Boot Camp

11: Old Version

After leaving the lake and enduring a long and rather awkward run with Axel, I stay underneath the showerhead, letting the warm water rinse any grime from the lake out of my tangled hair. I am relieved no one else is here in the shower room, allowing me to relax.

I think about what Axel told me, something I'm surprised he shared. From the look in his eyes and the way his hand shook, I understood. His dad passed away.

It made me feel slightly guilty for being so distant with my own father when he's alive, but that feeling didn't last long.

As I'm walking through the hall, my phone rings—it's my mother. The edges of my lips curl into a smile because; she is exactly who I need right now.

"Hello?" I say, shutting the door and sitting cross-legged on my bed. I hear a shuffle through the receiver and the closing of a door on her end.

"Oh honey, how are you?" she asks, and I lie back onto my bed.

"I'm..." I don't know whether to feign happiness and say I am fantastic or spill the truth. "Okay."

"That doesn't sound too good, Whitney. Tell me what this camp is like. I can't stand not knowing any longer."

"Where do I start?"

Around ten minutes later I've spilled my thoughts about the workouts, the people, the communal bathrooms, and the trainers. I've mentioned almost everything except the notes and anything further than the fact my trainer is a guy named Axel.

"You must be exhausted," my mother says sympathetically, but I sense something is wrong.

"Mom, I think you sound exhausted. What is really happening?"

Silence descends before she speaks. "It's been stressful. I'm trying to get the wedding plans under control so everything won't be last minute, but the venue booking has been crazy."

"Poppy told me about Levi's mom..."

"Alice is very...overbearing. She likes Levi more than is healthy. And my God, is that woman stubborn. Every time I try to suggest something new she won't go with it! It's either her plan or nothing. Good thing I'm a controlling person or else that woman would run the whole wedding herself."

"I still miss home."

"So soon, honey?" she questions.

"A lot has happened already, and it's only been a week. I miss how peaceful it was at home."

"Well the house has been anything but peaceful with the whole wedding issue. But like I told you, if you ever feel like you want to leave, I will come and pick you up."

"I can't look like a quitter, Mom."

"That's my Whitney," she says, and all I can do is smile at the sudden homey comfort.

***

After a long dinner and an upbeat conversation with Martina over our love of pop rock bands, I contemplate whether or not I should go and find Axel for our evening training session. The curious side of me is saying yes, yes, yes, but the logical side of me is screaming no, after this morning's tension.

I go anyway.

I stand outside the gym and hope I will find him. The double doors are shut, and I slowly reach my hand out to open one of them. Luckily, they aren't locked, so I open them just enough for my body to slip inside.

He is in there boxing once again, although from his dry shirt and steady breaths it doesn't appear that he's been going at it for long. I cringe as I try to close the heavy door quietly and press myself against the wall. I stay in the corner where the mirrors won't reflect my image.

He stops to catch his breath.

He squeezes his eyes shut and then groans, taking off his gloves and staring at his hands. He wipes his face and neck with a towel and turns around, at first not noticing me. But then he walks across the room, each step closer to where I am hidden against the wall. His eyes soon lock with mine and his jaw clenches.

"Whitney. Why are you hiding?"

"I kinda didn't want to interrupt..."

He scoffs and shakes his head to himself. "I figured you were gonna bail, that's why I didn't come looking for you."

"Right. Well, I just figured after this morning—"

He shakes his head. "I don't want to talk about what happened earlier today so just forget about it. It's completely fine."

I stare at the ceiling for a moment. "I know. I just wanted to apologize if I was too nosy—"

"Wait, you're apologizing?"

"I thought I was pretty clear, but I guess not...?"

"You were," he answers, walking a little closer. "But I don't want an apology. You didn't do anything wrong, Whitney. Stop beating yourself up."

"Okay," I breathe. "I guess I tend to annoy you."

"Oh you sure do," he says, placing his hands on the wall on both sides of my shoulders. "In too many ways."

"Hey look, you're talking now," I remark with a small smirk, staring up into his eyes. He groans.

"There's one way you annoy me," he says, rolling his eyes.

"And I won't apologize for that. Now what about today's workout?"

"So now you're actually interested in exercising?"

"Yes, over a week of nonstop exercise surprisingly makes you grow a bond with it," I answer, although in my head I know I'm not just talking about working out.

"Fine, this time what do you want to do?" he asks.

"You said we'd try boxing again. Maybe we can try more self-defense or fighting or something. I want to feel all fierce."

He looks up and smiles. "Alright, boxing it is."

With that, he leads me across the gym to the center where there is a spot with plenty of room and padded ground.

"Go ahead, show me what you can do," he tells me, cracking his knuckles.

"But you're supposed to teach me first, right?" I answer.

"That's what I'm supposed to do, but it's not what I am going to do. Just remember that this right here," he says, pointing to his panel of glory between his legs, "is off limits."

I hide a laugh but swallow nervously as I study his muscular arms. I ball my hands up into fists and punch upwards, right near his jaw. In seconds he ducks and moves behind me. My mouth opens a bit, and he only smiles.

This time I punch right in the center of his abdomen. My fists hit the hard surface before he dodges.

"You know it's not a fight if you don't fight back," I remark, stretching out my arms.

Without even replying he sends a punch my way, just inches away from my ear. I duck and hold my arms out in front of my face. I know that even if I had let him hit all the way, he wouldn't have even touched me; his hand was too far away.

We continue on like this, sending hits and punches that would never be painful but nevertheless utilize some skill, his always swift and deft versus my clunky ones. By the end, I'm struggling to catch my breath.

"You're not too bad at this, Whitney," he remarks, his praise making my heart sing. "But we still have a lot of work to do."