Chapter 11 Liam
This wasn't the first time I'd been to the Riverside Club.
Both crews packed into the main room—Kingswell on one side, Riverside on the other, like we couldn't help but self-segregate even when we were supposed to be building bridges.
Exposed brick walls, tall windows, and hardwood floors creaking under the weight of forty rowers shifting around.
The place smelled like fresh paint and lemon polish—someone had cleaned for the occasion.
Coach Hale stood near the small stage at the front with Coach Eldridge, waiting for everyone to settle.
I stood with Tyler and Jace near the back, trying to look anywhere except across the room where Alex was standing with Derek and a few other Kingswell guys. He was in a dark hoodie, arms crossed, nodding at something Derek was saying. Not looking at me.
Good. Don't look at me.
"This place is actually pretty nice," Tyler said, craning his neck. "Better than I thought it'd be."
"Yeah. It's cool."
Jace crossed his arms, surveying the room.
Hale clapped his hands once. The room quieted.
"All right, everyone listen up. Thanks for coming. We know this is cutting into your afternoon, so we'll make it quick."
Eldridge stepped forward. "Next Saturday we're hosting a joint donor mixer here at The Riverside Club. Six to eleven PM. Dress code is business casual—slacks and a button-down, not jeans and your ratty crew hoodie. If you don't own appropriate clothes, talk to your captain."
Tyler leaned close. "I definitely need loaners."
"Same," I said.
"Your job," Eldridge continued, "is to talk to donors. Answer their questions about the program. Be articulate, professional, and appreciative. These are the people who make our programs possible."
"Volunteer crew is starting at four PM. But we also need greeters at the door. Sign-up sheet is going around. Huge thank you to Alex and Ethan for coordinating," Hale said.
A clipboard started making its way through the Riverside side. I passed it without signing up for anything.
Alex's presence across the room pressed against me like a physical weight. I knew exactly where he was standing—twelve feet to my left, slightly behind Derek—without having looked in his direction once.
"Now," Eldridge said, "the other reason we're here. Following the mixer on Saturday, we're hosting the Northeast Regional Invitational on Sunday morning. We'll be announcing boats for that this week. The turnaround is quick, but we're close to deciding."
The room stirred. That was the part that mattered.
Tyler grinned. "Please pair me with someone who won't make me look terrible."
"That's asking a lot," Jace said.
"Can we bring dates to the mixer?" Evan called out from the middle of the Riverside group.
My stomach dropped.
"Yes," Eldridge said. "Dates are welcome. Just let us know by Friday for the final headcount."
Tyler elbowed me. "You bringing Emily?"
The question came loud enough that people nearby could hear. A few heads turned.
"Yeah," I said. The word came out automatic. Reflex. Like a muscle that fires before the brain engages. "Yeah, I'm bringing Emily."
Tyler nodded. "Cool. I'm gonna ask that girl from my Econ class. The one who sits in front and always has the good notes."
He kept talking. I wasn't listening.
Because across the room, Alex's expression had changed.
It wasn't subtle. Not to me. Might have been invisible to anyone else—just a flicker, a micro-adjustment in his posture. But I'd spent too many hours studying from afar to not see it.
His whole body went still. Like the air had been knocked out of him. The color drained from his face—that careful Harrington composure cracking. Raw hurt. Betrayal. The specific kind of pain that comes from being blindsided by someone you trusted.
We'd had sex. Twice. And I'd just announced I was bringing my girlfriend to the mixer in a room full of people, without ever telling him Emily and I were back together.
After that night in his dorm. After hooking up. I'd gone back to Emily without saying a word to him. Let him find out by overhearing it in a crowded room like it was nothing. Like he was nothing.
Alex turned to Derek. Said something I couldn't hear, mouth moving but eyes distant—that glazed look people get when they're holding themselves together through pure force of will.
My chest felt like it was being crushed from the inside.
Fuck. What did I do?
Hale was still talking. Sunday schedule. Launch times. Which boats they'd be using. The words floated past me without sticking. My brain was across the room, watching Alex pretend to listen while everything about his body language screamed that he wanted to disappear.
I did that to him.
Not by accident. Not by circumstance. By cowardice. By choosing the easy path over the honest one every single time, until the dishonesty stacked high enough to collapse on someone else.
"Any other questions?" Eldridge asked.
Hands went up. Parking. Filming. Start times. I didn't hear the answers.
"All right. That's everything. Sign-up sheet for Saturday volunteers is still going around. Meeting's done. Get out of here."
The room got loud. People moving, talking, heading for the door. Riverside clustered near the exit. Kingswell mirroring on their side.
Alex was already walking toward the door with Derek. Not looking back. Not glancing in my direction. Just gone.
Like I didn't exist.
"Come on, let's go," Tyler said, already halfway out.
I walked toward the exit. The crowd bottlenecked at the door, both teams trying to leave at once. Through the bodies, I caught a glimpse of Alex outside—already down the sidewalk, walking away from the venue with that controlled stride he had. Not fast. Not slow. Just... leaving.
Getting away from me.
Tyler and some guys were making plans. "You coming, Moore? We're getting wings."
"Nah. Got some reading to do."
"Your loss."
They headed off down the street. Voices fading.
Another lie. I didn't have reading. I just needed to not be around people.
I started walking in the opposite direction. Hands shoved in my pockets.
My phone buzzed.
Emily
How was the meeting? Still on for next Saturday?
I stared at the screen. The small text glowing in the fading light.
Liam
Yeah. Meeting was fine. Still on.
Emily
Great! I'm excited. What time should I be ready?
Liam
I'll pick you up at 5:30
Emily
Perfect
The heart emoji sat there on the screen like a tiny accusation.
Everything I was supposed to want. The girlfriend. The date. The normal Saturday night at a mixer where I'd smile and make small talk and be Liam Moore, Riverside rower, Emily's boyfriend. The version of me that everyone expected. The version that made sense.
And Alex would be there all night. Watching. Knowing what I'd done. Knowing what I'd chosen.
What am I doing?
I shoved my phone back in my pocket and kept walking.
The sidewalk stretched ahead, shadows lengthening across the concrete.
Campus wasn't far. Fifteen minutes. I could get back to my dorm, sit at my desk, stare at my laptop.
Pretend to study while the image of Alex's face played on repeat behind my eyes—that half-second of devastation before the mask snapped back into place.
I'd hurt him. Not with cruelty, not with malice—with something worse. With carelessness. With the specific cowardice of someone who kept two doors open because he was too afraid to walk through either one.
My body knew what it wanted and known since the first day on Brackett Lake when Alex had looked at me across the water and something in my chest had shifted permanently.
But knowing and admitting were different things. And the distance between them was filling up with people I was hurting.
Saturday. The mixer. Emily on my arm. Alex across the room.
The thought made me physically sick—not the mixer itself, but the performance of it. The smiling. The pretending. The elaborate fiction that everything was fine while the person I'd hurt most stood twenty feet away, watching me choose someone else for the second time.
My feet carried me forward. One step after another. The only thing I knew how to do.
Keep moving. Keep pretending. Keep going.
Until something changed.