Page 169 of Heal Me, Love Me

When the bell finally sounded, I was almost relieved.

I headed back to my corner and dropped onto the stool as Coach Phil shoved another bottle of water into my hand.

“Look at me.”

I took the bottle and lifted my eyes to his. “I’m good.”

“No, you’re not.” He grabbed the towel from the cutman and pressed it into my other hand. “You’re fighting two battles at once.”

“What do you mean?”

“The fight, and whatever the hell is going on in your head.” He leaned closer, his voice cutting through the noise around us. “You’re doing fine when you stay focused, but then something happens, and you disappear for a few seconds.”

I wiped my face with the towel and let out a slow breath. “I hear you. I’ll stay on him.”

When it was time for round three, Coach Phil stood and slapped my shoulder. “One more round. Stay patient.”

I nodded and pushed myself off the stool.

The bell rang, and for the first minute, neither Rowan nor I gave the other much to work with. He slipped my punch, angled away, and made me turn with him. I followed, trying to close the distance, but he moved again before I could corner him. The pattern repeated until I knew exactly what was happening. He was deciding where the fight went, and I was letting him.

I doubled up on the jab, threw the cross behind it, and added a left hook when he covered. He blocked most of it, but the hook got around his guard enough to make him give ground, and that was when I saw the opening I’d been waiting for.

It wasn’t much, but it was there. His right side drifted just far enough out of position for instinct to take over, and I stepped in hard, shifting my weight as I threw the left. The second I committed, I knew Rowan had left the opening there on purpose because he knew I’d chase it.

My momentum was already moving forward when his right hand came over the top. I saw his shoulder turn and the glove coming, but I couldn’t get back fast enough. The punch caught me clean on the jaw, and everything disappeared.

31

Rowan

The punch connectedhard before I had time to think about what it would mean to land.

For the entire fight, I’d waited for that opening. I’d trained for it, planned for it, and trusted Keaton to take the bait because I knew him well enough to know he’d see the gap and commit before thinking twice. My right hand came over his guard exactly the way it was supposed to, my glove caught his jaw, and the impact shot up my arm.

For one breath, the fighter in me knew I’d landed cleanly. Then his eyes lost focus, and everything around me dropped away.

He didn’t stumble into the fence, reach for the mat, swear, or shake it off. He didn’t even try to catch himself, and that scared me because Keaton always fought to stay in it. His body gave out, and he hit the canvas without trying to catch himself.

“Keaton!” I started moving, dropping to my knees beside him before the ref could get between us. “Keaton, wake up!”

The ref grabbed my arm. “Back up.”

Ignoring him, I leaned over Keaton, my fingers hovering uselessly because I didn’t know where it was safe to touch him. His face. His shoulder. His chest. Anywhere that might bring him back to me.

“Baby, come on.” My voice broke, and I didn’t care who heard it. “Wake up.”

“Back up now!” the ref ordered.

“I can’t.” I cupped his cheek. “Keaton, please.”

Hands hooked under my arms and dragged me back.

“No.” I fought against them, trying to twist free, because Keaton’s eyes were still closed. “Let me go!”

“Rowan!” Coach Isaac snapped in my ear. “Back up.”

“I need him.”