Knockout (Gaslight spin-off)

17| Charity case

Every bone in my body demands I turn back around, but I don't. I blindly follow him up to the gym and over to the heavy bags, where I set down my stuff. Despite convincing myself I'm in total control, the familiar twist of my gut betrays me. We've been here before, completely alone after hours in this gym, but this time feels dangerous, like any moment now, someone will walk in and catch us.

Still, it's too late now. I unzip my sweatshirt and fold it in half before leaving it in the corner. When I turn around, Nico has already grabbed my gloves and is heading back over when he sees me and stops. His gaze drops quickly, first to my tank top and then to my exposed midriff. I'll admit, it's not my usual attire, but I'd chosen to wear something similar to Katarina to show Coach I meant business – lo and behold, my success.

A clear of my throat seems to catch his attention. He walks over, gloves casually slung around his neck and takes my hands in his. Gentle as ever, he folds the tape in delicate movements while I try to keep still.

This is the most time I've spent around someone outside of Daisy or my immediate family, and I can't figure out why. Why for some reason, he always seems to be there, ready to help. Other than boxing, we have nothing in common, and there's no way he'd think twice about talking to me outside of this gym, which leaves me with the question: what's in this for him?

"Why do you keep helping me?" I ask. "I haven't exactly been nice to you."

He looks over as if to say no shit. "I figured niceness wasn't your strong suit."

"It's not, but that doesn't answer my question."

His eyebrow arches, but he doesn't answer right away. After a moment or two, he says, "Do you believe in redemption?"

"In theory, I guess." 

The corner of his mouth ticks upward. "Well, consider this mine." 

"What did you do?" 

"That," he says, with a glint of devilment, "is between me and God."

I fold my arms. "If you think I'm just going to drop it, you clearly don't know me." 

He looks over now, and I can tell my frustration is amusing to him. "Look, I came here to help these kids, and the way I see it, you need more help than anyone."

"What makes you think that?"

"Call it intuition."

My jaw narrows. I hate that he says it, hate that it makes me feel like some kind of charity case like he's only around out of pity. When he told me he wanted to help these kids, it never occurred to me I was one of them. This ball of dread starts to work through my stomach, which doesn't make sense. Why would I care if Nico sees me as a kid? I don't. "Maybe I don't want your help."

"Say the word, and I'll leave."

He's got me, and he knows it. That half-smile returns as I look to the wall, and he returns to wrapping my hands. If I weren't so desperate, I'd have told him what to do with his help, but that's what desperation does. It makes you do things you ordinarily wouldn't, like someone holding a gun to your head. Between losing to Katarina and letting Nico help me, the latter is the lesser evil. I think.

When he's finished, he pulls the gloves away from his neck and slips them over my hands. It's hard not to watch him while he does it. There is something so angelic about his face, with angles and edges that belong to a model and not someone who boxes for a living. Or at least, it will be his living once he trains to be a coach. What he does now, I'm not sure.

"What do you do outside of boxing?" I ask. "Are you in college?"

"College wasn't really for me." He steps back and signals for me to step forward, closer to the bag, so I do. "I graduated two years ago. I've been working at my dad's carpentry store ever since."