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“UGH,” I GROANED IN PAIN.I lay on the black rubber-tiled floor of Theo’s gym, my legs twitching even though theyweren’t working anymore. He expected me to be able to kick tomorrow? I wasn’t sure I’d be able to move. Sweat dripped down my temple, and I swiped at it with the back of my hand.

I held a fake microphone to my mouth. “How does it feel to have killed your trainee on day one?” I threw my hand in the air, pointing my fist toward him.

He walked over, pretended to tap it for a sound check, then leaned down and into my hand said, “Feels like my trainee needs to toughen up.”

I froze, looking up at him from my place on the floor, his face upside down in my view.

“What?” he asked.

I dropped my hand to the side. “Nothing,” I said, having a hard time shaking the surprise of him actually playing along.

“How are you with extreme cold?” Theo didn’t seem dead at all even though he’d done a lot of the workout alongside me. He had definitely favored his left leg. I’d tried not to notice and I absolutely didn’t point it out after how defensive he’d been about his injury, but he did.

“In what context?” I asked.

“In the context of being surrounded by floating chunks of ice.” He pointed to a windowed door in the room that led outside.

I pushed myself up to sitting with a grunt. “I’m confused.”

“There’s an ice barrel out there.”

“A what?”

“I’ll show you.”

He led the way out the door to a small patio on the side of the house. A black barrel with a three-step stool jutting off the sidestood on one corner of the cement. Against the house was a full-on ice machine, like the ones at hotels. He lifted the door and began scooping ice into a bucket.

“Your whole house is set up like an NFL star lives here. Wait, is your dad an NFL star or something?”

He looked over his shoulder at me as he poured the first bucket of ice into the tall barrel. It made a sloshing noise as it hit the water. I should’ve stopped him. I really did not want an ice bath. I hadn’t even brought a swimsuit.

“Pretty sure the whole school would know if my dad was an NFL star.”

“Maybe a retired one?”

“No.” He moved back to the machine to fill the bucket again. “My dad played in high school.”

I turned a slow circle. From this side patio, I could see the shed and kicking net in the backyard. My circle finished with me looking back through the windows into the decked-out gym. His parents had put a lot of money into his football career. I wondered if they were just as upset as he was about his injury. This house, this setup, showed that they expected a lot of him.

He stepped back from the barrel and held his hand out to the side like an invitation.

I groaned again. “I don’t have a suit.”

He looked at my running shorts like he didn’t understand what I was saying.

I sighed. “Fine.”

I was wearing a sports bra under my tee. So what if my shortsgot wet. I toed out of my shoes, peeled off my socks, and approached the three small steps that would end in more torture. I took a deep breath, took off my shirt, threw it on top of my shoes behind me, then went for it. It was cold…freezing…and I was only shin-deep. My arms were shaking from holding myself out of the water.

“It works better if you get all the way in,” he said.

“Just hold your stupid horses. It’s cold.”

“My horses aren’t stupid,” he said. “They are very intelligent.”

My toes were now numb as I lowered myself another inch. “Do you actually have horses?” I asked, not really surprised.

“No, I don’t. But my figurative horses are smart.”