Page 170 of Heal Me, Love Me

“I know you two go way back, but you have to let medical in.”

“I’m not leaving him.”

“You’re not helping him either. Let medical do their job.”

The ref stayed with Keaton while the doctor and Coach Phil came in from the other side. Coach Isaac kept me back, and I hated every inch of space between us, but Keaton needed medical attention more than he needed me losing my shit over him in the middle of the cage.

The doctor dropped beside him, and Coach Phil went down near his shoulder. Their bodies blocked most of what was going on, but not enough to hide that he still hadn’t moved.

“Keaton,” I called as I jockeyed to see around them. “Come on. Open your eyes.”

The doctor called Keaton’s name and touched two fingers to the side of his neck while Coach Phil leaned in and said something I couldn’t hear over the crowd. I stopped fighting Coach Isaac long enough to watch the doctor’s face, desperate for him to tell us Keaton was okay, but he only reached for the small light clipped to his pocket and checked his eyes.

The doctor spoke again, probably asking Keaton to respond, but nothing changed. He stayed limp on the canvas, and everything inside me turned cold.

What had I done?

The question tore through me because there was no one else to blame. The ref hadn’t done this. The crowd hadn’t done this. The contract, the promotion, the rankings, Devon, all the bullshit that had put us in that cage together hadn’t taken Keaton off his feet.

I had.

I shook my head, even though no one had asked me anything. “No.”

Coach Isaac’s hand dug into my arm. “Rowan.”

“How could I do that?” I pointed toward Keaton. “How the fuck could I do that to him?”

Coach Isaac didn’t answer right away, and I hated him for it. I hated him for not lying to me. Because he knew enough to know this wasn’t just guilt over a knockout. Maybe he didn’t know all of it—not the years, the secrets, or the way Keaton and I had broken each other before we ever stepped into the cage—but he knew we had history between us. Enough to know I wasn’t panicking over an opponent I’d knocked out.

I was looking at the man I loved, and he wasn’t looking back.

I pulled harder against Coach Isaac. “I need him to wake up.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.” I shook my head. “You don’t know.”

Coach Isaac didn’t let me move. “I know you need to stay here.”

“I can’t.”

“You can. Because right now, that’s the only thing you can do for him.”

He was right, and that was the worst part. Getting to Keaton wasn’t an option. Neither was making the doctor work faster,forcing Keaton’s eyes to open, nor willing his body to respond. Yet every second Coach Isaac held me back, the panic dug in deeper, because all I could do was watch.

I forced myself to breathe, but all I could think about was what would happen if Keaton never woke up.

The noise around us started to change from the roar of the crowd to the kind of quiet that only happened when fans realized something was seriously wrong. Cameras were still pointed at the canvas, officials were still moving around us, and somewhere beyond the lights, thousands of people were waiting to see what came next.

The judges, the cameras, the win I’d stopped wanting the second Keaton went down, all of it disappeared until the only thing left was him lying there while the doctor called his name and waited for him to answer. But then his fingers moved. It was small enough that I almost thought I’d imagined it.

“He moved.” I tried to step around Coach Isaac. “Keaton moved.”

“I saw. Stay back until they clear him.”

“I need to get to him.”

“You need to wait.”