chapter THREE
Reese
The air hangs heavy with moisture, and mist clings to the water's surface like a blanket. I drop my bag on the dock and inhale deeply. The scent of pine and lake water fills my lungs, centering me. No Alpha scents yet. Just peace.
This is why I cox. These quiet moments before the world wakes up, when it's just me and water stretching endlessly ahead.
I begin my stretching routine, working out the stiffness from sleeping on a dorm mattress. My suppressants make my joints ache sometimes, a side effect the manufacturer conveniently leaves off the warning label. Small price to pay for freedom.
Headlights cut through the darkness as a black Range Rover pulls into the parking lot. Gray. The captain is exactly on time, not a minute early or late. His precision extends beyond the water.
I continue stretching as his footsteps thud across the wooden planks. He carries two travel mugs and wears black athletic shorts with a matching tank that shows off shoulders broad enough to cast shadows. His dark hair is perfectly neat despite the early hour.
"You're early," he says, voice rough from sleep.
"You're punctual," I counter.
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. He offers one of the mugs. "Black coffee. Coach said you mainline it."
I take the mug, surprised by the gesture. "Thanks."
"Don't thank me yet. You'll need the caffeine."
He sets down his own mug and begins his stretching routine. I try not to watch the fluid way his body moves, the controlled power in each motion. Alphas take up space naturally. Gray Lockwood owns it.
"So," I say, sipping the scalding coffee. "Your catch timing."
He nods, all business now. "I'm rushing the recovery. Throwing off the set."
"I noticed." I hold his gaze when he looks up sharply. "It's subtle, but at your level, even milliseconds matter."
Gray studies me, steel eyes calculating. "You have good eyes."
"It's my job to see everything."
"Is that why you transferred? Better view from our boat?"
I tense. He's probing again. "I told you, I go where the opportunities are."
"And what opportunity is worth leaving a full scholarship and captaincy?" He steps closer, and I fight the instinct to back away. "What are you running from, Callahan?"
My heart pounds against my ribs. He can't know. My documents are perfect. My suppressants are working.
"Not running from . Running to ." I set down my coffee. "National championship. Olympic development program. My resume needs Sable Ridge, not the other way around."
Gray watches me for another long moment, then nods once. "Fair enough."
Relief floods my system, but I know better than to show it.
"Let's get on the water," I say. "Single scull for you. I'll coach from the launch."
"No."
"No?"
"I need to feel it in the eight. Full crew experience." He picks up his coffee again. "They'll be here soon."
My stomach drops. "You invited the whole team? At five AM?"
"Problem?" His brow lifts in challenge.
"No problem." I grip my mug tighter, recalculating. A full practice means eight Alphas in an enclosed space. Eight scents. Eight potential triggers if my suppressants falter.
But it also means I'm not alone with Gray Lockwood, which might be safer for entirely different reasons.
Sure enough, headlights begin appearing in the parking lot.
One by one, the team arrives. Zane and Tyler with Bo in his massive truck, Beckett's sleek convertible, Jackson's motorcycle, and Eli's BMW.
They slowly get out of their vehicles and trudge toward us with various levels of consciousness, from Tyler's quiet focus to Zane's zombie shuffle.
"This better be worth it, Lockwood," Beckett grumbles, golden hair sticking up in all directions. "Some of us need beauty sleep."
"Clearly," Bo drawls, drawing a halfhearted middle finger from Beckett.
Cameron arrives last on a black crotch rocket, walking towards us silent as a shadow.
His slate eyes flick to me, then away, expression unreadable as he rakes his hand through his messy dark curls.
Something about the bow-seat rower unnerves me.
Like he sees right through my carefully constructed walls.
"Callahan's going to fix my timing issue," Gray announces once they've gathered. "Which means we're all improving our synchronization."
No protests. Just nods. They follow him without question, true pack behavior even without formal bonds.
"What's the drill, Cox?" Zane asks, giving me a sleepy smile that crinkles the corners of his amber eyes.
The nickname feels like acceptance. I return his smile before I can stop myself.
"We'll start with technique drills. Pause at the catch position, that's where Gray is rushing. Then we'll work rhythm in pairs."
As they prep the boat, I pull Gray aside. The boathouse is quiet except for us - the JV and novice crews won't be here for another hour. "You could have warned me."
"Would you have agreed if I had?"
"Probably not."
"Then consider it strategic omission." His lip curls into what might be amusement.
The early morning practice becomes surprisingly productive. Gray's catch timing improves visibly within an hour. The whole boat feels more connected, more alive. By the time the sun begins painting the eastern sky in gold and crimson, we've made measurable progress.
"Let's wrap it up with a power piece," I call from my position. "Five hundred meters, race pace."
The boat surges forward, eight bodies moving as one organism. The smooth glide of carbon fiber cutting through water is poetry in motion.
"That's it," I call, my voice dropping into its coxing tone. "Together now. Through the legs, back, arms."
They respond to my commands like they've been rowing under me for years, not days. The synchronicity is intoxicating. This is what I live for, this perfect machine of muscle and motion under my control.
As we pull back to the dock, even Gray looks satisfied. Sweat glistens on tanned skin as the team unloads, high on endorphins and the simple pleasure of movement done well.
"Good call on the drills," Gray says, standing closer to me than strictly necessary. Morning sun catches the droplets of water in his dark hair. "It worked."
"I know my job, Lockwood."
"You do." His admission seems pulled from him reluctantly. "The question is why you're doing it here, with us."
Before I can formulate a response, Eli approaches. "We're heading to breakfast at The Griddle before class. You coming, Captain?"
Gray's gaze stays on me. "Callahan's joining us."
It's not a question. It's also not something I planned for. Controlled practice environments are one thing. A crowded diner with eight Alphas is another risk entirely.
"I have an early class," I say, the lie coming easily.
"No, you don't." Gray's voice is calm, certain. "I checked your schedule when you transferred in. Your first class is at eleven."
My mouth goes dry. "You checked my schedule?"
"I check everything about my team." His eyes narrow slightly. "Breakfast, Callahan. Team bonding. Or are you only interested in commanding us on the water?"
It's a challenge, just like yesterday. And just like yesterday, I can't back down.
"Fine. But I need to shower first."
"We all do," Beckett says, sniffing his armpit dramatically. "I smell like a barnyard animal."
"No change there, then," Zane quips, ducking as Beckett swings at him.
The easy camaraderie between them makes something in my chest ache. I haven't had that since... well, since before Westlake discovered what I am.
"Meet at The Griddle in thirty," Gray says, his tone making it an order.
The team disperses toward the locker rooms. I gather my things, hyperaware of Gray's lingering presence.
"Problem?" I ask without looking up.
"Just wondering what you're so afraid of," he says quietly.
I freeze, then force my hands to continue moving. "I'm not afraid of anything."
"Everyone's afraid of something, Callahan." I hear him step closer. "Even Alphas."
I turn to face him, surprised by the admission. His expression is serious, thoughtful.
"What are you afraid of then, Lockwood?"
The question hangs between us, heavier than it should be. For a moment, I think he might actually answer. Then his walls slam back into place.
"Mediocrity," he says flatly. "Thirty minutes, Callahan. Don't be late."
He walks away, leaving me with more questions than answers. And a growing suspicion that Gray Lockwood is a lot more complicated than the cold, calculated Alpha he pretends to be.
I watch him join the others, his tall frame moving with that unconscious grace that marks elite athletes. Whatever game we're playing, the stakes just got higher. Breakfast with eight Alphas. Classes with them. The lines between water and land blurring more each day.
This wasn't part of my plan. Keep my head down. Row. Graduate. That was the strategy.
But strategies change when the current shifts. And something is definitely shifting in the waters of Sable Ridge.
I shoulder my bag and head for the women's locker room, mentally calculating exactly how many suppressants I'll need to get through breakfast without incident. Because Gray Lockwood is right about one thing. I am afraid.
Not of him, or any Alpha. But of what happens when they discover what I really am.