Page 8

Chapter Eight

AURORA

T he sound of my phone ringing wakes me up. It takes a second for me to roll over and grab it from my nightstand. Everything hurts. I had a match last night at a small, local promotion. It was a decent match. Pretty sure I hit the railing too hard at some point though. My ribs ache. Shit happens. This is wrestling; it’s going to hurt.

As soon as I manage to get my fingers to wrap around my still-ringing phone, I blindly press the screen in search of the button to answer. “Yeah?” I hold it to my ear, expecting it to be Kai or maybe the bakery, asking me to come in today. No way in hell that’s happening.

“Aurora Bennet? This is Nathan Thorpe.”

Immediately, I sit up in bed. Pain shoots through my ribs but that’s the last thing on my mind right now. Nathan Thorpe is calling me. This is better than a shot of espresso to bring me back to life. “Are you shitting me?” I ask without thinking, then I feel like the biggest idiot in the world.

Instead of hanging up on me, Nathan chuckles. “I’ve spent the last week watching everything of yours that I could find. I don’t know how you weren’t on my radar already.”

I don’t know how to respond because the only thing I want to do is squeal with excitement. He’s probably going to offer me an opportunity to be enhancement talent, one of those people who show up on TV once and lose immediately, but I’ll take it. An opportunity is an opportunity.

“Um, did you like it?”

What is wrong with you?! That is not how you talk to your dream boss!

Once again, Nathan chuckles. He’s probably regretting this phone call. When I close my eyes, I envision him sitting at some big oak desk in his office at his mansion. He probably has a list in front of him and he’s currently crossing my name off. Reasoning? I sound like a fucking idiot.

“You’re impressive, especially for your age. You have a lot of talent, Aurora, and I think that GRW can help refine that.”

He’s speaking, but I’m on a delay by a few seconds, slowly processing everything that he’s saying. Refining my talent. That doesn’t sound like he’s calling me in to be a local talent jobber or for a dark match, one of the matches that doesn’t even get televised. A warmup for the live crowd. It sounds like…I don’t know how to respond. What if I’m assuming things? What if Nathan is just genuinely this nice to people all the time?

Thankfully, Nathan doesn’t seem put off by my silence. “I’d like to offer you an opportunity, Aurora. It would be a pay-per-appearance contract with the opportunity to stay on if things work out. There’s a storyline already in the works that I think you’d slot into perfectly and we can go from there. Does that sound doable?”

It’s not my dream full-time contract. I’m not going to get my face on the side of a production truck or headline pay-per-views anytime soon, but it’s still an amazing chance. They want me to show up more than once. There’s already a storyline in mind for me. That’s a good thing. It means they see something in me.

Or maybe I’m just delusional and hopeful at this point.

I nod even though Nathan can’t see it. “Yeah, absolutely doable. Um, when do you want to meet?” I have never had a professional conversation in my life. The bakery was a simplistic ‘ do you want a job?’ type of situation. Promoters that I’m used to working with deal in handshakes and word of mouth. There are no contracts or big meetings in the world of independent wrestling.

“Rise will be in your neck of the woods next week. How about then? If you give me your email, I’ll have HR send over all the necessary paperwork to get you started and get you backstage. How does that sound?”

“Amazing.”

I give Nathan my email and the call ends. Falling back into my bed, I stare up at the textured ceiling, ignoring my screaming ribs as I let it all wash over me.

I got a job. I’m going to be working for GRW, and Nathan’s never even met me in person.

These bland white hallways always make me feel uncomfortable. It’s not that I think the world should be covered in rainbows all the time or anything. The white just feels so… empty . It could be the place itself. These hallways are haunted. You’ll never be able to convince me otherwise.

A faded sage-green plaque marks room number 153. Before I can step through the door, Janet approaches. Greying brown hair is pulled back into a low bun, and her glasses are sitting on her hawk-like nose. Her maroon scrubs are slightly wrinkled.

“Aurora,” she greets me, her voice stickily sweet.

I’ve never been able to tell whether or not she’s faking it. Is she actually that nice of a woman, or does she just want me to think she is? Dad has never seemed bothered by her.

“Hm?” I stop and lean against the doorframe, resting the side of my head against the wood. I’m still tired, still sore. “Is everything okay with Dad?”

They’d call if it wasn’t, right? They have to. I’m his emergency contact. They wouldn’t wait until I arrived to tell me that something— stop . I force myself to take a breath. I’m not going to spiral. If I close my eyes, I can hear the quiet hum of Dad’s TV. The TV wouldn’t be on if something was wrong with him.

Janet nods, soothing the remaining worry within me. “He’s fine. He’s been the same as he always is. Catherine thinks that he smiled at her earlier.”

We both know that didn’t happen. Dad can’t smile. Dad can’t do much of anything these days.

“We’re…your father may need more care than we can provide, Aurora,” she finally says.

I know what she’s getting at. Dad should be somewhere better than this. Mission Health Rehabilitation is a good rehab center for patients who are recovering after a stroke. Except Dad’s been having complications during his recovery. He’s not progressing like the doctors expect. He needs more personalized care, something that Mission Health can’t give him.

Money is a problem, though. Everything’s been paid for with his barely-there savings, and the money I manage to save up between wrestling and working at the bakery. The money is dwindling to the point where I’m worried about how I’m going to continue paying for everything.

“I know. Thank you,” is all I say to Janet before I slip into his room.

More white. White walls, white tile floors that are scratched to hell and back. The hospital bed is white, the sheets are white – at least his blanket is a faded shade of blue. A few more washes and I worry that it’ll also turn white or fall apart completely.

A glance at the TV makes me scoff. “Did Catherine put the news on for you?” I ask, knowing full well that Dad can’t respond. He hasn’t responded for months now.

I pull up one of the torn, red leather chairs—a point for them not being white—and put it by his bedside. Dad’s eyes barely track my movements. They almost flick toward me before going back straight ahead.

His blond hair has been freshly combed away from his face. He has a few days’ worth of stubble on his cheeks. I need to talk to Janet about that before I leave. Dad never liked having stubble. He’s always been clean-shaven.

“I promise I’ll put your movie on in a minute. There’s something I want to tell you.” I reach out and grab one of his hands. I feel the warmth, a reminder that he’s still there, but he doesn’t squeeze my hand back. That’s okay. He’s still my dad.

“I did it. Sort of. I got noticed by GRW. They want me to be pay-per-appearance right now, but it’s a start. I’m going to be on TV, pushed into some storyline that I haven’t heard anything about yet. But I’m going to prove to them that I’m worth it. Nathan’s going to have no choice but to offer me a damn good contract. I’m going to pay for the best care possible, and you’re going to get better. Then you’re going to come watch me. Front row. Like we always planned.”

Tears threaten to sting the corners of my eyes. This isn’t how I imagined telling him this. I imagined telling him over dinner and seeing Dad’s eyes light up because he gets to see me come closer to reaching my dreams. I don’t get that.

I blink back my tears. Seeing me cry stresses him out, and I don’t want to stress him out.

“You’re going to be able to see me on TV, so make sure you tell Catherine or Janet to turn GRW on on Tuesdays, okay? ”

I almost laugh at myself; I’ll just leave them a note.

Leaning down, I press our interlocked fingers to my forehead. “I… I did it, Daddy,” I whisper. “I did it.”

Okay, no crying. Pull it together. After sucking in a few deep breaths and squeezing my eyes shut, I manage to get my shit together. When I look back up at Dad, I smile. “Okay, we can watch your movie now.”

Grabbing the remote to the TV, I flip to the output for the DVD player. With another press of the button, The Chain by Fleetwood Mac starts. It’s the one thing I know makes him happy these days. It doesn’t matter how many times we watch it. Something flashes in my dad’s eyes as I settle back in the uncomfortable chair, pulling my knees up to my chest and still holding his hand as we watch the concert movie together.