Tyler stepped back first, still glaring but backing down.
Marcus held my gaze another second. Then turned away and a few Kingswell guys followed him. "Whatever. Have fun with your little boyfriend."
The word hit me somewhere under my ribs.
Boyfriend.
My face stayed neutral. But my pulse kicked up and heat crawled across the back of my neck—the kind that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with the fact that Marcus had just said out loud the thing I might actually want Alex to be.
I caught Alex's eye across the bay. Whatever had been on his face a second ago was gone. The mask was back—jaw set, eyes flat, posture perfect. Full Harrington. Like someone had flipped a switch the moment the word left Marcus's mouth.
But his hands on the oar he was racking weren't quite steady.
Then Hale's voice from the doorway. "Moore. Got a minute?"
I followed him outside.
The morning sun was low, casting long shadows across the dock planks. Hale leaned against the boathouse wall. His grey-streaked hair was its usual mess, wind pushing it across his forehead.
He looked like what he was a guy who'd spent thirty years on the water and never quite came back to land.
"That was good," he said. "What you did in there."
I shrugged. "Just trying to keep everyone from killing each other."
"It's leadership." He paused. "The kind that matters. Not just being fastest or strongest. Knowing when to step up and defuse something before it escalates."
I nodded.
"You and Harrington." His eyes were serious. "That was the best rowing I've seen in years of coaching. Maybe longer."
My chest tightened.
"Sunday's scrimmage—you two are in the race." He watched my face. "Everyone's going to be watching. Donors. Alumni. Scouts. Both teams. And if you row like you did today?"
He didn't finish the sentence. Didn't need to.
"That's captain material, Moore." He clapped my shoulder once. "Keep it up."
He walked back inside.
I stood there. The word echoing.
Captain.
Something hot and complicated moved through my chest. Pride. Surprise. The ache of wanting something you didn't think you were allowed to want.
I should've felt simple about it. Just proud. Just grateful.
Instead my gut was twisted up. Because Sunday wasn't just a race anymore. Sunday was me and Alex in a boat together—doing what we'd just done—while Emily watched from the dock. While both teams watched. While coaches took notes and scouts assessed and everyone saw what Hale had just seen.
That we flew.
The boathouse door scraped open behind me.
"Hey."
Alex's voice. Low. Careful.
