Page 109 of Mean Machine

“I….” He blew out a breath, tried to forge his loathing of the whole situation into words that would allow him to maintain some self-control. “I’m done hurting people. Not just him. I don’t have any of that left. And without it….” He shook his head. “You know what’s funny?”

Joseph cut off and discarded his second glove. “I’m listening.”

“The ring used to be the only place where I was free. All of this was my escape. But this fight… I didn’t want it, but I had no way out. That contract made me a slave in the very place where I used to be free, forced me to fight a man I’d never….” He broke off, ashamed that he had no control over his voice.

“Yeah, your anger is gone. I can tell the difference.”

Brooklyn chuckled and hung his head. “I guess.”

Joseph leaned back against the wall, crossed his arms, and they sat like that in silence. And that was exactly it. Once upon a time, Brooklyn had been ready and more than willing—eager, even—to tear any man limb from limb who challenged him. Any hint of somebody facing him and the rage had been available at a button press, as a weapon to destroy, maim, and kill, and damn the consequences.

But that fuse had burnt out. Maybe he was only tired, maybe that was what a defeat did, or he’d given up, but he simply couldn’t reach that rage inside of him. If it was even still there.

“You know, I did that too.” Joseph turned his head and looked at him from the corner of his eye. “Want to know what happened?”

“A brush with mortality? Love?”

Joseph flashed his teeth and shook his head. “I became a Buddhist. I went inside and really looked at what I found there. Most days I’m a bad Buddhist, but that’s all we can do, try to do better.”

“Meditation and all?”

“Yes, meditation and all.” Joseph patted him on the shoulder. “Go shower, Brook. Nobody wants to see you like this at the press conference.”

That long hot shower did a lot to restore Brooklyn’s equilibrium. So he might have quit—exaggerated how dazed and hurt he was—and if people hated him now, that didn’t matter; how could it? Why should the respect of people who made that sound when one fighter showed weakness and faltered matter? Who’d all but wanted him or Rose dead or broken? They too could go fuck themselves.

The worst part would be to dissolve the team, take apart that machine that Cash and Joseph had built for his support. However, everybody got paid, and that last payment meant he’d give them a nice bonus for their trouble that would see them through until they found a new gig.

When he stepped outside, Joseph was waiting there and stayed at his side every step of the way to the conference room where the press had gathered to hear the post-mortem.

Brooklyn settled at his place in front of the microphone, and no more than a minute or two later, Rose showed up. He seemed to relax somewhat when he saw Brooklyn and gave him a nod, but Brooklyn gained the impression that the smile he put on lacked most of his conviction.

Still, Rose was very complimentary, said it had been a good fight, if a short one, and how much he respected Brooklyn, and how much his family and partner and friends had contributed to the victory.

Brooklyn refused to answer any questions about a rematch, just shook his head. “Too early to say.” It was a cop-out, but the journalists still made note of it, because sometimes a lie was exactly what people wanted to hear.

Asked again what he thought about the fight, Brooklyn met Rose’s gaze. “Rose here is the better boxer on every measure that counts. I’ll look forward to seeing him fight and hope he has a long career.”

Rose’s face was stony, and he simply nodded.

They left after the Q&A was over, Brooklyn first because he couldn’t wait to get out of there.

“Brook. Wait.” Rose caught up with him when Brooklyn hesitated. Santos looked on uneasily, and Rose seemed to notice. “A word? You and me?”

“Sure.” They both waited until people had walked past and they were alone. Rose’s jaw muscles tensed rhythmically. “Now tell me what actually happened. You were barelyfightingout there.”

“I was—”

“No! You weren’t. You were barely in the same ring with me! What was this whole thing about?” Rose gritted his teeth in exasperation.

“Oh, you mean the same way you didn’t punch me in the face?” Brooklyn pointed at his eye. “Going easy on that?”

Rose hissed. “All right. I didn’t want to blow up your eye.”

“So how do you think I felt about that?”

“Point taken.” Rose wiped a large hand over his face. “Maybe this was a terrible idea. We should never have fought each other.”

“Agreed.”

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