Page 107 of Heal Me, Love Me

“You too.” I handed it over before hugging him.

Mom climbed out next and wrapped both arms around me. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hey, Mom.”

She pulled back and touched my cheek, her smile turning watery before she shook it off. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

Dad loaded my bag into the back while Mom slid into the passenger seat. Keaton’s hand brushed mine, and I caught his fingers before he could pull away. He squeezed, then let go so we could get in. He took the passenger side of the back seat, and I climbed in behind Dad. The second the door shut, his good hand found mine again.

My father pulled away from the curb, and Mom twisted around to look at me. “How was the flight?”

“Long.”

“Are you tired?” she asked.

“A little.” I leaned back against the seat, enjoying having Keaton’s hand in mine, while his thumb glided over my skin. “But I’m happy to be home.”

Her face softened. “We’re happy you’re home too.”

Dad merged onto the freeway. “So, how’s training in Florida?”

“It’s intense, but I love it.”

Keaton’s thumb paused against mine.

Mom held my gaze. “Yeah? You love it out there?”

“I do.” I absently nudged my backpack with my foot and tried to explain what made Atlantic Combat work without turning it into a training report. “Coach Isaac sees everything. If my footwork isn’t right, he catches it. He’s constantly correcting little things I didn’t even realize I was doing wrong. It’s exhausting, but I can feel it working.”

My dad checked the mirror. “Sounds like it was the right move.”

“I think so. I’m reacting faster too and not wasting as much energy trying to muscle through things.” I glanced at Keaton, who already knew most of this, but saying it in front of my parents made it feel more real. “I feel like I’m actually turning into a better fighter.”

Dad rested one hand at the top of the wheel. “And Grant? How’s he treating you?”

“Good, and he’s still working on the Miami card.”

My mother turned again. “When is that fight?”

“Seven weeks if it comes together.”

Her brows lifted. “That soon?”

“Yeah, but I’m already training every day. It’s not starting from zero, because I’m taking what Coach Isaac has me doing and sharpening it for a fight. Plus, Grant thinks it’s a good spot for me, and I want it. I want to see what I can do with Atlantic Combat behind me.”

Keaton’s fingers pressed into mine. “You should.”

I turned to him, and the small smile he gave me wasn’t fake, but it wasn’t simple either.

My mother faced forward again. “Then I hope it comes together.”

“Me too.”

I slid down a little in the seat, still holding Keaton’s hand. I wanted the fight, Atlantic Combat, and the version of my life thatwas taking shape in Florida. And I also wanted Keaton beside me for all of it.

That was the part I couldn’t get past.

He’d already told me he wasn’t coming to Florida after the holiday. His shoulder hurt, PT had barely started, and flying across the country just to sit in fighter housing while I trained all day didn’t make sense. I understood every word. If it had been anyone else, I probably would’ve agreed before they finished explaining.