"And if they send something else?"
"Then you deal with that too. But not today." He opened his laptop. Pulled his timeline back up. "Stay here for a while if you want. I've got editing to do. You can just... chill."
I stayed. For an hour, I sat on Ethan's bed while he edited footage and the room smelled like coffee and the sounds of the documentary filled the quiet—oars hitting water, coaches calling from launches, the rhythmic thump of erg chains. The sounds of the world I'd built with Liam, playing through Ethan's laptop speakers.
Something about the smallness of the room helped. The cluttered desk, the film posters thumbtacked to the walls, the way Ethan didn't look at me like I was falling apart even though I was. I felt safe here. It was the first time all day my chest wasn't tight.
"Hey." Ethan swiveled in his chair. "Come look at this. I pulled some footage of you and Liam from Wednesday."
I got up and stood behind him. On the screen, the camera tracked our pair from a chase boat—Liam in front, me in back, the blades entering the water in perfect unison. The boat moved like a single thing, skimming low and fast across the surface, barely disturbing the water beneath it.
"Jesus," Ethan said. "You two are fast."
I watched Liam's shoulders rotate through the drive, watched my own body mirror his half a beat later, and it was strange seeing it from the outside. From inside the boat it was all sensation—pressure on the footboard, the catch of the blade, Liam's breathing syncing with mine. From out here it just looked effortless. Like we'd been rowing together for years.
"You look cute together too, by the way," Ethan said, not looking up from the screen. "Just objectively. The whole synchronized thing. It's almost annoying."
Heat crept up the back of my neck.
"Shut up," I said.
"I'm a documentarian. I observe. I report."
I watched a few more seconds. On the footage, Liam turned to say something to me and I could see myself grin—open, unguarded, the kind of expression I didn't know my face made.
"Just make sure you don't catch anything suspicious," I said. "On the footage. If there's anything that looks—"
"I know." Ethan nodded. "I'm careful. Nothing that isn't two guys rowing a boat."
I went back to his bed and pulled my knees up. The footage kept playing—the launch motor, the coach's whistle, the sound of our oars entering the water together, again and again.
Who benefits from you being scared?
I didn't have an answer yet.
But the question wouldn't leave me alone.
Chapter 12: Liam
Imade it two days before I snapped.
Two days of holding it together. Two days of rowing with Alex while the static in my head got louder. Two days of watching Braden across the boathouse and imagining my fist connecting with his cheek.
Scholarship kid.
The words were on a loop. Burned into my brain like a brand. Whoever sent that text knew exactly what they were doing—reducing me to the one thing I couldn't change. Not Liam. Not Moore. Not the guy who rowed a sixteen fifty-eight. The scholarship kid.
I was supposed to go to Noah about the text, he figured it out last time. But Noah hadn't been around the dorm in days. Off somewhere with Priya, a girl from the poli-sci department he'd been orbiting for weeks. His desk was untouched every time I came back to the room. His jacket gone from the hook. I wasn't about to text him about my problems while he was finally having a life.
Practice Friday afternoon was bad. Not the worst—that was coming—but bad enough that Hale went quiet on the megaphone for the last twenty minutes, which from Hale meant he was deciding whether to yell or give up. Alex and I were half a beat off the whole session.
After practice, I racked the oars. Wiped down the shell. Normal routine. Alex was across the bay, talking to Derek about something.
I knew exactly where he would be. Braden and a few of the Kingwell guys had stopped walking over the bridge in the morning. Too good for them I guess. So they were driving over and parking in the back lot.
I made my way out of the bay, down the hall, and slammed the door push bar. The door flew open to the back parking lot. Braden was leaning against his car—a silver Audi that probably cost more than my mom's house—scrolling his phone. Collins had already left. Braden was alone.
I walked straight at him.
