Chapter 16
Rowan
Three weeks in Tampa had taught me that Florida humidity was bullshit, Dante Rivas smiled the most right before he made my life miserable, and Coach Isaac could spot a flaw in my footwork from across the gym while drinking coffee and barely paying attention.
I’d also learned that loving someone from almost three thousand miles away was easier to promise than to survive.
By the end of my second full week at Atlantic Combat, my body had stopped fighting the schedule and started anticipating it.
By week three, the routine didn’t feel easy, but it felt familiar.
Most mornings began before sunrise, with the parking lot still damp from overnight rain and the air already too thick to breathe comfortably.
The gym smelled the same every day: sweat, disinfectant, leather, tape, and Coach Isaac’s brand of coffee.
He drank that stuff at a pace and volume that made it seem as if it kept him alive.
The problem was that I liked all of it more than I knew how to admit, and that was the part I hadn’t figured out how to tell Keaton yet.
Not because he wouldn’t understand. He would.
Out of everyone, Keaton knew what it felt like to walk into a gym and feel something inside you click into place.
He knew the difference between wanting something and needing it.
He knew what it meant to chase the next level, even when the cost was more than he wanted to pay.
But knowing Keaton would understand didn’t make it any easier to admit that Atlantic Combat was exactly what I needed, because that meant moving to Florida had been the right decision.
Each week, pieces began connecting faster. Striking flowed into wrestling, pressure opened up angles, and scrambles stopped feeling purely reactive. Coach Isaac didn’t let me get away with shit, and Dante seemed personally invested in making sure I never left the mat feeling too cocky.
“Again,” Coach Isaac called.
I reset across from Dante, sweat running down my back and into the waistband of my shorts.
He bounced lightly on his feet, gloves up, a grin spreading across his face. “You sure you’re ready for another round?”
“Do I have another option?”
“No.” He laughed.
Fucker.
“Then shut up and pressure me,” I growled.
His smirk widened. “There he is.”
He came forward fast—not wild, not reckless, just controlled enough that each step backed me into another decision. Three weeks ago, I would’ve backed out too soon or reached out too early for the takedown. Coach Isaac had spent time making sure I regretted both habits.
This time, I gave ground until Dante thought he had me moving where he wanted.
When he stepped in to close the distance, I jabbed, changed levels, and cut hard to his outside before he could square up again.
My shoulder hit his hip, and I secured my grip as he tried to turn out of it.
For half a second, the entry was mine. Then Dante sprawled, dropping his weight into me and killing the shot.
My knees hit the mat, but I kept my head tight to his side and held the grip instead of bailing out.
“Better,” Coach Isaac called.
“Because I stayed on it?”
“Because you didn’t give him your back.”
Dante pushed off me and retreated a step, breathing hard enough to prove I’d at least made him work. “That was harder to stop.”
Coach Isaac took a sip of his coffee before turning his attention back to me. “Good. Make Dante work every time.”
Sitting back on my heels, lungs burning, I smiled before I could stop myself. My shoulders ached from the round, and my forearms felt shot from fighting Dante’s grips, but I’d made him work.
Keaton would’ve loved that. He would’ve given me shit first, probably something about not letting my head get too big over one decent attempt on Dante, before asking for every detail and pretending he only wanted the information so he could make fun of me.
In my head, I could almost hear him.
And once I remembered he wasn’t there, the moment didn’t feel as good anymore.
I could text him later. Tell him I’d gotten closer to taking Dante down, that Coach Isaac had said I hadn’t given Dante my back, and that I’d made Dante work to stop me.
Keaton would probably say the right thing and maybe even make the long distance feel easy for a minute.
But later wasn’t the same as now. It wasn’t the same as having him across the mat, seeing it for himself.
“Don’t sit there looking so proud,” Dante warned. “You didn’t finish it.”
“Didn’t get finished either.”
He pointed at me with a black glove wrapped around his knuckles and a smirk on his face. “That mouth gets worse every week.”
Coach Isaac made a sound from behind his coffee. “Less talking. Run it again.”
I pushed to my feet. “Yes, sir.”
Dante raised his guard. “Come on.”
We ran the sequence a few more times before Coach Isaac finally called time.
By then, my legs felt heavy, my shirt clung to my skin, and even resetting my stance took more effort than it should have.
A couple of guys on the far mat worked on cage pressure as the sharp slap of pads echoed through the gym, blending with the scrape of feet on canvas and the low thud of bodies hitting the mats.
Coach Isaac stepped in front of me and tipped his chin toward the cage. “You’re starting to connect the punch to the entry instead of reaching for it.”
“Yeah,” I answered. “I felt it that time.”
“Good. Remember that feeling. Your hands sometimes arrive before your hips, and that’s when you get stuck. If you’re going, commit. Don’t reach and hope he gives it to you.”
“Yes, sir.”
He looked past me. “Dante, go with Eli. Rowan, grab water, then I want you inside the cage with Reid.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dante passed me on his way across the mat, tapping his glove against my shoulder. “Good work.”
“Thanks.”
I went to grab my water bottle from the edge of the mat, and my phone lit up beside it.
Keaton
Still at the gym?
Yeah grabbing water before Coach Isaac puts me in the cage with Reid
How’s it going?
Good. Hard
But I almost got in on Dante
Almost?
I took a sip of water before I responded:
He sprawled before I could take him down
Sounds like you’re getting better
Yeah I feel it and Coach Isaac said I stayed on it instead of giving up my back
That’s good
Dante also said that entry was harder to stop
Proud of you baby
The messages sounded like us, which helped for about thirty seconds. Then Coach Isaac shouted at someone near the cage, Dante laughed at something across the mat, and I remembered exactly where I was.
Thanks. Can’t wait for you to see me fight live. How’s Titan?
The typing bubble appeared, then disappeared long enough for the unease that’d been creeping in lately to settle back into place.
Same shit. Coach Luis told me my footwork sucked today
It doesn’t
I took another drink of water as I waited for his next text.
You want to tell him that?
Tell him to call me
Absolutely not. He already likes you more than me and I don’t need that kind of rejection
I’m sure that’s not true
Baby everyone likes you. It’s very annoying
I chuckled to myself and typed back:
Not everyone
Fine. Most people
Debatable
I finished the rest of my water by the time his next text came:
I need to head to training myself. Call me later?
Absolutely
Love you
Love you too
After I finished with Reid in the cage, my shoulders were on fire, and my knees were red from the mat. Coach Isaac had spent most of the round making me work with my back near the fence, correcting my head placement every time I tried to muscle free instead of turning my hips to create space.
Grant was waiting near the edge of the training floor when I stepped out. He’d texted the night before to say he’d be at the gym to go over a few things. He lifted his chin. “You have five minutes before recovery?”
“Yes, sir. What’s up?”
“Just want to talk about the Miami card.”
I grabbed my water bottle from the edge of the mat. “Am I fighting?”
“That’s what I’m working on.”
“Nice.”
I followed him to a small conference room off the hallway near reception. He set his tablet on the table between us and waited for me to sit. “So, yeah, there’s a spot on the card I like for you.”
“How soon?”
“In nine weeks.”
“That’s enough time?”
“For where you are? Yes.” He leaned back in his chair. “You’re already training. This isn’t starting camp from zero.”
That made sense, even if nine weeks still felt fast. Then again, this was exactly what I’d come here for.
I nodded. “What do you need from me?”
He turned the tablet toward me. “If we take this fight, I want more eyes on you before the announcement. Nothing crazy. Just training clips and a few posts from the gym. Enough so that when your name shows up on the card, people already know who you are.”
I glanced at the screen. It was a still from a training clip someone had taken that morning, when Dante had me backing across the mat, and I cut to his outside before he could square up again. “I didn’t realize someone was filming us.”
“One of the assistants grabbed it. They get clips during pro training all the time.”
“I’ve noticed them filming other people.” I looked at the paused video again. “It’s weird seeing myself in one of the clips.”
“It gets easier.”
“Not sure I want it to.”
Grant leaned back again. “You don’t have to become someone else for people to care. But they do need to see you.”
I knew that. I didn’t love being on display, but I knew it was an important part of our industry. Fighting wasn’t only about what happened after the bell. People cared about the build, the training, and the little pieces that made them decide who they wanted to root for before anyone threw a punch.
“All right.” I leaned against the back of the chair, trying not to let my excitement show too much. “So, we have nine weeks to make me social media famous?”
His mouth twitched. “No. Nine weeks to make sure the right people know your name before fight week.”
“Cool.”
He closed the tablet. “My team will handle the posts. You handle recovery.”
“Works for me.”