Page 85 of Eight Count Heat
The count drives them forward, each number a command, a promise, a shared understanding between coxswain and crew.
"Three. Two. One—through the line!"
We cross the finish, the horn blasting to signal our completion. First position. Clear qualification for the finals.
"Way enough," I direct, allowing them to ease off. "Well done, gentlemen. Beautiful race."
The crew recovers their breathing, bodies slumping slightly as they transition from race effort to recovery. Grins break out across sweat-slicked faces, and I catch Bo's quiet "Hell yes" mixed with Tyler's satisfied exhale. Pride swells in my chest despite the increasing warmth spreading through my system. We did it. First hurdle cleared.
"Official time confirms first position," I announce after checking with the officials' launch that pulls alongside. "We're through to finals."
A chorus of satisfied grunts and sharp exhales serves as celebration. No high fives or shouts, not yet. This was just qualification. The real test comes this afternoon.
As we paddle back to the dock, I glance toward the boathouse area where the first heat's crews are recovering. Westlake stands in a tight cluster around their coach. Andrea looks up as we pass, her expression shifting from hopeful anticipation to frustrated disappointment when she realizes I've held it together.
But the day isn't over. The look she exchanges with Kinsley promises they're not finished trying to destroy me.
"Eyes forward, Callahan," Gray says quietly from his position at stroke. "One race at a time."
I nod, turning my attention back to guiding our boat to the dock. He's right. Focus on what's directly ahead. Deal with Westlake when necessary.
We unload quickly and quietly, carrying the shell back to our assigned area. Coach Bennett meets us with water bottles and a rare smile.
"Clean race," he approves. "Good execution on the turn. We'll review the footage before finals, but that's exactly what I wanted to see."
The team disperses to recover and prepare for the afternoon race. Finals are scheduled for 3:00 PM, giving us roughly three hours to rehydrate, fuel, and mentally reset.
I check my watch. My next suppressant is scheduled for 2:00 PM, one hour before the race. Also my last one. It should provide coverage through the finals, assuming my body doesn't continue accelerating through the medication.
"Callahan," Coach Wilder calls me over. "Everything okay out there? You looked uncomfortable coming through the halfway point."
My stomach tightens. I can’t let her know just how bad things are. "Just focused on the race, Coach."
She studies me, concern evident in her expression. "If you're not feeling well—"
"I'm fine," I insist. "Just need to hydrate and rest before finals."
She doesn't seem entirely convinced but nods. "Take care of yourself. We need you at one hundred percent this afternoon."
"Yes, Coach."
As she walks away, I feel someone's gaze on me. Cameron stands a few yards away, watching me with that unnerving intensity. He sees too much, notices too much. Always has.
Near the officials' area, I spot the three regatta officials from earlier in deep conversation with someone from Westlake's coaching staff. Whatever they're discussing, it involves frequent glances in my direction.
I turn away, needing space, air, a moment to compose myself. The physical symptoms are manageable for now. Slight elevation in body temperature, heightened sensitivity, a faint humming beneath my skin. Nothing I can't control with deep breathing and focus.
I find a quiet spot away from the crowd, leaning against a tree to steady myself. Closing my eyes, I focus on slow, even breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. The techniques I've practiced for years to manage my designation when suppressants aren't enough.
"Here."
I open my eyes to find Eli standing before me, offering another bottle of water and what looks like a protein bar.
"Thanks," I say, taking both gratefully.
He sits beside me, maintaining a careful distance. "Tyler noticed your elevated temperature during the race."
I shouldn't be surprised.
