Chapter 30
Keaton
Three Months Later
Rowan sat at the other end of the table, and I tried not to look at him.
That lasted about thirty seconds.
The conference room in Austin was packed with cameras, reporters, and enough promotional banners to remind everyone why the fight business existed in the first place.
I sat behind a long table, my name printed on a place card in front of me, while photographers moved around the room, seeking the best angles.
To my right, a heavyweight contender fielded questions about his training camp.
Somewhere down the line, another fighter laughed loudly enough to draw attention away from whatever interview was happening nearby.
I’d done some media before my previous fights, but nothing like this.
Answering questions about myself wasn’t something I enjoyed, especially when the interviews followed the same pattern.
How’s camp? How do you feel? What do you think about your opponent?
Then someone would ask a slightly different version of the same question and pretend it was groundbreaking journalism.
But this wasn’t only about the fight.
The promotion had spent the last six weeks turning our match into a story. Every poster featured the two of us. Every social media post somehow circled back to the fact that we used to train together. That seemed to be enough to make people interested.
“Okay, we’ve got time for one more,” the moderator announced and pointed to someone in the audience. “Go ahead.”
“Keaton.” My attention went to the reporter who was now standing. “Cam Smith, Fight Weekly.” He smiled. “This is a big moment for you.”
I nodded. “Biggest fight of my career.”
“What makes it different?”
I pretended to consider the question for a second, but gave a generic answer. “The stage, the audience, the opportunity. I’ve never been part of something at this level.”
The guy flipped through his notes. “You and Cross have both said this is the biggest opportunity you’ve had. You’re both undefeated, and the promotion has made a big deal out of the fact that you once trained together. Does that make this fight feel personal?”
I folded my arms across my chest. “People like to make something out of nothing. Rowan and I once trained at the same gym, pushed each other, pissed each other off, and got better because of it. That doesn’t make this personal. It makes it a fight.”
The reporter looked disappointed, then looked back down at his notes. “I spoke with someone who implied that you knew each other before Titan.”
The room felt noticeably warmer, and not just because of the lights we were sitting under. “What happened before Titan doesn’t matter.”
His pen immediately started moving, and I regretted the sentence before he finished writing it. “Why not?”
I shrugged. “Because none of it changes what’s going to happen on Saturday night.”
The reporter opened his mouth as if he wanted to ask another question, but the moderator stepped in before he had the chance. “That’s all the time we have.”
A chorus of disappointed groans and shuffling chairs followed as reporters began gathering their notebooks, cameras, and recording equipment. The fighters around me immediately stood, some heading toward the exits while others paused for additional photos or quick one-on-one interviews.
I was halfway out of my chair when my gaze drifted to the other end of the table. Rowan was already on his feet, giving Grant a quick nod before he bypassed the reporters still trying to catch him for questions and pictures. He turned toward the side exit and left without looking back.
Shit.
Just because we weren’t together anymore didn’t mean I couldn’t tell when he was pissed, and I immediately knew I shouldn’t have said what I did.
The reporter had been digging for a story neither Rowan nor I wanted anyone to find out about.
There wasn’t an easy way to answer the questions by explaining the truth without opening doors that needed to stay closed.
It didn’t matter that we hadn’t talked since the phone call about our fight, I couldn’t let him walk away thinking I’d meant those words the way they sounded.
I weaved through people toward the same door Rowan had gone through.
The farther I got from the conference room, the more the crowd thinned until only a handful of staff members were moving through the convention center corridors.
I rounded a corner, spotted him ahead, and quickened my pace. “Rowan!”
His shoulders visibly stiffened, but he kept walking.
I tried again. “Rowan! Wait up!”
This time, he stopped and slowly turned around. His jaw was set, his mouth flat, and his expression contained more anger than I’d ever seen him direct at me.
“I didn’t mean it.”
His expression didn’t change. “Which part?”
“About our past.”
He let out a humorless laugh. “It sounded pretty clear to me.”
“I wasn’t talking about our relationship.”
“No?” He took a step closer. “Because from where I was sitting, that’s exactly what it sounded like.”
I let out a frustrated breath. “What was I supposed to say?”
“I don’t know, but maybe don’t act like none of it mattered.”
“That’s not what I was doing.”
His eyes narrowed. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Then what were you doing, Keaton?”
I went to say something, but nothing came out.
“You know what? Forget it.” He shook his head and started walking away.
“Wait!”
He spun around. “No! You don’t get to sit up there and tell everyone our past didn’t mean anything, then come chasing after me because you suddenly feel bad about how it sounded.”
“Are you saying you wanted everyone out there to know about us?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
He swallowed hard. “I wanted you to act as if I was important to you. Like I mattered.”
“Rowan—”
He shook his head. “Forget it.”
“I didn’t mean for it to come out like that,” I repeated, as if saying it again might finally get through to him.
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe none of it matters anymore.”
Before I could respond, he turned and walked away.
This time, I didn’t follow.
When the ceremonial weigh-in rolled around, I was ready to be done with all of it.
For months, Rowan and I’d treated our relationship like something neither of us knew how to leave alone, and for weeks, everyone else had treated the fight like a rivalry.
I just wanted to step into the cage and get to the part where something finally happened.
Instead, I found myself backstage, waiting for the weigh-in to begin as hundreds of fans packed into the event center for one last preview of the fight.
“Next up is the middleweight bout between Keaton Stafford and Rowan Cross,” the announcer boomed. “The first fighter to the stage is Keaton Stafford.”
Earlier that morning, we’d done the official weigh-in, medical evaluations, paperwork, and drug test. Now we were giving fans a show and hyping the fight.
I rolled my shoulders and walked through the curtain with Phil, my head coach, and two security guards close behind. Peeling off my hoodie, I handed it to Coach, then stepped onto the scale in nothing but my low-slung sweats. Flashes went off from the media pit as I faced forward, my arms flexed.
“One hundred eighty-five pounds,” the announcer called. “Official weight for Keaton Stafford.”
The fans roared as I moved to the side, joining the officials and ring girls standing near the backdrop. I draped a towel around my neck as I took my place.
“Next up is Rowan Cross.”
My gaze didn’t move from him as he walked out.
He crossed the stage shirtless and barefoot, that calm vibe of his firmly intact.
His brown hair was longer than it’d been the last time I’d seen him.
The dog tags he always wore rested against the massive tattoo on his chest. I hated that no matter how much we hurt each other, it wasn’t enough to kill whatever feelings I still had for him.
“Official weight is one hundred eighty-five and a half.” The announcer’s words snapped me back into the moment as Rowan got off the scale and headed straight toward me.
We stood toe to toe. The noise of the crowd faded as we stared each other down.
“Hope you’re ready to get your ass kicked,” he growled.
“Oh, I’ve been waiting for this moment.” I closed the space between us, stopping just short of our noses touching. “We can finally settle everything once and for all.”
Something dark flashed across his face. “Your mouth always seems to get you into trouble.”
I angled closer, my lips brushing his ear. “Keep thinking about my mouth. I’m sure it’ll help you focus tomorrow.”
He came forward another inch, and our chests collided as tension filled the air around us.
The crowd erupted. “Fuck you,” he spat as two officials wedged themselves between us, pushing us apart before the photo op could turn into a physical altercation.
He didn’t look away as we were held back from each other.
Neither did I.
During our fight, no one would be standing between us.
No trash talk.
No rules beyond those inside the cage.
Finally, everything would be settled.
“Keaton.” Coach Phil’s hand settled on my shoulder, pulling me back to reality.
Security guided Rowan and me in opposite directions while camera flashes followed us across the stage and the announcer hyped tomorrow’s event. Somewhere behind us, fans were cheering, convinced they’d just seen exactly what they came for.
Maybe they had, because to them, we were just two fighters who had a problem with each other that the promotion was playing up.
I wished it were that simple.
I followed Coach Phil through the backstage area, barely noticing anything because my mind was still out on the stage, stuck on Rowan.
“Hell of a face-off,” one of the promotion staff said as we passed.
Coach Phil grunted. “That’s one way to put it.”
The guy laughed and kept walking.
I replayed the weigh-in in my head as we made our way toward the locker room: Rowan stepping off the scale. The look on his face when I told him we could finally settle everything. And the anger beneath every word he spoke.