And I already knew I was going to regret it.
Chapter 8: Alex
The boathouse was empty when I finally made myself go back inside.
Everyone else had already showered and dispersed to classes or the dining hall.
I should've gone with them. Should've changed quickly and left like a normal person.
But I'd been up on that hill watching Liam choose Emily. Watching him kiss her. Watching her arms wrap around him like she was holding on to something precious.
Something that should have been mine.
And now I needed a shower. Hot water and solitude and a few minutes where I didn't have to perform for anyone.
I walked through the erg room—empty now, just rows of silent machines and the faint rubber smell of workout mats. My gym bag sat by the wall where I'd left it. I grabbed it and headed into the hallway.
The corridor stretched long and quiet. Trophy cases lined both walls, glass reflecting the overhead lights. Decades of Kingswell crew history staring down at me—silver cups, team photosin navy and white, plaques with names likeHarringtonandLockwoodetched into metal.
Legacy everywhere I looked.
The locker room was at the far end. I was halfway there when I heard the voices.
Coach Eldridge's office door was closed. Not all the way.
Two voices. One was Eldridge—the other made my stomach drop.
My father.
I stopped walking. Stood frozen in the middle of the hallway.
What is he doing here?
"—understand your concerns, Thomas, but I'm telling you it's working." Eldridge's voice carried that careful tone he used when trying to convince someone of something he barely believed himself. "I was skeptical too. You know that."
"Then end it." My father's voice was sharp. "If you had reservations from the start, shut it down before it damages the program further."
My heart hammered.
I should've walked out right then before they heard me.
But my feet wouldn't move.
"I can't do that," Eldridge said. "Not now."
"Why not?"
"Because it's producing results." Eldridge sounded almost surprised by his own admission. "Real results. One day and they're are responding to the cross-training. Different coaching styles, different boat combinations—it's pushing them in ways our regular program wasn't."
"You're compromising Kingswell standards for the sake of—"
"I'm not compromising anything." Eldridge cut him off. "Look, I didn't want this either. But after today? These boats are performing better than either program independently. Competition breeds excellence, Thomas. You taught me that."
A pause. My father's footsteps—pacing. That's what he did when he was calculating his next move.
"What you're calling competition, I call dilution. Kingswell rowers training alongside state school athletes who can barely afford proper equipment—"
"They are good athletes." Eldridge's voice had an edge now. "Better than we've ever given them credit for."
