Page 130 of False Catch

"As you should be," Morrison says coldly. "I have the authority to dissolve this team immediately."

"Then do it," Gray says.

Everyone turns to stare at him. Even I twist in Zane's arms to look at his face.

"Gray," I breathe.

He meets my eyes. "I'm done letting fear control me. Done letting other people decide what I can and can't have." His gaze shifts to Morrison. "You want to dissolve the team? Fine. But you'll have to explain to the alumni why the crew that just won Riverside—while our coxswain was in heat—suddenly disappeared two weeks before nationals."

"Is that a threat, Mr. Lockwood?"

"It's a fact. We're ranked third nationally after that win. We'll take the championship if you stop trying to force us apart. You destroy us now, you destroy the program's reputation and a guaranteed national title."

"Your parents—" Morrison starts.

"Can go to hell," Gray says flatly. "All of them. Any parent who'd rather see their child miserable than happy doesn't deserve consideration."

Tyler makes a sound beside him. When I look, there are tears in his eyes.

"Tyler?" I ask softly.

"He's right," Tyler says, voice thick. "My parents have had my life planned since I was five. Which schools, which degrees, which job offers to accept. But this?" He gestures at all of us. "This is the first choice I've ever made that was just mine. And I'm not giving it up."

"This is insanity," Whitfield mutters.

"This is biology," Beckett says simply. "Scent-matched bonds exist for a reason. Sometimes eight Alphas and an Omega just... fit."

"You're suggesting you're fated mates?" Carmine's tone is skeptical.

"I'm suggesting," Tyler says, his analytical mind working, "that there's documented precedent for multi-Alpha pack bonds with a single Omega when the scent compatibility is strong enough. It's rare, but not unprecedented."

"And you all just happen to be scent-matched?" Morrison asks.

"You tell us," Cameron says quietly. "We won Riverside with our coxswain in active heat. If that's not proof of biological compatibility, what is?"

Morrison stands, planting both hands on the table. "Biological compatibility doesn't mean you understand the consequences of what you're proposing. The scrutiny, the judgment, the professional ramifications—"

"We're not naive," I say, finding my voice. "We're adults making an adult decision about our lives."

"Based on what? Hormones?" Morrison challenges.

"Based on knowing," Jackson says quietly, and everyone turns to look at him because he so rarely speaks in groups. "Sometimes you just know who you're supposed to be with. It's not logical. It's not convenient. But it's right."

"The science supports it," Eli adds. "Scent-matched groups show increased performance, better emotional regulation, stronger pack bonds. We're not fighting biology anymore. We're accepting it."

"A decision that could ruin you," Harmon says, but her voice is softer now. "The scrutiny you'll face, the judgment—"

"We've already faced it," Eli points out. "From other teams, from our families, from you. We're still here."

"We're still together," Jackson adds quietly.

Morrison looks at Bennett. "Coach? You've been remarkably quiet."

Bennett sighs, rubbing his face. "They're the best crew I've ever coached. Their synchronization is unlike anything I've seen in thirty years of rowing. If you force me to choose between regulations and excellence..." He trails off, shaking his head. "I won't choose. But I won't stand in their way either."

"This is highly irregular," Carmine says.

"Everything about this is irregular," Morrison agrees. "Which is why we need time to consider the implications."