Page 54 of False Catch

"Great movie choice," Zane says with false cheer. "Really relaxing."

"You didn't watch any of it," Cameron points out.

"I watched Reese almost have a panic attack. That was enough horror for me."

The study door opens, and Gray emerges alone.

"Where's Reese?" I ask immediately.

"Gone back to her dorm," he says flatly. "She needs space."

"From us," Tyler translates.

Gray doesn't deny it.

"This is getting worse," Bo says quietly.

"I know," Gray responds. "I know, but I don't... I don't know how to fix it."

It's the second time today our captain has admitted to not having answers. It's terrifying.

"Maybe," Eli says carefully, "we stop trying to fix it. Maybe we just... let it be what it is."

"And lose our season?" Gray snaps. "Our futures?"

"Or lose her," Jackson says quietly. "Or lose ourselves trying to be something we're not."

"We're not a pack," Gray insists.

"No," I agree. "But we're not just a crew anymore either."

We sit in silence, the ghost of Reese's scent still clinging to everything. In twelve hours she meets with Quinton. We record our times at dawn. We pretend this tension isn't killing us slowly.

But tonight?

Tonight we're just eight Alphas drowning in our own bad decisions.

Cameron turns off the TV. "Same time next week?"

"Fuck off," three people say simultaneously.

But yeah. Probably same time next week.

Because apparently, we're masochists now.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Eli

The house feels too quiet with most of the team gone. Gray’s off dealing with his father, Bo’s buried in organic chem, the others tied up in labs or Aquatics Department shifts. Which leaves just Jackson, Reese, and me.

And tension thick enough to cut with a blade.

The past week has been hell. Ever since the inspection and Torres getting assigned to babysit us, everything feels wrong. Every interaction measured, every glance analyzed. Whatever chemistry we found in those tank sessions has been smothered under scrutiny and forced professionalism.

And then there’s Quinton.

That lacrosse bastard circles Reese like a shark that’s already tasted blood. Daily study sessions for their project, overpriced coffee runs with foam art, touches at her elbow, her shoulder, the small of her back. All perfectly innocent. All perfectly calculated.