Page 55 of Eight Count Heat
Her assessment is correct but lacks the detailed insight she provided at breakfast. Something's off.
"What about after the turn?" I press. "You mentioned most crews lose time there."
"We'll need to... adjust for the change in current," she says vaguely. "I'll have more specific calls ready before race day."
Now I'm certain something's wrong. Reese Callahan doesn't do vague. Her race plans are typically meticulous, detailed to the meter. This morning she gave a comprehensive breakdown of the entire Riverside course. Tonight she can barely focus on the conversation.
"You feeling okay?" Bo asks her, his concern mirroring my thoughts.
"Fine," she says with a tight smile. "Just tired. Long day."
She reaches for her water glass, sleeve pulling back slightly to reveal a bruise on her wrist that wasn't there yesterday. My eyes narrow. Could be from practice – coxing isn't as physically safe as most people assume. But the size and shape suggest fingers. Someone grabbed her, hard enough to leave marks.
My eyes meet Bo's over the table. He saw it too. He shakes his head almost imperceptibly, so I file this information away, continuing to observe as dinner progresses. The conversation shifts to classes, upcoming exams, campus gossip. Beckett and Zane debate the merits of some party happening Saturday night after Riverside. Jackson eats silently, occasionally glancing at Eli, who studiously avoids looking back. Cameron contributesnothing verbally but watches everyone, especially Reese, with that unnerving intensity of his.
Halfway through dinner, Reese's phone buzzes. She checks it, face paling slightly before she quickly puts it away.
"Everything okay?" Zane asks, noticing her reaction.
"Just my study group confirming tomorrow's session," she says smoothly. Too smoothly.
Another lie. I've been lied to enough in my life to recognize the signs. The question is, why? What is our coxswain hiding?
"Speaking of tomorrow," I say, "we need to discuss final preparations for Riverside. Equipment check at 4 PM. I want every oar inspected, every seat adjusted."
"I have class until 4:30," Reese says.
"I'll start with the boat," I tell her. "You can check your equipment when you arrive."
She nods, but there's a hesitation. Almost like she's unsure she'll be there at all.
"Something I should know about, Callahan?" I ask directly.
Her eyes meet mine, challenge flashing briefly before she masks it. "No. I'll be there."
The dinner continues, but I keep returning to that moment of hesitation. To the bruise on her wrist. To her distraction throughout the meal. The pieces don't fit together, and few things irritate me more than incomplete puzzles.
After dessert, Bo's homemade bread pudding that even I can't resist, the team breaks into smaller groups. Zane challenges Beckett to a video game in the living room. Jackson disappears upstairs without a word. Bo and Tyler clean up the kitchen withthe efficient teamwork that characterizes everything they do. Cameron slips outside to smoke, a habit he thinks none of us know about.
I find Reese in the small study off the main room, examining our trophy case with apparent interest.
"Impressive collection," she says without turning, somehow sensing my presence.
"We have a legacy to maintain." I move beside her, looking at the accumulated hardware of Sable Ridge Rowing. Conference championships. Regional titles. National placements. My family name appears on several of the older trophies. Lockwood. A weight I've carried my entire life.
"Your father won three consecutive championships," she observes, reading the inscriptions. "In the 90s."
"And never lets me forget it."
She glances at me, something like understanding in her expression. "Family expectations. I know something about that."
"Do you?" I lean against the wall, studying her. "You never talk about your family."
"Neither do you."
"Mine's an open book. Four generations of Lockwoods at Sable Ridge. All rowers, all champions, all Alphas. Everyone knows the story."
"That's your family history, not your family."
