Chapter 12 : Sweat and Secrets
The tackling dummy hit the ground for the fifteenth time.
Tyler Lockwood stood over me, grinning, barely winded. "Come on, Donovan. My grandmother hits harder than that."
I pushed myself up, grass stains on my knees, shoulders aching from repeated impacts. The 6 AM training sessions had been brutal for the past two days, and my body—Matt's body, seventeen and theoretically athletic—was screaming for mercy.
My mind, however, remembered dying at a desk from overwork.
This kind of pain was preferable.
"Again," I said.
Tyler's grin widened. "That's more like it."
We went again. And again. The tackling drills blurred together—form, impact, follow-through, repeat. Tyler coached between reps, surprisingly patient when I actually listened.
"You're dropping your shoulder too early. Keep your eyes up. Drive through the target, not into it."
I adjusted. The next tackle was cleaner. Tyler nodded approval.
"Better. You're actually trying this year."
This year. In Matt's memories, the previous summers had been half-hearted efforts, more social time than real training. The old Matt had been coasting on natural ability, too comfortable to push himself.
The new Matt couldn't afford comfort.
By 7:30, we'd moved on to weight circuits. The school gym was unlocked for summer athletes, and Tyler had the equipment memorized. Bench press, squats, deadlifts, rows. My muscles burned with each set.
Between reps, I watched Tyler.
The anger was always there, just beneath the surface. It showed in the way he attacked the weights, the sharp edge in his voice when something didn't go perfectly, the quick flare in his eyes when someone interrupted his focus.
Werewolf gene. Dormant but present. The curse that would eventually change his life.
I couldn't save him from that. The trigger was killing someone, and in canon, Tyler had activated his curse accidentally, tragically. All I could do was be there when it happened.
But I could influence the man he was becoming before that moment.
A freshman walked past the weight room windows, heading toward the track. Tyler glanced up, and something ugly crossed his face.
"Look at that loser. Probably never lifted a weight in his—"
"That's not cool, man."
The words came out before I could stop them. Clear, direct, cutting through Tyler's comment like a knife.
Tyler stared at me. Genuine surprise, maybe even confusion. Matt Donovan didn't push back. Matt Donovan went along to get along, avoiding conflict, keeping the peace.
That Matt was gone.
"What?"
"I said that's not cool." I set down my dumbbells, held his gaze. "You don't know that kid. Maybe he's new to training. Maybe he's working harder than we are. Doesn't matter. He's not doing anything to you."
Tyler's jaw tightened. For a long moment, the weight room was silent except for the hum of the ventilation system.
Then he shrugged.
"Whatever."
He turned back to his reps, and the moment passed. But he didn't mock the kid again. Didn't mutter anything else under his breath. Just focused on his workout with a new tension in his shoulders.
Progress.
I'd pushed back on Tyler exactly once in Matt's remembered history—and Tyler had backed down. The anger was real, but so was the loyalty. Tyler Lockwood didn't like being challenged, but he respected people who did it directly.
We finished the weights and moved outside for conditioning. Sprints across the football field, suicides at the yard lines, the kind of punishment that made professional athletes cry.
I was halfway through a set when I saw her.
Caroline Forbes walked past the field, cheerleading bag over her shoulder, blonde ponytail swinging. She was heading toward the gym for practice, but her path took her along the edge of the track.
She waved.
The wave was directed at the field in general—at Tyler, presumably, given his family's social standing—but her eyes found mine. Held there for a beat longer than casual acknowledgment.
I waved back.
In that moment, I really looked at her. Not as a character from a show I'd watched reluctantly, but as a person. Seventeen, driven, hiding insecurity behind perfect makeup and organized enthusiasm. She was already dressed for practice, already projecting confidence, already performing the version of herself she thought people wanted to see.
The show had portrayed early Caroline as shallow, desperate, a bit annoying. The real Caroline—standing there in the morning light, managing a smile despite whatever stress drove her constant motion—was something else entirely.
She was trying so hard.
"Earth to Donovan." Tyler's voice cut through my observation. "You done staring at Forbes, or you want me to call a timeout?"
I turned back to the sprints. "Just catching my breath."
"Sure you were." Tyler smirked, but it was friendlier than his usual edge. "Caroline's hot, I'll give you that. But good luck getting her attention. She's been chasing my cousin Mark all summer."
Mark Lockwood. Tyler's cousin.
The name triggered a memory from earlier in the week. Vicki had mentioned Tyler's cousin—the one with "good stuff." Was this the same person?
"Your cousin Mark? I didn't know you had a cousin."
"He's older. Graduated last year, goes to Whitmore now. Comes back for summers." Tyler shrugged. "Caroline's been texting him non-stop. Waste of her time, but whatever."
I filed the information away. Mark Lockwood—older, college student, potentially connected to Vicki's drug sources, now apparently linked to Caroline as well.
The web of connections in this town grew more tangled by the day.
We finished conditioning as the sun climbed higher, burning off the morning coolness. My shirt was soaked through, my legs trembling with exhaustion, my lungs working overtime to keep up with oxygen demand.
Tyler tossed me his protein shake. "Here. You earned it."
The shake tasted like chalk and artificial strawberry. I drank it anyway, grateful for the calories.
"Same time tomorrow?" Tyler asked.
"Same time tomorrow."
He headed toward the parking lot, already texting someone on his phone. I stayed on the field, cooling down, watching the cheerleaders emerge from the gym for their own practice.
Caroline was leading warm-ups. Her voice carried across the distance—bright, commanding, the kind of energy that organized chaos into coordination. The other cheerleaders fell into formation around her, following her lead without question.
In the original timeline, she was Damon's first victim.
He'd targeted her specifically—pretty, connected, insecure enough to be flattered by attention from a mysterious older man. He'd used her, abused her, left her broken before Katherine finally killed her.
I thought about the vervain drying in my bedroom. The ground powder I'd been adding to my own food. The special sauce I'd been serving at the Grill.
Caroline ate at the Grill sometimes. But sometimes wasn't enough.
I needed to give her direct protection. Something she'd wear, keep close, maintain even when she wasn't eating restaurant food.
A bracelet, maybe. Or a necklace. Something that looked like jewelry but hid dried vervain inside.
I'd need to find the right piece. Hollow, unobtrusive, the kind of thing a teenage girl would actually wear. And I'd need a reason to give it to her that didn't seem suspicious.
Step by step.
The cheerleaders were practicing a routine now, something involving lifts and synchronized movements. Caroline was at the center, being thrown into the air, trusting her teammates to catch her.
She was smiling. Really smiling, not the performative brightness she wore like armor.
For a moment, she was just a girl enjoying something she loved.
I gathered my things and headed for the parking lot. The morning was heating up, the sky shifting from pink to proper blue.
Eighty-five days.
I had time. Not enough, never enough, but some.
And I intended to use every minute of it.
I checked my phone while sitting in the truck, waiting for the engine to warm up. Three texts from Vicki—won't be home til late, don't wait up, eat without me—and one from Elena asking if I wanted to hang out this weekend.
I answered Elena: Sure. What do you have in mind?
Her response came immediately: Movie? There's a new rom-com Caroline's been wanting to see. She's bringing Bonnie. Want to join?
Caroline. An opportunity, dropping into my lap like the universe was paying attention.
Count me in.
I put the truck in gear and headed home. Movie night with Elena, Caroline, and Bonnie. Perfect chance to observe, to connect, to find an opening for the protection Caroline didn't know she needed.
The vervain waited in its jars. The blood bags cooled in their cooler. The training continued, day after day, building a foundation for the battles to come.
Eighty-five days until Stefan Salvatore arrives.
Eighty-five days to save everyone I can.
The road stretched ahead, familiar and strange, leading toward a future I was determined to rewrite.
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