" I wince. I have no idea what to say. "Do you want to hit me back? You can."
"No, I don't want to hit you back, you idiot. I've sent you like thiry texts. Are you okay?"
My eyebrows go up. "You are asking me if I'm okay?"
"Yes."
It's like the moment I realised Dad wasn't going to let me chase him out of my room. I want to crumple on the floor. "No," I say. "I'm not."
"Then come on."
I don't move. My head is spinning. "Where are we going?"
"Downstairs. Get your gloves. If you need to throw punches, let's find something better than my face. "

― Brigid Kemmerer , More Than We Can Tell (Letters to the Lost, #2)