Chapter 27
Bizarre. That’s the only word I can use to describe today.
Everyone around here seems to be on edge, or maybe it’s just me.
A heaviness has settled deep within me that radiates from one nerve ending to the next.
Matched with a sinking feeling in my gut, it tells me something is coming.
Something big, and I don’t like the anticipation of it one bit.
Normally, I could shake it off, put it behind me until I leave the arena, but not this time.
I’ve been telling myself that it’s just because I don’t know who is going to step out of that curtain tonight, but part of me wonders if it’s something more than that…
Amos, Noah, and Tim have been extremely secretive about my tag partner.
When they first mentioned the idea, they carefully skirted around the topic of a name, saying they had a few ideas, none of which had been solidified.
I didn’t believe them. The look Amos and Noah shared told me they had already found someone, but they weren’t ready to tell me.
For some reason, I found that unsettling.
Why would they need to keep it a secret?
As time went on, they kept the identity under wraps, only making the three of us—Austin, Viviana, and me—all the more curious…
and even more nervous. Who could be so important that they’d need to keep them a secret for over a month now?
It had to be a veteran. Someone who could put Viviana’s character in her place—someone the fans wouldn’t question.
A hundred names have run through my mind—Juliet?
Holly? Luna? Moxie? Any of them would be a good pick.
Cali Kennedy has been out with a knee injury.
Maybe she’s making a return…She isn’t a vet, but she’d be a good choice nonetheless.
But if it’s any of them, why wouldn’t Creative tell us?
Trying to find a way to release the nerves, I jump in place, shaking out my hands, ignoring the side glance from Stu, the timekeeper.
I plant my feet and stretch my arms over my chest, taking a deep breath as I wait for my cue.
Austin has been running his mouth for at least five minutes, but I tuned him out well before he picked up the mic.
I haven’t been this nervous to step in front of a crowd since my debut match fourteen years ago, and I blame Noah and Amos.
Stu points at me, and my music fills the arena. I take a final breath—cranking my neck from side to side, pushing my shoulders back—and walk out.
Almost like walking through a thin veil between worlds, the nerves melt away when I step in front of the crowd, and Brooks Taylor takes his place at the forefront.
He stands tall—confident—maintaining the collected nature he prides himself on.
This crowd is amped. We’re only three weeks away from Wrestlefest, and the closer we get, the rowdier they become.
“Oh, look who it is,” Spencer Austin scoffs. “It’s like Candyman—say his name too many times and he’ll appear.” Viviana snickers at his side, and I roll my eyes.
Each week, the fans have eaten up whatever Austin and I have thrown at them, because while most of the EWE fanbase loves me, a good amount of them hate me almost equally.
Whenever they get the chance to see someone knock Brooks Taylor down a few pegs, they enjoy it more than I’d probably like to admit.
Everyone knows there isn’t anyone who can oust Brooks Taylor from the throne of EWE…
No one is ready because no one is willing to do what I do for this company.
They aren’t willing to make the sacrifices it takes to be at the forefront.
Not even the man standing in the middle of the ring.
And while that same man would like to think he can break me—if only in story form—we both know he can’t.
Brooks Taylor rarely cracks; it’s only happened a handful of times, and two of those times were because of her.
Savvy Skye. Savannah Williams. The woman I—No, Brooks. You cannot think of her right now. Focus, just through this segment.
“You know, I think it’s comical you think you can beat me when you couldn’t even beat Vee with a hand tied behind your back,” Spencer says, regaining my attention.
He’s been going on and on for the last few minutes, but I haven’t heard a damn word he said.
I hope it’s not obvious, or Amos will have my head.
“Should we see a clip? I think we should. Roll the clip!” His demand is met with a highlight reel from the handicap match between me and Viviana two weeks ago.
The chorus of boos that follows the end of the clip surprises me. The crowd has been pro-Spencer and Viviana almost this entire feud, but this is the first crowd that has mostly been behind me.
“You didn’t even try, Brooks,” Spencer says. “You could’ve at least tried to put up a fight, given her something to work with.”
“Are you serious, Austin?” I scoff. “I wasn’t going to fight your wife.
Are you insane? Vee is good, but I refuse to do that.
” The nerves creep their way past the veil, and I’m no longer Brooks Taylor.
I’m John Brooks, and for the briefest moment, her name fills my mind again.
What if it’s her? What if that’s why they haven’t said anything?
It can’t be. They wouldn’t…Would they? No, she wouldn’t, but it’s the only real reason I can think of why they’d keep the identity of my partner a secret.
No, Savannah would never come back, not for this…Not for me.
A spark ignites in the air following my words. The crowd begins to hum, almost like they know where this is going.
My tongue darts out to wet my lips, and I force the corners of my mouth upward. The chuckle that follows doesn’t match the knots in my stomach, but I do my best to conceal how what is going on beneath the surface. “But I know someone who will.”
Showtime.
The arena goes dark, and for exactly ten seconds, it’s deadly silent.
I swear the whole place can hear the blood pumping through my system.
I don’t even realize I’m holding my breath until my lungs scream for air, forcing me to exhale, and the opening riffs of the familiar song consume me.
In the blink of an eye, I’m thrust back to a completely different time. One where she was mine and I was happy…
“There’s no fucking way,” I whisper, but it’s lost in the sea of chaos.
Screams, cheers, tears, and applause make the building quake beneath my feet.
When the chorus finally hits, the lights turn up, and she struts out.
Savannah Williams. The woman who stole my heart a decade ago.
The woman who disappeared from my life over two years ago.
But these people don’t know that; all they see is Savvy Skye, one of their heroes, returned from the depths.
I force my gaze to remain in front of me, staring down at the couple in the ring, their mouths hang agape. They’re allowed to show that response, but I’m not. As far as the crowd knows, I knew it was her the whole time.
Even from this distance, I can see the question in Austin’s eye.
He cornered me earlier, tried to pry the name out of me because he didn’t believe I had been left in the dark, but I assured him I was just as clueless as he was.
He looks between me and Savannah, still questioning how much I knew, before his wife whispers something in his ear.
My breath catches in my throat when I get a glimpse of Savannah in the three-hundred-sixty-degree screen that hangs high above the ring.
Her gleaming smile widens as she soaks in every ounce of energy thrown her way.
Every time I think the crowd is about to settle, they start again.
She looks beautiful, dressed in high-waisted jeans, black heels, and a white, cropped shirt that looks delectable against the warmth of her tanned skin.
No, Brooks, do not say things like that.
Her hair is perfectly curled into waves, much longer than it used to be, hanging well below the under curve of her breasts and grazing the fabric of her jeans below her hips.
She looks good—really good—like taking the last two and a half years off was the best thing she could’ve done.
How am I supposed to do this?
When the camera pans out to show the two of us standing side by side, my heart clenches. That’s an image I never thought I’d see again.
“You can’t do this!” Spencer shouts over the crowd, getting us back on track, and they finally begin to simmer.
“It’s already done,” Savvy says, and the smirk in her voice brings another one to my face. The crowd echoes the sentiment with another cheer. “You already signed the contract.”
That’s right, they did sign the contract before I interrupted them.
It had been sitting on the table in the middle of the ring, ready and waiting, signed by me last week while they were gone for their honeymoon.
Theo Rafferty, once again the “General Manager,” made a whole spectacle of it.
He made me come down to the ring, sitting across from him, and sign the contract as he begged me to tell him who my partner would be.
Brooks Taylor refused to say, and part of me now wonders if Theo was in on this whole thing and last week was his chance to play games with me.
Last week, I signed the dotted line on a blank contract; there were no names, no stipulations, nothing…
“Did you even read that contract before you signed it?” Savvy asks. What is she talking about? There’s never anything important on them. Sometimes they’re left completely blank, truly all for show, but the look on Viviana’s face as she reads over the paper again tells me there’s something there.
“Did I read the contract?” Spencer scoffs. “Of course, I read the—”
Viviana says something, holding out the contract to her husband, and he snatches the paper from her hands. His eyes scour across it before they lift to stare straight at the woman next to me.
Even from here, I can hear him curse under his breath as he scrubs a hand down his face.
“Signed. Sealed. And delivered,” Savvy punctuates each word, and I see the smirk on her lips on the screen. “We’ll see you in three weeks. Oh, and I hope you’re ready because the match…it’s going to be No Disqualifications.”
What the fuck? is the first thing that comes to mind, and I see Austin and Vee share my sentiment in a quick exchange.
What is going on? No Disqualifications? No one said anything about that.
A No DQ match can be like the Wild, Wild West, depending on who you’re fighting.
There are no rules, except one: pinfall or submission must occur in the ring to win.
Why wouldn’t Noah warn us? Probably because he knows Austin would’ve lost his shit.
“You don’t even work here, Skye! Not to mention, the last time you were in the ring with my wife—”
The last time she was in the ring with his wife, Viviana got injured, but it wasn’t Savannah’s fault.
At Clash of the Titans, the premiere event in November 2016, Savvy Skye was facing Viviana in a street fight match for the women’s title.
About halfway through the match, Savannah set up to throw her opponent into the steel steps; however, it didn’t go as planned.
Instead of going through with the spot, Viviana planted her feet.
Her foot went one way, and her knee went another.
The official should’ve called the match right then and there, but Viviana wanted to keep going.
A few chair shots and a chain rope to the knee later, Savvy Skye picked up the victory to retain her title.
Viviana couldn’t walk, having to be carried backstage, where Doc could assess the damage done.
“Scared your wife can’t hold her own?” I ask, and normally, this is where Savvy and I should share a look, but we don’t.
“This is between you and me, Taylor,” Spencer shouts, pointing his finger in my direction.
“Leave the women out of this.” His face now a darker shade of red, bleeding down into his neck and chest. Viviana slides her hand into his as the crowd boos in response.
“I’m not putting my wife in a ring with her. ”
“Your wife would be lucky to step in the same ring as her.” The words come out harsher and faster than I mean them to.
Cool it, I remind myself. Let’s try to keep it civil.
Austin’s brow raises. He’s hit a real nerve, and he knows it, but two can play that game.
“Maybe she could learn a thing or two about wrestling.”
Viviana gasps and looks at her husband, tearfully burying herself into his chest. It’s a bit dramatic, if you ask me, but the crowd eats it up.
Her character—especially when she was known as Fortuna—has always been a little over the top…
And while she tries her best, she’s a mid-card wrestler at best. Putting her up against Savannah in a No DQ match is almost unfair.
Spencer wraps his arm around her waist, comforting his wife, and glares up the ramp. “This isn’t over, Taylor!”
“You’re right. It’s not over until I bring the title back where it belongs.” I drop the mic and motion toward my midsection, using my thumb and index finger on each hand to represent where the belt should hang on my hips. “We’ll see you in three weeks!”