2. NOVA
NOVA
Chapter two
After that horrifying meet and greet, Shawn let me know that the goal of the day is to get familiar with some of the wrestlers’ schedules and the lay of the land. This is going to help me assist the creative writers as they prepare for the next big show in two days, which is Friday Night Beatdown. He gave me his assistant's phone number and told me to meet up with her for further details.
I know my dad would be proud of me, or at least that’s what I tell myself because I don’t really know what he’d think. I know he would have loved it if I would have wrestled instead, but watching female wrestlers growing up solidified the fact that I knew I didn’t have a passion for it on a performance level.
I knew I always had more of an interest in the story being told. My imagination is what drew me toward wrestling to begin with.
Female wrestlers hold a bold stature and claim loud personalities that would severely overshadow the likes of my quiet confidence. I was never told I’d be good enough to perform on those levels so I just never imagined I could be like them. Maybe if I did get to spend more time with my father and learn some of the things he did, I might have gone that route instead. But writing is the career I opted for and the wrestling world has been a big part of my life, so here I am.
As I make my way to the top of the stairs and to the revolving door, a flash of bright white light blinds my vision along with the sound of a camera snapping a photo when I realize I’ve been captured by a nearby news reporter, or paparazzi, or whoever. I know they hang around here sometimes but why they’d want a picture of me strikes me as confused for a moment.
Unless.
They recognized who I am.
Nova Satterlee.
Daughter of David Satterlee.
Or to the rest of the world known as TKS—The Kind Soldier.
I know, it’s cheesy. But it did fit his character pretty well to be honest. And obviously a little too much. And despite his burley, muscular build—almost like that of Hulk Hogan—he was truly a kind soldier on stage. He fought till the lights went out. And unfortunately, it didn’t do him any good.
“Hurry up. Those idiots are like vultures for any kind of media they can get their hands on.” A hand reaches down to the small of my back, startling me more than the flash of the camera did in the first place.
I look over to the source of the silky, soft timbre voice and see blonde hair and ice-blue eyes smiling at me with the most seductive school-boy smirk I’ve ever encountered.
But I don’t let myself get lost for too long, stumbling inside as Hunter follows behind me.
“Thank you,” I say as I struggle with my purse and phone.
“No problem, Nova.” His tone is laced with cockiness as he says this to me. And I can’t help but feel a small swarm of butterflies in my stomach. It’s faint, but it’s there, nonetheless.
“Word of advice. Don’t eat your lunch outside. Camera creatures are everywhere.” I smile at his creative term for the paparazzi and his gaze catches mine for a brief second in what seems like a flirtatious staring contest. But I shake my head subtly to break the stare and he moves his hand; my skin immediately misses the heat of his touch.
“Care to show me to the writing room?” I ask.
I spent the entire morning after the meeting sitting with Shawn’s assistant who was supposed to be going over my list of things to do today. She didn’t help much though, claiming Shawn didn’t give her the best instructions on what to show me, so we spent all of two hours going over policy which I’d already done at home after I received the job offer. So basically, Caroline gave me the impression that she’s assisting Shawn in more unconventional ways because I could tell she had no clue what she was doing.
By the time I decided to take my lunch break, I’d learned nothing.
“Right this way.” He holds his hand out toward the lobby signaling me off to the right.
We walk down the long hallway–for what seems like more than a couple of minutes–passing doors on either side of us before eventually hitting the end corner of the building and turning right. Floor-to-ceiling windows give us a beautiful view to the landscaping outside on the right of us, while the other side houses old, framed photographs and trophies and news articles cased in glass and illuminated with recessed lighting.
I don’t really notice when my feet come to a slow stop as I stare at some of the memorabilia. But then I see a news article from 1998, I was only about three years old at the time, and it’s a headline of my dad’s debut. Next to the article is a replica of a championship belt with his name etched in the gold center and the title of heavy weight champion just underneath.
“Your dad wasn’t always a loser, little one.” Hunter’s soft tone creeps up behind me, I almost forgot he was here as I question how he answered the question I was forming in my head. But I don’t turn away from the article when I answer him.
“I used to get bullied because he lost every single match,” I admit. The feeling sits heavy in my stomach as a tear starts to form in my eye. Hunter lays a hand gently on my shoulder as I stare at everything in shock, disbelief, and anger.
He wasn’t always a loser, but why did everyone seem to only bring up his losing streak? Why did I get picked on because of him, when he didn’t even pay attention to me?
All of the negative thoughts flood me. Seeing this should bring joy to my heart, give me a sense of hope. Maybe it should give him a redeeming quality. But as I look at this photo of him–he’s standing in the middle of the ring with the championship belt high in his hands–I see love in his eyes. Love for the moment, for his career, pure and utter love. It’s probably what drove him to continue his faith in the company going forward.
But I’ve never seen him look at me like that.
He might have won this one match, maybe he even won more. But for most of his career he continued to accept defeat, even if it was scripted, and he continued to choose his career over his family over and over again. Meanwhile, his only child had to endure the wrath of cyber bullies and fans who were haters of TKS, even after his death. Dealing with the aftermath of someone she looked up to, someone she believed in even though she never saw this look of love in his eyes for her.
It’s in that moment that I see my father in a different light. I now realize that I have been seeking out his approval because he never showed me I mattered to him and I was already a disappointment from the day I was born. So maybe I’m here for all the wrong reasons. Maybe this isn’t my dream but just a way for me to continue to seek his acceptance even though he never really cared in the first place.
I feel Hunter squeeze my shoulder in what is meant to be an understanding and comforting gesture but it brings me out of thoughts.
I swipe the tear carefully away, not wanting to smear my mascara, before turning back down the hallway.
“We’ve been walking for several minutes, Mr. Dodge. Are we anywhere near the writing room?” I shake myself from the thoughts and decide to change the subject.
I take the only turn ahead of us, heading left around the hallway leading us to a set of double doors that open up to a part of the back area of the arena. Similar to the hallways that Shawn walked me through yesterday to get to one of the other meeting rooms.
“What is it that you’re doing here again?” His tone is quieter in the hallways, an attempt to avoid echoes bouncing off the walls, though it’s all steel and concrete back here.
“If you were paying attention at all yesterday, you’d know that I’m here as a writer’s assistant,” I snark back.
“I was paying attention yesterday. Trust me, little one.” I stop and turn to look at him, but he keeps walking a few steps ahead before turning around. “Did you have to go to school for that?” he asks and I almost jerk my head in confusion, because why would he care? It's been a while since anyone has asked me anything remotely close to personal.
“Yeah, I took a ton of creative writing classes. I also have my degree in language arts and I also did some freelance writing throughout college.” That’s the gist of it. Nothing special really.
“I guess I never really paid attention to the parts that other people play here.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, his arms flex as he does so, and I have to force my eyes shut and swallow to avoid the flush of red creeping up my neck. Because he is so fucking hot.
“Well, you also haven’t been here long so I can see how the people who play the biggest part in what you do here can be swept under the rug. It’s called ignorance, Mr. Dodge.” I finally decide to respond as I look around and see absolutely no sign of a writing room.
I notice that he takes a curious few steps closer to me, but I pretend not to notice as I pull my phone from my purse. It’s now two in the afternoon and I’ve wasted my entire day doing absolutely nothing productive from the mess with Caroline to this now stress-provoking encounter with Hunter.
Suddenly, I feel claustrophobic, like my air circulation is being cut short when I see how close Hunter is to me right now.
“Well, I’d say I’m definitely paying attention now, Miss Satterlee.”