Page 94 of Mean Machine

He hadn’t mentioned Hazel at all. Nathaniel would always stand like a lion between Hazel and any pain. So much so that he didn’t even bring her up, but Brooklyn could feel her presence between them. If Nathaniel couldn’t cope with him boxing, then how much would it torment him to think that Hazel might see “one of her dads” die in the ring?

See, Nathaniel? I finally get what’s going on when you’re trying to hide it.

But it also made Nathaniel’s case much more compelling. It was unfair to put that burden on a child, even though he had no intention of dying anytime soon. In boxing terms, this was the TKO. He could do nothing else but take the ref’s count and accept that he was done.

“Agreed. Yeah. Let’s do that. You’re right.”

Nathaniel made a sound halfway between a snort and a sigh. “You can’t imagine how much I hate being right in this case.”

“But you are.”That’s who you are. You’re the lawyer, you’re the smart guy.“It’s the best we can do.”

“Yes. I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you, Brooklyn, even though I won’t be watching your fights.”

“Yeah, don’t. It’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

“Yes. I’ll always be on your side, of course, so don’t be a stranger, all right?”

“Thanks, Nathaniel. You take care.”

The call ended and Brooklyn held the phone in both hands, still curled in on himself, fighting tears, and he actually won. He wasn’t going to lose it, not here, among strangers. This was the kind of punch that came in an early round and made itself felt over the next few, always and constantly sapping his strength and disorientating him, the kind of blow that didn’t allow a comeback. These blows decided a fight as much as a big right hand or a much more overt haymaker that had much more visually dramatic results. Brooklyn managed to lean back in the chair and focused on nothing but his breath for a while.

Round 9

Six months later

THAT LOOKon Reid’s face when he went down was part confusion, part surprise, a little horror, and, Brooklyn thought, a little relief. The man fell like a tree, as if Brooklyn had taken a chainsaw to his ankles, and seemed barely conscious while falling, all heavy and loose limbs with no attempt to brace the fall.

Brooklyn stepped back, shook the sweat from his eyes, chest pumping, raw energy racing through every fibre, that all-powerful feeling, as if he could shoot lightning from his fists. The ref began counting, but Reid didn’t even attempt to move for the first five seconds, then attempted to roll over and get his hands and legs underneath him, looking no more coordinated than a man torn from deep sleep and hopelessly tangled in his sheets.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

KO.

The ref signalled the end of the fight and raised Brooklyn’s hand. The hall erupted in mayhem. Brooklyn watched Reid clamber upright with help from his cornermen, spat out the gumshield, and walked towards him.

“Great fight, Josh. You did great, thank you.”

The other boxer stared at him with some bewilderment, then cracked a smile and briefly separated from his crew to hug Brooklyn. “You’re a mean motherfucker,” he shouted breathlessly into Brooklyn’s ear. “But I love you. You’re great.”

Brooklyn had to laugh, patted the man’s shoulder ungainly with his gloved hand and separated enough to present him to the cameras. “Watch this guy, folks, he’s a great boxer!”

They hugged again, which, considering Reid had had to resort to a lot of clinches once he’d exhausted himself at some point in the fourth round, was now totally different. There was no defensiveness about it, no low short punches that the ref didn’t see, this was just two guys hugging after having given their all.

“Hope to see you for a pint, mate.” Brooklyn watched Reid hobble back to his corner, walking stiffly because the fall had clearly hurt, though nowhere near as badly as the vicious body shots and liver punches. He’d felt when Reid’s leg had simply gone—a sagging, a loss of flex and a noticeable slowdown, and a flicker in his eyes that told Brooklyn Reid knew too.

But at least nobody had been badly injured.

Joseph dried Brooklyn’s face with a clean towel and ran it over his neck, then proceeded to cut the gloves off. “Perfect fight, Brook. Well done. They’ll use that fight to teach people boxing.”

Brooklyn grinned and hugged Joseph as well. “You’re the best, man. Thank you.”

The first camera showed up, and somebody stuck a microphone in his face. The usual questions—any comment on your win, what did you think of your opponent? “Josh is a great fighter. I got him early on, but it was a pretty close fight. And I think I’ve shown that my victory against Thorne wasn’t a fluke. They pulled him out because he’d have got hurt otherwise, but I’ll fight him again. I’ll fight them all.”

A little later, Joseph led him back to the changing rooms and his much-deserved long hot shower. A doctor checked his eyes, and a brain scan would follow, but Brooklyn hadn’t taken any very heavy punches to the head. Reid had grazed him a few times where he’d been injured in the previous fight, and that area was now puffed up and swelling, exactly as the doctors had warned him since it would always be a weak spot, but that also meant he defended that area as best as he could.

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