Page 68 of Mean Machine

“We are. Were. I don’t know.” Brooklyn rubbed his palms over his face. “I should probably text him at some point.” Another thing he’d pushed away every time it came up. Nathaniel had to think Brooklyn only saw him as a bank account right now. They’d made no progress since Brooklyn had left Nathaniel’s flat. In fact, they were probably moving backward.

But still, that inner unrest was taking up much of Brooklyn’s energy outside training. Only during training could he concentrate entirely on the present. Once he wasn’t completely engaged, his mind went back into the past or future, but he found it hard to take advantage of the current moment, and hours just went right through him, unused and then lost. He was focusing on his training probably way too much. He could take things a bit easier, if he could remember how to do that.

Cash peered up into his face. “No point locking yourself away, Brook. You gotta remember what you’re fighting for.”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” The one thing he’d ever fought for was himself. He had a huge amount of talent, he enjoyed the time in the ring, and fighting calmed the rage in his heart. But right now, the rage was banked, and he was in the best form of his life. He could step into any ring at any time and would likely win. But how to deal with things outside the ring? Maybe that was why he was itching to go back in as quickly as possible.

Cash sighed, pulled his wallet from his pocket, and shoved a number of bills into Brooklyn’s hand. “I want you to spend that. Go watch a movie. Have some unhealthy food. Get laid. I’ll see you back here tomorrow to take you to the gym.”

Round 7

CASH’S ADVICEstuck, so Brooklyn headed into Central London on foot. He wasn’t convinced he could cope with the crowded Tube, and the buses running from here were unfamiliar. It was a mild, bright day, possibly the best kind in London, and he walked, gazed into shop windows, and watched people. Most of them barely spared him a glance, though some studied him with interest, probably because of his size, because nobody seemed to recognise him. He still lowered his gaze when anybody looked at him for too long.

He found a pub that was almost empty and had a late lunch. Everybody in there left him to his own devices. A couple of old geezers in the corner followed the sports channel on the screen up in the corner with so much devotion they drank their pints blindly and didn’t even look at each other as they commented on the football results. Then the channel switched to boxing, and Brooklyn changed position so he could watch without getting a crick in the neck. It was a welterweight fight, but the short clips from it looked like it had been a good one. Brooklyn finished his meal and pulled his phone out. He tapped on Nathaniel’s details, selected Message, and typed.Hi, what are you doing?

It took no more than a few moments for the answer to arrive.Who’s this?

Brooklyn cast around for a flippant answer, because his heart was already pounding. He finally settled on the simple truth.Brooklyn. Cash kicked me out of the house to have fun.

You could sound more enthusiastic. Where are you?

Brooklyn glanced at the menu and texted the name of the pub.

Found it. Do you have any plans?

None.

If you’re bored, I could send you Eric. I’m stuck in the office for a few more hours, but I could free up the evening.

Brooklyn lifted his tea but then realised the mug was empty and put it down again.To do what?

Whatever you want.

He hesitated. He didn’t want to give Nathaniel false hope, but it had been more than a week since he’d seen the man, and he missed him. That was the reason his pulse had sped up and he remembered the pleasant tingle of seeing him naked, rubbing skin against skin.All right, send Eric.

He returned to the bar. Back in the days, he’d have ordered a pint, but he hadn’t had a drop of alcohol since his sentence. He carried his fresh tea back to his seat to watch the mute sports channel. The picture to the left of the presenter changed to a press photo of Dragan Thorne, and the subtitles announced THORNE VS MARSHALL HEAVYWEIGHT TITLE FIGHT CONFIRMED.

“Are you at least a little bit scared?” Eric had walked up to him and looked at the screen too.

“I almost beat him once. I’ll beat him this time.” Brooklyn glanced away when Thorne’s picture was replaced with that of a footballer who had apparently been sold to another club for an unexpectedly large amount of money.

“Mr Bishop is tied up in the office until at least six o’clock.”

“Yeah, he said.” Brooklyn cradled his tea. “Cash ordered me to leave the house. Mingle with people.”

Eric looked around the mostly empty pub and chuckled. “Baby steps.”

Brooklyn shrugged. “Might as well leave, right?” He abandoned the tea and followed Eric all the way to the Jag, which was artfully parked in a side street.

When they arrived back at Nathaniel’s flat, Eric let him in and then lingered to make tea. Brooklyn relaxed into the leather couch, listened to Eric boiling water and a little later the ting of a spoon against the side of a mug.

Eric then walked both tea mugs into the room and sat down opposite him. “Mr Bishop says you have the use of the place while he’s still working, so if you want to watch TV or have a bath or sleep, you’re his guest. I can call in some food, if you’re hungry.”

“Nah, just ate.” Brooklyn glanced at a pile of paper at the side. There were some opened letters, but he could hardly go through Nathaniel’s bills. What if he stumbled across invoices that revealed how much he was costing the man without any kind of repayment? He scrubbed over his face with both hands. “When did you say he’s coming home? Six?”

“Thereabouts.” Eric crossed his legs and placed his arms on the back of his chair, making his jacket ride up. He was probably not aware of the fact it looked like an invitation—he seemed way too straight for that.

Keys turned in the lock. Brooklyn sat up, and Eric raised a curious eyebrow. From where he sat, Eric could see better who was entering. At the approaching steps, Eric’s features darkened ever so slightly, but he didn’t take a more professional posture.

---