Page 94 of False Catch

This is where we usually fall apart. Where the power differences and ego conflicts emerge. But something's different today. Maybe it's exhaustion. Maybe it's surrender. Maybe it's just that we've finally stopped pretending.

"Ready all... attention... row!"

We drive together, the boat surging forward with each stroke. It's not our best, not even close, but it's honest. Real. No one's trying to prove anything or dominate anyone. We're just rowing.

"Seventeen... eighteen... nineteen... let it run!"

The boat glides, and I can hear the collective breathing behind me. Heavy but controlled. Present.

"Good," Reese says. "Really good. Second set, ninety percent pressure. Remember, power comes from connection, not force."

The second set is better. The third is almost respectable. By the time we're doing our cool-down paddle back to the dock, we've found something we lost. Not perfection, but possibility.

"That's enough for today," I call as we approach the dock. "Good work, everyone."

"Did Gray Lockwood just give a compliment?" Beckett asks, but there's genuine relief in his voice. He's been pushing himself harder than anyone lately, trying to prove he's more than just the team clown. "Someone check for signs of the apocalypse."

"Don't push it, Monroe."

But there's no heat in it, and he knows it. We dock and lift the boat with something approaching our old efficiency. Beckett's the first to grab the heavier end without being asked - another thing people miss about him. He does the work when it matters. Torres watches from the launch, making notes, but for once her expression seems thoughtful rather than critical.

"Tomorrow's regatta," I remind everyone as we finish washing down the equipment. "Bus leaves at five AM. Don't be late."

"Aye, aye, captain," Zane salutes mockingly, but he's smiling.

As the team starts dispersing to their cars, Tyler catches my arm. "We need to talk."

"If this is about the lineup—"

"It's not." He glances around the boathouse parking lot, making sure we're alone. "I've been doing some research."

Of course he has. Tyler researches everything. It's his way of maintaining control when everything else is chaos.

"Research into what?"

"University policies. State regulations. Legal precedents." He adjusts his glasses, a nervous tell. "Specifically about mixed-designation teams and pack bonds."

My stomach tightens. "Tyler—"

"Just hear me out." He pulls out his phone, scrolling to what looks like a lengthy document. "The administration can investigate us for being a mixed-designation team. They can enforce policies about appropriate conduct. But there's one thing they can't touch."

"Which is?"

"Legally bonded packs." He shows me the screen. "State law protects them from discrimination. Universities can't separate bonded pack members or penalize them for their dynamics."

I stare at the legal text, trying to process what he's suggesting. "You're talking about—"

"All of us claiming Reese. Formally. Legally." He puts his phone away. "It's rare but not unprecedented. The Seattle rowing club had a six-Alpha pack with an Omega cox back in 2012."

"That's insane."

"Is it?" Tyler challenges. "More insane than what we're doing now? At least this way we'd have legal protection."

I run a hand through my hair, trying to think through the implications. "Eight Alphas sharing an Omega. You know how that looks."

"I know how it is," he corrects. "We're already sharing her, Gray. Jackson's claimed her. Bo clearly has something going with her. The rest of us are circling like satellites. At least this way we acknowledge it."

"My family—" I start, then stop. Even thinking about my father's reaction makes my chest tight.