’d worked for.
It wasn’t supposed to matter anymore. That’s what people said. Love is love. Be yourself. The world’s moved on.
But the world of elite rowing?
The world of old money and legacy admissions and fathers who rowed in the eighties?
