Page 37 of Split Decision

"Thank you for having dinner with me, Syndi," I say earnestly.

"It's my pleasure, Luke," she replies with a smile. "Any time you want company, just give me a call."

"Be careful. That may be every day. It gets old eating alone every night," I admit.

"I'm sure you miss Andi terribly."

"I do," I admit. "But it's more than that. I guess I just miss having a friend to hang out with sometimes."

"I'd be honored to be your friend," she offers.

"I'll take you up on that offer," I say as I extend my hand to shake hers.

She accepts my proffered hand and lightly squeezes it as she shakes it. "As friends, I expect us to spend time together that's not work-related. I know your schedule doesn't allow much downtime. But I'm sure you can find some time for me."

"I think that can be arranged," I chuckle.

When the check arrives, Syndi tries to take it first. I snatch it from her hands and give her my stern look of warning. "This is my treat tonight."

"I'm the one who invited you, remember? We came to talk about your magazine shoot next week. That makes it my treat, or rather, my company's treat." She smiles and takes the check away from me.

"Fine. This time, since it's a business expense. Next time, I'm taking my friend out for dinner."

"Deal," she agrees.

When I walk into my hotel room, it hits me that I'm alone again. I pull my phone from my pocket, FaceTime Andi, and wait for it to connect. When she answers, the screen is mostly dark, but I can hear the familiar noise of the tour bus in the background. Glancing over at the clock, I'm surprised to see my dinner with Syndi lasted so long. It's already well past the time I'm usually in bed, but I'm much too energized to sleep now.

"Luke?" Andi's voice comes clearly over the connection.

"Hey. You still up?"

"Just barely. Good day?" she asks.

"Good dinner, actually. Syndi's got an entire month of media events lined up. My name's going to be everywhere by fight night." I can hear the smile in my own voice. It's real. This is happening. "How was tonight's show?"

"Good crowd. They were loud." I can hear the tiredness inher voice, the kind of emptiness that creeps in after a big performance. "I sang the dog tag song."

She means the one she's been doing acoustically—the quiet version of a song she wrote the week I left. She hasn't told me it's about me, but she doesn't need to.

"Knock 'em dead tomorrow," I say.

"Always." A pause. "Luke?"

"Yeah."

"I love you. In case I forget to say it when we're moving fast."

"You never forget," I say. "I love you back."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

LUKE

Vegas smells like recycled air and ambition.

I've been here eleven days, and I've left the training facility four times—twice for food, once when Mack dragged me to a steakhouse because he said I was getting protein-deficient and difficult to be around, and once just to stand outside in the dark and remember what unfiltered air felt like.

Joe Caruso's facility sits on the edge of the city, far enough from the Strip that the noise is just a glow on the horizon at night. It's a serious place. No music playing over the gym speakers. No casual conversation. Just work, and thesilence of men who understand that everything they want is on the other side of a very specific kind of suffering.