The sound of my fists on the bag is like thunder. Every punch is fueled by pain and betrayal, and I pour everything I have into each strike. Maybe it's crazy, but the rhythm feels cathartic, almost hypnotic; I couldn't stop if I tried.

My breathing comes hard and ragged in the silence, but I need to keep going, to push through the pain, to keep striking the bag with everything I have. With each punch, I feel a little bit of the anger and frustration slip away, replaced by a sense of control. 

It's not long before beads of sweat line my forehead. The bag swings back and forth, and I follow its movement, my fists still pounding away. I'm so lost in the rhythm, in the sound of my hits as they crack against leather, that I don't hear Nico until it's too late. 

He slowly walks over, looking as if he's just had three rounds in the ring. His left cheek is pink, and his skin is lightly coated in sweat, making it glisten beneath the light. "Hey," he says softly, his voice barely audible over the sound of my gloves hitting the bag. "I saw the light on. Figured you were up here." 

He leans against the wall as I continue to punch. There's tension between us, and I can feel it as soon as our eyes meet. I've canceled on him every day this week, so I don't blame him for being pissed. 

I'd be pissed too. 

"Maddie told me you want to quit," he says, tilting his head. "That true?"

I stop punching and turn to face him, wiping the sweat from my brow. "She did?" I'm racking my brain, trying to understand why Maddie would go to Nico with this, and then it hits me. "She knows about us?"

His mouth tilts the tiniest fraction. "I'm pretty sure she figured it out the night she walked in on us." His smile fades when he remembers why he came here – to convince me I'm making a mistake. "Fighting Katarina is all you've wanted, Cassie. What's going on?"

I can feel the tears starting to prick at the corners of my eyes, and I try to blink them back. Nico looks at me with a mix of sadness and understanding. "Nothing. I just don't want to fight." 

My fists clench as I turn to the heavy bag, needing to focus on anything but him. I don't want to talk about it, don't want to think about all the people I'm letting down; I just want to be left alone. 

Nico watches me for a moment, arms folded tight across his chest as he studies my form. "She told me Coach left everything to the gym," he says, "so that should tie this place over for a while." 

He says it because he thinks the pressure of saving the gym is the reason I can't fight, but he's wrong. Still, the tiniest part of me is relieved that GymCon can stay open that little bit longer. "I'm glad, but I still don't want to fight." 

Nico frowns, shifting until he's standing in my eye line. I feel his gaze, the way his eyebrows deepen, and frustration seeps out of him. It takes all I have not to look at him. "Talk to me, Cassandra. Tell me why you're afraid to fight."

"I'm not afraid," I say through punches, but my voice grows quiet on the last syllable, the word drowned out by my punching. "I don't know what you came here for, but you're not going to change my mind, so you can go."

Hurt crosses his face. He grabs my hand and stops me from punching, using it to pull me toward him. "You can try and push me away all you want. I'm not going anywhere." 

"I want you to," I say, my voice cracking, but I don't think I mean it. "I want to be alone." 

His eyes grow dark. He turns to leave but thinks better of it and turns around, his pale eyes blazing with anger. "You know what I think?" he says, "I think you like being angry. It keeps people away. You know what you don't know how to do, Cassandra? Be happy."

My skin grows cold. It's like he's cut me open for the world to see and left my soul bare. Maybe he's right. Ever since my mother decided I wasn't good enough, I put up this wall of anger around me, using it to keep her comments out. But it didn't just keep her out; it kept everyone, including Nico.

I don't want to be angry anymore. I want to be happy; I just don't know how. 

Before I can speak, he pulls me closer. The motion forces him to lower his head and release a rough breath in my ear. "Talk to me, Cassandra, 'cause I'm not going anywhere." 

A dangerous sensation stirs in my chest. It unfolds, pulsing and shifting and threatening to take over. I'm not going anywhere, like maybe we're a team. Like maybe I'm not really alone. 

"I can't do it," I say, and even though my voice breaks, I don't look away. "I can't just get in that ring and fight Katarina." 

"Why not?"

"Because I'm scared," I say. It's the first time I've ever said it out loud, but instead of feeling like I'm admitting defeat, it feels like a weight off my chest. "If I lose that fight, I'll be letting down Coach, and I can't do that again."

Nico reaches down and grabs my face, his gaze fiercer than I've ever seen it. "Win or lose, there's no way you wouldn't make him proud, Cassandra."

I don't say anything in response, but the tension between us has faded, replaced by a new sense of understanding. He grabs my hand, threading his fingers through mine and squeezing. "It's your choice," he says, "but if you decide not to fight, don't pretend you're doing it for Coach. You know as well as I do he'd want you to fight."

The lump in my throat is so big that it hurts. I feel a tear fall, followed by another, and before I know it, they're pouring down my face. I turn around so that I don't have to look at him and feel his arms wrap around me, pulling me close. His body feels warm, and I sink into the softness of his embrace as he hugs me tightly.

"I'm so angry, Nico," I say, but I'm not sure he hears me through the sobs. I don't think it matters. Even just saying it helps. 

Leaning down, Nico presses his mouth against my ear and whispers, "Then use it, Cassie. Take that anger, and use it to win, just like I taught you." 

I nod in response, feeling the tension in my body dissipating as he strokes my hair, running his fingers through the strands. It's not the anger itself that's the problem, I realize. Like Maddie said, it's okay to be angry. It's how you handle it that matters, and I'm determined to handle it in a way that would make Coach proud. 

As I lean against his chest, everything else fades away. It's just the two of us, no anger or drama or upcoming fight, and for the tiniest moment, I realize what it could feel like to be happy. 

***

Later that night, I walk into the kitchen and see Mom sitting at the counter, her eyes downcast and her hands folded in her lap as she stares at my notebook, which she must have read three times over. 

She looks up, eyes glassy, and watches me cross the room. Just as I turn to leave, she says, "I had no idea that you felt like this."

I don't know what to say to that, so I don't say anything. I just slide onto the barstool opposite and wait for her to finish. 

"I thought I was helping," she says at last. "I thought–" she stops and closes her eyes for a second, struggling to form her sentence. "I know how cruel the world can be, Cassie. I thought my actions would protect you from that, but I was wrong." She shifts her gaze to her hands again, refusing to look at me. "I guess what you needed protecting from was me." 

The lump I'd managed to swallow earlier returns. As angry as I am over her comments about the fight, I've never seen her like this. For so long, all I wanted was her to admit to how she's acted, to tell me I'm not crazy, and now, finally, she has. 

"It's fine," I say and walk around the table to hug her. It feels strange, I'll admit. I can't remember when Mom and I last hugged, but it also feels nice.

Overdue.

"It's not fine," she says, wiping her tears. "I'm sorry that I made you feel like I didn't like you, Cassie, because I do. I love you." 

It feels like the air clears a little. I breathe in momentarily, this weight I'd been carrying lifting off my shoulders. It doesn't excuse her, but for the first time in our relationship, she's trying to understand. 

Her arms fall around me and pull me to her chest. I allow her to hug me, to run her hand down the length of my hair like I'm five years old again, because even though we have a long way to go, it's a start.

We stay like this for a little while longer. Eventually, I say goodnight and start climbing the stairs, feeling the weight of exhaustion tugging at my limbs. The dimly lit hallway greets me, and I make my way to my bedroom, still exhausted and sad but no longer alone. 

Across the room, the full moon shines bright in the sky, casting a soft glow on everything. I take a deep breath and sit on my bed, staring at the keyring Coach gave me. As hard as it will feel to step into that ring, my mother and Nico are right. Coach wasn't a quitter, and he'd be horrified to know that's what I'd been planning, so I won't.

I'll fight Katarina, and I'll do it for him.