Page 107 of The Ruthless Rivalry

He doesn’t say anything at first, just keeps rowing with that same relentless rhythm, like he was born doing this. Watching him now, I can’t help but feel a flicker of awe—how calm he is, how in control. It’s infuriating. And kind of impressive.

Bishop doesn’t break his rhythm, continuing to row with effortless precision. His steady presence surrounds me, and the silence between us feels oddly comfortable, as if we don’t need words to communicate.

He shifts slightly, just enough for me to feel the change in the air, then speaks in a low, even tone. “I’m perfectly content,” he says, his voice calm but laced with something I can’t quite place. “But we’re about to pass the boathouse, and if you don’t want anyone seeing you in my lap, you might want to move.”

His words hang in the air, not harsh or demanding, just…matter-of-fact.

I don’t argue, not because I agree, but because the logic of it settles in quickly. Without a word, I shift, carefully adjusting myself away from him. It’s subtle, but I catch the smallest flicker in his eyes—a flinch that betrays something deeper, something unreadable—but then it’s gone, hidden behind his usual calm mask.

He doesn’t comment, doesn’t make any movement to stop me. His hands remain steady on the oars, the same practiced motion continuing as if nothing has changed. There’s no hint of discomfort, no acknowledgment of the subtle shift in the air, but I know he noticed.

As we round the boathouse, I notice all the other boats already pulled up along the shoreline, their occupants milling around, chatting, stretching out. The peaceful isolation of the water around us is suddenly punctured by the busy scene ahead.

Bishop’s gaze flicks briefly toward the shoreline, his attention sharp. The boat moves smoothly toward its destination, and I can feel the tension of the moment shifting again. But his silence remains, steady, almost like he’s waiting for something.

The boat finally reaches the shore, the gentle scrape of the hull against the sand pulling me back to the present. Bishop doesn’t hurry, his hands still steady on the oars as he easily guides us into place. The moment feels almost surreal, like we’re both suspended in time, surrounded by the quiet lapping of water and the rustle of leaves in the breeze.

Then, from the shore, I hear Reith’s voice, cutting through the stillness.

“Well, well, look who finally decided to show up,” he calls out, grinning. His tone is light and teasing, the kind of playful jab that doesn’t sting. “Coming in last, Bishop? Thought you were the captain of the rowing team.”

Bishop doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even acknowledge the jab right away. His gaze remains on the boat as he starts to steady the oars. Finally, without looking at Reith, he mutters in agreement, “You’re right. Can’t win ‘em all.”

His words are calm, but there’s a slight edge to them, a strange lack of his usual confidence. He doesn’t argue, doesn’t snap back as I’d expect. Instead, he moves with a quiet determination, his jaw set as he stands up, preparing to exit the boat.

“I need to grab something inside the boathouse,” Bishop says and without waiting for a reply, he stalks away, his long strides purposeful, the tension in his shoulders apparent. There’s something different in the way he walks, more subdued than usual, and it doesn’t escape Reith’s notice.

Reith watches him go, his gaze lingering for a moment before he turns to look at me. “Odd,” he says, furrowing his brow. “Bishop usually gives as good as he gets, but he just let that slide.”

I don’t respond right away, my eyes following Bishop’s retreating figure. My thoughts feel tangled, and something about Reith’s words sticks with me. I want to make sense of it—why is it bothering me? Why is it that, seeing him walk away, I feel a strange mixture of relief and confusion?

“Yeah,” I mutter finally, my voice quieter than I expect. “It is strange.”

But there’s more to it than that. I feel unsettled, like something I can’t quite grasp is shifting inside me. The way Bishop was on the water, the way he didn’t push back when I was scared, the way he didn’t argue—was that what I wanted? Or was it just…unsettling?

I glance at Reith, but he’s already turned back toward the other boats, seemingly uninterested. I wish I could say the same. I wish I could shake this feeling in my chest, this confusing pull between something I can’t define and a lingering sense that something’s changed. Something’s different with Bishop, and maybe it’s not just him.

I swallow, trying to shake off the thoughts, but they stay.

I don’t know what this means for us.

Chapter 23

Alex

The weekend had just begun, and Aubrey and I were already having a blast at the carnival. The woods were alive with the hum of excitement, littered with students milling about under a canopy of vibrant, twinkling lights. Banners and flashing signs from various booths lined the paths, while the sweet smells of cotton candy and buttery popcorn filled the air. In the distance, the Ferris wheel stood tall, its lights spinning in a mesmerizing dance, casting a soft glow over the festivities. Amidst our laughter, Christopher suddenly appeared in front of us, looking slightly bashful as he greeted Aubrey with a hint of nervousness, “Hey, Ree. Having a good time tonight?”

“Yeah,” Aubrey’s grin faltered for a moment. “Alex and I have been having a great time. How about you? How’s the swim team’s dunk tank going?”

Christopher’s gaze flickered briefly to me before settling back on Aubrey. “It’s going well. We’ve raised a good amount for the team already.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “Hey, if you’re not too busy later, we could…maybe catch up?”

Suddenly, Sutton’s voice cuts through the sounds of laughter and carnival music. “Hey, guys! Want to be the first of the night to give our booth a try?” she says with a smile, her tone warm and inviting.

Aubrey and I exchange glances before grinning widely. “Are you saying we get to be the first ones to shoot arrows at your cool LED setup?” Aubrey asks, practically bouncing with excitement.

Sutton’s eyes shine, her blonde curls bouncing with each enthusiastic nod. “Exactly! But we’ve got to hurry before the crowds get here!”

Aubrey grabs my hand, practically dragging me toward Sutton’s booth. “Sorry, Christopher!”

---