Chapter 2 Liam
The bridge railing was cold under my hands as I watched the river below me.
"Don't jump!" Tyler yelled from the river path as he walked up towards the bridge with a gang of guys from Riverside.
Some of the other guys chimed in. "Don't do it!" "We love you!"
Tyler was waving his hand—the one he'd fucked up weeks ago at the party fight. Healed now, taped but functional, back in a boat where he belonged. He and three Kingswell guys were in a quad with Remy, and from the way Tyler was bouncing on his toes, the first session had gone well.
They made it up to the bridge.
"Dude." Tyler clapped me on the shoulder. "You and Harrington looked insane out there."
"It was alright."
"Alright? Hale was smiling hard. I didn't know his face could do that."
"His face can't do that. Must've been the fumes from the launch," I said.
Tyler laughed. Behind us, Evan was half-jogging to keep up, his gear bag bouncing against his hip.
We continued over the bridge onto Riverside's campus.
"How far is it?" Evan asked. "The Charles. The actual race."
"Three miles," Jace said from ahead of us. He walked the way he always did—front of the pack without trying, shoulders squared, that quiet certainty I'd never figured out how to fake. "Upstream. Bridges, turns. It's not a straight shot."
"And there's like a thousand boats. You launch in intervals. It's chaos," Tyler said.
"Organized chaos," Jace said.
"Is the school covering hotels? Or are we sleeping in the van again like last year at the Providence invite?" Tyler asked.
"Program covers basic travel. Shared rooms, nothing fancy." Jace glanced back. "Don't expect the Ritz."
"I'd settle for a Holiday Inn with a working shower," Tyler said.
"Lower your expectations and you'll never be disappointed." Jace shot a look at the crew.
"That's dark," Evan said, raising his eyebrows.
"That's realistic."
They kept going—Tyler asking about restaurants near the racecourse, Evan wanting to know if they could watch other races when they weren't competing, Jace answering most questions because he had done this before.
It was the rhythm of a team that actually liked each other.
I listened and didn't say much.
Because here's the thing nobody talks about: when you've never stayed in a hotel, you don't know what questions to ask. Tyler was joking about room service and mini-bars. Evan was googling Boston pizza places on his phone. And I was doing math in my head.
$147.
That's what was in my account after last month's meal plan payment cleared. One hundred and forty seven dollars to last until my work-study check hit in two weeks. My mom had sent twenty last Thursday with a text that said 'just for food', which meant she'd skipped something to send it.
Hotels cost money. Restaurants cost money. Even walking around Boston cost money if you weren't careful—a coffee here, a sandwich there, the small expenses that most kids didn't even register as expenses.
I'd figure it out. Pack granola bars, skip the restaurant, stay in the room while everyone else went out. That was my life strategy.
Jace said something that pushed everything else aside.
"Hey, by the way. I'm graduating in December. Finishing early."
Tyler stopped walking. "Wait, what?"
"December graduation. I've got a U23 development camp invitation for January and I'm not passing it up."
"How'd you pull that off?" I asked.
"Got my advisor to reprocess some of my transfer credits, and they took them this time."
Tyler laughed. "That's fucking boss bro."
"U23?" Evan's eyes went wide. "Like—national team?"
"Development program. It's a pipeline. They invite maybe forty guys, train for three months, then select boats for international competition." Jace said it matter-of-fact. "Camp's in Oklahoma City. I need to be done with classes by mid-December to make the start date."
"Holy shit," Tyler said. "That's legit."
"It's the plan." Jace shrugged. "Has been for a while. Just didn't want to make a thing of it until it was locked."
"So this is your last—" Evan started.
"Last fall season. Yeah." Jace's voice was steady. Not sad. Just real. "One more month in a Riverside jersey. Make it count."
The group went quiet for a few steps as we crossed the main quad.
"Does this mean I can have your locker? It's closer to the showers," Tyler asked.
Jace almost smiled. "Get your GPA above a 2.5 and we'll talk."
Everyone laughed. The moment passed. They started talking about the quad's race strategy, about Remy's new start sequence, about whether Evan could survive a full race-pace piece without throwing up.
I walked with them and didn't talk.
U23. National team. Olympic pipeline.
Jace was doing it. The thing I'd been told didn't happen for guys like us—scholarship kids from nowhere, no family name, no connections. Jace was proving it wrong.
That could be me someday.
The thought landed and I pushed it away. Too big. Too far. Too much to think about when I couldn't even afford a hotel room.
The guys split off toward the dining hall. Tyler trying to convince Evan that the breakfast burrito was "life-changing." Jace peeled away toward the academic buildings—probably to talk to his advisor about the December timeline.
I pulled out my phone and instinctively checked for a text from Emily.
None.
I absently scrolled to our thread. Read the last few messages. Mine, mostly. Lies dressed up as explanations. Half-truths about the break-in. Deflections about Alex.
Noah said give her space.
She knew about the kiss. She'd saws us—me and Alex, his mouth on mine, the moment I couldn't take back. She'd asked if I was in love with him and I hadn't answered.
I didn't know if I was in love with him. How could I? But I knew thinking about the other night in the parking lot with Emily made my chest hurt with guilt.
I owed her more than silence. I owed her honesty. But I didn't know how to be honest about something I still couldn't name.
I closed the thread.
Walked past the dining hall. Glanced through the windows—crowded, loud, trays and coffee cups and people who didn't have to lie about who they were. I scanned for her without meaning to.
Couldn't find her. Or maybe I could and my brain was protecting me from the gut-punch of seeing her face.
Either way, the absence was loud.
***
It was later that night and the dorm room smelled like debate prep and cheap coffee.
Noah was at his desk—laptop open, index cards fanned out in that organized chaos that somehow made sense to his brain. The Riverside Debate Invitational was at the end of the semester and Noah took that shit as seriously as I took racing.
I dropped my bag inside the door and collapsed face-first onto my bed. Every muscle in my body ached.
"How was practice?" Noah asked without looking up.
"Fine."
He glanced over. The look he gave me—eyebrows slightly raised, mouth flat—was the one that meant I know 'fine' is bullshit but I'll let you get there on your own time.
"It was good, actually," I said into my pillow. "The rowing. Me and Alex were—" I stopped. Rephrased. "The double was fast."
"Cool."
Silence. The click of his laptop keys. The hum of the radiator.
I rolled onto my back. Stared at the ceiling. The water stain that looked like a map of a country that didn't exist.
"Noah."
"Yeah."
"Thanks. For—you know. All of it."
He set his highlighter down. Turned his chair to face me. The movement was slow enough that I knew something was coming.
"Priya asked me about you today," he said.
My stomach tightened. "Who's Priya?"
Noah's expression changed. Quick. Almost imperceptible. "She's on the debate team."
"Why is someone on the debate team asking about my life?"
"Because people talk, Liam. You and Emily were together for a year. Now you're not. People notice."
"Yeah, but why is she asking you?"
Noah didn't answer right away. He picked up his coffee. Put it down without drinking. "We've been studying together. Prepping for the invitational. She knows Emily through—it just came up."
It just came up. The way he said it—a little too casual, a little too fast—sounded exactly like me when I was deflecting.
"She just brought it up out of nowhere?" I asked.
"We were talking and—look, it doesn't matter how it came up. The point is I had to make something up." He rubbed his face. "And then Tyler asked me the same thing at lunch. And I had to do it again."
"Noah, I'm sorry—"
"I'm not mad." His voice was calm. "I told you I'd keep your secret and I meant it. But I need you to understand something."
I sat up. "Okay."
Here we go, dad lecture.
"There's a difference between keeping quiet and lying to people I care about.
" He looked at me straight. "Priya's my friend.
Tyler's my friend. Emily's my friend. And every time someone asks me about your life, I have to choose between being honest with them and protecting you. That's not a position I signed up for."
"So what do you want me to do, Noah?" It came out sharper than I meant it. "Put out a press release? Post it on the team group chat?"
"That's not what I'm saying—"
"Because I can't exactly control what people ask you. I didn't ask Priya to come up to you. I didn't ask Tyler to bring it up at lunch." My hands gripped the edge of the mattress. "I don't want people in my business. That's not—I'm not ready for that."
"I know you're not."
"Then what am I supposed to do?"
Noah held my gaze. Didn't flinch. Didn't escalate. That was the thing about arguing with a debate kid—he never matched your heat. Just stayed steady until you burned yourself out.
"I'm just going to tell people to ask you," he said. "That's it. Someone asks me about you and Emily, I say 'I don't know, ask Liam.' Someone asks about your love life, I say 'not my story to tell, ask Liam.' I'm not lying for you, and I'm not outing you. I'm just redirecting."