INTERLUDE: The First Drop [SS]

Norfolk, Virginia || June 27, 2017

The seashell effect was back – the white noise ringing in his ears doing nothing to drown out the sound of Evan Wolfe's voice. "If you don't work for me, you work against me. Either option, I still own you."

The idea of ownership in any form bothered him, reminding him too much of the darker days he'd been trying to leave behind. He was having the worst sort of déjà vu now and when the elevator doors opened he expected to see his ex-wife Hannah waiting there. For a moment, he hesitated, expecting her to pop out and then Jana had tugged on his hand. This wasn't Anaheim. It wasn't January of 2015 and while he was still doing the same idiotic double bookings he'd been taking back then, he at least wasn't fighting hurt and lying about it.

It was the same damned hotel that had kick-started everything, the one that had put him so on edge he'd even bothered digging, even bothered camping out in Mayfield's office in the first place. Now he followed Jana down the hall in silence, his eyes fixed on the hideous carpet on the floor, making sure that his boots intersected with the red-and-gold swirls at the same point with every step. It was the old fall-back habit, the mental trick to stuff his anxiety back down into that box in his head so he could get the lid back on. Right now, his head was throbbing too much to make that happen, the cut over his eye in the exact same place where Matt Ford had bitten him in 2013. When Jana stopped walking, aware of him lagging, he almost banged into her before looking up with a sheepish laugh.

The present snaps into focus when he does, that disconnected feeling falling away.

"Distracted by the carpet," he murmurs, glancing back down the hall. "You squint a little an' it looks like it's moving."

Jana nods, looking at the cut above his eyes then down at the carpet, squinting. "You're right, it does sorta look like it's moving." She looks up at him and smiles. "I thought you were looking at my ass or my heels, but if the carpet grabs your attention, perhaps I should find the pattern." She holds her hand out, like the woman on the game show Wheel of Fortune that her Uncle Vince likes so much. "I mean, it is red…" She winks at him then a look of concern crosses her face when he doesn't laugh. "How's the eye?"

"Sore," he grumbles, "vision's kinda wonky… head feels like it's gonna split open. Can't believe I got caught in that package." He sighs, looking up at the door and for a moment he couldn't remember if this was even the right one. "This is us, isn't it?"

She takes his hand and turns him around. "We're right here. Let's get you inside and we'll take a look at this." She opens the door and flips the light on, helping him in. "GO sit down, baby, and I'll grab some stuff to help clean that up a little. Maybe take the edge off too." She walks into the bathroom and rummages through one of her bags. "So what's up with that Matthias Trench guy? He's the cause of this, from what I could see from the second row."

It was coming back to him in bits and pieces now. Trench standing over him with a bat. The sound of it connecting with a skull. He was pretty sure that had been Nick's, not his. "He's a nutbar," Lex replied, kicking off his shoes in the doorway. At least the room was still intact, as far as he could tell. "Absolute fuckin' nut and he's had it in for Sanderson since the first show. Bad blood, y'know? Just the unlucky fucker caught in the crossfire." He sat down heavily on the bed, letting his head hang, trying not to be disappointed in himself for letting Sanderson catch him. Too much shit going on and he'd let his focus lapse – goddamned rookie mistake – she'd watched him lose twice in the last two days. Both could have been prevented. Both were probably going to keep him awake tonight if he wasn't careful.

Jana walks back into the room with a handful of items. Placing them on the bed, she looks over at Lex and smiles. "Collateral damage, hmm?" She picks up a bottle of water and two aspirin. "It's not much but every little bit will help. Do you want me to look at that eye? I can at least help clean it up a bit." She holds the bottle and the aspirin in her hand, waiting for his acceptance.

He grunts by way of assent, catching himself before he nods and sets his head throbbing again. Wolfe's words are still rattling him, still echoing in his head: "I wouldn't expect you to realize this project is about the revenue, Lex. It's about the odds, winners and losers, and you are just the man for the job. Next week, you dive for me."

"Don't think I'm concussed," he finally said, taking the pills from her. His hand shook as he tossed them in his mouth, chasing them with the water. His first instinct was to rinse his mouth, clear the aftertaste of stale blood but he wasn't about to spit on the floor and he wasn't in any shape to get up. Instead he swallowed, grimacing at the taste. The plastic bottle crackled in his fist as he closed his eyes, dragging in a deep breath because he didn't want her to see him like this. 

She sighs and climbs onto the bed behind him, her legs on either side of his waist. Her hands rub together slowly then she touches his neck, slowly massaging the sides and the back, her thumbs running up and down his vertebrae. "I hope I'm doing this right. Mom would give Todd a rubdown after nearly every match. The hardcore style he loved, didn't love him." She kisses the back of his head. "Just try to relax a little, Lex, I got ya. And this Wolfe guy… he really wants you to throw the match?" Her hands continue very softly along his neck and shoulders.

He'd forgotten he'd told her in the car about it, unable to keep the words from spilling out. Now he wished he'd checked the room for bugs – would anyone care to listen to his self-righteous bullshit? "That's what he said." His voice came out strained, "made it seem like I either gotta play ball or I'm fucked. Never thrown a goddamn fight in my life. I don't care how much money's on the line, what kinda bullshit's that?" Despite her best efforts, his shoulders and back were still knotted tight with tension even though her gentle touch seemed to be pulling the anger from him. "The trashed hotel room. The opponent switcheroo. This bullshit booking over the last couple weeks an' then Mayfield ghostin' tonight? Doesn't sit right. None of it. They know what buttons to push to make me feel like my back's against the wall."

He sighs, lifts his hand to scrub it over his lips as if he can wipe away the anxiety, the feeling of hopelessness that's clawing at his guts just as easily. "That prick showin' up to throw down the gauntlet wasn't coincidence. All this junk's connected. I know it is."

She nods slowly, stopping the massage and simply drapes her arms over his shoulders, embracing him. "It's okay, Lex." Instead of telling him how crazy he's being, how much he's overreacting, she agrees with him. "It probably isn't a coincidence, I'm sure, but… play the cards you're dealt. The hand may be ugly but play it out, then see what you can do with better cards next time," she whispers into his ear. "We had some shit hands dealt to us before we met, and so far, we're playing better. You'll make this work, baby."

"I can't take the fall." His voice broke, hands squeezing into fists. "There's no way I could live with myself if I did. No way I could do that to the fans… to… no. I can't. I won't."

"Then don't." She kisses his shoulder. "Figure out a way of making it work. There are ways of winning a no-win situation, according to the movies I've seen."

He let his hands relax, "the movies make everything look easy." He's not trying to lash out at her, but the words come out a little sharper than intended and he immediately feels bad, turning to look over his shoulder at her. "Sorry… that was…."

"Perfectly acceptable, for the circumstances," she nods, brushing it off. "You're upset, stuck, sore, and now have less than two weeks to figure out something." She runs her hand over his cheek. "It's okay. We just need to chill tonight. That's all we need to do tonight. Okay?"

Lex drags in a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before exhaling slowly. "You're right. I've got time to figure it out. An' if I don't… then I'll just go out there an' let it ride. The storm's comin' – I can feel it. An' I don't give a fuck. I'll ride it out… as long as you're still here," he pauses, lifting his hand to lay it over hers where it still rests against his cheek, "I can handle whatever comes."

"Not going anywhere, Lex. Not going anywhere." She turns and kisses his lips softly, then leans her head against his, hearing his sharp intake of breath when she bumps the cut. She backs off quickly, apologetic. "Sorry, forgot about that." She kisses his brow gently, smiles as she hears the quiet sigh from him. "Fixed." She intertwines his fingers with hers and pulls him down on the bed.

He wraps his arms around her, burying his face against her neck. Maybe this one time he wouldn't really have to go it alone. Maybe he'd finally found someone he could count on to stay.

Maybe...