Page 115 of Mean Machine

After a lot of food, the evening segued seamlessly into the party—it turned out that Cookie and her band were doing very passable, only half-ironic rock and soft rock covers that were danceable even in evening frocks and dresses, and the guests, helped by the open bar, certainly made use of the dance floor.

Every time Brooklyn cast a glance over their guests, he was astonished that both sides of the “family” mingled easily with each other. The most unlikely pairing of the evening was probably Joseph and one of Nathaniel’s elderly uncles talking about the benefits of meditation, and Rose and Em found themselves surrounded by some of Nathaniel’s cousins, who were thrilled to talk about exercise and boxing.

Brooklyn breathed a sigh of relief when Nathaniel showed up with two glasses of juice and handed him one, then rested his free hand in the small of Brooklyn’s back. “What is that look?”

“I’m only glad that our… diverse folks seem to be enjoying themselves.”

Nathaniel blinked, as if he hadn’t even considered that the only nonwhite faces in the crowd were all boxing people. “No, everybody’s on their best behaviour. My family isn’t perfect, but they’re making an effort. I also told them I won’t stand for any drama.”

“It’s perfect for today.” Brooklyn couldn’t help but smile. “But I meant it. I don’t think I can cope with getting married again.”

“Marriage is nowhere near as bad as getting a divorce.” Nathaniel gave an exaggerated full-body shudder. “But I wouldn’t be here if I thought that was going to happen again.” He touched his glass to Brooklyn’s. “Because this time I know exactly what I want and I’m actually getting so much more.”

Brooklyn smiled at that and kissed him again. They stood close together, watching the dancers and swaying with the music, until Brooklyn noticed Hazel, who’d been running around all day with sheer inexhaustible energy, sitting on a chair and looking like she was about to fall over onto the table.

“Somebody really needs to be in bed,” he muttered, handed his glass to Nathaniel, and gathered up the child before she fell asleep. She flopped her arms around his neck, nuzzled against him, and went slack, falling asleep then and there.

He raised his head to Nathaniel to tell him he’d just get Hazel to bed, but his heart flowed over when he saw that look of completely unguarded devotion on Nathaniel’s face when he watched them both. Jesus Christ, they were turning into sentimental fools, but Brooklyn couldn’t help but kiss the side of Hazel’s head.

Nathaniel put their glasses down and came with him to the bedroom, where they both put Hazel to bed, with Brooklyn sliding the sandals off her little feet and Nathaniel covering her with the duvet.

They all but tiptoed out, and Nathaniel closed the door behind them.

“Right, let’s see if Cookie can murder my favourite song,” Nathaniel said, and offered his hand.

Brooklyn took it. “I shudder to think what that might be.”

By the time they returned to the dance floor, Cookie had arrived at the sentimental ballads end of her repertoire, candles were lit everywhere, and the party itself had become a calm, peaceful affair with friendly jokes, affection, and slow dancing, and that was exactly how Brooklyn decided he and Nathaniel would carry on, ideally for the rest of their lives.