Chapter 6
Keaton
I shut the door behind me and leaned against it for a moment.
The fact that Rowan Cross was here—in my house—was seriously fucking with my head.
In the past, whenever memories of him tried to surface, I did everything I could to push them back to the darkest corners of my mind, where they belonged, right alongside all my other shitty childhood memories.
But with him in my space, I knew that wasn’t going to work anymore.
I ran a hand over my head and exhaled slowly, trying to forget what had happened in the bathroom.
It was pointless. The image of his bare chest and ripped abs was burned into my mind, along with the dark ink spread across his skin.
That hadn’t been there the last time I’d seen him without a shirt, and I hated how much I wanted another look.
Hated how I wanted to know why he’d picked that image to permanently mark his skin.
The fact that he’d caught me staring made it even worse. And then, like a total idiot, I taunted him while doing it.
What the fuck was wrong with me?
Actually, I knew exactly what was wrong with me. Rowan had always been able to make me forget everything else and only see him. Every stage of our relationship had been intense, making me feel as if my emotions were on the edge of something I couldn’t control.
Apparently, four years hadn’t changed the way he affected me as much as I’d hoped.
I moved to my bed and sank onto the edge of the mattress. It was my night off from work, which meant I should’ve been able to relax and let my body recover. Instead, anger swirled inside me.
I had a life I enjoyed. A routine that worked for me.
I trained, worked at the bar, fought on the regional circuit, and was gradually building toward something bigger.
It might not have been much yet, but I had goals and dreams—things that didn’t involve someone from my past coming back and fucking everything up again.
The problem was, I wasn’t just angry. That would have been easy to handle. I could go to the gym and work out my frustrations in the ring.
What I’d felt in that bathroom—and was still feeling—was more complicated than that.
It was the regret and desire stirred up by memories of times when things had been good between us, and the happiness that had come with planning a future together.
Just because he hurt me in the end didn’t erase everything I’d felt up until that moment.
I tossed the nail polish onto my dresser, no longer in the mood to fix my chipped polish.
Instead, I stripped down to my boxers and crawled into bed.
If I wanted any shot at sleep, I needed something to take the edge off.
Calling someone for a quick hookup crossed my mind, but that sounded like too much effort.
I pushed the waistband of my underwear down past my hips and fisted my shaft.
My hand started to move, and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to think of anything other than the man on the other side of the door.
I’d gone out with Douglas recently, so I tried to picture him, tried to summon the image of his body beneath mine.
But it was like trying to start a fire with wet wood.
The memory was doing almost nothing, and I remained soft, my body unaroused despite my efforts.
“Fuck,” I muttered, letting my hand fall away in frustration.
So pathetic. I was twenty-two years old, and I couldn’t even get myself off because my head was too full of someone I hated.
Anger simmered low in my gut, but it was tangled with something else—something I refused to explore.
I needed a release, and the only person who seemed able to fix it was the one person I couldn’t stand.
I lay there, staring at the ceiling, my body full of tension. Knowing that if I allowed myself to picture the guy I’d just seen in the bathroom, it would break my resolve.
Thinking about how hot he was now rather than thinking of the past we shared, I wrapped my fingers around myself with a firm grip and tried again.
I imagined Rowan reaching for me and instantly my dick hardened.
My hips arched into the touch, a silent plea for more.
He chuckled, a low, confident sound I’d always loved hearing.
His fingers brushed against the sensitive spot just under the head of my cock, and I nearly lost my mind.
I stroked myself faster as I pictured him jerking me off.
Pressure built fast followed by a familiar tightening in my balls.
The anger was still there, but it had morphed into a raw need that fueled my movements.
I hated him for this. Hated him for being the only one who could make me feel this way, even after four years.
Hated him for ruining everything. But fuck, I wanted him.
There had never been a time I didn’t want him, despite how often I tried to forget.
My back arched off the bed, a groan tearing from my throat as my release hit hard. Spurts of hot, sticky cum covered my hand and stomach. I kept pumping my dick, drawing out every last wave of pleasure until I was panting into the silence of my room.
For a moment, the sound of my ragged breathing was all I could hear. Then the shame came crashing in. I stared at the mess on my stomach, proof of my weakness. I’d tried to fight it, but I’d lost.
Rowan Cross had been back in my life for less than a week, and somehow, he had me thinking about him like some lovesick teenager.
I grabbed a tissue from the nightstand and cleaned myself up before settling back against the pillows.
No denying it anymore. I was completely and utterly fucked.
By the time morning rolled around, I’d convinced myself that the best way to move forward was to pretend that the moment in the bathroom—and in my bed—hadn’t happened.
That plan lasted about five minutes.
The second I stepped into the kitchen, my gaze immediately landed on Rowan, who was at the island eating breakfast. Heat crept up my neck before I could stop it, and my mind flashed to the image of my hand wrapped around my dick the night before.
Fuck my life.
Mason looked up from the stove and smiled. “Morning.”
That caused Rowan to glance in my direction, but I ignored him and mumbled, “Morning,” back to Mason as I moved toward the refrigerator.
Derek sat at the small dining table, scrolling through his phone, while Enzo sat next to Rowan with a mug in his hands, looking much more awake than the rest of us.
I pulled out my overnight oats and shut the fridge. “Morning,” I said, nodding toward them before joining Derek, and digging into my food.
As I shoveled the first bite into my mouth, I couldn’t help but notice the state of the kitchen.
Empty beer bottles sat near the sink, and an open pizza box was on the counter.
Usually, I’d ignore it or throw everything into the recycling bin without a second thought.
But before I could do anything, Rowan rinsed his plate, put it in the dishwasher, and then started cleaning up the mess.
Those small movements pulled my attention to him whether I wanted it to or not. I remembered his house growing up and how everything had always been neat and orderly. Rowan used to say it was what his dad expected since he was a military man.
Apparently, that was true for Rowan as well.
Derek noticed him tidying up and grinned. “Relax. We’ll clean it later.”
Rowan gave a quick nod, but there was a stiffness in his jaw. “Why wait when it can be handled now?”
I chuckled under my breath. He’d learn soon enough that Derek and Mason lived like slobs.
“All right, I’ve got to head out for work.
” Enzo stood and finished the last of his coffee.
He usually worked nights for a security company, but sometimes they needed him to cover a morning shift.
“I’ll catch you guys later this afternoon,” he added, as he set his mug in the dishwasher and snatched his keys from the counter.
He walked down the hallway and was out of sight for a moment before the sound of the front door opening and closing echoed through the house.
“I’ve got to go too,” Derek announced, getting up from the table. “Monday morning classes suck.”
Mason raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you choose your classes?”
Derek picked up his stainless-steel water bottle and shrugged. “Yeah, but I can still complain.” He glanced between Rowan and me. “Try not to kill each other at the gym. Or at least wait until I get there, so I can watch.”
“No one is killing anybody,” Rowan grumbled.
Derek laughed quietly and headed out.
The kitchen went quiet after that.
I concentrated on finishing my oats, staring down at them as if the contents of my bowl was the most interesting thing in the world.
Failing to notice the change in atmosphere, Mason turned to me and said, “Looks like it’s your lucky day since I’ll be riding with you.”
He didn’t own a car. He also didn’t have a job. Just told us his parents paid for his living expenses. Since it wasn’t any of my business, I hadn’t asked for more details.
“Whatever. Be ready in five.” I took care of my mess and went back to my room to grab my things.
Outside, I walked to my car with Mason hot on my heels.
“Shotgun,” he yelled.
“You don’t need to say shotgun when it’s just us,” I explained.
“Gotta stay ready. What if I forget when it truly matters?”
I shook my head and pressed the button to unlock the doors of my Hyundai Elantra. It was the same car I’d been driving since high school. It’d been old then, but it took me where I needed to go and was completely paid off.
I tossed my gym bag in the back and slid into the driver’s seat as Mason got in on the other side.
For a moment, I just sat there with my hands on the steering wheel, thinking about things I hadn’t allowed myself to remember in years. Like late nights in that exact car, when Rowan and I had talked about everything and nothing while parked near the river.
I watched Rowan walk to his Ducati. Mason did as well.
“Maybe I should get a motorcycle,” Mason announced.
“For everyone’s safety, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I teased as I watched Rowan swing a leg over the seat with practiced ease.
For a second, I wondered if he’d noticed my car and recognized it as the same one we used to hang out in.
Did he remember those nights the way I did?
If he did, he didn’t show it. He simply pulled on his helmet and fired up the engine.
I started my car and thought about going a different way, but I wasn’t in the mood for Mason’s questioning so instead, I followed Rowan all the way to the gym.
After arriving, I went through my usual warm-up routine and did my best to ignore Rowan before heading to the mats for a grappling session.
Coach Luis stood in the middle of the space with his arms crossed as he observed everyone gathering. Before moving into coaching, Coach Luis had fought professionally for years and was one of the best grapplers in northern California.
“All right,” he called once we were all lined up. “Grab a partner. We’re starting with hand fighting and takedown entries.”
I looked over at Mason.
He grinned as if he had been waiting for this moment. “Let’s go.”
We stepped onto the mat together. I enjoyed grappling with him. He had incredible energy, and even though he joked around constantly outside the cage, once we started drilling, he moved quickly and gave me the challenge I needed.
We slapped hands then bumped fists and started moving. Our forearms clashed as we fought for control, both of us trying to position our arms better. Mason attempted to force my head down, but I maneuvered away.
He went for a quick, single-leg takedown, but I sprawled and pushed his head toward the mat before moving behind him.
“Too slow,” I taunted.
“Dick,” he mumbled as we reset and tried again.
Coach Luis walked by and watched closely. “Keaton, watch the head position. Don’t let him control the angle.”
I adjusted immediately.
The next few minutes flew by with hand battling, entries, and defenses.
Then Mason suddenly froze. “Ah shit.”
“What?”
He grabbed the back of his leg and hopped on the mat. “Cramp.”
I blinked. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
“Stretch it out,” Coach Luis instructed.
Mason limped toward the edge of the mat, still muttering under his breath, leaving me standing there without a partner.
Rowan stood a few feet away. I hadn’t been paying attention earlier, so I hadn’t known if he was working with someone or waiting for someone to be available.
Coach Luis didn’t hesitate. “Keaton. Rowan. You’re up.”
Great.
Rowan stepped forward. We faced each other for a moment before slapping hands. We closed the distance between us, and our forearms bumped as we fought for position, each trying to control the other’s arms and shoulders.
It was strange being so close to him again. Odd in a way that had nothing to do with MMA and everything to do with our past.
He moved smoothly, slipping one arm inside mine to secure an underhook.
I immediately pressed against his shoulder and turned my hips away, refusing to give him the advantage.
His movements reminded me of what I’d seen when I’d gone to one of his jiu-jitsu tournaments in high school.
I’d been in awe of his talent back then, and he’d only gotten better over the years.
Every time he adjusted, I countered, but apart from some grunts and heavy breathing, we both stayed silent.
At one point, he moved closer, and my leg instinctively wrapped around his waist as I tried to block his movement.
The position brought us chest to chest, and for a brief moment, I felt his breath against the side of my neck.
A shiver ran through me, and he hesitated for a moment, as if he felt something too. I told myself it was just grappling. Just two fighters trying to control position, but my body didn’t seem to care about any of that shit. He shifted his weight, trying to turn me, but I pushed back.
Coach Luis’s voice cut across the mat. “Good. Keep working. Don’t rush the entry.”
Rowan’s hand brushed the back of my neck briefly as he tried to move me. His grip tightened a little longer than necessary before he adjusted, but suddenly the touch felt too personal, and I pushed his arm away.
He straightened slightly. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Doesn’t look that way to me.”
I scoffed and took a step back. “Just focus on the drill, Rowan.”
No matter how many times I told myself he meant nothing anymore, the moment he touched me, I stopped believing it.