Page 6 of Eight Count Heat
I've spent my entire life mastering control. On the water, in competition, in every aspect of my existence. Control is what separates champions from everyone else.
But Reese Callahan makes me feel like that control is slipping, stroke by stroke, practice by practice. And the worst part?
I'm not entirely sure I want to stop it.
My phone buzzes with a text from Coach Bennett:Split times look good. Whatever you're doing, keep it up.
I stare at the message, caught between satisfaction and frustration. Our performance is improving because of her. The team is responding to her leadership in ways they never responded to our previous cox. She's making us better.
Which means I have twelve more days to find a reason to send her away. Twelve more days to prove she doesn't belong with us.
Twelve more days to convince myself I don't want her to stay.
The math isn't looking good.
chapter THREE
Reese
The lake is stilldark when I arrive at 4:45 AM, fifteen minutes before my scheduled practice with Gray. I like being early. Preparation is power, especially when you're an Omega pretending to be a Beta in a boathouse full of Alphas.
The air hangs heavy with moisture, and mist clings to the water's surface like a blanket. I drop my bag on the dock and inhale deeply. The scent of pine and lake water fills my lungs, centering me. No Alpha scents yet. Just peace.
This is why I cox. These quiet moments before the world wakes up, when it's just me and water stretching endlessly ahead.
I begin my stretching routine, working out the stiffness from sleeping on a dorm mattress. My suppressants make my joints ache sometimes, a side effect the manufacturer conveniently leaves off the warning label. Small price to pay for freedom.
Headlights cut through the darkness as a black Range Rover pulls into the parking lot. Gray. The captain is exactly on time, not a minute early or late. His precision extends beyond the water.
I continue stretching as his footsteps thud across the wooden planks. He carries two travel mugs and wears black athletic shorts with a matching tank that shows off shoulders broad enough to cast shadows. His dark hair is perfectly neat despite the early hour.
"You're early," he says, voice rough from sleep.
"You're punctual," I counter.
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. He offers one of the mugs. "Black coffee. Coach said you mainline it."
I take the mug, surprised by the gesture. "Thanks."
"Don't thank me yet. You'll need the caffeine."
He sets down his own mug and begins his stretching routine. I try not to watch the fluid way his body moves, the controlled power in each motion. Alphas take up space naturally. Gray Lockwood owns it.
"So," I say, sipping the scalding coffee. "Your catch timing."
He nods, all business now. "I'm rushing the recovery. Throwing off the set."
"I noticed." I hold his gaze when he looks up sharply. "It's subtle, but at your level, even milliseconds matter."
Gray studies me, steel eyes calculating. "You have good eyes."
"It's my job to see everything."
"Is that why you transferred? Better view from our boat?"
I tense. He's probing again. "I told you, I go where the opportunities are."
"And what opportunity is worth leaving a full scholarship and captaincy?" He steps closer, and I fight the instinct to back away. "What are you running from, Callahan?"
