Page 146 of Heal Me, Love Me

Keaton’s music hit next, and my fingers curled around my phone. He came out calm and focused, not playing to the crowd the way Vega had. His eyes stayed forward as he moved down the ramp, his shoulders loose and his hair tied back, gloves already on.

I leaned forward with my elbows on my knees as he climbed into the cage for the final checks. Once the checks were done, he crossed to his corner, rolled his shoulders, and shook out his arms. He kept his focus on Vega as if the noise around them didn’t matter.

For a second, he turned toward my section, and I didn’t move. His gaze swept over the crowd without lingering on me, and I let out a slow breath. He didn’t need to know I was watching. He didn’t need my face in his head before the bell, and he definitely didn’t need me turning his night into another reminder of everything we hadn’t been able to keep.

The ref brought them to the center. Keaton touched gloves with Vega, backed up, then waited. When the bell rang, Vega stayed outside at first, circling and throwing quick, straight punches. Keaton kept his hands high and his chin tucked, leaving Vega almost nothing clean to hit. The second jab came too slowly, and Keaton leaned away before answering with his own.

The guy sitting to my right whistled. “Stafford’s quick.”

“Yeah,” I answered before I could stop myself.

Vega rushed in after that, throwing bigger punches and swinging for power, but Keaton didn’t stand there and trade with him. He moved out of range, reset, and kicked low into Vega’s leg. The sound cut through the arena, and the crowd answered with a sharp “ohhh.”

Vega fired back and stepped in hard. Keaton caught him with a straight right that snapped his head back, but Vega kept advancing and dropped low for the takedown.

I leaned forward before I realized I’d moved.

Keaton sprawled quickly, shooting his legs back as he dropped his weight onto Vega’s shoulders to stop the shot. Vega stayed locked onto him anyway, driving with his head down until he forced Keaton toward the fence. Keaton caught himself with one hand on the mat, shoved Vega’s head to the side with his forearm, and freed one leg before Vega could lock his hands and finish.

When Keaton got clear before Vega could chain it into anything worse, I was finally able to sit back and take a breath.

Vega pressed in again and ate another jab, then another. By the end of the round, he was already working harder than he wanted to. Keaton returned to his corner with his breathing under control and dropped onto the stool. Phil Reynolds crouched in front of him as someone handed over water. Though I couldn’t hear what he was saying from where I sat, Keaton stayed focused on his coach until it was time to stand for the second round.

The minute went fast, and then the second round started.

Vega came out aggressively, trying to swarm early. Keaton stayed calm, kept his hands tight, then snapped a quick one-two that landed clean enough to make Vega stop and reset. Blood began to bead at his nose, and Keaton kicked low again.

Vega tried to hide the change in his stance afterward, but his movement gave him away. The next time he rushed, Keaton slipped to the side and cracked him with a right hand that froze him for half a beat. When Vega dropped for another takedown, it was slower this time, and Keaton read it immediately. He threw his hips back to stop it, then spun behind Vega as his momentum carried him forward.

The arena grew louder as Keaton took control from behind, dragging Vega down before he could scramble. He flattened him, slipped one arm under Vega’s chin, and locked his hands as Vega grabbed at Keaton’s forearm, trying to create space. Keaton adjusted before Vega could turn into him, kept his weight where it needed to be, and held the position until Vega slapped the mat to submit. The ref jumped in to pull Keaton off, and the arena erupted.

I stood with everyone else, clapping as Keaton pushed to his feet and raised both arms. Phil Reynolds came through the cage door with the rest of Keaton’s corner and pulled him into a quick, hard hug and said something in his ear before the ref brought Keaton back to the center for the official decision. Whatever Phil said made Keaton smile, and that was what got me. The sweat on his chest, the red mark high on his cheek, the hair coming loose from the tie, all of it should’ve made him look rough, but he looked exhausted and proud and so damn happy that I had to look away. I was proud of him too, and somehow that made missing him worse.

When his team started guiding him toward the door, I slipped into the aisle and left. The concourse was crowded with people heading in every direction. Some moved toward the bathrooms, some toward the bars, and some toward the exits, even though there were still fights left on the card. I kept my hat low and stayed with the flow of people.

Near one of the merch stands, I heard a group talking over each other.

“That was the president’s daughter, right?”

“With Jase Matthewson and Dylan Statler?”

“I think so. They were holding hands or something when they left.”

“Someone definitely got a picture.”

I glanced toward the lower-level hallway without meaning to and caught sight of a blonde woman between two tall guys as they disappeared into the crowd, her hands linked with theirs so they wouldn’t get separated. That explained the whispers around me, but I kept moving toward the exit.

“Cross!” someone called from a few feet away.

I turned, already bracing for the encounter with whoever had recognized me, and found Devon standing near one of the concrete pillars. He wore a Titan credential around his neck, a black team polo tucked into dark pants, and the same stoic expression I remembered from every time he was about to say something I didn’t want to hear.

“Devon,” I clipped.

His gaze swept over me, then toward the section I’d come from. “Does Keaton know you’re here?”

“That’s none of your business.”

He glanced toward the arena doors, then back at me.