Chapter 9 Liam #2
We set the scull in the water, the boat rocking slightly as we stepped in and found our riggers. Thompson settled into bow seat. I slid into stroke, the familiar creak of the seat under me, the rough texture of the oar handle against my palms.
We pushed off the dock.
“Ready all,” Coach Hale’s voice came over the megaphone from the launch. “Row.”
The first few strokes felt wrong. I was rushing, pulling too hard, throwing off our balance. The boat lurched, uneven.
“Moore. Match my slide. You’re ahead,” Thompson said.
I gritted my teeth and tried to adjust by forcing myself to wait, to move with him instead of against him.
But my body wouldn’t cooperate. Every instinct screamed at me to pull harder, faster, and my blade caught the water a split second before his, disrupting the set.
“Moore—you’re still fighting the boat,” Hale called from the launch. “Find Thompson's rhythm.”
I tried, but it didn’t work.
It was like trying to dance to music I couldn’t hear. My timing was off. My catches too aggressive. The boat felt heavy, sluggish, like we were dragging an anchor.
“You’re rushing the slide,” Thompson said after a few minutes. “Let it come to you.”
“I’m not rushing.”
“You are. Every stroke.”
Heat crawled up my neck. “I’m matching you.”
“You’re not.” Thompson’s voice stayed calm, which somehow made it worse. “You’re pulling before I finish my recovery. It’s throwing off the set.”
I wanted to snap at him and tell him his rhythm was too slow, too cautious, too controlled.
But I bit it back, and forced myself to breathe. We kept rowing. I kept trying to adjust. And it kept not working.
“Moore, you’re early again. Feel the boat. Stop forcing it,” Hale said.
I was feeling the boat. It just felt wrong, off-balance—like trying to walk in shoes that didn’t fit.
We rowed for another twenty minutes. Drills. Pieces. Steady state.
And it never clicked.
Not once.
And the worst part? I could feel Thompson’s frustration in the way his catches got sharper, his recoveries more deliberate, like he was overcompensating for my mistakes.
“Let’s bring it in,” Hale finally called from the launch.
Thank God.
We paddled back to the dock in silence. Thompson didn’t say anything, and he didn’t need to—the failure sat between us like a third person in the boat. When we lifted the double back onto the racks, Thompson just nodded at me once and walked away. Not angry. Just... done.
I stood there, hands still on the gunwale, chest tight with frustration.
What the hell was wrong with me?
I’d rowed doubles before. At Brackett Lake, I’d—
The thought hit before I could stop it. Brackett Lake. Alex. That morning when we’d rowed together, everything had just... worked. No counting. No thinking. No fighting the boat.
We’d moved like we were one person. Like the boat knew what to do before we did.
Flying.
I smirked at the memory then shoved it away.
“Moore, my office," Coach Hale said.
The words every athlete dreads.
Fuck.
I followed him up the dock, my stomach sinking with every step, this wasn’t going to be good.
***
His office was small and cluttered as usual, his old Olympic medal sat in a case on the shelf, a reminder of what success looked like.
I wanted that more than anything. Hale sat behind his desk and gestured for me to sit in the chair across from him.
He didn’t speak right away. Just looked at me with that same measured expression from this morning.
“You’re wondering why I moved you to the double.”
“Yeah. I am.”
“You won the singles race. You dominated. I was proud of that performance,” Hale said.
“Then why—”
“We talked about you becoming captain... right?”
I nodded.
“But a captain doesn’t behave like that.”
“I was defending Remy,” I said immediately. “Marcus called him a—”
Hale held up a hand. “I know what Marcus said. I know exactly what kind of person he is. And in a different world, maybe he’d deserve what you gave him.”
He leaned forward. “But you’re not just a rower, Liam. People are already looking up to you on this team. Novice and varsity. It doesn’t matter if you’re captain.”
I stayed quiet, not sure where this was going.
“When you threw that punch,” Hale continued, “your whole team followed you into that fight. Evan, Jackson, Tyler—they jumped in because you set the tone. And the tone you set was violence.”
My chest tightened. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know you didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt. But they did. And that’s on you as much as it’s on Marcus.”
The guilt settled heavier. I wanted to argue. Wanted to say that some things were worth fighting for, that I couldn’t just stand by while someone attacked Remy like that.
But looking at Hale’s face, I knew he understood that. He just expected more from me.
“Singles rowing,” Hale said, changing tack, “is about individual excellence. Power. Speed. Control. And you have all of that.”
He paused.
“But doubles are about partnership. About tempering your instincts to work with someone else. About knowing when to push and when to hold back.”
“You’re punishing me,” I said.
“I’m preparing you.”
“For what?”
“For leadership.” Hale’s eyes were steady on mine. “You have the potential to captain this team, Liam. The talent, the drive, the fire. But fire without control burns everything down.”
The words landed heavy.
“How long am I in the double?” I asked.
“Until you change my mind.”
“But my times in the single—”
“Your times are excellent. Your judgment needs work.”
I sat back in the chair, frustration warring with understanding. I wanted the single to prove myself and be the best. But if being the best meant I couldn’t lead...
“The double isn’t punishment,” he said. “It’s preparation. Don’t waste it.”
I nodded slowly, even though everything in me wanted to argue.
“Can I go?” I asked.
I stood up, still processing everything.
“Dismissed,” Hale said.
I left his office.
I walked out of the boathouse and headed toward campus, my mind still churning through everything Hale had said.
***
The quad was already filling up with students—some heading to early classes, others grabbing coffee at the cart near the library steps. The morning sun cut through the trees, casting long shadows across the grass.
“Liam!”
Noah was sitting on one of the benches near the path, laptop open on his knees, papers spread out beside him. He looked up as I approached, squinting against the sun.
“Hey.” I dropped onto the bench beside him. “What are you doing out here?”
“Working on my opening statement.” He gestured at the laptop. “Debate’s this weekend. I’m losing my mind.”
“This weekend?” I’d completely forgotten about that because I was wrapped up in my own bullshit.
“Yeah. Annual debate between Riverside and Kingswell. It’s a big deal—packed house, alumni show up, the whole rivalry thing.
” Noah ran a hand through his hair. “And I’m nowhere near ready.
My rebuttals are weak, my research is all over the place.
Plus I’m up against this guy Crawford from Kingswell who’s apparently really good. ”
“You’ll be fine. You always are.”
“I don’t know, man.” Noah closed his laptop. “It’s not just about winning. It’s about not embarrassing Riverside in front of everyone. You know how it is—they always act like they’re better than us. I don’t want to give them another reason to look down on us.”
I leaned back against the bench. “I totally get it but you’re overthinking it. It’s just Kingswell.”
Noah laughed. “Says the guy who started a brawl this weekend with them.”
“That was instinct. Totally different.”
Noah raised his eyebrows. “Right. Instinct.”
We sat in silence for a moment. A group of girls walked past, one of them glancing at Noah and smiling, but he didn’t notice.
“How was practice?” Noah asked.
“Hale put me in a double with Thompson.”
Noah’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, what? But you crushed the singles race against Alex.”
“Yeah. Apparently that’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
“He says I need to learn to work with people. That I’m too impulsive. Too aggressive.” I kicked at a pebble near my foot. “He’s grooming me for captain, but he thinks I need to prove I can lead without, you know, punching people.”
“He’s not wrong.”
I shot Noah a look.
“What?” Noah held up his hands. “You punched Marcus in the face. I love you, man, but that’s pretty impulsive.”
“Marcus deserved it.”
“True. But you took the rivalry to another level.” Noah leaned back. “Don’t get me wrong—watching you deck Marcus was beautiful. I get why you did it. But the whole thing spiraled pretty fast.”
I didn’t have an answer for that.
“How long are you stuck in the double?” Noah asked.
“Until Hale decides I’m ready. I might even row double for Head of the Charles.”
“That sucks, man.”
“I know.”
Noah’s eyes lit up. “I talked to a friend in the computer science program—he’s really good with digital forensics stuff.”
I looked at him. “And?”
“He thinks he might be able to track where the video came from. IP address, metadata, that kind of thing. It’s not guaranteed, but he said if we send him the text, he can try to trace it back to the source.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. I mean, it might take a few days, and he can’t promise anything. But it’s a shot.” Noah met my eyes. “At least then we’d know who’s doing this shit.”
“That would be...” I exhaled. “Yeah. Let's do it.”
I opened my phone and forwarded Noah the message.
“Thanks, man.”
“Of course.” Noah started gathering his papers. “Trivia night at The Grindhouse on Wednesday. You, me, Emily. We should go.”
“Trivia night?”
“Yeah. I need the practice slaughtering idiots.”
I laughed. “Let’s do it.”
Noah stood up and clapped me on the shoulder. “I gotta go to class. Cya later.”
He left before I could respond.
I sat there for another minute, watching students cross the quad. Someone was throwing a frisbee. A couple was making out under a tree. Normal college shit.
My phone buzzed.
Emily
Hope practice went okay. Love you.
I stared at it.
Saturday night had been good. Really good. I’d felt sure about us, about everything.
But now, sitting here with Hale’s words ringing in my ears and the weight of the double on my shoulders and the video still hanging over my head like a sword—
Everything felt complicated again.
Liam
Practice was fine. Love you too.
I shoved my phone in my pocket and stood up.
The double would be fine and I’d learn whatever Hale wanted me to learn, prove I could lead, and get back in my single.
Easy. Except nothing in my life felt easy anymore.
And the thing I kept trying not to think about—the thing that kept creeping in at the edges when I was in that double, feeling the rhythm of rowing with someone else—
Was at the lake.
Alex.
The way we moved together like we shared one body, one heartbeat, one breath.
I pushed the thought away again. Like I always did, but it was getting harder to keep pushing.
And eventually, I was going to run out of places to shove all these feelings I wasn’t supposed to have.
Eventually, something was going to break.
I just didn’t know what.
Or when.
I just knew it was coming.