We exploded.
One.
The boat lifted. Actually lifted—hull breaking free of the water's grip, running so light it felt like the river wasn't even there.
Two. Three. Four.
Heat flooded through me. Not just exertion. Something deeper. The perfect synchronization. The way Alex's body moved with mine. The way the shell responded like we were one organism.
Five. Six. Seven.
This was us. This was who we were together. This was what I'd been denying for months—burying under Emily and excuses and fear.
Eight. Nine. Ten.
Half a length ahead of Marcus.
"Again!" Alex shouted behind me.
His voice was raw. Electric. Like he felt it too—this thing between us that had nothing to do with rowing and everything to do with it.
Another power ten.
We flew.
Every stroke pure propulsion. Hull barely touching water. No drag. No waste. Just speed and perfect connection and Alex'sbreathing matching mine and the burn building in my core until I couldn't tell where rowing ended and wanting began.
Seventeen hundred meters.
Two lengths ahead of Marcus now. The other boats were ghosts.
It was just us. The water. The rhythm. The burn.
Two hundred to go.
"Sprint it home!"
Hale's voice sounded far away. Everything sounded far away except Alex's breathing behind me and the sound of our blades cutting water in perfect unison.
One hundred meters.
Fifty.
Twenty.
We crossed the line.
I collapsed forward over my handles. Gasping. Whole body shaking with effort and adrenaline and something I couldn't name but felt in every cell.
Behind me, Alex was breathing just as hard. The boat rocking as his chest heaved.
"Holy shit," he said.
I laughed. Couldn't help it. The sound coming out half-wrecked. "Yeah."
The coaches launch pulled up next to us.
"Five forty-eight!" Hale's voice carried across the water. "That's the fastest time I've seen from in three years!"
