Chapter 18 Alex
The walk to the boathouse stretched longer than it should have.
Late September morning, cold enough that my breath came out in clouds. Mist hung over the river. Fall was dying early this year. Winter approaching with that inevitable weight I could feel in my bones.
I pulled my Kingswell jacket tighter and kept moving.
The video was gone. Noah’s contact had confirmed it—wiped, deleted, like it never existed. That should have been enough. That should have been everything. No more waking up at three AM in a cold sweat. No more threat hanging over my head like a blade.
It was over.
But my chest felt wrong. Too light and too heavy at once because I couldn’t stop thinking about the closet.
Liam’s hands pulling me closer, gripping my hair like he couldn’t get enough—nothing gentle, nothing tentative.
The way I’d dropped to my knees without thinking, unzipped his jeans, looked up at him with those green eyes staring down at me full of want. The weight of him on my tongue, the taste of him, the sounds he made when I took him deeper.
My own cock throbbing in my pants, precum soaking through my boxers because I was so turned on just from having him in my mouth.
It was a relief to finally stop fighting. To stop performing. To want without shame, even if only for those ten perfect minutes.
Heat spread through my chest and lower. My body remembering what my mind couldn’t stop replaying. I was already hard thinking about Liam’s cock in my mouth and the way he’d groaned my name.
God, I’d wanted him.
Still wanted him.
And I’d had him, for one perfect moment.
We texted that night, we were supposed to talk the next day. I’d waited all day. Checked my phone constantly and hoped maybe he was just processing, maybe he needed time.
Still nothing.
So I’d tried again that evening: I know it’s complicated. But we can’t just pretend it didn’t happen.
Read receipt. No reply.
That hurt worse than silence. Maybe he wanted to forget it ever happened, give me the same treatment I gave him after the lake.
My phone felt heavy in my pocket. I’d stopped checking it after the second day. What was the point? He’d made his position perfectly clear through absence.
The boathouse came into view.
The thing that was a relief was that nothing terrible had happened after. The world hadn’t ended. Lightning hadn’t struck. My father hadn’t somehow sensed it from Connecticut and shown up to disown me.
It had just been... good.
Really fucking good.
And if it could be good once, maybe it could be good again. Maybe I didn’t have to spend the rest of my life suffocating under expectations and fear.
Maybe I could just be honest like Derek had said, like Ethan had begged for.
I pushed through the boathouse door.
Derek was by the erg machines talking to a few sophomores. A couple guys near the boat racks were arguing about something technical and Marcus stood near the equipment room.
Our eyes met.
“You still mad at me, PC patrol?” His voice was casual, but his jaw was tight.
The old Alex would have deflected and smoothed it over but Marcus knew where I stood, so I gave him the finger and kept walking.
I found my favorite spot near an erg that faced the enormous glass window that faced the river. I started stretching when Coach Eldridge walked in. Clipboard in hand, pressed khakis, Kingswell polo buttoned to the exact right point.
“Gentlemen.” His voice cut through the noise.
The boathouse quieted.
“Training schedules are changing.” He set his clipboard down with precision. “You’re aware of the incident at the party Saturday night. Both programs sustained injuries. Multiple rowers healing, unable to train at full capacity.”
My stomach tightened.
“Riverside faces identical constraints.” Eldridge’s gaze swept the room without landing on anyone directly.
Somehow seeing everyone at once. “Coach Hale and I have made a strategic decision. While rosters are compromised, we’ll conduct joint training sessions.
Cross-training with competitors makes you sharper. This benefits both programs.”
He paused, letting it sink in.
“Joint practices begin Monday morning.”
The world stopped.
Joint practices.
With Riverside.
With Liam.
The boathouse exploded. Voices rising in protest, guys arguing—someone said this was bullshit, someone else said we shouldn’t have to train with our rivals. The noise crashed over me like a wave but I couldn’t hear any of it over the rushing in my ears.
Monday. Liam would be here Monday.
In my boathouse. On my water. In boats that might include me.
Working together. Training together. Forced into proximity every single day for three weeks.
And I—
I wouldn’t be able to control myself.
The thought hit like a physical blow.
I wouldn’t be able to stand next to him without remembering the closet. Wouldn’t be able to watch him row without thinking about his body pressed against mine. Wouldn’t be able to hear his voice without wanting to pull him somewhere private and demand to know why he’d gone silent.
What had happened in that closet couldn’t happen in public.
Could it?
What would happen if I just... stopped hiding?
My chest went tight. Breath coming short, but not in the panic way—in a different way. Almost like anticipation.
Because maybe this was exactly what we needed.
A few days to prepare. To figure out what I was going to say. To decide if I was finally brave enough to stop pretending.
“—Head of the Charles is in six weeks,“ someone was saying. Derek, maybe. “We need to finalize our boats.”
“Which is precisely why we’re implementing this now.” Eldridge’s tone never changed. “We test combinations and identify what functions for the next three weeks. Then we train on our own for three weeks to prep for the head race.”
Three weeks. We’d be training together. Being close to him every single day, either pretending nothing had happened or—
Or what?
“Consider this a training experiment,” Eldridge continued. “We’re not establishing permanent mixed boats. We’re exploring all viable options for race-ready crews. Post-Head Races, we reassess.”
My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. Monday morning. Liam would be here Monday morning.
And I had no idea what I was going to do. No idea what I was going to say. No idea if he’d even look at me or if he’d keep pretending I didn’t exist.
No idea if the closet had meant the same thing to him that it meant to me.
Maybe this was good. Forced proximity would eliminate the choice—we’d have to acknowledge it, figure out what the hell we were doing. And I’d finally have to find the courage to ask him what it meant.
Eldridge picked up his clipboard. “First joint session is Monday morning. Five-thirty. Be prepared.” He paused at the door. “For today: two pieces. Twenty minutes steady-state at rate 20, then five minutes rest, followed by a 2k test piece.”
He walked out. Discussion dismissed.
The boathouse erupted again. Everyone talking at once, complaining, speculating. Some guys looked excited. Most looked pissed.
But gradually, the noise died down. Guys filtered toward the erg machines, grumbling but compliant. This was the routine. This was what we did.
The first few guys strapped in. The sound started—that distinctive whir of flywheels spinning up, the chain rattling on the return, the rhythmic thunk of the seat sliding on its track. One machine. Then two. Then five.
Within minutes, the boathouse filled with the mechanical symphony of eighteen rowers pulling in their own rhythms. The air grew warmer. Thicker. Heavy with the smell of sweat and effort.
I just stood there.
Monday. Five-thirty. Liam.
Four days away. Four days to spiral. Four days to decide what I was going to say, how I was going to act, whether I’d finally be honest or keep hiding.
My chest felt too full. Too tight. Like something was trying to break free that I’d kept buried for too long.
“Alex.”
I turned.
Ethan was standing near the equipment room. Film camera bag over his shoulder.
We looked at each other.
My stomach dropped.
The last time we’d been this close, I’d been drunk in his room. I’d kissed him after he said no. I’d pushed him down on his bed when he tried to pull away. I’d violated his trust, his boundaries, his safety.
“Hey,” I managed. My voice came out rough.
Ethan didn’t respond. Just stood there, expression flat and closed off in a way I’d never seen before.The silence stretched. Painful. Heavy with everything I’d destroyed.
“I need your help with something.” His voice was cold. Professional. Like he was talking to a stranger.
“Okay.” I couldn’t look at him directly. “What do you need?”
“The joint crew fundraiser. The one we’re planning with Riverside.” He shifted his camera bag. “I’m supposed to be organizing it.”
“Okay.”
“I have a film festival submission due in two weeks.” His tone was completely flat. No warmth. No trace of the friend who used to tease me, who used to make me laugh. “Student showcase at the indie theater downtown. If I get in, it could mean actual industry connections.”
I nodded, still not quite meeting his eyes.
“I can’t finish editing in time and pull off this mixer. I’m out of options.” He paused. “I need someone to handle the logistics. Venue coordination, sponsor outreach, team coordination.”
“You want me to—”
“I need a body.” His voice cut through. Sharp. “That’s it. I just need someone who knows both teams and can handle the administrative shit so I can focus on my actual work.”
The words hit like stones.
“I’ll do it,” I said.
“Don’t mistake this for me trusting you.” Ethan’s eyes were hard when I finally forced myself to look at him. “I don’t. But you owe me more than you can ever repay, and this is a start.”
My throat felt tight. “I know.”
I thought about what I did to him, my best friend. Shame burned through me. Hot and sick.
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t.” He held up a hand. “I don’t want to hear it again. I’ve heard it. You texted it. I read it. It doesn’t change what you did.”
I nodded. Couldn’t speak.
“I’ll send you the details. We don’t have to interact beyond what’s necessary for coordination. You do the work. That’s it.”
“Okay.”
“And Alex?” He took a step closer. His voice dropped lower. “If you ever—and I mean ever—do something like that to anyone else, I’ll make sure everyone knows exactly what kind of person you are. Understand?”
“I understand.”
“Good.” He turned and walked away without another word.
I stood there, chest tight, hands shaking slightly.
He’d given me a chance. Not forgiveness. Not friendship. Just a transactional opportunity to do something useful because he was desperate enough to accept help from someone who’d hurt him.
It was more than I deserved and it would never be enough to make up for what I’d done.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I pulled it out.
Liam
We should talk.
He probably just got the news about joint training too.
Alex
Yeah. We should.
Liam
Saturday. We need to talk before Monday.
My heart was racing. Pounding so hard I could feel it in my temples. Saturday. I’d see Liam on Saturday.
Two days to prepare. Two days to figure out what I was going to say. Two days until everything might change.
Or maybe nothing would, but at least I’d know.
At least I’d stop wondering what he was thinking, what he wanted, whether the closet had meant anything or if it was just adrenaline and proximity and a moment that couldn’t survive in daylight.
At least I’d finally be honest about what I wanted.
I typed back: Okay.
I shoved my phone in my pocket and sat on an erg. Strapped my feet in. Gripped the handle.
Set the monitor for twenty minutes at rate 20. Started pulling. Drive. Recovery. Drive. The flywheel spun up with that satisfying whir. The chain clicked on the return. My seat slid smooth on the rail.
Legs. Back. Arms. Arms. Back. Legs.
The rhythm was automatic. Ingrained. My body knew what to do even when my mind was somewhere else entirely. And my mind was definitely somewhere else.
Something felt different.
I felt different.
Lighter, maybe. Or just... less afraid. Because Saturday, I’d see Liam, we’d talk, and maybe I’d finally be brave enough to tell him the truth.
I pulled harder. Let the burn consume everything else. Let the motion quiet the noise in my head.
Saturday.
I just had to make it until Saturday.