Chapter 8 Alex
The boathouse was empty when I finally made myself go back inside.
Everyone else had already showered and dispersed to classes or the dining hall.
I should've gone with them. Should've changed quickly and left like a normal person.
But I'd been up on that hill watching Liam choose Emily. Watching him kiss her. Watching her arms wrap around him like she was holding on to something precious.
Something that should have been mine.
And now I needed a shower. Hot water and solitude and a few minutes where I didn't have to perform for anyone.
I walked through the erg room—empty now, just rows of silent machines and the faint rubber smell of workout mats. My gym bag sat by the wall where I'd left it. I grabbed it and headed into the hallway.
The corridor stretched long and quiet. Trophy cases lined both walls, glass reflecting the overhead lights. Decades of Kingswell crew history staring down at me—silver cups, team photos in navy and white, plaques with names like Harrington and Lockwood etched into metal.
Legacy everywhere I looked.
The locker room was at the far end. I was halfway there when I heard the voices.
Coach Eldridge's office door was closed. Not all the way.
Two voices. One was Eldridge—the other made my stomach drop.
My father.
I stopped walking. Stood frozen in the middle of the hallway.
What is he doing here?
"—understand your concerns, Thomas, but I'm telling you it's working." Eldridge's voice carried that careful tone he used when trying to convince someone of something he barely believed himself. "I was skeptical too. You know that."
"Then end it." My father's voice was sharp. "If you had reservations from the start, shut it down before it damages the program further."
My heart hammered.
I should've walked out right then before they heard me.
But my feet wouldn't move.
"I can't do that," Eldridge said. "Not now."
"Why not?"
"Because it's producing results." Eldridge sounded almost surprised by his own admission. "Real results. One day and they're are responding to the cross-training. Different coaching styles, different boat combinations—it's pushing them in ways our regular program wasn't."
"You're compromising Kingswell standards for the sake of—"
"I'm not compromising anything." Eldridge cut him off. "Look, I didn't want this either. But after today? These boats are performing better than either program independently. Competition breeds excellence, Thomas. You taught me that."
A pause. My father's footsteps—pacing. That's what he did when he was calculating his next move.
"What you're calling competition, I call dilution. Kingswell rowers training alongside state school athletes who can barely afford proper equipment—"
"They are good athletes." Eldridge's voice had an edge now. "Better than we've ever given them credit for."
"That's not the point."
"Then what is the point?"
"The point," my father said, and his voice went cold, "is that this program was supposed to be temporary. Goodwill. A photo opportunity for the alumni magazine. It was never supposed to become actual integration."
I pressed my back harder against the wall.
"Integration is a strong word," Eldridge said.
"Is it? Because from where I'm standing, you're treating Riverside athletes like they're our equals. Pairing them in boats, giving them access to our facilities, our coaching—"
"They're D1 athletes, Thomas. Same as ours."
"They're not the same." My father's voice was ice. "And you know it."
Silence.
Then Eldridge, measured: "I paired your son with one of them this morning."
My stomach dropped.
"What?"
"In a double. First practice of the week. Alex and Liam Moore."
The silence that followed was different. Heavier.
"You did what?" My father's voice was very quiet. Dangerously quiet.
"I paired them based on size, power output, and technique compatibility," Eldridge said. "And before you object—"
"Before I object?" My father's control was cracking. "You paired my son with the Riverside boy and you're just now mentioning it?"
"Because it worked." Eldridge's voice was firm now.
"Thomas, I need you to listen to me. I watched that boat this morning.
They were synchronized within the first ten strokes.
Perfect ratio, perfect rhythm, perfect catch.
That kind of chemistry doesn't happen often.
It's exactly what we're looking for in competitive doubles. "
Chemistry.
The word sent ice through my veins. If either of them knew the actual nature of that chemistry—the dorm room, the closet, Saturday night—everything would collapse. My father's opposition would look reasonable by comparison.
"I don't care about their chemistry—"
"You should. Because that pairing could win races."
"I don't want Alex winning races with some—" My father stopped himself. "I want him winning races with Kingswell rowers. Athletes from programs that meet our standards. Not scholarship kids."
My pulse throbbed in my throat.
Liam. He was talking about Liam like he was a liability. Like he was less than.
"Moore is talented," Eldridge said. "Top three on Riverside's roster. Fast erg, clean technique, works harder than half our legacy admits combined."
"I don't care how talented he is." My father's voice was rising, the control slipping. "I will not have my son rowing with some charity case who thinks this program is his ticket to legitimacy."
The words hung in the air.
My chest went tight. Not with sadness. With something hotter. An anger I didn't often let out.
"Alex is a Harrington. Fourth generation Kingswell rower. His training partners should reflect that legacy. Not undermine it."
"With respect," Eldridge said, and his voice had gone very still, "Alex is an athlete. Not a legacy project."
"He's both." Cold. Certain. "And I've invested too much in his development to watch you compromise it for the sake of optics."
Invested. Like I was stock. Like I was a portfolio position he was managing for maximum return.
"This isn't about optics—"
"Isn't it?" My father's footsteps stopped. "This whole program is optics. Community engagement. Making Riverside feel included so the state funding doesn't dry up. I understand the politics, Graham. But don't confuse political necessity with athletic merit."
"The athletic merit is there," Eldridge said. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. Moore isn't dead weight. He's making Alex row better."
Silence.
When my father spoke again, his voice was back to that smooth, measured control—somehow more frightening than the anger.
"How many board members know about this pairing?"
"It's a training decision. It doesn't require board approval."
"That's not what I asked."
Eldridge paused. "The joint program has board oversight. Individual boat assignments don't."
"Then let me be clear." My father's voice was quiet now. Precise. "I don't want Alex paired with that boy again. Not in practice. Not in competition. Not in any capacity."
"Thomas—"
"I'm not asking, Graham. I'm telling you. Find him a different partner."
"I can't do that."
"You can't?" The threat was implicit. "Or you won't?"
"I won't." Eldridge's voice was steady. "Because if that pairing works. And I'm not going to sabotage my athletes' development because you're uncomfortable with who they're rowing with."
The shock hit me like cold water.
Eldridge was standing up to him, like actually standing up to my father.
I'd never heard anyone do that before.
"You're making a mistake," my father said. Each word deliberate. "This program is a liability. And that pairing specifically—"
"Is producing results. Thomas. I know what elite rowing looks like. So do you. And what I saw was two athletes who move like they've been rowing together for years."
"I don't care—"
"You should." Eldridge's voice had steel in it now. "We'll be testing more variations over the next week, but Hale and I are considering them for the invitational."
Silence.
"No," my father said.
"It's already decided."
"Then un-decide it."
"With respect," Eldridge said, and his voice had gone very cold, "you don't have that authority."
Absolute silence.
"What did you say to me?"
"I said you don't have that authority." Eldridge didn't back down. "I'm the head coach. Training decisions are mine. Competition lineups are mine. And I will not pull an athlete from a race because his father is uncomfortable with who he's rowing with."
"I fund this program—"
"And I run it." Firm. Final. "If you want to take this to the board, that's your right. But until they tell me otherwise, the joint program continues."
Footsteps. My father stepping towards the door.
I moved fast. Down the hallway, around the corner into the locker room. Pressed myself against the wall just inside the door, heart hammering.
"This conversation isn't over," my father said.
The door slammed.
I stood there. Pressed against the wall. Unable to move.
My father knew Liam and I had rowed together. The coaches wanted us to race the invitational. The thought of competing alongside Liam in front of everyone—donors, scouts, my father—was equal parts thrilling and terrifying.
I held my breath until I heard the main door open and close. Counted to ten. Twenty. Made sure he was really gone.
Then I let myself breathe.
My hands were shaking.
I walked deeper into the locker room on autopilot. Set my bag on the bench. Stared at it.
Eldridge stood up to him.
The thought kept circling.
My father had threatened everything—his job, the funding, the program. He wielded the Harrington name like the weapon it was.
And Eldridge had said no.
Just... no.
I'd spent my entire life watching people fold to my father. Board members. Business partners. Coaches at my prep school. My mother.
Me.
Everyone folded. That was the rule I'd built my life around—that his power was absolute, his authority unquestionable, his disappointment a force that could destroy anything it touched.
But Eldridge hadn't folded. He'd stood there and refused, even knowing what it might cost him.
If Eldridge could say no to my father—if someone could actually stand up to him and survive—
The thought was dangerous. Terrifying.
Because it meant maybe his power wasn't absolute.
And if it wasn't absolute, then maybe I'd been building my cage out of material that wasn't as strong as I'd believed.
I pulled off my damp practice gear slowly. The locker room was too quiet—just my own breathing and water dripping somewhere in the pipes.
The shower was brief. Just hot enough to loosen the knots in my shoulders. Not nearly enough to fix anything else.
I stood under the water and tried not to think about the bridge. About her arms around him. About the way he'd hugged her back like he was relieved to be somewhere simple.
Failed.
I tried not to think about my father's voice saying charity case like it was a diagnosis. Like Liam was a disease his son had caught.
Failed at that too.
And now the coaches wanted us in a boat together. At the invitational. In front of everyone — donors, scouts, my father. Sitting behind Liam for two thousand meters, matching his rhythm, breathing with him, while my father watched from the bank and Emily cheered from the stands.
My stomach turned.
I shut the water off. Stood there dripping in the silence.
How was I supposed to do that? How was I supposed to sit in that boat and row with him like he was just a partner? Like my body didn't know what his felt like? Like I hadn't had him in my bed two days ago while she thought they were on a break?
And he'd just — gone back. Like it was nothing. Like I was nothing.
I dried off. Got dressed — dark jeans, Kingswell hoodie. Sat on the bench with my phone in my hands, staring at the screen without seeing it.
Everything felt like it was closing in. My father. Liam. The invitational. The performance I'd have to give every single day at practice — pretending I hated him, pretending I didn't care, pretending my hands weren't shaking right now.
I couldn't fix any of it.
But there was one thing. One person I'd hurt who actually deserved better from me.
I opened a new message to Ethan.
Alex
I'm in. Just tell me what you need.
A few minutes passed.
Ethan
Okay. I'll send you a few tasks via email. Then meet me at the Riverside Club downtown next Wednesday. 3pm. Address: 47 River Street.
Alex
I'll be there.
Ethan
Don't be late.
That was it. No "thank you." No warmth. Just a warning not to waste his time.
Fair enough.
I grabbed my bag and headed out.
The cold air hit my face and I pulled my hood up. Students crossed the quad in waves — heading to class, to the dining hall, to lives that didn't involve hiding in locker rooms after eavesdropping on their father threatening their coach.
Liam had chosen Emily. My father wanted to destroy the one thing that made rowing feel alive again. And in a couple of weeks I might be sitting in a boat with the person who was breaking my heart while the person who wanted to control my life watched from shore.
I didn't have a plan for any of that.
But I could show up on Wednesday. I could help Ethan with the mixer. I could try to be someone worth forgiving.
It wasn't enough.
But it was all I had.