Page 71 of Eight Count Heat
"Everything alright?" I ask as we prepare to reboard.
"My parents landed early," she says. "They'll be at the hotel when we arrive."
The weight of that statement settles over our group. We all know this weekend was supposed to give her time to figure out how to handle the family situation. Now that buffer has disappeared.
"We've got your back," I tell her simply.
She looks surprised by the direct statement. "Why?"
"Because you're team," I say, echoing what Beckett told her yesterday. "And because whatever happens this weekend, you don't have to face it alone."
For a moment, something vulnerable flickers in her eyes before she masks it. "Thanks, Zane. That... means something."
The final hour of the drive passes quickly, the team energy shifting from travel mode to competition focus. By the time we pull into the hotel parking lot, everyone's alert and ready.
Coach Bennett parks and turns to address us. "Everyone grab your gear and meet in the lobby. Five minutes."
As we file off the bus, Coach Wilder hands Gray a folder. "Room assignments and keys. I've already checked us in."
Gray nods, all business as he opens the folder. "Thanks, Coach."
"Remember, we have practice access to the course at 6 AM tomorrow," Coach Wilder reminds us. "Breakfast at 5. No exceptions."
The coaches grab their own bags and head into the hotel while Gray distributes the room keys.
"Room assignments," Gray announces as we unload our gear. "We have four doubles. Strickland, you're with Reed. Wu with Stone. Monroe with Blake. Hollis, you're with me."
He pauses, scanning his list. "Callahan, you have the single."
"Slight problem with that arrangement," Eli says, appearing at Gray's shoulder with a troubled expression. "I just checked with the front desk. The single we reserved was given to another team. We have four standard doubles now."
Gray's expression darkens like storm clouds. "That's unacceptable. Coach confirmed the rooms last week."
"Nothing they can do," Eli says with a shrug that seems a little too casual. "Some mix-up with the conference bloc. Every hotel in the area is booked for the regatta."
"So we're short a bed," Gray says, the muscle in his jaw twitching.
"Not necessarily," Eli continues smoothly. "They offered a rollaway, but it would make one of the rooms extremely cramped. Or we could rearrange to put her with one of us."
All eyes turn to Reese, who stands very still, her expression carefully neutral. I can practically see her calculating the socialdynamics, the potential complications, the careful balance she's maintained with the team.
"I'll take the rollaway," she says. "Just tell me which room."
"Absolutely not," Gray says immediately. "I'm not making you sleep on some piece of furniture that probably hasn't been cleaned since the Clinton administration."
"It's fine, Gray. I've slept in worse places."
"Well, you're not sleeping in worse places on my watch," Bo interjects, his Southern drawl thickening with protective instincts. "You can room with me. I don't snore, and I promise to keep my hands to myself."
The offer hangs in the air, generous and uncomplicated. Bo Strickland, our gentle giant, making it clear that her safety and comfort matter more than any potential awkwardness.
"Are you sure?" Reese asks. "I don't want to impose."
"No imposition," Bo says firmly. "Besides, someone needs to make sure you actually get some sleep instead of staying up all night worrying about tomorrow."
Gray looks like he wants to argue, but even he can't find fault with Bo's logic or intentions.
"That works," Reese says with visible relief. "Thank you, Bo."
