chapter SEVENTEEN
Beckett
T he team house feels different this morning. There's an undercurrent of tension that has nothing to do with our usual pre-practice routine and everything to do with the empty chair at our breakfast table.
Reese should be here by now. Gray left twenty minutes ago to pick her up from the hotel, and knowing our captain's obsession with punctuality, they should have been back ten minutes ago.
"Think she's okay?" Zane asks, voicing what we're all thinking as he pushes scrambled eggs around his plate. "After what happened yesterday..."
"She's fine," Bo says firmly, but I catch the way his eyes keep flicking to the window. "Gray's with her."
Tyler looks up from his tablet, where he's been obsessively checking weather reports for this weekend's regatta. "Statistically speaking, the likelihood of another incident occurring within a twenty-four-hour window is—"
"Nobody asked for statistics, Wu," Jackson cuts him off, pouring coffee with more force than necessary.
Cameron sits at the far end of the table, silent as always, but his dark eyes hold that watchful intensity that makes me think he's cataloging every detail of our collective anxiety. Eli hasn't touched his food, just stares at his phone like he can will Gray to text an update.
The whole situation has us on edge. Someone broke into Reese's room yesterday, went through her personal belongings, left another threatening note. The violation of it, the escalation, has every protective instinct in the house firing on all cylinders.
And now her parents are coming this weekend, expecting to see their daughter competing for Westlake instead of coxing for us. The collision course has been set, and there's nothing any of us can do to stop it.
"Maybe we should call," Zane suggests, already reaching for his phone.
"Give them five more minutes," Bo says. "Traffic's probably heavier than usual."
As if summoned by our collective worry, the back door opens and Gray walks in, alone. His expression is carefully neutral, but I know him well enough to recognize the tension in his shoulders.
"Where's Callahan?" Tyler asks immediately.
"Getting her gear from the car," Gray replies. "She's fine. Just tired."
The way he says it tells me there's more to the story, but before I can probe, Reese appears in the doorway.
She looks composed, put-together, every inch the unflappable coxswain we've come to know.
But there are shadows under her eyes that makeup can't quite hide, and something fragile in the way she holds herself.
"Morning, everyone," she says, moving to grab coffee from the pot. "Sorry we're late."
"No worries, Cox," I say, flashing my most charming smile. "We were just discussing the finer points of Tyler's weather obsession."
She rewards me with a small smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Find anything useful in all those forecasts?"
"Light rain expected Friday evening," Tyler responds seriously. "Clearing by Saturday morning. Ideal conditions for the regatta."
"Good." She takes a sip of coffee, wrapping her hands around the mug like she needs the warmth. "One less thing to worry about."
But her voice catches slightly on the word "worry," and I file away the observation. Our unshakeable coxswain is more rattled than she's letting on.
"So," I say, leaning back in my chair, "anyone want to fill me in on the security situation? I feel like I'm missing some crucial details about why our cox is suddenly under protective custody."
Gray's jaw tightens. "Someone's been targeting Reese. Escalating threats. We're handling it."
"We?" I raise an eyebrow. "That's interesting phrasing, Captain."
"The team," Gray clarifies, but there's something in his tone that suggests the "we" is more specific than that.
Reese sets down her coffee cup with deliberate care. "My parents are coming this weekend," she announces, like she's ripping off a bandage. "They think I'm still at Westlake. They don't know about the transfer."
A moment of stunned silence greets this revelation.
"Well, shit," Zane says finally. "That's going to be awkward."
"Understatement of the year," I mutter. "How exactly does one explain switching teams mid-season to parents who don't know you switched schools?"
"Carefully," Reese replies dryly. "Very carefully."
Bo leans forward, his protective instincts clearly engaged. "Do you want us to—"
"No," she cuts him off. "This is my mess to handle. I just wanted everyone to know in case things get... complicated this weekend."
"Complicated how?" Eli asks, finally looking up from his phone.
"My family has expectations," she says carefully. "About my choices. My relationships. My... everything. They're not going to understand why I left Westlake or why I'm here."
The weight of what she's not saying hangs heavy in the air. Rich family, traditional values, an Omega daughter who's stepped outside expected boundaries. I can fill in the blanks.
"Well," I say, injecting deliberate lightness into my voice, "if you need someone to charm your parents, I'm available. I do excellent 'respectable young man from good family' when required."
This earns me a genuine laugh, the first real smile I've seen from her this morning. "Thanks for the offer, but I think I'll pass."
"Your loss. I'm very charming."
"Modest, too," Cameron observes from his end of the table, speaking for the first time all morning.
"Modesty is overrated," I reply cheerfully. "Confidence, however, is always attractive."
"Not always," Reese says, but there's warmth in her voice now.
Gray checks his watch, ever the punctual captain. "We need to be on the water in fifteen minutes. Everyone finish up and grab your gear."
As the team disperses to collect equipment, I hang back, watching Reese rinse her barely-touched coffee mug. There's something brittle about her composure this morning, like she's holding herself together through sheer willpower.
"You know," I say casually, "if you want to talk about family expectations and disappointing parents, I'm something of an expert."
She glances at me, surprised. "Really?"
"Really. My father wanted me to follow him into investment banking. Had my whole life planned out: business school, entry-level position at his firm, eventual partnership. The works."
"What happened?"
I shrug. "I chose English literature and competitive rowing instead. He still hasn't forgiven me for 'wasting my potential on frivolous pursuits.'"
She studies my face, looking for the joke. When she doesn't find one, her expression softens. "I'm sorry. That must have been difficult."
"It was," I admit. "Still is, sometimes. But you know what I learned? You can't live your life trying to meet other people's expectations, even when those people are your parents. Especially when those people are your parents."
"Easier said than done."
"Most worthwhile things are." I step closer, keeping my voice low. "But for what it's worth, I think you made the right choice. Coming here. Joining this team. You belong with us, Callahan."
Something flickers in her eyes—gratitude, maybe, or relief. "Thank you, Beckett. That... means more than you know."
The sincerity in her voice catches me off guard. For a moment, the easy charm I wear like armor falters, and she sees something more genuine underneath.
"Besides," I add, sliding back into familiar territory, "if your parents give you too much grief, I'll distract them with my devastating good looks and witty conversation."
She laughs, shaking her head. "You're impossible."
"I prefer 'irresistible,' but I'll take impossible."
As we head out to the dock, I notice how Gray positions himself on her other side, creating a subtle barrier between her and the rest of the world. Protective behavior that goes beyond simple team solidarity.
Interesting.
The morning practice is crisp and efficient, the boat cutting through water that reflects the overcast sky. Reese's commands are as sharp as ever, her strategic mind focused entirely on the task at hand. Whatever personal turmoil she's dealing with, it doesn't affect her ability to cox.
But I catch the moments when she thinks no one's looking—the slight tremor in her hands as she adjusts the rudder, the way her gaze drifts toward shore like she's expecting someone to be watching.
After practice, as we rack the boat, she pulls out her phone to check messages. I see her face pale slightly before she quickly puts it away.
"Everything okay?" I ask.
"Fine," she says automatically, then catches herself. "Actually, no. My parents just confirmed they'll be here Friday evening. Earlier than expected."
"That's good, right? More time to explain things?"
Her laugh has no humor in it. "More time for things to go wrong, you mean."
Before I can respond, Gray appears at her side. "Problem?"
"My parents moved up their arrival," she tells him. "Friday evening instead of Saturday morning."
Gray's expression darkens. "We'll adjust accordingly."
The casual "we" again. Definitely interesting.
"Look," I interject, "I know I joke around a lot, but if you need anything this weekend—moral support, character witness, someone to create a distraction—just say the word."
She looks surprised by the genuine offer. "Why?"
"Because you're team," I say simply. "And because I know what it's like to disappoint people you care about. Sometimes you need someone in your corner who doesn't have expectations."
"Thank you," she says quietly. "Both of you. For everything."
As we head back to the team house, I find myself thinking about expectations and disappointments, about the masks we wear to protect ourselves from judgment. Reese Callahan might be small in stature, but she's got more courage than most people twice her size.
This weekend's going to test all of us. But something tells me our fierce little coxswain is stronger than she knows.
And if she needs backup… well, that's what teammates are for.