And Alex was everything I actually wanted.
I shoved the thought down, grabbed a handful of popcorn I didn't want, and chewed without tasting.
We sat there in the darkness. Not touching. Both watching the film without seeing it. The story of a man who couldn't choose playing out in front of us like an accusation.
Emily didn't reach for my hand again.
I didn't try to take hers.
And the weight of what I couldn't say pressed down on my chest—heavy enough to hurt, too heavy to carry much longer.
My body had already made a choice even if my brain refused to admit it.
But I didn't know what to do.
So I did nothing.
Chapter 10: Alex
The Riverside Club sat on a side street downtown, tucked between the Bluebird Café and a thrift store. The building was brick with tall windows, the kind of space that had probably been a warehouse before someone with vision saw potential.
I stood on the sidewalk outside, checking the address on my phone for the third time. 47 River Street. Wednesday, 3 PM.
This is it.
My stomach twisted.
The last week had been strange.
I hadn't been paired with Liam at joint practices. The coaches kept shuffling partnerships, testing different chemistries, and I was grateful. Relieved, even. Because seeing him across the boathouse bay every morning was hard enough without having to share a boat with him.
He'd gotten back together with Emily like Saturday night in his dorm room had never happened.
So I'd been avoiding him strategically. Staying on the opposite side of the boathouse, timing my arrivals so we wouldn't cross paths, keeping my head down during the brief moments whenboth teams gathered. The way I did everything—with calculated distance disguised as indifference.
It was easier to pretend that the rejection didn't sting when I could control the proximity.
The worst part, is that he didn't even have the guts to tell me. Or even worse, maybe I meant so little to him that he didn't feel like I mattered enough to be told.
I didn't understand why the coaches hadn't paired us again, especially if they were considering us for the invitational. The possibility hung over me like a blade. I could barely look at him across the boathouse. How was I supposed to row with him—bodies synchronized, breathing matched, every stroke a reminder of what we'd been?
I pushed through the door. A bell chimed overhead.
The interior was exactly what I'd expected from the photos Maria had sent—exposed brick walls, hardwood floors that creaked under my shoes, a small stage at one end with a worn velvet curtain half-drawn. Round tables stacked against the far wall. A long bar running along the back, bottles catching the afternoon light from the tall windows.
Empty now, but I could picture it full—people holding drinks, music from the stage, crews from both schools mingling in a room that belonged to neither of them. Neutral ground.
We had a week and a half left to finalize everything.
"You're on time."
I turned.
Ethan stood near the stage, clipboard in hand. He wore jeans and his film festival hoodie, brown hair falling in those silky waves that caught the afternoon light from the windows. His hazel eyes watching me with careful neutrality.
Not warm. Not cold. Just... professional.
Something about seeing him in person made the weight in my chest shift. He looked tired. Probably staying up too late to edit his project.
