CHAPTER FOUR
Jackson
The afternoon sun beats down on us like punishment, turning the lake into a mirror that throws light back in our faces. I keep my eyes down, focused on Zane's back in front of me, trying to find rhythm that won't come.
We're rowing like shit. Again.
My mind keeps drifting to this morning's Business Strategy class, where Reese got paired with that lacrosse prick Quinton for their semester project.
The way he looked at her. The way Gray's jaw tightened when she mentioned it at lunch.
Now we're out here falling apart, and I can't help but think the two things are connected.
"Jackson, you're late on the catch," Reese calls through the cox box. "Eli, match Jackson's timing."
I adjust, but it doesn't help. The boat lurches with every stroke, eight bodies fighting physics instead of working with it. We've been out here forty minutes and haven't strung together ten clean strokes.
Coach Bennett's launch idles fifty meters away.
He's been watching in silence for the last twenty minutes, which is worse than yelling.
Coach Wilder sits beside him, making notes on her clipboard.
Neither of them can smell what's happening in our shell, the invisible war of pheromones and suppressed instincts that's tearing us apart.
That's the thing about human coaches. They see the symptoms but miss the disease.
"Way enough," Reese calls, frustration bleeding through her professional tone.
We let the boat glide to a stop. The silence stretches, broken only by heavy breathing and water lapping against carbon fiber. In stroke seat, Gray's shoulders are rigid with barely controlled anger. Not at Reese. At himself. At all of us for failing to perform.
The launch motors closer. Coach Bennett kills the engine, letting momentum carry him alongside.
"That was embarrassing," he says simply. No heat in it. Just fact. "You just won Riverside. Six days ago, you were champions. Now you row like a novice four who've never seen each other before."
Nobody responds. What can we say? That our coxswain is an Omega whose scent is scrambling our brains? That half the team has been inside her and the other half wants to be? That we're one administrative review away from losing everything?
"Back to the dock," Coach continues. "Team meeting in the boathouse. Twenty minutes."
The launch pulls away, leaving us floating in our failure.
"You heard him," Reese says quietly. "Let's go home."
The paddle back is funeral-quiet. I stare at my oar, watching water drip from the blade, trying not to think about how Reese's scent has changed since this morning. Sweeter now. Richer. The suppressants are working, but they can't erase what we all know is there.
At the dock, we're met by the JV crew preparing for their session. Eight younger guys who watch us with obvious excitement, hoping to move up to varsity next year. Their cox, a Beta named David, gives Reese a respectful nod.
"Rough session?" he asks.
"We've had better," she replies, professional as always.
One of the JV rowers, a sophomore Alpha named Morrison, watches her with too much interest. I see Bo notice it too, his jaw tightening. The last thing we need is territorial displays in front of the entire program.
"JV, let's get moving," Coach Wilder calls, appearing with their practice plan. "Varsity, showers and team room. Now."
We rack our shell in silence. The four-man crew is already back from their session, their boat gleaming in the rack. They practice separately, different coach, different schedule, but we share the boathouse. Share the weight room. Share the growing reputation of Sable Ridge Crew.
"Heard you guys destroyed Riverside," one of them says as we pass. Peters, their stroke. Good guy, solid rower, completely oblivious to the powder keg he's standing next to.
"We did alright," Gray responds, not stopping.
In the locker room, the tension breaks slightly. Without coaches or other crews around, we can drop the pretense.
"We can't keep this up," Tyler says, pulling off his practice kit. "Our split times were thirty seconds off pace. That's not just bad. That's catastrophic."
"No shit," Beckett snaps, which tells me how stressed he is. Beckett never snaps.
"It's my fault," Reese says from the doorway. She never comes into the locker room, always changes separately, but apparently we're past maintaining boundaries. "I should have—"
"Don't," Gray cuts her off. "This isn't on you."
"Isn't it?" She looks exhausted, dark circles under her eyes that makeup can't hide. "I'm the variable that changed. Before I got here, you were functional."
"Functional isn't the goal," Cameron says quietly from his corner. It's more words than he usually strings together. "Exceptional is the goal. We're exceptional with you."
"Not today we weren't."
"Today's an anomaly," Eli says, analytical as always. "We're adjusting to new dynamics. It's temporary."
But I catch the look he gives me, the question in it. Because Eli knows my history. Knows why I'm struggling more than the others. Knows that another Omega coxswain with suppressant failure isn't just déjà vu—it's my worst nightmare repeating.
"Shower up," Gray orders. "Meeting in ten."
The water is scalding, but it doesn't wash away the sense of impending doom. I've been through this before. The team falling apart. The administration getting involved. The spectacular collapse that follows when designation dynamics destroy what training built.
I'm toweling off when Eli appears beside me, voice low.
"You good?"
"Fine."
"Jackson." Just my name, but he makes it mean paragraphs.
"I can't do this again," I admit, the words barely audible over the shower noise. "I can't watch another team implode because of..." I can't finish.
"This isn't Northlake," Eli says firmly. "Reese isn't Meredith. And you're not eighteen anymore."
"Doesn't feel different."
"Because you're not letting it be different." He pauses, choosing words carefully. "Maybe instead of waiting for history to repeat, you could help write a different ending."
Before I can respond, he's gone, leaving me with thoughts I don't want to examine.
The team room is cramped with all nine of us plus coaches. Coach Bennett stands at the front, arms crossed, while Coach Wilder leans against the wall. The whiteboard behind them still shows our splits from Riverside—victory times that feel like they happened in another lifetime.
"Close the door," Coach says.
Gray complies, the click of the latch somehow ominous.
"I've been coaching for fifteen years," Coach Bennett begins. "Twelve here at Sable Ridge. In that time, I've seen teams with talent fail and teams with heart succeed. I've seen designation dynamics destroy championships and create them."
He pauses, scanning our faces.
"What I haven't seen is a team go from exceptional to amateur in less than a week without explanation."
The silence is suffocating.
"Now," he continues, "I may be human, but I'm not stupid. Something happened at Riverside. Something that's affecting every aspect of your performance. And if you don't tell me what it is, I can't protect you from what's coming."
"What do you mean?" Gray asks carefully.
Coach Wilder speaks up. "The administration received a formal complaint yesterday. About inappropriate team dynamics. About potential designation fraud. About competitive violations that could result in immediate suspension."
My blood goes cold.
"From who?" Bo demands.
"Anonymous," Coach Wilder says. "But detailed. Someone who was at Riverside. Someone who saw something they thought was actionable."
Kinsley. Has to be. Or Andrea. Or both.
"There's going to be a review," Coach Bennett says. "Assistant Director Carmine from the Athletics Department will be observing practice tomorrow. Making assessments. Looking for anything that violates university policy."
"We haven't done anything wrong," Gray states.
"Haven't you?" Coach's eyes are sharp. "Because from where I'm standing, a team that was perfectly functional with a male Beta coxswain is now falling apart with a female one. That raises questions."
"It's an adjustment period," Tyler offers.
"Maybe." Coach doesn't sound convinced. "Or maybe there's something else going on. Something that could destroy everything we've built."
He moves to the whiteboard, erasing our Riverside times with quick strokes.
"I don't need to know details," he says, back still to us. "What I need is for you to get your shit together. Fast. Because if Carmine sees what I saw today, we're done. Not just as a competitive team. As a program."
He turns back to face us.
"The university is already nervous about mixed designation teams after what happened at Columbia last year. One Alpha-Omega bonding incident and their entire crew program was disbanded. Lawsuits. Title IX violations. Career-ending publicity."
His gaze finds Reese.
"Ms. Callahan, I took a chance accepting your transfer mid-season. I did it because you're talented and because this team needed you. But if your presence is going to destroy what these men have worked years to build..."
"It won't," she says firmly.
"Prove it." He looks at all of us. "Tomorrow's practice. Six AM. Assistant Director Carmine will be watching. So will coaches from other teams who'd love to see us fail. The JV crew will be on the water at the same time, showing what Sable Ridge is supposed to look like."
He heads for the door, then stops.
"One more thing. Humans make up eighteen percent of the population.
We can't smell your pheromones or detect your designations.
But we've learned to read the signs. The territorial behavior.
The protective formations. The way eight Alphas suddenly can't row straight when their female coxswain's scent changes. "
The words land like bombs.
"We evolved without designations," he continues. "Which means we evolved to observe, to analyze, to understand through pattern recognition what we can't detect through biology. So whatever you think you're hiding? You're not hiding it as well as you think."
He leaves, Coach Wilder following. The door closes with finality.
"Fuck," Beckett summarizes eloquently.
"He knows," Zane says, slumping in his chair. "He absolutely knows."
"But he's giving us a chance," Eli points out. "He could report it himself. Instead, he's warning us."
"Because he's protecting the program," Gray says. "If we go down, the whole team suffers. JV gets no varsity positions to move into. The four-man crew loses funding. Sable Ridge Crew becomes a cautionary tale."
"So what do we do?" Cameron asks.
All eyes turn to Reese. She's been quiet, processing, that strategic mind working through possibilities.
"We row," she says simply. "Tomorrow, we get on that water and we row like champions. We show Carmine that whatever concerns exist are unfounded. We prove that a mixed team can function professionally."
"How?" I ask, the word sharp and accusatory. "We can barely hold it together when it's just us."
She meets my gaze steadily. "By remembering what matters. You all have dreams beyond this boathouse. Olympics. National team. Professional careers. Don't let my presence cost you those dreams."
"Your presence isn't the problem," Bo says firmly.
"No," she agrees. "But my designation is. And if we can't figure out how to manage that, Coach is right. We're done."
The weight of it settles over us. Tomorrow isn't just another practice. It's a trial. And if we fail, everything ends.
"We should strategize," Tyler suggests. "Create protocols for tomorrow."
"Physical distance," Gray says immediately. "Minimize contact. Professional interactions only."
"I'll double my suppressant dose," Reese adds, though something in her expression suggests that comes with a cost.
"Jackson and Cameron take the launch to practice," Eli suggests. "Remove the most sensitive variables."
"No." The refusal comes from my mouth before I can stop it. Everyone looks at me in surprise. "We're a full crew or we're nothing. Carmine needs to see all nine of us functioning."
"Even if—" Eli starts.
"Even if it's hard. Even if it's risky." I look at Reese. "I won't be the reason this team fails. Not again."
She nods, understanding passing between us. We both have history with designation disasters. Both have scars from teams that couldn't handle the biology.
"Then we should practice," Gray decides. "Evening session. Work out the kinks before tomorrow."
"Coach won't approve extra water time," Tyler points out.
"Then we use the tanks." The rowing tanks—indoor practice stations that simulate water training. "Two hours. Until we can maintain steady state without falling apart."
Everyone agrees, the plan giving us something to focus on besides tomorrow's threat.
As we file out, Reese catches my arm.
"Thank you," she says quietly. "For not bailing."
"I'm not doing it for you."
"I know." She releases me. "You're doing it for them. For the team. That's what makes it matter."
She walks away, leaving me with the uncomfortable realization that maybe Eli was right. Maybe this time could be different.
Maybe I could help write a different ending.
But first, we have to survive tomorrow.