“Ready.”
He nodded, took a sip. “River’s rough today. Gonna reward efficiency, punish muscle.” He glanced at me. “You know what that means.”
“Don’t fight it. Read it.”
“That’s right.” He turned to face me. “Harrington’s gonna be clean out there. Technical. That’s his game. You try to out-power him in this chop, you’ll burn out by the thousand.” He paused. “But if you stay smooth, stay long, let the boat run... you’ve got something he doesn’t.”
“What’s that?”
Hale’s mouth twitched. “Grit.” He clapped my shoulder once. “Trust your work.”
He walked off toward the launch, and I watched him go, his words settling into my chest.
Trust your work.
“LIAM!” Noah’s voice cut through the chaos. He stood with one foot on the bench behind him, waving both arms. “DESTROY HIM!”
Beside him, Emily cupped her hands around her mouth. “Good luck, Liam!”
Emily.
Guilt surged through me. I had to give this up. She was so good to me and I was having a secret affair in my mind with Alex. She deserved better and maybe after I beat Alex for good, I could move on. Maybe the obsession would end and I could be with her like a normal guy.
I pumped my fist at them.
Around them, students stomped the metal bleachers—dull metallic booms rolling across the water. A group held up a sign: 'MOORE POWER' in smudged blue paint, each letter bent at a different angle.
I took it in. The colors. The sound. The energy filling my chest—messy, but grounding.
Then my eyes drifted across the water.
Kingswell’s side looked catalog-perfect. Folded blankets. Coordinated fleece. Parents dressed like the regatta was a charity gala. Polished. Composed. Safe.
That’s what Alex chose. That’s what he’d always choose.
Hate him or want him. Commit to one.
Remy’s words from the locker room echoed in my skull. I’d made my choice. Anger. Focus. The ice-cold clarity of competition. That’s all this was. Two thousand meters to prove I belonged here. To prove I wasn’t just some scrappy scholarship kid who got lucky.
To prove—
My eyes found him before I could stop them.
Alex was on the Kingswell dock, crouched beside his single, adjusting his foot stretchers. Even from here I could see the tension in his shoulders, the careful precision of his movements. He was wearing the navy Kingswell uni, blond hair catching what little light broke through the clouds.
He looked up.
Our eyes met across the river.
And for one stupid, treacherous second, I didn’t see my rival. I saw the boy from Brackett Lake. The one who’d looked at me like I was the only real thing in his whole polished world. The one who’d leaned in that night on the dock, breath warm against my mouth, and made me feel like maybe I wasn’t crazy for wanting—
No.
I tore my gaze away.
Not him. Not now. Not ever.
I turned back toward the bleachers to shake off the heat crawling up my neck—and froze.
