One week later

_______________________

The summer sun streams through the large windows of the gym, casting a warm glow over the memorial set up in Coach's honor. I scan the room, watching my mother rush around in a frenzy, ensuring everything is in place. As a self-professed party planner, I'd caved to her pleading and enlisted her help, which, I'll admit, worked in my favor.

The gym looks beautiful, filled with bouquets and framed photographs of Coach, all of which capture him smiling. In the corner is the buffet table, covered with an array of delicious foods, from fresh fruit to sandwiches to Coach's favorite dessert - Tiramisu.

Holding the memorial was my idea. As happy as I'd been upon winning my match – especially because it resulted in new members – it hadn't filled the hole in my chest. I needed something more, a way to say goodbye or remember him somehow, and this was the perfect way.

My gaze roams over the hundreds of people, chatting and reminiscing in groups. Some are dressed in summer dresses, a nod to the warm weather outside, while others are more formal, but all of us are here for the same reason.

To remember Coach.

Still, as pleased as I am with the turnout, it feels strange that the gym is both solemn and festive. The walls are decorated with streamers and balloons in Coach's favorite colors, and a slideshow of his life is playing on a screen in the corner. We take turns adding our own memories to a large scrapbook, flipping through old photos, and reminiscing about the times we spent with him.

It's strange how much has changed in such a short time. Not just with Coach or the gym but in my life. Mom's trying, so is Dad, and with college around the corner, I'm working on my anger, not just because it's what Coach would have wanted, but because it's what I want too. Nico was right when he said I'm comfortable with anger. I used it as a defense mechanism, afraid I'd only wind up hurt if I didn't, but I'm not afraid anymore. The truth is, if you can't open up to the people you love, what's the point?

When everything appears in order, I walk across the gym to where the members – several of them new, thanks to my social media efforts – are huddled, working on the mural of Coach. It sits beside Ali, a professionally stenciled sketch that looks exactly like Coach – or it will, once it's painted.

We all brought paint and brushes, and we started to paint it together. Some of us are drawing his smiling face, while others are painting symbols of his favorite sayings or boxing techniques. It's a collective effort, and everyone is contributing in their own unique way, contributing to the community.

As we work, there's a sense of quiet solemnity punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter or conversation. It's clear that Coach was more than just a trainer to us; he was a mentor and a father figure, the voice of reason when we needed it most, and the authoritative figure when we needed that too. And although his loss is still raw, we're coming together to celebrate his memory in the way he would have wanted us to.

There's nothing more I could ask for.

"Okay," Daisy says, putting down her paintbrush. "I'm officially the least artistic person working on this mural. I give up."

I look at the way she's struggled to keep within the stencil and have to agree. "Maybe you could just watch us," I suggest. She laughs and shoves my shoulder with her hand, nearly making me slip. "Hey!" I say. "You nearly made me give Coach a makeover."

We both break into laughter. Daisy reaches over again, pretending to grab the paintbrush from my hands, and it's as I bat her away that I see him, looking as casual and handsome as ever.

Nico.

My heart jumps, as it always does when he's near. I nudge Daisy's shoulder, pointing to where he's standing in the corner, talking with Hayden. "That's him," I say because ever since I mentioned Nico, she's been desperate to see what he looks like.

"Holy hell," she says. "That's the guy you get to make out with?"

I grin and turn back to him, noticing how good he looks in a gray tee and jeans. Now that training is over – at least for the time being – I've seen more of Nico outside the gym than I ever have.

I love it.

"They look deep in conversation," Daisy says, tilting her head. "Neither of them looks too happy."

I laugh and say, "Yeah, that's because they hate working together."

The day after the fight, Box Inc called Nico aside to question him about consulting with me during the fight, resulting in him being fired. Not that it mattered – I used my persuasive skills to convince Hayden to employ him, which clearly, is working out just fine.

Across from us, Wiley, Maddie, and Auden are deep in concentration. Feeling mischievous, I dip my paintbrush in the paint and flick it toward Auden, who jumps away like I've just thrown acid.

After meticulously examining his sneakers, he scowls. "You don't know how lucky you are that you missed these babies," he says, holding his shoe up.

"If you ever refer to your sneakers as babies again," Maddie says, not looking away from the mural, "I'll personally see to it that Hayden cancels your membership after all."

"Bitch," he says.

"Freeloader," she responds.

I laugh at the two of them, realizing this right here is all Coach ever wanted. At this moment, it's clear that the gym is more than just a place to train. It's a community, a family that he's built all these years, and now we're continuing his legacy. No matter what happens in our lives or the world, we've always got this gym and each other – the way Coach wanted us to.

Just then, Nico looks over and winks. He beckons me over, glancing around before slipping into the stairwell like he thinks he's on a secret mission. I put down my paintbrush and follow him, barely reaching the last step before a pair of hands grab my waist, pushing me up against the wall.

Nico shifts before me, smiling a little as his eyes find mine, dark and filled with affection. "How's the painting going?" he asks. "You've got it everywhere."

I laugh and look up at him, gently pushing on his chest. "Good. How's working with Hayden going?"

He smirks and lowers his gaze to my mouth, already sidetracked. "Don't ask." In one quick move, one of his hands drops away from my waist to push back my hair. "I've been waiting to kiss you all day."

A rush of blood finds its way to my thighs. I wrap my hands around his neck, running my gaze along his mouth. He leans closer, allowing his mouth to fleetingly brush mine before pulling away. My face is still tender, remnants of my fight now faint bruises, but the cut on my lip still hurts.

Truth be told, I don't mind the injuries. In boxing, you have to be willing to take hits and keep going, and I did just that. I took hits, but I also gave them back. I fought with everything I had and came out on top, certain I made Coach proud in the process. Deep down, that's all I ever wanted.

Nico moves to kiss me again, but I swat him away. "We can't do this today, you heathen," I say. "Coach is probably looking down and scowling."

His eyes meet mine with a sense of wickedness, and I can't help but get lost in them. They're the kind of eyes that seem to see straight into my soul, and I feel both vulnerable and safe simultaneously. He brushes a lock of hair behind my ear, and I feel his touch like a warm embrace.

"Fine," he says, then leans into my ear, dropping his voice. "You're coming home with me tonight."

My throat burns, and it's hard to focus on anything but the heat of his breath as it tickles my skin. "As long as you keep your hands to yourself before then."

He pulls back slightly, jaw tense with frustration. "You drive a hard bargain; you know that?"

I laugh and lean my head on his chest, feeling the warmth of his body against mine. It's moments like these that make me feel like everything will be okay. Life can be challenging, and Coach's absence proves that, but as long as I have the people I love, I think maybe I'll be okay.

"Come on," I say finally, grabbing his hand, "help me with the mural."

He sighs and, with one last kiss to my forehead, leads me upstairs. Back inside, people are sharing stories and memories of Coach: some are funny, while others are more emotional, but all of them are a testament to his impact on our lives. It's clear that he touched everyone who knew him in some way, whether through his kindness, his wisdom, or his love of the sport, and that's what we focus on tonight – not the loss but the life.

I stand beside Nico, our fingers intertwined as I scan the gymnasium. Everywhere I look, I see people I love, from my family to Daisy to everyone at the gym, and it makes my heart burst.

This is how we move on, I realize, which I've learned is not the same as forgetting: we'll celebrate the good times and learn from the bad while remembering to forgive along the way.

I know I will.

A/N

Knockout is finally finished! Thank you for choosing to read this book and I hope you enjoyed it! Some epilogues and bonus chapters will be coming soon, so stay tuned.

Love you guys!!! ❤️