The next week is close to stress-free as it can be. If I'm not pretending to be a model student, I'm training at the gym or uploading to Instagram in the hopes that it'll boost GymCon's profile. I'll admit that I haven't seen much engagement from my last few posts, but I'm convinced our followers will skyrocket once I fight with Katarina.

Or maybe it's wishful thinking. Perhaps I'm so desperate for the gym to be okay that I can't see the truth, which is that all of this is pointless: not just the Instagram or videos but the fight. The longer I train with Nico, the harder it becomes not to doubt whether or not I can do this or wonder if I'm in over my head. Progress is slow – slower than I'd anticipated – and while channeling my anger helps to motivate me in the ring, I can never seem to control it.

Still, whether it's down to arrogance or stupidity, I'm determined to try. Now that I've semi-mastered the cross-jab combo, Nico and I have moved on to other combos and techniques that complement Coach's footwork. If I can master channeling my anger in the ring, I might stand a chance. Until then, I will keep myself focused.

Friday evening, Daisy sends over the violin instrumental, so I spend the time before the gym editing boxing clips to the soundtrack. It turned out better than I expected, so maybe my technological skills are improving. I forward it to her with a nervous emoji and grin when she sends a heart-eyes emoji back.

Dinner with my mother is as expected. Cody wolfs down his naked burger and sweet potato fries while my mother half-dotes on him, and half-checks her phone to read the comments on her latest post. I push around the food on my plate, not particularly hungry, and stare at the clock, counting the seconds until my session with Nico.

I don't know why I anticipate our sessions, but I'm certain it has to do with the fact that when I'm around him, I get to be myself. Not the model student or boxer, just the girl in the ring, working on controlling her anger issues. Even though he hasn't said as much, something tells me he understands that better than anyone.

"So," she says, turning to face me, "what are your plans for this evening, Cass?"

"Same as always. I'm going to the gym."

She sighs. "Don't you think you're spending a little too much time at that gym?"

I forgot to bring down my notebook for the first time in forever. "What would your rather I do?"

"It's Friday night," she says. "You could be doing anything, Cassandra. Isn't there a party or something to go to? Friends to see? And I don't mean Daisy."

"Parties aren't really my thing. What's wrong with Daisy?"

But I already know what's wrong with Daisy. To my mother, Daisy isn't pretty or cool or popular enough, and I'm certain deep down, she thinks the same thing about me.

"When I was your age, there wasn't a Friday night where I was sitting around doing nothing," she says. "You're wasting your teen years, Cassie. I don't want you to ever get to my age and be left with regrets. There's nothing worse."

Cody grimaces and puts down his fork. I get to my feet and grab my plate, scraping off my untouched meal and putting it in the dishwasher. "How can it be a waste if I'm doing something I enjoy?"

"I'm not saying quit," she says. "I'm just saying you need to focus on other things too. Why don't you join some extra-curricular clubs at school? Just because you've gotten into CSUN doesn't mean you can sit back for the rest of the year."

The whole going to college thing had been to get her off my back, but that's the thing with my mother. The second you meet one of her expectations, she has another one lined up in its place. "Fine, I'll join the track team," I say, kissing Cody's cheek. "See you later."

Scooping my gym bag off the floor, I disappear into the hallway before we end up embroiled in an argument. It's not fair to Cody this constant back and forth, which is why I need to live with my dad. As soon as I get in the car, I call him on facetime and patiently wait for him to pick up.

Finally, his face fills my screen. "Hey, Cass-Cass. How was school?"

"It was fine," I say, holding up my phone, but keeping the frown off my face is hard. "Dinner with my mother, however, was not."

He sighs and tilts his head a little, a sure sign of sympathy. "She giving you a hard time?"

"She doesn't like that I spend so much time at the gym. She wants me to go to a party."

He smiles, but it's the sad kind he reserves for my mother. "In a twisted way, she thinks she's helping you. She didn't have many friends when she was your age. She feels like she missed out on life and doesn't want the same to happen to you."

I frown when I think back to what she'd said about spending every weekend with her friends. This is what I don't understand: the lying, the deceit. I'd have more respect if she admitted the truth instead of painting herself out to be something she's not. "All I know is that I need to move in with you soon," I say. "It's not fair on Cody to have to live with the both of us in one house."

"I know," Dad says, sighing. "I promise I'm working on it. Just give me a few more weeks, all right?"

"Yeah," I say, but inside, my heart sinks. "Love you, Dad."

"Love you, Chickpea."

I hang up and turn on the radio before driving to the gym. There is an absurd amount of traffic tonight – even for LA – so I pull up to the gym in a worse mood than usual. I kill the engine, praying I'll make it one of the heavy bags without crossing paths with anyone. I've been on my best behavior as of late, and I'll be damned if I ruin it now.

Tonight's gym session feels like I'm simply killing time until my session with Nico. Coach is busy; some new boys joined a few days ago, so he has his work cut out with them. I don't particularly mind: as much as I like one-to-one time with Coach, sometimes it's nice to work on my footwork without someone peering over my shoulder.

I waste most of my energy on a heavy bag, hitting until the frustration from my mother's critiques is little more than a dull ache. It's not often I let her get to me, but with my dad delaying my move-in date, things back home are getting to me.

It's a relief when the gym closes, and I can have some time alone. I focus on clearing away the equipment and wiping down the heavy bags, glancing at the clock every so often to check the time. Nico is late, which is unusual for him and is making me antsy.

When I finish with the heavy bags, I clean the boxing ring and organize the medical cupboard. By the time Nico walks through those doors, it's almost eight-thirty, and I'm pissed. "Where have you been?" I ask. "You can't even call to say you're late?"

If he's surprised by my irritation, he doesn't show it. He drops the bag and crosses the room until he's standing before me. "I don't have your number," he reminds me, which is valid, but still, "and I got held up at Box Inc–" he pauses, "–I got the job."

My face falls. "Congratulations."

"Do me a favor," he says, leaning closer, and I don't miss the smirk on his lips, "don't ever become an actress."

I realize he's right, I've never been good at hiding my emotions, but now I feel bad. As much as I hate Box Inc and all it stands for, it's wrong to feel anything other than happy for him. "No, I mean it; I'm happy for you. But won't training me be some kind of conflict of interest?"

"It's a gym, Cassie. Not a courtroom."

It's not the reassuring answer I'd hoped for, but what did I hope for anyway? I barely know the guy – if he wants to run off and train at some gym, who am I to stop him? "I can't stay long, so we should probably start."

I head to the equipment box without waiting for his answer and remove the tape and gloves. He follows me over, taking the tape from my hands. "I can do it," I say, but he's grabbing my hand and looping the tape across my thumb.

"You're stubborn," he says, "you know that?"

"So I've been told."

"Apparently not often enough."

His touch makes me shiver, which is yet another reason why I'm mad. My body reacts in ridiculous ways to someone who would never be interested in me. I stare at the wall, ignoring the rush of heat to my thighs as his fingers brush my skin. Instead, I think back to that night that Nico fought Hayden and try to channel that power for our training session.  

"I've always wondered," I say suddenly, looking up. "What made you challenge Hayden that first night?" It's the kind of confidence I've never been able to master, but something tells me that I'll need to if I want to win my fight against Katarina.

His mouth twitches. "You think about it often?"

"You wish," I say, turning, but he grabs my hand and pulls me back. It must be a little more forcefully than he'd intended because we end up closer than ever. For about a second, my gaze trails his nose and falls to his mouth, where it takes in the bow of his lips.

"You're grouchy today," he says.

"As opposed to my usual cheerful self?"

He smirks like I have a point, but based on the way he looks at me, he doesn't seem to mind. "My dad always said when you step into a room, make your presence known, so I did."

I don't know what I'd expected him to say, but it wasn't that. "Did he box too?"

His smile fades. "He fought; he didn't box."

I'm acutely aware of his fingers still gripping my wrist. Even though I hate to admit it, I don't want him to let go. "What's the difference?"

"One is a sport, the other is anti-social behavior." He drops my wrist and finishes wrapping my hand. "Taught me to bare-knuckle fight in the backyard." He holds out his knuckle, twisting it slightly in the light, and I notice it's littered with scars. "His rule was hit hard, hit fast. Control was never his forte."

My eyes soften as I imagine him as a kid being forced to fight like that. While I like to think I'm hard done by having to live with someone like my mother, I know there are far worse parents out there. "That's horrible. I'm sorry."

He shrugs. "Don't be. People are the way they are."

"You don't think people can change?" I ask.

"I know they can't – got the scars to prove it." 

His words sting. Not because I think he's wrong but because a part of me knows he's right. And if he's right, that means what I'm doing is futile. My anger, my training – what's it all for if I can't learn to change?

"How did you learn to box properly if not through your dad?"

He hides a smile. "I was a pretty bad kid in school. My principal took pity on me and recommended a local gym."

"Define pretty bad."

His eyebrow arches. "Kind of like you."

The idea that we're similar both terrifies and excites me. "When you said your dad was big into physio, what did you mean?" Now that I've finally got him to open up, I'm on a roll.

"I mean he'd come home with broken bones or dislocated shoulders, and I'd watch him piece himself back together." He steps back and slips on his gloves. "You ready?"

I follow him to the ring and slip through the ropes before getting into position. Despite my bad mood, I can't deny that I feel better now that I'm training with Nico, which is absurd even to think, but it's true. Being around him, especially in this gym, is easy somehow.

As soon as we're in position, I surge forward, but Nico sidesteps before I can swing. Undeterred, I go for a combo, twisting my hand the way he'd shown me before, but either he's too quick, or I'm lacking in accuracy because it sails right past him. Still, while I'd have let it deter me last week, I'm determined to prove myself, not just to Nico but to me.

"C'mon Cassie," Nico says as I take another swing. "Focus."

After taking a few hits, I step up my game and go for an uppercut that catches him off guard. He stumbles a little, and it's in this split-second that I take all that anger, that fury, and I channel it into my jabs. I manage to land a couple, with the rest being dodged, but it's clear from the way Nico's eyes gleam back that he's never been more impressed.

We go a few more rounds before calling it quits. I'm exhausted and ready to collapse on the floor, but there's a strange sense of courage entangled in the pain that makes it all worth it. I rip off my helmet, about to slip through the ropes, when I stop to face Nico.

"You're wrong, by the way," I say, "about people not changing. I'm going to."

He steps forward and closes the distance between us. My breath hitches and I expect him to tell me I can't or won't, given what he'd just said, but he doesn't. Instead, his eyes find mine in the silence that follows, bright and intense. "Do me a favor," he says, moving past me, and it's when he looks back that my heart stops. "Don't."

A/N

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