Chapter 3
Christmas at Willow Pond Farm is anything but a silent night, especially with four boys running amok.
By some miracle, Coach made the last-minute decision to change practice from the normal evening start time to first thing this morning.
Even though the squad was tired after the Los Angeles game last night, not a single one of us complained.
How could we? Practice would be over by noon, and we’d have the next three days off.
By early afternoon, I was in the car, driving two-and-a-half hours straight to my family’s ranch just outside of Celestia.
When I arrived at my family’s ranch two hours ago, Mamá was prepping dinner, and I’ve been wrist-deep in a variety of dishes since I walked in the door. Green bean casserole, homemade mashed potatoes, stuffing, mac’n’cheese, salad, and Easter bread are just a few of the staples we prepared.
My sixteen-year-old twin brothers finally dragged themselves out of bed about an hour ago, and when I glanced at my mother with a cocked brow, she wiped her hands on her blue-striped apron and started loading food into the oven, pretending not to notice.
I didn’t have to say it for her to know what I was thinking.
She’d heard it more than enough times, but it never ceased to amaze me the difference in how the twins get away with things my older brothers and I could never.
Speaking of my older brothers…they still haven’t shown up.
Mamá said they were out in the field moving the cattle, which meant they could be home in an hour or maybe three, depending on how much they fucked around.
Without Papá joining them, Crew and Nash are more likely to mess around while they work.
Not that I blame them, it keeps the day from dragging.
My brothers chose to work on the ranch after high school, while I decided to pursue college and cheerleading.
However, Nash recently accepted a job as one of Celestia High School’s football and lacrosse coaches, which gives him some purpose outside of the ranch, and I think it’s been good for him.
I always knew he’d get bored with the farm life, unlike Crew.
Our oldest brother enjoys his simple life; it was obvious when we were kids that he’d take over one day.
He enjoyed being on the ranch, liked working with the animals, with his hands, and with Papá.
Sometimes I wonder if he ever thinks about life outside Celestia—of all the things he could be doing—but when I asked him about it a few years ago, Crew said the ranch was his home and working here gave him a purpose.
Speak of the devils.
There’s a loud commotion outside the back door before Crew shoves Nash inside and smacks him on the back of the head. Typical. Wonder what he did this time.
Nash rubs his head, glaring at our brother, before he notices me. His grimace lifts into a smile before he shares a knowing glance with Crew. With a nod, they split the difference, coming around either side of the kitchen island. Shit, I know what’s coming.
“Well, well, well, look who finally decided to show up,” Nash says, knowing that I have nowhere to run. I try to use my mother as a blockade to get away, but he grabs hold of my waist, hoisting me onto his shoulder. He spins in a circle at least five times before I lose count.
When I beg for help, Crew’s only response is a hearty laugh. He pulls one of the chilled water bottles from the fridge that Mamá keeps ready and waiting for them. “Better learn how to get out of it if you’re going to be a wrestler, Sav,” Crew says.
Nash comes to a complete stop, but my head doesn’t.
The world continues to spin long after he sets me back on my feet.
Even with my eyes closed, I can see the way his eyes bug out of his head, looking between me and Crew.
I hear Mamá chuckle to herself from somewhere behind us.
“What did you just say?” Nash asks. “Did you just say…Savannah! You’re going to be a…
Holy shit! You mean you actually did it? ”
I glare at Crew. “Thanks, I was saving that for later.”
“Sue me,” he says with a shrug. Mamá swats at his hand when he swipes a green bean from the platter beside her and says a few scolding words in Spanish. He laughs, popping the vegetable in his mouth before he walks back outside, probably to join Papá at the grill.
“Are you punking me?” Nash asks.
“Nope,” I say, and straighten out my shirt after his assault. “I got the call on Thursday.”
Exactly one week after tryouts, I got a call from Xander Collins, head of Talent Relations at Elite Wrestling Entertainment.
While I thought the tryout went okay, I decided to be realistic about my chances of getting a callback.
I wasn’t as qualified as some of the others who were there, but I wasn’t the worst by any means.
From the second I stepped into the ring, I was surprised by how much I enjoyed it.
Standing in the squared circle—a term I learned through my quick internet search of basic wrestling moves—was like a shot of pure adrenaline to my nervous system.
A rush like I’d never experienced, and the longer I was there, the more I wanted to stay.
Getting the phone call from Xander made missing practice—and the scolding from Coach the next day—worth it.
One practice in three years wasn’t the end of the world, but you’d think I’d committed a felony.
Their response was the final nail in the coffin for the relationship between me and the Wildcats.
No matter the outcome with EWE, I wasn’t returning to the team after this season.
“You’re going to do it, right?”
“I was thinking about it,” I say with a shrug.
“You have to!”
I laugh. “I said, I’m thinking about it.”
“Nash,” Mamá cuts him off before he can pester me further. “Leave your sister alone. Go outside and see if your father is almost done with the asado. The three of you need to wash up before dinner.”
“But, Mamá—”
“Now,” she says. “Go.” Mamá shoos him outside despite his pleas to stay. I’m sure he has a million questions. Like, did I meet any famous wrestlers? Was it hard? Was it fake, or did the punches hurt?
“You still owe me $100,” I yell before the door closes on his backside.
Mamá mutters to herself, wiping her hands on her apron, and when she looks at me, her shoulders rise and fall with a heavy sigh.
This is how it always is around here. The boys give my parents a run for their money, not to say I haven’t a time or two, but they wouldn’t have it any other way.
She motions to the dishes covered in foil that sit on the counter.
“Help me move this food over to the table. Not long before the rest will be done.”
We move them over in silence, but I know her own questions are bubbling beneath the surface.
Questions I know she has wanted to ask since I told her about the call two days ago, but she waited until we could be face-to-face.
Truthfully, I’m surprised she lasted this long.
My mother is nothing if not persistent, and when she wants something, she has no issue making that fact well known.
“Do you want this, Sav?” she asks, dropping the final baking dish on the table.
“You know that your father and I support you in whatever you decide to do, but…I just—We want to make sure this is what you want. Just because you made it doesn’t mean you have to go.
You still have the Wildcats and your degree and—”
“I know, Mamá.” I toy with the fabric of the red tablecloth draped over the long table my father built years ago. He built most of the furniture that fills these rooms, some with our help, and others as experiments.
“When do you have to make a decision?”
“Monday.” I wrap my arms around my torso. “I’d start in their developmental program at the end of February…It’s in Florida.”
“Florida?” My mother’s outburst makes me flinch.
She flies into a rage of Spanglish as she paces between the dining room and the kitchen.
I knew this was coming the moment Xander told me I’d have to move to Tampa, where their training facility is located.
She finally pauses at the island, her hands wringing the fabric of her apron.
“There is no way, Savannah! You won’t graduate.
You can’t just—You can’t move across the country!
All of…All of your hard work gone to waste. You won’t—”
“I know, Mamá. I know!” Taking a deep breath, I rub my eyes and meet her intense stare from across the kitchen. “I know, okay? But this is…I don’t know. It’s hard to explain. When I was in that ring, it felt…good. Right. Like I’m supposed to be there.”
“Ay, Savannah.” She shakes her head, eyes drawn to the ceiling.
“I see you broke the news to your brother,” Papá’s voice booms when he walks inside not two seconds later.
He’s a bigger man, the kind of man you’d expect to see on a ranch, with a rugged face and graying beard.
His skin is permanently tanned from years of work in the sun.
He towers over my mother by at least six inches, and he passed that gene onto my brothers, while I land somewhere in the middle.
Mamá points at me. “Wesley, please talk some sense into your daughter. She’s talking about leaving school to go do this silly wrestling thing.”
“I can always transfer. I don’t have to drop out,” I say.
“Now hold on a second, let’s back up,” Papá says, stepping between us. “What’s all this about?”
I look over my shoulder, but my mother only glares at me.
Her arms cross over her chest with a raised brow, waiting to hear not only my explanation, but my father’s response.
It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes.
“Mamá is upset because if I decide to join EWE, I have to move…to Florida…in February.”
“February?” His dark brows arch toward his graying hairline. “That means you’d have to leave Thornebrooke.”