Chapter 21 #2
I had things I wanted to ask him, like what his life looked like after I left and who he’d been without me. But every time I thought about bringing it up, something got in the way—training, exhaustion, or the way his hands would find me under the covers and shut everything else down.
So I let it go, telling myself that once we got back from LA, things would slow down, and we’d finally get a chance to talk about everything we hadn’t said yet.
Keaton’s fingers brushed the ends of my hair. “I still like this.”
I smirked. “You and my dad are apparently the only two.”
“Your mom still hates it?”
“She doesn’t hate it; she just thinks I look like I’m in a band.”
That got a laugh out of him.
I chuckled too, but it faded when his hand stayed in my hair, pushing it back off my forehead. The look on his face changed a little, softer than it had been a second ago.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“That’s bullshit.”
He smiled. “I just like this.”
I stayed there for a second. “My hair?”
He slid his hand down to the back of my neck. “Being able to hold you like this.”
I leaned down and kissed him before he could say anything else.
He kissed me back right away, one hand sliding to my waist, the other still at the back of my neck.
It quickly went from zero to one hundred in about two seconds with us, fast and familiar, and impossible to second-guess once I was in his bed.
When I pulled back, his grin was already there. “We should get our own place.”
I laughed, but it didn’t last.
His fingers slid up my side. “What? You don’t like that idea?”
I exhaled and dropped my forehead against his shoulder for a second. “It’s ...” I moved back a little to look into his eyes. “I want that too. I just don’t know if I can swing it.”
His brow furrowed. “You mean financially?”
“Yeah, because I still don’t have a job.” I exhaled. “And my savings aren’t exactly looking great. I thought I’d have something by now, even if it was part-time, but everything either screws with training or pays like shit, and I’m trying not to burn through what I’ve got before I get a job.”
His hand moved to the back of my neck. “You’ll figure it out.”
“Yeah, maybe. But talking about getting a place with you when I can’t even say for sure I could cover half feels stupid.”
“How bad is it?”
“Bad enough that I might need to start living off of ramen noodles.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
I shrugged. “Because it’s my problem.”
“No.”
I blinked. “No?”
“No.” He shifted beneath me and sat up. “You don’t get to do that.”
“Do what?”
“Shut me out of shit because you decided it’s yours to deal with alone.”
I held his stare. “I’m not shutting you out.”
“You kind of are.”
I started to argue, but he wasn’t wrong, and that was annoying as hell.
“Rowan.” He grabbed my hand.
I dragged the other over the back of my neck. “I just don’t want to be the guy sitting here talking about getting a place when I can’t afford it.”
Keaton was quiet for a beat, then he asked, “You think I care more about money than I care about us being in our own place together?”
I swallowed.
“That wasn’t rhetorical,” he added.
“No,” I answered. “I don’t think that.”
“Good.” His hand slid back to my waist. “Because I don’t.”
I let out a slow breath.
He leaned back against the headboard; I followed and sat beside him. “And LA might help.”
I frowned. “How?”
“You do well there, someone might want to throw sponsorship money at you.”
That got a short laugh out of me. “You make that sound way easier than it is.”
“I didn’t say it was easy. I said it might happen.”
I shook my head. “Sponsor money for what though? A logo on my shorts?”
“Yeah. That. Gear. Local places. Supplement shops. Whatever.” He shrugged. “You start winning big fights, brands want their name attached to you.”
“Devon tell you this, or are you suddenly an expert now?”
He smirked. “Bit of both.”
“That’s terrifying.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Yeah.”
His fingers pressed into my side. “I’m serious.”
I knew he was.
He tipped his chin up a little. “If LA goes the way it’s supposed to, it could open shit up for both of us. More fights. More money. Sponsors. It’s not nothing. And even if it doesn’t happen right away, that doesn’t mean we can’t get there.”
The we in that statement landed hard enough that I felt it all the way through me.
I ran my thumb along his jaw. “You really mean that.”
He didn’t hesitate. “I do.”
I exhaled, realizing I’d been holding my breath longer than I realized. “I’m not asking you to cover me until then.”
“I know.”
“I mean it.”
“I know, Rowan.”
I kissed him before he could keep going, keeping it soft and sweet—nothing that would get us worked up.
When I pulled back, I asked, “You really think this fight might open more doors for us?”
“Yeah.”
“You really think somebody might want to sponsor me? I’m new to this world.”
He grinned a little. “I think if you go out there and choke another guy out, somebody’s going to want their logo on you.”
I laughed. “That’s romantic.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.”
“And for the record, I wasn’t joking about getting a place together.”
“I wouldn’t mind that either.”
“Good,” he murmured.
I kissed him again. This time his mouth brushed mine, then my jaw, then back again, and by the time I rocked against him, both of us were breathing a little harder.
“Go to sleep,” I told him.
He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “You first.”
We didn’t.
Instead, he slid down my body, taking my pants with him.
One Month Later
By the time Coach Luis finished wrapping my hands and pulled my open-finger gloves on, I already had my headphones on and my elbows braced on my knees, blocking out as much of the room as I could.
I didn’t want to start a conversation. I didn’t want to listen to other people talking.
I didn’t want to think about scouts, agents, or what this night might become if I won.
I just wanted to get in the cage.
The music in my ears drowned out most of the noise around me as I kept my head down and focused on my breathing, letting everything fade away until only the fight in front of me remained.
Across the room, Keaton was also getting ready, but we each knew the other needed to get in the zone so we kept our distance.
Luis tapped my knee when he finished.
I pulled one side of my headphones off.
“You good?”
“Yeah.”
That was all I needed.
I put the headphones back on and sat there for another minute, with my pulse steady instead of racing.
When Mason appeared at the edge of the room and pointed toward the curtain, I finally took off the headphones and handed them to Luis.
The second I got to my feet, everything in me clicked into place.
Luis gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Stay sharp and smart.”
Devon touched my glove. “One round at a time.”
I nodded.
Then the announcer called my name, and I walked out.
None of it felt new. Not the lights. Not the noise. Not the walk to the cage. I’d done this before in some form or another.
What felt different was knowing who was watching.
My opponent was already waiting, bouncing on his feet and throwing a few practice punches in the air as if he was trying to stay loose.
The ref brought us to the center, explained the rules, and then we took a step back and got into position.
The bell rang.
He came at me fast right away, trying to take control before I could get comfortable.
A jab. A kick. Then another punch. I blocked the jab, checked the kick, and dodged away instead of staying in his reach.
When he stepped in again, I shot my jab into his face hard enough to make him take a moment to reset.
Good.
He stepped forward again, but something more was driving him now—too much urgency. He wanted something big, early, and that made him careless.
I remained patient. He threw a right hand that sailed past my shoulder, and the crowd reacted when he missed clean.
That only made him press harder. He kicked again.
I checked it, stepped in, and hit him with a right hand that landed flush and made him back off.
He circled, trying to start over, but I stayed in front of him and kept making him work every time he wanted to get close.
He threw another hard right. This time he leaned too far into it.
I dropped levels, got in on his legs, and drove through him.
He hit the mat hard, and the crowd got louder.
He tried to scramble up right away, twisting and posting a hand to the mat, but I stayed on him and shut it down before he could build anything.
He kept moving, trying to turn out and get free, but all that did was open him up more. He gave me his back for half a second.
That was enough.
I got behind him, pulled him down flat, and slid my arm under his chin while he was still trying to fight his way up.
“Stay heavy!” Coach Luis yelled.
I locked my other hand in and squeezed.
My opponent grabbed at my hands, tried to peel them off, tried to twist out of my hold, but he was stuck.
I tightened it more.
Then he tapped.
The ref took my arm and pulled me off.
I got to my feet breathing hard while my opponent rolled away, frustrated and pissed.
My hand went up.
For a second, all I heard was noise.
Then I found Keaton near the barricade.
He was watching me, mouth pulled into that quick grin he got when he was trying not to show how pleased he was with something.
I winked.
Back in the holding room, Coach Luis clapped the back of my neck. “That’s what I wanted.”
Mason walked in with a grin. “That was brutal, man. You gotta show me that hold.”
I laughed and took a drink.
Then Keaton stepped through the doorway, already in his gloves and ready for his walkout. He stopped in front of me, held my gaze for a second, and said, “Nice win.”
I smiled. “Thank you and break a leg.”
He snorted a laugh.
Mason pointed between us. “You two are weird.”
“Shut up,” both of us answered.
He headed out with Devon, and I followed a minute later with Mason and Derek to watch from the side of the cage.
Keaton looked locked in from the second he stepped inside.
No wasted movements. No visible nerves. No hesitation.
The guy across from him was broader through the shoulders and came out throwing hard, trying to back Keaton up early.
It didn’t work.
Keaton slipped the first right hand, fired back with a left hook that cracked across the guy’s jaw, then chopped at his lead leg hard enough to throw him off-balance.
The crowd reacted right away.
So did Mason. “Jesus Christ,” he blurted.
I didn’t say anything.
I couldn’t.
Keaton kept pushing forward without losing control. He stayed locked in, maintained his balance, and kept making the other guy miss by inches before landing a shot in response.
By the second round, the guy switched things up and drove Keaton toward the edge of the cage, trying to smother him and land short shots.
Keaton didn’t let him keep it there.
He fought for position, turned off the cage, and separated just enough to create space.
Then he let his hands go.
Jab.
Cross.
Left hook.
The last shot landed clean, and the guy dropped hard.
The whole place exploded.
He tried to get up, but his legs didn’t cooperate fast enough, and the ref stepped in to stop the fight before Keaton could even follow him down.
Instead, he backed up, breathing heavily, his gloves raised as the noise around him kept increasing.
He didn’t show much, but I knew him well enough to notice it in the set of his mouth and how he turned toward our side of the cage. He knew what that win meant too.
Mason grabbed the back of my shirt. “Did you see that?”
I laughed. “Yeah.”
“That was nasty.”
Derek shook his head. “You sound in love with him.”
Mason pointed toward the cage. “I’m in love with violence right now.”
I barely heard the rest. All I could focus on was Keaton after the win, how sure of himself he seemed, like there hadn’t been a single question in his head once that cage door shut. By the time he stepped out of the cage, I was already moving.
“Where are you going?” Mason called.
“Back there.”
Derek jerked his chin toward the side hall. “Holding room.”
I lifted my hand without turning around and cut through the side of the venue, past two officials and a security guy who barely glanced at my wristband before letting me in.
The back hall was packed with fighters, coaches, and cornermen moving in both directions. I kept walking, heading toward the holding area where Devon had taken both of us earlier.
When I turned the corner, I stopped dead in my tracks, frozen by the sight of Devon bringing his lips to Keaton’s.
The End …