“Varsity singles. Ten minutes to launch.”
My legs felt heavy as I walked toward the boathouse. The Kingswell dock had thinned out, this was the last race and most of the team was recovering, scattered across the grass in small clusters. A few glanced my way as I passed but no one said anything.
Marcus pumped his fist in the air.
Inside the lower bay, my Empacher R-series single waited for me. I ran my hand along the white hull—smooth, cold fiberglass. Perfect and pristine, like everything else at Kingswell.
What everyone expected me to be... perfect and pristine.
I lifted it onto my shoulder and carried it down the dock to the water.
The wind had picked up even more since this morning. The river looked angrier now, chop slapping against the dock pilingsray sky pressing down.
I always kept my catch high when I trained, this way I was always ready for chop like this.
I was made for a day like this.
But Liam, he was aggressive, he lacked control, he was all power and a day like this would kill him.
I set the shell in the water and climbed in, the boat rocked beneath me with that familiar, unsettling sway.
Alone. No teammates to hide behind. No rhythm to absorb my mistakes.
Just me.
I pushed off from the dock, the shell gliding forward. The cold bit at my face as I settled into an easy paddle, warming up my legs, letting my body remember the motion.
Legs, body, arms. Arms, body, legs.
The rhythm should have calmed me. It always did.
But today my chest felt too tight.
I thought back to the assessment from earlier in the week. How the space had opened up between Braden and Mason. How I had just taken it like it was mine. I needed that fire now. I tried to summon it but it was like trying to start a fire in a vacuum.
No oxygen. No fire.
I took a deep breath.
Come on. Come on. I know you’re here somewhere.
I rowed upstream for a few minutes, letting the burn settle into my quads, letting the cold air clear my head. When I turned back, I could see the officials’ launch motoring into position at the starting line.
My heart kicked against my ribs.
This was it.
Clean catches. Controlled finishes. Technique over power. That’s what would win this, but it wasn’t there, and everything felt jagged and wrong.
I took another deep breath searching for the fire, searching for the calm.
All that was there was worries about the video. My father watching from somewhere. Coach Eldridge’s voice in my head:Something broke your focus. It will happen again unless you address it.
I hadn’t addressed it, and it had only gotten worse. How was I supposed to address it anyway? Confess to Liam that I still wanted him and tell everyone the truth?
Then my father’s voice.You need to crush him, Alexander. Not for pride. For clarity.
I approached the starting line and lined up my stern with the markers. The river churned beneath me, restless and unforgiving. I squared my blades and waited.
