There is something I love about flying.

My mother hates it. She claims to suffer from claustrophobia, which means the thought of us being stuck in an airtight tube has her doped up on pills. But I love the feeling of possibility, of knowing I'm about to end up somewhere different to where I started; it's strangely exhilarating.

She lets out the quietest snore beside me. I shift a little, trying to shake out a cramp in my leg. It's a six-hour flight from New York to LA, with three hours still to go. I think about trying to stretch out my legs, but I don't want to wake her. Instead, I get out my Things To Do checklist and go over each point; it keeps me busy until we land.

My aunt, uncle, and his two sons from his previous marriage are all there to greet us when we get off the plane. Even if Aunt Lilly hadn't been screaming our names, I'd have spotted their sign a mile off. It's large and sparkly and held by Tim's sons, who look less than enthused to see us.

"Hey," I say, walking up to them. "Nice sign. Could you maybe put it down now?"

But my aunt is too busy hugging me to pay any attention. "Oh, Maddison!" she says. "You're turning into such a beautiful young woman." She runs her hand through my mane of dark hair, clearly excited. Aunt Lilly could never have kids of her own, and she's always longed for a daughter–I'm the closest she'll ever get.

"She goes by Maddie now," my mother says, giving Olly and Dylan a hug. "Nice to finally meet you both. Lilly has told us so much about you."

Tim's sons are twins, but they couldn't look more different. Dylan is tall, almost 6ft, with dark hair, hazel green eyes, and a strong, narrow jaw. Olly is small and wiry in comparison, with lighter hair and rounded cheeks.

"Oh, sorry." Aunt Lilly pulls back to look at me. "I'm just so glad you're here. How long has it been since you last visited–five years?" There is a definite edge to her voice.

"Give or take," my mother says shortly.

Aunt Lilly smiles tightly. "I suppose there wasn't much time to use those flight tickets I sent you, Lorraine."

My mother's eyes narrow into perfect little slits. "I told you I couldn't get the time off work. I'll reimburse you."

If Dylan and Olly are polar opposites, then Mom and Aunt Lilly are two peas of a pod: they share the same golden hair and light gray eyes–the color of rain in a thunderstorm.

"I don't want you to reimburse me," Aunt Lilly says. "It was a gift. Besides, I thought since you worked from home, you'd be able to get the time off."

My mother sighs, and Tim looks between the pair of them like a deer caught in headlights. My mother and Aunt Lilly have a turbulent relationship. Mom thinks Aunt Lilly is controlling and smug, and Aunt Lilly thinks my mother is irresponsible and petty; I can kind of see both of their points.

"Well," Tim says, breaking the ice. "It's sure good to see you both."

Aunt Lilly smiles before looking at me. "It really is. I know it must be horrible having to leave your friends behind, but you're going to love it here, Maddie. It's just like New York, only with more sunshine and beaches."

I smile a little, not bothering to tell her that I don't have many friends to miss. It's not that I'm a social leper or anything–I have Suzie and Laylah, who I'd often go to the library to study with–but I spent most of my time with my boyfriend, Jamie.

"So, how was your flight, kiddo?" Tim takes my bag off my shoulder and puts it on his own. He seems surprised by how heavy it is, and says, "Jesus, what've you got in here, a dead body? I know what you New Yorkers are like."

I smile at him, grateful he came to pick us up. He and my aunt have been together ten years now, so he's mastered the art of breaking up their fights.

"Let's get going already," Mom says. "I'm exhausted."

We head through the airport and over to the parking lot. I spend the entire car ride gazing out of the window. I'd like to say the sight of the ocean is calming, but I'm barely taking it in. I check my phone for the fifteenth time, re-reading old messages between Jamie and me. He'll be asleep right now with the three hour time difference–he always goes to bed at nine.

"Here we are!" Aunt Lilly says when we finally drive through the gates. The house–if you can call it that– looks just as impressive as I remember. Tim's not only a goof but a high-profile lawyer, and Lilly is a successful real estate agent; together, they make the ultimate power couple.

Tim and Aunt Lilly usher my mom into the house, leaving the rest of us to pick up the bags. Dylan sighs and pops open the trunk, handing me my luggage.

"Thanks," I say.

"No problem." He grabs another of Mom's many bags, raising an eyebrow. "Your mom has a lot of stuff."

"Tell me about it. Guess who was left wheeling around the luggage trolley?"

Olly comes up behind me, grabbing a bag before leading the way. Once inside, I stand aimlessly in the hallway, waiting to be directed into one of the many rooms.

Dylan points the way upstairs. We get to my bedroom, and I dump my bags before looking around. It's exactly how I'd imagined their guest room to look. The bed is gigantic: king-sized, with a gray, faux fur quilt draped elegantly across the middle. At the far end of the room, the balcony opens up to a patio, which overlooks the garden. As worried as I've been about starting a new life, this is probably the best way to start it.

Once I've unpacked, I head downstairs and follow the voices to the kitchen. There's no door to the kitchen, just a curved archway with two big pillars, big enough for me to hover behind as Aunt Lilly and my mother get into a heated discussion.

"Of course I don't have a problem with you staying here," Aunt Lilly says. "How could you even think that? You're family. All I said was I'd like a little more honesty."

My mother remains silent for a second too long. "I'm being honest. Nothing happened. I just thought we needed a change."

Aunt Lilly sighs before looking at Tim. "This is ridiculous. You don't just decide last minute to move across the country unless there's something you're running from." She turns back to my mother, her eyebrows knitted in concern. "Is it Henry you're running from? Did something happen?"

Bile rises to the back of my throat. I step away from the pillar and into a hard, rippled chest. When I turn, Dylan puts his hands out to steady me.

"Hey," I say, swallowing hard. "I was just–"

"Eavesdropping." He drops his hands and raises an eyebrow. "Do you want to continue or do you want to go have fun?"

I look back to my mother, who is too far away to hear us. "The second one. I think."

"Great," Dylan says. "Let's go."

We pile in an Uber, and Olly informs me that we're heading to Petersville, a town about a forty-minute drive from where we live. According to Dylan, it's infamous for its bars and strip clubs–most of which don't ask for ID. I should be alarmed that I'm being carted off to such a place, but it's better than staying at home.

When we finally get there, Dylan leads us down the strip. "Stay close," he says. "I don't want to have to tell your mom I lost you on the first night."

I nod uncertainly, allowing them to pull me into the next nearest club. The bouncer lets us in without batting an eyelid, causing Dylan and Olly to smile.

Inside is dark and somewhat crowded. I can just about make out the bar as it curves around the room. In the middle area, surrounded by a crowd, is a large cage with bars. Two men are inside of it, clearly in the middle of what looks like a boxing match.

I follow Olly and Dylan over to the bar, where they order me a glass of something. I hold onto it tightly, despite having no intention of drinking it; I am too busy looking at the fight.

I have never seen anything so brutal and yet so utterly captivating. They dance around each other on the balls of their feet, their hands jabbing out in quick, controlled movements. Everything about it is raw and disturbing, but like everyone else, I can't look away.

The boy with the red gloves stands out in particular. He is beautiful in a rugged way: tanned, with curly black hair and pale green eyes. But that's not what draws my attention to him–it's the way that he moves with unexpected elegance, like a predator playing with its prey.

"Hayden Walker," Olly says, taking a swig of his beer. "He's a North Sider, but he goes to West Riverly with us."

I can't stop the tiny gasp in my throat. "He goes to our school? But he looks so–I don't know."

When I look up, Olly is smirking. "What, poor? Shame on you, cousin. He does get his tuition paid for because of some sports scholarship thing, though."

I feel my cheeks turn crimson red. "I didn't mean it like that. I meant he looks older than seventeen."

I turn back to Hayden, following each of his movements. Every dip has a purpose, like a perfectly rehearsed dance. He is clearly the better opponent here; his competitor's jabs simply roll right past him or come too slow. Hayden lands a particularly brutal hit, and a load of blood suddenly spurts from the other guy's nose.

The adrenaline continues to pump through my body. Just watching them feels therapeutic, and it dawns on me why. It's not because I'm a sadist or because I enjoy watching violence; it's because I want to learn how to fight.

A/N

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