Page 15 of Eight Count Heat
"It's not about capability, Callahan." His voice drops. "It's about making sure Kinsley and her minions don't try anything else."
I blink, surprised by what sounds suspiciously like concern. "I can handle a few territorial Alphas."
"I know you can." A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "That doesn't mean you should have to."
We exit the building in silence, Tyler peeling away with a quiet "See you at practice." The campus buzzes with between-class energy, students lounging on the grass of the quad enjoying the warm spring day.
"Kinsley was out of line," Gray finally says as we walk. "I'll talk to her."
"Please don't. It'll only confirm whatever narrative she's created."
He glances at me. "Which is?"
"That I'm a threat. To her territory. To team dynamics. To the natural order of things."
"You are a threat," he says, so matter-of-factly that I nearly stumble. "Just not in the way she thinks."
"Care to elaborate?"
He stops walking, forcing me to stop too. "You're a threat because you're good, Callahan. Better than our last cox. Better than any cox I've worked with. And everyone can see it."
The compliment throws me slightly off balance. "Oh."
"Yeah.Oh." He starts walking again. "So expect more hostility. Not just from Kinsley's crew, but from anyone invested in that status quo."
"Sounds like you've given this some thought."
"I think about everything that affects my team." His stride lengthens, forcing me to pick up my pace. "Where's your next class?"
"Thompson Hall. But I have an hour break."
"Library then," he decides for both of us. "I need to review race footage."
"Are you always this dictatorial?" I ask, jogging slightly to keep up with his long strides.
"Yes."
"And people just... let you?"
This earns me a sideways glance. "Most people don't question me."
"I'm not most people."
"I'm becoming acutely aware of that, Callahan."
The library looms ahead, a grand stone building with columns and arched windows. Gray holds the door open, his height and breadth making the gesture seem strangely formal.
Inside, the air conditioned coolness carries the scent of old books and fresh coffee from the café in the corner. Gray leads me to a study area in the back, far from windows and prying eyes.
"Wait here," he commands, then disappears into the stacks.
I take the opportunity to steady myself, focusing on slow, even breaths. The techniques I've practiced for years to manage stress when suppressants aren't enough.
Gray returns with a tablet and headphones. "Here," he says, sliding into the chair beside me. "Race footage from Riverside last year. Their course is tricky."
For the next twenty minutes, we analyze race strategy, our heads bent close together over the tablet. Gray's analytical mind impresses me despite myself. He sees patterns I miss, calculates split times in his head, remembers the names and strengths of every competitor.
"You should call for power here," he says, pointing to a bend in the river. "Current gets tricky."
