Page 70 of False Catch

Eli: Jackson and I are heading to campus security

Jackson: Already here. They want to talk to Reese.

Still nothing from Gray.

"Security wants to see you," Quinton says, looking up from his phone. "But I convinced them to give you an hour. Told them you needed time to process. They agreed to keep it low-key for now."

"Thank you." And I mean it. His help feels genuine, uncomplicated.

"Reese." His voice is gentle but serious. "I know we're not close friends or anything. But watching someone go through this alone would be fucked up. So whatever you need—a distraction, someone to vent to who's not wrapped up in team drama, whatever—I'm here."

"I appreciate that."

"Good." He stands, brushing grass off his jeans. "Come on. Let's get you some decent coffee and figure out next steps. You can stay outside and I’ll grab it. My treat."

As we walk, I catch sight of more photos being torn down by strangers, by teammates, by people I don't even know. My humiliation turned into public spectacle, my private moments transformed into weapons.

Someone wants to destroy me.

The question is whether they'll take down my entire team in the process.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Cameron

Four hours of sleep in three days makes everything feel like it's happening underwater.

I lean against the trailer, watching the team unload the shell in the pre-dawn darkness at Lake Hartwell. Early Season Dual Meet sounds casual enough on paper. In reality, it's our first competition since everything went to shit, and we look like walking death.

Well, most of us do.

Jackson's different. Not obvious at first, but I've been watching people long enough to spot the shifts. The way he squares his shoulders when Gray speaks. How he plants himself at the front during team meetings instead of hanging back with Eli. Eye contact that would have been unthinkable a week ago.

The way he's been eyeing the stroke seat like it belongs to him. Along with everything that goes along with that position.

Friday night changed him. Claiming Reese did something to his wiring, flipped some switch from follower to challenger. It’s both fascinating and terrifying.

"Careful with the riggers," Gray says curtly as Zane and Beckett attach them. It's the first thing our captain's said all morning. Hell, might be the tenth thing he's said all week.

The silence between Gray and Jackson is loud enough to drown out everything else. They move around each other like magnetic poles, maintaining exact distances, never directly interacting. Eli stays plastered to Jackson's side, and the rest of us are caught in the middle, trying to pretend the power structure of our entire team isn't crumbling.

"Coffee?" Bo appears beside me with a thermos, looking as exhausted as I feel. Dark circles under his eyes make him look older, worn down.

"Thanks." I take a sip, grateful for something to focus on besides the tension. "You sleep at all?"

"Maybe an hour." He watches Reese directing the rigging setup, her voice steady despite everything. "You?"

"Same."

We stand in comfortable silence, two guys who know better than to fill empty air with bullshit. That's what I've always appreciated about Bo—he doesn't need to talk just to hear himself.

"Quinton came through," he says eventually, voice neutral.

I nod. The lacrosse captain had somehow managed to kill the social media wildfire within twelve hours. Every Instagram post deleted, every story expired, even the group chats had moved on to other drama. Like someone had flipped a switch and wiped the internet clean.

Too clean. Too convenient. But I keep my mouth shut because right now, we need the breathing room, even if it comes with strings we can't see yet.

"Hands on!" Reese calls out, and we move to lift the shell. Her voice carries the same authority it always has, but I catch the exhaustion underneath. She's been holding us together through pure will, but even she has limits.