Page 26 of False Catch

"Since when does lacrosse practice this early?" Beckett asks, interrupting my rambling thoughts.

"Since never," Gray says, his voice flat and dangerous.

The lacrosse team's path brings them closer, and Quinton breaks from the group, jogging over to us while his teammates continue their circuit. Sweat gleams on his chest, and he's breathing just hard enough to seem athletic but not actually winded. It's performative as hell.

"Morning, crew," he calls out cheerfully. "Lockwood. Ms. Callahan." His eyes linger on Reese. "Beautiful morning for some rowing, isn't it?"

"What are you doing here, Whitmore?" Gray's tone could freeze the lake.

"Team conditioning. Coach wants us to up our cardio." He grins. "Total coincidence running into you all here. Though perfect timing - we're still on for three o'clock, right Reese? Library, Southeast Asia research?"

"Yes," she says tightly.

"Great. Maybe we can grab coffee after, discuss our angle. Or maybe dinner?" His eyes flick to Gray. "Unless you’re busy?"

"Just the library," Reese says. "I have plans after with the team."

"All eight of them?" Quinton's eyes sweep over us, and his smile sharpens. "That's quite the... dedicated crew you have here."

The way he says 'dedicated' makes it sound like something else entirely. Every single Alpha on our team tenses. The pheromones that spike are pure territorial aggression, and even I can feel it, which means it's really obvious.

"We take team bonding seriously," Gray says, his voice flat and dangerous.

"I can see that." Quinton's grin widens.

"We should get the boat," I say, because someone needs to break this weird standoff and apparently it's going to be me.

"Right," Gray agrees tightly. "Let's move."

"I should get back to my run anyway,” Quinton says, tossing his dark hair out of his eyes. “See you at three, Reese."

We head to the boathouse, but I notice Gray positions himself between Quinton and Reese. It's subtle, but Quinton definitely catches it. He smirks like he's won something as he jogs backwards a few steps before turning and catching up with his team.

I'm missing crucial information here. My brain hates that.

"Jackson," I say quietly as we lift the shell. "What's the deal with Gray and Quinton?"

Jackson glances at Gray, then back at me. "Prep school shit. Old rivalry. Don't ask about it."

Which means it's definitely something I should ask about, just not right now.

We get the boat to the water, moving through our normal routine but everything feels performative. Like we're actors playing the role of a normal crew. Even the way we're walking is too careful, too measured.

"Remember," Reese says quietly as we prepare to launch, "we're just a team. Nothing more."

"Right," Eli mutters. "Just a team that rows better when we're acting like a—"

"Don't," Gray cuts him off. "Not with them watching."

Coach Bennett's launch is already on the water, Carmine seated with her tablet ready.

"Gentlemen," Coach Bennett calls out. "Whenever you're ready."

We get on the water, and immediately I can feel the difference from last night. In the tanks, we found sync by embracing what we're becoming. Now we have to perform normalcy while maintaining that same unity. It's like trying to solve two contradictory equations simultaneously.

"Easy pressure to start," Reese commands through the cox box. "Let's find our rhythm."

We start rowing, and it's... okay. Not great, not terrible. Safe. But safe isn't going to convince Carmine we're fine.