Knockout (Gaslight spin-off)

39| Almost there

With a week and a half to go, Hayden takes over my training as promised. Outside of school, I'm in the gym as much as possible, preparing myself for my fight with Katarina before training with Nico at night. I'm still terrified of competing, of fighting in a way that would let Coach down, but fighting for him is more important.

Things around the gym have been different since the funeral. There's a sense of disquietude in the air, a feeling of significant loss, but somehow, we're all fighting through it. We show up as usual, training on the heavy bags or sparring in the ring, determined to keep this place going. If we don't, it's all over.

I start my warm-up by grabbing a jump rope, its worn handles rough against my palms. As I begin to jump, the rope whips around me, the sound of its rhythmic slapping on the floor blending with my breathing. Hayden has an obsession with the jump rope, despite my dislike of it, so I do it to appease him, jumping faster until my muscles loosen.

I don't know when or how it happened, but for the first time since I started my training, I feel ready. I no longer look at myself in the mirror opposite and see someone out of their depth. Looking in that mirror, I see hard, defined arms that push to their limits, strong legs that ground me, a waist that keeps me stable, and eyes that are ready to win. Only one thing is getting me through this loss: needing to make Coach proud.

After a few rounds on the heavy bag, I move to the speed bag. Its small size and quick movements require me to keep my reflexes sharp and my footwork nimble. The bag bounces back and forth, its rhythmical tapping filling the air. Nico says I'm light on my feet, just like Ali, so I'll use that to my strength.

"All right," Hayden says, walking over. He appears and disappears like Houdini at this point, but I can't say I mind. He's got a lot on his plate acting as Coach's guarantor, so the fact he makes time to train me means everything.

I follow him into the ring and stand in my corner, readjusting my mouthguard. When I'm ready, I hold up my hands and get into position, my heart thrumming in my chest.

Wiley chooses that moment to walk past, looking between us and grinning. "Let him have it, Cass."

Hayden rolls his eyes, lifting his hands as he faces me. "Remember what I said last time. Hands up high to start with, even if you drop them later on. You need to spend the first round getting a handle on what kind of fighter she is."

I nod and raise my hands as we circle one another. Sparring with Hayden is different from sparring with Nico. He's far more controlled, almost robotic with his punches, whereas Nico fights like he's fighting for his life, forever teetering on the wild side but not quite crossing it.

Hayden flat-out asked who'd been training me the first time we sparred. I looked at him innocently and said Coach, but he shook his head, not believing me for a second, though he didn't push it for some reason. He still won't.

I slip toward him with the grace of a dancer and make the first jab. He dodges easily, turning his foot to break out of my reach, but I'm close on his heels.

"Good," Hayden says, sounding authoritative. "Stay on me. Your strength is your speed."

As Hayden circles me, I move with him, my feet dancing lightly on the canvas. I jab at him with my left hand, determined to break through his airtight blocks, but I can't.

Quick as a flash, I fake a right hook and hit him with a combo, making him stumble. From there, I channel my anger the way Nico's been showing me, using it to drive me forward. My fists come quick and heavy in the silence, slamming Hayden back.

He recovers quickly, but I remain on the offensive for the rest of the fight, determined to tire him out. Hayden, as usual, frowns at certain shots or when I drop my hands too low, but he doesn't tell me to change.

I bob and weave, moving fluidly as I slip Hayden's punches. I need to keep moving, keep him guessing, or he'll catch me off guard. I throw a quick jab with my left hand, then follow it up with a cross from my right. Hayden blocks them both, but I can tell he's impressed by my speed.

He comes at me with a flurry of punches, and I'm forced to retreat, my back against the ropes. When you find yourself up against the ropes, Nico said, don't panic. I pivot on my left foot and twist my body, using his momentum against him as I slip out of the way.

Now it's my turn to attack. I feint with my right hand, then come at Hayden with a left hook that catches him off guard. He staggers back, and I press my advantage, throwing a series of punches that land squarely on his gloves.

Hayden and I continue to spar, each trying to outsmart the other. I throw a jab, and he ducks under it, coming back up with a fierce uppercut that I barely manage to block. I counter with a quick combination of punches, my fists moving like lightning as I aim for his head and body. He deflects most of them, but a few get through, and I feel a surge of satisfaction.

He's back on the offensive, his movements fluid and precise as he lands a series of blows that rattle me to my core. I stagger backward, my head spinning, but I refuse to give up. I plant my feet and come at him again, my gloves pounding into his ribs as I unleash a flurry of punches that leaves him reeling. He tries to fight back, but I'm too fast for him, dancing around him like a butterfly.

We're both breathing hard now, our bodies slick with sweat. But we're not done yet. Hayden comes at me again, and I meet him head-on, our gloves crashing together in a burst of sound.

For once, Hayden grins and steps back. "You know what?"

"What?"

He smirks. "I think you're ready."

I smile and rip off my gloves as he reaches for his water. When I finally catch my breath, I say, "Hayden?"

He screws on the lid of his water bottle and looks at me. "Yeah?"

I hesitate. "Coach would always tell me not to go on the offensive." Even just saying his name brings a lump to my throat, but I swallow it. "Why don't you?"

"Coach was old school," he says, his eyes softening. "He liked to keep his boxers safe first and foremost, so he always taught defense." He shrugs now, his eyes taking on this far-off look mixed with pride and pain.

"Realistically, there's no right or wrong, just what works for you, and if you think you can handle offense, go ahead."

"Well, do you think I can?" I ask. It's too late to change my training, but I'm curious about his answer.

The tiniest smile lifts his mouth. "Yeah," he says, "I do."

It fills me with the tiniest pride. While I'm confident in Nico's coaching abilities, there's always been some part of me that wondered if his praise was because he liked me and didn't want to hurt my feelings; I'm glad to know I was wrong.

As usual, on a Saturday, I head home early for a nap, snack, and shower before returning to the gym for closing. Even with Coach gone, I feel it's my duty to help clean up, so I spend the next thirty minutes doing just that. My AirPods are in, and I'm dancing around the gym to The Supremes with a mop in my hand when I glance out the window.

The street is empty with no sign of Nico, despite the fact he's five minutes late, so I'm about to carry on mopping when the door to Box Inc opens. I smile and move closer, thinking it's Nico emerging from the gym, but it's not. Walking out of Box Inc, counting the wad of cash in his hand, is Auden.

A/N

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