Page 25 of Little Pieces of Light

Xander

Mid-October

“All right, gentlemen.” Coach Daniels clapped his hands. “Time to get in the water.”

The Royal Pride row crew gathered in the gym gave a collective but tired cheer.

We hadn’t been on the water since tryouts.

Instead, Coach worked us to the point of exhaustion on form and fitness three afternoons per week and most Saturday mornings.

The Academy gym had a whole set of ergometers, and we spent our time on the specialized row machines or lifting weights to get into prime racing shape.

Dean let loose a piercing whistle. “You heard the man. Get suited up!”

In the locker room, we changed from our workout clothes into the Academy-sanctioned practice gear: a short-sleeved and short-legged unisuit in black and gold (even our practice gear bore the Academy colors). I threw on a windbreaker and shoes over my row socks—both also team issue.

“Wow, Ford, I’m impressed,” Rhett Calloway sneered from across the row of lockers. “How did you manage to pay for all the gear?” He pretended to have an epiphany. “Oh, that’s right. Tucker’s girlfriend is paying for it with ‘tutoring.’” He made air quotes, his dark eyes glinting with malevolence.

Tucker glowered at me instead of his friend. “Nah, I’ll bet he had to fill out the financial hardship form. Isn’t that right, Ford?”

They were both wrong. I had contemplated using the Academy scholarship system that helped Bend kids pay for the myriad of technology and equipment required to participate in school activities.

For row alone, this meant $1,250 worth of practice clothes, two sets of race-day uniforms, a sweat suit, and goggles, as well as a formal suit, jacket, and tie for the yearbook photo and post-regatta galas and award ceremonies.

But my father was doing well—working hard and happy—and in a fit of optimism, I paid for the entire package out of our account.

Not that Rhett or Tucker needed to know any of that. Using facts on people who’d already made up their minds was usually a losing proposition.

As for Emery…her revealing that I tutored her three times a week was both good and bad. Good, because we had nothing to hide, and bad, because we had nothing to hide. Because we were friends.

You proposed to your friend.

I nearly clocked my head on my open locker as the thought snuck in and made me jump. I had to remind myself—for the millionth time since that conversation six weeks ago—that it was for business purposes only.

But facts were also wasted on a heart that had already made up its mind.

“Leave him be,” Orion said, pulling on his unisuit. “What bloody business is it of ours? He’s our teammate, yeah?”

I gave Orion a nod in thanks. He had clout with the guys, because Tucker and Rhett left me alone, and we headed down to the dock.

“I probably sound like a broken record by now,” Coach said next to the choppy water under a cloudy sky.

“We have the Narragansett Bay Club Regatta coming up, and then the cold weather is going to shut us down until March. This is our shot to show the clubs what they can look forward to competing against in spring.”

Assistant Coach Wright stepped up. “Today on the docket, pause drills. Dean is going to call out a hold so we can see where you’re at in both individual form and as a unit. Okay, let’s go.”

The shell was tethered parallel to the dock. We all climbed in, me at the bow and Dean as cox all the way on the other end closest to Rhett, who pulled in the stroke seat.

Over the past few weeks, I’d spent more time on an ergometer than I could possibly want. Despite the chill in the air, it felt good to get on the water. Once the team was in, Tucker, from the five seat, shifted into captain mode.

“All right, guys, let’s show Coach what we can do. Nice and clean at every pause. We got this.”

Orion turned to look at me over his left shoulder, grinning. “Hear that? We got this.”

I grinned back. “Where are we taking it?”

He cackled. “You’re a madman, Ford.”

At the opposite end of the shell, Dean adjusted his mic’d headset. “Ready? And…pull.”

My back to the open water, I pulled along with my team, and the shell glided away from the dock. Coach’s boat puttered alongside us, and he put a megaphone to his mouth.

“Up first, I want to see a hold on the finish,” he said. “Smooth drive, then clean finish. Legs, body, arms…in that order. Go ahead, Dean.”

“On it,” Dean said, his voice amplified over the wind. We all rowed in unison, pulling at our oars, but even before Dean called for the pause, I knew we weren’t synced.

“Ready…and…hold!”

We all stopped in the leaned-back position, oars pulled up to our chests.

“Rhett, your oar is nearly up to your chin,” Coach complained. “You look like your elbows are coming out of your goddamn neck. Good, Knox. Good, Kai. Excellent, Xander.”

Again and again, at different parts of the stroke, Dean called for a hold, and Coach assessed our form and then complained about it. He was especially hard on Rhett and excruciatingly complimentary of me.

“I wish you could all turn around and watch Ford’s stroke. He’s textbook at every single pause, and the only one who looks like he knows what the hell he’s doing.”

My face went red, and the other guys turned around to glance at me—Rhett, Tucker, and Justin with grimaces; Kai, Henry, and Knox with approval. Orion flashed me a brilliant smile and a thumbs up.

“Let’s go again,” Coach said. “This time, hold on the catch. I want to see clean catches, no smashing. Smooth.”

“Row,” Dean called, and we began. After a few strokes, he called a hold on the catch.

“Christ, Calloway, look at your blade,” Coach bellowed into the megaphone. “No, hold it,” he snapped when Rhett tried to fix his angle. “You’re shallow as hell and about to wash out. Go again.”

The drills went on for two hours, until finally we were allowed to dock. Every part of my body was on fire with exertion as we stood in a row, Coach pacing up and down our line. He gave us his general feedback—none of it good—then stopped in front of Rhett.

“You’re around six feet, right? What do you weigh?”

“About one-seventy, Coach,” Rhett said in a low, wary tone.

Without breaking eye contact, Coach called out to me at the other end of the line. “Ford. Height and weight.”

“Six feet, one-sixty-nine,” I said, having weighed in prior to practice as required.

“Calloway, I don’t know what the hell you’ve been doing since last year,” Coach said, “but I’ll remind you that stroke seat isn’t just a position, it’s a responsibility.

The entire crew is relying on you for pace.

For rhythm. For technical precision. If you can’t hack it, I’m going to switch you and Ford, you got me? ”

My eyes fell shut. Fuck me.

“I want to see serious improvement by next practice, okay? That’s it, gentlemen.”

The team broke up and we headed to the clubhouse to change. I could feel Rhett’s black gaze, like icy daggers in my back.

In the clubhouse, I’d just pulled my jacket over my aching shoulders when I felt a presence behind me. I tensed, bracing myself, and turned around. Rhett’s pale skin, dark eyes, and mirthless smile brought to mind a vampire.

“Sounds like you’re really good, Ford,” he said. “Do you want to trade seats with me, so the whole team can see how fucking textbook you are?”

“I’m happy where I am, thanks.”

Rhett didn’t move but stared at me with that odd, maniacal grin. I stared back, unwilling to blink first. From my periphery, I could see the whole team watching. Tucker, Orion, and Dean moved closer.

“Hey.” Rhett leaned in, his head cocked. “What’s wrong with your eyes?”

I knew we’d be on the water with goggles, so I was wearing contacts. I had no glasses to act as a shield that could often make people believe the chromatic difference was just a trick of the light.

Before I could answer, Rhett chuckled. “Let me guess. One is from your crazy dad and the other from your mom. To remember her by. You know…because she walked out on you.”

The blood in my veins went cold, and my hands balled into fists. Rhett read my reaction, and his eyes widened in glee.

“I’m right, aren’t I? Which is which?” He pointed his finger at my left eye. “I’m guessing brown is Mommy.”

I smacked his hand away. “Fuck off, Rhett.”

Shocked, he snarled and shoved me in the chest. “Fuck you , Ford.”

I shoved him back, and a full-blown altercation would have ensued if not for Dean moving to stand between us.

“Okay, that’s enough .”

To my shock, Tucker pulled Rhett aside. “Let him be.”

“Whatever, freak,” Rhett snarled, and he and Tucker moved off.

“You good?” Dean asked.

It took me a second to tear my gaze off Rhett. “Sure. Never better.”

I finished getting dressed, and Dean and I walked out. At the door, Orion stopped me to clasp hands.

“You deserve all the good shit Coach says about you, all right?” He leaned in, his brown eyes glinting. “Just don’t take Rhett’s seat. I don’t want that bloody bastard behind me.”

I smiled a little. “Thanks, man.”

“What’s Rhett’s deal?” I asked Dean as we headed to the parking lot on the other side of campus. “He seems…sadistic.”

“Nah.” Dean waved a hand. “His dad is in the music industry. Rhett gets to rub elbows with celebrities on the regular. I think it inflates his ego. Not that that excuses him talking shit like that to you. He’s a tremendous asshole, for sure.”

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure I agreed it was only a matter of ego. There’d been something in Rhett’s eyes that set my hair on end. Like looking into twin black holes where no light escaped, only infinite darkness.

I told myself I was being dramatic but also vowed to watch my back.

“You have plans for the Halloween Festival?” Dean asked. “Only a week to get your costume together.”

“I’m not going.”

“You have to go! The costume contest alone is worth it, with big prizes for the winners. Everyone goes all out.”

“I wouldn’t have the first clue what to be.”