Page 105 of Mean Machine

“Then one of her friends told her. No. She’d… protect me.” Brave little Shelley with her shaky, wounded smile, who’d still opened the door for him. Oh God. She owed him nothing—the marriage was annulled, she’d broken with her old life entirely, given up her child. And still she kept her mouth shut. His appetite was gone, but he forced himself to nibble on that sandwich. “You know what? I want the lawyers to get in touch with her. Give her some money.”

“To pay her off? Get her to sign an NDA or something?” Cash didn’t look too happy about it.

“If she hasn’t sold her story by now, she never will. I just want her to be taken care of, get her out of that shithole, start somewhere new.”

“You owe her nothing, Brook.”

“Not legally, no.” Brooklyn smiled, but it lacked all conviction. “You’re married, Cash. You know that those vows mean something, right? Would you let Marina stand out in the cold if you could help her?”

Cash’s gaze softened, and he lowered his eyes, appearing almost guilty. “She did annul the marriage, though.”

“But I didn’t. I swore to look after her in good days and bad, and I want her taken care off. No NDA. I don’t want the lawyers to put any pressure on her—get her a cheque, and have them deliver it in person, because she has a tendency to ignore letters sometimes.” Keep things nice and impersonal so she didn’t feel obliged. Hopefully it wouldn’t feel any more stressful and overwhelming than a surprise windfall. Friendly lawyer delivering a cheque. “Make it a million quid.”

Cash opened his mouth a couple times, but uncharacteristically didn’t say anything immediately. He cleared his throat. “Maybe it would be better to do it in person?”

Ah, good old Cash, who believed in face-to-face. But if that last meeting had been painful and awkward, it would be much worse if Brooklyn waved a big cheque at her. Shelley was now a niggle at the back of his mind, a memory tinged with sadness and regret. Giving her a new start might deal with all that. Maybe he could absolve himself from having been a shitty husband. No, better to not put any pressure on her or make her feel obliged, keep this as impersonal as a lottery win. “I don’t think I could deal with it.” Too much fear, guilt and embarrassment, likely on both sides. A lawyer would find the right words, have the smooth, distanced but friendly attitude, and, above all, wouldn’t enter her flat with a world roundtrip’s worth of baggage.

“You’re a good soul, Brook. I’ll get it sorted.”

And since he was already clearing out those skeletons…. “While we’re at it, have somebody look into the whereabouts of my mother and sister. We lost contact a while ago.”

“No problem. I know somebody for that.”

“Of course you do.” Brooklyn stared at Joseph’s laptop for a moment, backtracking to the start of the conversation. “Do you think I should return to England to… I don’t know, take care of business, show my face?”

“That talk is bullshit, about your roots. They’re pissed off you’re fighting over here and they have to buy plane tickets and actually travel to see you live.” Joseph gave him a sharp look.

“I signed a contract to fight here.” Brooklyn finished that one half of the food, then pushed the rest away. “Also, I’m not going to let them parade me around as a success story of Proud British politics. I want nothing to do with that.”

“So, you planning to stay in the States? You could probably get a green card.” Cash looked apprehensive.

“It’s moot. If the channel says I fight in Vegas, I fight in Vegas.” Brooklyn shrugged.

“What I’m saying is… I can get you a local promoter.”

“No, Cash. I’m not going to leave you and go with one of the others. I don’t know and I don’t trust them.”

Cash pulled his shoulders up. “Brook….”

“What? What are you not telling me?”

“It’s… just, at some point I want to go home.” Cash looked as if he were about to beg for forgiveness, and man, but that hurt. “Marina hates flying, and I’m not sure I’m cut out for America.”

Brooklyn glanced at Joseph, but his trainer shrugged. “We can probably replace him, if it comes to that.”

“I’m not going to stand in your way. I’m so proud of you for everything you’ve achieved. But at some point, I want to go home. I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be.” Brooklyn shook his head, reaching out to Cash’s arm. “Thanks for telling me…. I had no idea. I’ll do this fight, and then we’ll all sit down together and discuss what we want to do, okay?”

Cash met his gaze, still looking worried, but his features then smoothed and relaxed. “Okay.”

Joseph leaned back with a huff of relief. “Good. We’re all on the same page. And speaking of which, Rosario Aguilar-Gutiérrez has been approved by the association. He’s got a pretty impressive record—you know he fought and wrecked Josh Reid, right?”

“Right.” Brooklyn briefly pondered whether he could bullshit his way out of this corner. He’d watched all of Rose’s fights, which was made a whole lot easier because Rose kept winning. Rose fought like a man possessed—not during the fight, when he was stylish and simply beautiful to watch—but in terms of how many fights he put his body through. It seemed he came out of one fight and went straight into the next, with only six or eight weeks in between to fine-tune his tactics for the next opponent. He was racing up the ranks, and his undefeated record made him popular. Audiences loved “undefeated,” one of the reasons many boxers only fought fights that didn’t put that marketing label at risk.

“So that’s going to be my third fight?”

“The channel wants it, Aguilar-Gutiérrez has agreed, so we’ll start the whole promotion circus next week.”

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