Page 19 of False Catch

"Maybe both?"

"Also fair." He runs a hand through his dark hair. "Look, Reese, I know this is complicated—"

"That's the word of the day, apparently."

"—but we need to figure it out. Tomorrow—"

"Tomorrow we show them what we really are," I interrupt. "A team that works better together than apart. Even if together is... unconventional."

Something shifts in his expression. "You think we should stop hiding it?"

"I think we should stop fighting it. There's a difference."

Before he can respond, the rest of the team emerges from the room. Jackson's eyes find mine immediately, and I see the moment he recognizes what happened. His jaw tightens, but there's something else there too. Not anger.

Hope.

Eli moves to Jackson's side, their shoulders brushing. Jackson doesn't pull away. If anything, he leans in slightly, and Eli's hand brushes his lower back in a gesture so intimate it makes my chest tight.

"Tanks," Gray announces. "Let's see if we can remember how to row."

As we head toward the indoor training facility, I catch Jackson watching me. When our eyes meet, he doesn't look away this time.

Maybe Eli's right. Maybe I'm not what breaks them apart.

Maybe I'm what holds them together.

CHAPTER SIX

Bo

The rowing tanks sit in the basement of the athletic complex like an underground pool. Eight stations arranged in a line, each with a sliding seat and foot stretchers positioned over two long water channels. The circulation system hums constantly, pushing water past each station to create resistance. Chlorine and humidity hang in the air, making everything feel closer, heavier.

Perfect for working out problems without the variables of wind, current, or weather.

Or in our case, perfect for falling apart where no one else can see.

"This is pathetic," Gray mutters, pulling harder on his oar as water splashes up from his sloppy catch. "We're not even close to synchronized."

He's right. Twenty minutes into what should be basic steady-state work, and we sound like eight people trying to row through a washing machine. Water slaps at different times, catches happen at different angles, and the usually hypnotic swoosh-catch-pull rhythm is just chaos and splash.

I glance at Reese, perched on a stack of mats where she can see all of us. She's got her cox box, but she's been quiet for the last five minutes. Just watching. Thinking.

Something shifted after her conversation with Eli in the hallway. I could smell it on both of them - arousal, yes, but also something deeper. Like a decision had been made. The humidity in here makes every scent stronger, more immediate. Eight Alpha pheromones mixing with chlorine and sweat, and underneath it all, the faint sweetness of Reese despite her suppressants.

"Let's take five," she finally says.

"We don't need a break," Gray protests, still pulling. "We need to fix this."

"Gray." Her voice carries that particular tone that makes even our stubborn captain stop mid-stroke. "Take five."

He releases his oar with visible frustration, water dripping from the blade as he lets it rest. The rest of us follow suit, grateful for the reprieve. My shoulders burn and my hands are starting to blister despite the calluses I've built up over years. The humidity makes everything worse, sweat refusing to evaporate in the thick air.

Jackson immediately moves toward the water fountain, putting distance between himself and everyone else. But I catch him glancing at Eli, then at Reese, something raw and desperate in his expression before he locks it down.

"This isn't working," Tyler states the obvious, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Our physiological responses are overriding muscle memory."

"English, professor," Beckett requests, slouching against the wall.