He leaned closer. “So, you’re moving in today or what?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
He lifted his hands. “I’m asking because I need to know whether I have to clean.”
“You should clean anyway,” I shot back.
“Oh, right. Military man. You’re clean as hell, huh?”
Keaton’s gaze sliced toward us, and if looks could kill … well, I’d be dead.
Devon’s voice cut through before Keaton could keep glaring. “Mason, focus up here.”
Mason straightened, palms raised as if he hadn’t just been poking a bear. “Yep, Coach. I’m listening.”
“Good,” Devon replied, then he and another guy started to show us what we were going to be practicing. “Everybody up.”
People pushed to their feet, shook out their arms, and started bouncing in place. The whole energy of the room shifted to work mode.
Mason looked at me again. “Pad rounds. Fun.”
“Stop narrating,” I huffed.
Mason grinned. “I can’t. It’s my personality.”
Keaton’s stare returned, and Mason finally took the hint and shut his mouth.
Devon paced in front of the group. “Light shadow first. I want footwork and clean lines. You’re not trying to win a fight during warm-up.”
Mason popped up near the front. “I’m always trying to win.”
Devon pointed at him. “Then win by staying quiet.”
A couple of guys chuckled. Mason pressed his lips together, trying and failing to look innocent.
I lifted my hands and started moving, letting the rhythm take over because it gave my head something to do besides spiral. Keaton was a few spots over, hands up, shoulders tight, focus locked in. Seeing him like that messed with me because I couldn’t connect this disciplined version of him to the kid I knew.
Devon walked the line, watching everyone’s feet first, then their hands. “Keep your chin down. Don’t let your hands drift. Don’t cross your feet.” When he reached me, he took in my stance and guard. “Rowan, show me your jab.”
I snapped it out and pulled it back in.
“Again, but don’t reach. Step with it.”
I adjusted and threw it again with a small step, keeping my other hand up.
“That’s better,” he commented. “Bring it home fast. Don’t leave it out there.”
I threw it once more and reset.
He nodded. “All right. You’ve got the basics. We’ll fix the rest.”
The comment rubbed me wrong. I had more than just the basics. I’d boxed in the Air Force, fought most Friday nights, and usually ended the night with my hand raised. I knew what it was like to get hit, to hit back, and to keep going when my body wanted out. Maybe I was new to this kind of training, but I sure as hell wasn’t starting from nothing.
I could feel Keaton watching me as Devon said, “Pads out, partner up.”
The group broke apart as people grabbed Thai pads and focus mitts, wrapped their hands, and pulled gloves on. The sound of Velcro filled the space, mixed with the usual gym noise.
I grabbed my gloves from my bag and tightened my wraps, keeping my focus on what I was doing so I wouldn’t stare at Keaton again.
