Page 90 of Mean Machine

“I know I said I’d come back this week, but things here are heating up somewhat, with the negotiations and everything. The doctors would like to keep me here as well so they can monitor how things are going.”

“Oh.” Nathaniel fell silent and didn’t speak for what seemed like a very long time. “When do you think you can come home?”

“I honestly don’t know. The next scan is next week, but there’s interviews happening, and if I do need an operation, we might just as well get it done here. They have a great specialist locally.”

“All right.” It was Nathaniel’s “resigned but rational” tone. “Keep me updated, please. Any news on the injuries?”

“Nothing. We’re waiting for the swelling to go down.”

“I’m not even sure I want to see that,” Nathaniel said suddenly. “It was bad enough when you left the ring.”

“And that was before the black and purple and green shades.” Brooklyn chuckled. “I look like a damn Pride parade.”

No laughter from the other side. “Well, I did have a moment to read the contract that Cash sent over. My caveat is this: I’m not a specialist, US law is quite a bit different, and there’s likely a lot I’m missing, but I did have a more suitable colleague go through it, and she pointed out a few things.”

“Okay. So how bad is it? Cash sent it to a law firm, but I’m interested what you think.”

“Well, itisa contract.” Nathaniel paused, then seemed to rifle through papers. “Ultimately, UPTFN will call the shots, and there’s all kinds of stuff in the fine print. The only way for you to get the money is if you deliver all three fights, and there are some pretty draconian break clauses in there. There’s no way to get out beforehand, unless you get very badly hurt or killed, and even then, your heirs would have to refund part of the money.”

“Still not too bad. The boxing associations also get a few words in on that—if they refuse to clear me or there’s some political bullshit about my licence….”

“Yes, but while you deliver those three fights, they practically own you. They decide who you fight, for example, so it’s really between them and the boxing associations.”

“For that money, I’d fight an alligator, a polar bear, and a tiger.”

“Don’t you feel a little uneasy about basically accepting terms not unlike corporate stewardship again? You had a lucky escape, but no royal pardon will get you out of this one.”

Wow, thanks for bringing that one up. I’d almost forgotten.“Except this time I’m not going to have to fuck fans and I’ll actually get paid?”

“Except that.” Nathaniel gave a deep sigh. “You’ll be nothing but a gladiator, owned by a master who’s only interested in maximising their profits. That’s… I don’t know, maybe I’m overthinking this, but that can’t be good. To these people I fear you’d almost be a better story dead than alive.”

“You’re right. You are overthinking this.”

“Possibly. Anyway, that’s my input.”

“I’ll keep it in mind. Thanks for looking at it. I’m sure Cash can push back against some of the nasty shit. Besides, this isn’t forever, and it’s a lot of money.”

“Money you don’t strictly need anymore.”

“I got my purse, but this contract is ‘sorted for the rest of my life’ money.”

“You don’t even need that. I’m not poor by any means. You don’t have to fight to keep food on the table.”

“So you’re freaking out because I want to be independent? I don’t want your money, Nathaniel. I can make my own.”

“Fine.” Oh, now he was actually pissed off, but Brooklyn felt Nathaniel had pushed him around long enough. He needed to be shown there was a line that he should never, ever cross. “It was just a thought.”

Thoughts aren’t words, Nathaniel. Keep them to yourself.

“I appreciate that.”

“I better get back to this stack of files. Keep me up to date on your plans, and I hope you heal up quickly.”

“Thanks.”

Nathaniel ended the call, and Brooklyn put the phone down, unsure why he felt awful. This wasn’t the first time they’d disagreed about something, but likely the first time they’d had totally different views about a major decision—and being out of synch like this was a strange, grinding friction.

VARIOUS LAWYERShad battled over the contract for two weeks, but at least it was done when he put his signature on the dotted line. The medical all-clear had come in the middle of the negotiations. The mandated brain scan unearthed neither shadows nor lesions. And the surgeons held that he likely didn’t need an operation, though cautioned him about further damage to the facial bones.

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