CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Reese
We win the third race by half a boat length. Not pretty, not dominant, but enough.
"Good," I say through the cox box, my voice barely there after three races and too much emotion. "Let it run."
The officials make us wait twenty minutes before announcing we need a placement race - us against Ridgemont to determine second and third for the day. My body feels like it's made of lead. The emotional whiplash of the last few hours has drained me more than any physical effort could.
"One more," I tell the guys, trying to inject energy I don't have into my voice. "Then we're done."
The placement race is pure determination over skill. We're exhausted, fractured, held together by spite and stubbornness. But Ridgemont's been racing all day too, and we want it more. Or maybe we just have more to prove.
We win by three seats. Second place overall. Not what we came for, but considering we completely imploded in the middle, it's a minor miracle.
The bus ride back is tomb-quiet. I sit in my usual spot, staring out the window, trying not to think about everything that's happened.
The video. Gray's explanation. The way he hid me from his world like I'm something shameful. Like I wasn’t raised in cotillions and charity galas and can handle myself. Like I hadn’t already proved it at that dinner with his family.
Someone slides into the seat beside me. Tyler, surprisingly. He doesn't say anything, just takes my hand carefully, like he's asking permission. When I don't pull away, he laces our fingers together.
The contact grounds me. Tyler's always been the steady one, the analytical one. No drama, no overwhelming Alpha energy. Just quiet presence.
I rest my head on his shoulder, and he squeezes my hand gently. We stay like that for the entire two-hour drive, not speaking, not needing to. It's the first peace I've felt all day.
Back at the team house, everyone scatters. I end up on the back deck, staring through the trees at the distant shimmer of the lake, trying to process everything.
"Reese?"
Gray stands in the doorway, hesitant in a way I've never seen from him.
"What do you want, Gray?"
"To apologize. Properly." He comes out onto the deck but keeps his distance. "I fucked up. Not with Kinsley - I swear that's not what it looked like. But with hiding the gala, with taking Sophia, with not trusting you to handle that whole thing."
"It’s my world too," I remind him. "Different circles maybe, but the same bullshit."
"I know. I just..." He runs his hand through his hair. "I'm used to protecting people from my family. It's instinct at this point."
"I don't need protection. I need honesty."
"You're right." He moves closer, still careful. "I've spent so long being the perfect son, the perfect captain, the perfect everything that I forgot how to just be real. You make me want to be real, and that terrifies me."
I study him in the fading light. His dark hair is disheveled from running his hands through it, his usual perfect styling completely abandoned.
Those steel gray eyes that usually hold such cold control are clouded with exhaustion.
His muscular frame, always held with military precision, seems almost boyish now in its uncertainty.
The controlled facade is cracked, showing the exhausted twenty-two-year-old underneath who's been carrying too much for too long.
"I can't do this if you're going to hide me," I tell him. "I won't be anyone's secret."
"You're not. You won't be." He takes a deep breath. "There's another gala next month. The Spring Charity Auction. I want you to come. As my date. My official, public, fuck-what-anyone-thinks date."
"What about your father?"
"He'll have to deal with it. They all will." His shoulders straighten, the uncertainty replaced by something harder, more resolved. "I'm done letting him control my life. I'm done pretending to be what he wants."
"And if he retaliates? If he ruins your rowing future?"
"Then I'll build a different future. One that includes you. All of you, if that's where this is heading."
It’s a heavy statement. One I don’t know what to do with right now. Eight Alphas, one Omega. The thing we've all been dancing around but never naming directly.
"I need time," I tell him. "To think. To figure out if I can trust you again."
"I know. I'll earn it back. However long it takes." He turns to go, then pauses. "You matter to me, Reese. More than I know how to say. More than I'm ready to deal with, honestly. But I wanted you to know that this isn't just about the team or winning or even the pack dynamics. It's about you."
He disappears inside before I can respond, leaving me alone with the weight of his almost-admission.
"Heavy conversation."
I jump. Cameron's standing at the other end of the deck, holding his tablet.
"How long have you been there?"
"Long enough." He walks over, surprisingly direct for someone who usually ghosts through life. "I need to show you something. Is now okay?"
I shrug and let out a slow breath before nodding. Might as well get it over with, whatever it is.
He hands me the tablet. I'm looking at what appears to be code or technical data that might as well be ancient Greek.
"What am I looking at?"
"Proof." He sits down beside me, closer than he's ever voluntarily been since that day in the boathouse that we’ve tacitly avoided talking about. "The video Kinsley sent. I analyzed it."
"Are you a hacker or something?"
He grins, and it transforms his whole face. "Something like that. Computer science minor, but I prefer the term 'digital investigator.'"
"Okay, digital investigator. What did you find?"
He swipes to another screen. "The video file is from January 15th. Original creation date, unmodified. But the audio? It was spliced in yesterday. Different compression rate, different timestamp in the metadata. She basically did a voice-over."
"How?"
"Took clips from different recordings, probably from months of stalking Gray with her phone out. Mixed them together to create new sentences. It's sophisticated work - she either has serious skills or paid someone who does."
I stare at the data. "So Gray was telling the truth."
"About the video being old? Yes. About not being with her recently? The evidence supports it."
"But he still hid the gala. Still took another woman instead of me."
Cameron nods. "That's the real issue, isn't it? Not the cheating that didn't happen, but the hiding that did."
"He says he was protecting me."
"Men like Gray always think they're protecting someone.
Usually from problems they create themselves.
" He closes the tablet. "But he's not wrong about his father.
Alexander Lockwood ruins people for fun.
I've seen him destroy careers over smaller scandals than his son dating an Omega on a mixed-designation team. "
"You know his father?"
"I know of him. I’ve made it my business to know about all the team's families when I joined." He stands, then surprises me by offering his hand. "Come on."
"Where?"
"Do you trust me?"
It's such a simple question, but from Cameron - who barely speaks, who observes everything but reveals nothing - it feels weighted with meaning.
"Yes," I realize as I say it. "I do."
He pulls me up and leads me down the back steps to the parking lot. I notice him typing on his phone and then mine dings with a notification. Probably him letting the guys know in the group chat that we’re heading out. His motorcycle sits under the security light, black and chrome and sleek danger.
"You need to get out of here," he says simply.
I look at his motorcycle, remembering the last time. The ride to the boathouse. His fingers inside me, my hand on him, the way he kissed me like I was the only girl in the world. And then my heat hit.
He's kept his distance ever since.
"Cameron—"
"I know what happened last time." He hands me his spare helmet. "I've been avoiding you because once I start touching you, I don't trust myself to stop. But tonight... tonight you need someone who sees you drowning and isn't afraid to pull you out."
"And that's you?"
"That's me." He meets my eyes directly. "I won't promise not to touch you, Reese. But I promise it'll be about what you need, not what I want."
"What if they're the same thing?"
"Then we deal with that when it happens. "Something flares in his dark eyes. "You've been managing everyone else's emotions all day. Gray's guilt, Jackson's possessiveness, the team's anger. When do you get to just... not?"
He's right. I'm exhausted from feeling everyone else's feelings, managing everyone else's reactions.
I take the helmet. "Where are we going?"
"Does it matter?"
For once, it doesn't. I put on the helmet and climb on behind him. He starts the engine, the vibration running through my entire body.
"Hold on tight," he says, and I wrap my arms around his waist.
We tear out of the parking lot and into the night. The speed is terrifying and exhilarating, forcing everything else out of my mind. There's only the roar of the engine, the rush of wind, the solid warmth and hard muscles of Cameron beneath my hands.
He drives us to the edge of town, pulling into the cracked parking lot of Ray's Hot Dogs - a run-down joint with a flickering neon sign missing half its letters.
"Gourmet dining?" I ask as I pull off the helmet.
"Best chili dogs in three states." He's already walking toward the order window. "Trust me."
Five minutes later we're sitting on a picnic table in the parking lot, greasy food between us, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. It's perfect in its complete lack of perfection.
"My dad used to bring me here," Cameron says suddenly, breaking his usual silence. "Before he decided I was a disappointment."
I wait, knowing Cameron well enough not to push.