I toss and turn as I imagine my conversation with Coach. Lying about the incident isn't an option – Danny will probably rat me out anyway – but telling the truth means potentially being kicked out of the gym, which is the one thing that scares me the most.

Eyes closed, I rehearse the speech I'll use in my head: I'm sorry, Coach. I know I made a mistake, but if you give me another chance, I promise never to hit someone outside of boxing again, no matter how annoying they are.

Sure, there's no getting away from the fact he'll be disappointed, but maybe if he sees how apologetic I am, he'll give me another chance. If not, everything I've done so far to help save GymCon will be for nothing, and it's all my fault.

Sighing, I sit up and roll out of bed extra early to catch Coach in his element. He's usually a lot less irritable first thing in the morning – probably due to the extra expresso shot he grabs from Starbucks – so I'm hoping if I time things right, I'll catch him in a good mood. Or in as good of a mood as someone like Coach can be.

Light filters through the window as I change, slipping on my sports top and a pair of old leggings before pulling my hair into a ponytail. It's wishful thinking – there's no way in hell Coach will train me today – but the optimist in me prepares for it anyway.

When I'm ready, I pick up my Airpods and slip them in before practicing a quick one-two in the mirror. But all I can hear in the back of my head, is Coach's voice. Actions have consequences, and for every choice, there is an outcome. Boxers are not criminals. He's obviously right – I'm not disputing that – but I hope he'll forgive me anyway.

For once, I'm up so early that even my mother isn't awake. I slip downstairs undetected and head to my car. My stomach rumbles – I probably should have grabbed something quick for breakfast – but there's no time now. I slip into the driver's seat, breath held with anticipation as I turn on the engine and reverse out of the driveway.

The whole drive there, I don't think about Coach or what I will say – I do the unthinkable and think of Nico. That's the difference between you and me, he'd said. I know how to control it. You, on the other hand, are a liability. Something about the way he looked at me excited me, which is wrong on all levels, especially about someone who so brazenly called me a liability, though considering I'm on my way to beg Coach for mercy, maybe he's right.

By the time I get there, I'm so nervous that part of me considers going home. Maybe Danny won't tell Coach what I did; I can pretend like nothing happened. But deep down, my guilt won't let me – damn that pesky conscience.

I park out front and head up the steps until I stand under the gym's archway. The place is unusually quiet for once, with only the serious gym-goers making an effort to wake up early. Other than one or two guys over by the heavyweights, the place is deserted.

Grunts of exertion fill the room as I head to the ring, where Wiley and Hayden hold a warm-up session. Coach stands on the sidelines, leaning forward as he rests his elbows on the rope, watching them intently.

Hayden, to his credit, is decidedly focused for so early in the morning. He gracefully dances around Wiley, his feet gliding across the canvas. He bobs and weaves, slipping punches and counter-punching with precision. I'm no psychiatrist, but something tells me losing his fight with Nico unraveled him.

His eyes lock on Wiley's, reading his every move. He throws a quick jab, followed by a hard right cross. Wiley tries to counter, but Hayden is too quick. He's in control of the fight, dominating the pace and the distance. With a rough breath, he throws a combination of punches, each one landing with a thud. It's Nico he's mad at, Not Wiley, but Wiley is sure as hell paying for it.

Coach calls out a few combinations, and Hayden throws punches, focusing on form and technique. The bell sounds, signaling the end of their match, and both boxers slip through the rope to catch their breath.

My heart thumps. Coach looks over his shoulder and spots me, arching an eyebrow like he's surprised to see me here. I don't blame him – getting up early when I don't have school is practically impossible.

He strides towards me and stands firmly, crossing his arms. I hold my breath, taking in the crinkled wrinkles around his eyes. He's not exactly old, but he's got one of those faces that make it apparent he's seen and done everything – lined and wise, with eyes that have a far-off look, like he's reliving his glory days.

"And what to what do we owe this pleasure?" he asks. "You want the ring?"

I glance at the ring, reliving my last session with Nico. My last session, period, once I tell Coach what I did, but I don't want to think about that. I look back at Coach, breath held as I gather the courage to confess. My hands remain firmly behind my back, the bruises hidden from view. "Actually, I came here to talk. Do you have a minute?"

His eyebrows furrow gently in the middle, but he doesn't look surprised. Something tells me he's used to the kids at this gym coming to him for help, so he looks back at Hayden, tells him to keep working on his jabs, and leads me into the office.

His eyes soften as he turns to face me. "What's going on, kid?"

I stand awkwardly in the middle, unable to look at him. This is harder than I thought. "I need to tell you something," I say, "but you have to promise not to get mad."

He tilts his head, but I can tell by his expression that it won't be that easy, not like it is with my dad. "I can't promise that."

Of course he can't. I sigh and run a hand through my hair – a rookie move. Coach's eyes instantly fall to my hand, catching the bruises on my knuckle. His eyes snap to mine, filled with quiet disappointment, but he doesn't say a word.

"I got into a fight outside the gym last night," I say. "With that kid who joined, Danny."

He's silent for a long, hard moment. I'm used to disappointing my parents, but somehow this feels infinitely worse. Coach doesn't have to love us. He's not bound by family or blood. He cares because he chooses to, and in a way, that's even scarier. It makes letting him down that much harder.

I look away, unable to meet his eye, and will him to speak. "I'm sorry," I say to fill the silence. "I shouldn't have hit him; I know that. I just got so mad."

He sighs and runs a hand across his face. Those same withered eyes are etched with disapproval, but behind them, there's a glimmer of hurt. He tries so hard to keep us out of trouble, and I threw it back in his face.

"That's strike three," he says.

"I know," I say, and I hate that my voice shakes, "but I swear, it won't happen again. I'll be on my best behavior. Hell, I'll even apologize to Danny if it means being able to stay." But he still doesn't speak. My chest tightens, and I feel my next words catch in my throat. "Coach, I need this gym."

"And I need to be able to trust you," he says. "You know the rules, Cassie. If I let you off on your third strike, it wouldn't be fair to those I didn't."

I fold my arms, trying to keep my anger in check, but it's desperate for release. And the worst part of all is I'm not angry at Coach or his rules or Danny; I'm angry at myself. "If I miss out on training, I won't be ready for the fight," I say. "It's the one thing that was supposed to save this gym." I throw my hands up, the frustrations steadily building in my chest. "This gym is on the brink of closure, and no one seems to be doing anything about it. Doesn't anyone care?"

Coach looks at me with a searching expression, as if trying to read my thoughts. With a deep sigh, he hunches his shoulders and turns away, hacking out a rough cough before facing me again. "Listen," he says, his voice rough with emotion, "I care more about this place than you can ever comprehend, and you want to know why?"

I swallow hard, hating the lump in my throat. "Why?"

"Because it's the only thing I have," he says. "I gave it all up, kid – the wife, the kids, the chance to go pro – I turned my back on all of it to rescue this gym, and you know what?" He steps closer, eyes filled with hardship. "I'd do it all again. This gym is my family; it's been through more ups and downs than you can ever imagine and has helped more people than I can count. If it closed tomorrow, it would close having made a lasting impact on the lives of all those it touched. As a coach, that's all I could ever ask for."

I don't say anything – what can I say? But my heart hurts, the same way it does when you do something terrible and know there's no coming back from it.

"As for you," he says, "I've told you before, and I'll tell you again: your fists are a weapon. The second you use them outside the ring, you're no longer a boxer but a criminal. Now–" he stops for a moment to look at me properly, his mouth a thin, narrow slope. "If you want to watch the others, be my guest. If you still want to clean up after hours, I'll continue to pay you. But I better not see you on any of the equipment. Got it?"

My voice is small and unlike my own. "Yes, sir."

He nods briefly, his eyes blazing with disappointment, before heading back to the gym. I hold back a moment, blinking a few times to push back the tears, but they continue to pool in my eyes. I'd wanted him to yell at me, to tell me how immature I was and how he's so damn angry at me, but somehow, this was worse.

In a bid to calm down, I move to the bed, praying it doesn't have any lasting residue from Maddie and Hayden's escapades, and scroll through the gym's social media page. Maybe Coach is right; maybe I should just be thankful this gym has saved lives, but what if it could save more?

As I'm contemplating this, I glance out the window and see Katarina walking down the street, head low and earphones in as she heads for Box Inc. I lean forward, pressing my face to the window as she disappears through the revolving glass doors. The smart thing to do would be to go over there and cancel our fight – it's not like Coach will vouch for me now – but I can't. Even though I've pretty much screwed everything up, I'm not ready to give up on GymCon.

With a heaving sigh, I head into the gym again and plan my next move. The idea of going home makes me nauseous, especially now that my mom will be up, but staying in the gym and watching the other boxers train when I can't is just torture.

"Hey," says a familiar voice behind me. I turn around, surprised to see Maddie grinning at me. "You're not usually here this early."

"I know," I say, shoving my hands in my pocket, "I came to talk to Coach."

"Oh." She pauses and then, "Wanna spar?"

My face lights up for just a second before falling again. "I can't. I've been officially banned from using the equipment."

Her eyes soften, but she doesn't look all that surprised. "Did he catch you fighting outside of the gym?"

"Something like that."

"Ah," she says, moving to the equipment box, "well, he'd kill me if I told you this, but Coach is a teddy bear deep down." She grabs the tape from the box, pulls it away with her teeth, and wraps her hands. "If you keep your head down for the next few weeks and show him you're serious, he'll lift the ban."

My eyebrows fly up. Considering Coach has just given me a speech about fairness and all that, the idea of him letting me come back doesn't sound likely. "Really?"

She shrugs and says, "I've seen it happen before. He likes to think he's taught you a valuable lesson first, so–" she looks up now and offers a smile, "–do me a favor and show him he's right."

I gnaw on my nails as she slips on her gloves and heads toward a heavy bag. Coach might not want to train me anymore, but if I can keep my sessions with Nico going, by the time I've proven myself to Coach, I'll almost be ready for my fight.

Heeding Maddie's advice, I spend the rest of the day helping out around the gym while trying not to think about Nico. Thinking about Nico leads to thinking about kissing Nico, and I'd sworn to myself that the last time I thought about that was the last. Only my brain doesn't appear to be listening.

I ignore the thought of seeing him tonight and focus on showing Coach my best behavior: if I'm not cleaning equipment or mopping the floors, I'm filling up the water dispenser and offering advice to the newbies. Coach says nothing, no well done or good job, but Rome wasn't built in a day. If I can follow Maddie's advice and stay out of trouble, there's still a chance of fighting Katarina.

I hope.

A/N Comment a heart if you want the next chapter! ❤️