Chapter 16 #2
By the time I stood, my body had cooled down just enough to remind me how much work I’d already done.
I followed Grant out of the conference room, then headed back to the training floor, where Coach Isaac had me run through mobility exercises with one of the trainers before icing my knees while he reviewed the next few days.
When I left the gym, my body was exhausted from working hard.
Since Grant had pulled me into a meeting before I could start recovery, Reid had beaten me back to fighter housing.
He was stretched out on one of the couches in the common room, one arm tucked behind his head, as a Tampa Bay Lightning hockey game played on the TV.
He glanced over when I came in, then lifted his chin.
“Your clip’s up on The Loop. Did you see?”
I stopped near the hallway that led to the rooms. “Already?”
“Yeah. Good clip too.”
“Thanks. I’ll check it out.”
He turned his attention back to the TV, and I stopped in the shared kitchen long enough to fill my stainless-steel bottle from the filtered water dispenser before heading to my room.
The fighter dorms reminded me of the Air Force housing, only with fewer inspections and more guys walking around with ice packs, protein shakes, and laundry they kept forgetting to move.
The common room and kitchen were near the front, with a hallway off to one side leading to the private rooms and bathrooms. It wasn’t home, but it was clean, close to the gym, and private enough when I shut my door.
I set my bag beside the closet where it was out of the way, sat on the edge of the bed, and took my phone from my pocket to pull up Atlantic Combat’s Loop account. The caption was simple:
Middleweight fighter Rowan Cross settling into the pro room
#AtlanticCombat #RowanCross #Middleweight #MMA #ProRoom
I watched the clip twice, then let it loop again. The comments were coming in faster than I’d expected:
Welcome to Florida, Cross
Dante making him work lol
Wait, wasn’t he at Titan Elite?
Good pickup for Atlantic Combat
Titan let this guy walk?
I closed the app and sent a text to Keaton:
Did you see the clip AC posted of me?
It took him a few minutes, but he responded:
Just did. Looks good
That was it. Four words.
I waited for another message, but nothing came through.
You sure?
Yeah baby you look amazing
Thanks. What are you doing?
About to start class
Call me after?
I have work tonight
After work then
Usually his shifts at The Golden Tavern ended around the same time I was starting my day thanks to the time difference, and I didn’t mind waking up a little earlier if it meant I got to hear his voice.
Keaton
Alright
Our conversation had been fine. He’d answered, said I looked amazing, and hadn’t picked a fight or shut me out. But the space between us was getting harder to ignore.
I set the phone face down on the bed and stared around the room.
The gray comforter, white walls, and my suitcase still half unpacked in the corner made the place feel temporary in a way I hated.
Keaton’s hoodie hung over the back of the desk chair because I hadn’t decided whether wearing it would help or make me miss him more.
After I showered, I went to bed early because my body gave up before my brain finished worrying.
Sleep came in pieces, broken by a car door shutting outside, someone laughing in the hallway, and the air conditioner kicking on and off until cold air blew against my skin, which made me drag the blanket higher.
When my alarm went off at five forty-five, I turned it off and sat on the edge of the bed for a few seconds as the room came into focus. My legs were stiff from the day before, my shoulders felt heavy, and when I checked the screen, I had no missed calls from Keaton.
That wasn’t unusual. Most nights, he called me as soon as he got into his car, but if closing took a bit longer than normal, he called closer to the time I was getting ready to leave for the gym. Sometimes he was too tired to say much, but he called anyway.
I got dressed and had just brushed my teeth when my phone buzzed with an incoming call. I answered it while reaching for my shoes. “Morning, baby.”
Keaton let out a tired breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “Still nighttime here.”
“Not for me.”
“Well, your schedule sucks.”
A car door shut on his end, followed by the faint beep of a lock.
“Are you still in the parking lot?”
“Yeah. A group of college kids didn’t want to leave.”
“You sound exhausted.”
“I am.”
“Drive home and sleep.”
“Bossy,” he teased.
“Just want you to stay safe,” I corrected. “And I don’t like you sitting in a parking lot half asleep.”
His voice softened a little. “I’m okay.”
“Text me when you get home.”
“I will.”
I tied my shoe, then reached for my sweatshirt. “I love you.”
“I love you too, baby.”
The call ended, and I sat there for a few seconds, my phone in my hand, before I forced myself to move again.
That was how most of our calls felt lately: short and rushed, squeezed into whatever space we could find between his work, my training, the time difference, and the parts of our lives that didn’t wait just because we missed each other.
It wasn’t bad; that was the part I kept coming back to.
We weren’t fighting, and no one had done anything unforgivable.
We still said I love you, still made time, still tried.
But some places between us were unreachable by phone, and over the next few days, I started noticing the distance more often.
Training kept moving, and I kept moving with it.
Coach Isaac made me work the same entry until my body started reacting before my brain had to think through every step.
Dante stopped giving me as much room during live rounds, which felt like progress until he started making me pay for every mistake.
At least once a day, a post of me was put on The Loop, and people seemed to like what they were seeing.
And Keaton and I talked whenever we could.
Some calls were good. Some were too short. Some ended because he had work, or I had training, or one of us was too tired. A few were easy enough that I started to think maybe we were finding our rhythm.
Then, on Friday afternoon, my phone buzzed with a text while Grant was walking me through media strategies since The Loop was taking off.
I ignored the first notification, but a few seconds later, my phone vibrated again. Then again.
Grant stopped mid-sentence and glanced at my pocket. “You need to get that?”
I pulled my phone out, expecting Keaton, but it was Mason:
Don’t freak out
Call me
Keaton got hurt