Page 10 of Heartbreaker
I’m here…I made it. I left central Texas, left the Wildcats, left the only life I’ve ever known, and in just a few minutes, I’m going to walk through those doors and officially become an Elite Wrestling Entertainment wrestler. If you want to be technical about it, yes, I became a wrestler the day I signed the contract, but this—standing here in front of the NextGen training center—makes it feelreal. If only sixteen-year-old Savannah could see me now, she might have a heart attack.
The Williams family goodbye was harder than expected, but I’m not sure who it was harder on: me or them. I know (and I think they do, too) it’s for the best. The entire drive from Celestia to Tampa, I was excited and nervous, maybe even a little nauseous, but as we got closer to my new home, the nerves turned into something else…something more raw. Something I can only remember experiencing one other time, in the moments leading up to my very first cheerleading competition.
The Wildcats went on to the Super Bowl, where they lost to New England by a single point. It was a disappointing blow, but at least I can say I cheered on a championship-level team. Whether or not they won doesn’t matter to me; the experience alone was worth the two extra months. After the loss, I spent a few days at home before my parents helped me drive across the country and move into my new apartment.
I don’t know what I expected the training facility to look like, but I know it wasn’t this. The building looks more like a warehouse with solid, white-washed walls and only a few windows in what I think is the lobby area. For an organization that prides itself on being extravagant and over the top, this is extremely underwhelming. Compared to their headquarters in Houston, where they held tryouts, this is the off-brand, prototype version. No, it might be worse than that.
Headquarters was housed in a beautiful building with walls made of glass and a wrestling belt the size of the state of Tennessee sitting on the front lawn. The inside was just as awe-inspiring, with glass walls and stark white floors that shone in the sunlight streaming in from the skylight above. Auditions were held in the basement, where they had a permanent ring set up. It seemed odd at first to house a wrestling ring in the basement of a corporate office, but then again…this is a wrestling empire. Why wouldn’t they have one?
“Fucking hell,” comes from across the parking lot, followed by the slam of a car door. The same voice mutters loudly before I see a woman with long black hair digging through the trunk of a beat-up Volkswagen. She groans, cursing under her breath, and slams the trunk probably harder than necessary. She huffs, crossing her arms, and glares at the car, as if it will magically give her what she wants if she waits long enough.
“You okay?”
“Fine,” she says, finally peeling her stare from the trunk to look at me. “I forgot my damn knee pads, and my hairband just broke, and I can’t wear a damn clip in the ring.” She groans, combing her fingers through her hair. “I don’t feel like dealing with all of this in the ring today.”
“Knee pads?” Was that a requirement? Because if so, I never got the memo.
“Yes! I forgot them…somewhere.” She twists her hair into a quick knot before letting it fall down her back again. “I’m always losing those things. I should buy stock in them at this point because I swear I buy a new set every damn week. I’d lose my head if it wasn’t attached.” Lucky for her, I may not have knee pads, but I do have a spare hairband. Pulling it off my wrist, I offer it to her, and she looks like she could cry when she realizes what it is. “You are my new best friend.” She pulls long, black locks into her hands, threading them through the band in three quick strides, and tightens them into a messy bun on top of her head. She exhales a long, steady breath before extending her hand to me. “I’m Raelynn.”
“Savannah.”
“You’re the cheerleader, right?”
“I’m scared to say yes.”
Raelynn laughs. “I started last week with a few of the others. They told us you’d finally be here today.”
Great, now I’m going to be playing a game of catch-up. I’m already going to be behind, considering I haven’t been doing this for the last ten years. From what I read online, most people who come into this have been wrestling for many years prior. It consumes their life from a young age. Sure, there are a few here and there who have a background in something else—a few models, a few soccer players, a few cheerleaders—but most everyone comes from the “indies.” That’s what they call the independent circuit, or the smaller, more regionalized companies not associated with the bigger ones like EWE. And wouldn’t you know, there are hundreds of them all across the world.
“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be fine.” Raelynn waves her hand in dismissal, with a quiet pfft. “Cheerleading and wrestling are basically the same thing.”
That’s a lie; cheerleading and wrestling are completely different things, but I appreciate the sentiment. I’ve been concerned that my lack of wrestling background and surplus of cheer experience will make it hard for my future colleagues to take me seriously, but Raelynn doesn’t seem to mind at all.
Glancing back at the center, I can’t help but feel like I’m about to walk into a detention center instead of a professional wrestling gym. I ask, “Why does it feel like if I walk in there, I might not walk out?”
“Depending on who’s running the show, you might not.” Raelynn laughs. “It’s better on the inside, I promise. Not as sketchy. Okay, maybe a little sketchy, but it gets the job done.”
“Well, whoever it is, they can’t be any worse than my last assistant coach. I think she was a warden in a previous life.”
“Then you’ll feel right at home with Fata,” Raelynn says, snaking her pale arm around my shoulders. Fata. Why does that name sound so familiar? I consider asking her, but decide not to let my ignorance show within my first five minutes.
“Great, can’t wait,” I say with a tight smile.
“Come on, we’d better get inside. He hates when people are late.”
“Late?” I check my watch. “It’s not even 7:30.”
“First rule: Always be here and in the ring at least fifteen minutes early. That applies to any of the trainers, but especially on the days when Fata is here.”
Did she just say Fata?
Before she guides me inside, Raelynn does one final sweep of the parking lot and sighs. “And let’s hope Bennett shows up on time, or you’re going to get one hell of a welcome gift.”
A memory that has been buried deep bubbles to the surface when I step inside the training center and come face-to-face with someone who used to fill the screen of our CRT television on Saturday mornings. Juliet Briggs—one of the biggest names in the history of women’s wrestling. Moments pass before my brain finally catches up to the reality I’m currently living, and I take the hand she extends. That’s the other thing my quick internet search told me. Shake hands with everyone—it’s a sign of respect, and the most important unwritten rule of the sport. Her handshake is soft, yet firm all the same. Juliet is smaller than I thought she’d be, standing about my height, with shoulder-length chestnut hair and warm brown eyes that remind me of my grandmother, but she doesn’t look a day over thirty. I know she has to be in her late thirties, though. It’s been at least thirteen years since the last time I saw her on EWE.
I follow two steps behind the veteran through steel double doors into what I imagine is every wrestler’s dream. It reminds me of the Alder, but instead of a football field, there are three rings placed in a clover pattern. Multiples of every exercise machine you can think of line the far right and bend round the corner, where human-shaped punching bags stand in a line. Black curtains conceal a doorway in the opposite corner, leading deeper into the building, and two steel doors beside it lead into what I imagine are the locker rooms.
After giving me a quick tour, Juliet pokes her head through the curtains. Satisfied, she pulls them to the side and ushers me through. On the other side is a fourth ring, but this one looks cleaner, less exhausted than its counterparts. A black skirt hides the belly of the ring, with the EWE and NextGen logos displayed on alternating sides.
