CHAPTER SIX
Bo
The rowing tanks sit in the basement of the athletic complex like an underground pool.
Eight stations arranged in a line, each with a sliding seat and foot stretchers positioned over two long water channels.
The circulation system hums constantly, pushing water past each station to create resistance.
Chlorine and humidity hang in the air, making everything feel closer, heavier.
Perfect for working out problems without the variables of wind, current, or weather.
Or in our case, perfect for falling apart where no one else can see.
"This is pathetic," Gray mutters, pulling harder on his oar as water splashes up from his sloppy catch. "We're not even close to synchronized."
He's right. Twenty minutes into what should be basic steady-state work, and we sound like eight people trying to row through a washing machine. Water slaps at different times, catches happen at different angles, and the usually hypnotic swoosh-catch-pull rhythm is just chaos and splash.
I glance at Reese, perched on a stack of mats where she can see all of us. She's got her cox box, but she's been quiet for the last five minutes. Just watching. Thinking.
Something shifted after her conversation with Eli in the hallway.
I could smell it on both of them - arousal, yes, but also something deeper.
Like a decision had been made. The humidity in here makes every scent stronger, more immediate.
Eight Alpha pheromones mixing with chlorine and sweat, and underneath it all, the faint sweetness of Reese despite her suppressants.
"Let's take five," she finally says.
"We don't need a break," Gray protests, still pulling. "We need to fix this."
"Gray." Her voice carries that particular tone that makes even our stubborn captain stop mid-stroke. "Take five."
He releases his oar with visible frustration, water dripping from the blade as he lets it rest. The rest of us follow suit, grateful for the reprieve.
My shoulders burn and my hands are starting to blister despite the calluses I've built up over years.
The humidity makes everything worse, sweat refusing to evaporate in the thick air.
Jackson immediately moves toward the water fountain, putting distance between himself and everyone else. But I catch him glancing at Eli, then at Reese, something raw and desperate in his expression before he locks it down.
"This isn't working," Tyler states the obvious, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Our physiological responses are overriding muscle memory."
"English, professor," Beckett requests, slouching against the wall.
"We're too stressed to row properly," Tyler translates. "Fight or flight is canceling out trained responses."
"So what do we do?" Zane asks. "Tomorrow morning, Carmine's going to be watching every stroke. If we row like this..."
He doesn't need to finish. We all know what happens if we can't perform.
"We stop fighting," Reese says quietly.
Everyone turns to look at her.
"Stop fighting what?" Gray demands.
She slides off the mats, moving to stand in the center of our rough semicircle. "Each other. Ourselves. What we're becoming."
"Reese—" Gray starts, warning in his tone.
"No." She cuts him off. "Listen. When did we row best? When did everything click?"
"Before Riverside," Cameron says, surprising everyone by speaking up.
"Wrong," Reese counters. "We rowed best AT Riverside. During the race. When my suppressants were failing and you could all smell exactly what I was."
Uncomfortable silence greets this truth.
"We won because the boat was balanced," Gray argues. "Training kicked in despite the... distractions."
"Bullshit." The bluntness cuts through the room. "We won because for those six minutes, we stopped pretending. We were eight Alphas and an Omega moving as one unit. A pack."
"We can't be a pack," Jackson says, his first words since practice started. "Packs form around bonds. We're not bonded."
"Aren't we?" Reese challenges. "Maybe not officially. Maybe not permanently. But something happened at Riverside. Something that connected us whether we wanted it or not."
She's right. I've felt it all week - this invisible thread pulling us together, making us hyperaware of each other. It's why we can't row. We're fighting the very thing that could make us stronger.
"So what are you suggesting?" Gray asks, voice carefully controlled.
"I'm suggesting we stop pretending we're just teammates." She looks at each of us in turn. "Stop fighting the instincts. Stop maintaining distance. Stop acting like what's happening between us is wrong."
"The administration—" Tyler starts.
"Isn't here," Reese interrupts. "Right now, it's just us. Nine people who have to figure out how to move as one by tomorrow morning."
"And how do we do that?" I ask, genuinely curious where she's going with this.
She takes a breath, and I can see her gathering courage. "We trust each other. Completely. No walls, no distance, no pretense."
"That's not..." Gray pauses, struggling. "That's not how teams work."
"Normal teams," Eli says quietly, speaking for the first time. "We stopped being normal the day Reese walked onto that dock."
Another silence, but this one feels different. Charged. Like we're standing on the edge of something.
"Fuck it," Beckett says suddenly. "She's right. We've been rowing like shit because we're all so twisted up about what we want versus what we're supposed to want." He looks directly at Reese. "I want you. Have since day one. There. Said it."
The whirling of pumps and water is nearly deafening in the silence between us.
"Get in line," Zane mutters, then flushes when everyone looks at him. "What? We're being honest, right? Every Alpha in this room has thought about it."
"Some more than others," Tyler says dryly, glancing at Gray.
"Says the guy who's been calculating her measurements since day one," Beckett shoots back.
"I was calculating weight distribution for the boat," Tyler protests.
"Sure you were," Cameron says, which is shocking enough that we all turn to stare. He never joins in the banter. A ghost of a smirk plays at his lips. "That's why you needed to know her hip-to-waist ratio."
"That's... that's relevant to biomechanics," Tyler sputters.
"Children," Gray says, but there's less ice in it than usual. "This is exactly what we're not supposed to do."
"Why?" Cameron challenges, apparently deciding to use his word quota for the month. "Because the university says so? Because society says eight Alphas can't want the same Omega without tearing each other apart?"
"Because it's dangerous," Gray snaps. "Because bonds form. Because people get hurt."
"People are already getting hurt," Jackson says quietly. "We're hurting ourselves trying not to feel what we're feeling."
"Deep thoughts from the guy who communicates in grunts," Beckett says, but it's gentler than his usual ribbing.
Jackson flips him off without looking.
"So what do we do?" I ask, looking at Reese. "How do we get past this?"
She meets my gaze, and something passes between us. A memory of her heat, of holding her while she came under me, on top of me, of the trust she placed in me when she was most vulnerable.
"We start by admitting what's already there," she says. "Bo, you've been inside me. Gray, you knotted me. Those are facts we've been dancing around all week."
"Jesus Christ," Beckett mutters. "Just putting it all out there."
Gray goes rigid. Several of the guys who didn't know about the knotting look shocked.
"Wait, you actually knotted her?" Zane asks, looking between them. "Like, full knot?"
"Focus," Gray grits out, his face flushing.
"Zane," Reese continues, ignoring the interruption, and he straightens. "What happened on the bus wasn't just about managing my heat. There was want there. Real want."
His adam's apple bobs as he swallows. "Yeah. There was."
"On the bus?" Beckett asks. "What happened on the bus?"
"None of your business," Zane says quickly.
Tyler clears his throat. "You were literally right there. I was providing auditory cover. Talking very loudly about post-race nutrition."
"Wait, that’s why you were droning on about that nonsense? You knew?" Beckett's eyes widen with delight. "Tyler Wu, you beautiful enabler."
"Someone had to keep the coaches from noticing," Tyler says defensively. "It was a practical solution to an immediate problem."
"Is that what we're calling it?" Beckett grins. "Practical?"
"He ate her out," Tyler says flatly, apparently deciding if he's going down, he's taking Zane with him. "During her heat spike. While I discussed protein synthesis at volume ten."
"I hate all of you," Zane groans.
"Eli." She turns to him, cutting through the banter. "What happened in the hallway—"
"Changed things," he finishes. "For all three of us." His eyes find Jackson meaningfully.
"Oh my god, can we finally talk about you two?" Beckett practically bounces, his Golden Retriever energy going off the charts. "Are you admitting it? Because we all know. The walls are not that thick."
"The walls are plenty thick," Eli says calmly.
"Not thick enough when Jackson's trying to fuck you through them," Zane adds. "Very athletic. Very vigorous."
Jackson's face goes stone-still, which is his version of blushing.
"I tried to buy you better soundproofing for Christmas," Tyler offers. "But apparently that's not an appropriate Secret Santa gift."
"Wait," Gray cuts in, looking between them. "So you two are actually—"
"Yes, Gray," Beckett says with exaggerated patience. "Our two quietest teammates have been going at it like particularly repressed wolverines for the past two years. Keep up."
"I knew they were..." Gray makes a vague gesture. "I didn't know it was a thing."
"It's complicated," Eli says.
"No, complicated is whatever the fuck is happening with all nine of us," Zane counters. "You two are just in denial about being in love."
The tank room goes silent. Even the water circulation system seems to pause.