Page 44

44

When I wake up, rage is the first thing that hits me. It claws its way through my chest, demanding to be felt. Last night should have been my night. I should be waking up with the UXW Championship belt beside me, the weight of it a reminder of everything I’ve worked for. Instead, all I have is this empty bed, the bitter taste of failure, and lingering regret.

Kyle is still the champion.

The thought twists in my gut, sharper than the bruises covering my ribs, deeper than the cuts carved into my face. I replay the match in my head—every moment, every misstep—and it only fuels the fire. I let that bastard get the better of me. He outplayed me with those damn brass knuckles.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand. Brian. Again. I send him straight to voicemail for the third time today. I already know what he’s going to say. “It wasn’t your time, Ryan. You’ll get another shot.” I can’t hear that right now, not without losing it. Not when he filled my head with doubt days before the biggest match of my career.

I sit up, muscles screaming in protest, and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. The room is dark, heavy, suffocating. I need to move.

I push myself to my feet, every step toward the bathroom a reminder of the war my body has been through. When I flip on the light, the brightness is harsh, exposing every inch of damage.

I brace my hands against the sink and look at myself in the mirror.

I look like hell.

A jagged cut slices across my cheekbone, dried blood crusted at the edges. My lip is split, swollen, the deep purpling along my jawline proof of Kyle’s brass-knuckled cheap shot. My ribs ache with every breath, bruises blooming in ugly shades of black and blue across my torso.

I run a hand through my hair, gripping the back of my neck, my pulse hammering beneath my fingertips. This is what I do to myself. This is what I’ve always done. I push, I punish, I chase after something just out of reach, breaking myself in the process.

And Natalie.

That’s the worst part of it all. I let her go. I told myself it was for the best, that she deserved more than I could give her, that I needed to focus on the next steps of my career—but now, I have neither.

I tighten my jaw, shoving the thought away.

I drag myself out of the bathroom, shove on my gear, and hit the gym.

For two days straight, I train like a man possessed. My body aches, but I don’t let up. I push harder, faster, as if I can somehow outwork the pain, the shame, the misery that’s eating me alive.

But no matter how hard I go, I can’t outrun the weight of what I’ve lost.

By the time Travis shows up at my front door, I’m not even surprised.

“You look rough, bro.”

I grunt. “Thanks, Trav. Just what I wanted to hear.”

I step aside to let him in, and he saunters past me, all glossy blonde hair and those damn dimples that make him look more like a movie star than a wrestler. He drops onto my couch like he owns the place, kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

I sink into the chair across from him, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees. He doesn’t say anything for a while, just watches me with that knowing look, like he’s waiting for me to spill.

When I don’t, he finally says it. “Natalie.”

The sound of her name hits me like a punch to the gut. My jaw tightens. “What about her?”

“She left, man. She’s done. Packed up and went home.”

I try to keep my face neutral, but I can feel the shift, the tightening in my chest. “It’s for the best.”

Travis raises an eyebrow. “Is it?”

“She’ll be better off without me. She’ll move on.”

Travis leans forward, resting his arms on his knees. “You really hurt her, dude. You know that, right?”

I nod, the weight of it settling over me again. “If we kept going, I would’ve done more than hurt her. I’d destroy her. Relationships aren’t for me, Trav. I knew that, and I tried anyway. Look where it got us. I should have never started anything with her to begin with, that’s on me.”

“Bullshit.”

I glance up at him, surprised by the sharpness in his tone.

“You’re not destined to be alone, man. That’s just the crap you tell yourself, so you don’t have to deal with your feelings.” He leans back, shaking his head. “You deserve to be happy, Ryan. You’ve got to stop sabotaging yourself. You’re a better man than this.”

I grunt, leaning back in the chair, my eyes on the ceiling. “Happiness is a distraction. I’ve got one goal, Trav. Everything else is noise.”

Travis snorts. “You keep telling yourself that.”

We spend the rest of the day together. Travis sticks around, probably because he knows I won’t reach out even if I’m drowning. We put on a couple of Fast & Furious movies, the kind of over-the-top action that’s just mindless enough to distract me for a while. We don’t speak, we just sit together in silence, staring at the tv screen. I think Travis knows how grateful I am to have him there, even if I can’t say the words myself.

When dinner rolls around, we order pizza, a rare indulgence for me. Travis makes a joke about how I’m finally loosening up, but I’m not in the mood for banter. The truth is, the pizza tastes like nothing, and I can’t stop thinking about her. Every time I close my eyes I see her.

Later, after Travis leaves, I start packing for my next show. Connecticut. Another city, another crowd, another chance to climb my way back to the top. But as I zip up my bag, I can’t shake the hollow feeling in my chest.

I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at my phone. Her name is right there, so easy to tap, to call, to fix this. But I don’t. I can’t.

I’m supposed to be focused on the championship, on my career, but all of it feels meaningless now. Natalie’s face keeps haunting me, her voice, her laughter, she’s fucking everywhere.

I run a hand through my hair, trying to clear my head. I’ve got a flight in the morning, and I need to get my mind right. But as I lie down and close my eyes, all I see is her.

And I know, no matter how hard I try to push her out, she’s not going anywhere.