Knockout (Gaslight spin-off)

9| Woman on a mission

It's not even seven, but already I'm wide awake. I lie still in bed, trying to think of a solution to this mess, but nothing comes to mind. Dad would say there is no problem too big that it cannot be solved, which I guess is why he left, but I don't quite agree. Sometimes you're faced with a problem so big that finding a solution is impossible.

With sleep off the menu, I climb out of bed and slip on a bikini, hoping a swim will clear my head. And it does, for a little while. I've been swimming so long that I can usually detach my thoughts from my movements: turn, breathe, kick, repeat.

It was this routine that calmed me during the worst of my parents' arguments. In the water, it was impossible to hear the screaming match in the kitchen. As I swam from one end of the pool to the other, lost in the rhythm of the waves, I could pretend for a while that my parents were happy, that they loved each other deeply. That everything was going to be okay.

It wasn't, of course. A week later, Dad packed his bags, cleared out his closet, and hurled his suitcase out onto the drive. The sound of sobbing pulled me from my bed, and I ran downstairs to find my mother in the kitchen, crying. I glanced at the front door, which offered a glimpse of Dad's retreating back, and just like that, it clicked.

Breath held, I scrambled onto the driveway after him, watching as he lifted his case and put it into the trunk. "Where are you going?" I asked. "Dad? Dad?" I could hear it in my voice, how it rose slightly higher with each word, sounding more frantic: fear.

"I'm sorry, Cassie. I just – I need to get away," Dad said, but he wouldn't look at me. Maybe he thought he wouldn't be strong enough to do what was needed if he did. Perhaps one look at me, and he'd have lost the will to save himself.

"Please," I said. My voice felt low and thick in my throat, but I tried to hold it together, not for my sake but for Dad's. I knew, deep down, that he didn't want to hurt me, but that didn't change the fact I so desperately needed him to stay. "Don't leave me." He refused to look over as tears pressed my eyes, making breathing harder. "Dad. Dad. Daddy."

Something inside of him snapped. He pressed his fingers to his eyes, trying to mask the tears that had formed, but one of them slipped down his cheek. The lump grew painful as I tried to swallow my tears. There are some things in life that a child should never see, and watching your parents cry is one of them.

Behind me, somebody stirred. Cody had been asleep at that point, but the commotion must have woken him. He stood at the door in his Kermit pajamas, watching this whole thing unfold. I half-turned to face him and wished that I hadn't. My heart squeezed. It was as if those eyes were made of glass, and they shattered right in front of me.

Throat tight, I force myself faster through the water to outswim the memory. Reliving my parents' messy breakup is not what this swim was for. I look ahead, trying to focus on the feel of my legs as they cut through the ripples, but it's useless. The water has lost its calming effect; its coolness is no longer a relief on my skin, and now all I can think about is what Hayden said and what will happen to those kids.

If I had to pick which of them would take the news the hardest, it's Auden. From what I've heard, he pretty much raises his brothers and sisters, acting more like their parent than their fifteen-year-old brother. That kind of responsibility is hard to imagine, so it's obvious why the gym became his haven. And as tough as Coach is, he's the only positive role model most of those kids have. If we can't save the gym, what then?

I give up on swimming, grabbing my towel and wrapping it around me before tiptoeing upstairs. It's early enough that even my mother hasn't risen from bed, making me feel like I've got the place to myself. And truth be told, it's nice. I was wrong; maybe when Dad is alone in his apartment, feasting on takeout, he isn't depressed or lonely.

He's relieved.

***

My early morning shower helps to fight back any tiredness. The hot water calms me, easing the tension between my shoulders and allowing me to think more clearly about what we can do to save the gym.

From a business perspective, the smart thing to do would be to up the membership prices. I've always known that the gym's current process is unsustainable. If half of the kids who train at the gym are under eighteen, and they get their memberships free, what money can GymCon make? But asking these kids to start paying now when they're already struggling is not a solution, so we need to find a way to attract an older crowd.

The problem is that over eighteens mean business when it comes to training. They're the ones training for amateur fights or who want to make it big in boxing. Despite Coach and Hayden's experience, nobody wants to train in a gym using old and creaky equipment – so most of them flocked to Box Inc. Undeterred, I make a mental list in my head:

1. Find a way to afford new equipment.

Then I pause. We need to make money before we can do that – something we lack – so I'm back to square one. I grab the shampoo and lather it through my hair, wracking my brain for answers. Maybe it's arrogant to think I can find a solution when Hayden hasn't. Still, it's not my nature to give up, not when there are so many livelihoods entangled in this gym, so many dreams. And if those dreams aren't worth fighting for, what is?

It's as I'm washing out the conditioner that it hits me. Part of the problem is that very few know about the gym, and those who did have already moved next door. Coach doesn't believe in self-promotion – which is why all they've got is an out-of-date web page – but maybe if we got the word out and showcased our best, customers would know we exist. Not just exist, but want to join.

By the time I've finished my shower, I am a woman with a plan. I'll convince Coach to let me start an Instagram page, maybe a Tiktok, and once the views start flooding in, so will the customers, I'm sure of it. Relief washes through me as I step out of the shower, drying myself off before running my fingers through the tangles in my hair. If I want to do this properly, I can't just showcase any boxer either, but the one fighter I'm certain will drum up attention in more ways than one.

Nico.

A/N

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