Page 13 of Heartbreaker
Even though Harper knows about his crush, she doesn’t give him the time of day, which is probably for the best. And that’s the one nice thing I have to say about her.
“You want to tell me why you’re here so early, Wolf?” Raelynn asks for the second time this morning, walking out of the locker room. As if on cue, one of the steel double doors swings open and Fata walks in, followed by a man in a deep maroon-colored suit. Xander Collins, Head of Talent Relations. The same man who called to offer me a job at Elite Wrestling Entertainment last year.
“Wolf,” Fata yells our way. “Office. Now.” Raelynn and I look at Bennett, but he ignores our wide-eyed stares and nods at the legend. “Mornin’, ladies,” Fata adds before he disappears back out the door with Xander and Bennett on his heels.
“What the fuck is going on?” Raelynn asks.
“Do you think…” I trail off. There are only two reasons I can think of why FataandTalent Relations would want to talk to Bennett together. One, he’s in trouble, which I don’t think is the case; or two, he’s being moved up.
“Okay, ladies,” Juliet calls out, returning to the ring room. “Let’s do some warm-ups. Start with some rope running, bumps, and then ten up-and-overs.”
“You’re out for blood early today, Juliet,” Rae calls over her shoulder, rolling into one of the rings. I chuckle, sliding beneath the bottom rope of a nearby one. On mornings like this, when we have the whole place to ourselves, we like to split up. With a special show tonight—appropriately named Hell Night in honor of it taking place on Friday the 13th—most of our comrades won’t be training today because they’ll be preparing for their matches. Bennett is supposed to be taking on Asher Slade for the NextGen title, which he was supposed to win, but now I’m wondering if that’s still going to happen.
On the outside, rope running looks easy. That’s what I thought, anyway, until I did it. Do you know what makes up the ropes of the squared circle? Steel cables encased in a rubber hose and sealed with colored electrical tape. On one hand, it doesn’t sound so bad until you hit them the wrong way and those ropes bite back. The bruises I had after tryouts were enough to make me respect anyone who steps foot in a ring, regardless of whether I made it or not.
“Five laps, ladies. And I want clean footwork, got it?” The last part is meant more for Raelynn, but I appreciate the reminder. “And don’t bounce off them like a damn trampoline. Respect the ring and it will respect you.”
From the center of the canvas, I take a few running steps forward and reach out with my right arm to grab the top rope and pivot, leaning into the ropes. There isn’t much give before they snap back, launching me forward into a rebound. Three large steps, and I reach for the top rope on the other side, pivot, and lean in.One. I count the beats between rebounds, now a fluid motion that makes me feel like I’m walking on air. Normally, we’d be doing this with two people, running in opposite directions, and if you’re not paying attention or fall behind, you’re likely to collide with your ring partner.
“Start over, Rae!” I overhear Juliet yell. “You’ve been doing this long enough. You should know your footwork better than Savannah.”
Rae has been a wrestler for almost five years, joining one of the indie promotions at eighteen. Despite all of the miles she’s put on the canvas over the years, you can always count on Raelynn Carson to mess up her footwork at least once a day. Being a wrestler was always her dream, despite the one her parents had for her. They wanted her to be a doctor or a lawyer or a CEO…anything other than a wrestler. She says they came around to the idea a year or so after they watched her first match, but I’m not sure I believe her—she didn’t sound that convincing.
Finishing lap five, I come to a stop in the center of the ring, chest heaving, arms burning. My system is already buzzing with adrenaline.
“Hit the mat, Williams. You’re not done yet.”
On command, I fall back onto the mat. Arms out, chin tucked, spine flat. Bumps are one of the first things you learn how to do when you walk through these doors, because taking a fall properly minimizes the risk of serious injury. If you hit a hard landing wrong, it can change your entire life in the blink of an eye.
“Again,” Juliet calls out to me before she tells Rae to hit the mat. “Already winded, Carson?”
I scramble to my feet and do it again. Up. Down. Up. Down. Seventeen more times to make twenty total. By the time I’m done, my legs tremble, aching from the impact of each hit, but I force myself up anyway. Wrestling is a business built on pain. There is no escaping it. You learn to live with it, but practice to avoid and minimize serious injury. Practice is protection. The hesitation that comes along with trying something new is merely a mental hurdle, one that I can’t let stop me, because that’s the difference between protecting myself and the other person in the ring.Get out of your head or get out of my ring, as Fata says.
Without looking my way, Juliet says, “Hit the ropes again, Savannah. Then, when you’re done, get over here with Rae and do the up-and-overs together.”
One—two—three strides, reach for the rope, and pivot. It’s clean, shoulder turned, with my right elbow over the top rope. The rebound hits harder this time, sending me forward. I let its momentum fuel my pace. Sweat soaks through my shirt as I cross the ring again. Tight. Controlled. Crisp. Moves that prove I belong here just as much as anyone else, and just because I didn’t spend the last five years on the indie circuit, I can still be as good as them. On the days when I wake up sore and tired, I remind myself that I have to work harder than the others. People looked at me like I was someone who would fade to black when I took my first bump. Well, joke’s on them. While I don’t know how to do everything or understand everything on the first try, I do whatever it takes to prove I belong here and get stronger in the ring. Besides, who cares what the others think, as long as the trainers and the company see improvement?
“That’s how you run.” Juliet claps. “Beautiful, Sav. Keep it up and you’ll be able to outrun the rest of the roster.”
Hitting the ropes one last time, I land in the center of the ring and suck in a large breath. When I look over at the ring Raelynn occupies, she’s starting her second round of ropes, and I hope she doesn’t fuck it up this time. Then again, maybe I do—Julietmightlet me breathe for a second.
It’s a smooth transition sliding beneath my ropes and straight under the ones of the ring next to mine. I prop myself up in the corner and watch her feet, counting the beats of her steps as the ropes slingshot her forward.
“Nicely done that time, Rae,” Juliet says. “Alright, get into the up-and-overs.”
I roll my shoulders and crack my neck before Rae and I lock up. Our fingers latch around the backs of our necks and elbows in a collar-and-elbow lock-up. I backpedal into the corner before she breaks the hold, grasping my arm to prepare for a whip. She tries to launch me forward, but I plant my feet, turn my hips, and reverse the momentum to send her flying toward the opposite corner—Irish Whip. She runs straight into the corner, gripping the rope on either side of the top turnbuckle, and jumps. Her legs come up to her chest before she kicks back, and I run beneath her legs into the turnbuckle.
“Lock it up,” Juliet yells, and we do, starting the sequence over again. This time, Raelynn reverses my hold and slingshots me across the ring. “Closer grip, Savannah.” My hands automatically adjust, moving in tighter to the top turnbuckle before I jump, lifting my knees to my chest and then kicking out as Rae moves under me. We do that ten more times each before Juliet calls it.
By the time we’re finished, Bennett walks back through the double doors, and when his gaze lifts from the floor to meet ours, a shit-eating grin splits his face.
Raelynn grips the backs of my thighs, lifting my feet off the mat in a double-leg takedown. Not wasting time, she forces me to roll onto my stomach. Dropping my legs, she sits on my back and wraps my arms around her thighs. She laces her hands together beneath my chin and pulls back—the pressure extending my neck and torso. Raelynn’s choice of landing spot, while not perfect, is still optimum for the chance to grab the bottom rope and force her to break the submission hold. Hands outstretched, I grasp the air, narrowly missing the bottom rope. Realizing her error, Raelynn releases her grip, and I barely catch myself before I face-plant into the canvas. She kicks my side twice and drags me to the center of the ring before reapplying the hold, showing little mercy in her movements.
“What do you say, Sav?” Juliet questions from underneath the bottom rope. My only answer is a furious headshake.
“C’mon, Sav. Tap!” Rae’s voice echoes, pulling back further. I attempt to lift my left leg, trying to stand, but fail. “Tap!”
“Gotta do something, Sav,” Juliet says.
