Page 68 of Heal Me, Love Me

“Thanks.”

“Both of you did.” His gaze flicked between us. “If you two keep rising at the same time, things could get interesting.”

“Interesting how?” Keaton asked.

“You’re in the same sport, close enough in size, with different managers seeking opportunities: fight slots, rankings, attention, matchups that can advance your careers.” His focus settled on me. “Maybe even one against each other someday if the divisions line up.”

Keaton and I had spent so much time trying to survive the past and whatever Florida might do to us that I hadn’t let myself consider what would happen if we both got exactly what we wanted.

Keaton chuckled. “That’d be a hell of a problem to have.”

“It would,” Grant agreed. “But if it ever happens, you’ll both have bigger careers than you have today, so that’s not a bad problem.” He gestured toward the man beside him. “This is Coach Isaac Reyes, Atlantic Combat’s head coach.”

Coach Isaac offered his hand. He was probably in his forties, with close-cropped hair, a thick beard, and the posture of someone who’d spent most of his life either fighting or teaching others how to. His grip was firm but not enough to crush my fingers. “Saw your LA fight,” he told me.

“Good or bad?”

“Both.”

Keaton laughed under his breath, and I shot him a warning glare.

Coach Isaac went on. “Good finish. Good patience. You didn’t chase when he gave you the opening, and that matters. But I watched the fight a few times, and you’re still separating things in spots. You strike, then you grapple. You don’t always blend them yet.”

I knew exactly what he meant. “Right,” I replied.

“That’s not a knock. It’s where you are.” He tipped his chin toward the mats. “The question is whether you want to train somewhere that forces those pieces together every day.”

Grant stayed quiet beside us, letting the coach do his job without stepping in to make everything sound better.

Coach Isaac continued, “But no training today. You just got off a plane, and I’m not interested in watching you force it just to prove a point. Today we’ll do a walkthrough, introduce you to a few people, and let you get settled.”

“Perfect.”

Grant squeezed my shoulder. “I wanted to be here when you met Isaac, but this is his room. He’s the one you need to impress.”

Coach Isaac’s mouth twitched. “He says that like I’m hard to impress.”

Grant took another sip of coffee. “You are.”

“Good. Then he’ll know I’m not blowing smoke when I tell him something.”

Keaton’s shoulder brushed mine. “I like him.”

“Of course you do.”

“You training too, or just here to make sure he doesn’t make bad decisions?” Coach Isaac asked Keaton.

Keaton gave him an easy smile. “Just the second one.”

“Smart.” Coach Isaac started toward the mats as a sharp pad crack drew our attention to the cage. “Come on. I’ll show you how we work.”

A man moved forward behind a tight guard as another guy circled with mitts. The fighter wasn’t going full speed, but every step closed distance, and every punch pushed the other guy closer to the fence. He wasn’t chasing the guy around the cage. He was trapping him.

The fighter rolled under a pad, came up with a short left, then stepped out before the counter could land on him.

I knew his face before my brain caught up with why.

Dante Rivas.