Page 5 of Eight Count Heat
"Take us back," I say, letting my Alpha dominance fill the simple command.
She raises an eyebrow at my tone but gives the commands to turn the boat. As we row back to the dock at a recovery pace, I study her reflection in the water. Small, fierce, in complete control of a vessel carrying Alphas twice her size.
Coach Bennett will want a full report on today's practice: Split times, technical observations, team chemistry assessment. I'll have to acknowledge that our performance improved under her modified training plan. The admission tastes like defeat.
"What's your deal, Callahan?" The question escapes before I can stop it.
She looks up, surprised. "My deal?"
"Why did you really transfer here? Mid-season transfers are rare."
Her expression closes off. "I go where the opportunities are."
"Bullshit. You had a scholarship at Westlake. Captain of their women's team. Why leave that for a two-week trial with us?"
"You researched me."
"I research all potential threats to my territory." The Alpha phrase slips out before I can censor it.
Something like hurt flashes through her eyes, quickly suppressed. "Is that what I am? A threat?"
"I haven't decided yet." I inhale deeply, trying to catch her scent again. Still nothing but that clinical neutrality. "But yes, potentially. The university has strict policies about team composition for good reason. Mixed-designation teams create complications."
"Such as?"
"Bonding." The word cuts through the air between us. "The university has strict policies because of incidents like Concordia in 2019. Five Alphas bonded with their Omega team manager. Lawsuits. Policy changes. Career destruction."
Her face pales slightly. "I'm not an Omega."
"No," I agree, watching her reaction. "But the university's policies apply to any situation where designation biology might compromise competitive integrity. Even Beta-Alpha dynamics can become... complicated."
She holds my gaze, defiance flashing through fatigue. "I'm here to cox, not complicate your precious team dynamics."
"Good." I pause. "Because the administration watches mixed teams closely. One hint of impropriety, one suggestion of inappropriate bonding, and they'll disband us faster than you can say 'Title IX violation.'"
"Thanks for the warning," she says dryly. "Though I'd appreciate it if you kept the legal lectures to rowing technique."
The dismissal stings more than it should. I'm trying to protect the team, to protect her, if she'd listen, and she treats it like unwanted interference.
"Fine," I concede. "But when your designation becomes a liability, don't say I didn't warn you."
Her eyes narrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Before I can respond, we reach the dock. The team works to unload gear with their usual efficiency, but I catch the glances exchanged between them. They heard enough of our conversation to sense tension.
Beckett approaches as we rack the boat. "Everything alright, Captain?"
"Everything's fine," I reply, though my jaw aches from clenching it.
"Right." His tone makes it clear he doesn't believe me. "You know, for someone who claims she doesn't belong here, you sure do watch her a lot."
I glare at him, but Beckett just grins and moves away. Sometimes I hate how perceptive he is beneath all that charm.
In the locker room, I finally allow myself to consider the real problem. It's not Reese's competence that bothers me. It's not even her presence disrupting team hierarchy.
It's the way I find myself watching her when I should be focused on training. It's the way her approval affects me more than it should, the way something inside me responds to her voice with an intensity that has nothing to do with coxswain commands and everything to do with her.
She's been here two days, and already she's gotten under my skin in ways I don't understand and can't control.
