“What’s wrong with you?” When I turn around, Imogen’s standing in the kitchen, looking at me like I’ve lost my shit. She might not be far off. “What’s wrong?” I shake my head. “It’s less than two weeks out from the biggest fight of my life, and I can’t put weight on my left leg without pain. I can’t train. Fuck. I couldn’t even make it upstairs to get a goddamned shower last night. I slept like shit. I’m in pain, and I’m tired. Does that about sum it up?” “Hud . . . why didn’t you call me? I would have come over.” She sits down on a stool at the island and waits. “I don’t know, Gen. It
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