Devon clapped his hands. “Line up in two lines. Holders on this side, hitters on that side. We’re rotating.”
Mason drifted toward Keaton, then caught himself and stopped when Devon’s voice cut across the room.
“Keaton.”
He looked up, irritated. “Yeah?”
Devon pointed at me. “You’re holding for Rowan first.”
Keaton didn’t move. “No.”
Devon didn’t blink. “Yes.”
Keaton kept his stare fixed on Devon. “Put him with somebody else.”
Devon crossed his arms. “Do you want to coach or train?”
Keaton’s jaw clenched. He grabbed the pads from the rack and strapped them on with forceful movements, then walked to the line without looking at me.
Devon raised his voice. “Round one. Basic. Jab, cross, hook. Then reset your feet.”
He hit the timer.
The gym shifted. Pads started popping. People moved in short bursts, breathing loudly, and my sweat started to show.
Keaton lifted the pads, elbows tucked, and stance set.
I squared up in front of him and kept my eyes on the target.
“Jab,” Devon instructed.
I snapped it out.
The pad cracked.
“Cross.”
I drove the cross in and pulled it back.
“Hook.”
I turned my hip, landed the hook, then reset.
Keaton didn’t react. He didn’t give me a look. He didn’t do anything except hold the pad.
Devon circled behind us. “Rowan, bring that right hand back after the hook. Keep it up.”
I corrected and threw it again.
Keaton shifted the pads a fraction, not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough to make me reach.
Devon’s voice snapped. “Keaton, hold still.”
His eyes flicked to Devon. “I’m holding.”
“You’re moving,” Devon replied. “Hold still.”
Keaton set the pads and went rigid.
