I spend the entire night replaying those words: Do me a favor; don't. I'm being ridiculous – not only because I'm the last person someone like Nico would go for, but because this whole thing is supposed to be about saving the gym; I don't have time for distractions.

When my alarm goes off, I lie in bed for what feels like forever and try to mentally prepare for the day. For the first time in a long time, this positive feeling I've woken up with isn't just an act; it's real. Training is going better than ever, I'm starting to think I actually have a chance in my fight with Katarina, and when I scroll through Instagram, GymCon has gained several hundred followers and even more likes.

I set aside my phone and get ready before heading down to breakfast. My mother is at the table, her untouched bowl of oats in front of her as she aggressively scrolls through her phone. If I didn't know better, I'd think something was wrong. Cautious, I walk toward the cupboard and make myself some cereal, able to feel the laser of her eyes burning holes through my skin. Any second now, whatever she's feeling will bubble to the surface, and I'll be in the firing line.

"Cody's teacher just called me," she says, but I don't turn around. I take my time pouring the cereal into my bowl in the hopes of masking my expression. "She said a parent called the school this morning claiming that Cody punched him in the stomach. Are you happy now?"

Her accusatory tone makes me recoil. I wait a few seconds to gather some composure before turning around. "If Cody hit someone, it's because they hit him first. Is the teacher doing something about that?"

My mother shakes her head, clutching her coffee cup like it's giving her the strength she needs to deal with me. "If that were the case, Cody should have gone to the teacher and told them, not resorted to violence, which he only did because of you."

I open my mouth to argue, but she has a point.

"When are you going to grow up, Cassie?" she says. "You're eighteen years old. You have a perfect life. Do you know how lucky you are? There are people in this world with real problems, who have far less than you, and don't act the way you do. Violence isn't going to fix your problems; it's only going to make all of our lives worse."

My cheeks burn hot with shame. She's right, and I know it, but sometimes the hardest thing of all is to change. I know how to be angry, it's easy, and it keeps people away. But being happy? Sometimes, that feels impossible. "I'm sorry," I say, but my voice is so quiet I wonder if she heard. "I didn't want him to get in trouble. I just wanted him to stick up for himself."

My mother shakes her head like she's tired of excuses but doesn't say anything else. This is the worst of her tactics, the sudden silence. Somehow, the words she doesn't say cut deeper than the words she does. When it looks like she's not going to say anything else, I grab my bag, leave my untouched cereal behind, and head to school early. If she wants to pretend to be the mother of the year, she can take Cody to school.

For the rest of the day, I'm in a foul mood. I try to control it, to keep it inside until I can get to the gym, but it's proving too difficult. Daisy can tell there's something wrong, but she knows better than to touch on it. Instead, we spend most of the day discussing anything other than what's upsetting me.

"How's your training going?" she asks at lunch. We're sitting in the cafeteria for once, surrounded by talking and laughter, but I think I'd have preferred the silence of the bleachers. At least there, no one is around to witness my slow descent into misery. "I saw the GymCon Instagram has loads more followers now, so something must be working."

"Yeah," I say, pushing around my pasta, but I barely listen. All I can think about is how my actions have led to my brother getting into trouble. As much as my mother infuriates me, she was one hundred percent right. The last thing I want is for my little brother to turn out like me. It's the last thing my parents want too.

"Cassie," Daisy says finally.

I jerk my head to look at her and realize she's frowning. "Yeah?"

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

I sigh and push my food away, not the least bit hungry. "It's nothing," I say with a wave of my hand. "Well, not nothing. My brother has been accused of hitting some kid who was bullying him. My mom thinks it's my fault, which it technically is. I taught him how to throw a punch."

"Hey," Daisy says, leaning forward, and she's got that motherly voice of reason on that she's perfected too well. "Your methods might have been questionable, but you had good intentions. I'm guessing your mom didn't see that."

"I'm guessing no."

She sighs as though she'd expected as much. If there is anyone out there who understands my relationship with my mother, it's her. "Well, your dad will. Aren't you seeing him tonight?" "

"Yeah," I say as the bell rings, "I am," and we get to our feet and clear away our trays before heading to class.

My irritable mood lingers for the rest of the day. After school, I drive the fifteen minutes to Dad's apartment complex, excited to see him. I park in the parking lot out the back and kill the engine, glancing at myself in the rearview mirror as I take a few slow breaths. My dad is under the illusion that GymCon is helping to cure my anger, and I'm not ready to tell him otherwise.

When I've calmed down, I head to the main entrance and press the buzzer for his apartment. He answers on the third ring, and the familiar click of the door lets me know I've been granted access. On the way up to his floor, I think about how I'll break the news about Cody getting in trouble, but there doesn't seem to be a good way to say it. Not one that absolves me of responsibility, anyway.

I make it to his front door and hesitate, trying to prepare myself for the barrage of disappointment about to come my way. I'm sorry, I'll start. I did something really stupid that you're going to be mad at me for. I always like to start dramatically, hoping they'll think the worst thing possible, and then when I tell them the truth, what I did won't be so bad. Fifty percent of the time, it works.

As soon as I knock, the door swings open, and Dad appears in the doorway. He smiles brightly, looking the same as always, and I crumble a little inside. "Hey, Chickie," he says, stepping aside, and I quietly walk in.

It's not the first time I've seen his apartment – Dad has been here a few months now – but it's starting to come together in that small, cozy way. I glance around, taking in the small touches he's made since my last visit, like the imperfectly shaped wooden fruit bowl on the island, his abundance of plants, and a warm yellow rug beneath the rustic coffee table. It's the complete opposite of the decor back home, but part of me thinks that's why he did it. For once, he has a space he can make his own, with no rules or limitations.

I wish I could do the same.

"Want some hot chocolate?" Dad asks as he moves to the kitchen. The space is open plan, so the kitchen and living room are joined. A little down the hallway are a bedroom, a bathroom, and an office that could easily be converted to a second bedroom. It's all I can think about as I grab the milk and whipped cream from the fridge.

I sit at the table as Dad turns on the hot chocolate maker, and the thing rumbles to life. I'm twiddling my thumbs, nervous as hell to tell him what happened, mostly because I can't stand when he's disappointed in me.

"You want marshmallows?" he asks.

"Always."

For the next few minutes, I watch him concoct these humongous hot chocolates topped with whipped cream, marshmallows, and a sprinkle of chocolate for good measure. He hands me my hot chocolate on a little yellow saucer, and I thank him and take a sip.

"Okay," Dad says, sitting opposite, "you're never this quiet. What's going on?"

I don't say anything for a moment as he sips his hot chocolate. When I look up, he's got one of those little hot chocolate mustaches above his top lip. Despite my best efforts, I smile and point to his lip, to which he sticks his tongue out and licks it up.

"Don't think you're sidetracking me that easily," he says. "Spill."

I sigh and put my hot chocolate aside before looking at him properly. It feels as though this weight is pressing down on my chest, but I know that the moment I tell him, it will lift. With a deep breath, I explain from the beginning, first how Cody told me some boy was picking on him, and then how I showed him how to punch. Dad's expression stays neutral, he's always careful not to react immediately, but when I get to the part about this morning, he winces.

When I've finished, I sit nervously and sip at my hot chocolate as he processes this. Finally, he looks up, sighing a little, but his eyes remain soft like melted chocolate. "Look, you know what you did was wrong," he says. "You should have told your mother or me what Cody told you, and we could have gone about it correctly."

"I know," I say, looking away. "I'm sorry."

He nods and reaches for the bottle of whipped cream before shaking it in the air. "You want some more?"

I look up, eyebrows furrowed, and take in his easy expression. "You're not going to tell me how disappointed you are in me?"

"I could," Dad says, "but you obviously feel bad enough. What I will say is that next time, you need to think about what's best for your brother in that situation, not how you would handle it. Okay?"

As predicted, the weight lifts slightly, giving me room to breathe. We finish our hot chocolates, talking about college and furniture and everything else we can think of until finally, I can't keep it in any longer. "So," I say, feeling nervous, "have you decided when I can move in?"

The fall of his face is a giveaway; I try not to let my hurt show. "Not yet," he says softly. "There's a lot that goes into it, and I need to focus on getting back on my feet first. It might not be for a while."

I tense as the anger I thought I'd suppressed makes its way to the surface. "How long is a while?"

"Another few months."

"Months? I'll practically be going to college by then."

"Not months," he says quickly. "Weeks. I just mean that now isn't the right time, okay? Soon, I promise."

I'm silent as he looks away from me and finishes off his hot chocolate. Inside, lava burns at the pit of my stomach, but I fight to hold it back. "I should get going," I say. "I've got to get to the gym."

Dad nods and looks a little relieved before getting to his feet. After walking around the island, he pulls me into an awkward hug and says, "I'll talk to you soon, okay?"

"Yeah," I say, forcing a smile. "Bye, Dad."

He walks me to the elevator and waves me goodbye as the doors close shut. It's only once I'm alone that the familiar sting of tears burns my eyes. I fight them back and head to my car, tearing out of the parking lot. You can last a few more weeks living with my mother. It's nothing to get angry at. But despite my new mantra, I feel the anger building as I head to the gym, desperate to be released.

It doesn't help that by the time I get to the gym, Coach is too busy showing newcomers around to watch me train. He gives me a brief head shake as I enter and points to the two boys beside him, whose backs are turned. I glower internally, about to make my way toward one of the heavy bags, when the boy on the left turns slightly, revealing a fraction of his face.

No way. Danny Monzo – the boy who insists on making Daisy's life hell. That's one of the newbies today. Before I can think, I march right up to them, fingers burning as I clench them by my sides, determined to remain in control.

Coach looks over, notices my face, and puts his hands out. "Hold on."

"No way," I say to Danny as he turns. Coach has no idea what the problem is, but he knows me well enough to step between us. "You need to leave now."

Danny's eyebrow arches at the same time his mouth lifts. "Who put you in charge?"

I'm about to step forward when one warning look from Coach gives me pause. "What's the problem here?" he asks gruffly. "Do you two know each other?"

"The problem is that this kid is a bully," I say. "He doesn't deserve to train here." I turn back to Danny, jaw clenched, and say, "Leave before I make you."

Coach rubs the bridge of his nose before hitting me with one of his hard stares. "My office. Now."

The smirk on Danny's face is almost enough to make me punch him right here, but as it stands, I gather what's left of my resolve and march toward the office, swiftly followed by Coach. He shuts the door behind us, flicks on the light, and folds his arm in the way he does whenever he's disappointed.

"You can't let him train here," I say, folding my arms, but clearly, he doesn't want to hear it.

"You can't just go around threatening people," Coach says. His voice is hard, that no-nonsense, gruff, southern twang peeking through. "That's not how the world works, kid. The sooner you realize that, the better."

I breathe in, then out. Snapping at Coach is practically a death sentence, so I try to calm myself first. "I know, but did you see that smirk he gave me?"

"So, what," Coach says, tilting his head, "you wanna throw your life away over a smirk?"

"I don't want to throw my life away," I say calmly. "I just want to punch him."

"Same thing," Coach says with a darkened expression. "A fistfight doesn't help anything but your pride, and even then, it's only temporary. When are you going to get that?" I meet his accusation with stony silence until he's forced to say, "Either you cool off on a heavy bag, or you go home. Your choice."

I glare at the wall, exhaling slowly as Coach disappears into the gym, leaving me standing in the office alone. I'm so angry that I feel like I'm about to combust, but I take Coach's advice, throw on my gloves, and take it out on a heavy bag instead. Clearly, this day can't get any worse.

My hands feel raw when the gym closes, but part of me is grateful I'm the only one left. It means I get to spend a few minutes in the gym by myself, listening to angry music while waiting for Nico, and even though I hate to admit it, seeing him tonight doesn't seem like a bad thing.

I pack away the equipment and get out my cleaning gear. Eminem is on – one of his more twisted songs because that's the mood I'm in right now, and it's as I'm singing obscenities that the sound of laughter erupts from the street. I stop wiping and look out, spotting Danny talking through the car window to some kid. It must be Danny's ride, but instead of getting in and getting the hell out of here, the pair are looking up at the open window, no doubt listening to my acapella. A slow, snide smile tugs at Danny's lips, and then he does the unthinkable.

"You've got a mouth on you," Danny calls up. "Come down and show us what else it can do."

Every fiber of my brain tells me to carry on cleaning, but the fire in my veins is scorching. I'm running down those steps and onto the street before I can question what I'm doing. "What did you say to me?"

Danny steps back, grinning, and looks at his friend. "Told you she'd take the bait." He turns back to me, still smiling, and licks his lips. "My friend thinks you're hot and wanted to meet you. You're too predictable, Cassandra."

It's the Cassandra that does it. Or maybe it's the lick of his lips, or my mother's accusation, or the fact that my dad keeps delaying my move-in. Whatever it is, it's the driving force that compels me to step forward and sucker-punch him in the mouth. He keels over, and the release of anger is almost immediate, followed by the comedown of regret. I stare at the boy, at the throbbing knuckles of my split-open knuckle from catching his tooth, and it hits me what I've done.

Blood fills Danny's mouth as he raises his head. My heart pounds, and part of me is a little bit terrified of the wild look in his eye, but I won't back down. He lifts his hand, and just as I'm preparing to sidestep and meet him with a quick right hook, a hooded figure darts across the road and shoves Danny back.

A/N

Comment a heart if you want the next chapter! ❤️

Updates will be back to once a week now that I have a little more time! I've also made some slight changes throughout the book because I felt like it needed more editing. The way the last chapter ended has changed as well, so you might want to reread that chapter again.