Page 80 of Eight Count Heat
I watch as understanding dawns in her eyes. Someone's challenging her status. Her right to be here, to cox for us, tocompete as herself. The very thing she's worked so hard to avoid has found her anyway.
"How long?" she asks, voice steady despite the stakes.
"Twenty minutes," the female official says. "Maybe less if documentation is straightforward."
Twenty minutes until our race time. Twenty minutes to resolve a challenge that could end everything we've built.
Reese nods once, professionalism overriding whatever personal turmoil she's experiencing. "I'll be back."
As she follows the officials away from our dock area, I realize we're facing the possibility of racing without our coxswain. Of watching three months of preparation crumble because someone decided to weaponize bureaucracy against the best cox we've ever had.
"What happens if she can't race?" Tyler asks quietly.
I stare across the water toward the officials' tent where Reese's fate is being decided by people who have never seen her command a boat or witnessed her strategic brilliance.
"She'll race," I say firmly. "Whatever it takes, she'll be in that seat when we cross the starting line."
Because the alternative is unthinkable. Not just because we'd forfeit, but because Reese Callahan belongs in this boat. She's earned her place through skill and dedication, and I'll be damned if I let anyone take that away from her now.
The next twenty minutes will determine more than just whether we compete today. They'll determine whether merit and talent matter more than politics and prejudice.
And I've never wanted to win anything more in my life.
chapter TWENTY-TWO
Reese
The officials' tentfeels like a courtroom where I'm both defendant and evidence.
Three people sit behind a folding table covered with paperwork: the head race official, a woman from the conference oversight committee, and someone from Westlake's coaching staff I don't recognize. Their faces range from apologetic to coldly professional as I take the single chair facing them.
"Miss Callahan," the head official begins, shuffling through documents. "We've received a formal challenge to your eligibility to compete today."
My stomach drops, but I keep my expression neutral. "On what grounds?"
"Questions regarding your designation status and transfer documentation." The woman from oversight leans forward."Specifically, concerns that your paperwork may not accurately reflect your biological designation."
The words hit like ice water. Someone knows. Or suspects enough to make this official.
"My transfer was approved by both universities," I say carefully. "All documentation was verified during the process."
"Yes, but the concern raised suggests there may have been... misrepresentation... in your original registration materials."
Through the tent opening, I catch sight of familiar figures near the Westlake team area. Andrea Sloan stands with Kinsley Adams, both watching the officials' tent with obvious satisfaction. This is their doing. Their coordinated attack designed to destroy me at the moment when it would hurt most.
"What specific documentation are you questioning?" I ask.
The Westlake representative speaks for the first time, his voice carrying a smugness that makes my skin crawl. "We have reason to believe Miss Callahan's designation may have been... incorrectly filed. Given the university's policies regarding mixed-designation athletic teams, this is a serious concern."
"And your evidence for this accusation?"
"Sources familiar with Miss Callahan's situation at Westlake have come forward with information suggesting discrepancies in her medical records."
Sources. Plural. Someone's been talking, sharing information they had no right to share. The betrayal cuts deep, but I force myself to focus on the immediate threat.
"I'd like to see these allegations in writing," I say. "And I'd like to know who's making them."
"That's not how this process works," the oversight woman replies. "We're simply asking you to verify your designation status through additional documentation."
