Page 29 of False Catch

"For how long?" Tyler asks.

"Through the end of the season, assuming you can demonstrate consistent improvement and appropriate team dynamics."

The lacrosse team chooses that moment to jog past again, Quinton at the lead. He doesn't look at us, just keeps running, but his presence feels like salt in an open wound.

"Questions?" Carmine asks, though her tone suggests she doesn't want any.

"No, ma'am," Gray responds for all of us.

"Good. Coach Torres will attend your Monday morning practice. I expect to see significant improvement by our first check-in next Saturday." She turns to walk away, then pauses. "Ms. Callahan, a word?"

I follow her a few steps away from the team, my heart hammering.

"I've seen your records from Westlake," she says quietly. "You were an excellent team captain there. Whatever is happening here, I suggest you get it under control. Your future in collegiate rowing depends on it."

"Yes, ma'am."

She leaves without another word, and I turn back to find eight pairs of eyes watching me with varying degrees of concern and frustration.

"Let's get the boat up," I say, because what else is there to say?

We work in tense silence, everyone processing what just happened. As we're finishing, I notice Quinton has broken away from his team again. He's walking toward the boathouse, but not toward us. Toward Gray, who's coiling ropes near the bay doors.

I can't hear what Quinton says, but I see Gray's entire body go rigid. Quinton speaks for maybe thirty seconds, his expression pleasant, almost friendly. Then he claps Gray on the shoulder - a gesture that makes every Alpha on our team tense - and walks away.

Gray's hands are clenched so tight his knuckles are white.

"What was that about?" I ask, approaching carefully.

"Nothing." The word comes out sharp enough to cut.

"Gray—"

"Drop it, Callahan."

The use of my last name stings more than it should. We're back to formality, back to walls. Maybe that's for the best, given our new probationary status.

"Fine," I say, matching his cold tone. "I have to go anyway. Library at three."

Something flickers across his face - anger, worry, possession - but it's gone before I can identify it.

"Be careful," he says quietly.

"Of what? Studying?"

He doesn't answer, just turns and walks away.

---

By the time I shower, change, and make it to the library, it's 3:07. Quinton is already there, books spread across a table in a quiet corner of the third floor. He looks up when I approach, and his smile seems genuine.

"Hey, thought you might have bailed on me," he says, pulling out the chair next to him.

"Sorry, practice ran long." I sit down, maintaining careful distance.

"How'd it go? Saw you guys out there this morning - early workout, huh?"

"Administrative observation," I admit, because he obviously saw Carmine. "We're on probation."