chapter TWENTY-SIX
Zane
T he emergency suppressant is working, but barely.
I can tell the moment we step out of the equipment room because Reese moves differently now.
Her usual confident stride has become careful, measured, like she's concentrating on each step.
The flush in her cheeks could pass for post-race excitement to anyone who doesn't know what to look for, but I know exactly what I'm seeing.
Unlike most of my teammates, I've been around Omegas in heat before.
More than I care to admit, actually. The summer after high school, working at my uncle's resort in the Hamptons, I learned firsthand how to help an Omega through a cycle without losing my head or my heart.
Casual arrangements that benefited everyone involved and ended cleanly when vacation was over.
Those experiences taught me something the others haven't learned yet: maintaining an Omega in heat is as much about restraint as it is about satisfaction. Too much stimulation can send them spiraling. Too little can be dangerous. It's a delicate balance that requires patience and control.
Skills I never thought I'd need for my college rowing team.
"How long do we have?" I ask Eli quietly as we form a protective cluster around Reese, heading toward the awards area.
"Maybe thirty minutes before the medication starts wearing off," he replies, adjusting his position to block her from curious onlookers. "Less if stress accelerates the metabolization."
"And then?"
"Then we find out how good our acting skills are."
The awards ceremony setup sprawls across the lawn beside the boathouse, a temporary stage flanked by corporate banners and folding chairs arranged in neat rows.
Officials bustle around with clipboards while photographers position themselves for optimal shots.
The rain has stopped, leaving everything damp and gleaming under the late afternoon sun.
I spot Andrea and Kinsley immediately, positioned near the media area with phones out, clearly hoping to document whatever breakdown they're expecting. Their satisfied expressions make my jaw clench.
"Vultures," Beckett mutters, following my gaze.
"Ignore them," Gray says, but his voice carries an edge that suggests he's noticed too. "Focus on getting through this."
Coach Bennett waves us toward the staging area where other winning crews are gathering. The men's lightweight eight from Bayside celebrates nearby, still high on their victory. A women's four from Northridge poses for team photos, their coxswain beaming with pride.
Normal post-race energy. Normal celebration.
Nothing about our situation is normal.
"Sable Ridge Men's Varsity Eight," an official calls. "Ready for presentation."
We fall into formation, Reese positioned in the center with Gray and Bo flanking her. I take my place in the back row, close enough to steady her if needed but far enough to avoid overwhelming her heightened senses.
The stage feels enormous as we climb the steps. Hundreds of spectators, cameras flashing, officials preparing to hand over hardware that validates all our training. This should be a celebration of our first major victory of the season, momentum building toward bigger races ahead.
Instead, I'm watching Reese fight to maintain her composure as heat begins breaking through military-grade suppressants.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer's voice booms across the lawn, "your 2024 Riverside Invitational Men's Varsity Eight champions, Sable Ridge University!"
Applause erupts from the crowd. I paste on my best winner's smile, the one that's gotten me through countless social situations, while keeping my attention fixed on our coxswain.
Reese accepts the trophy with steady hands, but I catch the slight tremor when her fingers brush the official's palm. Skin contact. Even through the medication, her body is starting to react to every touch, every scent, every stimulus.
"Speech! Speech!" someone calls from the crowd.
Gray steps forward, taking the microphone with his usual command presence. "Thank you. This victory belongs to the entire team, but especially to our coxswain, Reese Callahan, whose strategic brilliance got us here."
The applause continues, but I notice how Reese's breathing has become more deliberate. She's fighting it, using every technique she knows to maintain control, but biology is winning.
"Photos now," the photographer announces. "Team shot first, then individual positions."
This is where it gets dangerous. Close contact, bright lights, the stress of performing normalcy when her body is screaming for something entirely different.
We arrange ourselves for the traditional team photo, Reese kneeling in front with the trophy while we stand behind her. I position myself directly behind her left shoulder, close enough to provide support if she needs it.
The camera flashes, once, twice. On the third shot, Reese sways slightly. Without thinking, I rest my hand lightly on her shoulder, steadying her.
The contact sends a jolt through both of us. Her scent spikes, sweet and desperate, while her body unconsciously leans into my touch. I feel my own response immediately, pulse quickening, muscles tensing with the urge to provide exactly what she needs.
"Easy," I murmur quietly. "Just breathe."
She nods almost imperceptibly, regaining her balance. But my hand stays on her shoulder longer than it should, thumb tracing small circles against the fabric of her team jacket. Comforting. Soothing. Exactly the kind of contact that helps regulate an Omega's stress response.
"Individual shots now," the photographer calls. "Coxswain first."
Reese starts to stand, but her legs wobble. Gray immediately steps forward, offering his arm for support. The gesture looks perfectly natural to observers, just a gallant teammate helping their smaller coxswain, but I see the way her pupils dilate when his scent hits her.
"Steady," Gray says, his captain's voice soft with unexpected gentleness.
She manages the solo photos, but each flash of the camera seems to make her condition worse. By the time we finish individual shots, she's gripping the trophy like a lifeline, knuckles white with effort.
"Time for the traditional cox toss," Coach Bennett announces with a grin.
The crowd cheers, anticipating the time-honored celebration where the crew throws their coxswain into the water. It's a moment of pure joy in most circumstances, a way for rowers to show appreciation for their strategic leader.
Today, it might be the only thing that saves Reese from complete breakdown.
"You sure about this?" Gray asks quietly, understanding the implications.
"Cold water will help," I confirm. "Shock to the system, temperature regulation. It's exactly what she needs."
Reese looks between us, clearly torn between the public expectation and her private struggle. "I can handle it."
"We know you can," Beckett says, appearing at my elbow with his trademark grin. "Question is, do you trust us to catch you?"
Despite everything, she almost smiles. "With my life."
"Then let's give these people a show."
We arrange ourselves along the dock's edge, Reese standing between Gray and Bo while the rest of us spread out to receive her. The crowd gathers closer, phones out to capture the moment.
"On three," Gray calls. "One... two... three!"
We lift her together, eight pairs of hands launching our coxswain into the air.
She arcs gracefully over the water before hitting the lake with an enormous splash.
Laughter and cheers erupt from the crowd as our coxswain surfaces, hair plastered to her head, steam visibly rising off her body if you knew to look for it.
The effect is immediate. The cold shock breaks through her heat symptoms like a reset button, bringing clarity back to her eyes and control back to her movements. She treads water easily, grinning up at us with the first genuine happiness I've seen from her all day.
"How's the water?" I call down to her.
"Perfect," she replies, and for the first time in hours, she sounds like herself, the change so stark I immediately realize just how off she’s sounded up until now.
We help her out of the lake, careful to maintain appropriate contact despite the way her wet clothes cling to her body. Tyler wraps her in a team towel while the trophy sits safely on the dock where we left it.
"Perfect timing," Beckett says quietly as we walk back toward the changing areas. “Did it help.”
"More than I thought it would," Reese replies, but I catch the grateful look she sends our way.
The cold water bought us time, but not much. Already, I can see the flush returning to her cheeks as her body temperature normalizes. The suppressant is wearing off, and when it does, we'll need to be ready.
"Team bus in fifteen minutes," Coach announces. "Get changed and load up. We're heading back to the hotel. Team dinner tonight on me."
As we disperse to collect our gear, I fall into step beside Reese. She's moving better now, the cold water having provided temporary relief, but I can see the anticipation building behind her eyes. Her body knows what's coming, even if her mind is fighting it.
"How are you holding up?" I ask.
"Better, thanks to you guys." She glances at me. "That thing you did during photos, with your hand... it helped. How did you know?"
I consider how much to reveal. "Experience."
Her eyebrows rise. "Experience?"
"Let's just say you're not the first Omega I've helped through a difficult situation." I keep my tone light, casual. "Though you're definitely the first teammate."
"And that doesn't make it weird for you?"
"Reese." I stop walking, turning to face her fully. "Nothing about this situation is normal. But that doesn't make it wrong. Sometimes people need help, and sometimes you're in a position to provide it."
She studies my face, looking for judgment or ulterior motives. When she doesn't find any, some of the tension leaves her shoulders.
“But it’s sex,” she whispers. “And we barely know each other.”
“We know each other well enough,” I murmur back, leaning in while being careful to maintain appearances. “And it’s just sex. It doesn’t have to be more than you want it to.”
Her eyes flick between mine quickly before her shoulders sag in relief. "Thank you," she says simply.
"Thank me later," I reply with a grin. "Preferably after we get through the next six days without anyone ending up in the hospital."
Despite everything, she laughs. "You really know how to reassure a girl."
"It's a gift."
As we reach the changing areas, I catch sight of Andrea and Kinsley still lurking near the media zone, their expressions frustrated. Whatever breakdown they were hoping to capture didn't happen. We protected our coxswain, got through the ceremony, and maintained our dignity.
Round one to us.
But the real challenge is just beginning. Six days until her prescription arrives. Six days of managing an uncontrolled heat cycle while supporting the facade of normal team dynamics.
Good thing I've always enjoyed a challenge.
And if my experience with summer resort Omegas taught me anything, it's that the key to surviving the next week isn't going to be about fighting biology. It's going to be about working with it, as a team.
Something tells me we're all about to get a very intensive education in Omega care.
The bus ride back to campus should be interesting.