Page 137 of Eight Count Heat

As she disappears into the bathroom to change, Gray starts texting:

Emergency meeting. My room. 10 minutes. Non-optional.

Responses pop up immediately. A confused "wtf?" from Zane, a thumbs up from Bo, and just "omw" from Cameron. The team mobilizing without question because Gray called.

Because one of us is threatened.

"She's right," Gray says quietly, watching the bathroom door. "This is bigger than personal drama now."

I nod, settling against the wall with my hands in my pockets. "Question is, how many people are we dealing with?"

The bathroom door opens and Reese steps out in the clothes I brought, looking like the fierce coxswain we know, determined, focused, and ready for battle.

"Let's find out," she says, moving to stand between us. "But first, we make sure everyone on this team understands they could be a target. No one goes anywhere alone until we figure this out."

Gray's hand finds hers, their fingers interlacing. "Agreed."

The rest of the team files in over the next few minutes. Bo comes in first, immediately moving to Reese's other side like it's hisnatural place. Beckett and Zane looking unusually serious. Tyler with his tablet already in hand, preparing to document whatever we decide. Cameron last, silent as always but missing nothing.

As Gray starts explaining the situation, showing the photos around the room, I watch the team's faces change. Concern, anger, determination. But when Gray finishes, Reese steps forward.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly, looking at each of us in turn. "I'm sorry for bringing this down on all of you. For making you targets because of—"

"Stop." The word comes out of my mouth before I've consciously decided to speak. Everyone turns to look at me as I push off from the wall, moving closer to where she stands.

The room goes dead silent. I can feel their surprise—hell, I can feel my own surprise. But something about watching her blame herself for some psycho's obsession pisses me off in a way I didn't expect.

"This isn't your fault," I say, meeting her eyes directly. "You didn't ask for some sick fuck to stalk you. You didn't choose to have your room trashed or find dead animals at your door. That's on them, not you."

Her breath catches slightly, and I realize this might be the longest conversation we've ever had. But I'm not done.

"You think any of us would be safer if you weren't here? You think this team would be better off?" I shake my head. "We're stronger with you. All of us. And if some twisted asshole can't handle that, that's their problem to deal with."

The silence stretches for a moment before Bo clears his throat. "Jackson's right. This isn't on you, Reese."

"Damn right it's not," Beckett adds, crossing his arms. "Whoever's doing this picked the wrong crew to fuck with."

I catch Eli's gaze across the room, seeing something like pride in his expression. Then I look back at Reese, whose eyes are suspiciously bright.

"Thank you," she says softly, then straightens her shoulders. "All of you. Jackson's right, we're stronger together. So let's figure out who's doing this and make them regret it."

I step back, returning to my spot against the wall, but I catch Eli's gaze across the space. His expression asks what we've been circling for weeks:You in?

And for the first time since Hampton Hills, I feel something click into place. Yeah, I'm in. Not just with Eli, not just with Reese, but with all of this. This weird, complicated thing developing between eight guys and one fierce-as-hell coxswain.

Whatever is happening, we’re clearly all in. Me included.

"So what's the plan?" Beckett asks after seeing the evidence.

Reese steps forward, taking point naturally. "First, we establish security protocols. Buddy system, check-ins, no one leaves campus alone. Second, we document everything—times, locations, any suspicious behavior. Third, we figure out who has access to watch us and narrow down suspects."

"And if it escalates?" Tyler asks.

Reese's smile is as sharp as her cox commands. "Then we remind whoever's doing this that they're not just messing with me. They're messing with all of us."

The room falls silent, but it's not fear. It's the quiet before a race, when eight rowers and their coxswain prepare to prove exactly what they're capable of when someone threatens their crew.

And suddenly, I'm not worried about the stalker anymore.

I'm worriedforthem.