Page 8 of Final Drive

“Only if somebody’s paying attention.” He takes a drink of coffee. “Championship was this weekend, right? I saw the results. You guys killed it.”

“We did okay.”

“You swept the whole thing and set a course record in the final.” He shakes his head. “That’s not okay, Reese. That’s incredible.”

The praise doesn’t land. Everybody’s been so focused on what happened after the race that almost nobody has talked about the race itself, about the way the boat moved like a single animal through the last five hundred or the break in Gray’s voice when he said we did it after we crossed.

“Thanks,” I say. “It was a good day until it wasn’t.”

Quinton’s expression softens. “I heard there was some family drama. Is that why you’ve been MIA?”

“How did you hear that?”

“People talk. Rowing community’s the size of a postage stamp.” He shrugs. “Somebody saw whatever happened on the dock. Now everybody’s got a theory.”

My stomach turns. “A theory about what?”

“Nothing specific. Just that there was a confrontation and parents were involved. Standard gossip mill.” He reaches across the table but stops short of touching my hand. “I’m not asking for details. I’m asking if you’re okay.”

His eyes stay on me. He isn’t scanning the room or trying to figure out what my mood means for eight other people. For the first time in days, somebody is looking at me without seeming to calculate anything beyond me.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “It’s complicated.”

“Family stuff usually is.”

“It’s not only family.” I wrap both hands around the cup. “It’s the team and the administration and all of it.”

“Sounds exhausting.”

“It is.”

He nods once, then leans back in his chair. “Okay. Different subject.”

“What?”

“Anything that isn’t rowing, family, administration, or whatever fresh disaster somebody handed you this week. Favorite movie. What you wanted to be when you were seven. Last book you read that wasn’t assigned.”

The questions are so ordinary I have to think about them. Every conversation I’ve had since February has circled the team, the pack, or the designation I never asked for.

“The Princess Bride,” I say. “Marine biologist. And I haven’t read anything that wasn’t for class since I transferred.”

“Okay, the last one is tragic.” He pulls out his phone. “We’re fixing that.”

I laugh. “You don’t need to fix my reading habits.”

“I absolutely do. What do you like? Fantasy, thriller, romance?”

“I used to read everything I could get my hands on.”

“A woman of varied tastes. Respect.”

He starts scrolling. The light catches the line of his jaw and the dark sweep of hair that probably takes more effort than he’d ever admit. Heather-gray sweater pushed to his elbows, acid-washed jeans that still look expensive, nothing visibly trying too hard.

“I’m building you a list,” he says. “Books you can finish in a weekend when you need out.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know. I want to.” He glances back at the screen. “Besides, you look like you could use one thing somebody else handles for five minutes.”