Page 40 of Mean Machine

“Yeah.” Would Les really torture him? No, but there was Curtis. Brooklyn exhaled. “What about a gradual decline?” If he went from champion-in-waiting to less than that… and less. Slowly diminishing. Become second-rate, then third, until not even Cash managed to book him a fight? And then wait for Nathaniel to make a bid. People would notice. They could always be spiteful if they connected Nathaniel to the sudden losing streak and sell his contract elsewhere. Like to the Army. And that life would break him for sure.

“Brooklyn, no. You’re on the way to the top. It might be the only chance you’ll get at this. I know you love boxing. You’ve worked so hard for this chance. I can’t ask you to throw all that away for me.”

Yes, defeat the second-best and best boxers in the world. Both had an impressive record, and he’d lived for this chance. In the cold light of day, however, it did feel like a long shot. So much was riding on it. “You have a lot of faith in me.”

Nathaniel got up and stood in front of Brooklyn, grabbed his arms. “Once you beat Odysseus, you have a shot at Thorne. If you beat him, that could be enough to buy yourself out. And if you want to have your old life back after that, then have it. If you want to stay with me, I’d… be pleased.”

“There’s nothing left. No job, no wife….” Brooklyn shook his head. “Fuck, why is this so hard?” Like a rat in a cage, unable to gnaw through any of the bars in front of him. Maybe it was even worse now because he could have something like a life. Now that there was one man out there beyond the cage who gave a fuck about him, who offered to be there. And he wanted to be with Nathaniel, but as equals. But even if Nathaniel managed to buy him out, there was no guarantee Nathaniel wouldn’t sell his contract once he got bored, kicking him out once he became too much trouble. Like fucking Shelley having their marriage annulled when he’d been sentenced. She hadn’t even shown up for the trial. Nobody had.

“Just concentrate on the fight. Don’t worry about what else is going on.”

Brooklyn shook his head, tried to focus, and felt Nathaniel’s hand flat on his chest.

“I know you can do this, Brooklyn. Especially if you want to win. Ignore me. Ignore everybody else. What’s going to happen will happen between Odysseus and you, and nobody will interfere with that.”

Wasn’t that the beauty of boxing? As brutal as it was, it was also very simple.

“But you’ll be there?”

“Yes.” Nathaniel kissed him. “I’m always there, watching you.”

“I SHOULDN’Thave asked to come along.” Nathaniel looked pale on the chair in the corner of the changing room.

Brooklyn tried a smile, but he was tense and apprehensive, withdrawn into his own body, a position he’d have to defend very soon. He felt the pressure of the crowd in the hall above them. Santos had left to get more water, and Brooklyn was unable to do anything but sit there and wait. Another hour until the fight. He stood, moved from foot to foot, like he was skipping, to keep loose and limber.

“How are you feeling?” he asked Nathaniel.

“I thought it was intense out by the ring,” Nathaniel muttered. “I can’t imagine how bad this is for you.”

Yes, it was bad. But he kept all those emotions inside to focus on Odysseus, who, somewhere in the bowels of the venue, was likely doing the same. Two men carrying the weight of forty thousand onlookers, and a lot more via television.

“I threw up before my first pro fight,” Brooklyn said.

“No wonder.” Nathaniel folded his hands between his knees, hunched over, and kept watching Brooklyn. “Does it help if I’m here? Or does it make it worse?”

“No, it’s not good to be alone.”

“You look magnificent, though. Brimming with energy. Dangerous and human and glorious.”

Brooklyn laughed. “You’re full of shit.” The adoration on Nathaniel’s face helped with the nerves. While he didn’t want Nathaniel to watch him get beaten to a pulp, it was good to think one person in the audience would be there for him even if he lost. And that was an odd feeling. Shelley had never really cared enough about the boxing to watch him fight.

He pushed the thought away, glanced at the clock, and sat back down, leaning against the wall, feeling seconds run off him like drops of sweat. He even managed to tune out Nathaniel’s occasional fidgeting.

Resting, being ready and relaxed. It was the closest thing to meditation, sorting through the thoughts in his head. Pushing everything aside that would come between him and victory. Odysseus was a good boxer. A very good boxer, even, hard as anything and much quicker on his feet than Thorne.

The first fight he’d seen of him had been uncanny, because Odysseus seemed to land his most devastating blows when he was moving backward. Like when Ali had downed a charging George Foreman that way, letting the opponent run smack bang right into his fist, the punch itself looking almost like an afterthought, a weak defensive measure, only it was anything but. Counterpunching arsehole.

“Will you be okay?” Nathaniel touched his shoulder.

Brooklyn opened his eyes. “I’ll be good. Want to go grab your seat?”

“I was going to get some fresh air, but yes.”

“Rest of the bill isn’t bad. Maybe watch a fight or two.”

Nathaniel gave a brave smile. “I don’t want to mess with your concentration.”

“Where are you sitting?”

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