Page 16 of Heal Me, Love Me

“Anyone still think it’s weird he dipped like that?” Mason asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

Enzo shrugged. “The guy’s got his own shit going on. Not everything is our business.”

“Speak for yourself,” Mason replied. “I need to be in the know.”

Derek snorted. “And that’s why we don’t tell you anything.”

The guys continued to give each other shit, and I resisted the urge to check my phone again.

Devon walked over to us a minute later. “We’re leaving in five.”

Guess it was time to pretend my head was in the right place.

Elevate Sports Managementtook up a couple of floors of a high-rise in downtown LA. The entire lobby was filled with framed photos of athletes across every known sport—people who were at the top of their game and others who were just starting to make a name for themselves.

Devon checked in with the receptionist while I took a seat off to the side. My gaze drifted back to the wall of photos, and it was hard to believe I was actually getting ready to meet with Marcos Silva.

After a few minutes, a woman in an all-black business suit stepped into the lobby and gave us a polite smile. “Keaton Stafford?”

“That’s me.” I stood.

“Marcos will see you now.”

I followed her down the hall, my nerves slightly frayed as I stepped into his office.

Mr. Silva stood when I walked in and extended his hand. “Keaton. Good to finally meet you.”

I shook it. “Likewise. I appreciate you making the time.”

“Of course.” He gestured toward the chair across from his desk. “Have a seat.”

I sat, forcing myself to focus—not on Rowan, not on the fact that my phone was still sitting silent in my pocket—but on the man in front of me and the opportunity he might offer.

“I watched video of your fight again this morning,” Marcos began.

“You did?” I asked, a little surprised he’d watched it more than once.

“You’re smart in the ring,” he replied. “You have good instincts, and you adjust quickly. That’s not something everyone can do.”

“I’ve been working on it.”

“It shows.” He leaned back in his chair. “But talent’s only part of the equation, and right now, you’re in a good position. You’re at a gym with a strong reputation, coaches who know how to build fighters, and a system that works. I’ll be blunt with you. I’ve seen a lot of guys across all sports sign with an agent and immediately think they’ve hit the big time.” He shook his head. “That’s usually where they screw up.”

I leaned forward a fraction, taking in what he had to say.

“Consistency matters. Structure matters. And right now, you have both at Titan. Devon knows how to build careers, not just rack up wins.”

“I’ve learned a lot there,” I said.

Marcos nodded. “If I could have all my fighters train with Devon and his team, I would. Titan Elite really is one of the best. Unfortunately, not everyone is a fan of moving to Sacramento, especially if they’re already in a place like Vegas.”

“That makes sense,” I agreed. “But I’ve got no intention of leaving.”

Even though Devon had crossed a line the night before, I knew if I laid down some clear boundaries, I’d have no problem continuing to train there.

“Good. I think you’re exactly where you need to be, and you’ve clearly got a good head on your shoulders”—Marcos paused for a beat—“which is why this is an easy call for me.”

My pulse sped up.