Page 38 of Oar Than Friends

Nothing from Kate.

‘Nope.’

‘It’s going to be tonight. I’m telling you.’ Charlie stretched out in his chair, his arms lengthening above him. ‘And I’m thinking maybe we need a couple more sleeping over in the boathouse, especially if the whole crew comes like we did.’

Bitters cracked his knuckles. ‘I’ll stay over.’

‘You can’t punch anyone.’

‘Why would I do that?’ he asked, genuinely confused. ‘If they do come tonight you’ll need help.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘Thank you. If we catch them, they have to leave empty handed. We all know the rules. They caught our boys three years ago and we left quietly, until the next attempt. They’ll do the same.’

The noise of my phone buzzing on the table nearly had me falling out of my chair as I snatched it up, not from shock but the possibility it was Kate. Which was when I realized I may have entirely lost any cool I’d previously possessed.

It wasn’t Kate.

‘Oz, you need to get down here,’ ordered Brooks.

‘The Tank?’

‘Yeah, we’ve got a problem.’

‘On the way.’ I hung up and stood, and four sets of eyes tracked my movement. ‘Something’s happened at the Tank.’

Charlie drained his beer and grabbed his jacket, ‘I fucking told you they’d come tonight.’

‘We don’t know what it is yet,’ mumbled Drake.

‘Want to bet me a hundred quid it’s not the Light Blues?’ shot back Charlie.

‘No.’

I had no doubt the grin he’d thrown Drake would soon be wiped off his face.

‘Come on, we need to hurry.’

The five of us took off in a quick jog down to the Tank, though it probably would have been quicker if we didn’t have a couple of pints sloshing around in our bellies. I was planning for the five of us to go in quietly, just in case Brooks and Frank needed us for the element of surprise, but as we turned the corner it was clear that whatever was going on wasn’t happening under the cloak of darkness.

Joshi stopped running, and took a second to catch his breath. ‘This doesn’t look good.’

Every single light in the Tank was on, including the floodlights directed onto the running track outside.

‘Shit!’ Drake pointed to a black Land Rover which had clearly been stopped in a hurry, given it was diagonally across two spaces and the driver’s door was still ajar. ‘That’s Coach’s car.’

The sound of raised voices had us all turning in sync to the direction of the entrance, then all four boys looked at me.

‘After you, Mr President.’ Drake gestured for me to lead the way.

I stepped towards the increasing noise, the four boys keeping close behind until one voice above all else stopped the shouting dead. Coach Lassiter was not someone you wanted to argue with, even when he was having a good day.

Today was not that day.

The five of us sprinted down the corridor and pushed through the door. I’m not sure what we’d expected to find, but it definitely wasn’t this.

Three of the Cambridge crew stood against the wall looking slightly dishevelled, while Frank was resting against the large oak pillar with his head tipped back, and from the blood across his shirt I could only assume it stemmed from his nose.

Brooks had positioned himself between Frank and Will Norris, looking like he’d happily dish out a second or third helping of whatever Frank had been served. In turn, Will Norris was standing over Brett Rogers, an American rower formerly of Princeton, and currently the Cambridge number four, who was slumped on the floor, his elbows resting on his knees, along with a rapidly purpling and swollen eye.

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