Chapter 3 Liam
I stomped back into the dorm, soaked through with river water and sweat, every inch of me felt like it was vibrating. The door banged louder than I meant it to when I pushed it open.
Noah jolted up in his bed like a startled cat.
His hair was a dark, curly mess—flattened on one side, sticking up on the other—and he blinked at me, confused.
“Dude,” he rasped, voice still half asleep, “who pissed in your protein shake?”
I smiled, dropping my gym bag by the door. “Morning.”
Riverside dorms weren’t anything fancy—old brick building, narrow hallways. Inside, our room was the usual: cinderblock walls painted “depression grey,” two wooden beds shoved against opposite sides, two worn desks, and one dirty, drafty window.
Our dorm looked like two halves of different planets.
Noah’s side was clean. He had neat piles of debate notes and philosophy books on his desk with a color-coded weekly planner pinned to the corkboard. Above his bed, he had several plants that he kept alive.
My side was... not that. Just a pile of crew gear and an unmade bed.
Noah pushed his glasses up his nose and sat cross-legged on the bed. He was wiry, just under average height, with sharp features softened by the kindest eyes I’d ever met. But underneath that calm surface, he carried this fast-twitch, razor-sharp energy—gentle with people, lethal in any argument.
We’d been assigned as roommates freshman year, and despite being total opposites, we became fast friends.
“We said no early-season rage sessions,” he said. “What happened?”
I kicked off my wet sneakers. “River. Kingswell. You know.”
“Ah.” Noah snapped his fingers like he’d solved a case. “So we’re starting the year with the ‘Liam vs. Kingswell Dynasty Deathmatch?’”
“It wasn’t like that.”
He tilted his head. “Was it Alex?”
I froze with my shirt halfway off.
Noah lifted both brows. “It was Alex.”
I avoided his eyes, peeling off the soaked shirt and tossing it onto my bed. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You never want to talk about him,” he said. “Which is why he takes up so much space in that dingy skull of yours.”
I groaned. “Noah—”
“Look, all I’m saying is maybe this year you keep it... medium. No fighting, no glaring, no brooding.”
“I don’t glare.”
“Liam.” He stared at me with pure disbelief.
“Fine. I glare... a little.”
“A little?” Noah laughed. “You have a whole facial expression called ‘Alex Harrington Must Perish.’”
I shook my head and pulled off the rest of my soaked layers. Noah didn’t even blink—he was used to this—so I stripped down to my underwear and grabbed clean clothes. He watched me tug on a pair of joggers and a T-shirt.
“Anyway,” he said, puffing his chest a bit, “I finally picked a major.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Political science. And I’m minoring in philosophy.”
That made me grin for the first time all morning. “Hell yeah, man. That’s awesome.”
He looked proud, like he was already imagining himself marching onto Capitol Hill and arguing someone into submission.
“You’re gonna change the world,” I said. “I’m calling it now.”
Before Noah could respond, my phone buzzed.
Emily
I’m waiting in the dining hall :)
I reached for my bag. “I gotta go. Breakfast with Em.”
“Tell her I say hi,” Noah said. “And seriously... just keep your cool this year, okay?”
“Okay, Dad,” I said, pulling on my shoes.
He raised his eyebrow.
“Alright, alright. I will.”
It sounded believable enough that Noah didn’t push back, but my chest still burned from the morning with Alex.
The dining hall was a swirl of noise and bodies—students weaving between wobbly tables, laughter bouncing off low ceilings, the smell of burnt coffee and indistinguishable food hanging thick in the air.
Most people scattered around the stations: the Salad Situation, the Fork & Flame, and mostly ignored The Blue Lagoon.
The only real line in the whole place snaked out from Griddle Grotto, where they served their famous terrible pancakes.
Not the good kind, not blueberry like Penny’s in my hometown—just rubbery cafeteria pancakes.
Emily waved as soon as she spotted me.
She reached up to straighten my collar the moment I got close. “Rough morning?” she asked, fingers brushing my shirt.
“No, just working out.”
She hummed. “Thought so.”
Emily was put-together. Auburn hair braided down her back, freckles dusting her nose, eyes bright and patient. She laced her fingers through mine and tugged me toward the Blue Lagoon.
“Okay, so remember that psych class I wouldn’t shut up about?” she said. “The professor finally posted the syllabus and it’s a nightmare. Weekly labs, a research project right away, and apparently he ‘doesn’t believe in easing into things.’ I mean—sir. It’s week one.”
“You’ll survive,” I said.
She narrowed her eyes. “You said that about chem last year.”
“And you’re still here.”
A freshman clipped Emily’s shoulder as he hurried past—wide-eyed, drowning in Riverside swag: a red hoodie, a Riverside lanyard, notebooks and folders stamped with the River Jack mascot. Freshmen always seemed to think wearing everything at once would help them blend in. It never did.
“Hey,” I said, sharper than I meant to.
“Sorry—sorry,” he blurted, face flushing as he backed away.
Emily touched my arm. “It’s okay. He’s fine.”
The kid nodded once and disappeared into the crowd.
We stepped up to the Blue Lagoon line. The menu looked rough: Egg Scramble, Hash Brown Squares, Sausage Links.
Emily turned to me and lifted her eyebrows.
“At least we’re not waiting for pancakes,” I said, nodding at the massive line at Griddle Grotto.
She smirked. “Please. I have self-respect.”
“Hey... that was our first date. You loved ’em!”
“I lied because I thought you were hot.”
I shook my head.
We reached the front, loaded our plates with Blue Lagoon’s finest questionable items, and found a small table near the windows. It was sticky, but at least it didn’t wobble.
Emily dropped into her seat and poked one of her hash brown squares. “This is either going to fuel me or kill me.”
“Fifty-fifty,” I said.
She grinned and started talking again, unpacking the details of her class.
“I just know half the class is going to drop by midterms. And the professor says office hours fill up fast, but I need to talk to him sooner because the research assignment is—“
That’s when it hit me. Not her voice—Alex’s expression on the river. His breath steady while mine tore out of me. The heat under my skin. That stupid, electric jolt when our boats pulled even. I stared at the eggs on my plate but saw the wake behind his single.
My jaw tightened.
Emily nudged my shin with her foot. “Liam,” she said.
I blinked up at her.
She’d stopped talking, fork paused midair, eyes warm and searching.
“You’re not listening,” she said.
“Sorry.”
“You okay?” she asked, tilting her head.
I swallowed. “I’m fine.”
“What’s up?”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “Nothing. I’m just... thinking about this season. Keeping my scholarship. Scouts. It’s a big year.”
The lie tasted thin.
Her expression softened. “You’ll be fine, Liam. You work so hard.”
I wanted to believe her. But all I could picture was Alex’s boat crossing the imaginary finish line ahead of mine.
Then a tray slammed down onto the table beside us, making me jump.
“Yo,” said Tyler—a junior from Riverside’s four with sandy hair and dimples—as he dropped into the seat across from me. “Guess what I just heard.”
Emily blinked at him. “Hello to you too.”
Tyler ignored her. “Dude, rumor is we’re doing a scrimmage with Kingswell this weekend.”
I paused and put down the hash brown. “What? Already?”
Tyler grinned like he was announcing a holiday. “Yup. And guess who I heard you’ll be matched against?”
I didn’t need to hear it. I already felt the answer in my chest.
Tyler leaned forward. “Alex Harrington.”
Emily sucked in a breath.
Tyler smirked.
My pulse kicked hard, that same electric burn rising under my sternum. A scrimmage before preseason assessment was unheard of, so there was a chance Tyler was just messing with me.
But the thought of being put in a single at a scrimmage was exciting. And another shot at Alex... well... I had mixed feelings after my defeat this morning. If I could just tighten a few things up, I could win.
I only needed to beat him by one seat. Just one seat.
“We didn’t even do preseason placement yet...” I said.
“You’re right.” Tyler shook his head. “But it’ll probably be you... last year you were both top freshmen.”
I clenched my jaw. “We’ll see. I could use another shot at him.”
And I meant it.
More than Tyler knew. More than Emily could understand. More than I could admit even to myself.
Tyler was already inhaling his food like he’d forgotten the conversation.
Emily shot Tyler a look that could’ve curdled milk. “Do you ever... not drop chaos and then eat?”
Tyler shrugged with his mouth full. “Multitasking?”
Emily turned her gaze back to me, sweet now. “Hey, don’t let him get under your skin already.”
Too late. Alex had been under my skin since the second I saw his boat this morning.
I exhaled. “I’m fine.”
Emily didn’t look convinced, but she let it go—for now. “Just... don’t kill yourself over this.”
I nodded, though the truth sat heavy in my chest.
The rivalry was back on, and there was nothing I could do to get away from it.