Page 88 of Main Event

“Deja will be all right too. She’s in good hands. Dad said while Bill is working on Kelly’s adoption, he might as well get started on Deja’s too, if that’s what she wants. They’re not pressuring her to decide. They keep reaffirming that she’s already part of the family either way.”

“Give her time. She felt the love tonight. I saw it.”

I look at the road ahead. At Atlanta, doing what Atlanta does on a Thursday night.

“You knew exactly what to say to Kelly,” I say.

Andi is quiet for a moment.

“I knew what I needed someone to say to me,” she says. “When I was fifteen, when everything that happened felt like something I’d caused.” She looks out the window. “It took me a long time to understand that I hadn’t.”

I reach across and take her hand.

She holds it.

We drive home.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

LUKE

Vegas in October is different from Vegas in January.

The January camp was about becoming something. October is about being it. The same city, the same gym Reyes uses when we travel, the same hotel two miles from the arena—but the air between them is different. Charged. Four weeks of work behind us, one fight in front of us, and nothing left to add.

Mack flies in Thursday. He doesn’t say much when he arrives—he looks at me the way he has since we first met, a trainer’s appraisal from a man who knows exactly what he’s looking at and is deciding whether it’s ready. He watches the Friday session from the corner without a word.

Afterward, he finds me in the locker room.

“You’re ready,” he says.

Two words. That’s Mack’s version of a standing ovation and a speech rolled into one.

“Thank you,” I say.

He briefly rests his hand on my shoulder—the same gesture he gave Andi after the sweep, the same gesture he gives to everything that matters and can’t be improved by more words. Then he walks out.

Reyes, from the doorway, chimes in. “He’s right.”

That’s the most words Reyes and Mack have exchanged all week.

Bill calls on Saturday morning.

I’m in the gym doing light work—nothing that risks the hands four days before the fight, just movement, focus, and the mental honing of someone who has been building toward a thing for months and can see it from here. My phone is on the bench. I see Bill’s name, and I know from the timing—Saturday morning, four days out—that this isn’t routine.

I pick up.

“Two things,” he says. “I want to give you both before you decide how to carry them into the fight.”

“Tell me.”

“The psychology licensing board received a formal complaint yesterday. It was anonymous and filed through the board’s online system. It alleges unprofessional conduct related to your work at the youth center—specifically, that you engaged in therapeutic relationships with minors without proper supervisory oversight and without maintaining required documentation.” He keeps his voice flat, which is how I know he’s angry. “The complaint is thin. It won’t survive formal review. But the board is required to acknowledge it and open a preliminary inquiry, which creates a record.”

I stand in the gym and think about the kids at the center. About the Tuesday sessions I started running after Andi gave me back the license and the opportunity. About a fifteen-year-old named Marcus who got into Georgia State, partly because someone took the time to sit across from him and take him seriously.

“And the second thing,” I say.

“The state bar association received a complaint about Andi. Also anonymous, also filed yesterday. Alleging she’s been providing legal counsel in connection with a matter in which she has a direct personal interest, without appropriate disclosure or client consent.” Bill’s voice is level. “Also thin. Also requires acknowledgment and a preliminary inquiry.”