"I hope he's worth it," she said. "I hope losing everything is worth it."
Then she ran. Down the hallway. Through the door. Gone.
"Emily!" Liam started after her.
Stopped. Turned back to me.
Our eyes met. Everything we'd just said and done suspended between us—the kiss still burning on my lips, the argument still echoing off the brick walls, Emily's devastation still hanging in the air like smoke.
"I have to—" he started.
"I know."
He looked at me for one more second. Like he was trying to memorize my face before something terrible happened.
Then he turned and ran after her, leaving me alone in the hallway.
The sound of the mixer drifted through the walls. Music. Laughter. Glasses clinking. People having a good time twenty feet away while my world came apart.
I slid down the wall. Sat on the cold floor. Put my head in my hands.
She saw us.
Emily saw us.
And now everything would change. Not the way I'd imagined—not the slow, careful revelation I'd been trying to build toward with Ethan's help, one honest thing at a time. This was detonation. Sudden and total and impossible to control.
My father was still in that room. Twenty feet and a wall away. Working donors. Watching everything. If Emily said anything to anyone on her way out—if anyone had seen Liam follow me into this hallway—
The thought made my hands go cold against my knees.
Footsteps.
I looked up.
Ethan stood there. Concern etched across his face—the kind that comes from reading a situation before anyone explains it.
"I saw Liam's girlfriend. She was crying. And then Liam went after her." His eyes found mine. "What happened?"
I couldn't speak. Couldn't form the words. My throat was sealed shut and my hands were shaking against my knees.
Ethan's expression shifted. Understanding settling over his features like something inevitable.
"Oh," he said softly. "Oh, Alex."
He sat down next to me on the floor. Didn't ask questions. Didn't offer advice. Just pressed his shoulder against mine and sat there.
The way he would have that night freshman year, if I'd let him. If I'd walked into his room and saidI'm scaredinstead of what I did.
And I let myself break.
Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just the quiet collapse of someone who'd been holding everything together for too long—shoulders curving inward, breath coming ragged, the hot sting behind my eyes that I couldn't fight anymore.
Because tomorrow was the invitational.
Tomorrow I had to get in a boat with Liam and row in front of everyone—his team, my team, the coaches, the donors, my father. Row with the person whose mouth I could still taste while the girl he'd been lying to went home in tears.
I didn't know if we could do it. Didn't know if the connection from Thursday's scrimmage would survive what just happened. If the boat would fly or if it would feel like that morning two weeks ago—heavy, broken, fighting every stroke.
