Page 51 of Resurgent

My shoulders burn as I force myself to keep going.

“Three and a half.”

“Perry,” I snarl, hoping my tone will scare him enough to at least pretend he’s not taking absolute joy in the fact that he can currently do more than I can.

“Three and five-eighths...You know, maybe you should have been in those tire flipping classes after all. Your arms are looking a little weak,” he teases.

I lower myself another inch, jaw clenched. Just. Four. More.

“Fooouuurrrrrr.”

“I hate you.”

“Four and two-twentieths…”

When I finish my set, I collapse onto the mat, immediately grabbing Perry’s ankle and yanking it with all my strength, knocking him off balance and quickly forcing him to stumble and fall beside me.

“That was four.”

“That was twelve.”

“Not according to my count,” he sings.

“Your inability to add doesn’t make the two bonus pushups I did not count.”

“I’m pretty sure they don’t count unless I say the number out loud.”

“I don’t think that’s how math works.”

Emily’s practically folded in half now, sitting cross-legged on the mat, and somehow looking completely unbothered despite having just finished the same set I did without so much as breaking a sweat.

I hate her a little.

“I don’t know…” Emily says. “Once your arms start shaking, I guess the count becomes subjective.”

“Thank you,” Perry grins.

“Of course.” Then she looks at me. “Also, you did thirteen.”

Perry's mouth drops open.

“I don’t think so...”

“Trust me. There was no missing her exhaled, ‘Fucking kill me now’ on her way down...”

“I—" I cut in, only to be interrupted.

“Or the ‘Eat my ass’ every time she pushed back up.”

There’s no excuse good enough to cover for the hideous cackle that slips past my lips and draws far too many eyes in my direction…which is only made worse as I try to stand and shout “Fuck your mother,” as my leg threatens to give out—my not so subtle reminder of exactly why I'm sitting on a mat doing upper-body exercises instead of beating the hell out of someone.

Again.

My healing team cleared me to run.

Running.

Apparently, that's perfectly acceptable.