Chapter 3 War at the Gym

Nessa POV

The next morning, I arrived three minutes early, and Brennan checked his watch with a raised eyebrow.

“A miracle.”

“Enjoy it. It may never happen again.”

“I'll mark the date.”

“Put it in your captain's log.”

He glanced at my crutches. “Ready to work?”

“Do you ever ask a question without sounding annoyed?”

“Only when I get an answer without an argument.”

I sat on the mat while he checked Dr. Evans's plan and set out the equipment, confirming the restrictions before we began.

“Core stability and controlled upper-body movement,” he said. “Your ankle stays supported. No standing exercises.”

“I remember the rules.”

“Good. Then we can skip the part where I repeat them.”

“You'd miss it.”

“Probably.”

I tried not to smile, but he noticed anyway.

“Something funny?”

“I'm imagining you trying to finish one session without giving orders.”

“Sounds like a waste of everyone's time.”

He handed me the light weights. “Keep your shoulders level and move slowly.”

I started the set, but halfway through, my left shoulder lifted.

“Lower it,” he said.

“I know.”

“Then do it.”

“You could try saying please.”

“Please lower your shoulder.”

I laughed, catching him off guard when he looked up.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

“You're staring.”

“I'm checking your form.”

“My shoulder is on the other side.”

“Then stop distracting me.”

“You're the one who looked up.”

His mouth twitched. “Finish the set, Calder.”

I completed the repetitions while he recorded my results, and when he finished, he glanced at the numbers.

“Your control is improving,” he said.

“Was that a compliment?”

“An observation.”

“You almost made it sound sincere.”

“I'll be more careful next time.”

I reached for my water. “Most trainers try to motivate their athletes.”

“Most athletes don't have fathers calling the federation to get their trainers removed.”

My smile disappeared. “Victor doesn't speak for me.”

“Then stop letting his decisions determine yours.”

“You think that's easy?”

“I think you're capable of deciding what you want.”

I tightened my grip on the bottle, struggling to find the right words.

“My father has controlled my training, my diet, and my career since I was a child. If I questioned him, he called it a lack of discipline. People see the medals and sponsors and assume I got everything I wanted. I didn't.”

Brennan set down the tablet.

“I didn't know that.”

“You never asked.”

“You never gave me a reason to think you'd answer.”

“Maybe you decided who I was before I got the chance.”

He held my gaze. “Maybe I did.”

His answer caught me off guard because I had expected him to argue, but he didn't try to defend himself.

“I'm not asking you to trust me,” I said.

“Good. I don't know you well enough to do that.”

“But you can stop treating me like my father's decisions are mine.”

“Fair enough.”

He adjusted the support cushion without touching my injured ankle, then stepped back to give me room.

“One more set.”

“Ten reps, Nessa.”

It was the first time he had used my first name without sounding angry, and I nearly lost count.

“Shoulder,” he reminded me.

“You keep talking.”

“Occupational hazard.”

I finished the set, and when we stopped, he checked my results and made a note in the file.

“That's enough for today. We'll build on this when your medical team approves.”

“I could do another set.”

“You could. That doesn't mean you should.”

I wanted to argue, but the ache in my arms reminded me that he wasn't wrong.

As I reached for my crutches, my phone rang, and Victor's name appeared on the screen. My fingers tightened around the handle as I held my breath before answering.

“What?” I said.

“You have ten minutes to leave that facility,” Victor replied. “I've contacted the board. If you continue this arrangement, I'll withdraw every sponsorship connected to your career.”

“You can't cancel the medical order.”

“I can make sure you have nothing left to return to when you're cleared.”

I looked at Brennan, but he didn't interrupt.

“I'll see you at home,” I said.

“Nessa—”

I ended the call, my hand still gripping the phone.

Brennan waited a moment before asking, “Your father?”

“Yes.”

“What did he threaten?”

“My future. As usual.”

He leaned against the equipment rack. “I could tell you not to let him get to you, but you'd probably tell me to mind my own business.”

“I was going to say that.”

“Then I'll save us both the trouble.”

I secured my crutches. “I'm going to find out what he's hiding.”

Brennan's expression changed.

“Be careful what you decide a clue means. Suspicion isn't proof.”

“I know.”

“Then make sure you can prove whatever you find.”

“I don't need you to tell me how to investigate.”

“Good. I don't want to do it for you.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke. Brennan picked up his tablet, but his attention stayed on me.

“Your father won't make this easy,” he said.

“I know. But I'm done letting him make every decision for me.”

Brennan nodded toward my crutches. “Then start with your recovery. Follow the plan, get the records, and decide what you want to do with what you find.”

“I can manage that.”

“I hope so, Calder.”

That night, I waited until the house quieted. Victor was attending a gala and wasn't expected back until the following day, and I had confirmed his schedule before leaving the facility.

I took the spare key I had kept from an earlier visit to his study and grabbed my crutches, knowing my ankle was still too badly injured for me to move safely without them. I couldn't risk making it worse just to get inside my father's house.

Brennan might have been wrong about my father. I needed to check the facts before deciding what to believe, and I wasn't going to confront Victor with an accusation I couldn't support.

The key felt cold in my palm as I remembered how many years I had spent following my father's instructions because questioning him always came at a price.

This time, I would find out what he had kept from me.