I let Remy turn me around and then his hand was on my back. One step, then another across the parking lot. The red haze starting to thin.
Behind us, Braden's voice rang across the parking lot.
"Fuck you, Moore. You're going to regret that."
Remy didn't let me turn around. His hand stayed on my back, guiding me around the corner of the boathouse and down toward the dock. The river opened up in front of us—wide and dark, the late afternoon light catching the current.
Braden's car started and he peeled out of the driveway.
"Sit," Remy said, pointing at an overturned bucket near the edge of the dock. His laptop was sitting on a second bucket nearby—he'd been reviewing footage, the quad's practice piece, and apparently had a clear view of the parking lot.
I sat. My legs shaking and heart hammering.
"You want to tell me what the hell that was?" Remy said.
"He—"
"He talked shit. Yeah. I heard. And you just gave him exactly what he wanted." Remy crouched in front of me. "If he reports that, you're looking at a conduct hearing. You grabbed him, Liam. You slammed him into his car. That's not a heated exchange—that's borderline assault."
The word hit me like cold water.
"He won't report it," I said. But I didn't know that.
"Maybe not. His ego might not let him. But maybe he does. And then what?" Remy stood. Picked up his laptop. "What's really going on? And don't tell me it's about seat assignments because you don't lose your shit over seat assignments."
I pulled at a splinter on the dock. The river lapping against the pilings. A crew from the community program rowing past in an eight, their cox's voice carrying faintly across the water.
"Someone sent Alex a photo. Anonymous. Us kissing," I said.
Remy didn't react.
"Then a second text. Mentioned his father. Called me 'the scholarship kid.' Whoever it is, they know things. They've been watching."
"And you think it's Lockwood."
"I know it. He's been making comments all month. He was at the mixer. He has motive."
"And you just went at him—without actually asking him about the texts."
"I couldn't. If I bring up the photo, I'm confirming it's real. I'm confirming there's something to threaten us with."
"So instead you grabbed him by his jacket and slammed him into his car." Remy shook his head. "That's not better, Liam. That's worse. Now he knows something's under your skin."
I stared at the water. He was right.
"Can I be honest with you?" Remy said.
"When are you not?"
"You think it's Lockwood because he's the easy answer. He's been in your face, he's been an asshole, he checks every box. But you don't actually know. And you just escalated things with a guy who might have nothing to do with it." He leaned forward. "And in the meantime, you and Alex can't row for shit because you're both too scared to focus."
"So what am I supposed to do?"
"Stop trying to fight your way through this. You can't punch an anonymous texter, Liam. You can't corner whoever this is in a parking lot and make it go away." He picked up his laptop. Opened it. "But you can outrow it. That's what you're good at. Get back in the boat and row like the person you are instead of being scared."
"I'm not scared."
Remy looked at me. The coxswain stare—the one that saw through every wall you put up.
