Epilogue
Rowan
Six Months Later
The first time Keaton and I lived together as adults, neither of us had chosen it.
I’d needed a place to stay, Devon had an open room in his rental, and Keaton happened to be on the other side of the shared bathroom.
We hadn’t spoken in four years, and then we were brushing past each other in the hallway every day, both of us angry and pretending avoidance was easier than dealing with what we’d lost. At the time, it felt like the worst possible setup.
Now I knew it was exactly where we’d needed to be, even if neither of us understood it then.
Our apartment in Tampa was different because we’d picked it together.
It wasn’t anything special, just a decent one-bedroom with a kitchen drawer that stuck if I pulled it the wrong way, an air conditioner that clicked before it turned on, and upstairs neighbors who walked like they were trying to put a hole through the ceiling.
But it was ours. Our gear had a place in the hall closet, our shoes stayed lined up by the door, and every night, my keys went into the same bowl.
The kitchen stayed clean because neither of us liked living in a messy place, Keaton’s hair products took up more of the bathroom counter than he admitted, and the laundry room always had wraps waiting to be washed or training clothes drying on the rack.
That still caught me off guard sometimes.
Every ordinary part of our lives had started fitting together, and for the first time, I had a home I’d chosen with someone who wanted to share it with me.
I looked at the time on my phone, then set it face down on the counter before I could check it again. As long as traffic didn’t screw me, we had enough time to get to dinner, then to the beach before sunset.
A few seconds later, Keaton came down the hallway with his shoulder-length hair down and still damp from the shower. He wore a dark green button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and black jeans and carried his boots in one hand.
He sat on the couch to pull them on, and I checked the time again before I could stop myself.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“I’m making sure we’re not late.”
“We’re never late when you’re in charge.”
“That’s because I check the time.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re acting weird.”
“I planned a date.”
“I know.” He stood and stepped into the kitchen. “That doesn’t explain why you look like you’re about to brief me on a military operation.”
“I don’t look like that.”
“You absolutely do.”
“I’m taking you to dinner, not planning an extraction.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“You look good,” I told him, because it was true and because distracting him was the only move I had.
“That’s not suspicious at all.”
“I can’t compliment you now?”
“Not when you’re using it to dodge a question.”
“I’m not dodging anything.”
“Then answer it.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
I rolled my eyes. “I’m taking you to dinner.”
“We’ve established that.”
“Then why are you still questioning me?”
“Because you’re being weird.”
“I’m being romantic,” I countered.
“That’s what makes it weird.”
I huffed out a laugh. “Wow. So I can’t be romantic and take my man to dinner and then walk on the beach at sunset?”
He opened the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water. “You can, but you’re acting anxious about it.”
“I’m just making sure we make it on time for the reservation. That’s all.”
He stepped close enough that I caught the clean scent of his soap. “Whatever you’re overthinking about, you can talk to me about it.”
The words stayed with me for a second because that was the difference between now and before. There had been a time when I’d kept too much in my head, convinced that silence was control and that control meant I could keep everything from falling apart. It never worked, especially with him.
“I know,” I answered. “But there’s nothing to say other than I’m hungry.”
“Okay.”
His hand slid to the back of my neck. “You going to kiss me before we leave, or keep pretending nothing’s going on?”
I rolled my eyes. “Nothing’s going on.”
“Then kiss me.”
I let out a laugh and kissed him like he wanted. He leaned into it easily, his fingers curling against my neck as his other hand gripped the front of my shirt. The kiss started slowly, then deepened as he pressed against me.
I forced myself to pull back. “We should go.”
He stayed close for another second, then grabbed his wallet from the counter and slid it into his back pocket. “All right. Let’s go. I’m hungry too.”
Getting him to Tampa didn’t happen right away.
After Austin, Keaton had to heal, and neither of us pretended his concussion was something he could push through, even though we were tired of being apart.
Marcos wasn’t against Florida, but he wasn’t handing Keaton over to Atlantic Combat just because I trained there either.
He had other gyms in mind. Meanwhile, Grant had relationships at Atlantic Combat, but Coach Isaac wasn’t giving anyone a spot just because they were someone’s boyfriend.
So it took several calls, meetings, and details to work through before anything got settled.
The one thing Keaton and I wouldn’t bend on was fighting each other again. We’d done it once, and that was enough. If we were going to build careers in the same city, everyone around us needed to understand we wouldn’t agree to fight each other again.
When Keaton finally moved across the country, we donated his old car and used part of the fight money to buy something in Tampa that made more sense for both of us than relying on my bike.
It wasn’t flashy, but it had enough room for training bags, groceries, and other bulky items. Plus, we no longer had to worry about rain, helmets, or showing up somewhere with our hair wrecked.
Coach Phil still checked in from California once in a while, and Keaton always took those calls.
But by the time spring settled in, he’d found his rhythm at Atlantic Combat.
Coach Isaac didn’t make it easy on him, which was exactly how Keaton wanted it.
He worked, listened, pushed back when he needed to, and earned his place without anyone treating him as my boyfriend first and a fighter second.
Once we finally got out the door, we drove to the restaurant I’d picked for dinner. I parked, and Keaton met me at the front of the car before we walked inside together.
Keaton ordered fish with mashed potatoes, then stole three fries and half the sauce from my blackened mahi sandwich.
On the topic of training, he talked about how Coach Isaac had paired him with a guy who kept dropping his right hand, and how Atlantic Combat still didn’t feel as familiar as Titan had, even though he liked it here.
“I think that’s normal,” I answered.
“What part?”
“Atlantic Combat not feeling familiar yet.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, maybe.”
“You were at Titan for a couple of years, and you had history there.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
I set my water down. “Do you miss it?”
He was quiet for a second. “Sometimes. I mean, I miss the guys. I miss knowing exactly where I fit when I walk in. At Titan, I didn’t have to prove I belonged there, but I don’t miss how much history came with it.”
“Devon?”
Keaton’s eyes lifted to mine. “Yeah. Him, the rental, everything people knew, and everything they didn’t.”
“That makes sense.”
“It does?”
“Yeah.”
He reached across the table and brushed his fingers against mine. “I don’t regret coming here, though.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Regret you coming here?” I turned my hand over and linked my fingers with his. “Never in a million years.”
“Not even when I complain about the weather?”
“Especially then.”
He laughed. “Liar.”
“It gets you hot and sweaty.” I winked. “I’m not seeing the problem.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“You moved here anyway.”
“Still deciding if that was smart.”
“It was.”
His thumb slid over mine. “Yeah, it was. I mean it, though. I miss the guys sometimes, but leaving Sacramento wasn’t the hard part.”
“No?”
“No.” He held my hand between both of his. “Being away from you was.”
I didn’t have a response that wouldn’t turn too serious for the middle of a restaurant, so I squeezed his hand and let him have that one. He squeezed back, then stole one more fry from my plate before the server dropped off the check.
After dinner, we walked toward the beach as the sun sank lower over the water.
Once we reached the sand, we kicked off our shoes, rolled our pant legs, and Keaton carried his boots while I held my shoes in my free hand, our fingers still linked between us.
The sand was warm beneath our feet, and the waves pushed in around our ankles before pulling back again.
For a while, neither of us spoke, and for once, the quiet didn’t feel like something we needed to fix.
It had taken us years to get there, but silence between us didn’t always mean anger or distance anymore.
Sometimes it only meant we were tired, comfortable, and standing together while the day settled around us.
I kept my pace even and my breathing as steady as I could.
Keaton knew me too well, and if I gave him anything to catch, he would.
So I waited until we reached a quieter stretch of sand, far enough from the restaurant that the noise faded behind us and all I could hear was the water moving around our feet.
I tucked my shoes under one arm and slipped the black ring box from my pocket, keeping it low against my leg before I stopped.
Keaton took another step before our linked hands pulled him back. He turned around. “Ro?”
I let my shoes drop beside my feet, then lowered to one knee before my nerves could get the best of me. The sand shifted beneath me, and my jeans got wet as the water pushed in around us, but I didn’t care.
“Baby,” he whispered, staring down at me.
“I know this probably explains why I was acting weird.”
A laugh slipped out of him. “A little.”
“I had a speech.”
“Did you lose it?”
“No.” I grinned and opened the black velvet box. “I just don’t need it.”
Keaton’s attention dropped to the ring, and I continued.
“I love you,” I told him.
His eyes came back to mine. “I love you too.”
“I want you as my husband. Will you marry me, Keaton?”
His breath caught, and then he was on his knees in front of me, his hands on my face. “Of course, yes. Absofuckinglutely, yes!” He kissed me hard, then pulled back.
I took the ring from the box and reached for his hand to slide the band onto his finger.
He stared down at the dark metal with a thin silver line through the center. “It’s perfect,” he whispered.
“There’s an inscription on the inside.”
His eyes snapped to mine. “Really?”
“You’ll have to take it off to read it.”
“Absolutely not.”
I smiled. “Then I’ll tell you.”
“Please.”
“Us first.”
He gaped down at the ring again. “Us first.”
I brushed my thumb over the band, right above where the words were hidden. It was the simplest thing I could’ve put there, and the only thing that mattered.
Life would still get complicated. Training would still be brutal, schedules would change, and the future would ask things of both of us. But we finally knew what would always remain.
Us.
The End.