Page 86 of Eight Count Heat
"I'm fine."
"Your suppressant is failing," he states matter-of-factly. "Observable fact."
I take a swig of water to avoid responding immediately. "I have one dose left. I'm taking it before finals."
Eli considers this, his analytical mind visibly working through calculations. "It won't be enough. Based on your current rate of metabolization, you'll start showing symptoms by the midpoint of the finals."
"I'll manage." I unwrap the protein bar, forcing myself to take a bite despite my lack of appetite.
"The team should know," he says quietly. "Especially Gray."
"No." I wince as soon as the word's out of my mouth. I didn't mean to snap at him. I take a deep breath and speak softer. "Not yet. Not until after finals."
"Withholding critical information affecting team performance isn't going to help anything."
"Neither will creating unnecessary drama right before the first major race of the season." I turn to face him fully. "I need you to trust me on this. I'll get us through finals. What happens after that..." I trail off, unable to complete the thought.
Eli studies me for a long moment. "You're risking a lot."
"I know exactly what I'm risking." I finish the water, crushing the plastic bottle in my hand. "But this team deserves their shot at finals without distractions."
He seems about to argue further when Tyler approaches, tablet in hand.
"Westlake qualified first in their heat," he reports. "Ridgemont second. Combined with our results, lane assignments for finals put us in lane three, Westlake in lane two."
Great. They'll be right beside us for the entire race.
"Their time?" I ask.
"5:47.2. We posted 5:45.8."
A tight margin. Too tight for comfort.
"We can improve on the turn," Eli observes. "Our outside crew was slightly off rhythm."
Tyler nods in agreement. "Additionally, our sprint initiation could begin five strokes earlier based on energy expenditure patterns."
The two of them fall into a detailed technical discussion that I struggle to follow as another wave of warmth passes through me. The suppressant is definitely failing faster than expected.
I excuse myself, needing to find somewhere private to regroup. The restrooms in the athletes' area are busy with competitors preparing for afternoon events. I push through, finding an empty stall at the far end.
Locking the door, I lean against it, closing my eyes as I pull out my phone to text Eli.
Need you to get my bag from the team area. Meet me outside women's restroom ASAP.
His reply comes seconds later:On it.
I splash water on my face, avoiding my reflection in the mirror. The flush in my cheeks, the brightness in my eyes: subtle signs that would be obvious to anyone familiar with Omegas approaching heat.
When I exit, Eli is waiting, my bag in hand. He passes it to me wordlessly, understanding the urgency.
"Thanks." I dig through it, finding the silver case with my last suppressant pill inside. The spare one that thankfully survived my room break-in. I stare at it for a moment. My final defense against biological reality.
"Take what Tyler gave you for now,” Eli suggests. “Don’t take your regular dose until closer to race time.”
He's right, but the rising panic in my chest makes it tempting to take it now.
"Two o'clock," I confirm, closing the case and tucking it securely back into my bag. "Not a minute sooner."
