"Thanks."
"But I don't want to fight you again."
Noah swallowed.
"Why?"
"Because you fight like you're trying to prove something."
Noah didn't answer.
Maya sighed.
"Good night."
She ended the call.
Noah sat alone.
Then his phone buzzed again.
This time it wasn't Maya.
It was Miller.
Tomorrow. 6 A.M. Don't make me come get you.
Noah stared at the message.
Then looked at the photograph.
He whispered:
"Dad, what would you do?"
The room gave him no answer.
But at 5:42 the next morning, Noah was already awake.
Iron Ridge was almost empty at six in the morning.
No music.
No spectators.
No students.
Just the sound of Noah's shoes against the mat.
Coach Miller stood in the center.
"You came."
Noah dropped his bag.
"Don't sound so surprised."
Miller smiled.
"You're early."
"I couldn't sleep."
"Good."
Noah frowned.
"Good?"
"Means you're thinking."
Miller handed him a jump rope.
"Warm up."
Noah stared at it.
"Seriously?"
"Very."
For forty minutes, Miller said almost nothing.
Jump rope.
Push-ups.
Footwork.
Balance drills.
Controlled breathing.
Noah wanted to fight.
Miller wouldn't let him.
At one point, Noah finally snapped.
"Can we do something real?"
Miller looked at him.
"This is real."
"I mean fighting."
"Why?"
"Because that's what I'm here for."
"No."
Miller shook his head.
"You're here because you want to become better."
Noah wiped sweat from his face.
"I am better."
"Than who?"
Noah didn't answer.
Miller pointed toward the mirror.
"That's your problem."
Noah looked at his reflection.
"You don't know what I'm capable of."
"I know exactly what you're capable of."
Miller stepped closer.
"I also know what you're afraid of."
Noah's expression changed.