Page 166 of Heal Me, Love Me

His eyes narrowed. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Then what were you doing, Keaton?”

I went to say something, but nothing came out.

“You know what? Forget it.” He shook his head and started walking away.

“Wait!”

He spun around. “No! You don’t get to sit up there and tell everyone our past didn’t mean anything, then come chasing after me because you suddenly feel bad about how it sounded.”

“Are you saying you wanted everyone out there to know about us?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

He swallowed hard. “I wanted you to act as if I was important to you. LikeImattered.”

“Rowan—”

He shook his head. “Forget it.”

“I didn’t mean for it to come out like that,” I repeated, as if saying it again might finally get through to him.

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe none of it matters anymore.”

Before I could respond, he turned and walked away.

This time, I didn’t follow.

When the ceremonialweigh-in rolled around, I was ready to be done with all of it. For months, Rowan and I’d treated our relationship like something neither of us knew how to leave alone, and for weeks, everyone else had treated the fight like a rivalry. I just wanted to step into the cage and get to the part where something finally happened. Instead, I found myself backstage, waiting for the weigh-in to begin as hundreds of fans packed into the event center for one last preview of the fight.

“Next up is the middleweight bout between Keaton Stafford and Rowan Cross,” the announcer boomed. “The first fighter to the stage is Keaton Stafford.”

Earlier that morning, we’d done the official weigh-in, medical evaluations, paperwork, and drug test. Now we were giving fans a show and hyping the fight.

I rolled my shoulders and walked through the curtain with Phil, my head coach, and two security guards close behind. Peeling off my hoodie, I handed it to Coach, then stepped onto the scale in nothing but my low-slung sweats. Flashes went off from the media pit as I faced forward, my arms flexed.

“One hundred eighty-five pounds,” the announcer called. “Official weight for Keaton Stafford.”

The fans roared as I moved to the side, joining the officials and ring girls standing near the backdrop. I draped a towel around my neck as I took my place.

“Next up is Rowan Cross.”

My gaze didn’t move from him as he walked out.

He crossed the stage shirtless and barefoot, that calm vibe of his firmly intact. His brown hair was longer than it’d been the last time I’d seen him. The dog tags he always wore rested against the massive tattoo on his chest. I hated that no matter how much we hurt each other, it wasn’t enough to kill whatever feelings I still had for him.

“Official weight is one hundred eighty-five and a half.” The announcer’s words snapped me back into the moment as Rowan got off the scale and headed straight toward me.

We stood toe to toe. The noise of the crowd faded as we stared each other down.

“Hope you’re ready to get your ass kicked,” he growled.

“Oh, I’ve been waiting for this moment.” I closed the space between us, stopping just short of our noses touching. “We can finally settle everything once and for all.”