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44

Lincoln

I ran my fingers through my freshly showered hair. The last semester of my senior year was about to begin and I was getting back into the grind. The break from training was needed, but my body was feeling the familiar aches and pains of being out of commission for a while.

Things had felt strange when I had shown up earlier that day. I was half expecting Cali to pop up with an anatomy textbook, ready to force more material down my throat. Of course, she hadn't.

I managed to pass Hamilton's freakishly difficult class with high standing achievement–something that wouldn't have been possible without her. I had reached out as soon as I found out to let her know that she had managed the impossible. Her replies to my texts weren't the usual full-sentence responses I was used to, but I brushed it off. She was at home, spending time with her family over the holidays. I wouldn't get in the way of that.

But with the winter break nearing its end, that meant Cali would be heading back to campus, if she wasn't here already, and I couldn't wait to see her.

The strap of my gym bag weighed on my shoulder. I was already beginning to feel the tension building in my upper back from today's list of exercises. I made a mental note to roll myself out once I picked Sadie up from the neighbour's house.

"Pierce," Whitmore's gruff voice called from his desk. "In my office."

The door of my locker clanged shut. The sound camouflaged my sigh as I hiked my bag higher on my shoulder and made my way towards Whitmore's office. I was hoping I'd be able to sneak in and out of the gym without him noticing.

"Hey Coach," I said, propping his door open further. "Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year," he grunted, a pen in his hand. "How was your break?"

I shrugged. "Uneventful."

He sent me a stiff nod, getting up from his seat and heading towards the filing cabinet in the corner of the room. "I noticed you didn't come in over the break like you normally do."

My tongue brushed against my bottom lip. "I spent a little more time with family this year."

"That's good," he replied, shutting the drawer shut with a bang. "Now tell me, how did you find yourself getting caught up in an underground fighting ring?"

The beating of my heart stuttered and I tried to fight the panic before it made its way onto my face. "I don't know what you're referring to, Coa–"

"Really?" He rose a thick grey brow. "Then how did I manage to get pictures of you in a cage match, down behind the fucking Underground?"

He tossed the file folder down on his cluttered desk. The corner of a dark photograph peeked out of the bottom, beckoning me to open it and discover what was inside.

"They call it The Pit, don't they?" It was phrased as a question, but I knew better than to answer it.

Every part of my brain was short circuiting as I reached out towards the red folder, flipping it open. The blood drained from my face. Inside were images that documented my illegal fighting history over the last three years. My nostrils flared as I tried to remember how to breathe.

Whitmore's gruff voice tore me from my thoughts. "Are you going to try and convince me that's someone else?"

"How did you...?"

"The bruising––the marks you were trying to hide–I knew they weren't from what you've been doing here. Things weren't adding up. But I was noticing a pattern." Whitmore crossed his arms, biceps flexing against the material of his polo shirt. Considering the guy was pushing sixty, it was pretty impressive. "For someone who doesn't like to drink, or socialize, you sure do spend a lot of your Friday nights at the most popular bar on campus."