Page 93 of Mean Machine

Nathaniel didn’t respond immediately. Maybe he was digesting the information, or measuring and checking it against his suspicions. They really should have had this chat days or maybe weeks ago, before those doubts could settle in so deeply.

Brooklyn walked through the hotel foyer while Nathaniel seemed to chew on that information like on an ill-fitted gumshield, and sat down heavily in an overstuffed chair in the far end of the vast and, at this time of the night, deserted lobby.

“And maybe that’s part of the problem. You never had that time for yourself. People have always been making demands of you.”

“Yeah, but that’s life.”

“Is it, though?” Nathaniel’s question flattened out with that same flavour of resignation. “You should have the time and space to enjoy what you’ve worked for. I can’t be there because I’m working on a case I can’t step away from, and if we win this, we’re kicking loose an avalanche of similar cases. It’s going to be mayhem for at least another few months, at which point you’re back in training, and I can’t….” Now his voice actually cracked. “I can’t watch you fight and put your life on the line. I just can’t. I’m worrying myself sick. I was beside myself during the Thorne fight. They had to put me on a sedative so I could function. I can’t do that again, not three times, not even once. Do you understand?”

The words all made sense, followed logically from one another, and still came out of nowhere. Some worry was expected and inevitable, but everybody had to overcome it, most of all Brooklyn, or he ran an even higher risk of getting injured in the ring. He’d always given Nathaniel credit for being mentally tough, ever since the man had faced him down fearlessly, had all but crowbarred himself into the life of a violent man for the sake of his daughter. He was smart, tough, rational, but seemingly all of that was cracking, making Brooklyn’s head spin.

“This is my job, Nathaniel. It’s my one shot to be independent.”

“You don’tneedto be independent.” That breath there sounded almost more like a sob, and Brooklyn hated that Nathaniel was suffering, but his own emotions were getting seriously tangled up between worry, compassion, hurt, tenderness, and the need to put his hands up and take the barrage. Except he couldn’t defend against that. No ducking and weaving would help.

If only he could hug Nathaniel close and tell him he’d be all right, that they’d both be all right. That wasn’t something he could really tell him on the phone, though. Maybe he hoped Nathaniel would recover his edge, that this was nothing more than outburst that was out of character. But why hadn’t he brought this up earlier? It wasn’t fair to attack the thing that meant everything to Brooklyn, had kept him going through the darkest years of his life, and tell him, all of a sudden, that it was too much, too cruel.

Life is cruel, Nathaniel. Though your kind never gets to learn that.

And he hadn’t won his freedom to rely on somebody else ever again. Tenderness, respect, hell, even love didn’t change any of that. And it was love, wasn’t it? The way it hurt inside that Nathaniel was suffering, the fact that his rage lay in chains and couldn’t help him now. That his heart beat faster when he saw or heard Nathaniel, or the very fact that he had no interest in anybody else, wasn’t dating anybody else, wasn’t even interested in “Can I buy you a drink,” was perfectly happy to flirt a bit on the dance floor, only for fun, but still walked home alone. That separation that kept him from taking any of the offers, that separation didn’t exist between Nathaniel and him. Somehow, Nathaniel had always got to him, right to the heart.

“So what do you have in mind? I’d be your kept guy? And what if it goes wrong? I have one shot at this. I gave up everything to have this, and you want me to toss it all away?”

“It’s moot now. You signed that contract. You can’t just walk away.”

“I don’t want to walk away. Yes, at first it was about beating Thorne, but now I’m at the top of the game. I have to defend those titles or people think I was a one-hit wonder. There’s people out there who think I became champion because Thorne’s trainer lost his nerve.”

“Let them think that. It’s not like they’re right.”

“It’s not that easy.” Brooklyn grimaced and looked down at his hand, the knuckles white under his scarred and roughened skin. “I’m doing this on my terms. I’m now at my peak, and it would be a damn shame if I didn’t see how far this can take me. It’s a weird gift, beating people for money, but it’s the only gift I have.”

Gulping breaths on the other side, and Brooklyn would have given everything to be able to make Nathaniel understand, help him deal with this, tell him it didn’t change anything between them. As resourceful as Nathaniel was, it seemed he’d very much reached his limits, or at least couldn’t hide anymore how much the fear took out of him. “But you understand I can’t do this? I thought I could, but that last fight….”

“I have no idea what that feels like. Of course I worry about getting hurt. But once I’m in the fight, all of that is gone. The fear stays outside.” Brooklyn closed his eyes and leaned forward, supporting his brow on his hand, making himself small in that large chair. “But if I were still a copper, you’d have to worry about me getting stabbed under the vest or in the throat, or shot at.” Shelley had had nightmares about it until she’d—somehow—managed to cope with it. Maybe he’d underestimated how much it had weighed on her, and how awful that it had been his sentencing that had been the final straw.

“Or a firefighter. Or a soldier, I know,” Nathaniel said in a small voice. “And maybe—” God, another one of those wet breath-sobs. “—maybe me being like that isn’t good for you either. This is something you clearly want to do, apparently need to do, though I can’t quite understand why, though I’m trying so hard.”

“You’re a brave man, Nathaniel.” The only response was a sob-laugh. “You actually are.”

“Maybe, I don’t know. Maybe it’s best if I do step away. If we give each other space and time to sort out our own lives. You get to fight, and I’ll do what I do best, which is bury myself in work.”

Liver punches hurt less than that.“Are we splitting up?”

A big, heavy, heavy sigh. “It feels like we already did, doesn’t it? We’ve barely talked. I want to be able to… stop worrying. Stop wanting you to be here instead. Stop cringing with every blow you take in the ring. I hate those crowds cheering when you get hurt. I actually hate total strangers who feed on your pain, or that of anybody. That sound that they made when you got knocked down…. They don’t even care who gets hurt, as long as somebody does. It’s nothing but glee and bloodlust. Sometimes I hate humanity.”

“Yeah, it’s not pretty.” Brooklyn pressed his lips together, surprised at how much it hurt, at how much Nathaniel’s anguish reverberated through him. They should really be in the same room, should have been able to read each other’s small and large cues. A hug might not repair any of this, and a kiss wouldn’t paper it over, but doing this on the phone was agony. And it seemed the decision was already made, and hearing how badly Nathaniel was torn about it made his stomach clench. He hated the fact that he’d hurt Nathaniel—the man had never signed up for getting put through the wringer like that. By rights, he should have no other worries in his life than whether he’d get Hazel a rabbit now or wait another year. At the same time, Brooklyn couldn’t throw it all away. He couldn’t. Still, what it meant stunned him worse than a knockout punch. The consequences. Living differently, without that gentle anchor that pulled him back home. “Home” would be a hotel room. And the ring.

“Is that all right? Stop here for the moment. It would free us both up to do what we need to do, and I don’t want to be the remote jealous boyfriend. That’s not me. And maybe, I don’t know, pick things up when times have changed.”

But will they change?

Brooklyn’s head didn’t yield a single clear thought. Maybe because he had no experience at all with breaking up. He’d only once made a commitment like that, and all the other stuff had been a lot more casual, with no expectations and no claim over the other. Well, and now he knew it hurt just as much breaking up with a man as it hurt when his marriage had been annulled. Though it had probably failed even before that, and he hadn’t even noticed.

“Brooklyn?”

“Yeah. I’m here. I don’t know what to say. You know I’m doing the best I can.”

“Yes, I know.” Nathaniel seemed to gather himself a bit. He still sounded fragile, but no longer wrecked with emotion. The same person who’d told him he sometimes hated humans now sounded raw, but no longer hateful. “So am I. It’s not really our fault. Sometimes life does what it does and drives people apart. As long as we manage to talk about it, and approach this like adults, we’re both doing well.”

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