chapter THIRTY-SEVEN #2
"The whole team." His voice leaves no room for debate. "This isn't just about Reese anymore. This involves everyone."
I follow him upstairs, mind racing. He's right. The photo shows our house, our space. Someone's been watching all of us.
Gray pauses outside his door, hand on the knob. For the first time since I've known him, he looks uncertain.
"You good with this?" he asks quietly. "Coming in? With her? It’s strong in there."
The question catches me off guard. Gray Lockwood, checking if I'm comfortable. Remembering my history without making me spell it out.
"Yeah." I nod, surprised by how true it is. "I'm good."
He searches my face for a second, then nods. "Good. Because we need all hands on deck for this one."
He opens the door, revealing Reese sitting up in his bed, sheet pulled to her chest, dark hair falling around her shoulders.
Her scent hits me hard—honey and sunshine now layered with Gray's earth and water, but still distinctly her.
My body reacts automatically, but without the panic I'd expected.
No flashbacks of Hamilton Hills. No overwhelming fight-or-flight response.
Her eyes widen when she sees me. "Jackson?"
"I brought your clothes," I say, holding up my backpack. "And something you need to see."
Gray crosses to sit beside her on the bed, passing her his phone with the photos. She takes it, eyebrows drawing together as she scrolls through the images.
Her face goes pale, then flushes with anger. "When was this taken?"
"Last night. The timestamp says 11:47 PM," I explain, staying near the doorway but not backing away. "Someone was watching the house. Watching both of you."
Reese stares at the photo, fingers trembling slightly. But when she looks up, her expression isn't fear. It's fury.
"This is escalating," she says, voice steady despite the anger burning in her eyes. "First my room gets trashed, now this. Whoever's doing this isn't just watching anymore. They're threatening."
"The message is ambiguous," Gray points out. "Could be about either of us."
"That's the point." Reese swings her legs out of bed, sheet still wrapped around her. "Keep us guessing. Make us paranoid. Classic intimidation tactics."
She moves to the window, peering through the blinds at the campus below. "The photo angle suggests they were across the street, maybe in the parking area by the library. Good vantage point, easy escape routes."
Gray and I exchange glances. Even in crisis mode, she's thinking strategically.
"Could be Kinsley," Gray says.
"Could be," Reese agrees, still scanning outside. "But the dead animal escalation doesn't fit her pattern. Kinsley's more about social destruction, reputation damage. This is psychological warfare."
She turns back to us, jaw set with determination. "We need to assume multiple threats until we know otherwise. Someone obsessed with me, someone obsessed with you, or both working together."
"I'm calling an emergency team meeting," Gray says, already reaching for his phone.
"Good." Reese nods, then looks directly at me. "Jackson, did you see anyone suspicious in the hallway? There aren’t any cameras in that hallway, but did you see anything that could indicate when they left this?"
The question catches me off guard, not because she's asking, but because she's taking charge of the investigation instead of just being protected.
"Hallway was empty. Nothing helpful that I saw," I report.
"Then we work with what we have." She moves toward the bathroom, pausing to meet both our eyes. "This isn't just about me anymore. They photographed your house, which puts everyone at risk."
As she disappears into the bathroom to change, Gray starts texting:
Emergency meeting. My room. 10 minutes. Non-optional.
Responses pop up immediately. A confused "wtf?" from Zane, a thumbs up from Bo, and just "omw" from Cameron. The team mobilizing without question because Gray called.
Because one of us is threatened.
"She's right," Gray says quietly, watching the bathroom door. "This is bigger than personal drama now."
I nod, settling against the wall with my hands in my pockets. "Question is, how many people are we dealing with?"
The bathroom door opens and Reese steps out in the clothes I brought, looking like the fierce coxswain we know, determined, focused, and ready for battle.
"Let's find out," she says, moving to stand between us. "But first, we make sure everyone on this team understands they could be a target. No one goes anywhere alone until we figure this out."
Gray's hand finds hers, their fingers interlacing. "Agreed."
The rest of the team files in over the next few minutes.
Bo comes in first, immediately moving to Reese's other side like it's his natural place.
Beckett and Zane looking unusually serious.
Tyler with his tablet already in hand, preparing to document whatever we decide.
Cameron last, silent as always but missing nothing.
As Gray starts explaining the situation, showing the photos around the room, I watch the team's faces change. Concern, anger, determination. But when Gray finishes, Reese steps forward.
"I'm sorry," she says quietly, looking at each of us in turn. "I'm sorry for bringing this down on all of you. For making you targets because of—"
"Stop." The word comes out of my mouth before I've consciously decided to speak. Everyone turns to look at me as I push off from the wall, moving closer to where she stands.
The room goes dead silent. I can feel their surprise—hell, I can feel my own surprise. But something about watching her blame herself for some psycho's obsession pisses me off in a way I didn't expect.
"This isn't your fault," I say, meeting her eyes directly. "You didn't ask for some sick fuck to stalk you. You didn't choose to have your room trashed or find dead animals at your door. That's on them, not you."
Her breath catches slightly, and I realize this might be the longest conversation we've ever had. But I'm not done.
"You think any of us would be safer if you weren't here? You think this team would be better off?" I shake my head. "We're stronger with you. All of us. And if some twisted asshole can't handle that, that's their problem to deal with."
The silence stretches for a moment before Bo clears his throat. "Jackson's right. This isn't on you, Reese."
"Damn right it's not," Beckett adds, crossing his arms. "Whoever's doing this picked the wrong crew to fuck with."
I catch Eli's gaze across the room, seeing something like pride in his expression. Then I look back at Reese, whose eyes are suspiciously bright.
"Thank you," she says softly, then straightens her shoulders. "All of you. Jackson's right, we're stronger together. So let's figure out who's doing this and make them regret it."
I step back, returning to my spot against the wall, but I catch Eli's gaze across the space. His expression asks what we've been circling for weeks: You in?
And for the first time since Hampton Hills, I feel something click into place. Yeah, I'm in. Not just with Eli, not just with Reese, but with all of this. This weird, complicated thing developing between eight guys and one fierce-as-hell coxswain.
Whatever is happening, we’re clearly all in. Me included.
"So what's the plan?" Beckett asks after seeing the evidence.
Reese steps forward, taking point naturally. "First, we establish security protocols. Buddy system, check-ins, no one leaves campus alone. Second, we document everything—times, locations, any suspicious behavior. Third, we figure out who has access to watch us and narrow down suspects."
"And if it escalates?" Tyler asks.
Reese's smile is as sharp as her cox commands. "Then we remind whoever's doing this that they're not just messing with me. They're messing with all of us."
The room falls silent, but it's not fear. It's the quiet before a race, when eight rowers and their coxswain prepare to prove exactly what they're capable of when someone threatens their crew.
And suddenly, I'm not worried about the stalker anymore.
I'm worried for them.