Chapter 12 Liam
Imade it two days before I snapped.
Two days of holding it together. Two days of rowing with Alex while the static in my head got louder. Two days of watching Braden across the boathouse and imagining my fist connecting with his cheek.
Scholarship kid.
The words were on a loop. Burned into my brain like a brand. Whoever sent that text knew exactly what they were doing—reducing me to the one thing I couldn't change. Not Liam. Not Moore. Not the guy who rowed a sixteen fifty-eight. The scholarship kid.
I was supposed to go to Noah about the text, he figured it out last time.
But Noah hadn't been around the dorm in days.
Off somewhere with Priya, a girl from the poli-sci department he'd been orbiting for weeks.
His desk was untouched every time I came back to the room.
His jacket gone from the hook. I wasn't about to text him about my problems while he was finally having a life.
Practice Friday afternoon was bad. Not the worst—that was coming—but bad enough that Hale went quiet on the megaphone for the last twenty minutes, which from Hale meant he was deciding whether to yell or give up. Alex and I were half a beat off the whole session.
After practice, I racked the oars. Wiped down the shell. Normal routine. Alex was across the bay, talking to Derek about something.
I knew exactly where he would be. Braden and a few of the Kingwell guys had stopped walking over the bridge in the morning. Too good for them I guess. So they were driving over and parking in the back lot.
I made my way out of the bay, down the hall, and slammed the door push bar. The door flew open to the back parking lot. Braden was leaning against his car—a silver Audi that probably cost more than my mom's house—scrolling his phone. Collins had already left. Braden was alone.
I walked straight at him.
He looked up. His expression shifted—not fear, just alertness. The look of someone assessing a situation.
"Moore."
"We need to talk."
"About?"
"About the shit you've been pulling."
He pocketed his phone. Crossed his arms. "You're going to have to be more specific."
"The comments. The digs. You've been running your mouth about me and Alex all month, and I want to know why."
Braden studied me. "Because you're getting handed a double while the rest of us grind for seats. That's not a dig. "
"It's more than that and you know it."
"Do I?" He tilted his head. That prep-school composure. The slight amusement in his eyes like he was watching something beneath him. "You seem pretty wound up for a guy who's just talking about seat assignments."
"I'm wound up because someone's been—" I caught myself. Stopped. Breathed. "Because you don't know when to quit."
"Someone's been what?" Braden's eyes narrowed. He'd caught the slip. "What's going on, Moore?"
"Nothing."
"No, you came out here looking for a fight. At least have the balls to tell me what about." He pushed off the car. Took a step toward me. "Or is this just your thing? Show up, act tough, hope nobody notices you're in over your head?"
"Watch it."
"You know what I think?" Braden said. "I think you know you don't belong here. Not in that boat, not at this program. Harrington's got the pedigree. You've got a scholarship and a chip on your shoulder. And deep down you know the only reason you're in that double is because Hale felt sorry for—"
I grabbed him by the front of his jacket and slammed him back against the side of the Audi. The car rocked on its suspension. Braden's head snapped back, his eyes going wide—real fear now.
"Say it again," I said. My face was inches from his. "Say one more word."
Braden's hands came up, gripping my wrists, trying to break free. "Get your hands off me—"
"Say it again."
"Moore—"
"Hey. HEY."
Remy's voice cut across the lot.
Then his hand was on my shoulder, pulling me back. He was a small guy but stronger than he looked.
"Let go of him. Now." Remy's voice was right in my ear. Calm but with steel underneath. The cox voice. The one that could cut through wind and adrenaline.
My hands didn't want to open. Every muscle in my body was locked.
"Liam." Remy said my first name. That got through. "Let go. Walk away."
I released Braden's jacket. Stepped back. My hands were shaking.
Braden straightened his coat. His face was flushed, eyes bright with anger. He looked at Remy, then back at me.
"Walk," Remy said, putting himself between us. He had his hand on my chest, pushing me backward. "We're going. Right now."
I let Remy turn me around and then his hand was on my back. One step, then another across the parking lot. The red haze starting to thin.
Behind us, Braden's voice rang across the parking lot.
"Fuck you, Moore. You're going to regret that."
Remy didn't let me turn around. His hand stayed on my back, guiding me around the corner of the boathouse and down toward the dock. The river opened up in front of us—wide and dark, the late afternoon light catching the current.
Braden's car started and he peeled out of the driveway.
"Sit," Remy said, pointing at an overturned bucket near the edge of the dock. His laptop was sitting on a second bucket nearby—he'd been reviewing footage, the quad's practice piece, and apparently had a clear view of the parking lot.
I sat. My legs shaking and heart hammering.
"You want to tell me what the hell that was?" Remy said.
"He—"
"He talked shit. Yeah. I heard. And you just gave him exactly what he wanted." Remy crouched in front of me. "If he reports that, you're looking at a conduct hearing. You grabbed him, Liam. You slammed him into his car. That's not a heated exchange—that's borderline assault."
The word hit me like cold water.
"He won't report it," I said. But I didn't know that.
"Maybe not. His ego might not let him. But maybe he does. And then what?" Remy stood. Picked up his laptop. "What's really going on? And don't tell me it's about seat assignments because you don't lose your shit over seat assignments."
I pulled at a splinter on the dock. The river lapping against the pilings. A crew from the community program rowing past in an eight, their cox's voice carrying faintly across the water.
"Someone sent Alex a photo. Anonymous. Us kissing," I said.
Remy didn't react.
"Then a second text. Mentioned his father. Called me 'the scholarship kid.' Whoever it is, they know things. They've been watching."
"And you think it's Lockwood."
"I know it. He's been making comments all month. He was at the mixer. He has motive."
"And you just went at him—without actually asking him about the texts."
"I couldn't. If I bring up the photo, I'm confirming it's real. I'm confirming there's something to threaten us with."
"So instead you grabbed him by his jacket and slammed him into his car." Remy shook his head. "That's not better, Liam. That's worse. Now he knows something's under your skin."
I stared at the water. He was right.
"Can I be honest with you?" Remy said.
"When are you not?"
"You think it's Lockwood because he's the easy answer.
He's been in your face, he's been an asshole, he checks every box.
But you don't actually know. And you just escalated things with a guy who might have nothing to do with it.
" He leaned forward. "And in the meantime, you and Alex can't row for shit because you're both too scared to focus. "
"So what am I supposed to do?"
"Stop trying to fight your way through this.
You can't punch an anonymous texter, Liam.
You can't corner whoever this is in a parking lot and make it go away.
" He picked up his laptop. Opened it. "But you can outrow it.
That's what you're good at. Get back in the boat and row like the person you are instead of being scared. "
"I'm not scared."
Remy looked at me. The coxswain stare—the one that saw through every wall you put up.
"Yeah, you are. And that's fine. But scared and stupid are two different things. Don't be stupid."
"This could ruin everything."
"If it all comes out, that you and Alex are together, or whatever. Not one's going to give a shit if you win the Charles," Remy said with complete and utter confidence. "A lot of guys got your back and a lot of guys respect you."
He put his earbuds in and went back to his footage for a moment.
Then Remy looked up, pulled out a bud and said, "Fuck the haters."
I nodded and smirked.
I sat on the dock for a while. The anger draining. Leaving behind something emptier. Remy was right—I didn't know it was Braden. I'd wanted it to be Braden because Braden had a face and a name and a jaw I could hit. The alternative—that it was someone I hadn't even considered—was worse.
And now I'd given Braden a reason to come after me for real.
***
Noah was at his desk when I got back to the dorm.
He looked up when I came in. He looked relieved. It had been three days since we'd been in the same room at the same time.
"Hey stranger," I said,
"Hey."
He closed his laptop. Leaned back in his chair. "I've been trying to catch you. You're either at the boathouse or gone by the time I get back."
"You haven't been here much either—" I dropped my bag on my bed. Sat down. Rubbed my face. "It's been a bad week."
"I gathered. You want to tell me about it or do you want to brood in silence? I'm fine with either but the brooding is less productive."
"They texted again… Alex this time."
"Who—?" Then realization dawned on Noah's face. "Not good. When did it start?" he asked.
"Two nights ago. A photo of us kissing."
"Did you try calling it the number?"
"No. We didn't"
Noah was already thinking. I could see it—the gears turning. "My friend Chris—the CS guy—he might be able to pull something from the number. At minimum, figure out if it's a burner or registered."
"Can you ask him?"
"I'll text him tonight. But Liam."
"Yeah."
"This is the second time someone's come at you two anonymously. The video a month ago. Now this."
"I know. Same pattern."