I don't have to see his face to know my savior is Nico. He stands with his back to me, arm outstretched in a warning to Danny, who is frozen to the sidewalk. Considering Nico is three times his size, it's a smart decision.

"That bitch hit me first," Danny hisses, "and if you weren't in my way, I'd have knocked her out." 

That was Danny's second mistake. In one quick move, Nico grabs Danny by the front of his t-shirt and shoves him against the wall. Danny's friend shouts a strangled "Hey!" but doesn't get out of his car. In fact, he locks the doors.

My skin prickles. I'll admit, I hadn't been scared when it was me against Danny – I'm pretty sure Danny couldn't fight his way out of a wet paper bag – but Nico's arrival alarms me. I've seen what he's capable of in the ring when restrained by rules and regulations; I can only imagine him outside of it.

Nico's voice comes hard and fast. "You'd have done what?"

A look I've never seen before crosses Nico's face. He towers over Danny, his fingers still clenched in Danny's shirt, looking seconds away from sending this kid to sleep.

If I ever wanted to know what Danny looks like seconds from pissing himself, this is it. "Nothing," he says, raising his hands, "let go of me, man."

Nico doesn't move for a solid three seconds. Then, jaw narrowed, he unclenches his hands from the front of Danny's t-shirt and gives him a hard look. "Get out of here."

I've never seen Danny move so fast. His friend unlocks the car, and Danny scrambles into the passenger seat before the pair screech off into the night. I clutch my bloody hand, staring after their fading headlights with a feeling of bewilderment. What the hell just happened?

Nico looks over and notices my hand. "Come on," he says and leads the way inside.

As I follow him upstairs, my eyes pass over the several quotes with a feeling of shame. The thing about anger is that it's hot and bright, like a flash that momentarily blinds you, but then it fades, and suddenly, it's like you can see again. Now that I can see, I don't like the girl I have to look at.

Neither of us speaks as we walk into the gym. Nico glances over, giving me an agitated look, before guiding me into the medical room. I sit on the medical chair as he rummages through the cupboards for gauze. It reminds me of the night he'd fought with Wiley and I'd tended to his eye with an ice pack. Only this time, things feel a lot more intense.

In the silence that follows, my heart pounds. With anger – and adrenaline – wearing off, I no longer feel so justified in my actions. In fact, between punching Danny and having Nico witness it, I'm downright embarrassed.

When he finds what he's looking for, he sits opposite before leaning closer. I watch as he quietly places the cotton balls, the gauze, and a bottle of disinfectant on the table beside us. Carefully, he picks up the bottle, twisting it open in a move that causes his muscles to bulge beneath the sleeves of his t-shirt.

I study the hard-set line of his jaw as he transfers the disinfectant to the cotton ball. He's still mad – whether it's at Danny or me, I'm not sure – but I do know seeing him that way had unnerved me. I'm used to the controlled version of him – the Nico that only reacts in the ring – but back there, as he stared down Danny, I caught myself questioning what he was capable of.

"Why is it," he says, not looking at me, "that you can't go a minute without getting in trouble?"

"You think this is my fault?"

His eyebrow arches in that arrogant, sardonic way he's perfected. "I think you're the common denominator. Give me your hand."

Reluctantly, I offer it up, but like a petulant child, I refuse to look at him. The truth is, even though I feel my defenses flying up, he's right. When Coach finds out about this, he won't just be disappointed; he'll kick me out of the gym.

I've just ruined everything.

Maybe that's why, instead of taking responsibility for my actions, I let my anger take over. The damage is done – I've crossed the line and proved Nico right; people can't change. Or at least, I can't. "Well, it wasn't my fault, and I didn't need you to protect me. I could have handled myself."

"I was protecting him," he says, sweeping the pad across my knuckles. "From you."

I'm about to argue but stop to wince at the sting of disinfectant settling on raw skin. Nico leans forward, gently blowing on the open cut to ease some of the pain. I shouldn't let it get to me, but the way he's painting me out to be some uncontrolled animal annoys me. Sure, violence isn't the answer, and yada yada yada, but if anyone deserves a good punch to the face, it's Danny.

"Yeah, it really looked like it when you had him against the wall," I say. "Admit it, Nico. You wanted to hit Danny just as badly as I did." I look up now, waiting to find the answer in his expression, but he's careful to keep it from me.

"That's the difference between you and me." He puts the gauze aside to lean closer, his mouth nearly grazing my jaw. "I know how to control it. You, on the other hand, are a liability."

I swallow hard. Something about the way he says liability while being this close makes my skin burn. "I'm sorry we can't all be as controlled as you."

His eyebrow arches. The idea that anyone would label him controlled seems to surprise him. "You think this comes naturally?" He gets to his feet, putting some much-needed space between us, but his eyes don't leave mine. "I have to work at it, every single damn day, because I know what happens when I don't."

I get to my feet and pause, not sure I want to know the answer. "What happens?"

For a moment, I think he's not going to answer, but then he lowers his head and the muscles in his neck contract. "Nothing good."

My eyes don't leave his as I imagine every possible scenario. What things has Nico done that he thinks he can't take back? As I'm contemplating this, he reaches around me, making me flinch, and grabs the gauze from the table before holding out his hand. Reluctantly, I offer him my own and allow him to wrap up my knuckle.

For a few seconds, neither of us breaks this sudden veil of silence. Now that my anger has worn off a little, it's easy to see how unfair I'm being to someone who has only ever tried to help me, even if it is because of some self-professed redemption. But the harder I try to think up an apology, the harder my pride fights back.

"I know you think you know everything," Nico says, and I can't help but note how low and warm his voice sounds, "but take my advice: if you're serious about fighting Katarina, stop doing things that will jeopardize it."

I force myself to look away, because even though he's technically right, it doesn't matter anymore. "There won't be a fight after this. When Coach finds out what I did tonight, he'll kick me out of the gym for good–" I pause and then, like it's some big revelation, add, "–I'm already on my last strike."

The corner of his mouth curls. "Color me shocked."

I roll my eyes and shove his chest, meaning for it to be playful, but the moment my hand makes contact, I feel this lightning-quick pulse in my stomach. I slowly look up, watching the way Nico stills.

He reaches up and clutches my wrist. I lean in a little, innocent enough, but it changes this from a normal encounter to standing too close. He looks down at me, his face roughly an inch or two away from mine, but he makes no effort to move – neither do I.

This is wrong, and I know it. Not just for the fact that Nico is acting as my coach – even if it is through less than by-the-book means – but also because I don't know him, not really, and with GymCon and my fight on the line, I can't risk ruining things more than I already have.

But in the seconds that follow, with his fingers still curled around my wrist, I can't help but imagine what it would feel like to kiss him. It's not that I've never kissed a guy, but somehow, I imagine kissing Nico to feel different, his mouth laced with arrogance and fire and power, the kind that consumes him in the ring.

Consumes me.

I study him closely, able to see the tight line of his jaw as his masseter muscles work overtime. For someone who claims to have so much control, right now, it seems to be wavering. I bite my lip, ready to risk it all at the moment, but just as quickly, he drops my hand and looks at me like I'm trouble.

"You can't train with that hand," he says, and even though part of me stings from his rejection, he's done us both a favor. "Take the night off."

"Sir, yes sir," I say, turning to leave, but he grabs my hand and pulls me back. His eyes meet mine, and I don't miss the look that he gives me. That look. The one that's going to get us in trouble.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he says, a glint in his eye. "Cassandra." Then he walks past me, out of the medical room, and leaves me with this feeling of somehow wanting to punch him and kiss him all at once.

A/N

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