Page 48 of Eight Count Heat
Bo
Something's off withthe team.
I notice it during morning practice—subtle shifts in the current that's carried us for years. Eli and Jackson avoiding each other's eyes. Tyler watching Reese with that calculating gaze of his. Cameron, our resident ghost, somehow present in a way I've never seen before. And Gray, our fearless leader, pretending not to notice any of it.
At the center of this storm: Reese Callahan, our five-foot-nothing coxswain who commands eight Alphas like she was born to it.
I watch her during cool-down as she calls directions, her voice steady despite the shadows under her eyes. Something's eating at her. Has been since yesterday when she showed up late with Tyler. Unusual for both of them.
The boat glides back to the dock, water streaming off carbon fiber. I help rack the shell, keeping one eye on the team as they disperse to the locker room. There's an undercurrent of tension I can't quite identify, glances exchanged between teammates that suggest conversations happening without words. Jackson heads straight for the showers, avoiding everyone. Eli lingers by the equipment, pretending to check oar handles while watching Jackson's retreating back. Gray pulls Reese aside to discuss something in her notebook, standing close enough that anyone else would notice the territorial display.
Anyone but Reese, apparently. Or maybe she notices and just doesn't care.
"Lot of strange currents today," I comment to Zane as we store life vests.
He glances around, lowering his voice. "You notice Reed and Stone? Something's up there."
"When isn't there?" I reply, keeping my tone casual. The arrangement between our teammates has never been acknowledged openly, but it's about as secret as the fact that I stress-bake before big races.
"Different this time," Zane insists. "And it started right when Callahan joined."
I consider this. "Everyone's adjusting."
"Some more than others."
"Including you? I saw those puppy dog eyes you were making at practice yesterday."
Zane grins, unashamed. "What can I say? I appreciate competence in a small package."
"Careful," I warn, only half-joking. "She's got enough to handle without your particular brand of charm."
"Oh, I'm being a perfect gentleman." He holds up his hands in mock surrender. "Just offering friendship."
"Right."
In the shower room, I take my time, letting the hot water ease muscles tight from an intense practice. By the time I finish, the locker room has mostly cleared. Only Cameron remains, changing with his back to the room as always.
His torso is a map of scars. Some even bleed into the sleeve of art tattooed on his left arm and I've often wondered which came first, but I've never brought it up. None of us have. Some boundaries even eight guys living in the same house respect.
"Good work today, Blake," I say, keeping it casual.
He nods once without turning. Standard Cameron response.
"Breakfast at The Griddle in twenty," I add, not expecting a reply.
But he surprises me. "I'll be there."
Three words in one morning. From Cameron Blake. Interesting.
I head out to my truck, passing Reese as she exits the women's locker room.
"Strickland," she acknowledges with a nod.
"Callahan. Need a ride to breakfast?"
She hesitates. "I should grab my books for my 9 AM class first."
"I can swing by your dorm. No sense walking when I'm heading that way."
