Chapter 3
Rowan
Keaton Stafford was on the mats.
Not in my head. Not in some old memory that surfaced when I wasn’t paying attention, but right there in front of me after four years of not speaking to each other.
He was stretching, his hands braced behind him, legs out, calm and focused, as if he’d done it a thousand times in this gym and had no reason to look up.
Then he did.
His gaze snapped to mine, and the instant it landed, I knew he was pissed.
He didn’t smile. He didn’t nod. He didn’t do any of the fake polite bullshit people usually fall back on when they run into someone from their past. Instead, his jaw tightened, and he just sat there holding my stare from across the room.
He looked different too; older, tougher, and sexier.
I kept walking with Devon.
He glanced at me. “You okay?”
“I’m good,” I replied quickly, wondering if he clocked the intense look on my face.
“All right. I see two of your roommates. Let me introduce you.” He started walking toward where Keaton was sitting, and before I took a step, I knew. I just knew the room I was renting from Devon was in the same house where my former next-door neighbor lived. “Keaton, Mason. This is Rowan.”
Mason stood and stuck out his hand. I took it and we shook. “Nice to meet you,” he said.
“You too.”
Keaton hesitated, then rose to his feet and gave me a curt nod. “Sup?”
I glared back. “Hey.”
“You two know each other?” Devon asked.
“We were neighbors growing up,” Keaton responded.
We had been more than just neighbors, but I didn’t share that info. But I did add, “Then I joined the Air Force right after high school and left.”
“No shit?” Mason let out a low whistle. “Damn. Welcome back to civilian life. How long were you enlisted for?”
“Four years.”
“And you just got out?” He kept questioning me.
“Yes, two weeks ago.”
Keaton’s attention shifted to Mason as if he wanted him to shut up without having to say it out loud.
Mason caught it and somehow became more cheerful. “What? I’m being friendly.”
“You’ll have time to ask him all your questions later,” Devon said. “Rowan is moving into the empty bedroom at your place.”
Keaton sucked in a breath, and his eyes snapped to Devon. “What?”
Devon didn’t blink. “Rowan is taking the other room in the house.”
Keaton’s jaw worked, and when he glared at me again, the anger in his stare sharpened. “You knew.”
I shook my head. “I didn’t.”
“Bullshit!” he barked. “You think you can just get out of the Air Force and try again?”
“Try again? I didn’t know it was your house,” I said calmly, trying not to make a scene.
Mason’s head whipped between us. “Wait, hold up. Your house?”
“It’s not my house,” Keaton shot back. “I rent a room just like you do.”
Devon tilted his head. “I own the house. Which means I get to pick the tenants.”
Keaton’s nostrils flared. “That’s not how this works.”
Devon’s expression didn’t change. “That’s exactly how it works.”
Mason looked at Devon, then at Keaton, then at me, as if he were watching a car crash in slow motion. “So, just to be clear, Rowan’s moving in with us, you two used to live next door to each other, you guys have some sort of beef, and you haven’t talked in four years?”
“Stop,” Keaton growled.
Mason held up his hands. “I’m just making sure I’ve got the facts straight.”
Devon’s eyes narrowed. “Mason, go stretch.”
Mason pointed to his legs. “I am stretched.”
“Go be stretched somewhere else,” Devon ordered.
Mason backed away, still watching, because apparently minding his own business was not a skill he trained for.
Keaton stayed locked on Devon. “You didn’t tell me we were getting a new roommate.”
Devon shrugged. “I don’t run my rentals by you.”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” Keaton snapped, then jabbed a finger toward me without taking his eyes off Devon. “Of all the fighters, you had to rent to him.”
My chest squeezed at the way he said it, as if he couldn’t say my name.
“If you’ve got personal drama, keep it out of the gym and out of my rental. Rowan needs a room. There’s a room. That’s it.”
Keaton snorted. “That’s it?”
“It is,” Devon replied.
Keaton finally looked me straight in the eye. “You’re actually going to do this? Live with me?”
“I need a place to stay,” I answered. “Devon offered. I took it, not knowing it was with you.”
Devon’s voice dropped a notch. “We’re about to start training. You can take this outside afterward if you want. Right now, you’re both on my floor.”
Keaton groaned. “I’m not living with him.”
“Then move,” Devon said.
Keaton stared at him. “You’re serious?”
He nodded. “You’re month-to-month. If you want out, get out. If you want to stay, act like an adult.”
Keaton’s eyes flashed to me again. “You don’t get to disappear for four years and then walk back in like it’s no big deal.”
Something in my gut twisted. “I’m not. I didn’t know you trained here.”
Hell, I didn’t know he’d taken up fighting either.
The last time I’d seen him, he’d been dressed in all black, wearing nail polish to match, and listening to bands like My Chemical Romance, Black Veil Brides, and Sleeping With Sirens.
But as I looked down at his clenched hands, I saw his nails were still painted that inky color he loved, so maybe he hadn’t changed much in the last several years.
Keaton’s lips parted as if he had a hundred things to throw at me, then Devon cut in.
“Enough,” he warned. “I’m not doing this right now. Rowan gets the room. Keaton, you can be mad later. Mason, stop eavesdropping.”
Mason sighed and walked off, but he kept glancing back as if he couldn’t help himself.
“All right,” Devon shouted. “Time for drills.”
People started moving closer, everyone sliding into their normal warm-up routine as if nothing had just happened.
Keaton moved first, heading toward the center.
I followed as Devon started giving instructions.
“Circle up. Let’s go.”
I slipped off my shoes and stepped onto the mat, trying to focus on the familiar feel of it under my feet, rather than the fact that Keaton was a few feet away. The effort of trying not to look at him made the word roommate throb in my brain.
As we all sat, Mason dropped down next to me, grinning brightly again, as if the drama had recharged him.
He leaned closer. “So, you’re moving in today or what?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
He lifted his hands. “I’m asking because I need to know whether I have to clean.”
“You should clean anyway,” I shot back.
“Oh, right. Military man. You’re clean as hell, huh?”
Keaton’s gaze sliced toward us, and if looks could kill … well, I’d be dead.
Devon’s voice cut through before Keaton could keep glaring. “Mason, focus up here.”
Mason straightened, palms raised as if he hadn’t just been poking a bear. “Yep, Coach. I’m listening.”
“Good,” Devon replied, then he and another guy started to show us what we were going to be practicing. “Everybody up.”
People pushed to their feet, shook out their arms, and started bouncing in place. The whole energy of the room shifted to work mode.
Mason looked at me again. “Pad rounds. Fun.”
“Stop narrating,” I huffed.
Mason grinned. “I can’t. It’s my personality.”
Keaton’s stare returned, and Mason finally took the hint and shut his mouth.
Devon paced in front of the group. “Light shadow first. I want footwork and clean lines. You’re not trying to win a fight during warm-up.”
Mason popped up near the front. “I’m always trying to win.”
Devon pointed at him. “Then win by staying quiet.”
A couple of guys chuckled. Mason pressed his lips together, trying and failing to look innocent.
I lifted my hands and started moving, letting the rhythm take over because it gave my head something to do besides spiral.
Keaton was a few spots over, hands up, shoulders tight, focus locked in.
Seeing him like that messed with me because I couldn’t connect this disciplined version of him to the kid I knew.
Devon walked the line, watching everyone’s feet first, then their hands. “Keep your chin down. Don’t let your hands drift. Don’t cross your feet.” When he reached me, he took in my stance and guard. “Rowan, show me your jab.”
I snapped it out and pulled it back in.
“Again, but don’t reach. Step with it.”
I adjusted and threw it again with a small step, keeping my other hand up.
“That’s better,” he commented. “Bring it home fast. Don’t leave it out there.”
I threw it once more and reset.
He nodded. “All right. You’ve got the basics. We’ll fix the rest.”
The comment rubbed me wrong. I had more than just the basics.
I’d boxed in the Air Force, fought most Friday nights, and usually ended the night with my hand raised.
I knew what it was like to get hit, to hit back, and to keep going when my body wanted out.
Maybe I was new to this kind of training, but I sure as hell wasn’t starting from nothing.
I could feel Keaton watching me as Devon said, “Pads out, partner up.”
The group broke apart as people grabbed Thai pads and focus mitts, wrapped their hands, and pulled gloves on. The sound of Velcro filled the space, mixed with the usual gym noise.
I grabbed my gloves from my bag and tightened my wraps, keeping my focus on what I was doing so I wouldn’t stare at Keaton again.
Devon clapped his hands. “Line up in two lines. Holders on this side, hitters on that side. We’re rotating.”
Mason drifted toward Keaton, then caught himself and stopped when Devon’s voice cut across the room.
“Keaton.”
He looked up, irritated. “Yeah?”
Devon pointed at me. “You’re holding for Rowan first.”
Keaton didn’t move. “No.”
Devon didn’t blink. “Yes.”
Keaton kept his stare fixed on Devon. “Put him with somebody else.”
Devon crossed his arms. “Do you want to coach or train?”
Keaton’s jaw clenched. He grabbed the pads from the rack and strapped them on with forceful movements, then walked to the line without looking at me.
Devon raised his voice. “Round one. Basic. Jab, cross, hook. Then reset your feet.”
He hit the timer.