Chapter 3 #2
The gym shifted. Pads started popping. People moved in short bursts, breathing loudly, and my sweat started to show.
Keaton lifted the pads, elbows tucked, and stance set.
I squared up in front of him and kept my eyes on the target.
“Jab,” Devon instructed.
I snapped it out.
The pad cracked.
“Cross.”
I drove the cross in and pulled it back.
“Hook.”
I turned my hip, landed the hook, then reset.
Keaton didn’t react. He didn’t give me a look. He didn’t do anything except hold the pad.
Devon circled behind us. “Rowan, bring that right hand back after the hook. Keep it up.”
I corrected and threw it again.
Keaton shifted the pads a fraction, not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough to make me reach.
Devon’s voice snapped. “Keaton, hold still.”
His eyes flicked to Devon. “I’m holding.”
“You’re moving,” Devon replied. “Hold still.”
Keaton set the pads and went rigid.
I threw the combo again, cleaner.
Devon nodded, then moved on to bark at someone else.
The round kept going, and the longer it went, the more my body settled into the work. It knew the timing, breath, and rhythm, even if my head didn’t know what to do with Keaton suddenly within arm’s reach.
I finished the last combo and stepped back as the buzzer sounded.
“Switch,” Devon instructed.
Keaton dropped his arms, unstrapped the pads, and shoved them toward me without making eye contact.
I caught them and began strapping them on.
He flexed his fingers, rolled his shoulders, and finally looked at my face as he put on his gloves. “You’re really taking that room?”
I met his stare. “Yeah.”
“Round two. Same combo. Pick up the pace,” Devon’s voice cut in.
Keaton set his stance.
I lifted the pads.
“Jab,” Devon called.
Keaton fired it hard.
The pad popped, and I adjusted my stance instinctively.
“Cross.”
He drove it in. Clean. Heavy.
“Hook.”
His hook landed with enough force to make my shoulder tense and my grip tighten on the straps.
I didn’t comment.
I didn’t give him anything.
We went again and again, and he threw every shot hard, like he had something to prove. Not sloppy. Not out of control. Just enough force behind each hit to make it clear he wanted me to feel every single one.
Devon walked behind me. “Rowan, meet the punch. Don’t let your arms be pushed back.”
I adjusted and braced to meet Keaton’s shots.
His attention stayed on the pads, not on me, and it shouldn’t have mattered because he was just another fighter on the other side.
Except he wasn’t. He was the kid who used to climb through my window and stay up with me playing Borderlands 2 half the night.
The boy I held in my arms when his world shattered.
And the guy I fell in love with.
Halfway through the round, Devon called out, “Add the low kick. Jab, cross, hook, low kick.”
Keaton fired the jab, cross, and hook, then chopped the low kick into the pad.
My legs stayed planted.
My arms absorbed the impact.
He reset quickly, ready for the next call.
Devon nodded as he passed us. “Good. Keep it clean.”
Someone’s voice drifted in from the other side of the gym. “Keaton’s trying to murder the new guy.”
If they only knew our history, because I was certain that night, Keaton had wanted to murder me.
The buzzer went off.
“Switch,” Devon shouted.
Keaton unstrapped his gloves and took the pads from me.
Devon’s voice carried. “Round three. Combo is jab, jab, cross, hook. Don’t drop your hands when you’re tired.”
Keaton lifted the pads.
I set my stance, then threw the double jab, the cross, and the hook.
He held steady—no reaction, no words, no correction. His eyes stayed forward, his face blank, but his body was tense.
Devon walked up again. “Rowan, your second jab is lazy. Snap it.”
I snapped it harder.
“Better,” he replied. “Again.”
I threw it again.
Keaton’s pads didn’t move.
Good.
He spoke under his breath as Devon moved away. “You’re not moving in today.”
I kept throwing. “You don’t get to tell me what I’m doing.”
He glanced up for half a second, then back to the pads. “I get to tell you what you’re not doing in my space.”
“It’s not your space,” I replied.
Devon’s voice cut through the gym. “Less talking.”
We finished the round without another word.
“Gloves off, quick water break, then we’re doing light sparring in the ring,” Devon said.
After we all grabbed water from our bottles, Mason drifted toward me, then stopped when Keaton stepped closer to Devon.
Keaton’s tone remained controlled, but he pointed at me as he said, “You’re not putting him with me again.”
Devon didn’t look impressed. “I’m not.”
Keaton’s stare remained hard. “Good.”
Devon pointed at Mason. “You’re with Rowan.”
Mason grinned. “All right.”
Keaton stayed off to the side, tightening his gloves, and I tried not to track him, but my focus kept drifting back to him anyway.
Mason and I got into the ring, touched gloves, and started moving. He threw light jabs, tested range, and didn’t try to take my head off.
He flicked a jab and smirked. “So, what’s up with you and Keaton?”
I moved around him. “Not now.”
He threw a cross and stepped back. “I’m just trying to understand the dynamic.”
I slipped inside, jabbed him, then moved out. “There isn’t one.”
He shook his head. “Yeah, right. We’re going to end up on an episode of Dateline or some shit. The episode will be called ‘When Roommates Kill’.”
I rolled my eyes and kept going. If Keaton wanted to kill me, he could try, but I had four years of combat training, so I doubted he’d be able to get one over on me.
We finished the round without Mason talking again, which might’ve been his biggest accomplishment of the day.
Devon called time, then rotated us out of the ring before hooking a finger at me. “Rowan. Office.”
I followed him. If Keaton and I couldn’t get our shit under control, I had a feeling I’d be asked to leave because Keaton had been a member of the gym first. I didn’t want it to come to that because I knew Titan Elite was the best MMA gym in Northern California.
Inside the office, Devon grabbed a folder from the desk and slid it toward me. “Here’s the lease agreement and the house rules. Rent and utilities are spelled out. Sign it, and I’ll hand you the keys.”
I stared at the paperwork. “House rules?”
He didn’t smile. “Basic stuff like cleaning up after yourself. No guests staying longer than a few nights, and no fights in the house.”
“I wasn’t planning to fight him in the kitchen,” I replied.
Devon’s brows lifted. “Good, because I don’t want to replace my cabinets.”
I picked up the pen. “You don’t live there, do you?”
He snorted. “No, I like my peace.”
I initialed the lines, signed where he pointed, and slid it back.
He opened a drawer and pulled out a key ring with two keys. “Here. House key and mailbox key. When are you moving in?”
“End of this week,” I answered, grabbing the keys from him.
He nodded. “Perfect. Also, remember, you train here, and you follow my rules. I don’t care about the history you and Keaton have. You bring it onto my floor, and you’re gone.”
“I’m not here to screw this up.”
He watched me for a beat. “All right. Get out there.”
I stepped back into the gym and found Keaton near the equipment cabinets, gloves off, wraps dangling from his hands. His gaze fell to the keys I was holding. “Don’t touch my stuff.”
I snorted a laugh. “I’m not going to touch your stuff.”
He took a step closer, stopping just short of my personal space. “Your shit stays in your room. You clean up after yourself, and don’t make living with you harder than it already will be.”
I held his stare. “Same goes for you.”
He looked away first. “Fine.”
Mason popped out of the locker room behind him, a towel over his shoulder, his face bright again. Keaton walked off without another word.
Mason watched him go, then turned to me. “So, uh, heads-up. He’s picky about the kitchen.”
I exhaled. “That’s the least of my worries.”
Clearly, we had bigger issues than a kitchen.
He shrugged. “I’m just trying to help you survive.”
“Thanks, but I think I can manage.” I put the keys into the side pocket of my bag and picked it up.
Training I could handle. Sharing a house with Keaton was something else entirely.