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The moment I step into the arena, the noise grates on my nerves. The usual hum of conversations, the clattering of equipment, the sharp bursts of laughter from the crew—all of it feels like nails on a chalkboard. My mood? Foul. My patience? Nonexistent. I grunt at Travis, barely acknowledging him as I pass by.

“Whoa,” he says, falling into step beside me. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

“Not now, Trav,” I growl, shoving past a group of rookies who are huddled near the catering table. They part like the Red Sea, their eyes wide as I storm through. Good. They know better than to get in my way tonight.

Travis whistles low under his breath. “Man, you’re really leaning into this grouchy bastard thing, huh? Haven’t seen you like this in a while. You gonna keep snarling at everyone, or do I get to hear what’s really eating you?”

I shoot him a glare as we reach the locker room. “Drop it, Travis.”

“Fine, fine,” he says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “But you better pull your head out of your ass before you start alienating everyone in this building.”

I don’t respond. Instead, I yank my gear bag out of my locker, the sound of the zipper tearing through the tense silence.

I’m pacing backstage, trying to shake off the restless energy coiled in my muscles, when Brian finally tracks me down.

“You’ve been avoiding my calls,” he says, his tone clipped.

“Didn’t feel like talking to you yet,” I shoot back without looking at him.

Brian sighs, crossing his arms. “Look, I made the call I needed to make. For the storyline to progress. You’ll get another shot, but for right now, this had to happen.”

I spin around, my eyes blazing. “And you didn’t think I deserved to know beforehand? You thought shot after shot with brass knuckles was the best way to go? After the fucking chair shot the other night?”

“You would’ve fought me on it tooth and nail.”

“Damn right, I would’ve! I’ve worked my ass off, done everything you asked, and you couldn’t even be straight with me. You got in my head. Made me feel like I was losing my edge. Was that a part of your game too?” I spit, the anger leaching from me.

Brian steps closer, his voice steady but firm. “You’ll get another title shot, Ryan. Trust the process.”

I slam my locker shut with a loud bang, the sound echoing through the room. “Trust is earned, Brian. And right now, you’re running on empty.” Without another word, I shove past him, heading toward the ring.

The arena is electric, the air thick with anticipation. The moment my music hits, the crowd erupts, but I barely hear them. All I hear is the pounding in my chest, the roar in my head. Three nights. Three nights of stewing in this fury, of replaying every second of that match, of feeling the sting of brass against bone. I’m done waiting.

I step onto the stage, my body rigid with tension, my jaw locked so tight it aches. The arena lights flash overhead, but all I see is the ring, my battlefield. My steps are measured, deliberate, each one fueled by raw aggression. My ribs throb with every breath, my face still carries the marks of war, but I don’t care. Pain doesn’t matter. Not right now.

I storm down the ramp, ignoring the hands reaching out from the crowd, ignoring everything but the fire burning in my chest. My fists clench at my sides as I hit the ring, sliding under the ropes and immediately pushing to my feet. The ring—it’s the only place where this rage belongs. The only place where I can do something about it.

I snatch the mic from the announcer’s hand, my grip white-knuckled, my voice slicing through the chaos.

“Saturday should’ve been my night.”

The crowd explodes again—some cheering, some booing, but I don’t wait for them to settle.

“I should be standing here as your new UXW Heavyweight Champion. But instead, Kyle needed brass knuckles to keep me down. He couldn’t beat me one-on-one. No, he needed a weapon.”

The reaction is deafening, a mix of outrage and support, but I don’t let it slow me down. I pace the ring like a caged animal, my chest rising and falling with controlled fury.

I grip the mic tighter, my voice dripping with venom.

“Kyle, get your ass out here.”

No more talking. No more waiting. This ends tonight.

The lights dim, and Kyle’s ominous entrance music fills the arena, a loud shriek erupting through the arena before the booming bass. Smoke billows around the stage as he steps out, green lights moving across the sea of fans, the championship belt is slung arrogantly over his shoulder. He walks slowly, deliberately, like he owns the place. The crowd loses their minds, the energy in the arena electric. What do they see in this guy other than a flashy entrance?

Kyle climbs into the ring, staring me down as he raises the belt high above his head. He grabs a mic, his smirk widening. “You’ll never be champion, Ryan. You don’t have what it takes.”

My eyes narrow, my grip tightening on the mic. “Funny. That’s not what you were saying when you were picking your teeth up off the mat last night.”

The crowd pops, and Kyle’s smirk falters.

“You can run your mouth all you want,” I continue, stepping closer until we’re chest to chest. “But deep down, you know the truth. Without those brass knuckles, you wouldn’t have walked out of here with that belt.”

Kyle’s eyes darken, and he shoves me back slightly with his shoulder. “You’ll never get the chance to find out.”

That’s it. My fist flies before I even realize what I’m doing, connecting squarely with Kyle’s jaw. The mic drops with a thud as he stumbles back, but he recovers quickly, charging at me.

The next few minutes are chaos. We’re throwing punches, grappling, slamming each other into the ropes. Security floods the ring, at least ten of them, trying to pry us apart. It takes everything they’ve got, but they finally manage to drag us to opposite corners.

The crowd is on their feet, chanting, screaming, feeding off the energy.

As I’m escorted backstage, my blood still pumping, I know this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

I’m still fuming when I storm into the locker room, slamming my fist against the wall. Travis is waiting for me, leaning against the row of lockers, his arms crossed and a calm but unreadable expression on his face.

“Feel better?” he asks, arching a brow.

“Not even close,” I snap, pacing like a caged animal. My fists clench and unclench, the adrenaline from the fight still coursing through my veins.

Travis doesn’t move. He’s quiet, just watching me for a moment before speaking. “You’re acting like an asshole, you know that?”

I stop mid-pace and glare at him. “You here to lecture me?”

“I’m here to tell you the truth,” he says coolly. “You’re letting everyone else dictate your life—Brian, Kyle, hell, even Natalie.”

At the mention of her name, my chest tightens, and I look away, trying to swallow the lump forming in my throat.

“You don’t want to hear this, I get it,” Travis continues, stepping closer. “But I’m going to say it anyway. I know you, Ryan. You’ve been my best friend for years, and I’ve seen you at your best and your worst. I know what happened with your ex messed you up. She tore you down, made you think you weren’t worth loving. And ever since, you’ve been carrying that around like some kind of curse.”

My jaw clenches, and I stare at the ground, every word hitting harder than I want to admit.

“But here’s the thing,” Travis says, his voice softening. “Natalie’s not her. She’s not going to use your past against you. She’s not going to run when things get tough. She saw you, man. The real you. And you know what? She still chose you. She still wanted you. That’s rare, and you threw it away because you were scared. Because for some reason you still think you don’t deserve to be happy. That championship belt, might seem like the most important thing in the world, but had you won last night would you have been happy? Or would something still be missing?”

“I’m not scared,” I growl, but it sounds weak even to me.

“Bullshit,” Travis shoots back, his tone sharper now. “You’re scared because for the first time, someone got past your walls. Someone made you feel something real, and that terrifies you. So, what do you do? You push her away, tell yourself it’s better this way. But it’s not, Ryan. You’re miserable, and you know it.”

I sink down onto the bench, my head in my hands. “It’s better for her,” I mutter. “If we kept going, I’d hurt her even more. I’m not built for this, Trav. I’m not built for relationships. It’s for the best.”

Travis crouches down in front of me, his voice low and full of conviction. “You’re wrong. You’re built for more than just this grind, Ryan. You’re built to love, to protect, to be someone’s rock. And Natalie? She saw that in you before you even saw it in yourself. You think you’re protecting her by staying away, but all you’re doing is breaking both of your hearts.”

I stare at him, my throat tight, unable to respond.

“She believed in you,” Travis continues. “And maybe, just maybe, it’s time you start believing in yourself. Stop hiding behind this ‘lone wolf’ crap. You deserve to be happy, and so does she. You’ve fought for everything else in your life—your career, your respect, your place at the top. Why the hell wouldn’t you fight for her?”

His words settle over me like a heavy weight, and for the first time in days, I feel something shift inside.

Travis stands, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “It’s not too late, man. Go get her back. Fight for her, the way you fight for that damn title. And this time, don’t let her go.”

He walks out, leaving me alone with my thoughts. His words echo in my head, over and over. I don’t deserve Travis.

When I finally get up, it’s with a new resolve burning in my chest.

He’s right. It’s time to stop running. It’s time to fight for what really matters.

And this time, nothing’s going to keep me from her.