Chapter 3
Keaton
It was after midnight, but I couldn’t sleep. Lying on top of the covers with the lights off and my eyes open, I stared at the ceiling, hoping for an answer that would make me feel less out of control.
The room was quiet, which should’ve made it easier to rest, especially after a fight, but my brain wouldn’t turn off. It kept circling the same thoughts, over and over, and wondering where the hell Rowan could be.
I checked my phone again, even though I already knew what I’d find. As expected, I saw no missed calls, no messages, no explanation. I slowly pushed myself upright, my phone still clutched in my hand. I knew staring at it wouldn’t make Rowan call, but that didn’t stop me from hoping.
The last message I’d sent begging him to answer me hadn’t changed. Delivered. Not read. It didn’t make sense.
The Rowan I knew always read his messages. Even when he was busy, even when he didn’t want to answer, he still saw them. The fact that he hadn’t read this one worried me in a way I couldn’t ignore, no matter how many times I told myself not to jump to conclusions.
I leaned back against the headboard and scrubbed a hand down my face, exhaling slowly as I tried to keep my thoughts from going to the worst-case scenario.
Despite knowing he wouldn’t answer, I tried calling again. The phone rang once before going straight to voicemail, and I dropped it onto the bed beside me.
What the hell was I supposed to do? Go after him?
I didn’t know where to start. He could be anywhere, and I had no way of knowing if he was still in LA, had gone home to Sacramento, or was somewhere else entirely.
My meeting with Marcos in the morning also occupied my mind.
Could I possibly blow that off? Could I walk away from something I’d been working toward for the last two years because I was spiraling?
Even if I flew back to Sacramento, there was no guarantee I’d find Rowan.
Meanwhile, staying in LA didn’t sit well either.
I closed my eyes for a second, but that didn’t help. All I saw was Rowan’s face. I saw the way we’d looked at each other earlier in the day with love and excitement for what our futures could look like.
“Fuck,” I groaned.
My phone buzzed against the mattress, and I grabbed it instantly, holding my breath as I looked down.
Instead of Rowan’s name appearing like I hoped, I saw a group text from Mason:
Heard from Rowan. He’s back in Sac and fine. He said he needed to handle something and will explain later
He was okay. He wasn’t hurt, stranded somewhere, or worse. Everything in me relaxed, and that’s why it took me a moment to realize he’d texted Mason.
Not me.
The relief I’d felt lasted all of two seconds before frustration shoved it aside. If he wanted everyone to know he was okay, why hadn’t he told me first instead of one of our roommates? I was supposed to be his person, and he couldn’t even respond to me.
I opened his contact and hit call again.
It rang once, then went straight to voicemail … again.
I swore under my breath and typed out a text:
Call me and tell me what’s going on
I hit send, and the message just sat there with no “delivered” notification.
I tried again, and the same thing happened.
Only a few explanations came to mind for that. Either his phone had died, he’d turned it off, or he’d blocked me.
None of those made me feel better.
The next morning, my body ached, and my head felt too heavy, but none of that compared to the way my thoughts picked right back up where they’d left off.
Rowan.
The messages.
The calls.
The silence.
I pushed through my routine on autopilot despite my bad mood.
Once showered and dressed, I made my way to the lobby where I was supposed to meet Devon before heading to Elevate.
Mason, Derek, and Enzo were downstairs at a small table with coffee cups in hand. None of them had any reason to be awake this early, but that was how things worked in our group. After living together for a while, we’d formed a solid friendship, so when something mattered, the others showed up.
Derek took one look at me and winced. “Jesus. You look like shit.”
“Feel like it too.” I dropped onto the empty chair next to Mason.
“Bet that guy you fought last night looks ten times worse.” Mason chuckled.
I huffed out something that sounded like a laugh. “You’re probably right.”
“Did you get any sleep at all?” Enzo asked. “Or were you too busy thinking about the meeting?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“At least we know Rowan’s okay,” Derek added. “So we don’t have that hanging over our heads.”
If only that were true.
Just because I wasn’t worried about Rowan’s safety anymore didn’t mean everything was okay.
“Anyone still think it’s weird he dipped like that?” Mason asked, taking a sip of his coffee.
Enzo shrugged. “The guy’s got his own shit going on. Not everything is our business.”
“Speak for yourself,” Mason replied. “I need to be in the know.”
Derek snorted. “And that’s why we don’t tell you anything.”
The guys continued to give each other shit, and I resisted the urge to check my phone again.
Devon walked over to us a minute later. “We’re leaving in five.”
Guess it was time to pretend my head was in the right place.
Elevate Sports Management took up a couple of floors of a high-rise in downtown LA. The entire lobby was filled with framed photos of athletes across every known sport—people who were at the top of their game and others who were just starting to make a name for themselves.
Devon checked in with the receptionist while I took a seat off to the side. My gaze drifted back to the wall of photos, and it was hard to believe I was actually getting ready to meet with Marcos Silva.
After a few minutes, a woman in an all-black business suit stepped into the lobby and gave us a polite smile. “Keaton Stafford?”
“That’s me.” I stood.
“Marcos will see you now.”
I followed her down the hall, my nerves slightly frayed as I stepped into his office.
Mr. Silva stood when I walked in and extended his hand. “Keaton. Good to finally meet you.”
I shook it. “Likewise. I appreciate you making the time.”
“Of course.” He gestured toward the chair across from his desk. “Have a seat.”
I sat, forcing myself to focus—not on Rowan, not on the fact that my phone was still sitting silent in my pocket—but on the man in front of me and the opportunity he might offer.
“I watched video of your fight again this morning,” Marcos began.
“You did?” I asked, a little surprised he’d watched it more than once.
“You’re smart in the ring,” he replied. “You have good instincts, and you adjust quickly. That’s not something everyone can do.”
“I’ve been working on it.”
“It shows.” He leaned back in his chair.
“But talent’s only part of the equation, and right now, you’re in a good position.
You’re at a gym with a strong reputation, coaches who know how to build fighters, and a system that works.
I’ll be blunt with you. I’ve seen a lot of guys across all sports sign with an agent and immediately think they’ve hit the big time.
” He shook his head. “That’s usually where they screw up. ”
I leaned forward a fraction, taking in what he had to say.
“Consistency matters. Structure matters. And right now, you have both at Titan. Devon knows how to build careers, not just rack up wins.”
“I’ve learned a lot there,” I said.
Marcos nodded. “If I could have all my fighters train with Devon and his team, I would. Titan Elite really is one of the best. Unfortunately, not everyone is a fan of moving to Sacramento, especially if they’re already in a place like Vegas.”
“That makes sense,” I agreed. “But I’ve got no intention of leaving.”
Even though Devon had crossed a line the night before, I knew if I laid down some clear boundaries, I’d have no problem continuing to train there.
“Good. I think you’re exactly where you need to be, and you’ve clearly got a good head on your shoulders”—Marcos paused for a beat—“which is why this is an easy call for me.”
My pulse sped up.
“If you’re interested, I’d like to bring you on with Elevate.”
I should’ve felt the excitement that everything was moving forward exactly the way I’d planned. Instead, my mind was split between this moment and something else entirely. Still, I didn’t let that show.
“Yeah.” I nodded. “I’m interested.”
Everything after that moved quickly. After signing a mountain of paperwork and shaking hands with what felt like half of the agency, I officially became Elevate Sports Management’s newest client.
On the way to the airport after my meeting, I couldn’t stop checking my phone.
Still nothing.
Not a text.
Not a missed call.
Nothing to tell me where Rowan actually was or why he hadn’t said a word to me.
By the time I arrived at the departure gate, I was no longer worried or upset. I’d moved firmly into pissed-off territory.
If he thought he could just ignore me, he had another thing coming.
The flight home felt like it took forever.
It wasn’t delayed, and nothing had gone wrong, but my patience was wearing thin with every minute we got closer to landing.
Rowan was in Sacramento—at least, that’s what he’d told Mason—which meant when I walked into our house, I’d finally get answers.
We landed just after noon, and the second we pulled into the driveway, I forced myself to play it cool.
I didn’t rush or call his name when we stepped inside.
Instead, I mentioned needing a shower and headed down the hall as if I were going to my room, passing Rowan’s closed door without looking at it or slowing down.
The last thing I needed was one of the guys noticing how anxious I was.
I kept going until I reached my room, then stepped inside and shut the door quietly behind me. For a second, I just stood there, contemplating what I’d say when I finally saw him.
My gaze drifted to the bathroom that connected our rooms.
I crossed the space in a few quick steps and pushed the door open. The bathroom was dark, but I didn’t stop. I reached the other door and opened it without knocking, bracing myself for whatever waited on the other side: Rowan pacing, Rowan pissed off, or Rowan ignoring me completely.
It was empty.
No Rowan or anything that belonged to him.
My heart sank. Where the hell was he?