Page 11 of Split Decision

When the meeting adjourns, I gather my belongings in silence, then walk to my office and close the door behind me. I have a few personal items here that I don’t want to leave behind during my extended absence, but I need a few minutes to wrap my head around everything that’s happened… that’s changed in a matter of minutes. I drop into my chair, rest my head in my hands, and focus on simply taking the next breath. Helplessly watching my life be dismantled is not my style.

My phone rings, and my immediate thought is that Luke is calling for an update on the meeting. I’m not sure I have it in me to talk about it at the moment, but I pull my phone out, anyway. I’m surprised to see Travis’ name on the screen.

A momentary distraction is just what I need.

When I answer, Travis’ usual cheerful voice fills the line. “Hey, Andi. Hope I’m not catching you at a bad time. Got a minute to chat?”

“Hi, Travis. You still don’t watch the news, huh?” My chuckle is humorless. “In fact, I do have a few minutes open. What’s up?”

“A couple of strong influencers have made our public service announcements songs viral sensations. So much so that there’s an online coalition demanding that we do an entire album together. My producer thinks it’s such a great idea, she pitched it to the CEO. He then called your CEO to negotiate a dual-label agreement… pending your approval, of course. What do you say? Wanna make a record and go on tour with us?”

Travis sounds excited and completely on board with this idea, but I feel like I’m running to catch up with what he’s saying.

“I think I need a few more details to have an intelligent conversation about this. It sounds like a lot of decisions and plans have been made, but I have no idea what any of them are yet.” I lean back in my chair and listen to Travis explain it fully.

When he finishes, I can’t deny the appeal of taking a five-month sabbatical from everything in Atlanta.

CHAPTER FOUR

LUKE

Mack doesn't waste time on preamble.

I've been at the gym for forty minutes—just finished intervals, still breathing hard, hands on my knees—when he walks over and stands in front of me the way he does when he has something to say that he's already decided he's going to say regardless of how I take it. Arms folded. Eyes level. The distinct stillness of a man who has been doing this long enough to have learned patience the hard way.

"You're twenty-eight," he says.

"Thanks for the newsflash. I know how old I am,Mack."

"Then you know what it means." He doesn't blink. "Most guys your age who haven't broken through yet are already calculating their exit. You're not most guys—you've got the tools, you've got the discipline, and you've got the right kind of mean in you when you need it. But the window isn't open forever. It's open now. And its timing is exact."

I straighten up and reach for my water. I know where this is going. I've known it was coming since he first mentioned Joe Caruso three weeks ago.

"Joe's facility," I say.

"Joe's facility." He unfolds his arms. "Six months. Full immersion. His camp is what took Shane from contender to title conversation—you know that. You've watched it happen from the same gym. Joe doesn't take many fighters. He asked about you specifically, which means he's already seen enough to believe you're worth his time." Mack pauses. "I don't say that lightly. Joe Caruso does not give a damn about most people."

"When?"

"January second. You'd be back by July. His rules: no outside training influences, no scheduled visitors, no downtime built into the calendar. He runs it like a professional operation because that's what it is." He looks at medirectly. "This isn't a training camp, Luke. This is a decision about whether you're serious."

I look at the ring. At Tom working the mitts with one of Mack's middleweights. At the speed bag hanging perfectly still in the corner. I've been serious my entire adult life. The difference between now and everything before is that now someone with real standing is offering to make that mean something.

"Joe has already identified a probable opponent," Mack says. "Ranked heavyweight. Not a title fight—not yet. But a legitimate ranked bout that puts you in the title conversation if you win it. That's what the six months are for. Not just conditioning. Preparation for a specific fight." He looks at me. "Joe doesn't run camps for the sake of training. He runs them for outcomes."

"I want to do it," I say.

Mack nods once, like he expected that and is not particularly moved by it. "Good. Then I need your final answer by the end of the week so I can confirm with Joe." He turns to go, then stops. "Have you talked to Andi?"

I hesitate half a second too long.

He turns back.

"Mack—"

"I'm not asking you to justify it to me," he says. "I'm asking because she's like my daughter, and I don't want her blindsided. She's got enough coming at her right now." He levels me with the look he reserves for when he means what he says with no softening around the edges. "Tell her today. Before you tell Joe yes."

"I will," I say.