Page 56 of Eight Count Heat
The distinction is unexpectedly perceptive. I find myself answering more honestly than intended.
"My father is the head of Lockwood Financial. Type-A personality, makes me look relaxed by comparison. My motherruns every charity board in three counties. I have an older sister who broke tradition by becoming a surgeon instead of a banker or rower. Christmas dinners are exercises in strategic warfare."
A small smile touches her lips. "Sounds familiar."
"Your turn," I prompt.
She hesitates, then offers, "Father runs his own investment firm. Mother is the perfect corporate wife. Two older brothers, both Alphas, both following exactly the path laid out for them."
"And you?"
"I'm the family disappointment." Something bitter edges her voice. "At least according to my father."
"Because you're a woman in a traditionally male sport?"
She looks away. "Something like that."
Another partial truth. I'm collecting quite a list of them from her tonight.
"What's going on with you, Callahan?" I ask directly. "And don't say 'nothing.' You've been distracted all day. You barely touched Bo's jambalaya, which is practically sacrilege. You keep checking your phone like you're expecting bad news."
"Just tired," she repeats. "And stressed about exams."
"More lies." I step closer, lowering my voice. "The bruise on your wrist. Did someone grab you?"
Her hand automatically covers her wrist, confirming my suspicion. "It's nothing."
"Doesn't look like nothing."
"I bumped it on the dock."
"The dock doesn't leave finger marks." I reach for her hand, stopping when she flinches back. "Who hurt you?"
"No one," she insists, eyes flashing with that fierce independence that both impresses and frustrates me. "I can handle myself, Lockwood."
"I never suggested otherwise." I maintain eye contact, trying to read past her defenses. "But as team captain, I need to know if something's threatening one of my rowers."
"I'm your coxswain, not your rower."
"Same principle."
She studies me for a long moment, calculation clear in her expression. Weighing how much to reveal. What to keep hidden.
"There's been some... pushback... about my position on the team," she finally says. "Nothing I can't handle."
"Kinsley?" I demand, anger flaring at the thought of my ex-girlfriend physically intimidating Reese.
"Not directly."
"But related." I clench my jaw. "I'll talk to her."
"Don't." Her voice sharpens. "That will only make it worse. I'm managing it."
"Clearly," I say, gesturing to her wrist.
"One incident, which won't be repeated." Her chin lifts in that stubborn way that's become familiar. "I don't need you fighting my battles, Lockwood."
"It's not about need. It's about team."
