"So the joint program has been running for—how long now?" Dana asked, glancing at her notes.
"Since about a month ago," I said. "Coach Eldridge and Coach Hale put it together."
"And you two were paired for the doubles from the beginning?"
"The coaches rotated combinations for a few weeks. We were selected based on compatibility on the water."
"Your coaches describe your connection as unusual. Almost intuitive." She looked between us. "Where does that come from?"
The silence lasted a beat too long.
"We push each other," I said, at the same time Liam said, "We're competitive."
We stopped. Looked at each other—first real eye contact since the fight. Brief. Charged. Broken.
Dana's pen moved across the notebook.
"Different styles," Liam said. "He's technical. I'm instinctive. It works."
"And outside the boat? How's the dynamic between a Kingswell legacy rower and a Riverside scholarship athlete?"
"We row," Liam said. "That's the dynamic."
Five words. Everything and nothing.
Dana pushed a little more. The Charles. What it meant to represent both programs. I gave the answers Eldridge would want—measured, grateful, the kind of quotes that looked good in print. Liam gave short responses that Dana seemed to find charming in their bluntness.
The photographer asked us to stand by the double. We walked over—the shell resting on its rack in the lower bay, hull gleaming under the overhead lights. We stood side by side. Hands on the gunwale. Not touching.
"Can you stand a little closer?"
We adjusted. Half an inch. His shoulder near mine. The heat of his body through the fabric. I stared at a fixed point on the far wall and tried not to breathe him in.
"Great. Hold that."
The shutter clicked.
"One more—can you both look at the camera?"
We looked. I had no idea what my face was doing. Something acceptable. Something Harrington.
"Perfect. That's everything."
Dana thanked us. Thanked Eldridge, who'd been hovering near the office door the whole time. The photographer took a few more shots of the bay, the river, the shells in their racks.
Liam grabbed his bag from the bench by the wall. Slung it over his shoulder and walked out through the bay without looking back.
I watched him leave. The set of his shoulders. The way he moved through the doorway like distance was the only thing keeping him upright.
Something in my chest pulled hard enough that I had to put my hand on the shell to steady myself.
"That looked fun."
Ethan. Leaning against the editing room doorframe, laptop under one arm.
"It was fine," I said.
"Mm." He pushed off the doorframe. "I gave her the practice footage from last week. Wide shots. Nothing personal."
