“I suppose you haven’t.”
“Then we can assume I like it.”
I shrugged. That was good enough. Grabbing the remote, I used the arrow buttons to search out the documentary Rick had told Luke and I about earlier.
“Plant Eaters. The hell kind of name is that?” Luke grunted, taking another huge bite of his burger.
“Just give it a chance.”
He didn’t respond, but instead, sat back against the couch, eating the rest of his food and nodding his head in the direction of the TV, urging me to start the movie. I did so, anticipating what kind of information this film would reveal to us and hoping it would convince Luke to give it a chance. I knew he had the potential to become an even greater fighter than he already was, and to win another title.
While he wouldn’t admit it, the loss of his last trainer had hit him hard. He’d only interacted with Lenny and that guy Pit in the few days I’d been working with him. Even when he worked out or grappled with the other guys in his gym, it was focused, with little banter or friendly side conversations. He was closed off to most of the people around him. Only a select few gained access to the real Luke McConnell.
“I know him,” Luke said out of nowhere. At least, I thought it’d been out of nowhere. Turns out, I was the one who wasn’t fully paying attention to the film because I’d gotten lost down a rabbit hole, thinking about Luke and his lack of an inner circle.
I peered up at the screen, my eyebrows raising. “That’s Phillip DeLuca, right?”
“Yep.”
DeLuca was a famed fighter about twenty years ago. He was largely held responsible for the rise in the popularity of MMA fighting here in the U.S.
“You ever train with him?”
Luke shook his head. “Was before my time. Would’ve loved to though,” he said peering at the screen, before finishing off the last of his sweet potato fries.
We watched in silence as DeLuca discussed how in the latter years of his fighting he’d dealt with injury after injury, and while looking for the best recovery methods he’d stumbled upon the benefits of a plant-based diet. Glancing from the television screen to Luke, I believed I saw his intrigue. His face was set in a hard mask of indifference, but his eyes held firmly on the screen, taking in everything DeLuca, the researchers, and doctors he spoke with had to say.
Even I was a little surprised to learn some of the benefits DeLuca spoke about in his recovery and healing time. Not only that but his performance increased greatly in those latter years.
“Banks used to remind me that because I was getting older, didn’t mean my performance had to suffer. He always talked about DeLuca winning that championship title in his final year as a pro. Never said it was because he was a fucking vegan. Probably didn’t know.” His last few words were said low as if filled with remorse.
“Banks, your former trainer.” I said.
Luke turned to me with raised eyebrows, as if just realizing he’d spoken out loud. He gave me a curt nod. “Yeah.”
I nodded. He may not have wanted to reveal it, but the tone of his voice spoke volumes. There was a deep affection there for the man who’d trained him from early on in his career.
“Well, now you know his secret,” I spoke into the silence.
Luke’s gaze held mine for a heartbeat before he nodded and turned back to the screen, setting his plate down before folding his arms over his broad chest, sitting back. The rest of the movie was watched in silence. I finished the Mediterranean bowl I’d picked up for myself, also appreciating the benefits of a whole foods plant-based diet.
Though I kept straying back to wondering what Luke was thinking. Was he buying into it? This, along with increased training in the areas he was weak in, and somehow trying to control that temper of his, could be the secret to his winning another championship title.
“You done with that?”
Blinking I peered up to see Luke standing over me, his arm stretched out to take the plate I still held in my lap.
“Yeah.” I rose to follow him into the kitchen as he carried both of our dishes. “What’d you think?”
He didn’t respond until he placed both of our plates into the sink. Spinning around and leaning against the sink, folding his arms, he said, “You’re trying to make me into a pansy ass. First dancing and now taking away meat.”
I inhaled deeply and pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’ve told you the relevance of dance to your training. And with quicker recovery time from a plant-based diet, you’re going to see major improvements in half the time you’d expect.”
He eyed me, his gaze darkening.
“How do I know I’ll get enough calories to sustain my training?”
I nodded, anticipating he’d give me a little quiz on this. “Rick’s already mapped out a daily meal plan for you. Completely plant-based and given we’ll be doing four hours of training, five days a week, it allows for 2,500 calories per day. More than enough.”
