Page 60 of Mean Machine

Brooklyn moved his jaw. “I’m going with soft food for today. The face is a bit tender. And he got me with a couple body shots I’ll be feeling for a while.”

“You can say what you want about Thorne, but he’s quite a puncher.” Eric glanced back at Nathaniel. “Apologies, sir.”

“That’s fine, Eric. Talk all you like.”

Despite the permission, Eric didn’t, maybe picking up on the loaded silence, maybe concentrating on traffic. Eric knew the whole history, of course. Where Nathaniel and Brooklyn had stood. Few things escaped a guard and driver, and he probably had an opinion.

“The parking situation is sketchy in that street. I could wait around the corner in the car, sir. Text me when you’re leaving.”

“What about breakfast?” It was hard to tell whether Nathaniel was genuine or merely polite.

Eric pulled up in second row in a narrow street. The area looked like South Kensington—all pretty facades. “I’ve eaten, sir.”

“Very well, then, thank you.”

Eric opened the door for them and then got back inside when they were safely on the sidewalk.

Nathaniel led the way towards a brasserie with green-and-gold writing stencilled across the windows. There wasn’t much of a crowd inside, though enough to suggest it was a popular place with ladies who lunched, that breed of stylish young London professional wives who didn’t have a financial care in the world as they nibbled organic salad with friends.

Brooklyn settled at a table for two in a corner, away from the very large windows. Immediately, a waiter breezed past to hand them oversized menus.

Nathaniel unbuttoned his suit jacket and briefly glanced at the menu, then at Brooklyn.

That weird silence again.

Brooklyn remembered how madly attracted he’d been to Nathaniel whenever the man’s mask slipped, but right now he was—yes, very attractive, distinguished, but also remote. A boxer and a lawyer. What could they possibly have in common?

Well, history. And a child.

“So, how’s Hazel doing?”

Nathaniel looked up from the menu, flashing him a smile that was nothing short of relief. “She’s doing really well. Drawing pictures of dogs and horses all day. I can’t tell them apart, but she can.” He winked. “Would you like to see her?”

Wow, that had been easy and quick. Considering how protective Nathaniel was, him coming out with the offer was almost a jolt. Maybe he’d done a lot of thinking about it while sleepless last night. “I don’t have the foggiest how to raise a kid, or what to do.”

“They don’t come with manuals.” Nathaniel paused while the waiter approached and took their orders. “That’s one reason why I hired a nanny. It’s bad enough that I have an intense day job. Quite frankly, when I’m lost, I just ask for help.” Nathaniel’s self-ironic smile indicated his learning curve had been substantial.

“Yeah, I’d like to see her. I mean, she clearly has everything she needs, and I don’t have much to offer, but… I don’t know, I guess blood counts for something?” Though, did it, considering his own family situation? In two generations, from violence and horror to playing innocently on a tropical beach with an adoptive father who’d open every door in the world for her. It would probably be best for her if Brooklyn walked away. Except that wasn’t what he wanted; there was still the niggling feeling that she was in part his responsibility. Who could turn their back on their own child? If he did, he’d always wonder what had happened to her.

“It’s the most fundamental bond between people,” Nathaniel agreed. “And I wouldn’t dream of standing in your way. I respect you, Brooklyn, and I want you to get involved however much you feel comfortable.”

“And if I need help, I ask Nanny.”

“Exactly. That’s settled, then. What’s your plan?”

Their order arrived—a full English for Brooklyn, a ham-and-cheese croissant for Nathaniel, orange juice and coffee for both of them.

“I still want Thorne’s titles. I’ve sacrificed everything to be a boxer, and now I’m not stopping until I am the best bloody boxer alive. And that means going through Thorne.” The pulse in Brooklyn’s throat beat so hard he had to swallow.

Nathaniel frowned and adjusted the serviette on the table. “Well, if you continue boxing, you’ll need a team.”

“Yeah.” Brooklyn took a sip from the orange juice. It was excellent—that near cloying too-sweet taste that spoke of being made from oranges that had actually been ripe at the time of pressing. “And I have nothing. I’ll need a sponsor too.”

Nathaniel folded his hands around his cup. “Considering our history, I’d be happy to make sure you’ll stand on your own feet in that regard.”

Which meant he’d have to rely again on the man. The same man who’d got him his freedom by petitioning the Crown.

“I got nothing else.” Brooklyn looked down at the juice in his hand. “I couldn’t even pay for this.” His stomach roiled.

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