His neck ached with every pothole. He’d promised Bambietta he wouldn’t do anything stupid with the brace off. He’d broken that promise the second he set foot in the Saitama Arena.
Jey approched, parked in the garage beneath the high-rise and rode the elevator up in silence instead of the stairwell, his reflection staring back at him from the polished steel doors. He had his mask folded in his jacket pocket.
The apartment was warm. Probably his girlfriend had just finished up in the kitchen.
Bambietta was on the couch with her legs tucked under her, a laptop balanced on her knees, the JW post-pay-per-view recap show already playing muted on the television. She looked up the moment the door opened, and her expression shifted from relief to fury in mere seconds.
"Where did you go," she said. It wasn’t a question. And she already knew the answer to that, it was her form of punishment by making poor Jey admit everything firsthand.
"Went to the show," Jey said, knowing that she knew. "I had to."
"The only reason I didn’t protest you taking off the collar weeks earlier than warned, was because you promised you wouldn’t leave the house."
She set the laptop on the coffee table hard enough that Billy, the dog, lifted his head from the rug and gave a soft, confused whine. Bambietta got to her feet and crossed the room, grabbing Jey’s jaw gently between her fingers and turning his head side to side.
"Does it hurt right now? Did Billy hit you?"
"A little."
"A little what? A little that it hurts? Or he hit you a little?"
"Bam, stop."
She let go of his face and exhaled through her nose, more frustrated than relieved. "You could’ve undone a month of healing for what? A pop."
"It worked, though." Jey dropped his bag by the door and sat down heavily on the arm of the couch. "The crowd nearly took the roof off."
She sat next to him, closer now, her hand finding his knee. "I care about you being able to freely rotate your head."
He didn’t argue anymore, she was only looking out for him after all.
They sat like that for a minute, her hand resting on his leg, the muted broadcast flickering footage of the staredown on the ramp, Billy’s incomplete mask lit up. Jey watched it play again, his own masked face frozen mid-stare on the screen, and thought about how to say what he needed to say.
"I met somebody backstage tonight," he said finally.
"Besides Shin?"
"King."
Bambietta’s hand went still on his knee. "I--saw he was on commentary. He’s also on the recap show."
"He called me out on taking my brace off. Told me I was stupid for it." Jey turned to look at her. "...then he asked me how I’ve been treating his little girl."
The color drained out of Bambietta’s face fast enough that Jey almost regretted saying it that bluntly. She pulled her hand back into her own lap.
"He told me you’re his daughter."
She didn’t say anything for a second, and Jey let her have it, watching her chest rise and fall a little quicker than usual. Billy the dog trotted over unto the couch and put his chin on her knee, sensing something was wrong, and she scratched behind his ears without really looking at him.
"I was going to tell you eventually," she said.
"When? On our wedding day?"
"Don’t do that."
"I’m not trying to be a smartass. I’ve known you since what, fucking third grade? You never mentioned your dad wrestled. And of course neither did Lee or Linda, I guess somehow that wasn’t important."
"Don’t swear at me. You’re the one at fault here, don’t you dare turn this on me."
Bambietta moved Billy, got up off the couch and walked to the kitchen island, resting her hands flat against the marble, her back to him. Jey gave her the space, staying on the couch, watching her shoulders.
"He-- was gone more than he was home," she said, her voice tighter than usual. "Every birthday, every school thing, it was always some tour in Puerto Rico or Japan or wherever they needed a big scary heel. My mom raised me alone. I remember one time he came home with his hand busted so bad from a table spot he couldn’t hold a fork to his mouth for a month. That was the year my love for wrestling died. I decided I wasn’t going to build my life around a business like that."
"So you ran from wrestling and somehow you’re closer to it than ever."
She let out a short laugh that had no humor in it. "Funny how that works."
"He hoped you weren’t still going by Bambietta. What’s up with that?"
"I couldn’t go by my name thanks to him, because the second anyone hears the last name, they treat you different." She turned around finally, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed. "I wanted people to like me for me. Not for who my father beat up in 1998."
Jey stood and walked over to her, and stopped a foot away.
"He also kinda threatened me," he said.
"Of course he did." A small, tired smile finally cracked through. "Welcome to the family."
"He said if I ever put you in danger, he’d end me. Me and Billy both."
Jey reached out and took her hand off her crossed arms, holding it loosely. "I’ll listen more often, I’ll be careful. I promise."
She actually laughed at that, and leaned her forehead against his chest, careful of his neck. "Your promises don’t really mean much now, do they."
He wrapped an arm around her, breathing in the faint trace of her shampoo.
"I saw Billy in the parking lot," Jey said quietly, into her hair.
She stiffened again, pulling back to look up at him. "I knew it. You too can never not fight."
"He was sitting in some rental, just resting on the steering." Jey rubbed at the back of his neck. "Bam, he looked bad. Not beat-up bad, it looked like something else."
"What do you mean, something else?"
"His eyes. Back in Mexico, I’ve seen guys backstage after they’ve taken too many painkillers before a show. He had that look. Pupils like pinholes."
"You think he’s using?"
"Maybe. I think Shin might know." He told her about the strange question in the office, Shin’s flat voice asking if Billy was alright, the small satisfied smile that came after. "He’s not worried about Billy."
"That’s what these promoters do. They squeeze until there’s nothing left."
Jey thought about the middle finger raised without a shred of hesitation, and the way Billy had floored the gas before Jey could even open his mouth.
"He flipped me off and drove away," Jey said. "Didn’t say a word."
"Fuck him."
"Bam."
"I mean it, Jey. That man tried to break his own brother’s neck. I don’t care how sad his eyes looked."
Jey wasn’t sure he disagreed with her, not really, but something about the sight of Billy slumped over that wheel had lodged itself under his skin and wouldn’t shake loose.