Chapter 21
Keaton
On my way to the gym, I couldn’t stop thinking about the call with Rowan.
His fight was official—Miami in seven weeks—and I was happy for him.
I really was. But I struggled to separate being happy from everything else that came with it.
A full fight camp meant long training days, media obligations, travel plans, and less opportunity for us to find each other across a three-hour time difference and two separate lives.
And while Rowan’s career kept moving forward, mine was still stuck, waiting for someone to tell me when I could train again.
When I arrived at Titan, the morning classes were already underway, and the familiar sounds of gloves smacking pads and coaches shouting corrections hit me the second I walked through the front doors.
It should’ve felt normal. Instead, it felt like I’d spent weeks standing on the outside as everybody else moved on without me.
I stopped near the cage long enough to observe two fighters work through a grappling round. Coach Luis circled the mat, barking instructions while the two guys scrambled for position. My shoulder practically twitched as I watched them.
I missed the sweat, the grind, and the feeling of walking into a gym and knowing exactly what I was supposed to do. But at least I’d been cleared to do more cardio now, so I planned to use some of the gym’s equipment rather than go for walks around my neighborhood.
“Look who finally decided to show up,” Mason called out.
I turned to find him and Derek standing a few feet away. “Yeah, I thought I could at least check in and hit the bikes for a bit.”
“Every little bit of progress means you’re one step closer to training again,” Derek encouraged, squeezing my good arm.
“Yeah,” I acknowledged, although I still wasn’t happy with where I was in my recovery.
“Speaking of training,” Mason added. “I saw that Rowan’s fight is now official.”
“How do you already know that?”
Mason blinked. “Uh … Google Alert.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “You have a Google Alert set for Rowan?”
“I have Google Alerts set up for all of you.”
“That’s weird, dude.” Derek chuckled.
“No, it’s not.” Mason looked at me as if he expected me to agree with him.
“It absolutely is.”
He rolled his eyes. “You people have no appreciation for how good a friend I am.”
I looked at Derek, and he looked at me, before I turned back to Mason. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“What if one of you morons goes viral for the wrong reasons? I like knowing when my friends are making questionable life choices.”
Derek burst out laughing. “That’s not how Google Alerts work. You’re just being a stalker but trying to make it sound sweet.”
“I’m not a stalker, fucker. I care, okay?” he argued. “But, anyway, I checked out that Navarro guy Rowan is fighting, and he’s got a seven-and-two record.”
“You already looked him up?” I asked.
He lifted a shoulder. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”
Derek shook his head. “Mason, you need hobbies.”
“I have hobbies.”
I clapped him on the back. “Stalking us doesn’t count.”
“I’m supporting my friends.”
I couldn’t argue because I somehow knew he meant it. For all his sarcasm and complete lack of boundaries, Mason genuinely cared about the people around him. It was probably why he knew more about everyone’s lives than he should.
“You’re right, and we appreciate it,” I said. “So, what’d you learn about Navarro?”
“He’s solid,” Mason began. “Heavy pressure, patient as hell, and he likes to wait guys out until they make mistakes. Should be a damn good match.”
I should’ve been excited for Rowan. Instead, I found myself looking back toward the training area, where guys were drilling combinations and practicing takedown entries.
Rowan was getting ready for a fight, and I was getting ready to ride a stationary bike.
The comparison annoyed me because it wasn’t his fault I’d gotten hurt, and it wasn’t like I wanted him sitting on the sidelines with me.
If anything, I wanted the exact opposite.
I wanted everything he’d been working toward in Tampa to pay off.
That didn’t stop a small part of me from wishing I was moving forward too.
The guys and I were still chatting about the upcoming fight when Devon popped his head out of his office. “Keaton.”
I glanced over at him. “What’s up?”
He rested a hand against the doorframe. “Got a second to chat?”
I nodded. “Sure.”
Mason immediately perked up. “Ooooh, you’re in trouble.”
Devon shook his head, while I ignored Mason’s teasing and headed for the office. While I’d been recovering, he’d texted a few times to check up on me, and I’d responded to his messages, but it wasn’t anything like the way we used to interact. At least not before Rowan.
His office was the same as it always had been, which only reminded me of how much time I’d spent in that room over the past couple of years.
We’d talked about fights, my career plans, and ways I could improve.
Now an undercurrent of tension seemed to surround us, despite my trying to put LA behind us.
He sat down and motioned toward one of the chairs. “So, how’s PT going?”
I dropped into the chair. “Good.”
“That’s all I get?”
“My therapist is happy. I’m not wearing the sling anymore, and I can increase my activity. Pretty standard stuff.”
He grinned. “I guess that means we’ll be seeing you around here more often?”
“Probably.”
“I overheard you guys talking about Rowan. I didn’t realize you all were still following his career so closely. I thought you two hated each other.”
“We did at one point,” I admitted.
“But you don’t anymore?”
Something about the way he asked put me on edge. It was as if he was digging for information that I didn’t want to give him. “What are you getting at?”
Devon leaned back in his chair. “You’ve been different with me since LA.”
I didn’t respond because it was true, and he shouldn’t have been surprised.
“And then Rowan left Titan a few days later,” he went on. “At the time, I figured whatever happened between you two was old history finally boiling over. But now you’re out there talking about his upcoming fight like you actually care about it.”
“I do care,” I replied, then realized I’d given Devon more information than I’d meant to.
His expression changed from curious to understanding immediately. “Rowan’s the guy you’ve been seeing.”
No point in trying to keep it a secret. “Yeah.”
Devon’s gaze drifted to the window overlooking the gym floor before returning to me. “Well, that explains a lot.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Such as?”
“You telling me you were seeing someone right after I kissed you. You losing your mind when Rowan disappeared. Then he comes into my office a few days later and tells me he’s leaving Titan because of you.”
Rowan had given me a rundown of his meeting with Devon, and that wasn’t what he’d said. He’d said I was partly to blame, but I guess it was close enough.
“At the time, I thought you two still couldn’t stand each other,” Devon went on. “I figured more was going on than either of you wanted to tell me, but I assumed it was due to your past.”
“That wasn’t the issue.”
“I can see that now, but I still don’t think I have the full picture.”
I could have left it alone, but I also wanted him to know his reckless behavior had consequences. Maybe not for him, but they did for me. “Rowan saw the kiss in LA.”
His eyes widened. “Oh, that explains why he seemed pissed. Although I’m a little surprised he moved across the country over that.”
“The history between you and me wasn’t why he went to Florida,” I snapped back defensively, although it was partly true. “Atlantic Combat was the right move for him because Grant Bishop offered him an opportunity he would’ve regretted not taking.”
Devon raised his hands. “Hey, I’m not questioning your relationship. Who you date doesn’t really concern me. What does is getting you back in the gym.”
“Okay.”
“I know you’ve been putting in the time with physical therapy.”
“I feel like there’s a but in there,” I huffed.
The corner of his mouth lifted. “There is.”
I sighed.
“But getting healthy has to be your full-time job right now.”
“Yeah, I’m aware.”
“Except you’ve also got a long-distance relationship on top of that,” he continued. “Rowan’s heading into camp, you’re working your way back from an injury, and neither of you can afford to waste energy wondering where the other one stands.”
Fight camp wasn’t something you squeezed into the rest of your life. It became your entire existence. Hell, I’d been through camp before, and I knew everything else got pushed to the side, whether you wanted it to or not. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.”
“Maybe not.” He shrugged. “But I’ve seen plenty of fighters get distracted by shit outside the gym. Family stuff, relationships, money, whatever it is. If you carry it around in your head all day, it eventually follows you into training.”
His advice sounded reasonable and was the sort of thing a coach would say. The problem was that hearing it out loud made the distance between Tampa and Sacramento feel even greater than it already had.
I left his office a few minutes later, but his words stayed with me as I headed to the bikes. The other fighters were still moving through their drills and laughing between rounds. Everyone looked as if they knew exactly what they were supposed to be doing.
Meanwhile, I felt more lost than ever.
Over the next two weeks, I thought a lot about what Devon had said.
As expected, Rowan threw himself into fight camp the same way he did everything else.
Between training sessions, he was busy with meetings with Grant, interviews, and whatever else Atlantic Combat had him doing. He had nearly no downtime.
My schedule wasn’t much better.
Audrey had cleared me for more activity, so Coach Luis had me working through movement drills again, and Coach Carson was easing me back into strength training. I also returned to my usual schedule at the bar.
Life was moving fast for both of us, but Rowan and I did our best to make time for one another.
Some days, we’d manage a twenty-minute video call while I drove to work or when he got home from the gym.
Other days, we’d play phone tag and settle for sporadic text messages squeezed into whatever space we could find.
The hardest part was that neither of us was doing anything wrong.
We were both just busy with other things, and that somehow made the lack of connection feel even worse.
I’d just finished cleaning up after making dinner when Mason sauntered into our kitchen, furiously typing on his phone.
“What’s up?” I asked.
Without looking up, he replied, “Just creating a profile on The Click.”
I lifted a brow. “The dating app?”
“Yeah, I guess that’s how people meet now.”
I laughed. “Dude, you sound eighty.”
Finally, he looked up from his phone. “I’ve spent the past twenty minutes trying to answer a question about my ideal first date.”
I closed the dishwasher and pressed the start button. “So, what brought this on?”
He groaned dramatically and slid onto a stool at the island. “Thanksgiving.”
I raised a brow. “Thanksgiving? That was over two weeks ago.”
“It was, and ever since then, my mother has made finding me a girlfriend her life’s purpose. She keeps sending me pictures.”
I snorted while I kept cleaning the kitchen. “What kind of pictures?”
“Daughters of family friends and business associates, or of people she met at charity events.”
“Wow.”
“Exactly.” He rested his elbows on the island. “The problem isn’t that she wants me to meet someone, it’s that I’d actually like to.”
That surprised me enough to make me stop wiping the counters. “You would?”
“Yeah. I mean, but obviously, I don’t want any of the people my parents have in mind.”
“I’d assume not if they’re trying to set you up with women.”
He grinned. “That’s definitely a big reason, but I also want it to be my choice.”
“That makes sense. I’m sure you’ll find someone.”
“You think so?”
“Unfortunately for whoever ends up dating you, yes,” I teased.
“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Don’t get used to it.” I rinsed the sponge and put it back in the holder. “But I’ll let you get back to your profile.”
I left him muttering over which photo to pick and made my way down the hallway to my room. I had another hour before I needed to leave for work, so I closed the door behind me and sat on the edge of my bed.
I grabbed my phone and opened The Loop. The first thing that popped up was a clip from Atlantic Combat. Rowan was in the cage, working through combinations as a crowd gathered around the outside. The clip was only a few seconds long, so I watched it twice.
The next post was a photo of him hitting pads, followed by another clip on the Apex Fight Management account.
The next was one from a local MMA page discussing his upcoming fight.
Apparently, everyone in Florida had decided Rowan was the most interesting person on the internet.
And truth be told, he looked great, but I couldn’t shake the pang of jealousy gnawing at me.
I scrolled past a few more posts before another familiar face appeared on my screen. My mother’s profile picture stared back at me.
The post, which included dozens of photos, had gone up a few hours earlier. One showed my mom and Dave with their arms wrapped around each other, standing in front of a winery. Another showed them cutting a wedding cake. And a group photo with a caption:
Meet my new stepkids!
I swiped through the rest of the photos. The wedding itself wasn’t a surprise. What still stung was that I’d never received an official invitation after I told her I couldn’t bartend for her.
I moved to another photo. Everyone looked happy, and a knot settled in my stomach. It wasn’t like I’d wanted to be there. At least, I didn’t think I had, but seeing the pictures felt like proof that yet another person in my life had moved on without me.
I tossed my phone onto the bed and leaned back against the headboard.
Rowan was in Tampa, preparing for a fight that could boost his career.
My mother seemed to be starting a new family I wasn’t part of.
Even Mason was talking about putting himself out there to find someone.
Meanwhile, I’d spent the last month celebrating things like getting rid of a sling and spending some time with my coaches.
Deep down, I felt stupid for throwing a pity party. My recovery was going well. I was back at work and growing stronger every day. Objectively, things were moving in the right direction. It just didn’t feel that way.
A few seconds later, my phone buzzed, and I hoped it was Rowan. Instead, it was a reminder that my shift was starting soon.
I grabbed my keys off the dresser and headed for the door. There was nothing I could do about Rowan in Florida, my mother’s wedding, or the fact that everybody’s life seemed to be accelerating while mine was still trying to find its footing.
And I hated feeling left behind.