Page 58 of Mean Machine

No numbers, no future fights. All remained remote and paled behind the one thing he needed: sleep. But he only really needed sleep so he could be coherent when he met Nathaniel. Hopefully, he wouldn’t make an idiot of himself.

Round 6

BEING FREEto make his own decisions again brought with it a whole new level of complications. Take the hotel: how long was it booked for? On what name?

Brooklyn felt that reluctance pull at his guts—that “convicts shouldn’t ask stupid questions” reflex—which kept him from simply asking reception, as he would have done if he’d never been convicted.

He only owned what he’d been wearing after the fight: one set of clothes, though not one that allowed him to blend in with polite society. In the scuffed training trousers and hoodie, trainers and T-shirt, he looked like one in a thousand barely employed thugs in London.

He leafed through the stack of paperwork that Nathaniel had dropped off last night. Much of it was written in legalese. The royal pardon. Bloody hell, he’d never known it was actually possible.

What now? Or was it truly as easy as this? He’d hungered for freedom for more than three years, and now he felt like an animal that sniffed the open cage door but was too scared to step through.

The phone rang.

Brooklyn jerked around and put the papers down, then reached for the phone. “Yes?”

“Mr Marshall, a Mr Bishop for you.”

“Yes, thanks.”

“Brooklyn?” Nathaniel sounded a touch apprehensive.

“Yes. How are you?”

“I can’t claim I slept a lot last night. What about you?”

“I slept. It’s the waking time I have issues with.” Brooklyn glanced down at his bruised knuckles and flexed his sore hand.

“Care to elaborate?”

“It’s strange. Feels like a whole new life, in a way. Why are you calling?”

“To see if you meant what you said. That was what kept me awake, trying to work out whether you would actually date me or were just overwhelmed after the fight and by your freedom.”

“I’d date you all right.” Brooklyn grinned. “Especially if you buy me breakfast first. I’m dead broke. Don’t even have a fucking toothbrush or fresh underwear.”

“I see how that could be a problem.” Nathaniel had to be rustling with papers, at least that was what it sounded like. “As far as basic toiletries go, ask reception; they’ll be able to help you.”

“I don’t even know who’s paying for the room.”

“I am.” Nathaniel stopped rustling. “Put whatever you need on the room bill. I’ll deal with it.”

“I don’t want—”

“It’s the least I can do.”

Something about that rubbed Brooklyn the wrong way, and it took him a second to work out what it was. “Don’t interrupt me again.”

Nathaniel paused.

“I’m no longer under guard. I can finish my fucking sentences now.”

“Of course. I’m sorry, Brooklyn.” Smooth. Genteel. It did help, though now Brooklyn felt like an arse. Of all people, Nathaniel hadn’t really treated him like a convict.

Except, of course, that he had.

All that baggage would take a while to sort through. But not right now and not on the phone.