Page 84 of False Catch

When it passes, we lie there, tied together, breathing hard. I stroke her back as aftershocks ripple through her.

"Better?" I ask when she finally stirs.

"Mmm." She nuzzles into my neck. "You're bossy."

"You needed bossy."

"I needed this," she admits quietly. "Needed you."

"I know."

She's quiet for a long moment. Then: "What happens tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow we go back. We face the team. We figure out how to move forward."

"And if we can't?"

"We can." I tilt her chin up so she's looking at me. "You know why?"

"Why?"

"Because we're not just eight rowers and a cox anymore. We're something else. Something more. And once we stop fighting that, stop trying to force ourselves into boxes that don't fit, we'll be unstoppable."

She studies my face. "You really believe that."

"I know it." I press a kiss to her forehead. "But tonight, we don't worry about any of that. Tonight, you just rest."

My knot finally softens enough to separate, and she winces slightly as I ease out of her. I clean us both up with a warm washcloth, then pull her back against my chest. She's quiet for so long I think she's fallen asleep.

"I should leave."

The words are so soft I almost miss them.

"What?" I go rigid beneath her.

"The team. Sable Ridge." She doesn't look at me, just traces patterns on my chest with one finger. "It's the logical solution."

"Reese—"

"No, listen." She pushes up on one elbow, and in the moonlight through the window, I can see she's serious. Dead serious. "Jackson claimed me without pack consensus. The administration is investigating. The team can't row properly anymore. If I leave—"

"No."

"Bo, be rational. If I leave, you can get a new cox. Someone who's actually a Beta. The investigation goes away because the mixed-designation issue disappears. Jackson's claim becomes irrelevant because I'm not there. The team can heal without me as a constant reminder of—"

"Stop." I grip her shoulders, probably too hard, but I need her to hear this. "Just stop."

"It makes sense—"

"Nothing about you leaving makes sense."

She laughs, but it's bitter. "I transfer schools. My parents are thrilled. They find me some appropriate Alpha from their country club to mate with. Someone with the right pedigree who'll give them grandchildren with the proper social standing. You guys go on to win championships with a cox who doesn't complicate everything."

The picture she's painting makes me physically ill. Reese married to some stuffed-shirt Alpha who doesn't know how she likes her coffee (one sugar, no cream) or that she bites her lip when she's calculating stroke ratings in her head.

"And everyone's better off," she finishes quietly.

"That's bullshit."