Page 8 of Split Decision

The conversation continues. Brandon says something encouraging concerning timelines. Marin closes her laptop with the same measured quiet with which she does everything. I stay present in my body and in the room, andI don't give anyone a reason to describe me later as volatile, reactive, or difficult.

I am none of those things.

I am a woman who has survived worse than this, in this same kitchen, with less help than I have now.

Luke shifts beside me. I can feel him thinking—and that's the problem.

He has to think about whether we stand together.

He shouldn't have to.

CHAPTER THREE

ANDI

After Jackson’s boat was found, the vultures in the media fed on that carcass for less than two weeks before they moved on to the next scandal… the next distraction. I thought it was bad at the time, living through that constant visual reminder while the daily search was underway. Sensationalized reports about his family’s philanthropy and his meteoric rise in politics permeated the airwaves between updates from the search crews.

It was like witnessing a train wreck in real time. I was glued to the television for days, unable to look away while simultaneously being disgusted with myself forentertaining all the lies. When the search was called off, he was presumed dead because of where they found his yacht. All kinds of experts came out of the woodwork, claiming there was no way Jackson could have survived the elements or the marine life. They praised the workers for their hard work but assured them that nothing else could be done. The boat was deemed too far offshore for the capsize to be attributed to anything but natural causes. Like so many others, the open ocean claimed Jackson’s life, and his body would never be recovered.

But Ineededto see his body.

I needed proof of his death.

Knowing his body wasn’t found has caused more anguish than I care to admit.

This latest hit has been harder than a jab to my face. It’s been more like a repetitive big right hook that slips around my guard and lands firmly on my jaw. The KO is coming any time now. I’ve felt the pressure building during the complete silence of the last several weeks. Until now. But I’m beginning to understand exactly how dirty they’re willing to fight. They’ll hit below the belt, causing irreparable damage, without blinking an eye.

This coordinated attack isn’t about Luke’s boxing license. That’s a formality. A pawn is being moved on the board as part of a bigger strategy. Someone is after his career. Hislife. They’re showing me they can destroy him without breaking a sweat. They’re waiting for me to throw in the towel. But I still don’t know who “they” are or what “they” want from us… other than to see us suffer, our lives ruined, and everything we love snatched away from us.

Like the youth center where I’m currently sitting in the parking lot, delaying the inevitable as long as I can. Before I reach for the door handle, I pull my phone out of my bag for a quick check. I needed this time without distractions, but now I’m distracting myself with something other than going inside.

My phone has one unread message. Luke sent it at six-fifteen this morning, before he left for the gym.

I love you. Call me when you're done.

It's the right thing to say. It's everything he should say.

What it isn't:I’m on my way. You’re not doing this alone.

I know he can't say those things right now. I understand the calculation. I even agree with some of it, which is the part I haven't told him yet—that Marin might not be wrong about the strategy even if she's wrong about everything else.

But understanding something and being okay with it aretwo different countries, and right now I'm standing at the border with no visa.

This is how it starts.

I put my phone away and walk through the door.

After Marin left yesterday, Luke soon followed her out the door for his afternoon sparring session. Mack has him on a punishing schedule, and normally, I would be a key component of that program. Every time Luke’s endurance holds out, Mack ups the ante, and Luke starts back at square one. By the time he gets home, he can barely keep his eyes open long enough to shower. The training exhausts him mentally too. Mack tests his fighter’s strategy and ability to read his opponent to the breaking point. Complete physical and mental exhaustion doesn’t leave much capacity for tactile discussions.

So I’m here to face the board and fight for my place, helping the kids I love dearly.

Alone.

I’ve been in a similar situation before and survived. But this is a different kind of alone. Luke still sleeps by my side, but he has to decide whether to go along with Marin’s plan to carve me out of his life. Just a short time ago, Brandon was one of my biggest supporters. But as of last night, he was pushing Luke to accept Marin’s counsel, as if I weren’t even in the room.

I’ve never felt so alone… even when they’re with me.

I’ve delayed my entrance as long as I can, so I take a deep, cleansing breath and walk through the front door as if I own the place. Everything is the same as when I last left it, yet nothing is the same. The rooms are full of chatter, games, and laughter. But instead of being in the middle of the action, I’m watching from the sidelines.