Chapter 30 #3
He looked up just before we both stood for round two, and neither of us turned away. It shouldn’t have mattered, not here, not with trainers between us and thousands of people waiting for us to hurt each other, but a part of me still wanted him to see me.
The horn cut through the arena, and I forced my focus back where it belonged as I stepped into the center of the cage. Coach Phil’s voice stayed in my head. Stay patient. Make him come to you.
For a while, it worked. Instead of chasing Rowan around the cage, I settled down and waited him out.
It wasn’t a big difference, but I could feel it right away.
The frustration that’d followed me through the first round started to ease, and for the first time all night, I stopped forcing the situation and focused on the fight itself.
Rowan noticed too. I could see it in the way he adjusted.
He circled less and started engaging more.
The exchanges came faster after that. A jab.
A kick. A right hand that grazed off my guard.
Neither of us landed anything clean enough to change the momentum, but the pace picked up with every passing minute.
He lowered his stance and the takedown attempt came fast, but I reacted on instinct.
I sprawled hard, throwing my legs back and shoving his head down before he could secure a solid grip.
He stayed attached anyway, driving forward and refusing to give up the shot.
The scramble on the canvas that followed was messy, and he tried to come out on top, but I managed to turn the corner and reverse the position before he could settle.
A second later, I was on top of him, and the crowd roared as I settled my weight and worked to improve my position.
Rowan arched beneath me, searching for space, then he pushed against my shoulder and tried to create an angle.
I reached down automatically, aiming to trap his arm before he could escape, but my hand closed around his instead.
Our fingers laced together, and neither of us moved. To everyone else, it probably looked like nothing more than two fighters tangled together on the ground in the middle of a fight, but I knew exactly what it felt like.
Months ago, that hand had been reaching for mine in bed, across restaurant tables, and during long walks when neither of us wanted the night to end. Now we were lying on the mat trying to beat each other unconscious.
Rowan balked slightly as if he recognized the same thing I was feeling. The realization that no matter how hard we’d tried to turn each other into opponents, there was too much history for either of us to forget who was behind the gloves.
The moment lasted less than a second before he yanked his hand free, posted on the mat, and sat up hard.
His hips drove into me, knocking me off balance just enough for him to turn through the scramble.
When I recovered, we were both back on our feet, and I was still thinking about the way his hand had felt in mine.
The rest of the round passed with us exchanging strikes and fighting for position against the fence, but neither of us found the opening we needed.
When the bell finally sounded, I was almost relieved.
I headed back to my corner and dropped onto the stool as Coach Phil shoved another bottle of water into my hand.
“Look at me.”
I took the bottle and lifted my eyes to his. “I’m good.”
“No, you’re not.” He grabbed the towel from the cutman and pressed it into my other hand. “You’re fighting two battles at once.”
“What do you mean?”
“The fight, and whatever the hell is going on in your head.” He leaned closer, his voice cutting through the noise around us. “You’re doing fine when you stay focused, but then something happens, and you disappear for a few seconds.”
I wiped my face with the towel and let out a slow breath. “I hear you. I’ll stay on him.”
When it was time for round three, Coach Phil stood and slapped my shoulder. “One more round. Stay patient.”
I nodded and pushed myself off the stool.
The bell rang, and for the first minute, neither Rowan nor I gave the other much to work with.
He slipped my punch, angled away, and made me turn with him.
I followed, trying to close the distance, but he moved again before I could corner him.
The pattern repeated until I knew exactly what was happening.
He was deciding where the fight went, and I was letting him.
I doubled up on the jab, threw the cross behind it, and added a left hook when he covered. He blocked most of it, but the hook got around his guard enough to make him give ground, and that was when I saw the opening I’d been waiting for.
It wasn’t much, but it was there. His right side drifted just far enough out of position for instinct to take over, and I stepped in hard, shifting my weight as I threw the left. The second I committed, I knew Rowan had left the opening there on purpose because he knew I’d chase it.
My momentum was already moving forward when his right hand came over the top. I saw his shoulder turn and the glove coming, but I couldn’t get back fast enough. The punch caught me clean on the jaw, and everything disappeared.