Page 129 of Wild Side
I cross my arms and quirk a brow at him, somehow doubting that’s the case. I know better than anyone that if Tabitha dislikes you, she isn’t easy to win over. “What did you say to her on Saturday?”
He turns to grin at me, tossing out a little wink. “Why? You worried?”
I just continue glaring. I know I can look imposing whenever I try, and I fall back on it often.
He throws a towel at me. “Dude. You are terrifying when you do that. All I said was it was nice to meet her, even though she hates me.”
I sigh and roll my eyes at him. This fucking kid. “Only you would think that was the moment for that conversation.”
A roadie pops their head into the dressing room. “Wild Side, you’re up. Show starts in two. Will, wouldn’t hurt for you to follow.”
“Thanks.” I tip my chin at Will. “You ready?”
“To ambush you and get my ass beat publicly again? Yeah, I love it so much.”
I clap his shoulder on the way past. “You’ll get it back. Or another belt. You’re not a flash in the pan, kid. Up and down, weride it out. Just keep working hard, and I know you’ll have a hell of a career.”
He blinks at me, face blank. “My god, marriage has made you so soft.”
This time, I punch him in the shoulder, and he laughs as I depart and make my way down to the ring.
My entrance is sweeter than usual with a shiny new belt slung over my shoulder. I’ve got my mask on because I still feel more confident with it. More like Wild Side and less like Rhys Dupris. The reveal was exciting in some ways, but I still feel my best in the ring with it on.
I usually take my time entering, but tonight I really soak it up. I’ve got my freshly branded tee on, and all I have to do is chat a bit and then fend off a bitter ex-champion who just can’t let go of the spotlight.
Overall, an easy night.
Mic in hand, I press the middle rope down to step into the ring.
When the crowd finally quiets, I hold the mic up to my mouth. “Anaheim! Welcome! To the Wild Siiide!”
A few chants oftake it offstart up, but I wave them away, the gold on my left ring finger glinting under the arena lights.
“It feels good to be back here, especially with what has always been and will always be…mine.” I point to the belt. “That’s right. I know it. You know it. Santa Claus knows it. Hell, even Little Willy’s mom knows it.”
I smirk, pushing my tongue into my cheek as the crowd laughs and cheers. The mom jokes just never get old.
“This belt is back where it belongs. Willy isn’t here tonight to see me wearing it, but when he’s done licking his wounds in whatever hole he crawled back into”—the crowd shouts, and I know he’s creeping up behind me—“you better believe I’m going to rub his smug little face in?—”
A chair cracks me against the back, and I stagger forward, pitching the mic from my palm as I reach for my lower back with a look of agony on my face. The crowd noise reaches me on a delay, but I can hear their shouts. It never fails to drive me onward. “Came back for seconds did, ya?” I shout at Will, right before he clocks me with a high kick of his own.
Eager little fucker has been practicing.
I swipe a hand over my cheek before dropping and rolling under the bottom rope, seeking a reprieve at the side of the ring. I double over, which fans in the crowd shout at me not to do. But this is the plan. This is what we walked through.
I stand up just in time to see Will has left the ring and is standing on the banister next to the announcer’s booth. From a standstill, he backflips toward me. He’s supposed to twist in the air so he’s horizontal, and I’m going to catch him and turn the stunt on him.
I can tell midair that he’s misjudged the jump and taken off too early. I move back, trying to cover for it, to give him more time. But we collide harder than necessary, and when I fall back, I hit the edge of the metal stairs at an awkward angle. My mid-back takes the full brunt of his two-hundred-twenty-pound body.
A hot blaze of pain hits me hard and fast, and then it’s gone. Lights flash in my eyes when my head follows, hitting the ledge on the way down.
I crumple with him on top of me. I try to roll away… but my legs don’t seem to respond.
Will whispers, “Fuck, sorry. You okay?” as he gets up.
Dread chokes me, and words don’t come.
But I do manage to wiggle my pinky finger.
