chapter TWELVE
Reese
I can still taste Cameron on my lips.
My hair drips lake water onto my dorm room floor as I stand frozen, staring at the note taped to my door. Three scrawled words that turn my stomach to ice:
I KNOW YOUR SECRET.
No signature. No explanation. Just black ink on white paper, the handwriting unfamiliar but deliberately harsh, each letter pressed deep enough to nearly tear through.
With trembling fingers, I peel it from the door and slip inside my room, engaging both the deadbolt and chain lock behind me. I lean against the door, heart hammering so hard I swear it will crack my ribs.
Who left this? What exactly do they know? And why leave an anonymous threat instead of confronting me directly?
I flip the note over, searching for more clues. Nothing. The paper is standard college-ruled, torn from a notebook. The ink looks like a regular black ballpoint. Nothing distinctive that would identify the sender.
It could be about anything, I tell myself. My designation. My suppressants running low. The fact that I just kissed Cameron Blake in the middle of a lake at midnight.
Cameron.
Despite my panic, warmth floods my chest at the memory. I didn't plan to kiss him. Didn't even plan to get on his motorcycle when he pulled up beside me. But something about him, the quiet intensity, the way he seemed to see right through my carefully constructed walls, made me reckless.
I press my fingers to my lips, remembering the moment. The cold water around us. The warmth of his skin beneath my hands. The surprising softness of his mouth against mine. The scars that mapped his torso, telling stories he keeps silent.
I'd never seen him without a shirt before. He's always the last one changed, the first one dressed after practice. Now I understand why. The marks crisscrossing his body, some thin and precise, others jagged and angry, spoke of pain beyond typical sports injuries. Pain deliberately inflicted.
He never offered explanations. I didn't ask. Something about the understanding in his eyes when he said "I know you're hiding" told me he carries secrets as heavy as mine.
I shake my head, forcing my thoughts back to the immediate problem. This note. This threat.
Four people definitely know my secret: Eli, Jackson, Tyler, and now Cameron. Possibly Gray, depending on whether he saw the calendar in my notebook. None of them seems the anonymous note type. If they wanted to confront me, they would do it directly.
Which means someone else has figured it out. Or suspects.
I push away from the door and head to the shower, desperate to wash away the lake water and clear my head. Under the hot spray, I try to think logically, the way my father taught me. Assess the situation. Calculate the risks. Determine the logical response.
The situation: I'm an Omega passing as a Beta on an all-Alpha rowing team where I'm already the first female coxswain in the program's history.
My suppressants are running critically low.
At least four teammates know my secret. Someone else, someone outside the team, has discovered it and left a threatening note.
The risks: Expulsion under University policy. Loss of my position. Damage to my athletic career. Disappointment from my family, who expect me to keep my "unfortunate designation" private. And now, potentially, exposure by someone who wishes me harm.
The optimal response: I have no fucking clue.
I rest my forehead against the cool tile of the shower wall, letting water burn over my shoulders. What would Father say if he could see me now? His Omega daughter kissing an Alpha she barely knows, hiding her designation, failing at every turn to meet the Callahan standard of perfection.
"Callahans don't fail," his voice echoes in my memory. "They find solutions."
Solutions. Right now, the only solution my brain can focus on is the memory of Cameron's hands on my waist, the intensity in his usually unreadable eyes when I pulled away from the kiss.
"Because you kissed me. And I liked it."
So simple. So direct. So unlike anyone in my carefully controlled world.
Cameron Blake defies every assumption I've made about the men on this team.
He's silent during practices, barely speaking even when addressed directly.
Most of the guys joke that he's either mute or plotting world domination.
But tonight, he spoke. To me. Shared his secret place.
Let me see parts of him—physical and otherwise—that I suspect few others have witnessed.
And he already knew what I was. Had known, possibly from the beginning.
I shut off the water and wrap myself in a towel, mind still churning.
All these years of careful training, of suppressing not just my scent but every Omega instinct, and Cameron saw through it immediately.
Just as he saw through my solitary walk tonight, recognized something in me that needed escape.
The same thing he needs, perhaps.
As I dry off and change into sleep clothes, my thoughts drift back to the note. I can't ignore it, but I also can't let paranoia consume me. I have seven days left in my trial period. Seven days to secure my position on the team. Seven days until I run out of suppressants completely.
I need to focus on what I can control. Tomorrow I'll call the pharmacy again. I'll talk to Eli about possible alternatives if my refill doesn't arrive in time. I'll—
My phone buzzes with a text. Unknown number.
Still wet from tonight?
My pulse quickens, heat flooding my cheeks. Cameron. It has to be.
How did you get my number? I type back.
Team contact list. Coach requires it.
Of course. I should have thought of that.
To answer your question: no. I showered. I hesitate, then add: You?
Same. Can still taste you though.
I press my hand to my mouth, as if I could somehow hide my reaction from him despite the distance between us. So blunt. So direct. It's disarming.
You can't just say things like that, I reply.
Why not? It's true.
I shake my head, a smile tugging at my lips despite everything. Because it's inappropriate.
So was kissing me. Didn't stop you.
He has me there.
That was a momentary lapse in judgment, I type, not meaning a word of it.
Liar.
The simple accusation makes me laugh out loud. He sees through me even via text.
Fine. I don't regret it. But it was still a bad idea.
Why?
Because I'm your coxswain. Because I shouldn't be involving myself with anyone on the team. Because I have a thousand other complications without adding this to the list.
Not asking for complicated. Just acknowledging what happened.
I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at his words. What exactly is he offering? What do I even want from him?
What happened was a kiss, I type carefully. One kiss.
Could be more. If you wanted.
My heart pounds in my chest, like a bird caught in a net. This is dangerous territory. I already have enough secrets, enough risks. Adding a relationship, or whatever this would be, with a teammate feels like lighting a match while standing in gasoline.
But the memory of his mouth against mine makes my resolve waver.
I don't know what I want, I answer honestly.
Fair. Let me know when you figure it out.
So simple. No pressure, no demands. Just an open door I can walk through. Or not.
I should sleep. Early practice tomorrow.
Night, Reese.
I set my phone down, more confused than ever. In the space of one evening, everything has shifted. Cameron knows my secret but doesn't care. Wants me despite it, or perhaps because of the person he sees beneath the facade. Meanwhile, someone else knows too, someone who sees my secret as a weapon.
I glance at the note I placed on my desk. Four words. Fifteen letters. Enough to threaten everything I've worked for.
But as I slip into bed, it's not the note I'm thinking about. It's the way Cameron looked at me in the moonlight. The gentle way he pushed my hair back from my face. The unexpected softness in his eyes when I made him smile.
I've spent years learning to suppress every Omega instinct I was born with. To ignore the pull toward certain Alphas. To remain clinical and detached when designation biology tried to take over.
But nothing in my training prepared me for Cameron Blake.
I close my eyes, trying to focus on the problems at hand. Seven days left in my trial period. Seven days until I run out of suppressants. A threatening note from an unknown sender. These are the things I should be worried about.
Instead, I fall asleep with the memory of his kiss playing on repeat, his taste still lingering on my lips, and the dangerous hope that it happens again.
Morning comes too soon, my alarm jolting me from dreams I'm grateful not to remember clearly. They involved water and hands and Cameron's mouth against my skin, places decidedly not my lips.
I sit up, rubbing sleep from my eyes, and immediately spot the note on my desk. Reality crashes back, driving away the pleasant lingering effects of my dreams.
Someone knows. Someone is threatening me.
As I dress for practice, I run through the possibilities. The women's team, led by Kinsley, has made their dislike of me clear. But would they go this far? And how would they have discovered my secret?
The administration could have accessed my sealed records from Westlake, but again, why the anonymous note rather than official action?
Another student who's noticed my careful behaviors? A professor with keen observation skills?
Too many possibilities, too little information.
I check my phone: 5:10 AM. I'm going to be late for the first time since joining the team. Gray will be furious.
As I rush from my dorm, I nearly collide with Tyler Wu, of all people, standing outside my building.
"You're late," he says by way of greeting. "Like, really late. You're never late."
"I'm aware," I reply, adjusting my bag on my shoulder. "What are you doing here?"