Caught in the Current (Varsity Heat Crew #2)

Chapter 1 Alex

Freshman Year

I sat on the edge of my bed, phone still pressed to my ear even though the line had gone dead. The dial tone hummed for three seconds before I finally lowered it.

My dorm room was silent. Everything perfectly organized—desk clear except for my laptop and a lamp, books alphabetized, clothes hung by color. My mother helped me move into Whitmore Hall three weeks ago, while my father had stood in the doorway with his arms crossed, nodding approval.

Remember, you’re representing this family, was the last thing he said. Not, I love you son. Not, You’re going to do great. Just more pressure.

The call had been the same as always. How were classes? Was I managing? Was I training enough?

I’d given him the answers he wanted. Yes, yes, and yes. Coach Eldridge had put me in the boat for fall training.

“Good. The Harrington name carries weight at Kingswell. Your great-grandfather helped build that crew program. People are watching you,” he said.

“I know.”

“At least you’re not like James. Discipline matters in this family.”

James. My cousin. Three years older. Taught me how to skip rocks when I was eight and made me laugh during endless formal dinners.

Then he came out three years ago and I hadn’t seen him since. His name was mentioned only in passing, usually with words like “disappointing” or “unfortunate” attached.

I pressed the heel of my hand against my chest. It felt tight. Like something was sitting on my ribs, making it hard to breathe.

Just a few weeks ago I was spending every day with Liam.

I could still feel what it was like to be with him.

My chest alive and wild, the smell of him underneath his sweat and deodorant when he got close.

The taste of his lips against mine and the certainty that came with it the night we first kissed.

One week ago, it was over. We found out we were going to rival schools and I ended it.

I told myself it was for both of us. That walking away was kinder than dragging it out.

But the truth—the truth I couldn’t admit even to myself—was that I was terrified.

Not of Liam, but of what wanting him meant.

How easy it would be to let myself fall completely and lose everything my family had built, everything my father expected, everything the Harrington name promised me.

Four years.

I just had four more years of this.

Four years of maintaining the Harrington standard. I winced at the thought of it.

My phone dinged on the desk.

Marcus

team bonding starts in 20. you coming?

The freshman crew bonding thing was Coach Eldridge’s idea of “building team chemistry” before fall racing season started.

I stared at the message for a long moment, then turned my phone to vibrate and shoved it in my pocket.

I couldn’t stay in this room, so I grabbed my wallet and left.

***

The night air was cool, almost cold. September in New England meant the leaves were just starting to turn, the heat of summer giving way to the bite of fall. I kept my hands in my pockets and my head down.

Kingswell’s campus gave way to the small college town that surrounded it. Old brick buildings and local shops that catered to students. A vintage record store. A coffee shop with mismatched furniture and pretentious art on the walls. A bookstore with a cat that lived in the window.

I walked past all of it.

Eventually I found myself standing in front of a diner.

The Bluebird. A blue eon sign buzzing in the window with half the letters burned out so it just read “Blu ird.”

Through the window I could see vinyl booths, checkered floor, a long counter with spinning stools. It was mostly empty—just a few people scattered at tables and a waitress refilling coffee.

I went inside.

The smell hit me immediately—old coffee, maple syrup, something fried and greasy. For half a second I was back at Penny’s in Brackett Lake. Blueberry pancakes melting with butter and Liam reaching across the table to wipe a crumb from my cheek.

Just a memory now.

I slid into a corner booth, the vinyl cracking under me.

A middle-aged waitress appeared almost immediately with tired eyes and a not so happy look.

“Coffee?” she asked.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

She poured it from a pot that looked like it had been brewing since morning, set down a couple of creamers, and walked away.

I wrapped my hands around the mug and stared at the menu without seeing it.

The door chimed, but I didn’t bother to look up. Then someone slid into the booth across from me.

I looked up, startled.

The guy sitting across from me had warm hazel eyes and sun-tanned skin like he’d spent the whole summer by a pool. Brown hair that fell in silky waves, blond highlights catching the diner’s fluorescent light. He was wearing a worn hoodie from some indie film festival.

He grinned. “You look like shit.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You.” He pointed at me. “You look like shit.”

Something cold dropped in my stomach. “Who are—”

“I’m Ethan. Film and media studies. I’ve been trying to get access to film the crew team for three weeks.” He leaned back, completely at ease. “And you’re Alex Harrington. Legacy kid. Your great-grandfather built the boathouse. People talk.”

Who was this kid and why did he know so much about me?

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out.

Marcus

dude where are you, everyone’s asking

I set it face-down on the table.

Ethan watched me do it and curiosity flickered across his face. “That important?”

“It’s a team thing. Freshman crew bonding.”

“So what are you doing here instead of there?”

“What are you doing here?” I asked with my eyebrows raised.

Because seriously, who just sits down with a stranger and starts interrogating them. I wouldn’t say it—too polite.

“I asked first.”

“Just wasn’t into it tonight.”

“And you’re here eating... what, exactly?” He glanced at my empty hands. “Coffee?”

“I was going to order but I was interrupted—”

“No you weren’t.” He flagged down the waitress without asking. “Two orders of pancakes. Extra butter. Bacon if it’s not burned.”

“It’s always burned,” the waitress said, but she was smiling slightly. “But I’ll bring it anyway.”

She walked away.

I should’ve told him to leave and said I wanted to be alone.

But something about him—his ease, the way he’d just sat down like it was the most natural thing in the world—made it impossible. There was something magnetic about him and it helped that he was cute.

“Why aren’t you at your team thing?” Ethan asked.

“Why do you care?”

“Because I need an in with crew. And you’re my best shot.” He said it plainly, no pretense. “You bail on the bonding event, show up here looking miserable—that tells me something.”

“Tells you what?”

“That you’re not all in on the legacy thing. Which means you might actually listen when I pitch my idea.”

My phone buzzed again.

Marcus

Seriously man this looks bad

The pancakes arrived faster than they should’ve. Dense and somehow both overcooked and undercooked at the same time. The bacon was nearly carbon.

“Perfect,” Ethan said cheerfully, cutting into his stack.

“You call this perfect?”

“Terrible pancakes are therapeutic. Trust me.”

He ate with the unselfconscious enthusiasm of someone who’d never been told to watch his posture or use the right fork. I picked up my fork and took a bite.

He was right. They were terrible.

But something about it—about sitting here with a stranger who didn’t expect me to be perfect—made the tightness in my chest loosen slightly.

“So,” Ethan said. “The pitch. I film your practices, your races, make content for recruitment and social media. You guys need it—Riverside’s kicking your ass online.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I’ve been stalking your program for three weeks trying to figure out how to get in.” He grinned. “Plus I grew up watching crew. My uncle rowed at UW. I know the sport.”

My phone buzzed again.

“What’s in it for you?” I asked.

“Portfolio. Experience. Recommendation letters.” He counted on his fingers. “Also, you guys are aesthetic as hell. Golden hour on the water, slow-motion spray, muscular determination—it’s basically sports porn.”

I almost laughed.

“Look,” Ethan said, leaning forward now, “I’m on scholarship.

Film and media studies. My dad teaches at a community college.

I don’t have connections. I need to build them.

” He paused. “You’re supposed to have all the connections in the world.

But you’re here instead of there. So maybe we can help each other. ”

My phone buzzed again.

Marcus

eldridge just asked where you are… what do i tell him?

I stared at it. Thought about going back. Thought about Marcus and the rest of the freshman crew sitting in some common room doing trust falls or whatever bullshit team building Coach Eldridge had planned.

Thought about my father’s voice. The Harrington name carries weight.

“What happens if I just... don’t go back?” I asked.

Ethan studied me. “To the bonding thing?”

“To any of it.”

“Jesus. That’s a big question for pancakes.”

I shrugged.

He was quiet for a moment, actually thinking about it. “I mean... worst case? You disappoint some people. Best case? You be yourself.”

I actually laughed. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

“Because Harringtons don’t quit. We win.”

“That’s fucked up,” Ethan said.

“Yeah.”

My phone buzzed one more time.

Marcus

fine whatever be a dick

I turned off the screen and looked at Ethan. “If I talk to Coach Eldridge about you filming—will you stop asking me questions?”

“No,” Ethan said, grinning. “But I’ll buy you more terrible pancakes.”

***

We spent another hour in the diner, then walked back to campus together.

“I need this,” Ethan said as we climbed the steps to the dorm. “Seriously. The crew thing could be huge for my portfolio.”

“I’ll email him your stuff. Can’t promise anything.”

“That’s all I’m asking.”

We walked into the lobby—worn leather furniture, wood paneling, portraits of distinguished alumni.

“What floor are you on?” I asked.

“First. You?”

“Fifth.”

“See you around then.” Ethan turned to leave, then stopped. “Hey, Alex?”

“Yeah?”

“For what it’s worth?” He shrugged, hands in his pockets. “Most people at Kingswell are pretending. They’re just pretending different things. You’re not as alone as you think.”

Before I could respond, he walked away. I stood there for a long moment, watching him disappear down the hall.

I thought about my father’s voice. At least you’re not like James.

I thought about James at Christmas. How happy he’d looked before he disappeared from our family.

That’s what happened when you stopped being perfect, when you chose yourself over the name—you became the cautionary tale.

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open.

I reached the fifth floor and unlocked my door. The room was exactly as I’d left it, perfectly organized and perfectly empty.

I sat on my bed and pulled out my phone, and looked at Ethan’s contact information. I thought about texting him. Saying thank you. Saying something.

But I didn’t.

Not that night.

Three days later, I emailed Ethan’s portfolio to Coach Eldridge.

He hired him on the spot.

And Ethan became the team’s media coordinator. More importantly, he became my friend. The only person at Kingswell who knew me, and didn’t need me to be perfect.

The only person who made me think that maybe I could be myself and not lose everything.

And he waited.

For a year, he waited for me to be brave enough to tell the truth. To stop performing. To be myself instead of the person my father needed me to be.

Until I made him stop.

Until I walked into his room drunk and desperate and tried to use him as an escape hatch from feelings I couldn’t control.

Until I proved that even with someone who offered unconditional acceptance, I was still too much of a coward to be honest.

But that was a year later.

That night—that first night in the diner—I was just a scared freshman who’d found someone who might understand.

And for a little while, that was enough.