Page 57 of Eight Count Heat
"The team is fine. I'm fine. Riverside will be fine."
There it is again, that slight hesitation when mentioning Riverside. What is she not telling me?
Before I can press further, Zane appears in the doorway. "Callahan, Beckett needs a fourth for Mario Kart. Says only someone with your steering skills can save his team."
She seizes the excuse, relief evident. "Can't turn down a challenge like that."
"We're not finished," I tell her quietly.
"Yes, we are." She walks past me, shoulder brushing mine briefly. "For now."
I watch her join the others in the living room, noting how she relaxes slightly once engaged in the game. The facade of normalcy she maintains is impressive, but I've spent my life reading people's weaknesses. Something is weighing on her, something beyond normal stress or team politics.
"You're staring again," Eli observes, stepping up beside me with a beer. "Not exactly subtle."
"I'm concerned," I correct. "Something's off with her."
"Just noticing now?" He sips from his own bottle. "She's been on edge since yesterday."
I turn to him fully. "You know something."
Eli Stone might be the team strategist, but I've known him long enough to read when he's holding back.
He considers me over the rim of his bottle. "I know she's under a lot of pressure. Trial period ending, Riverside coming up, Kinsley and her crew causing trouble. More than enough to explain her current state."
"But you don't think that's all it is."
Eli's expression remains carefully neutral. "Not my place to speculate."
"Bullshit. Speculating is practically your favorite pastime."
"And yours is control, not interrogation." He holds my gaze, surprisingly firm. "If Callahan has something she needs to share, she will. When she's ready."
The implied criticism stings, mostly because it's partly justified. I've been pushing harder than usual, driven by something I'm not entirely ready to examine.
"The team needs to know if there are external threats," I say.
"The team is solid," Eli interrupts. "Our times are better than they've ever been. Whatever's going on with Callahan hasn't affected her performance on the water. That's what matters, right?"
He's using my own logic against me, and we both know it.
"Fine," I concede. "But if you know something that affects this team's ability to compete at Riverside, I expect you to tell me. Understood?"
"Crystal clear, Captain." He salutes mockingly with the rim of his bottle before walking away.
From the living room comes the sound of Reese's laughter as she apparently demolishes Beckett in their game. The sound is genuine, unguarded in a way I've rarely heard from her. Something in my chest tightens at the realization that she's more relaxed with them than with me.
My phone buzzes with a text from my father:Confirm dinner Sunday after your race. Bringing Kincaids. Katherine will be there.
Katherine Kincaid. Daughter of my father's business partner. Alpha, pre-law, exactly the type of woman my parents consider suitable. The attempted matchmaking isn't even subtle.
I text back:Can't. Team commitments.
His response is immediate:Reschedule them. This is important.
I put the phone away without responding, irritation simmering. Always the same pressure. Always the same expectations. Row. Win. Lead. Continue the Lockwood legacy in every aspect of life, personal choices be damned.
Through the doorway, I can see Reese now, controller in hand, trash-talking Beckett with surprising skill. For a moment, I envy the easy camaraderie she's established with the others. The walls between us remain firmly in place, despite my attempts to breach them.
