Chapter 20
Rowan
Sunday morning came before I was ready for it.
My father parked in the airport’s garage instead of dropping me off at Departures, because a curbside goodbye would’ve been faster, and none of us wanted to feel like the weekend was over yet.
Keaton barely spoke on the walk into the terminal, but his hand stayed locked with mine the entire time.
Dad carried my bag, Mom stayed beside me, and all I could focus on was the security checkpoint getting closer.
My mom stopped first, her hand already reaching for mine as Keaton let go of the other. “Call when you land.”
“I will.”
She nodded, but she didn’t let go. “And you’ll come back for Christmas?”
I’d known one of them was going to ask. Christmas had been sitting in the back of my head all weekend, every time my parents talked about getting the tree out of the garage, every time I woke up next to Keaton, and all the way to the airport.
Missing the holidays wasn’t new. The Air Force had already taught all of us how to get through them with phone calls, pictures, and Mom pretending she wasn’t disappointed that we weren’t together. We knew how to do it. I just hadn’t expected it to feel harder now.
“You know, I wish I could, but by then I’ll be deep in training. Coach Isaac won’t want me flying across the country that close to fight day.”
My mother’s fingers squeezed mine. “I understand.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I guess I thought that since you were out of the Air Force, we’d finally get Christmas under one roof again.”
“I know,” I answered. “I did too.”
She pulled me into a hug. “I hate that you won’t be here, though.”
I hugged her back and spotted Keaton over her shoulder.
He stood beside my dad, taking in every word.
I wasn’t coming home for Christmas, and he couldn’t promise he’d be ready to come see me by then either.
It felt as though the career we were both trying to build was already taking pieces of us, starting with Christmas and continuing through every flight, camp, and fight that would come after.
My mother stepped back, and my father handed me my duffel before drawing me into a hug. “Keep your head where it needs to be.”
“I will.”
His hand pressed against the back of my neck for a second before he let go. “Proud of you, Son.”
“Thanks.”
Mom hugged me again, shorter this time, probably because she knew that if she held on too long, none of us would get out of there with a dry eye.
Dad took her hand and moved back with her, giving Keaton and me the last few feet to the TSA line.
I reached for him first, and he stepped into me, wrapping an arm around my waist as I held him carefully.
After the last few days, I knew how to hug him without hurting his shoulder.
But I hated that leaving had become something else we had to learn to do.
“I don’t want to go,” I admitted.
“I know.”
“I mean it.”
His fingers dug into the back of my sweatshirt. “I know you do, but you have to.”
I closed my eyes and breathed him in, trying to hold on to the scent of his shampoo and of him, but none of it was enough. “It feels different this time.”
“When I moved to Florida, leaving sucked, but it still felt temporary. I was going there to train, get better, and figure out what came next.” I glanced toward the security checkpoint, then back at him.
“Now there’s a fight. Grant’s building my social media presence.
Atlantic is posting about me, and Coach Isaac is already talking about what happens after this camp. ”
Keaton’s hand moved down my arm. “Ro.”
“I know it’s good. It’s what I wanted.” I took a breath, but it didn’t help much. “It just doesn’t feel short-term anymore, and I don’t think any of us want to say that out loud.”
“That doesn’t mean what we have goes away.”
“No, but I still have to leave you after only seeing you for a few days at a time.” My voice dropped as I looked at him.
And if my career went the way I wanted, I’d keep leaving Keaton for fight camp after fight camp, spending months in Tampa that could turn into years if my body held up and Atlantic Combat remained the right place for me.
Fighting wasn’t forever, but it wasn’t short-lived either. Not if I was successful.
The first month apart had been hard, but that didn’t mean we’d figured anything out. We’d survived because we had no other choice, because phone calls and texts were better than nothing, and because missing him was easier than giving up what I’d gone to Tampa to chase.
But a month wasn’t years.
Years meant building a life in one place while the people I loved stayed in another.
Years meant asking Keaton to keep choosing me through screens, flights, missed mornings, and all the ordinary days we couldn’t get back.
We’d already lost four years, not due to distance, but to silence and anger.
We’d both been pretending that not talking hurt less than admitting how much we still mattered to each other.
I kissed him before I could say anything more. His kiss was soft at first, then harder for a brief second before he pulled back.
“Go,” he whispered.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
His palm pressed against my chest, right over my heart, then fell. “Call me when you get to the dorms.”
“Okay.” I forced myself to step back, grab my bag, and head toward the TSA line before I could change my mind. I took a few steps, then couldn’t help but turn around.
He lifted his hand, and I lifted mine. Then the line moved, and I had to move with it.
After I landed in Tampa, I called Mom from the rideshare to let her know I’d made it back to Florida. It was already dark when the car dropped me off at fighter housing. I gave the guys a quick hey as I passed by, then went straight to my room to drop off my bag and video-call Keaton.
He answered on the second ring, which revealed he was stretched out on the couch in the living room with his hair loose around his shoulders. “You made it back.”
“Yep, and calling like I promised.”
“Look at you, missing me enough to listen.”
Mason’s voice carried from behind him. “Ew. You two are like a cheesy rom-com.”
Derek appeared behind the couch, an ice pack in his hand. “I’d say more of a sports romance.”
Keaton turned his head. “How do you even know that?”
“I read smut, so I know what women want in bed.”
Mason made a gagging sound. “Please never say smut again.”
Derek shrugged. “My record speaks for itself.”
Keaton looked back at me. “I hate living here.”
I chuckled. “No, you don’t.”
“No, but I’m not giving them the satisfaction of knowing that.”
Derek held out the ice pack to Keaton. “For your shoulder, princess.”
Keaton took it from him. “Call me princess again, and I’m throwing this at your head.”
“You won’t. Your aim sucks right now.”
“Whatever.” Keaton moved carefully, then set the ice pack against his shoulder with a low breath he didn’t hide quickly enough.
My smile faded. “That bad?”
“It’s fine.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“It’s annoying,” he answered. “And Derek is making it worse.”
“I timed your exercises,” Derek replied. “That’s basically medical support.”
“You counted too fast.”
“I counted correctly.”
“You did get me tacos after,” Keaton admitted. “That’s the only reason you’re still alive.”
Derek faced the camera. “See? Medical support.”
Enzo leaned into view with a bag of chicken chips in his hand. “For the record, I stayed out of it.”
Keaton moved the phone just enough to glare at Enzo. “You bet Derek twenty bucks I’d quit before the last set.”
“You didn’t, though.” Enzo shoved a chip into his mouth. “So really, you cost me money.”
“Good. You deserve that.” Keaton laughed.
Enzo grinned at the camera. “What’s up, Rowan?”
“Hey.”
“Heard you’ve got a fight coming up. Know who yet?”
“Not yet, but I’m meeting with my agent in the morning to sign the contract and go over the details.”
Mason snorted. “Damn. Florida really is making moves for you.”
“It’s not official yet.”
Derek leaned against the back of the couch. “If there’s a contract, it’s close.”
Keaton didn’t say anything right away. He already knew about Grant and the meeting, but his attention stayed on me. “You’ll call me after?”
“Of course.”
Mason started to say something else, but Keaton got up from the couch. “I’m going to my room.”
I heard a few comments from the guys as he left, but he ignored them. Once he was in his room, we talked for a few more minutes, mostly about nothing, until I yawned before I could stop myself.
“Go to bed,” he told me.
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. You’re tired, and you have your meeting with Grant in the morning.”
“I want to keep talking to you though.”
“I’ll be here tomorrow,” he promised.
“All right. I’ll call you after the meeting to let you know how it went.”
“You better.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
The call ended, and I sat there for a minute, hating how alone I felt.
The next morning, I took a rideshare to Grant’s office for our meeting.
Signing with Grant had made me feel like my career was moving forward, but sitting in his office to go over an actual fight contract made it feel real in a different way.
This wasn’t a call, a maybe, or him telling me he was working on something.
This was a date, a city, an opponent I didn’t know yet, and another reason Florida felt less temporary than it had when I first got there.
I’d barely sat down when Grant stepped out of his office. “Rowan.”
I stood and shook his hand. “Hey, how are you?”
“Good. Come on back.” He waved for me to follow him.
Grant’s office was clean and professional, but it still had fight posters on the walls, signed gloves on a shelf, and a stack of folders on his desk. The one on top had my name on it. “Coffee?” he asked.
“No, thank you.”
He motioned to the chair across from his desk. “Sit. We’ve got a fight to make official.”
I sat, and Grant opened the folder with my name on it before sliding the contract across the desk. “I finally know who you’ll be fighting.”
I focused my attention on the contract, but the name of the fighter didn’t mean anything to me yet.
Trent Navarro.
“You know him?” Grant asked, pointing at the name.
“No.”
“You will. He’s quick on his feet and has a heavy right hand. He also has more cage time than you, but not so much that I’m throwing you into a fight you don’t belong in. It’s a step up, not a mismatch.”
I read the name again. Trent Navarro wasn’t a face yet, only a name on a contract, but in seven weeks, he’d be the guy standing across from me in a cage in Miami. “Seven weeks?” I asked.
“Yes, the third Saturday in January.” Grant leaned back in his chair. “But before you sign, understand what comes with this. Navarro will talk. His corner will talk. Once they announce the card, The Loop will talk. Some of it will be about the fight, and some of it won’t.”
“I can handle comments.”
“Can you handle not responding to them?”
I looked back down at the contract instead of giving him the first answer that came to mind.
“That’s what I thought,” he replied. “There’s a difference between selling a fight and letting strangers bait you into one before you even step into the cage.
If the promotion wants you to talk, you and I will decide what you say.
If Navarro runs his mouth, we’ll decide whether to respond.
But if you start answering comments on your own, you could create a problem I have to fix. ”
I’d signed fight paperwork before. The Los Angeles event had come with medicals, drug testing, and enough official shit to remind me that it wouldn’t be just two guys walking into a cage.
But Grant wasn’t just handing me another spot on a card.
He was putting a plan in front of me, with an opponent, a full camp, a social media build-up, and a path that looked a lot more real with my name printed beside Trent Navarro’s.
“Understood.” I picked up the pen and worked through the packet, initialing and signing everywhere Grant had marked.
He checked the final page, then closed the folder. “There we go. I’ll send it back to the promotion today. Once they countersign, Miami is official.”
I sat back, already wanting to get to work. “When do I see footage?”
He smiled. “That’s more like it.”
“I’m serious. I want to see what Navarro can do.”
“I know.” He tapped the folder before setting it aside. “I already sent Isaac what we have on Navarro, including his record and the footage we’ve pulled. We’ll keep looking for more, but you’ll start with the basics today. Tendencies, strengths, holes in his game, anything we can use.”
That was the part I understood. A name, a date, a city, and seven weeks to turn Trent Navarro from a guy on paper into someone I could beat. “What else?”
“I’ll take care of the promotion, travel, media requests, and the countersigned copy when it comes back. You just worry about training and try not to make my life harder.”
“No promises.”
His laugh was quick as he stood. “Come on. Josh will take you to the gym.”
“Really?” I questioned. Since I didn’t have a car or my bike, I’d just assumed I’d take rideshares everywhere—and had been.
He squeezed my shoulder. “Apex handles transportation when it’s connected to work. You’re going from my office to your coach, so that counts.”
“Good to know.”
In the lobby, I shook Grant’s hand goodbye, then followed Josh outside to the SUV parked at the curb. The second I climbed into the back seat and Josh pulled into traffic, I took my phone from my pocket and called Keaton.
He answered right away. “Hey.” He yawned. I knew it was early for him, but he also knew I’d be calling.
“Hey.” I grinned.
“How’d it go?”
“Good. I’ll be fighting Trent Navarro.”
There was a pause, and then Keaton said, “Never heard of him.”
“Me either,” I admitted. “But I’ll be studying his fights for sure.”
“I can’t wait to come watch you,” he told me.
My smile widened. “I can’t wait either.”