"Haaaahhh!" I yelled as I slammed my fists against the punching bag.

"30 more seconds." Westley was holding his bag, but he was struggling to keep his grip. I saw his feet inch closer to me to regain traction.

I pounded the bag relentlessly. I pictured Anya's face on the bright red bag. I imagined every way that I could throw off her center of gravity. The more I thought of her the angrier I got. The intensity of my workout mounted as my anger built.

"Good. Just a little more..."

I threw my all into the last few punches. Putting the last of my energy into each and every movement. It was a wonder I was still on my feet.

"Time!" Westley yelled and stepped back from the bag.

"Aargh!" I pushed the bag as hard as I could. It sung violently through the air.

"New record by a long shot," Westley said with a grin. "Must say, I'm really liking your enthusiasm today. You've gotten a lot better."

I fought the feeling of wanting to throw up my lungs. "How much longer do you think I have?" I asked. I stretched my arm across my chest and tried to catch my breath.

"We'll take a break for an hour, get you a protein shake, then work on your legs," Westley said as he helped stretch me out.

"That's not what I meant." I shook my head. "The youngest girl in this tournament is seventeen. The average age is 23. Even Anya is two years younger than me. How much longer can I keep fighting?"

"Five, maybe seven years if we're lucky and you keep working like this. Ten if you want to completely ruin your joints making a very painful old age," he said without missing a beat.

I figured as much. "And how much longer do I actually have a chance to win the championship tournament?"

Westley was strangely silent. "Well, it's all pretty subjective..."

"West..."

"You want me to be honest? This could be your last year to have this good of a chance at winning," he admitted.

I breathed out. I had a feeling that was the case. I was pushing with everything I had, bringing myself to the point of exhaustion. I didn't think I could do this much longer, let alone my whole life. It was too much stress for one body to have.

"But to be fair, I've thought that every year since we've gone pro."

I huffed out a laugh. "Oh, thanks, bro."

"You always come back and surprise me. Your dedication and determination always exceed my expectations. I can hardly tell what you're going to do next. If I were to make a prediction, I think your best bet on actually winning would be next year and the year after that. Plus, this year of course."

I nodded. "I've been thinking...about what I'm going to do after I win," I said. "I haven't really thought about it before. Winning this tournament has really been the only goal I've had in mind. I might try to defend my title, but I know I'm going to have to stop fighting eventually. And then what about you? What's going to happen to you when I stop beating up people for a living?"

Westley smirked. "I wouldn't worry about me too much. I've got plans."

"Of course you do. Care to enlighten me?" I probed.

"Once you win, I'll probably start coaching other girls. I'll take the prize money and buy the gym, fix it up a bit. Then, I'll..." Westley stopped short.

"You'll what?"

Westley's face started to blush. "Well, I guess I'll get married."

I was nearly floored. "Married? To who? You're not dating anyone!"

"I have a girlfriend," he stammered. "I mean, we haven't seen each other a lot since high school, and I've been busy training you..."

"Felicia! I thought you broke up with her ages ago!" I exclaimed.

"No..." He defended himself. His face was bright red. "I told her... We're just on a little break. She said she'd wait for me."

I grinned at my brother's sheepishness. "And I'm sure she has. I probably should win this tournament, though. Wouldn't want her to wait much longer."

Westley cleared his throat and regained his composition. "No."

"Speaking of love interests, have I gotten any calls or texts? Just out of curiosity," I asked. It had been quite a few days since my evening out with Mattie. Hopefully, he had sobered up since then.

Westley shook his head. "I haven't looked at your phone. I have it locked in a locker. You can have it back in two days."

Two days. Just two days until the tournament. I finished up my cool down and clapped my padded hands together. "Alright. Protein shake. I want chocolate, but not the really powdery one. You know how I like them."

"Answer this question and I'll throw in a spoonful of peanut butter. What is Anya's biggest weakness?" West asked.

"Easy," I dismissed. "She underestimates me."

The tournament arrived quick and painlessly. The training had really paid off. I got through the first few fights effortlessly. The semifinal was a bit harder, but I got though that without too much harm done. I made it to the finals, which was the closest I had ever gotten. The judges just let us know that Anya had made it through to the finals just as easily.

I had my earbuds in, but I wasn't listening to any music. I scrolled throught my library, but nothing seemed right. I couldn't tell if I was nervous or anxious or just so relaxed I felt no need to be pumped.

Westley had apparently finished pacing in the hallway. He looked way more nervous than me.

"Okay, I brought you a water..." he said as he handed it to me.

"Mmm, thanks," I said as I brought the bottle to my lips. I took my headphones out so he could tell I was listening to him.

"And I also got your phone out of storage, so..."

I nearly spit out my water. My hand eagerly waited before Westley put my cell phone in the palm of my gloved hand.

I quickly turned it on and found I had a bunch of messages, both text and voicemail. I couldn't help but smile.

The newest ones were the typical good luck messages from my friends, and much to my delight, Mattie and messaged me too. They were surprisingly short and even more surprisingly distressed. "Please, don't ignore me," "Please, pick up the phone," and "Have you listened to your voice mail?"

I was confused to say the least. Something must have happened while I was training. I called my voicemail and listened carefully to the messages.

"Hey, Jules! It's me. I...Uh...I'm really sorry I missed our date. I hope you're not too mad. I kind of had a rough day yesterday. I went out drinking with my brother, and I *ahem* don't remember much after that. Woke up with a bad headache. So...call me back! I'd really like to reschedule. It doesn't have to be coffee. Let me know, and I'd love to make it up to you. Talk to you soon, bye."

I smiled to myself. He was so sweet.

"Jules, I am so, so sorry! I just read your text message, and I should have done that first. It was a bit ambiguous, and I wanted to make sure we're still okay. Alfie just told me that you were the one who took me home. I...I'm not sure what I said or did, but Jules, I didn't mean it! I was drunk. I was stupid. I never meant to... I'm really sorry. I don't drink very often. Just, please! Please, give me another chance! And please call me back!"

Westley must have seen the look on my face. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

"I...I'm not sure," I said. "I think...I think Mattie thinks I broke up with him."

"Sorry to bother you. It's been a couple of days, and I thought... I understand why you're angry. I just...I just don't want to break up with you. You...you're really special to me, and I miss you. I miss you a lot. I was really lucky the day they put you in my ambulance. I can't forget the way you reacted when you woke up. I know you were probably confused, but the way you looked at me...I wanted you to look at me that way all the time. No one has ever made me feel the way you do, Jules, and I really want to show you how important you are to me. If you can somehow forgive me, please call me back."

I was crying, that's how happy I was. He was so sweet. I loved him. I loved him so much. There was only one more message left on my phone.

"It *ahem* has come to my attention that the MMA championship is coming up and you've probably been training your ass off. I wanted to apologize for the way I acted at our last meeting and after. I've left a lot of messages on your phone. By the way, if for some reason your phone plays this one first, you can delete all the others. I wanted to tell you that you're wonderful, and I'll be routing for you. Break a leg! Hopefully someone else's. I don't know if that's appropriate considering I'm a doctor... I'd like to see you soon, so we can talk. I'll be waiting! Bye."

I was laughing now.

"Are you okay?" Westley asked, concern growing on his face.

"I am perfect," I laughed.

"You're on in five, Jules." One of the tournament managers stuck his face in the door.

I let out a deep breath and stuck my ponytail into a tight bun. I stood up and bounced lightly on my toes. The ceramic tiles felt good on my feet.

"Relax, West. I'm going to win," I reassured my brother. "Who's awesome?"

"You're awesome," he replied.

"Damn right," I said. I kissed my fists just as they started to open the doors to the arena. The cheers were nearly deafening.

"This one's for you, baby bro!" I shouted as I punched my fists towards my brother.

"Kick some ass!" Westley screamed back. I turned my back to him as I started for the ring.