Tangled

99 Ava: Life in Westwood (IV)

A plastic thud startles me awake. I crack open an eye to see Lisa’s alarm clock skitter across the floor, her arm still extended from the throw. O

“I can’t do this anymore,” she moans into her pillow. “Everything hurts. I think my eyelashes are sore.”

I laugh, but it turns into a groan as I slide out of bed, my muscles screaming in protest. Four days of Jericho’s training from hell, and my body still hasn’t adjusted. I’m not sure it ever will.

“Do you think the bodyguards would murder Jericho if we asked nicely?” Lisa’s voice is muffled, her face still buried in her pillow.

“Stop dreaming.” I limp to the bathroom, each step an agony. “And get ready. You know he’ll just make it worse if we’re late.”

Lisa’s groan follows me as I shut the door, a smile tugging at my lips despite the pain. As much as I hate the early mornings and the constant ache in my muscles, there’s a part of me that relishes the challenge. Each day I push myself further, each day I

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99 Ava: Life in Westwood (IV)

grow stronger.

Selene would be proud.

The thought sobers me as I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Four days, and still no sign of her. I’m starting to wonder if she’ll ever come back. If I’ll ever be whole again.

I splash water on my face, the cold shock chasing away the melancholy thoughts. I can’t afford to dwell on what I’ve lost. Not when I have so much to gain.

By the time I emerge from the bathroom, Lisa is up and dressed, her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. She shoots me a baleful look as she tugs on her

sneakers.

“I hate you for being a morning person.”

“I’m not a morning person,” I protest, grabbing my water bottle. “I’m just better at pretending than you

are.”

Lisa snorts, but there’s a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “Fake it till you make it, right?”

steeling myself for

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in Westwood

stretches out her legs. “But let’s

and Lisa and I groan in unison. We don’t have to check. Of course it’s Kellan. Here to

the door, eyeing Kellan with exasperation. “Don’t you have anything better to

impassive. “There’s nothing in my life more important

up her cheeks. Well, well. What do we have here? But before I can needle her about it, she shoves past

my stomach. Jericho. Another day of his disapproval and disdain. I’m really starting to like him, but also I

he’s waiting for us, his scarred face set

scowl. “You’re

at him “We’ll make it

in Westwood

you. How about we bring donuts tomorrow? All you can eat, if we can just take a little break today…”

“You want to play games? Fine. Run another mile. Both

back a groan, shooting Lisa a glare. She shrugs, unrepentant, and takes off at a

Early mornings, aching muscles, and a trainer who seems to hate us. But as much as

complain, I know I need this. Need to be

myself. For whatever comes

the pain. One foot in front of the other. One mile.

we manage five miles–slow as fucking snails, Jericho points out, like he does every damn day -my legs burn. Lactic acid (something I’ve learned about in recent days) scorches my muscles, a deep, throbbing ache that pulses with each

in Westwood (IV)

flushed crimson

Jericho’s command cuts through the haze

argument.

a pitiful whimper. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ (ꜰind)ɴʘvel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and

my head, wincing as the movement sends a fresh wave of agony through my body. “Sorry, Jericho. My legs have officially died. I’m going

lip curls, his scarred face twisting into a sneer. “Well, aren’t

our luck too far. Jericho’s patience, it

to icy slits.

choose.”

chest. Neither option appeals,

the alternative–incurring Jericho’s

in

far worse. He likes coming up with

hard, my mouth dry as I force the

expression grim. “Practice,” she echoes, her voice a hoarse

smile is a razor’s edge, sharp and unforgiving. “Good choice.”