Chapter 13 Alex
Collins' place was a converted Victorian three blocks off campus—the kind of house Kingswell upperclassmen rented when they wanted to pretend they'd outgrown the dorms without actually leaving the bubble.
Crown molding and hardwood floors, a front porch with columns that had been repainted so many times the edges were soft with layers.
Inside, the furniture was expensive but trashed—leather couches with beer stains, a dining table covered in solo cups and a half-finished game of cards.
I didn't want to come.
Derek had shown up at my dorm at nine.
"You've been in this room for three days."
"I've been at practice."
"Practice and this room. That's it. That's your whole life right now."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You look like you haven't slept, you're rowing like shit, and Eldridge asked me today if something was wrong with you." Derek stepped inside without being invited. "So you're coming out tonight. Collins is having people over. Low-key. Just the team. Kingswell."
"I don't—"
"I'm not asking, Alex."
So there I was.
Standing in Collins's kitchen with a red cup in my hand and the noise of twenty Kingswell rowers filling the rooms around me.
Music from a speaker on the counter—something with bass that vibrated through the old floorboards.
The smell of beer and pizza and someone's cologne layered over the permanent scent of old wood.
I took a drink. Vodka and something. Collins's girlfriend had mixed it and handed it to me with a smile that said you look like you need this. She wasn't wrong.
The first drink went down fast. The second faster.
I wasn't a drinker. That was the thing. My father drank— scotch, neat, two fingers, never more than two—with the kind of disciplined control that turned even alcohol into a performance of restraint.
And I'd absorbed that lesson the way I absorbed everything from him: unconsciously, completely, until it felt like my own choice rather than his programming.
But tonight the programming was failing.
Tonight I needed the noise in my head to stop.
The anonymous texts. The photo. Eldridge's voice: Whatever is happening off the water, leave it there.
My father's number appearing on my phone three times this week—calls I'd answered with the careful, measured tone of a son who was performing normalcy while everything behind the mask was disintegrating.
And Liam. Always Liam. The way practice had felt today—half a beat off, catches not landing together, our drives mismatched in a way that felt less like bad rowing and more like the boat could feel us lying to it.
I finished the second drink and went back to the kitchen for a third.
Mason was at the counter, talking to one of the novice rowers about erg scores. He nodded at me as I refilled my cup. "Harrington. Didn't think you'd show."
"Derek made me."
Mason laughed. "Derek makes everyone do things. It's his superpower."
I took my drink and moved through the house. The living room was packed—guys sprawled on couches, a few standing by the fireplace that hadn't worked in years. Collins was holding court near the front window, telling some story about a race that got louder and more exaggerated with every retelling.
I found a spot near the back hallway, leaned against the wall, and drank.
The vodka was doing what I needed it to do—softening the edges, turning the volume down on the constant risk calculation that ran through my head like a ticker.
For the first time in days, I wasn't cataloguing every person in the room as a potential threat.
Wasn't replaying the texts. Wasn't watching for the micro-expressions that might reveal who was watching us.
I was just standing in a house, at a party, being a college sophomore.
This is what normal feels like.
The thought made something ache behind my ribs. Because I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt it. Maybe before Brackett Lake. Maybe never.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
Liam
how are you doing
I stared at the screen. Typed and deleted three responses.
Alex
Fine. At Collins's.
Liam
a party?
Alex
Derek dragged me out.
Liam
good. you needed it. wish I could be there
Something warm bloomed in my chest. Then cold chased it—the reminder that he couldn't be here. That the reason he couldn't be here was the same reason I was drinking alone at a Kingswell party instead of being with him.
Alex
Yeah. Me too.
I put my phone away and went back for another drink.
***
The fourth drink was the one that crossed the line.
I knew it was happening—could feel the calibration slipping, the way my thoughts were getting looser, less structured.
My father's voice in my head: Harringtons don't lose control, Alexander.
But the voice was quieter now. Muffled by vodka and exhaustion and the cumulative weight of weeks of performing composure while the foundation beneath it crumbled.
I was sitting on the back porch. My breath fogged in front of me. The backyard was small and fenced, dead grass and a few lawn chairs that nobody was using because everyone was inside where it was warm.
I was alone. Which was the point.
Then the door slammed open behind me.
Braden. Jaw set. Eyes hard.
"Get up."
I stood. Too fast—the porch tilted, or I did. We were eye to eye before I'd finished finding my balance.
"Your little boyfriend put his hands on me today."
Boyfriend.
The word went through me like a blade.
"He's not my—"
"He grabbed me. Slammed me into my car." Braden stepped closer.
"Then take it up with him."
"I'm taking it up with you," he said.
"Why? Because a Lockwood can't handle his own problems?"
Braden's eyes flashed. Direct hit. The family nerve—thirty years of his father telling him the Harringtons thought they were better. I knew exactly where to press because I'd grown up watching our fathers do it to each other.
"Watch your mouth, Harrington."
"You came out here looking for a fight. Don't be surprised when you get one."
"Your boy went off on me. Ranting about my comments, grabbing me by my jacket—" Braden's voice was tight, controlled, but the anger was leaking through.
Not good. Liam went after him. That's not what we planned.
"Maybe you should keep your mouth shut then," I said. It wasn't me, it was the alcohol talking.
Anger flared in his eyes. "You guys have got some secret going on and I'm going to find out what it is."
My stomach dropped.
Liam slipped. How much had he said? My drunk brain was already filling in the worst version—Liam raging in the parking lot, mouth running faster than his brain, cracking open the door on the texts, the photo, everything we were hiding.
"I don't know what he said to you."
"But you know what this is about." He stepped forward. Our chests almost touching. "The way he said us. Stay away from us. That's not how you talk about a doubles partner."
"It's exactly how you talk about a doubles partner. Not that you'd know what a good double partner is about, you guys can't break 18 minutes on the course."
His body tensed. For a second I thought he'd swing. Part of me wanted him to. The vodka was making me reckless—stripping away the careful, measured Harrington restraint and leaving behind something uglier. Something that knew how to use thirty years of family warfare as a weapon.
"He touches me again," Braden said, low, "I go to the coaches."
"And tell them what? That you got rattled by a Riverside kid half your net worth?"
"That a rower from the other program assaulted me. That's enough."
"Go ahead. Run to Eldridge. Run to your father. That's what Lockwoods do, right? Can't win on the water so you try to win in the boardroom."
Braden's hand came up—not a punch, a shove. Both palms against my chest. I stumbled back into the lawn chair. It scraped across the porch and my cup went flying—vodka splattering across the old wood.
I was up before I'd decided to be. In his face. Close enough to see the vein in his temple.
"Don't fucking touch me."
"Then don't talk about my family."
"You started this."
"Moore started this." Braden held my gaze. Neither of us blinking.
We stood there. Breathing hard. The party muffled behind the door. The November air freezing the sweat on my neck.
"Stay away from Moore," I said. "And stay away from me."
"Gladly." He shoved past me—shoulder first, hard enough to knock me sideways—and went inside. The door banged shut.
I stood there. Hands shaking. Heart hammering. The overturned lawn chair behind me. Vodka soaking into the porch boards.
How much did Liam say?
Braden was fishing—throwing whatever Liam said back at me, watching for a flinch.
I think…
He knew something was there. And my drunk brain couldn't hold probably. Could only hold the image of Liam in that parking lot, hands on Braden's jacket, mouth running, cracking open the one thing we needed to keep shut.
I'd told him not to, and he'd done it anyway.
I pulled out my phone.
Alex
You went after Braden.
Liam
who told you?
Alex
He just found me at Collins's party. Told me everything.
Liam
Let me explain
Alex
You grabbed him. You SLAMMED him into his car!? After I specifically asked you not to confront him.
Liam
He's been talking shit for weeks. somebody had to
Alex
Somebody had to? You confirmed that we have something to hide. You told him there are photos. You gave him INFORMATION, Liam.
Liam
I didn't tell him about the photo
Alex
You said something. He's not stupid. And now he knows something is going on and he's going to the coaches if you come near him again.
A long pause. The typing indicator pulsed. Stopped. Started.
Liam
I was trying to protect us
Alex
Didn't work. You couldn't just wait so your went to violence
Liam
that's not fair
Alex
None of this is fair. That's the whole point.
I stared at the screen. The words blurring. Not from tears—from the vodka and the cold and the exhaustion that had been building for weeks and was finally finding its way to the surface.
Alex
I trusted you.
Liam
You can still trust me. where are you?
Alex
I told you. Collins.
Liam
Are you drunk?
Alex
Does it matter?
Liam
Yes it matters. how much have you had?
Alex
Idk Four? Five? Lost count when Braden called you my boyfriend
Boyfriend. Braden's word, not mine. But seeing it in my own text, in my own handwriting—it sat there on the screen like an accusation. Like a confession. Like the truest thing I'd said all night and I'd said it in anger.
Liam
I'm coming to get you
Alex
Don't.
Liam
You're drunk and you're spiraling. I'm coming.
Alex
I said don't. You've done enough.
A pause. Longer this time.
Liam
fine. be mad. but tell me you're safe
I put the phone down on the armrest of the chair. Picked up my cup. Empty.
I went back inside. The party had gotten louder while I was on the porch—more people, more noise, more of the specific chaos that happened when a bunch of athletes decided Saturday night was for forgetting. Someone had started a flip cup tournament in the dining room.
I found the vodka bottle on the kitchen counter and took big two swigs.
My phone kept buzzing in my pocket.
Liam
Alex
Liam
Answer me
Liam
Please just tell me you're ok
I pulled it out. The screen was too bright. My fingers felt thick and slow on the glass.
Alex
I'm okya
Alex
Just need to think. Cant think around you.
Liam
You're scaring me. you don't drink like this
Alex
You dint know what I do
Alex
Maybe thas the problem. You think you know me but you don't know what it costs me to hold all of this together
Liam
Me?
Alex
Yuo're the most expensive thing in my life. And I cant even afford you.
Liam
what does that mean?
Alex
I'm tired. It means everything is broke. I can't fix it. I cant fix the texts.. I can't fix the photo I can't fix me. Something is wrong.
Liam
Alex stop. where exactly are you. what's the address
Alex
714 sycamore. Or maybe 716. Columns.
I was starting to fade my vision blurring, I didn't care.
Liam
Don't move. I'm coming
Alex
I toldd you not to
Liam
I'm coming anyway.
Alex
Just like Braden? You just do whatever you want
Liam
Yeah. I do. because I care about you and you're drunk and alone so I'm coming to get you whether you want me to or not. deal with it.
I stared at the screen.
Read it again.
I care about you.
Not I love you. Not the words people said when they were sure. Something rawer than that. Something that came from the gut instead of the heart—the blunt, honesty of a person who didn't know how to dress up what he felt.
My vision blurred. For real this time.
I put my phone in my pocket and went to the living room. Found an empty spot on the couch. Sat down. The cushions swallowed me. Someone handed me a drink I didn't remember asking for. I took it.
The party moved around me like water around a stone. Voices and laughter and the bass from the speaker and the clatter of flip cup and all the ordinary sounds of people living ordinary lives.
I closed my eyes.
I care about you and you're drunk and alone so I'm coming.
I didn't know if I wanted to kiss him or kill him. He cared about me. Don't know if I felt that from someone before.
I finished the drink. Set the cup on the floor. Leaned my head back against the couch.
And I let go.
Because everything was hurting me anyway. And the control was just another kind of cage.
The room was getting fuzzy around the edges.
My phone buzzed once more in my pocket. I didn't check it.
The last clear thought I had was of Liam's face. Not the angry version. Not the one who'd grabbed Braden by his jacket. The one from last weekend… us at the bridge together, smiling.
The party went on without me.
And I faded away.