chapter ELEVEN
Cameron
I spot her from across the quad, walking alone with that particular tension she gets when something's eating at her. It's past nine, most students either in the library or already settled in for the night. But there's Reese, moving like she's trying to walk off whatever's bothering her.
My bike idles beneath me, engine warm from the ride back from nowhere in particular. I'd been killing time, avoiding the team house and all the noise that comes with eight guys living together. But seeing her out here alone changes my plans.
I ease the motorcycle toward her, pulling alongside at a crawl. She looks up, startled, body tensing like she's ready to run. I flip up my helmet visor so she can see my face.
"Blake." Her voice is steady, but I catch the relief underneath the wariness.
I nod once. Words don't come easily to me, especially the first ones of a conversation. The team's used to it. She's still learning.
"Evening walk?" I finally ask.
She shrugs. "Something like that. Needed air."
I study her face in the campus lighting. There are shadows under her eyes that weren't there this morning, and her shoulders carry weight that has nothing to do with her backpack.
"Know a better place for that," I say after a moment, nodding toward my bike.
Her eyebrows rise. "You offering me a ride?"
"If you're not afraid of motorcycles."
"I'm not afraid of motorcycles." Her chin lifts slightly. "Should I be afraid of you?"
I consider this. "Probably."
That gets a small smile. "Honest answer."
"Always am." I reach behind me for the spare helmet, the movement covering my hesitation. Conversations like this don't happen often for me. "So? Trust me for an hour?"
She looks at the helmet, then at me, clearly weighing her options. "Where?"
"Somewhere quiet." I pause, searching for words. "Somewhere you can actually think."
Another pause, longer this time. Then she takes the helmet. "Okay."
Getting on behind me is awkward at first. She settles onto the seat, hands hovering near my sides like she's not sure what to do with them.
"You'll fall off if you don't hold on," I tell her.
Her arms circle my waist, loose but there. "Don't get any ideas."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
I pull away from campus, taking the winding road that leads to the undeveloped side of the lake. The night air is cool, carrying the scent of water and pine. Behind me, I feel Reese gradually relax, her grip settling into something more natural.
The turnoff I want is barely visible, hidden between two large rocks. I slow way down as we bump over the uneven path, threading between trees until we reach the clearing.
The lake opens up before us, black and still under a quarter moon. A small beach curves along the water's edge, nothing fancy but completely private. I've been coming here since freshman year, usually when the team house gets too loud or my head gets too full.
I kill the engine and the forest sounds rush in. Crickets, an owl, water lapping gently at the shore.
Reese climbs off and removes her helmet, hair falling loose around her shoulders. She looks around, taking it in.
"How did you find this place?"
I shrug, setting my helmet on the bike. "Exploring. First week here."
"Does anyone else know about it?"
"Just you now." I watch her face, then look away. "Seemed like you might need somewhere like this."
She's quiet for a moment, staring out at the water. "That obvious, huh?"
"To me."
We stand in silence, watching moonlight ripple across the surface of the lake. The quiet between us isn't uncomfortable. Most people try to fill silence, nervous energy spilling out in pointless chatter. Reese doesn't. Another thing I've noticed about her.
"I swim here sometimes," I say, surprising myself by offering information unprompted. "When it's warm enough."
"Is it warm enough now?" She looks at the water, thoughtful.
"Not exactly. But not unbearable."
A small smile plays at the corners of her mouth. "Sounds like a challenge."
"It wasn't."
"Too late." She kicks off her shoes, then hesitates. "Turn around."
I raise an eyebrow but comply, turning my back to her. Fabric rustles behind me. I focus on the trees, the sky, anything to keep from imagining what's happening behind me.
"You can look now," she calls.
I turn to find her standing in a black sports bra and the running shorts she was wearing under her sweats. Her body is compact, athletic, the muscles in her arms and shoulders defined from years of handling steering lines and dragging boats.
She shifts under my gaze, suddenly self-conscious. "What?"
"Nothing," I say quickly. "You're not what coxswains usually look like."
"And what do they usually look like?" The challenge in her voice is back.
"Smaller. Frailer."
"Disappointed?" A hint of something vulnerable under the bravado.
"No." My voice is rough so I clear my throat. "Are you going in or just standing there?"
She narrows her eyes, then turns and walks to the water's edge. Tests it with one toe and flinches.
"Cold," she says.
"Told you."
"I didn't say I couldn't handle it." She takes a deep breath, then wades in, determined steps carrying her forward until the water reaches her waist. A sharp inhale as the cold hits her fully, but she doesn't retreat.
I watch her for a moment, grinning at her stubbornness.
Then I pull my shirt over my head, kick off my boots, and strip down to my black boxer briefs.
My body is marked with scars, a roadmap of my life before Sable Ridge.
I'm used to the questions they provoke, the sidelong glances.
But out here, in the dark, they're just shadows on shadows.
I'm taller than most of the team except Bo and Gray, six-foot-three of lean muscle built through years of silent discipline rather than showy gym sessions.
My black hair, usually kept long enough to fall across my eyes when I want to hide, is pushed back now so I can see her.
I know what I look like – dangerous, untouchable.
It's a carefully cultivated facade that keeps people at a distance.
Until her.
I walk into the water, the cold shock familiar but still intense. Reese watches me approach, her eyes briefly taking in my body before returning to my face.
"You have a lot of scars," she says quietly.
"Yes." I don't offer explanations. Never have.
She doesn't ask for them which is another surprise.
We stand waist-deep in the cold lake, an arm's length apart, the moment suspended between us like something fragile. Something that could break if either of us moves too suddenly.
"Why did you really bring me here?" she asks.
I look past her, at the distant shore, considering my answer. The truth feels too raw, too revealing.
"You looked like someone who keeps secrets," I finally say. "Thought you might appreciate a place where you don't have to."
Her breath catches. "What makes you think I have secrets?"
"Everyone does. Yours are just more obvious."
"To who?"
"To me." I meet her eyes.
"Why?" Her eyes take on a hardness. A challenge and the desperate look of someone about to run. "Why notice? Why care?"
The question catches me off guard. Words bunch up behind my teeth, then scatter. I'm not used to people asking about my motivations.
"Because I'm not what I seem," I say finally. "And neither are you."
Something flickers in her expression. "What do you mean?"
"You tell me." I step closer, the water making crisp sounds between us, but it takes effort to push the words out. "What are you hiding, Reese?"
Her face goes carefully neutral. "I don't know what you're talking about."
I study her, the way she holds herself, the precise distance she maintains. "Most people have some kind of scent. Subtle, but there." The observation comes slowly, like I'm working through it as I speak. "You smell like nothing at all."
She goes very still. "So?"
"Betas still have scents. Faint ones." I watch her reaction carefully. "You smell like you're actively trying not to smell like anything."
"That's..." She swallows hard. "That's ridiculous."
"Is it?"
We stare at each other across three feet of space that suddenly feels charged with more than just night air and cold water.
"Even if that were true," she says quietly, "which it's not, why would you care?"
I look away, out at the lake, gathering words. "Because I recognize the signs. What it looks like when someone's hiding who they really are."
"And are you? Hiding?"
"We all are, aren't we?" I glance back at her. "Difference is, most people are hiding embarrassing shit or family drama. You're hiding something that could destroy your career before it even begins."
Her breath catches. "I don't—"
"I'm not your enemy," I cut her off. "And I'm not going to out you. Whatever you are, whatever you're hiding, it's safe with me."
She stares at me for a long moment, something vulnerable breaking through her usual control. "Why?"
"Because you're good at what you do. Because the team's better with you. Because..." I hesitate, then decide on honesty. "Because I like you. Not your designation, whatever it is. You."
The admission hangs between us, heavier than I intended.
"I like you too," she says softly. "That's the problem."
"Why is that a problem?"
She laughs, the sound strained. "Because I can't afford to like anyone. Can't afford to get close. Can't afford to let anyone see who I really am."
"Must be exhausting."
"You have no idea."
I step closer, close enough to see the moonlight reflected in her eyes. "So don't. Not here. Not tonight."
"Cameron..."
"No one's watching. No one's judging. Just us and the water and whatever truth you want to share."
She's quiet for a long time, the only sounds the gentle lapping of water and her slightly uneven breathing. When she finally speaks, her voice is barely above a whisper.
"If I tell you something, promise you won't look at me differently?"
"Promise."
Another pause. Then: "I'm not what I registered as."
"I know."
She blinks, surprised. "You know?"
"Suspected. Now I know." I step closer and reach up, pushing her hair back from her face. My fingers collect the strands and I suddenly find it hard to let go. "Doesn't change anything."
"It changes everything," she nearly whispers.
"Not between us."
Her eyes search mine, looking for judgment or revulsion or whatever reaction she's afraid of. When she doesn't find it, something in her expression softens.
"I should go back," she says, but doesn't move.
"Should you?"
"We both should. This is..." She gestures between us. "Complicated."
"Maybe I like complicated."
That gets a real smile. "Of course you do."
"Want to know a secret?" I pull her closer still. "I think you do, too."
"What makes you say that?"
"Because you're still here."
She considers this, head tilted slightly, then her eyes flicker to my lips. Just for a second. "Maybe I just like the lake."
"Maybe." My fingers tighten around the back of her neck. I'm encouraged when she doesn't pull away. "Or maybe you're tired of pretending all the time."
"With you, I don't have to."
"No," I agree. "You don't."
This time when she moves, it's deliberate. When she rises onto her toes and kisses me, it's a choice, not an impulse.
Her lips are soft, warm against the cool night air. The kiss starts gentle, questioning, but deepens when I respond. My free hand finds her waist, hers tangles in my hair, and for a moment the careful distance she maintains with everyone just disappears.
When we break apart, we're both breathing harder.
"That was..." she starts.
"A mistake?" I finish.
"I was going to say unexpected."
"Good unexpected or bad unexpected?"
She considers this, lips still close enough to mine that I can feel her breath. "Ask me later."
"How much later?"
"When I figure out what the hell I'm doing."
I laugh, surprising myself. "Fair enough."
She steps back, but not far. "We should really go back now."
"Yeah." I don't move. "We should."
Neither of us moves.
"Cameron?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For this. For seeing me."
"Thank you for letting me."
The ride back is different. She holds on tighter, less careful about contact. When I drop her off at the edge of campus, she lingers.
"This stays between us?" she asks.
"Whatever this is, yeah."
She nods, then impulsively leans in and kisses my visor. "Goodnight, Cameron."
"Night, Reese."
I watch her walk toward her dorm, then ride slowly back to the team house, her lip prints a distraction on my helmet. My room is dark, quiet, but I don't feel like sleeping. Instead, I sit by the window, thinking about moonlight on water and the taste of Reese's lips on mine.
Tomorrow, she'll probably go back to being careful, keeping her distance, pretending. But tonight, for a few minutes, she was just Reese. No walls, no masks, no fear.
Tonight, just for a moment, she was mine.