Page 71 of False Catch

As we walk the boat to the water, I end up next to Jackson. He doesn't acknowledge me, but I can feel the energy rolling off him—controlled, focused, dangerous. The same energy I've been fighting in myself since we started recognizing each other as pack.

The difference is he acted on it. Claimed her. Changed everything.

And now he's looking at Gray's position like that's his next target.

"You planning something?" I ask quietly, too low for the others to hear.

His shoulders square. "Just focused on rowing."

"Bullshit."

He finally looks at me, and there's something wild in his eyes. The claimed Alpha who's tasted what he wants and is ready to take more.

"Gray's failing," he says simply. "Someone needs to lead."

"And you think that's you?"

"I think," he says carefully, "that Reese deserves better than a captain who can't even look at her."

He's not wrong. Gray hasn't made eye contact with Reese since the confrontation. Hasn't spoken to her directly. He's following her commands in the boat, but that's it. Professional distance that feels more like abandonment.

We set the boat in the water, and I watch Reese climb into the cox seat. Even from here, I can see the concealer on her neck isn't quite covering the mark. My instincts stir, recognizing the claim, wanting to add my own.

I turn away, focusing on adjusting my foot stretchers. That's been my strategy all week—look away, keep distance, don't let the possessive urges take control. Because I know myself. I know that if I get close to her now, with everything so raw and fractured, I won't be able to hold back.

And the last thing this team needs is another Alpha losing control.

"Northshore's here," Tyler observes, nodding toward the other team rigging their boat. "And Bayside. Both brought their A boats."

"Good," Gray says flatly. "We need the competition."

Zane snorts. "We need sleep and therapy, but sure, competition works too."

"Focus," Gray snaps, but there's no real heat behind it. He's going through the motions of being captain without actually leading.

"Ten minutes to launch," an official calls out.

Reese starts running through her pre-race checklist, voice calm and steady. "Bow pair, check your points. Stern four, remember the pick-up drill at the 500. We're in lane two, so watch for the wake bounce off the wall."

Normal words. Normal routine. Like we're still a normal team.

But as I slide into my seat, I catch Eli watching Jackson watch Gray. See Bo positioned protectively near Reese. Notice how Beckett and Zane have started rowing as a pair within the boat, creating their own stable unit while everything else falls apart.

We're not a team anymore. We're factions held together by habit and Reese's voice.

"Ready all?" Reese calls.

Eight voices respond in unison, but there's no unity in it. Just eight guys who happen to be in the same boat, fighting their own demons while pretending to row together.

"Northshore's boat looks good," Tyler mutters from behind me. "Strong catch, clean finishes."

"We've beaten them before," Zane says, but his usual optimism sounds forced.

"That was before," Beckett says quietly.

Before. Such a simple word for such a massive fracture. Before Jackson claimed Reese. Before Gray shut down. Before we all started choosing sides in a war nobody wanted but everyone saw coming.

"Hands on oars," Reese commands, and muscle memory takes over.