Chapter 22
Rowan
Coach Isaac had been making me drill counters to Trent Navarro’s overhand right since six-thirty that morning, and when I stepped into the cage with Reid, I was already sick of building my day around one punch.
Navarro wasn’t at Atlantic Combat, but after a week of fight footage and drills designed around his timing, it didn’t feel like he had to be.
Reid had been copying Navarro’s rhythm all morning, drifting backward just enough to bait me into following, and every time I stepped in too hard or gave the right hand a clean target, Coach Isaac called me out.
The Loop wasn’t helping either.
Grant had warned me that Navarro would talk once the fight was announced, and he was right. It wasn’t anything wild, just little things meant to make me take a second look when I should’ve known better. The first notification came from a mitt-work video Navarro had tagged me in. The caption said:
Let’s see if Cali Boy can fight going backward
A few hours later, he tagged me again when he shared the fight announcement on his story. This time, he added a plane emoji next to my name and wrote:
Long flight from California just to learn how we fight down here
It was petty bullshit, but it still made me want to hit him that much more, which was exactly why Coach Isaac kept making Reid move like him.
“Again,” Coach Isaac ordered from outside the cage.
I reset in front of Reid and dragged in a breath through my mouthpiece. My shirt was soaked, my calves were tight, and Reid kept his guard high as he bounced lightly on the balls of his feet.
Coach Isaac tapped the cage. “Navarro wants you convinced he’s retreating, then he’s going to plant and make you pay for stepping heavy. You don’t get to be mad in there unless you can stay smart while you do it.”
“Yes, sir.”
The timer beeped, and Reid started circling, drifting backward just enough to make me want to follow. I stepped in behind my jab, but I put too much behind it and reached for him instead of cutting him off. Reid caught me with the right before I could get my head out of the way.
“Late,” Coach Isaac called.
I backed up and reset, jaw tight.
Reid didn’t drop his guard. “You’re loading up when I give ground.”
I knew what he meant. Every time he backed up, I wanted to follow with something heavy enough to stop him. Against Navarro, that would get me caught.
“I know.” I took a breath and reset my stance.
“Then stop reaching for me.”
We reset, and this time, when Reid gave me the retreat, I didn’t chase. I let him show me the angle, made him commit to the step, then drove in on the second beat with my shoulder tight against his chest and my hands fighting for position before he could slide off the fence.
“Better,” Coach Isaac said. “Keep him on the fence.”
Reid dug for an underhook, shoved at my head, and tried to turn his hips enough to slide off. I kept my forehead pressed tight and moved my feet, but I was using too much upper body to drag him down.
“Don’t muscle him,” Coach Isaac instructed. “Make him carry your weight.”
I bent my knees, tightened my grip around Reid’s hips, and drove my shoulder into his chest. He fought the pressure, but I kept adjusting, inch by inch, keeping him trapped against the fence until the buzzer sounded.
Reid stopped resisting. “That’s better. You didn’t chase me.”
“Only because you finally gave me something to trap.”
“Doesn’t matter. If I give you the opening and you use it, that’s still yours.” Reid nudged his head toward the bench where my phone sat. “Also, I was thinking. If Navarro’s gonna keep calling you Cali Boy, you need a better fighter name.”
“I don’t need any fighter name.”
“Yeah, you do.” He thought for a few seconds. “What about Lockdown?”
I arched a brow. “What?”
“You spent half the round cutting me off and the other half keeping me stuck on the fence.” He shrugged. “I couldn’t get out, couldn’t make space, and you had me locked down.”
“No.” I shook my head.
Coach Isaac glanced between us. “It’s better than Cali Boy.”
Reid laughed as he backed toward the cage door. “You heard him, Rowan ‘Lockdown’ Cross.”
“I’m going to hit you harder next round.”
“Then the name’s working.” He winked.
Coach Isaac opened the cage door wider and pointed toward the benches. “Let’s get some water, then get in the strength room.”
“Yes, sir.” I climbed out of the cage and grabbed my bottle from the bench.
My phone beside it lit up with notifications from The Loop, but I ignored them long enough to drink half my bottle.
Pretending I didn’t want to check was pointless, but instead of opening the app, I went straight to Keaton’s text thread.
Reid just tried to give me a fighter name
Keaton’s reply came immediately:
What is it?
Lockdown
The typing bubble appeared, disappeared, then came back again:
I don’t hate it
You’re supposed to
Is it better than Cali Boy?
I snorted and typed back:
Everything is better than Cali Boy
Then Lockdown wins by default
I smiled despite myself.
I’m not accepting it
I took a big chug of water as I waited for his next text.
Ok Lockdown
Don’t start
Too late
A second later, another message came through:
Also my flight is officially booked. You’re stuck with me for fight weekend
My thumb stilled on the screen. After weeks of trying to make long-distance work through video calls and texts, Keaton putting actual dates on when I’d see him again did something to me that I wasn’t ready to unpack in the middle of the gym.
You didn’t tell me you were doing that
Figured telling you after would be more fun
I knew I had a shit-eating grin on my face as I sent back:
You’re annoying
You love me
More than you know
Then be happy I’m coming
I am
Really fucking happy
Coach Isaac called my name from the hallway, and I forced myself to stand.
I’ve got strength training
Have fun being tortured
That’s every day here
Good. I’m loving what it’s doing to your body
Smooth
It’s the truth
Love you. Text me later
I will. Love you too baby
Strength work was brutal, mostly because my legs were already shot from the cage rounds.
Coach Isaac had me push sleds, work sprawls, and drive through resistance bands until my shoulders burned and my calves felt useless.
After the last set, I dropped onto my back on the mat and stared up at the ceiling, trying to convince my body I hadn’t made a terrible career choice.
Reid stepped over me with a protein shake in hand. “You alive?”
“Barely.”
He took a drink. “Nothing recovery can’t fix.”
“Good. I need it.”
He chuckled as he headed toward the locker room, leaving me to drag myself off the mat and get through the rest of Coach Isaac’s post-training routine.
Once I recovered enough to shower, I changed into a black T-shirt, gray shorts, and slides, then got out of there before someone decided I had another round left in me.
A small place a few blocks away served chicken bowls, wraps, and smoothies and was popular with the gym crowd. I headed inside, placed my order at the counter, and scrolled The Loop while more tags from Navarro’s posts came through.
Some were normal fight shit:
Navarro by KO. Cross is getting slept #TeamNavarro
Cali Boy better learn fast. Miami doesn’t play
Cross is nasty against the fence. Navarro better not let him get that close
Others were less about the fight:
I don’t know who Rowan Cross is but I’m suddenly very interested in MMA #hellohottie
Why does every former military guy think he can fight?
Navarro can talk all he wants but Cross looks like he’d pin you to the fence and have you calling him Daddy by round two #SorryNotSorry
Navarro is a beast and that other guy won’t stand a chance!
“Order for Rowan.” I slid my phone into my pocket and grabbed the bag from the counter. As I turned toward the door, someone stepped into my path.
“Careful,” he warned. “I’d hate to get taken out by a professional fighter before I even ordered.”
I stopped short, ready to tell him to move, but the grin hit me first. To my surprise, Nolan Bradford, an Air Force friend I’d gotten close to while stationed in San Antonio, stood in front of me.
He wore a short-sleeved button-down left open over a white T-shirt, khaki shorts, and flip-flops, and his hair was longer than it’d been in San Antonio, darker at the sides with blond highlights through the top, and the change suited him.
Bradford had always been confident, but this version of him seemed even more comfortable in his own skin.
“Bradford? Damn, dude, how are you?” I asked, reaching out to give him a bro hug.
He wrapped his arms around me. “Hey, Cross. I’m good, man.”
“What the hell are you doing in Tampa?” We pulled apart.
“Trying not to starve.” He held up the receipt in his hand. “But earlier, flight training.”
“You’re flying now?”
“Working on it, but nobody’s handing me passengers yet.
” He glanced toward the counter as another bag was set down, then looked back at me.
“I had no idea you were here until a few days ago. A guy in my ground school showed me the fight announcement and asked if I knew you because he looked you up and saw the Air Force stuff.”
“And?”
“I said unfortunately.”
I laughed. “Asshole.”
“I think you mean charming.” He grabbed his order from the counter and tipped his head toward the patio. “You got a minute?”
“Yeah.”
We took a table outside, where Bradford unwrapped a chicken wrap while I opened my bowl.
“You still steal everyone’s food?” I asked.
“Only from people I like.” He pointed to my container. “Are those plantains?”
“No.”
“That sounded like a yes.” He reached over and took one anyway. “Quality control.”
I stared at him. “Seriously?”
He ate it, then nodded as if he’d done me a favor. “Safe.”
“You haven’t changed much.”
“I’ve changed plenty.” He took a bite of his food. “But I’m still just as delightful.”
I shook my head, but I was smiling. “So, flight training?”
“I got out a few months ago and moved here before I could talk myself into going back to Maine and doing something safer.”
“You spent years in the back of an aircraft and decided that wasn’t enough?”
He grinned around a mouthful. “Pretty much. I liked being a loadmaster because the crew was good, the work kept me busy, and I loved being in the air, but after a while, being close to the cockpit wasn’t the same as being in it.”
“That’s a big change.”
“It is.” He took a drink, then set it down between us. “But I was tired of the Air Force owning every next step: where I lived, when I left, and how long I stayed gone. I’m proud of what I did, but I wanted the sky without the orders. You get it. You got out.”
“Yeah, I understand.” I took a bite of chicken. “You like it?”
“Flying?” He nodded, with no joke attached. “I love it.”
“How long are you in Tampa?” I asked.
“At least through March. That’s when this phase wraps if the weather and money cooperate.”
“And after that?”
“That’s the part I don’t know yet.” He leaned back in his chair. “I might stay here and teach for a while, help other people get their hours while I build mine, or I might look into flying cargo or charters once I have enough hours.”
“And join the Mile High Club?” I teased.
Bradford paused before taking a mouthful of his wrap, then pushed it down. “Did Rowan Cross just make a joke?”
I laughed. “Why is that so surprising?”
“Because in San Antonio, you acted like jokes had to get cleared through your chain of command.”
“I was hilarious.”
“If you say so.”
I pointed my fork at him. “You still play basketball?”
“Every chance I get. A pickup group plays twice a week at a gym near class, and half of those guys act like there are scouts in the bleachers.”
“You’re probably one of them.”
“I grew up with four brothers. If nobody bleeds, it was a casual game.”
“That explains a lot.”
“It explains my competitive nature and why I should never be trusted with a scoreboard.” He leaned back in his chair. “Between class, flight hours, the gym, and basketball, I stay busy.”
“You still find time for The Click?”
He chuckled. “Let’s not get dramatic. I’m trying to become a pilot, not a monk.”
“Good to know some things never change.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Still hung up on the guy back home?”
With a chuckle, I lifted a shoulder. “Hung up or, you know, dating.”
“No shit?”
“Yeah.” I took a sip of my water, trying to find the easiest way to explain something that had never been easy. “We stopped pretending we hated each other.”
Bradford’s brow lifted. “That was the step before dating?”
“More or less.”
“Sounds like I missed a lot.”
“You did.”
“And now he’s your boyfriend?”
“He is.” I nodded.
“About damn time, Cross. You carried that man around San Antonio like a ghost. I’m glad he turned out to be real.”
“He’s real.”
He picked up his wrap, then seemed to think better of taking another bite. “You deserve to be happy.”
I looked down at my food. Bradford had always been too good at saying things as if they were obvious.
“He’s still in Sacramento,” I told him. “That part sucks. We spent years apart, finally figured our shit out, and then I moved across the country for training. I know this is different because we’re choosing it this time, but being away from him still messes with my head.”
“Is he coming to the fight?”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “He booked his flight today actually.”
“There you go.”
“It’s only a few days though.”
“It’s still him showing up.”
“My parents are coming too,” I added. “So it’ll be a whole thing.”
“As it should be. You need people there.”
“You should come.”
His brows lifted. “To the fight?”
“Yeah. I can ask my agent about another ticket.”
“I’d like that.”
“Then come.”
“I will.” His phone buzzed on the table, and he glanced at the screen then stood abruptly. “Shit. I’ve got ground school.”
“Right now?”
“Weather doesn’t study itself.”
Bradford pushed his chair in. “Let me know if your agent comes through.”
“You still have the same number?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll text you.”
He stepped back from the table. “Good seeing you, Cross.”
“You too.”
He started toward the sidewalk, then turned back. “And tell your guy I’m happy for you two.”
“You don’t know him.”
“No.” His smile softened. “But I know what he means to you.”