Chapter 30 #2
By the time we reached the locker room, my stomach was in knots.
I dropped into a folding chair as Coach Phil discussed schedules and arrival times with another coach.
Normally, I would’ve listened in. I’d be focused on preparation, strategy, and everything I needed to do before stepping into the cage.
This time, I found myself staring at the floor.
For months, Rowan and I’d been trapped in the same nightmare.
Life pulled us in different directions, and we tried to cope.
I made it worse, then tried to convince myself I was doing the right thing, even though neither of us seemed able to walk away completely.
The breakup was supposed to make things easier.
At least that’s what I’d thought. I was supposed to stop feeling torn between him and everything else.
He was supposed to have the freedom to chase the opportunities he’d worked for his entire life.
We were both supposed to move on. Instead, we’d spent months miserable—at least I had.
A humorless chuckle escaped me before I could stop it.
“What’s funny?” Coach Phil asked.
I looked up and shook my head. “Nothing.”
There was nothing funny about it. In less than thirty hours, Rowan and I would be locked in a cage to fight each other in front of thousands of people, and no one understood what was actually on the line.
Tomorrow, one of us would leave with a win, but I had a feeling we’d both walk away having lost even more.
Adrenaline coursed through me as I stood backstage, waiting for the announcer to call my name.
In the next few minutes, the only thing that would matter was what happened inside the cage.
Coach Phil finished wrapping my hands as one of the commission officials reviewed the final paperwork.
Around us, people moved in and out of the room, checking my gloves, confirming I had my mouthguard, and handling everything that had to happen before I walked out.
The entire process felt familiar, which was probably the only reason I wasn’t pacing a hole in the floor.
“You good?” Coach Phil asked.
I wanted to say yes. I wanted to tell him this was just another fight, that once the cage door closed, nothing else mattered, but that would’ve been a lie because I was getting ready to face the person who’d been the most important part of my life for years.
If I let myself think about it too long, I could admit he probably still was.
That’d always been the problem with Rowan. Loving him had been the easiest thing I’d ever done, but figuring out how to keep him had been the hard part.
But I couldn’t tell Coach all of that, so instead I nodded.
The lie must’ve been obvious, because he didn’t look convinced. “You’ve done the work. Trust it.”
I glanced down the hallway toward the arena, where thousands of people were finding their seats, most of them not caring who won as long as the fight gave them a show.
Mason and Derek had texted me earlier to let me know they’d made it to Austin, so they were out there somewhere.
Even though Enzo was buried in his own training camp and couldn’t come, those two had still come to support me, no matter where I trained now.
A knock sounded against the door. “Five minutes.”
I finished getting ready, and then Coach Phil and I headed out of the locker room.
The noise from the arena echoed through the tunnel.
Once we were in place, I heard the announcer call my name, and my walkout song started.
The crowd erupted, and every nerve ending in my body seemed to wake up at once.
“Let’s go,” Coach Phil said.
The moment I stepped through the curtain, people leaped to their feet.
The lights swept across the arena, and for a moment, the entire building seemed to vibrate.
I forced myself to focus on getting to the cage.
By the time I climbed the steps and ducked through the door, my heart was thumping.
I crossed to my corner while Coach Phil gave me a few final instructions, but most of it faded away the second I looked up the ramp because Rowan was making his walk.
The crowd grew louder, and my stomach immediately tightened. Most fighters spent months trying to figure out their opponent, but Rowan and I’d spent years learning every single thing about each other. Now, we had to use that knowledge to our own advantage against the other.
The referee called us to the center and launched into the usual pre-fight instructions once we were face-to-face. I heard his voice, but all I could see was the man I loved standing across from me.
Ten months ago, I would’ve done anything just to be near him. Now we stood together in a cage, waiting for permission to hurt each other.
“Any questions?” the ref asked. Neither of us answered. “Then let’s have a clean fight.”
I never took my eyes off Rowan as the referee stepped away.
For one last second, it was just the two of us in the center of the mat.
Then the bell rang, and suddenly there was nowhere left to hide.
The second we started moving, the crowd faded into a distant roar and my focus narrowed until all I could see in front of me was Rowan.
He circled left, and I turned with him. Usually, fighters spent the opening minute testing distance, searching for patterns, and figuring out who was standing across from them, but neither of us needed that.
I already knew how Rowan moved, from adjusting before a combination to the slight dip of his shoulder that sometimes came before a right hand.
I knew which attacks he used to pressure someone, which ones he used when he wanted to force an opponent backward, and how quickly he could turn a small opening into a problem.
But he knew my habits too, and that became clearer with every second that passed. I faked a move, but he didn’t bite, and when I stepped in with a jab, he was already slipping away before I fully committed.
A few exchanges later, a kick landed against my leg hard enough to sting, and even though I’d seen it coming, I hadn’t gotten out of the way in time.
The crowd reacted as we both reset, and for a moment, neither of us moved.
Then Rowan got that same look he used to get when we played video games and he thought he’d figured out my next move.
I stepped forward too hard, and his jab immediately caught me in the ribs.
I landed one of my own right after, but the exchange only left me more frustrated because every time I thought I had an opening, Rowan seemed to be half a step ahead.
We kept circling and trading shots until the bell signaled the end of the round without either of us gaining a clear advantage, and by the time I returned to my corner, I was breathing hard.
Coach Phil crouched in front of me. “He’s waiting on you.”
I grabbed the water bottle. “What?”
“He’s waiting for you to get emotional.” He pointed across the cage. “Every time you step forward, he gives ground. Every time you get frustrated, you chase him. Stop doing that, and make him fight your fight.”
Across the cage, Rowan sat on his stool while Coach Isaac talked to him. I should’ve been listening to Coach Phil, but my attention kept drifting back to Rowan.