At the crest, he pulls me to a stop. With my breath heaving in and out, he spins me around so my back faces him. “Sadly, you suck, so more rocks.”
I glance over my shoulder. “I was right behind you—”
“Yeah, but I heard you breathing. I don’t like heavy breathers.” He collects five rocks from his pack and jams them into mine.”
“You’re carrying rocks?” My surprise shows in my voice.
“As many as you…well, not now.” He turns me around and pushes me forward. “Let’s go, anger-management boy. Reece should be getting back soon. That’s when the real fun starts.”
Wyatt stops me three more times, once because I slowed down, once because I was sweating too much, and the last time—just because. By the time we get back, I’m carrying all the rocks. I stumble into the barn, sweat stains my shirt, and my face is hot from anger. Wyatt managed to hit on every one of my insecurities from Mom to school to Kera. I collapse to my knees, chest heaving, lungs burning, and rip off the backpack. Rocks the size of my fist and larger skitter across the barn floor.
“Pick them up,” Wyatt says as he strips the empty pack from his back.
The fire in me is so hot, I can feel it smoldering, can smell the smoke. I rake off my shirt and chuck it at him.
A sudden shot of water hits my chest, resoaking my torso and splattering my face. I blink away the droplets and glare at Grandpa. He shrugs. “You looked hot. Am I right?”
I stand and shake off the water.
He smiles. “It might work.” His smile fades. “Now go pick up those rocks.”
I snatch one of the straps and drag the pack across the floor, collecting the rocks as I go. When I’m done, I deposit the bag at Wyatt’s feet.
He nods. “Let’s gear up.” He cinches a twenty-pound vest to my bare chest and a pair of heavy weights over my ankles. “I don’t know where Reece is, but until he shows his sorry ass, you’ll be doing what I tell you.” He tosses a jump rope at me, and I catch it. He pulls out his phone and begins to text someone. It’s got to be a girl. No guy smiles that cheesy when he’s texting some other dude. After a second, he frowns at me. “What are you waiting for? Start skipping.”
After a minute, he pockets the phone and crosses his arms over his chest. He circles me, an assessing slant to his eyes. “Anger takes away your ability to think and process information correctly. Your reactions slow and you’re more prone to make irrational choices. Those choices can get you into trouble. If you pay attention, I’ll teach you how to live smart.”
I give him a nod; it’s about all I can do as the rope whips over my head and under my feet. My skin tingles with the urge to use magic, and I resist showing him just how good my abilities are.
An hour goes by with me skipping rope, doing squats, chin-ups and sit-ups, and getting water sprayed at me. I don’t know what Wyatt thinks about Grandpa and his water fixation, but he takes it all in stride, yelling commands between texts and calls.
After the last drill, I’m doubled over, hands on knees and sucking down air. Grandpa’s distracted by a phone call. From what I can tell, it’s Grandma checking up on us. I’m surprised when Wyatt shoves a bottle of cold water at me. “You’ve earned it.”
I straighten. With shaking hands, I rip off the top and guzzle down half the bottle. Lowering it, I nod my head in thanks.
Wyatt slaps my back, motioning to my drowned appearance. “I’m not sure if he’s keeping you from getting heatstroke or he’s an old ballbuster getting his jollies, but it’s one hell of a show.”
I shrug, keep quiet, and quickly drain the last of my water.
He takes the empty water bottle and tosses it into a nearby trash bin. “Since it’s my job to get into your business…you look like shit. When’s the last time you slept? Really slept.”
I dozed on and off last night, but it’d been forever since I’d had a full night’s sleep. “I don’t remember.”
“You know, there’s lots of stuff that can keep you from optimal performance. I’m talking life, not just sports.”
“I get it. No drugs. No alcohol, and I need sleep.”
“That, and you need to tell me why your skin’s so hot it can melt metal.”
A sliver of alarm shoots up my neck. I look down to see what he’s talking about, and notice one of the old metal clasps riding my hip has melted and fused. Tiny drips of metal shimmer against my shorts.
“Now, I’m just a simple soldier, home on leave,” Wyatt says nonchalantly, but there’s an underlying tension that can’t be missed, “but even I know metal doesn’t melt without some serious heat.” He splays his fingers at me, revealing their red tips. “Touch fire, you get burned.”
I remember every time Wyatt switched exercises, he’d tap my shoulder. I thought he was simply getting my attention, focusing me on the task when I got angry, but he’d gotten burned, which made him curious. There’s no way he could’ve figured out how, so now he’s laying out his cards, showing me what he has in a ploy to get me to reveal what he couldn’t find.
And I’ve got nothing. There’s no logical explanation that will make him believe I’m an everyday, normal guy with anger issues.
“It’s complicated,” I finally say.
“I know you can’t tell by looking at me, but I’m a complex guy.”
“I thought you said you were a simple soldier?”
“I am, with deep complex issues swirling in my head, so listen up. Byzantine tactics are my specialty, which is funny, because I hate being tricked.” He takes a step closer in a way that feels threatening, and he lowers his voice. “You and your grandfather haven’t been honest with me.”
He isn’t going to let this go, but how much can I tell him? “Yes, we have. Lately I’ve been getting angry.”
“And…”
“Really angry.”
“And…”
“Out-of-control angry.”
“Don’t make me push. I’ll win. You know I will.”
“I light up.”
“You start hitting people? Typical teenage shit. I want to know what’s with the heat.”
He’s not getting it, and why would he? It’s not something someone would think possible. Since he’s standing there, waiting for me to continue, I decide to tell him the truth.
“I don’t hit. I do this.” I hold out my hand and uncurl my fingers. A ball of fire springs to life in the middle of my palm.
Wyatt rears back, his disbelief snapping from the ball of fire to my face. “What the hell kind of freak show are you?”
There it is. I’m sick of everyone telling me I don’t belong, that I’m unnatural. Faldon said it so often, I almost believed him. A burn of anger flashes in my gut. “And when I’m really angry, I do this.” The flame races up my arm and engulfs my body in a blink.
Wyatt jumps back and a sudden douse of water hits me, licking at the flames and cooling my skin until the fire dissolves under the onslaught. Grandpa stands with the hose gripped tight, his phone forgotten on the floor and his lips pressed into a thin line. “What don’t you understand about keeping this quiet, son?”
“Holy hot hell, what was that?” Wyatt yells.
I swipe the water off my face and rake my wet hair out of my eyes. “My problem.”
“You self-combust? That’s not a problem, that’s impossible!”
I throw my arms wide. “Apparently not.”
Grandpa tosses the hose down and storms over. His chest nearly smashes into Wyatt and he grabs the younger man’s shirtfront. “You value your life?”
“You threatening me, old man?”
“Do you have any doubts?” His fingers curve into a tight fist. “I can clear it up.”
Wyatt looks from me to Grandpa. He’s trying to make sense of what he saw. “He caught fire. Real fire. That’s…it’s…you weren’t honest with us.”