Wyatt’s narrowed gaze gives me another once-over, and when he looks at Grandpa, he visibly relaxes. “Soon. He said you wanted a hose. Over there.”
As Wyatt trots inside to a storage room and starts pulling stuff out, Grandpa grabs my arm and pulls me inside the barn. It smells like old dirt and fresh hay. I thumb over toward GI Jackass. “What’s with him?”
“Don’t mind Wyatt. He’s a good guy.” We reach the hose and he picks it up. “I guess Reece recruited him to help train you.”
“Fantastic, and what are they training me to do?”
With a twist of the pressure nozzle, water shoots out of the end of the hose and across the barn floor. Grandpa grins. “Not light up.”
A knot in my stomach grows. “They know about me?”
“If you control yourself, and if I’m quick enough with this hose, they won’t.”
Oh, this is not a good idea. “They’re gonna freak.”
“Ready?” Wyatt says, standing in the midst of a pile of stuff.
“He’s ready,” Grandpa calls back.
Wyatt shakes his head. “Sorry, sir. I need to hear it from him. I’m not interested in helping someone who doesn’t want it.”
“I promise, he won’t accuse you of abuse when all’s said and done.”
I turn my head back and forth between the pair. “Why would someone do that? What exactly are you going to do to me?”
“Teach you to control your temper by means of repetition.”
All the tension leaves my body and I laugh. “What, every time I get angry I’m going to recite my times table?” I turn to Grandpa. “That’s a great solution.” The sarcasm in my voice isn’t hard to miss.
“This isn’t a babysitting service. You game or not?”
The guy’s getting a little testy, and I’m not fond of testy dudes, but then a flash of Kera’s horrified expression comes to mind. “I’m ready.”
“Then let’s get loaded up.”
From out of the pile he pulls out a backpack. I have a sinking feeling his idea of repetition involves a bit more physical endurance than I was expecting.
I hesitate, and Grandpa twists the nozzle, shooting a quick stream of water at me. When I look back, he grins and winks. “Start trusting. I’ve got you covered.”
Good Intentions Go Bad
Wyatt jerks the cinches to my backpack until the straps are snug against my shoulders. He then slips an identical pack onto his back. Something shifts inside mine, but I don’t have time to give it much thought because he launches into a mini lecture. “You’re here to learn control. To discipline your actions. The thing about control is that it’s elusive until you figure out it’s all mental.”
“So we’re going to sit cross-legged on the floor and repeat positive affirmations?”
Wyatt smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Note taken. He doesn’t have a sense of humor. “This is a training camp. When I’m home on leave, I help Reece train fighters. MMA, boxing, jujitsu. I’m not going to ask you to do anything I don’t ask any one of our boys to do. This is our one day off. Don’t make me regret helping you when I could be helping myself to some fun down at Dirty Joe’s Day and Night Club.”
I nod, but I’m still not sure what he’s got planned. Not until he pulls me outside to a pile of rocks. He turns me around and starts loading them into my pack. The weight pulls at my shoulders and ribs. He secures the load and moves to face me. “Give me grief, there’s room for more rocks, got it?”
I tuck my fingers in the straps and adjust the weight. “Got it.”
“All you have to do is keep up.” The guy flashes me a grin.
Grandpa calls me over and tests the weight strapped to my back as he watches Wyatt doing who-knows-what outside. “He’s not messing around.”
I’m beginning to get the feeling I’ve fallen into my own rabbit hole to hell when Grandpa grabs the water hose and soaks me down until my boxers stick uncomfortably to my legs. “That should keep the sparks away until you get back. If you feel the need to light up, get the hell away from him, got it?”
“This is lame,” I say, standing in a puddle of excess water. “How’s this supposed to help me?”
Grandpa shakes his head and steps back. “Careful, son. Confidence is knowing you can do something and get it done. Cockiness is showing you’re too stupid to know when you’re in trouble. You’re verging on cocky, boy.” Grandpa nods toward Wyatt. “He trains hard-core for fun.”
I shrug, not worried at all. “I’ve got more speed in me than he’ll ever possess. I’ll be back before my clothes start to dry.”
“Just crossed over into cocky,” he mutters. His fingers grip my shoulder, digging into my muscle. “Do this human, Dylan. No powers. Prove to me and to yourself what kind of man you really are.”
Wyatt appears near the barn door, notices my wet clothes, and shakes his head. “I’m not even going to ask. Come on, kid. I’m not holding your hand through this. Either you want it or you don’t.” He doesn’t wait for an answer. He turns and runs off.
He’s tapped into my main problem. I don’t want to be out of control, but half the time my powers appear without me ever calling on them. Ever since I came back from Teag, I’m plugged into the earth like wires into a grid. I’m not just freaking myself out, but everyone else around me.
“I’ll do it human.” The promise is out before I can stop it. I’m terrified. There’s no way I can keep it.
Grandpa lets go, and I take off after the guy. It’s only a little run. How hard can that be? A streak of khaki, like a slash of dirt, pinpoints him on the opposite side of the yard. He enters the woods, and with my long-legged stride, I steadily gain on him. When I come alongside him, I see his surprise, but he quickly hides it. I suppress a grin, but inside I’m glad I’ve made a dent in that irritating smile he wears.
The first part of our run is about the lead and who can hold on to it. After twenty minutes, my lack of endurance begins to show. I resist the urge to call on a jolt of energy. It would be so easy. I can feel it humming in the earth beneath my feet—ready, waiting for me to accept it.
Seeing me struggle, Wyatt’s muscles loosen and he starts in with the big talk. “I hear your mom’s got an open-door policy.”
I grit my teeth. It’s not like I can deny it, but I don’t like him or anyone else talking about it.
Either he’s a real jerk or he’s trying to tick me off because he keeps yammering. “You should hear the stories. She was a wild thing back then, and a handful in more than one way.”
We come to a hill, and I get a good grip on the backpack straps, taking the weight off my shoulders as best I can, but the climb still burns my lungs.
Wyatt paces himself, more like a machine than a human. I don’t even hear him breathing heavy. “From what I’ve heard, she’s still got her looks.”
I don’t respond. How can I? I’m using all my energy to keep pace.
“Surprising, though. Most women like her tend to get that used look by now.”
The smell of burning cloth reaches my nose. My hands are gripping the straps, and beneath my fingers, the fabric edges are singed. I shoot a quick glance at Wyatt to see if he notices.
“Still,” he says, all innocent, “if she comes back, I wouldn’t mind seeing what all the fuss is about.”
I feel the rush of heat and battle to keep it down. “You really don’t want to get me mad.”
“That’s what I hear. Now take that anger and push it down into your belly. Let it fuel your need to beat me to the top of this hill.” Wyatt pumps his legs harder and begins to pull away from me. “Come on.”
I really want to beat him. I hunch down and push myself, but the guy stays one step ahead of me.