“It's okay… I probably pushed too hard.”
As I sat up in my bed the look on Alex’s face last night flashed through my mind. It was like he wanted something from me and it made my stomach feel strange. I pushed the image away and turned to Noah.
“You were right. About the repression thing. I’m not ready to unpack that yet, but... yeah.”
Saying it out loud felt like dropping a weight I’d been pretending I wasn’t carrying.
Noah just nodded. “Thanks for saying that.”
I sat up straighter. “There’s something else. I... saw Alex last night.”
Noah grabbed his glasses and put them on. “Wait—what?”
“And I showed him the video.” I swallowed. “He’s seen it now.”
“Oh shit.” Noah pushed himself up on his bed. “How’d he take it?”
I could still feel the heat of Alex standing too close, could still see the look on his face when the footage ended.
“It messed him up.”
“Well, yeah…” Noah said, stretching his arms over his head.
“Yeah.” I dragged a hand through my hair. “Today’s gonna be... intense.”
He nodded. “Considering you guys are recreating the same thing today... yeah.”
That hit me in the chest and Noah could tell.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
I sighed. “It’s okay.”
Noah studied me for a moment.
“Look... I know you don’t want to talk about all of it. But you don’t have to pretend you’re fine just because you’re racing him. Anyone would be rattled.”
“I’m not rattled,” I said.
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re repressing.”
I glared. Then stopped. He was right.
“Good,” he said, leaning back. “Because whether it’s rivalry, repression, or something else? You two row like you’re plugged into the same outlet.”
Just the idea of me and Alex being something else or sharing the same outlet—whatever that meant—made me feel happy.
“Shut up," I said with a smirk.
He grinned. “Hey, I’m just calling plays as I see them. But don’t worry, you’re going to win. I can feel it.”
I laughed and nodded my head. Today was going to be complicated, but at least I had a Noah, everyone should have a Noah.
The boathouse hummed with that pre-race energy.
Someone had dragged the ergs into rows facing the bay doors, and cold river air poured through, making the hair on my arms stand up. The floor vibrated with flywheel noise as guys trickled in—dropping bags, stretching, cracking jokes over the machine clatter.
Tyler spotted me first. “C’mon, man. Wake those legs up.” He jerked his chin toward an open erg between him and Sam.
