CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE #3
"Could," Tyler agrees, surprising everyone by supporting Gray. Then he continues, "But what we're doing now? It's definitely destroying us. There’s no scenario where we survive in the current trajectory. At least trying something new gives us a chance."
"You want to gamble our futures on unknown probability?"
"I want to stop pretending," I say. "Tomorrow, we have a regatta. We can show up as eight individuals forcing themselves through the motions, or we can show up as what we really are."
"Which is?"
I look around the room at these unique, difficult, extraordinary men. "Complicated. Messy. Real. Connected by something more than just timing and technique."
Gray's control visibly cracks. "And if they suspend us? If we lose our chances at the Olympics? Sponsorships? Pro options?"
"Then we face it together," Bo says simply. "No one gets thrown under the bus. No one takes the fall alone."
"That's not—"
"That's exactly how this works now," Jackson interrupts. "All of us or none of us."
Gray stares at him, and something passes between them. Years of history, competition, respect, and maybe understanding. The realization that Jackson could take this crew, this pack, from him at any minute and he chooses to follow his lead instead. For now.
"This is insane," Gray says finally.
"Yeah," I agree. "But sanity got us here. Maybe it's time to try something else."
He takes a deep breath, visibly wrestling with himself. "If we do this—and I'm not saying yes—but if we do, there have to be boundaries."
"Like?"
"On the water, technique still matters. We row properly or not at all."
"Agreed," I say immediately. "But you follow my calls. No second-guessing, no corrections. You trust me."
His jaw works. "Fine."
"And off the water?"
"We figure it out as we go," he says reluctantly. "But no more surprise claims. No more unilateral decisions that affect the whole team."
Jackson nods. "Fair."
"And the administration?"
"We give them nothing to report," Tyler suggests. "We row well enough that performance isn't an issue. Everything else is just... team dynamics."
"Torres isn't stupid," Gray points out.
"No, but she's also not unsympathetic," Eli says. "She’s been around long enough to see what can go right as much as what can go wrong. She knows it's possible."
Gray looks around the room one more time. "You're all on board with this insanity?"
"Have been since day one," Zane says cheerfully.
"Just waiting for you to catch up," Beckett adds.
"Some of us more patiently than others," Cameron murmurs.
Gray turns to me. "This is what you want? All of this... chaos?"
"I want us to stop pretending we're something we're not," I tell him honestly. "The chaos is already here. At least now we're acknowledging it."
He stares at me for a long moment, and I see it all in his eyes. The war between control and surrender, between what he thinks he should want and what he actually needs.
"Practice at four," he says finally. "We'll... see what happens."
It's not an agreement. Not quite. But it's movement in the right direction.
"Gray," I call as he turns to leave. He pauses. "We need you. Not just your skills or your leadership. You. The real you, not the perfect captain persona."
Something flickers across his face—vulnerability, maybe, or recognition.
"Four o'clock," he repeats, and disappears down the hall.
After he leaves, the room relaxes slightly.
"That went better than expected," Tyler observes.
"He didn't throw anything," Zane agrees. "That's progress."
"He's scared," Eli says quietly. "He's been carrying this team on pure will for two years. Letting go feels like failure to him."
"It's not," I say firmly. "It's evolution."
"Pretty sure Darwin never covered this scenario," Beckett jokes weakly.
"No, but we're going to." I check the time. "Two hours until practice. Eat something real, hydrate, and whatever you do, don't overthink this. We need to get out of our heads."
"Easier said than done," Tyler points out.
"That's why we're going to exhaust ourselves on the water," I tell him. "Can't overthink if you're too tired to think."
As the team disperses to prepare, Jackson approaches me. "You really don't regret it? The claiming?"
I touch the mark on my neck. It’s still a little tender but I don’t mind. "Do you?"
"No," he says immediately. "Never. I just... I know it's complicated everything."
"Everything was already complicated," I remind him. "You just made it visible."
He nods, some tension leaving his face. I step into him cautiously and he lets me. We wrap each other up in a hug that smooths over all the leftover tension from the past few weeks and the conversation we just had. Eli watches from the other side of the room with a soft look on his face.
"Four o'clock," I tell them. "Be ready to work."
"Always," Eli says, and there's something in his eyes that wasn't there before. Hope, maybe.
As I leave to get my gear, I feel the shift in energy. Not fixed, not healed, but moving. We might crash and burn tomorrow, but at least we'll do it as ourselves.
And somehow, that feels like victory already.