Ace

RODRIGUEZ

               I called Benjamin's phone many times, listening to his voicemail repeatedly. I had memorized it. All I wanted to hear was his voice to make my mind believe he was still alive. Suddenly, a lady, a nurse I assumed, picked up the phone and told me I had to stop calling.

               By that time, I had started to doze off because it was almost eight at night, which was dangerous, especially since I was driving.

               "Wake up!" LeBron yelled in my ear. I straightened up the wheel, wide awake in alarm.

               "H-how can you see me?!" I asked.

               "The watch you're wearing records your heart rate and sends them to me," he stated. "Also, how do you keep calling Benjamin? I thought I deleted everyone from your contacts and blocked you."

               What an idiot.

               "This is my car, so I always have extra phones and other supplies in case of emergencies," I told him.

               "You need to get a hold of yourself," LeBron replied seriously, "The whole reason we're doing this training is for you to get your panic attacks under control."

               "It won't happen again," I assured him.

               "Tch," he scoffed, "We'll see once the mission's over."

               "Fine," I agreed, "Hey, it's eight o'clock now, can I pull over and rest?"

               "No," he answered, "Drink some coffee."