chapter THIRTEEN
Bo
S omething's off with the team.
I notice it during morning practice—subtle shifts in the current that's carried us for years.
Eli and Jackson avoiding each other's eyes.
Tyler watching Reese with that calculating gaze of his.
Cameron, our resident ghost, somehow present in a way I've never seen before.
And Gray, our fearless leader, pretending not to notice any of it.
At the center of this storm: Reese Callahan, our five-foot-nothing coxswain who commands eight Alphas like she was born to it.
I watch her during cool-down as she calls directions, her voice steady despite the shadows under her eyes. Something's eating at her. Has been since yesterday when she showed up late with Tyler. Unusual for both of them.
The boat glides back to the dock, water streaming off carbon fiber.
I help rack the shell, keeping one eye on the team as they disperse to the locker room.
There's an undercurrent of tension I can't quite identify, glances exchanged between teammates that suggest conversations happening without words.
Jackson heads straight for the showers, avoiding everyone.
Eli lingers by the equipment, pretending to check oar handles while watching Jackson's retreating back.
Gray pulls Reese aside to discuss something in her notebook, standing close enough that anyone else would notice the territorial display.
Anyone but Reese, apparently. Or maybe she notices and just doesn't care.
"Lot of strange currents today," I comment to Zane as we store life vests.
He glances around, lowering his voice. "You notice Reed and Stone? Something's up there."
"When isn't there?" I reply, keeping my tone casual. The arrangement between our teammates has never been acknowledged openly, but it's about as secret as the fact that I stress-bake before big races.
"Different this time," Zane insists. "And it started right when Callahan joined."
I consider this. "Everyone's adjusting."
"Some more than others."
"Including you? I saw those puppy dog eyes you were making at practice yesterday."
Zane grins, unashamed. "What can I say? I appreciate competence in a small package."
"Careful," I warn, only half-joking. "She's got enough to handle without your particular brand of charm."
"Oh, I'm being a perfect gentleman." He holds up his hands in mock surrender. "Just offering friendship."
" Right ."
In the shower room, I take my time, letting the hot water ease muscles tight from an intense practice. By the time I finish, the locker room has mostly cleared. Only Cameron remains, changing with his back to the room as always.
His torso is a map of scars. Some even bleed into the sleeve of art tattooed on his left arm and I've often wondered which came first, but I've never brought it up. None of us have. Some boundaries even eight guys living in the same house respect.
"Good work today, Blake," I say, keeping it casual.
He nods once without turning. Standard Cameron response.
"Breakfast at The Griddle in twenty," I add, not expecting a reply.
But he surprises me. "I'll be there."
Three words in one morning. From Cameron Blake. Interesting.
I head out to my truck, passing Reese as she exits the women's locker room.
"Strickland," she acknowledges with a nod.
"Callahan. Need a ride to breakfast?"
She hesitates. "I should grab my books for my 9 AM class first."
"I can swing by your dorm. No sense walking when I'm heading that way."
Another hesitation. Then, "Sure. Thanks."
I open the passenger door of my truck for her, an ingrained habit my mama would be proud of. Reese looks momentarily surprised before climbing in.
"This thing is massive," she comments as I start the engine.
"Compensating for something," I deadpan.
She laughs, the sound genuine and unexpected. It transforms her face from coxswain-serious to something softer. Something that makes my protective instincts stir.
"How are you settling in?" I ask as we pull out of the parking lot. "For real, not the official answer."
She glances at me, guard instantly back up. "Fine."
"Convincing."
"It's been an adjustment," she amends. "But I'm handling it."
"Never doubted that." I navigate around a delivery truck blocking half the campus road. "Team's different with you. Better, I think."
"Gray might disagree."
"Gray disagrees on principle. It's his default setting." I pull up to a stop sign. "But even he knows our times have improved."
"Split times aren't everything," she says, staring out the window.
"No, but they're something." I study her profile for a moment. "What's really bothering you, Callahan?"
"What makes you think something's bothering me?"
"I notice things." I shrug. "Part of my job."
"Your job is to row."
"My job is to hold this team together. Has been since freshman year."
She turns to me then, really looking at me for the first time. "The mother hen. That's what Zane called you."
"I prefer 'team glue,' but whatever works." I make the turn toward her dorm. "Point is, I can tell when someone's carrying something heavy. And you look like you're about to drop from the weight."
Her fingers tighten around the strap of her bag. "That's very perceptive, but I'm fine."
"Sure you are." I pull up in front of her building. "Take your time getting your books. I'll wait."
"You don't have to—"
"I know. Go on."
She disappears into the building, shoulders squared like she's heading into battle rather than a dormitory. I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, thinking about the subtle shifts in our team dynamic since her arrival.
The university's been watching us more closely since she joined.
Coach mentioned it last week when he thought we weren't listening, something about "mixed-designation team protocols" and "additional oversight measures.
" The administration takes these things seriously ever since that mess at Concordia University a few years back.
He's on edge, which puts us all on edge.
Gray, watching her with the intensity he usually reserves for championship races.
Eli, calculating probabilities I can only guess at.
Jackson, more withdrawn than usual. Tyler, surprisingly attentive to someone outside his statistical datasets.
Beckett, flirtatious as ever but with an edge of genuine interest. Zane, offering friendship that might become something more. And Cameron...
Cameron is the biggest surprise. Something's changed with our resident shadow. I've caught him watching Reese with an awareness I've never seen him direct at anyone before.
My phone buzzes with a text from Gray: Where are you? We're all at The Griddle.
Giving Callahan a ride. Be there in 10.
Make it 5.
I roll my eyes. Some things never change.
Reese emerges from her dorm, now carrying a backpack along with her gym bag. As she approaches the truck, I notice her scanning the area, eyes moving over parked cars and nearby students with careful assessment. Looking for something. Or someone.
"Everything okay?" I ask as she climbs back in.
"Fine." She buckles her seatbelt. "Just thinking about classes."
Another lie, but I let it pass. Whatever she's carrying, she's not ready to share it.
We drive in comfortable silence for a minute before she speaks again.
"Can I ask you something about Tyler?"
Not what I expected. "Sure."
"Is he..." she hesitates, choosing her words carefully. "Has he always been so analytical?"
"Since day one," I confirm. "Why?"
"Just trying to understand the team dynamic." She fiddles with the zipper on her bag. "Sometimes I can't tell if he's actually concerned or just collecting data."
I consider this. "Both, usually. Tyler processes the world differently than most people."
"Is he on the spectrum?" she asks, then immediately backtracks. "Sorry, that's probably rude. You don't have to—"
"It's not a secret," I say. "He is. High-functioning autism with an IQ that makes the rest of us look like we're still learning our ABCs."
"That explains a lot."
"He doesn't usually talk about it, but it's not something he hides either. For Tyler, it's just data. Another variable in his equations."
"He notices everything," she says, almost to herself.
"Patterns, especially. It's what makes him such a good strategist. He sees connections most of us miss."
She falls silent, processing this information like she applies to steering our boat through rough water.
"Did he say something that bothered you?" I ask.
"No," she says quickly. "Just the opposite. He was... helpful. In his own way."
I pull into The Griddle's parking lot, finding a spot next to Gray's Range Rover. Before I turn off the engine, I reach out and gently lay my hand on her shoulder. She barely flinches. Progress.
"Tyler doesn't waste energy on people he doesn't value. If he's making an effort to communicate with you, it means something."
She nods, absorbing this. "Thanks."
"For that matter," I add, "the whole team wants you to succeed. Even if some of them have strange ways of showing it."
A smile touches her lips, but doesn't reach her eyes. "Noted."
As she walks away, I feel someone's gaze on me. Cameron stands a few yards away, watching me with that unnerving intensity of his. He sees too much, notices too much. Always has. I guess we all do, in our own way. Nature of the designation.
Inside The Griddle, the team has claimed our usual corner booth.
Gray sits at the head, nursing black coffee with his usual intensity.
Beckett and Zane are arguing about some party happening over the weekend.
Tyler taps calculations into his phone. Jackson stares into his coffee like it holds the secrets of the universe.
Eli reads from a textbook. And most surprisingly, Cameron is there, sitting silently at the end of the booth.
"Look who decided to join us," Beckett announces as we approach. "The Southern gentleman and his lady fair."