chapter NINETEEN
Reese
T he sight of my parents in the hotel lobby stops me cold.
Mother stands with perfect posture beside the concierge desk, every inch the polished socialite in her tailored navy suit and pearls.
Father checks his Rolex with the impatience of a man accustomed to having his schedule respected.
They look exactly like what they are: wealthy, powerful, and completely out of place in a mid-tier hotel filled with college athletes.
"Breathe," Bo murmurs beside me, his presence solid and reassuring.
I force air into my lungs, straightening my spine. Three years of deportment lessons and cotillion training might actually prove useful for once.
"Reese Catherine." Mother's voice carries across the lobby with crystal clarity. She doesn't raise it. Callahan women never raise their voices. But somehow everyone within twenty feet turns to look.
I walk toward them, acutely aware of my teammates flanking me like a protective detail.
Gray positions himself slightly ahead and to my right, while Bo stays close to my left shoulder.
The others spread out in a loose formation that probably looks casual to observers but feels distinctly military to me.
"Mother. Father." I stop just outside their personal space, maintaining the careful distance that years of family dynamics have taught me. "I didn't expect you until this evening."
"Your father was concerned about the security incident," Mother says, her blue-green eyes so like my own scanning my face for signs of damage. "We decided to come early to ensure you were safe."
Father steps forward, his presence commanding even in a hotel lobby. "Reese. You look well."
"Thank you, sir."
The formal exchange feels surreal with my teammates watching. I can practically feel their confusion at the stiff politeness, the careful choreography of a family that communicates through subtext and social protocol.
"Perhaps we could speak privately?" Father suggests, his gaze shifting to encompass the eight large men surrounding his daughter.
"Of course," I say, then turn to Gray. "Can you handle check-in? I'll catch up with you later."
Gray's steel eyes flick between my parents and me, clearly calculating threat levels. "Team meeting's in thirty minutes."
"That should be sufficient," Father says smoothly.
"Twenty-five minutes," Gray counters. "She needs time to settle in before we start."
The negotiation happens with polite smiles and steely determination on both sides. My father recognizes another Alpha accustomed to command, while Gray makes it clear that Reese Callahan belongs to his team first.
"Of course," Father concedes. "We wouldn't want to interfere with team obligations."
I catch the subtle emphasis on "team" and know he's filing away information for later dissection.
"There's a quiet seating area near the restaurant," Mother observes. "Shall we?"
The next twenty minutes feel like navigating a minefield while wearing high heels.
We settle into leather chairs arranged around a low table, the positioning carefully orchestrated.
Mother and Father claim the chairs that give them the best view of the lobby and easy access to exits, habits ingrained from years of business and social warfare.
I take the seat facing them, feeling uncomfortably like I'm being interviewed.
"Now then," Father begins, hands steepled in front of him. "Perhaps you can explain why we received a call about our daughter being involved in a security incident at Westlake, only to find you here with Sable Ridge's men's rowing team."
My stomach drops. Of course that's where they'd start.
"I transferred to Sable Ridge three weeks ago," I say, deciding to rip the bandage off quickly. "I'm coxing for their men's team now."
The silence that follows could freeze water.
"You left Westlake," Mother says, her voice perfectly controlled. "Without telling us."
"It was a time-sensitive opportunity—"
"You left the women's team," Father interrupts, "to cox for Alphas?" The revulsion in his tone makes it clear exactly what he thinks of his Omega daughter surrounded by unmated Alpha males, and the disapproval makes my stomach clench. This is going exactly as I feared it would.
"The Sable Ridge men's program has superior coaching and facilities," I explain, falling back on technical arguments. "Their alumni network includes Olympic development coaches. The exposure and experience will be invaluable for my rowing career."
"Your rowing career?" Father's eyebrows rise fractionally. "Darling, we've discussed this. Rowing is an excellent activity for college, but it's hardly a career path for someone of your background."
"Especially," Mother adds delicately, "given your... particular circumstances."
The coded reference to my designation makes my chest tighten. Even here, even now, they can't bring themselves to say the word "Omega" aloud.
"My circumstances don't affect my ability to cox," I say firmly.
"Don't they?" Father leans forward slightly. "Reese, you're a nineteen-year-old Omega surrounded by unmated Alpha athletes. The biological implications alone..."
"Are managed," I cut him off, glancing around to ensure we're not being overheard. "And completely irrelevant to my performance on the water."
"Is that what you call it?" Mother's smile is razor-sharp. "Managing?"
My chest tightens. Do they know about the suppressants? About what was really stolen?
"I call it being professional," I reply evenly.
"Professional." Father tastes the word like expensive wine. "Tell me, what do these young men think you are?"
"Their coxswain."
"You know what I mean."
I do. He's asking if they know I'm an Omega. If I'm passing as Beta. If I'm living the lie that makes everything easier for everyone.
"They think I'm qualified to do my job," I say instead.
"That's not an answer, Reese Catherine."
"It's the only answer that matters."
We stare at each other across the coffee table, wills clashing like blades. This is the fundamental disagreement that's shaped my entire life: Father believes my designation defines my capabilities, while I refuse to accept those limitations.
"Your mother and I have discussed this situation," Father says finally. "We think it's best if you return to Westlake immediately."
"What?" The word escapes before I can censor it.
"Tomorrow, after this competition," Mother clarifies. "We've already spoken with Dean Morrison. Your reinstatement can be processed by Monday."
"I'm not going back to Westlake." The statement emerges flat and absolute.
"You're twenty years old," Father reminds me. "A junior in college. Technically still our dependent for financial and legal purposes."
The threat hangs in the air between us. Cut off the money, withdraw support, force me back into the box they've constructed around acceptable behavior for Omega daughters of prominent families.
"You would do that?" I ask quietly.
"We would do whatever necessary to protect you," Mother says. "Even from yourself."
The words cut deep. Everything I've worked for, everything I've built at Sable Ridge, hangs in the balance of this conversation.
"The team needs me," I say desperately. "We're racing tomorrow. I can't just abandon them."
"You should have considered that before making impulsive decisions," Father replies. "Actions have consequences, Reese. It's time you learned that lesson."
Before I can respond, a familiar voice cuts through the tension.
"Excuse me." Gray approaches our little circle with the casual confidence of someone who belongs wherever he chooses to be. "Sorry to interrupt, but the team meeting starts in five minutes."
He's giving me an out. A graceful exit from a conversation that's spiraling beyond my control.
"Of course," I say, standing quickly. "Mother, Father, this is Gray Lockwood, our team captain. Gray, my parents."
Gray extends his hand with perfect manners. "Mr. and Mrs. Callahan. It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Lockwood," Father muses, shaking Gray's hand with the careful pressure of someone assessing an opponent. "Are you related to Harrison Lockwood of Lockwood Financial?"
"His son," Gray confirms smoothly.
I watch my father's expression shift as he processes this information. Gray isn't just any college athlete. He's legacy wealth, old money, the kind of young man who belongs in Father's world.
"Ah," Father says, his tone warming fractionally. "I know your father. Excellent reputation in the financial sector."
"Thank you, sir," Gray replies. "And if I may say, your daughter is an exceptional coxswain. The team's improved significantly since she joined us."
"Has it?" Mother asks, studying Gray with new interest.
"Absolutely. Her strategic mind and leadership abilities are remarkable." Gray's praise sounds genuine rather than diplomatic. "We're lucky to have her."
The simple statement hangs in the air, a direct contradiction to everything my parents have just spent forty minutes telling me.
"Well," Father says, standing to signal the conversation's end, "we don't want to keep you from your team obligations."
"Thank you for understanding," Gray says politely. "Will you be joining us for tomorrow's race?"
"We'll be there," Mother confirms. "Supporting our daughter, naturally."
"Excellent. I'll make sure you have good seats near the finish line."
The exchange is perfectly courteous, but I catch the subtle messages underneath. Gray establishing his authority over my time and schedule. My parents asserting their continued claim on my loyalty and future.
"We'll speak more tomorrow, Reese," Father says, the words carrying unmistakable finality.
"Of course," I manage.
As they gather their things and head toward the lobby exit, I remain frozen beside the coffee table, the weight of the ultimatum settling over me like a shroud.
"You okay?" Gray asks quietly.
"Perfect," I lie. "Just family catching up."
He studies my face with those perceptive steel eyes. "Right. Come on, the others are waiting."
As we walk toward the elevator, I try to process what just happened.
My parents want me back at Westlake by Monday.
They're prepared to cut my funding to make it happen.
Everything I've built at Sable Ridge, the relationships, the respect, the sense of belonging, could disappear with a single phone call.
But tomorrow, I have a race to cox. Tomorrow, I have a team to lead. Tomorrow, I'll prove to everyone, including myself, that I belong exactly where I am.
The elevator doors close, and I force myself to focus on what I can control. Race strategy. Team dynamics. The feeling of eight oars moving as one under my command.
Tomorrow, I'll be the coxswain Gray believes I am. After that... we'll see.
"Reese?" Gray's voice pulls me from my thoughts as we reach our floor.
"Yeah?"
"Whatever they said to you down there—you belong with this team. Don't forget that."
For the second time in as many days, his simple faith in me threatens to break something loose inside my chest.
"Thanks," I whisper.
"Besides," he adds with the ghost of a smile, "we've got a race to win tomorrow. And you're going to get us there."
Despite everything, I find myself smiling back. "I plan to."