Chapter 8 Alex
By late afternoon the Kingswell courtyard had settled into that quiet lull between classes and evening activities. It was almost the weekend and students were preparing for their first weekend parties.
During my freshman year, I went to this Delta Chi party, and they had this ridiculous three-tiered champagne fountain to welcome in the new semester. It looked classy for about thirty minutes until everyone got way too drunk on champagne.
Someone tried to do a backflip off the couch, hit the table, and the whole fountain crashed and shattered. The pledges had to clean it up with rags, wring the champagne into cups, and drink it like it was some noble tradition.
This was Kingswell. This was the future my father is so proud of.
That wasn’t why I was here though—not anymore. I was here to push myself to the limit as an athlete. Today’s schedule was relentless—water in the morning, classes stacked through lunch, another practice coming up in less than an hour.
And I was happy for all of it.
This year, I was going to break out as a rower, as a student, and as myself.
The scrimmage had been announced two days ago, but the lineups were still a mystery. Everyone kept pretending they didn’t care who they were paired against, but I knew better.
This whole impromptu scrimmage against Riverside was fishy.
Something was going on.
I didn’t know what it was, but I was planning to come out on top, even if they shoved me in a single scull.
This was my year.
My phone buzzed against the metal table.
Dad.
I felt the shift in my body before I even answered. I picked up the phone.
“Good afternoon,” I said, colder than I meant to be.
“I hope you’re not wasting daylight,” he replied. His tone was controlled, polished, clipped. “Coach Eldridge sent me the scrimmage lineups.”
The words sank in. “Already?”
“Yes,” he said. “And you’ll be racing Moore.”
Liam.
My fingers tightened around my coffee cup. “How do you know that? Eldridge hasn’t even—”
“I know because I asked,” my father said. “And he listened.”
A cold pressure spread through my ribs. “You... asked him? For what, exactly?”
“For clarity,” he answered, as if that explained everything. “For accountability. If Kingswell intends to compete at the highest level, you need to know exactly where you stand against Riverside’s star. And frankly, Alexander, you should welcome the opportunity. You’ve been drifting.”
“It’s only the first week back,” I said.
“Ever since you started at Kingswell, your freshman year didn’t reflect your potential. Your performance stalled after high school, and whatever happened that summer derailed you more than you’re willing to admit.”
I swallowed. “We got into finals last year with the freshman eight boat. Nothing changed that summer.”
This was the most I’d ever stood up for myself with my father, and it was about time. Because something did happen that summer. And it was one of the best things that had happened in my life. Liam had lodged something in my heart and it never left.
“I can hear it in your voice. You’re unfocused.” A pause. “Is it because of him?”
My breath stalled. “Who?”
“The one from the marina. The one you’re about to race. Riverside’s up-and-coming star rower.” His tone sharpened. “Moore.”
Everything inside me went still. Did he know? The idea of him finding out what happened was dizzying.
I couldn’t respond.
“I remember the look on your face after you took him out on the double scull I bought for you.”
Something inside me flinched, because I knew exactly what he was pointing at. That summer, that stupid, perfect morning when Liam and I pushed off from the dock in the double scull and sliced across the lake like we’d been born to row together.
I remembered how he glanced back at me, eyes bright and alive, and how everything locked into place so effortlessly it scared me. Nothing in my life had ever felt as natural, or as dangerous, as matching him stroke for stroke.
“There’s nothing going on,” I forced out.
“I certainly hope not.” He exhaled, disappointment wrapped in control. “You need to keep your personal impulses in check. Especially now. You’re a Harrington. Your first responsibility is to your legacy.”
My personal impulses... What the fuck?
“Dad—”
“Listen to me.” His voice cut clean. “Moore is talented, but he’s undisciplined. He’s everything Riverside celebrates and everything Kingswell should rise above. And you’re allowing him to take up space in your mind.”
“He doesn’t,” I lied. “He’s just my rival.”
“I don’t believe that,” he said. “Which is why this scrimmage matters. You need to put this... fixation to rest. Beat him soundly. Show everyone that you’re not the vulnerable one.”
The word vulnerable hit harder than it should have. Everything I felt in that single yesterday was empowering. How I felt so damn strong. How I wanted all of this for myself. It was all crumbling under the weight of my father’s words and this bullshit legacy.
Did I want to be a Harrington?
I was always torn. I wanted to be part of my family. I wanted my father’s respect. But could I ever get it and be myself?
My father’s voice softened in that way that always felt worse. “You were raised for this. Kingswell is your birthright. Excellence is your responsibility. And rivals like him? They come and go. They don’t stay in your world unless you let them.”
Unless you let them. The words rang in my mind.
I stared at the courtyard bricks until they blurred as my eyes teared. “I understand.”
“You need to crush him, Alexander. Not for pride. For clarity.”
He believed that. Believed it completely. That dominance would free me from whatever he thought Liam was to me. But I already knew it wouldn’t, because just a few mornings ago I’d already beaten Liam.
Don’t mention the race. Don’t even think about mentioning it.
If he knew I’d raced off-campus without approval—with Liam there, of all people—he’d tear apart my year before it began.
I swallowed hard.
“Do you hear me?” he pressed.
“Yes,” I said, though it came out barely above a whisper.
“Good. Coach Eldridge will confirm the scrimmage later today. Act surprised. And don’t disappoint me.”
The line went dead before I could respond.
My chest tightened. Hot, tense, too close to panic. If he knew about the scrimmage ups early, what else did he know? Did he know about the unsanctioned race?
He couldn’t have, or he would have destroyed me already.
Disowned me.
I let the phone fall onto the table.
A breeze rustled the oak leaves overhead, scattering tiny specks of sunlight across the bricks. Everything in the courtyard looked exactly the same as before the call, but I felt like something had been carved out of me.
I thought about calling my mom. She’d at least listen. But she’d never stand up to him. No one did.
If only that summer never happened. If I’d never crashed the boat. If Liam wasn’t even a name I knew. Just a hot guy I passed by at the marina and a rival rower from a state school. None of this would be happening.
And at the same time, I couldn’t lie to myself. I’d rather endure all of this and have kissed him than never have kissed him at all.
I thought back to our last day at Brackett Lake.
I could still see the rain streaking off the roof of the gazebo, hear the storm roaring around us.
Kingswell University. I’d said, trying to sound proud.
But instead of pulling back, Liam smiled. Relief softened his whole face.
I’m going to Riverside. We’ll be right across the river. He said.
For one reckless moment, my heart lifted. I saw a fall where we met by the river, snuck out for dinners, stayed in each other’s lives the way we wanted to.
Then reality hit. Riverside. Kingswell. Opposite sides of everything.
Liam... they’re completely different worlds. I told him. Everyone expects us to hate each other.
So what? That has nothing to do with us. He had looked at me with utter confidence.
It has everything to do with us. I said.
He stepped closer. I don’t care about any of that.
I kissed him for the last time, slow and lingering, like maybe that could change the truth between us. His thumb brushed my cheek, gentle and sure.
Alex. He breathed. This doesn’t have to end.
I wish that were true.
His eyes flickered—hurt, confused, hopeful—all at once.
I never kissed Liam Moore again.
I pulled out my phone needing something to pull me out of the physical pain spreading through my chest. If I let myself think about that day with Liam or the idea of my dad knowing about it, I’d suffocate before practice even started.
I opened Instagram without thinking. Reflex. Numb distraction. My thumb scrolled through photos I wasn’t really seeing until a familiar shade of burgundy red and white caught my eye.
My stomach flipped. I should’ve kept scrolling, but I tapped the post anyway.
A short video filled the screen: the Riverside erg room, all concrete walls and harsh fluorescent lighting. A rower pulled hard on an erg in the foreground, but I barely noticed him. Because on the second machine from the back was Liam.
He was in a red Riverside tank, sweat darkening the fabric down the center of his chest. His hair was damp, messy in a way that made him look like he’d just come off the water.
His arms moved in precise but violent rhythm.
Legs driving. Core locked. Shoulders steady.
Every stroke looked like an argument he refused to lose.
That was Liam. God, he was sexy.
I swallowed hard, unable to look away.
His raw power was different from the way I rowed. There was nothing refined about the way he moved in that moment. It was pure force. Pure will.
A flush spread up my neck. I loved how easily he pulled me in. How just seeing him in motion made something inside me pull tight and hot. I could almost feel myself leaning toward the screen, drawn into the intensity in his face as he drove through another stroke.
I let myself imagine what it would feel like to stand next to him again. Close enough to see the sweat on his jaw. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating off him. Close enough to—
I tore the thought off before it finished forming, pulse spiking.
No.
That was dangerous. My jaw locked as I shut the app.
This wasn’t about wanting anything from him. It couldn’t be. This weekend, I had to beat him. Cleanly. Completely. My father expected it. Eldridge expected it. Kingswell expected it.
And if I don’t beat him—
I didn’t let myself finish that thought.
I pocketed my phone, exhaled, and forced myself to walk toward the boathouse.
I had practice to get to.
I had a role to play.
I had a legacy to uphold.