Beside

17 - distractions

"Fox, do you think things can get sad? Like trees or rocks?"

"I don't think they care about anything."

"But what if they do? Maybe our tree's sad 'cause it's losing leaves again."

"Jellybean, that's not—why are you crying?!"

"What if it gets cold when the snow comes? I just—how do we make it feel better?"

"...Do you want to go sit with it?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

ᖴO᙭

"You're not dying, so either you're not working hard enough, or you're holding out on me. Both options earn you 10 burpees."

I grunt, slamming the medicine ball into the ground harder, wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand.

"Again," Cam says.

I'll kill her. I will.

"Again."

I reach down and heft it above my head, my abs aching, and slam it down. It's a gunshot every time the rubber hits concrete. I want to collapse. But Cam doesn't give me a break. Ever.

"You're hateful," I mutter, looking at the whiteboard she's slashed with times, weight goals, and endless rounds in the ring. Everything is plotted down to the last minute. It's all there. The next seven days of my life, the ones that will determine whether or not I'm ready for this prelim fight. The only thing that's missing is Survive.

Cam rolls her eyes, leaning against the wall. "Keep this up, and I'll smack you with a bat. You wanted a fight. Here it is."

I groan, staring at the list of foods I'm allowed to eat. Chicken, kale, sweet potatoes. And water. Gallons of water. It's like a prison diet. "I despise you."

"You're not making weight if you keep whining like a little bitch."

Seven days to cut two pounds and make weight. Four days to run through all sparring partners. Barely enough time to catch my breath before the next schedule gets slapped in my face—if I win. That's how Cam works. Every hour has a purpose, every second planned out.

And it works. As a pair, we've been undefeated in little stupid matches that draw half a crowd since spring. She's the only person who can pull this off—push me this hard.

But this fight is different. This guy isn't just skilled. He's dangerous.

I glance at Cam, watching her study me. I know she's thinking about it. This match isn't like the others.

"He's not unbeatable," she says. "But you're getting distracted."

I don't answer. She's right.

Distractions. There's no room for them in my life right now. Not with Cam breathing down my neck, not with the weight of this match pressing against my chest every second I'm awake. And Chris—fuck.

She's a beautiful, beautiful distraction.

Cam doesn't know. She doesn't need to.

"I've got it handled," I say, forcing a grin.

She raises her eyebrows. "Go clean up."

I groan again, tossing the towel over my shoulder, and walk out. She watches me move like she's calculating the exact second I'll snap.