Still nothing.
So I’d tried again that evening: I know it’s complicated. But we can’t just pretend it didn’t happen.
Read receipt. No reply.
That hurt worse than silence. Maybe he wanted to forget it ever happened, give me the same treatment I gave him after the lake.
My phone felt heavy in my pocket. I’d stopped checking it after the second day. What was the point? He’d made his position perfectly clear through absence.
The boathouse came into view.
The thing that was a relief was that nothing terrible had happened after. The world hadn’t ended. Lightning hadn’t struck. My father hadn’t somehow sensed it from Connecticut and shown up to disown me.
It had just been... good.
Really fucking good.
And if it could be good once, maybe it could be good again. Maybe I didn’t have to spend the rest of my life suffocating under expectations and fear.
Maybe I could just be honest like Derek had said, like Ethan had begged for.
I pushed through the boathouse door.
Derek was by the erg machines talking to a few sophomores. A couple guys near the boat racks were arguing about something technical and Marcus stood near the equipment room.
Our eyes met.
“You still mad at me, PC patrol?” His voice was casual, but his jaw was tight.
The old Alex would have deflected and smoothed it over but Marcus knew where I stood, so I gave him the finger and kept walking.
I found my favorite spot near an erg that faced the enormous glass window that faced the river. I started stretching when Coach Eldridge walked in. Clipboard in hand, pressed khakis, Kingswell polo buttoned to the exact right point.
“Gentlemen.” His voice cut through the noise.
The boathouse quieted.
“Training schedules are changing.” He set his clipboard down with precision. “You’re aware of the incident at the party Saturday night. Both programs sustained injuries. Multiple rowers healing, unable to train at full capacity.”
My stomach tightened.
“Riverside faces identical constraints.” Eldridge’s gaze swept the room without landing on anyone directly. Somehow seeing everyone at once. “Coach Hale and I have made a strategic decision. While rosters are compromised, we’ll conduct joint training sessions. Cross-training with competitors makes you sharper. This benefits both programs.”
He paused, letting it sink in.
“Joint practices begin Monday morning.”
The world stopped.
Joint practices.
With Riverside.
With Liam.
The boathouse exploded. Voices rising in protest, guys arguing—someone said this was bullshit, someone else said we shouldn’t have to train with our rivals. The noise crashed over me like a wave but I couldn’t hear any of it over the rushing in my ears.
Monday. Liam would be here Monday.
