Knockout (Gaslight spin-off)

24| Strike three

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.