CHAPTER SIX #2
"Moving on," Reese says quickly, but there's something soft in her expression as she looks between Eli and Jackson. "Cameron." She looks at our silent bow seat. "You've been watching me all week. Fighting something."
He nods once, sharp and decisive.
"That's it?" Beckett asks. "Cameron gets a pass while the rest of us get called out?"
"Cameron's too busy being a ghost to fuck up like the rest of us," Zane says.
"Some of us know our limitations," Cameron says quietly, which is practically a speech for him.
"Tyler, Beckett." She addresses them together. "You've both been maintaining distance, but let's not pretend you weren't both very involved during that dinner at the hotel."
"Oh shit," Zane laughs. "That was fucking hot. I didn’t know our resident genius had it in him."
"They were providing... assistance," I say carefully, trying to keep this from devolving further. "Before I took over."
"Assistance?" Beckett grins. "Is that what we're calling it? Me and Tyler had our fingers—"
"We were all responding to heightened pheromones," Tyler interrupts quickly, his face flushing. "It was a biological imperative."
"Right. Biology." Beckett's grin widens. "That's why you were telling me exactly where to—"
"Moving on," Tyler says loudly.
"And Jackson." Reese turns to him, saving Tyler from further embarrassment. "You knew what I was from the beginning. And you stayed anyway."
"I stayed," he confirms, voice rough.
"So we're all attracted to each other," Gray says, trying to regain control. "That doesn't mean—"
"Not each other," Beckett interjects, holding his hands out like he’s stopping a raging bull. "Let's be clear. I'm not trying to get with Tyler's bony ass."
"My ass is perfectly proportioned for my height-to-weight ratio," Tyler protests.
"See? This is why we can't have nice things," Zane laughs.
"But here's the thing," Reese cuts through the banter, her voice steady even as she grins at our stupidity. "We keep pretending this is about my heat. About biological necessity. About managing a problem."
The room goes quiet again.
"It's not," she continues. "My suppressants are working. My heat is controlled. But we're still falling apart because we're pretending we only want each other when biology forces it."
"That's..." Gray starts, then stops.
"True," I finish for him. "It's true. I didn't just want to help you through your heat, Reese. I wanted you. Still do."
"Fuck it, same," Zane admits. "The bus thing wasn't just about helping. I've wanted to do that since you first told Gray to shove his attitude up his ass."
"That was a good day," Beckett agrees. "Very formative."
"So what are you saying?" Gray asks Reese directly. "That we should just... act on it? Outside of heat?"
"I'm saying we should stop pretending it's clinical when it's not," she says. "Stop acting like the only reason we'd touch each other is biological imperative. That lie is what's killing our synchronization."
"The administration—" Tyler starts.
"Isn't here," Jackson says quietly. Everyone turns to look at him. "In this room, right now, it's just us. And we need to decide if we're going to keep lying to ourselves or not."
"Not just attracted," Reese interrupts. "Connected. When one of us is off, the whole boat feels it. When one of us is in sync, everything flows better. That's pack dynamics, whether we call it that or not."
"Even if you're right," Gray says, "we can't just... what? Accept it? Act on it?"
"Why not?" I find myself asking. "At least for tonight. At least until we figure out how to row together again."
"And after tomorrow?" Tyler asks, ever practical. "When the administration is watching? When we have to pretend again?"
"We'll handle tomorrow when it comes," Reese says. "Right now, we need to remember how to move as one."
"How?" Gray demands.
She looks at the tanks, then back at us. "We row. But this time, without walls. Without fighting what we are."
"That's not a plan," Gray protests.
"Sure it is," Zane says, understanding dawning on his face. "She's saying we row as a pack instead of as individuals pretending to be a team."
"Exactly," Reese confirms.
"This is insane," Gray mutters, but he's already moving toward the tank.
We all follow, taking our positions. But this time, something's different.
When Zane's elbow bumps mine as he adjusts his foot stretchers, neither of us jerks away.
Tyler accidentally splashes Cameron while settling in, mutters "sorry," and gets an actual shrug in response instead of Cameron's usual stone-faced nothing.
Small things. But after a week of maintaining careful distance, of recoiling from any contact, it feels significant.
"Ready all," Reese calls, and her voice is different now. Warmer. More intimate. "And row."
We begin to move, and immediately something's different. The catches align naturally. The water accepts our blades in unison, creating a single rhythmic splash instead of chaos. The sound echoes off the basement walls, clean and pure.
"That's it," Reese says softly. "Feel each other. Don't think, just move together."
And we do. For the first time all day, we move as one entity.
Eight bodies following the same rhythm, eight oars cutting through the tank water in perfect synchronization.
The humidity that felt oppressive before now seems to bind us together, our breaths matching, our scents mingling in the thick air.
"Power ten in two," Reese calls. "Show me what we really are. One... two..."
We drive harder, and the sound is beautiful. Water surging past our blades in perfect harmony, creating a single powerful current through the channel. The basement echoes with it - not the chaotic splashing from before, but something almost musical.
"Yes," she breathes, and there's something in her voice that makes my skin prickle despite the sweat. "Just like that. Together."
We row for five more minutes, and it's the best we've felt since Riverside. Maybe better, because now we're not fighting it. We're embracing what we've become. The water that separated us earlier now connects us, each stroke sending ripples that the next rower catches perfectly.
When we finally stop, there's a different energy in the room. Charged but calm. Like we've crossed a line we can't uncross.
"That," Reese says, "is what we show Carmine tomorrow."
"A pack," Gray says, and it's not a question.
"A team," she corrects. "Just one that works differently than expected."
"The administration won't see it that way," Tyler points out.
"Then we make them see it," I say, surprising myself with the conviction in my voice. "We show them that our way works."
"And if they still object?" Gray asks.
"Then we fight," Jackson says quietly. "Together."
The word hangs in the air like a promise. Like a vow.
"Together," Eli echoes.
One by one, we all repeat it. Even Gray, finally, adds his voice to the chorus.
"Together."
It’s cheesy and we all know it, but something about admitting what we’ve been trying to fight down here where it’s just us makes it feel less ridiculous and more necessary.
Reese smiles, and it's the first real smile I've seen from her all week. "Then let's run it again. And this time, let's show these tanks what Sable Ridge Crew is really made of."
We take position again, hands gripping oars that are still wet from our breakthrough. This time when we row, we row as what we are: Nine people bound by something stronger than policy, stronger than designation, stronger than fear.
We row as one.
And tomorrow, we'll show the administration exactly what that means.