Page 97 of Eight Count Heat
Applause erupts from the crowd. I paste on my best winner's smile, the one that's gotten me through countless social situations, while keeping my attention fixed on our coxswain.
Reese accepts the trophy with steady hands, but I catch the slight tremor when her fingers brush the official's palm. Skin contact. Even through the medication, her body is starting to react to every touch, every scent, every stimulus.
"Speech! Speech!" someone calls from the crowd.
Gray steps forward, taking the microphone with his usual command presence. "Thank you. This victory belongs to the entire team, but especially to our coxswain, Reese Callahan, whose strategic brilliance got us here."
The applause continues, but I notice how Reese's breathing has become more deliberate. She's fighting it, using every technique she knows to maintain control, but biology is winning.
"Photos now," the photographer announces. "Team shot first, then individual positions."
This is where it gets dangerous. Close contact, bright lights, the stress of performing normalcy when her body is screaming for something entirely different.
We arrange ourselves for the traditional team photo, Reese kneeling in front with the trophy while we stand behind her. I position myself directly behind her left shoulder, close enough to provide support if she needs it.
The camera flashes, once, twice. On the third shot, Reese sways slightly. Without thinking, I rest my hand lightly on her shoulder, steadying her.
The contact sends a jolt through both of us. Her scent spikes, sweet and desperate, while her body unconsciously leans into my touch. I feel my own response immediately, pulse quickening, muscles tensing with the urge to provide exactly what she needs.
"Easy," I murmur quietly. "Just breathe."
She nods almost imperceptibly, regaining her balance. But my hand stays on her shoulder longer than it should, thumb tracing small circles against the fabric of her team jacket. Comforting.Soothing. Exactly the kind of contact that helps regulate an Omega's stress response.
"Individual shots now," the photographer calls. "Coxswain first."
Reese starts to stand, but her legs wobble. Gray immediately steps forward, offering his arm for support. The gesture looks perfectly natural to observers, just a gallant teammate helping their smaller coxswain, but I see the way her pupils dilate when his scent hits her.
"Steady," Gray says, his captain's voice soft with unexpected gentleness.
She manages the solo photos, but each flash of the camera seems to make her condition worse. By the time we finish individual shots, she's gripping the trophy like a lifeline, knuckles white with effort.
"Time for the traditional cox toss," Coach Bennett announces with a grin.
The crowd cheers, anticipating the time-honored celebration where the crew throws their coxswain into the water. It's a moment of pure joy in most circumstances, a way for rowers to show appreciation for their strategic leader.
Today, it might be the only thing that saves Reese from complete breakdown.
"You sure about this?" Gray asks quietly, understanding the implications.
"Cold water will help," I confirm. "Shock to the system, temperature regulation. It's exactly what she needs."
Reese looks between us, clearly torn between the public expectation and her private struggle. "I can handle it."
"We know you can," Beckett says, appearing at my elbow with his trademark grin. "Question is, do you trust us to catch you?"
Despite everything, she almost smiles. "With my life."
"Then let's give these people a show."
We arrange ourselves along the dock's edge, Reese standing between Gray and Bo while the rest of us spread out to receive her. The crowd gathers closer, phones out to capture the moment.
"On three," Gray calls. "One... two... three!"
We lift her together, eight pairs of hands launching our coxswain into the air. She arcs gracefully over the water before hitting the lake with an enormous splash. Laughter and cheers erupt from the crowd as our coxswain surfaces, hair plastered to her head, steam visibly rising off her body if you knew to look for it.
The effect is immediate. The cold shock breaks through her heat symptoms like a reset button, bringing clarity back to her eyes and control back to her movements. She treads water easily, grinning up at us with the first genuine happiness I've seen from her all day.
"How's the water?" I call down to her.
