Page 10 of Botched

Nathan raises an eyebrow in my direction and nods. “All right. I’m listening.”

Chapter Eight

AURORA

The sound of my phone ringing wakes me up. It takes a second for me to roll over and grab it from my nightstand. Everything hurts. I had a match last night at a small, local promotion. It was a decent match. Pretty sure I hit the railing too hard at some point though. My ribs ache. Shit happens. This is wrestling; it’s going to hurt.

As soon as I manage to get my fingers to wrap around my still-ringing phone, I blindly press the screen in search of the button to answer. “Yeah?” I hold it to my ear, expecting it to be Kai or maybe the bakery, asking me to come in today. No way in hell that’s happening.

“Aurora Bennet? This is Nathan Thorpe.”

Immediately, I sit up in bed. Pain shoots through my ribs but that’s the last thing on my mind right now. Nathan Thorpe is calling me. This is better than a shot of espresso to bring me back to life. “Are you shitting me?” I ask without thinking, then I feel like the biggest idiot in the world.

Instead of hanging up on me, Nathan chuckles. “I’ve spent thelast week watching everything of yours that I could find. I don’t know how you weren’t on my radar already.”

I don’t know how to respond because the only thing I want to do is squeal with excitement. He’s probably going to offer me an opportunity to be enhancement talent, one of those people who show up on TV once and lose immediately, but I’ll take it. An opportunity is an opportunity.

“Um, did you like it?”

What is wrong with you?! That is not how you talk to your dream boss!

Once again, Nathan chuckles. He’s probably regretting this phone call. When I close my eyes, I envision him sitting at some big oak desk in his office at his mansion. He probably has a list in front of him and he’s currently crossing my name off. Reasoning? I sound like a fucking idiot.

“You’re impressive, especially for your age. You have a lot of talent, Aurora, and I think that GRW can help refine that.”

He’s speaking, but I’m on a delay by a few seconds, slowly processing everything that he’s saying. Refining my talent. That doesn’t sound like he’s calling me in to be a local talent jobber or for a dark match, one of the matches that doesn’t even get televised. A warmup for the live crowd. It sounds like…I don’t know how to respond. What if I’m assuming things? What if Nathan is just genuinely this nice to people all the time?

Thankfully, Nathan doesn’t seem put off by my silence. “I’d like to offer you an opportunity, Aurora. It would be a pay-per-appearance contract with the opportunity to stay on if things work out. There’s a storyline already in the works that I think you’d slot into perfectly and we can go from there. Does that sound doable?”

It’s not my dream full-time contract. I’m not going to get my face on the side of a production truck or headline pay-per-views anytime soon, but it’s still an amazing chance. They want me toshow up more than once. There’s already a storyline in mind for me. That’s a good thing. It means they see something in me.

Or maybe I’m just delusional and hopeful at this point.

I nod even though Nathan can’t see it. “Yeah, absolutely doable. Um, when do you want to meet?” I have never had a professional conversation in my life. The bakery was a simplistic ‘do you want a job?’type of situation. Promoters that I’m used to working with deal in handshakes and word of mouth. There are no contracts or big meetings in the world of independent wrestling.

“Rise will be in your neck of the woods next week. How about then? If you give me your email, I’ll have HR send over all the necessary paperwork to get you started and get you backstage. How does that sound?”

“Amazing.”

I give Nathan my email and the call ends. Falling back into my bed, I stare up at the textured ceiling, ignoring my screaming ribs as I let it all wash over me.

I got a job. I’m going to be working for GRW, and Nathan’s never even met me in person.

These bland white hallways always make me feel uncomfortable. It’s not that I think the world should be covered in rainbows all the time or anything. The white just feels so…empty. It could be the place itself. These hallways are haunted. You’ll never be able to convince me otherwise.

A faded sage-green plaque marks room number 153. Before I can step through the door, Janet approaches. Greying brown hair is pulled back into a low bun, and her glasses are sitting on her hawk-like nose. Her maroon scrubs are slightly wrinkled.

“Aurora,” she greets me, her voice stickily sweet.

I’ve never been able to tell whether or not she’s faking it. Is sheactually that nice of a woman, or does she just want me to think she is? Dad has never seemed bothered by her.

“Hm?” I stop and lean against the doorframe, resting the side of my head against the wood. I’m still tired, still sore. “Is everything okay with Dad?”

They’d call if it wasn’t, right? They have to. I’m his emergency contact. They wouldn’t wait until I arrived to tell me that something—stop. I force myself to take a breath. I’m not going to spiral. If I close my eyes, I can hear the quiet hum of Dad’s TV. The TV wouldn’t be on if something was wrong with him.

Janet nods, soothing the remaining worry within me. “He’s fine. He’s been the same as he always is. Catherine thinks that he smiled at her earlier.”

We both know that didn’t happen. Dad can’t smile. Dad can’t do much of anything these days.

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