"Monday you were in stroke," Eldridge said to Liam. "Harrington in bow. That's what worked. Today you flipped it. Why?"
Heat crawled up my neck. Because I'd saidI don't carewhen Liam asked. Because I'd let anger make a technical decision.
"My call," Liam said. "I offered to take bow."
"Don't do that again. You set the rhythm, Moore. Reading the water, calling the rate, driving the pace. That's where your instinct lives. Harrington follows. Matches. Refines." He looked at me. "You're a better bow. Your technique is cleaner on the recovery and you read his stroke better from behind than he reads yours. Monday proved that."
"When you're in bow, you lock in to Moore's timing," Hale added. "When you're setting the pace, you're in your own head. Overthinking. That's when your catches go to shit."
He was right. In bow behind Liam, I didn't have to think—just followed his body, matched his rhythm, let the boat run. In stroke, every decision was mine. And today every decision had been poisoned.
"Moore in stroke. Harrington in bow. Non-negotiable," Eldridge said. "Now—here's the thing. Monday was one of the best pieces of doubles rowing I've seen from either program. I've coached twenty years. I can count on one hand the number of times two rowers sync that fast."
I could feel Liam shift beside me.
"Which makes today that much worse," Hale said. "Whatever's going on off the water bled into the boat. And a double shows that faster than any other shell. Nowhere to hide."
"We're building the invitational lineup," Eldridge said. He pulled a clipboard from the side of his desk. "Northeast Regional. Ten days out. The doubles race is the showcase—scouts, donors, alumni. You two are in consideration. Based on Monday, you'd be the obvious choice."
My heart hammered.
"But I'm not putting a boat on the line that rows like it did this morning. Not in front of Princeton and Dartmouth."
"Thursday," Hale said. "Practice scrimmage. Top doubles—you two, Marcus and Thompson, whoever else we slot in. Twothousand meters. Race conditions. You show me Monday, you're in. You show me today, you're not."
"I don't care what's going on between you. Figure it out or set it aside. When you're in that boat, nothing else exists."
"Yes, sir," Liam said.
"Harrington?"
I met Eldridge's eyes. Thought about my father in this same office demanding they pull us apart. And Eldridge saying no.
"We'll be ready," I said.
He studied me, then nodded. "Thursday. Don't make us regret this."
Hale opened the door.
We walked out. Liam ahead of me. Faster. Shoulders rigid.
I caught up to him at the end of the hallway. Grabbed his arm. He flinched but didn't pull away.
"Liam."
"Not here." His voice was tight. Eyes scanning the corridor.
"I know. Just—" I let go of his arm. "Thursday. We have to be ready."
He finally looked at me. Still flushed. Still wrecked. But something underneath it — the same thing I'd seen on the water Monday when everything had clicked.
"Can you do this?" I asked. "Can you get in that boat with me and—"
"Yeah." No hesitation. "Can you?"
"Yeah."
We stood there. Three seconds. Maybe four. Everything from the last hour pressing down on us — the kiss, the argument, Braden's eyes, the coaches' ultimatum.
