Page 80 of Heal Me, Love Me

“No.” I shook my head before he could apologize for something he didn’t need to. “Don’t do that.”

“I know this is hard for both of us.”

“It is.” I smiled despite myself. “Turns out, falling in love with another fighter comes with some logistical issues.”

He laughed a little at that. God, I loved that sound.

“I’m still scared,” I admitted after a second. “I think we both are. But that doesn’t change the fact that this is huge for you.”

He stared at me for a long moment before reaching up and sliding his hand around the back of my neck. “I love you.”

I leaned forward and kissed him in the middle of the beach, trying my best to believe things were going to work out just fine while I couldn’t stop thinking about how easy it would be to lose him again.

14

Rowan

The morningafter we landed back in Sacramento, Dad sat at the kitchen table reading Grant Bishop’s contract with a pen in his hand while Mom made enough breakfast for a dozen people, even though there were only four of us. Keaton sat beside me, one knee bouncing beneath the table until I covered it with my hand.

Two weeks was the timeline Grant and I had discussed before I’d left Florida. Coach Isaac wanted me there by October 23rd, and Grant saw no reason to wait if I was serious about making the move.

And I was.

Atlantic Combat was the next step. They had better wrestling, coaches with more experience preparing fighters for southpaws, stronger cage-pressure work, and training partners whose size and style would push me in ways Titan couldn’t anymore. Grant also knew how to help with sponsors, fight placement, media, and the connections I couldn’t get on myown. It wasn’t hard to see why signing was the smart move. It was just hard to ignore what came with it.

By the next morning, I had nothing left to wait on, so I sat at the same kitchen table and signed the agreement.

After that, Grant’s assistant sent over housing options. I skipped the apartments because I wasn’t ready to drain what money I had left on deposits and rent before Grant lined up sponsors. The option that made the most sense was one of Atlantic Combat’s fighter dorms, a furnished room they kept for guys coming in from out of state or training through camp. After being in the Air Force, a dorm room with a shared kitchen and laundry wasn’t exactly a hardship. At least this one probably wouldn’t come with room inspections.

Once I had a plan, Grant’s assistant booked my flight and sent over the dorm paperwork, and since I hadn’t really unpacked after leaving Devon’s rental, I didn’t have much to do except check the same bags I’d been living out of and decide what to leave behind. My clothes and fight gear were coming with me, my laptop and paperwork went in my carry-on, and the Ducati would stay with Dad until I knew whether shipping it across the country made sense.

The shitty part was that the two weeks went by faster than I would have liked.

Keaton sat on the edge of my bed the night before I was set to leave, watching me sort through my bag one last time, even though we both knew there wasn’t much left to check. He’d been quiet for a while as he watched me, but then finally murmured, “I can’t believe you leave in the morning.”

“Yeah,” I sighed.

“It was supposed to take longer.”

“The move?”

“All of it.” His gaze swept the room, then returned to me. “Getting you back, figuring us out, and having you here.”

“I know. It sucks.” I reached for the gray hoodie folded beside my bag. It was his, soft from too many washes, with the cuffs stretched from all the times he shoved the sleeves up his forearms.

He watched me pick it up. “That one’s mine.”

“And?”

“You stealing it?”

“Borrowing.”

“You’re moving across the country.”

“Long-term borrowing.”

His smile came and went too fast. “Take it.”