FORTY-ONE: Nobody Does It Better [OPW #1]

I put a spell on you
Becauuuuuuuse you're minnnnnnne...

Bruce McLeod chuckled to himself, tilting his half-full glass at the speakers before downing the rest of the lukewarm whiskey. The DJ, like everyone else in the room, was clearly in on the cosmic joke – he couldn't keep his eyes off his estranged wife where she sat across the room, deep in conversation with one of the other parents. Dressed like Morticia Addams, she looked absolutely stunning. The dark wig she had on looked shiny and lustrous, holding a hint of a wave much like her actual hair usually did. The black cocktail dress she had on fit like a second skin, not too revealing to play the part of hostess for her daughter's seventeenth and Halloween-themed birthday party. A part of him wondered if she'd been told about his invitation before he'd arrived and if she'd planned her costume as a sort of revenge. If so, she'd done a spectacular job of it.

His own had been borne of laziness. The pinstripe suit was already in his closet, this vintage thing he'd found in a thrift store in Las Vegas. The fedora he had pulled low over his eyes had been in his possession for at least fifteen years. The plastic tommy gun was a last-minute afterthought, something to turn a suit into a half-assed attempt to be a poor man's Al Capone.

Charity looked beautiful, but it paled in comparison to how her daughter looked. The girl had chosen a vintage-style green and black lace dress with her fiery red-hair pulled back in a cluster of curls, doing her best version of Merida from that Disney movie. Seeing her across the room, Bruce tilted his hat to her and she waved back before turning away to let her gaggle of friends drag her out on the dance floor. The party was starting to wind down, the kids getting bored and restless. Screamin' Jay Hawkins bled into The Time Warp and the kids went crazy. He looked around for Charity but didn't see her. Setting his glass down, he made his way towards the door, turning left past the bathrooms. Just a few more feet to freedom, he thought, fishing the pack of cigarettes from the inside pocket of his jacket.

"-are you fucking kidding me?" He heard Charity's voice before he saw her, the venom clear even though she was barely speaking above a whisper. "Great. That's just great."

He poked his head around the corner, saw her glaring at the screen of her cell phone, pacing in front of the door that led outside. He took a step back and lit his cigarette, closing his eyes as he took that first drag, feeling the tension ease up just a little bit.

"Motherf-"

"JesusFUCK!" His eyes flew open as Charity crashed into him, his first instinct to reach out and catch her.

"Sor-" the word caught in her throat as she registered his hands on her waist a split second before her blue eyes locked on the brown ones behind that haze of cigarette smoke.

Her hand had immediately rested over her chest as she trailed off. The person she'd run into had been the exact person she'd wanted to avoid. "Hi." She forced a smile as she dropped her hand back to her side.

His hands dropped back to his sides just as quickly – he'd reached out to try and steady her in the second after the impact, before he'd realized who it was. It was easy to blame the liquor for that poor reaction time, given that he knew she was right around the corner.

"Hello." The word came out curt, almost cold as Bruce took a step back from her. He watched her try to hide that sweep of her gaze as she checked him out, unable to keep the ghost of a wry smile from tugging at the corners of his lips.

"You're not..." she stopped and shook her head, realizing the last thing she had a right to do was question his comings and goings.

He lifted the cigarette up, taking another drag as he half-turned from her, making it clear what he was actually doing. "Nice party – outdid yourself, luv."

"It came together perfectly; she deserves it, though." His less than warm greeting had caused her to straighten her posture and hold her head high. So many times, she'd thrown herself at him or begged him to come back. Seeing that cancer stick between his lips now made her want to throttle him, especially after the last time – he'd told her he was going out for a cigarette and had bolted. She still felt stupid, feeling her cheeks burn at the reminder and now it was her turn to look away. "I know Sam was happy to see you."

"She's grown so much... can't even believe my eyes. Seems like only yesterday she was fallin' off her bike on the front walk, scraping up her knees. Now she's – gods above, feel like if I blink, she'll be married."

"Hopefully not anytime soon." Charity forced a smile that felt brittle. As he recollected about Sam, her memories were right there as well. "Time just kinda flew by, I guess." It had never been awkward for them, but Charity almost felt as though she were standing in front of a stranger. "That's life though, right?" The best thing she could do was stay neutral.

Nodding, he sucked his teeth for a moment – she knew him well enough to know that was his worst tell, that was his way to stall while he figured something out. "Oh aye," he finally nodded, "part of rearin' them's in the watching while they get big enough not tae need us any longer." The words seemed to hold a strange sort of double meaning as he dipped his head, the shadow of the hat's brim shading his eyes for a moment. "Thought maybe I'd've taught her to ride by now. Always think there's time enough before it slips right through your fingers."

"Well, there's always grandchildren."

His head snapped up, eyes wide as he stared at her. "She's far too young to even think of that." As if he realized the faux pas a moment too late, he shook his head. Charity had been the same age when they'd started dating, when she'd gotten pregnant. "Fuck. Sorry. Didn't mean it like tha', Cherry."

That got an amused laugh from her. "No. You're right," her arms came up and folded across her chest, as if she wanted to hide that bit of exposed cleavage from his view. "I was too young, but I'd do it all over again just the same." She leaned against the wall as she looked up at the man she'd always adore. "She's on the pill and far smarter than I ever was," the laugh this time was almost bitter, "we don't have to worry about her." Another laugh escaped, "probably the last thing you want to hear as her Da, isn't it?"

The expression on his face made it clear how correct that assessment was as he nodded, feeling a strange flare of anger at the thought of some little asshole pawing at his little girl. "Don't have tae worry... sure. Mebbe we should lock her up. Keep her behind glass until she's twenty-three, hmm?" He forced a laugh that faded away quickly as he tilted his head, studying her before he reached out and touched a lock of that dark hair. "Look good, Cherry. Anyone tell you that today?"

After all these years, Bruce could still cause her cheeks to flush with a simple compliment. Her resolve to stay neutral with him was wavering and it didn't help that she was in such close proximity to him. "You also cleaned up nicely. Real dapper."

He did that little exhale of a chuckle that meant he was shucking off the compliment – it always used to infuriate her when he did that, as if he was being willfully ignorant of how he looked and the effect he'd always had on her. Leaning against the wall, he folded his arms across his chest, stalling. He'd actually come this way with the intent to slip away from the party, to disappear and get the hell out there before he did something he might regret but now that Charity was right in front of him, he couldn't bring himself to walk away. "Found this suit at a thrift store," he murmured, shrugging.

"Looks like it was made for you." Her arms unfolded as a hand came up and rubbed the back of her neck, a nervous tick she'd developed over the past few years. She was about to open up a can of worms, how big it was would remain to be seen. "I'm sorry I didn't formally invite you to the party. I meant to, but I got busy with the planning and I've started working again." What she didn't mention was that she'd allowed herself to get caught up so she didn't give into temptation to call him.

"Working again?" One brow lifted as he considered that revelation. "Well good for you. That's awesome." He didn't want to tell her that he'd gone back to producing porn because he had no other prospects now that the illegal fight circuit had been broken up.

"Yeah, figured it was time." Her arm dropped and she clasped her hands, needing for them to do something. "I have a shoot set up for Saturday, but I'm not convinced it's going to happen. The photographer is a major flake and nobody's heard from him in over a week."

"Could stand in." The words came out before he could check them. "Got my best rig back at the hotel. Never really go anywhere without it."

His offer caught her off guard and so did her own reply. "Yeah," she found herself nodding even as she wanted to kick herself, "that'd be great." After the words came out, her cheeks flushed and she looked away, "guess I should warn you: it's a lingerie shoot. So... uh... not gonna be wearing much."

"Just like old times, then." He was quick to quip back even though it was awkward to even entertain the thought. Still, he couldn't keep himself from smiling at the prospect of seeing her in something a little more revealing that the dress she had on. "Always managed tae capture yer best side, didn't I?"

"You're the only one who ever did."



IT OCCURS TO ME that there are precious few folks in this business who actually know me. Oh sure, my name's gotten far more widespread in the last year than it ever was – the Splat Triad Challenge had a lot to do with that. Topple a few legends and suddenly the heads pop up out of the sand. The groundhogs start seeing their shadow, fleeing back to the safety underground but I'm no harbinger. If I'm being honest, that particular custom never really made much sense to me. Why that rodent? Why is seeing his shadow and fleeing – what some may call instinctive behavior – a portent? What? Why? Ah, but let's not get sidetracked right off the hop, hmm? 

I'm not a household name. Far from it. In certain circles, reputation precedes me. I was courted and plucked from obscurity by the best of the best here in Outlaw Pro. Fact of the matter was that it didn't take much to sway me. I already had one foot out the door and I'm sure there are those who believe it was misplaced ego or some fundamental hubristic flaw that send me running. There are only so many times someone DELIBERATELY gets your name wrong before you start to see that as a personal affront, though. I saw the writing on the wall and now good ol' Twatts gets to pick the bones left behind by a DAMNED GOD. Best of luck, you talentless cunt.

So, here we are. This is what the big leagues look like and there are so many familiar faces I've seen and heard of over the years. Dark Tiger. Eddie Havok. Ariel Shadows. Once upon a time, I would've been content to find myself falling in with them, hiding in the safety of the mid-card shadows and avoiding heavy lifting at all costs. That would have been the old Bruce McLeod, the man who had a single accomplishment over the course of a double-decade career.

I've had my taste of success, though. And once you've sipped ambrosia with the gods, it's hard to go back to slaking thirst with gutter water.

Here we are, though. Made it through sheer force of will to a place that I feel might actually matter in the long run and I'm busting out this introduction as if I expect anyone to actually read it. Ah, so what's expected of me then? A neat and precise little definition so I can be slotted into the right box? Lamentations that the last company didn't give so much as a reach around, let alone a nice sloppy knob-polishing? You'll get neither here. Never been that lazy, never been that low class, even when I was starting out.

Wasted too much time as it is – squandered for all the wrong reasons. Willing to admit it, aye. Chasing glory has been a sort of endless pursuit, as if I'm Sisyphus pushing the boulder uphill for all eternity. Am not proud of the level of willful stupidity and the only thing I can try to do with the time I have left is make amends. Do better. Be better. I'm not proud of it, but I will never deny it. All the time spent in the shadows has made me a little sensitive to the light, that's all. Was never meant to be a public persona, but it happened just the same.

Fame's something I've always been ill-equipped to deal with. Prolonged exposure to the limelight irritates me in a way I can't really explain. Mostly, it's the hypocrisy. The folks who pick apart every last thing and I know there will be someone combing through this missive, looking for the secret meaning – the folks who do that are looking for a reason to justify their own bullshit. Merry martyrs. Ready for that Jesus Christ pose: take a few spikes and nail themselves to the cross. So hard done by; as if me saying that one company matters more than another is a waving middle finger? If I wanted to tell you off, I wouldn't hide it in a footnote, you goddamned numpty twat.

I've better things to do than spend all my time crafting my words in such a way that you need a team of scholars to unravel it. Can you imagine? I can see a room full of college professors, these uppity cunts in tweed jackets, squeezing and extracting every little drop of meaning from my words like juicing an orange. Believe me, I'm clever enough to do that. I'm far too apathetic to pull that off. Wasted effort. More wasted time – they're gonna come after me for it, eventually.

Ah, yes. APATHY.

There are those who would cast aspersions on me. I don't cringe in the face of petty judgments. There's no ennui here today. No existential dread. Am itching for a fight – a true challenge the likes of which I haven't experienced since March.

Are you going to be the one to make that happen or are you going to be true to that namesake, come at me with some half-arsed nonsense about the status quo, earning my stripes and the execution of the interloper for the GREATER GOOD?

You'll get used to it – to the way I handle my business. I don't piss sunshine, and I don't shit rainbows. I am a realist in the land of make-believe and little by little, day by day, it's whittling away at this smile. One of these days, the only joy will come in the damage done and when that fateful day comes, I'll mourn. I'll know it's time to walk away for good.

Things change. As much as I want to ignore that fact, it's true. The universe goes full circle. I've noticed this phenomenon. I started my career in this business over twenty years ago, working in the seediest dives imaginable. I lost more than I won – never cared as long as there was an envelope of cash waiting at the end of it all. Ten years ago, I almost died in a warehouse that reeked of rotten fish, throwing hands in an illegal fight circuit. I was cold, broken and alone – Paul and the epiphany on the road to Damascus – saw my wasted life for what it was. Saw all the mistakes. Saw the writing on the wall and the dark shape of the reaper waiting in the wings and I made a promise that night under those foreign stars. A bargain made, sealed in blood.

Vowed to put my house in order.

Pretty fucking bleak, isn't it? Aye. Sometimes a man has to fall all the way down to learn how to properly get up. The bad news for you is that I did. I have. I do. I will continue to do so until it's no longer an option. Sorry, Apathy. This just isn't gonna be your day. No hard feelings, aye?

It is what it is.



As Charity McLeod pulled her vehicle into the double car garage, she couldn't help the sense of pride and self-confidence that accompanied her. It had been a few years since she'd last taken a modeling gig and hadn't really considered getting back into the business. When she got the offer a few days before thanks to her new agent, she'd been floored. She'd thought she was done with it all and now she'd been offered the chance to be the face of an ad campaign for a new women's fragrance. After talking it over with Bruce, there wasn't really any other answer she wanted to give than yes. She never would have admitted it, but she felt apprehensive about being in front of the cameras again. For the most part, her body was back to the way it looked pre-pregnancy, but she was all too aware of her imperfections.

When she'd arrived at the venue where the photoshoot was taking place at around three in the morning, Charity had forgotten the pampering that took place with the talent. While she'd been in hair and make-up, she'd also had both a manicure and pedicure while enjoying a few glasses of champagne. Any anxiety she'd had about having her pictures taken melted away when she saw herself right before she was due on set. Her blonde hair had been left down with the teeniest bit of wave added to it. Her eye make-up had an evening feel to it while her lipstick was a deep crimson. The outfit that had been chosen for her was a black cocktail dress that showed some cleavage and hugged her body in all the right ways – it got her thinking about the time a few years ago when she'd dressed up as Morticia Addams for a Halloween party. This dress would have been perfect for that costume and she knew Bruce was going to absolutely love it.

Upon arriving home, she couldn't wait to spend time with her husband and four-month-old twins. She went into the house through the garage and was greeted by their pitbull mix Loch, who wasted no time in letting her know how much he'd missed her. Charity returned his lovies and took him into the kitchen where she gave him a treat. It wasn't much longer until she had checked on the twins who were sleeping soundly in their cribs and was then on her way to find her husband. She checked out the window and saw the pool was deserted. There wasn't a doubt in her mind as to where he actually was.

She found Bruce on their sun porch, working out in the gym he'd put together himself. The pride she felt only grew as she watched her husband pouring his heart out into his exercise sessions – of course he had no music on and the baby monitor sitting on the ledge next to him. Over the last year, she'd seen the effort he'd put into his career, into making something better of himself all around. He'd worked so hard to get where he was and finally, he'd been recruited by some of the most talented wrestlers she'd ever seen. The fact that they considered her husband an equal made her so happy for him. It was about time the world appreciated him for the talented wrestler Charity always had known he was.

The old universal gym had seen better days, but he'd salvaged it from a yard sale and had spent a few weeks replacing the damaged parts until it was as good as new. Since the lockdown in March, he'd gotten quite a bit of use out of the thing. He had his back to her, oblivious to the company as he kept going with leg presses, obviously lost in his own reverie.

She usually wouldn't have disturbed him while he was working out, but she couldn't wait any longer. Walking up behind him, she put her hands on his shoulders and leaned in so her lips were right next to his ear.

"I'm home." She said softly, as her hands began to knead his shoulders. "I missed you."

He said nothing, biting his lip in the effort to finish that last set of reps. He'd been in here since he'd finally gotten the twins down, trying to burn off the emotion he felt – she had no idea that he'd shown up for the last hour of that photoshoot of hers, hoping to surprise her. He'd watched for a few minutes; he'd seen the provocative poses she was in and how easily she seemed to be giving that energy to the camera and he hadn't been able to handle the jealousy that had all but overwhelmed him. It had burned low, just simmering coals deep in his guts now that he'd used it for fuel. Breathing out slowly, he forced his legs out straight for the last time, knowing she could probably feel the quiver where her hand met his shoulder.

"Missed you too," he murmured, just a tiny thread of something other than sincerity in his tone before he cleared his throat and finally stopped, letting the footrests move back into place before turning his head to look at her – of course she still looked like a goddess divine, slumming it in her comfy clothes that looked so foreign on her now after seeing her in that ball gown that had seemed like a sultry second skin. "How was it?" The words came out steady enough, the question almost sounding normal as he reached for the towel that was draped over the weight rack next to him.

She didn't answer immediately as she sensed something was off. "It went really well, forgot how much I loved being in front of a camera." Her arms came up and folded across her chest as she watched her husband. "They're going to send me the proofs before they go to print. I can't wait to show you."

Even though he still felt that jealousy, he couldn't keep the smirk off his face. "Did they let you keep the dress?"

"As a matter of fact–" She stopped herself, her eyes narrowing on him. "How'd you know I wore a dress?"

Fuck.

He stalled, wiping his face with the towel before turning fully towards her. "Had Natalie come over for a few hours. Thought it might be nice tae pop in, see how things were going – surprise you." He tried like hell to keep his tone neutral, to keep it level without any trace of the rancor that was burning like bile in the back of his throat. "Seemed tae be goin' well enough without me underfoot." He shrugged, as if admitting to crashing the shoot like some creepy stalker was a completely normal thing for him to do.

Charity stared at him, unable to help the feeling of hurt that was starting to reveal itself. He'd come to the shoot but hadn't even bothered to let her know he was there. "Why didn't you say anything to me? You came and then just left?" She started to pace as she finally shook her head, another thought coming to her. "Were you checking up on me?"

"Wasn't like that," he almost snapped the words as he flipped the towel over his shoulder, moving to his fee. He didn't get any closer to her, instead turning to look at the baby monitor to make sure it was still on. "Make it sound so..." he threw his hands up in the air, at a loss for the right word.

"Then what was it, Bruce?" The fact that he was so defensive was only adding to her annoyance and hurt. "Don't trust me?"

"Goddamnit, woman." He shook his head and moved past her, stepping through the door and into the much cooler hallway. He figured she would follow as he made his way into the kitchen, turning on the faucet and letting the water run cold before putting his hands and wrists under the spray. He heard her footsteps on the tile, doing his best not to tense any further than he already was – there was nothing to be gained in getting his back up over this even though a part of him really wanted to have a knock-down brawl if only to burn off the last of the anger and adrenaline. "I trust you. Was never about that. I just thought..." he shook his head, glancing over his shoulder to see her standing in the doorway, "wasn't checkin' up, wasn't like tha', awright?" His accent was creeping through as he tried to deny his motivation. "Doesn't matter now. Ye looked comfortable enough without me there."

With each word he said, the more frustrated she was becoming and had surpassed annoyance. "Guess it wasn't enough to hold your interest, least not as much as the people fawning over you on Twitter does." She left the doorway and went to the refrigerator to get herself a bottle of peach tea. "Your pictures, you're really comfortable taking those. I don't check up on you."

"My..." he turned around, forgetting he still had the water running as he stared at her dumbfounded. "Cherry... I left 'cause I wasn't needed – were doin' quite fine on your own. Without me gettin' in the way." He lifted one wet hand to run it through his sweat-dampened hair, pushing it back from his brow. "Was a nice reminder of all the things I missed, lemme tell ya." He turned back and shut off the water, staring out the window at the perfectly landscaped yard. "Jealousy doesn't suit you, Babylove... any more'n it does me, I suppose."

"What? She stared at him as though he'd suddenly sprouted horns. "What on EARTH do you have to be jealous of?" The words were almost snapped at him as she opened her bottle of tea. "I'm not the one posting pictures for everyone to ogle." Other women would always be a sore subject with her – they both knew why and refused to speak her name aloud. "Seriously, Bruce."

Drying his hands, he threw the towel down on the counter and then took a slow, deep breath before turning around. "Never said it was justified – felt like a useless tit. Was a time, way back when, that the best photos of you were the ones I took. Only the ones I took." He moved closer to her, looking her up and down before that wry smirk crossed his lips and he shook his head. "Now... am not needed. Wholly unnecessary tae the whole process. Does that make sense?"

"That's bullshit and you know it. You still take the best pictures of me."

He shrugged, leaning against the butcher block island as he folded his arms across his chest, making the material of that shredded up tee he had on strain over his muscles. "You take the best ones of me," he replied with a chuckle. "Mebbe I should post a few of those. See how many hearts an' swoons I can collect, hmm?"

"How's that different from any other day?" Charity rolled her eyes. "That's all you do these days, but then you're gonna get jealous over a fucking job when you didn't stay long enough to even say hello?"

"Cherry..." he shook his head, "Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Is that what this is? We playin' at being wrestlers here... going at the throat with a slap and tickle game of one-upmanship?" He took a few steps closer to her, unfolding his arms so he could rest his hands on her shoulders. He stared deep into her eyes, the sincerity of his regret over the bungled situation there in his eyes before he cleared his throat and spoke again. "Am proud of you – certainly didn't leave as punishment for some imagined transgression."

Five years ago, she'd have continued picking, needing to draw blood for blood. Now, she bit her lip and nodded before finding her voice, doing her best to rise above that destructive impulse. "Would've been nice to have you there."

He leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. "It's a new chapter, for both of us. There's no need tae be at odds, especially not over somethin' so piddly."

"A new chapter," she echoed, nodding again as she lifted her hand to touch his cheek, "probably help if we try to be on the same page, huh?"

"United we stand," the words came out soft, but they rang with conviction as his gaze met hers, unflinching and unblinking, "divided... we fall."