Chapter 13 Liam
I pushed into the dorm room and found Noah exactly where I expected him: hunched at his desk, hoodie up, surrounded by index cards, and one of those giant energy drinks.
The scene looked chaotic and deeply, aggressively Noah.
Without turning around, he said, “Good. You’re back. I need an audience.”
“For what?” I asked, dropping onto my bed.
“My debate. If I don’t rehearse it now, I’ll procrastinate until the night before and have a full existential crisis fifteen minutes before showtime. So, sit there and be supportive. Or at least be conscious.”
I lifted my eyebrows. “Can’t promise both.”
He ignored me and cleared his throat. “Debate topic: Do competitive environments encourage emotional repression in male athletes? My position—”
“Let me guess. Athletes are emotionally stunted cavemen who can’t process feelings.”
“Well, you're not too far off.”
I dragged a hand over my face. “Christ.”
Noah forged ahead. “My thesis: Competitive athletic culture requires male-identifying individuals to compartmentalize emotional vulnerability in favor of performative stoicism, thus—“
“That is such bullshit,” I interrupted before I could stop myself.
He froze mid-sentence, then pivoted his chair toward me. His expression carried the delight of someone who had just discovered a loophole they couldn’t wait to exploit.
“Oh really?” he said, pushing his glasses up. “We’re doing this?”
I sat up straighter. “I’m just saying you’re overstating it. That’s all.”
“No, no, don’t back out now. Please, enlighten me. Tell me how athletes are emotionally balanced, communicative beams of shining light.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You implied it.”
“I meant we’re not repressed.”
He blinked twice, then leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Liam, you haven’t expressed a single vulnerable thought since the day we met.”
“That’s not true.”
“Really? Have you been stressed this week?”
I shrugged. “Dunno. Not really.”
“You’ve been waking up at 3 AM. You get out of bed, walk around, sit at your desk. Last night you were up for an hour just staring at your phone.”
I felt my jaw tighten. “I had to pee.”
“For an hour?”
“I couldn’t fall back asleep.”
“Right. And the night before that? And the night before that?” Noah raised an eyebrow. “Liam, you’ve gotten up every single night this week. Same time. Like clockwork. That’s not insomnia—that’s your brain trying to process something you won’t deal with during the day.”
I looked away. He wasn’t wrong. I’d been waking up in the middle of the night all week. My heart racing and Alex’s face burned into my mind.
“That’s just... a phase. Sleep schedule’s off.”
“It’s a stress tell,” Noah said, leaning in. “Your body’s trying to tell you something and you’re ignoring it.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“And you… are repressing everything.”
“I’m not repressing anything,” I shot back, though even as I said it, the tension in my shoulders gave me away.
“So you’re... what? Fine?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Noah raised both eyebrows. “But you also won’t say you’re not.”
“I just don’t think it’s your business.”
“It’s my business, because I’m your friend and because your entire emotional landscape is like observing a volcano that insists it’s a decorative hill.”
I stared at him. “What does that even mean?”
Noah threw his hands up. “It means that you are the perfect example of exactly what my debate is arguing.”
I grabbed a pillow and threw it at him. It hit him square in the face and dropped to the floor. He had that smug look on his face because we both knew he’d won.
“Your resort to physical attacks tells me that you know I’m right.”
“Okay. You’re right. I’m a little repressed. But there’s just a lot of stress and I have to if I want to stay focused.”
A look of disbelief flashed across his face and he sighed. “Liam... Liam... Liam... what am I going—”
My phone buzzed and I reached for it.
Restricted Number
Thought you’d want to see this.
The message and the thumbnail of a video landed in my stomach like a stone.
“Who’s that?” Noah asked.
“No clue.”
I tapped the video.
Early morning on the river, like 5 AM. The sound of someone laughing off-camera, a shaky camera angle zooming toward two single shells moving at a speed that made my pulse spike.
My breath stalled.
It was us.
Me and Alex. Racing before sunrise. Unsupervised. That first morning before preseason started.
My chest tightened.
“Liam?”
I didn’t answer.
Fuck.
Noah rushed over and sat on the bed next to me and looked over my shoulder.
“Oh my god,” Noah whispered, leaning closer. “Liam. This is—holy shit.”
The camera zoomed again. Alex surged ahead for a moment, muscles carved in sunlight, jaw locked in determination. I matched him stroke for stroke, the rush of it radiating out of the screen.
Something in me folded inward. I wasn’t sure if it was fear or anger… probably both.
“Someone filmed this,” Noah said, horror creeping across his face. “Someone was on the bank that morning, and they got the whole thing.”
“This is bad,” I said. “Hale. My scholarship. The program. It’s over. It’s fucking over.”
“You’re spiraling,” he said.
The truth was, I barely understood what was happening inside me. The fear was obvious—getting caught, getting cut from the team, losing Hale’s trust. No scholarship. No school. No future.
Noah waited a moment, then asked, “Are you scared?”
The word hit harder than I expected.
I kept my eyes on the phone screen. “No.”
“Liam.”
“No. I said I’m fine,” I said, nudging him away with my shoulder.
Noah retreated back to his desk. “That's the least convincing sentence in the English language.”
I ignored him and sank back onto the bed. Everything inside me was fraying at the edges—the pressure, the secrecy, the confusion, all of it tugging in different directions.
“We’ll figure out what to do,” Noah said, still watching me. “But please, for the love of God, tell me if something else comes up. Any weird texts, any screenshots—anything. You can’t pretend this doesn’t exist.”
“I’m not pretending. Can you just quit it, Noah?” My anger was rising. He was being too much. Pushing to far. I could handle this myself.
“No, you’re already repressing this.”
I sat up and shot stern a look at him. “Stop Noah.”
Noah turned his chair away from me and back to his desk. “I guess you’re determined to prove my debate thesis tonight, so thanks for that.”
“You know what?” I stood up. “Maybe I don’t need a fucking therapist for a roommate. Maybe I just need five minutes where someone’s not analyzing every goddamn thing I do.”
Noah turned. “I’m trying to help you.”
“I didn’t ask for help.”
“Yeah, well, someone has to, because you’re about two seconds from imploding and you’re too stubborn to see it.”
“Jesus Christ.” I grabbed my jacket off the back of my chair. “I need air.”
“Liam—”
“I’ll be back later.”
I didn’t wait for his response. I just walked out, letting the door swing shut behind me with more force than necessary.
The night air hit me like a slap. I shoved my hands in my pockets and started walking with no destination in mind, just the need to move, to burn off the anger.
The campus was quiet this late. A few lights glowed in dorm windows. Somewhere in the distance, music thumped from a party. I walked past the library and the dining hall, towards the river walk.
Noah was right. That was the worst part. He was right and I hated him for it.
I was scared. Terrified.
Not just of the video, but the fact that tomorrow morning I would be bow to bow with Alex in front of everyone. I would have to look in in the eyes and I knew he would make me feel that way again. And now we were in deep trouble… together.
I just wanted it to be over.
The path curved toward the river, and I followed it without thinking, my feet carrying me to the one place that had always made sense.
I made it down to the river walk and the water was black and still under the moonlight.
I stood at the edge and stared out at it, trying to quiet the noise in my head.
Tomorrow was coming either way.
And I had no choice but to meet it head-on.
But tonight—tonight I could just continue to walk and let myself feel all of it. The fear, the anger, the want.
Noah was right, maybe I shouldn't try to push it all away.
Maybe I should just let it all take me over instead of festering in the darkness.
But honestly, I had no idea to even start to feel all that stuff.
Pushing it away was automatic, it was how I got through life without getting seriously depressed.
I walked along the river and took a few deep breath's trying to pull the feelings from wherever they were hiding. Nothing happened immediately. So I continued to walk and breathe and I'd just do that for a while.
Then I’d go back, apologize to Noah, and pretend I was fine again.
Because that’s what I did best.