11. Cheyanne

My phone rings.

"Hey, Liam. I had a feeling you'd be calling today," I answer when I pick up.

"Hey, how's it going? You ready for tonight?"

I let out a sigh. Not one of exasperation, more so nervousness. "Yeah, applying the final touches."

"It's your first…"

"Yeah, the first time as Disastra. First time fighting with Camie, too."

"It's been two solid weeks of prep, Chey. You're ready."

"Yeah, and my moves went over well with the crowds as Archimedes. Got some decent reviews in the WrestleMania mag. That has to be a good sign. I'm pumped. This is the perfect way of handling everything. My need for change. My loyalty towards Mom. People fought me at every turn. But this will prove to them I was right all along."

"Sure."

Silence. It rings in my ears.

"You're thinking they were backhanded, huh? Comparing my new moves to when I teamed up with Mom."

"And the comparisons."

"You mean Archimedes brand back in the day and now?"

"Yes."

He doesn't have to say more. I know Ronan shares his thoughts even if he doesn't voice them. And it's true. The comparison is there – the younger wrestler me versus today. In the wrestling world, everyone knows comparisons can be the death knell of a brand. I keep that kernel of wisdom to myself.

"This is still just because you think I should be clueing in Mac on my secret training," I say, changing the subject slightly.

"Look, I'm not going to change my mind on that. If your trainer doesn't know why, why have a trainer? All this secrecy is bad, Chey."

I glance down at the reviews. These have to talk better than anything I could say to convince my dad, Ronan, or anyone else. Then lies will no longer be needed.

I move around the room, donning the last of my costume. I'm still slow at applying the menacing eye makeup before I don the mask, which is good. I need time to think.

"Mac would tell on me with Dad, sure as guns. He'd drop a dime on me without a thought. He'd drop a dime on Dad. I'm sure of it. Then, that'll start the whole ball rolling. One I don't want. The last thing I need is Dad on my case."

"Dad is not your enemy, Chey. He's good at what he does. He'd back you to the hilt if you just let him."

"Have you seen Ronan lately? You know the guy has got some great moves, too. The industry stars change. The industry changes." I try my damndest to change the freaking subject and get this obsession off of me.

"I chatted with him the other day. He told me who he'd pick for his first line-up with Fool's Gold. Impressive. At least he and I think the same way regarding talent. He'd love to sign Ronan," I continue.

"You were sniffing around him, huh? Testing the wind, so to speak?"

Genius me. Keep obsessing about Ronan. There ya go.

I chuckle. "Yeah, I guess."

"But he said Ronan, right? Not Lawless."

There's a long silence while I try to make out what he means by that. "What?" I finally ask.

"I'm just saying, he might be interested in Ronan. He's a hell of a wrestler, everyone knows that. He's big money, and he'd probably be big money in a new character, but he's not saying he wants his Lawless schtick anymore."

"Promoters would be nuts not to sign Lawless to their roster, you know that."

"Well, not if he's trying to change the character. You think he wants a hero version of Lawless? Lawless sells because of who he is. He's not going to want to gamble with that."

"It'll be a big gamble transforming the brand. Becoming a hero when his entire career has been based on the villain motif. But if anyone can do it, Ronan can." Sure, a part of me believes it. Ronan can do anything he sets his mind to.

Another part of me thinks I'm just trying to ease my own anxiety. If Ronan, of all people, can't rebuild his persona, that would mean I can't change Archimedes, and I'm not interested in unpacking all the ways that thought makes my chest ache.

"Listen, I have to run. We can talk later, right?" I ask.

"Sure."

Liam hangs up, and I look at my cell. That didn't go so well. I shrug my shoulders and grab the last of my gear. No time to dissect that chit-chat. Time is money. I run out the locker room door. The show, whatever it is, must go on.

* * *

The last smack-down. The bell rings. The ref hauls up our arms.

"The tag-team winner for tonight. Disastra and the Hillbilly Cyborg!"

The arena erupts in applause and cheers, fans stamping the bleachers. The place is thundering with sound.

I flash Camie a smile. She flashes one back. We're both beat and out of breath, but damn if it didn't go perfectly!

We take our bows, and the arena guards quickly usher us to the locker room. Fans swarm us, reaching with pens and programs for our autographs. In the melee, we barely get backstage, laughing all the way.

We burst through the door. "Holy hell, that was awesome!" Camie shouts, jogging place, still hyped up from the show.

I collapse onto the bench, plain worn out, but my eyes are wide and my breathing deep. I'm beyond thrilled.

Camie runs over and takes a seat on the bench, too, undoing her laces. "But that wasn't a given. We sucked the big one at the start."

I remove my cape and fling it on a side table. "You're not kidding. You and I missed our opening cues. We were supposed to do that double rope jump together. Oh, my God, what a choreographed mess!"

Camie bends over, howling. "Right! And then, I was supposed to swap you with the four-point hold, and our arms got tangled up. I'm surprised we didn't get booed on that one."

"Thank goodness for the wide load that was our ref. I think he covered our screw-ups tonight." I move to the lighted vanity table and start shedding my villain makeup mask with gobs of cold cream.

Camie joins me at the next table and removes her cyborg appliance. She shakes her hair. I know she must be hot as blazes under that thing.

"Well, we got a few boos after that fourth bell, remember? When Dorothy the Demon and her sidekick Freaky Franchesca did a number on our hair. Those were supposed to be fake pulls. It hurt like hell!" Camie examines the top of her head in the mirror to see if she still has hair.

I shake my head and laugh. "Yeah, I mean, you and I were supposed to double-arm them off before they grabbed us. You missed, and my arm beaned off Dorothy's chest armor. Cripes. We were the Keystone Kops out there."

I slither out of my body suit and throw on a robe. "From that point, I was sure we were goners. But then, you and I gelled, or we got our mojo, or some wrestling god looked down on us."

Camie turns with bright eyes. "Yeah! It was so weird. It's like we finally tuned into one another. We matched perfectly. I rolled when you leaped. We both parted like the Red Sea when Dot and Fran flew at us. Boy, did you hear the audience laughing then? They were totally on our side at that point."

"Audience laughter. Screw that. I was laughing. We aced that move!"

"Yep, from then on, we hit every mark. The audience loved it." Camie brushes what's left of her hair.

"Oh, my God, did you see Dot look at me? She was pissed. The script read a win for us, sure, but I don't think she was ready to be laughed at."

Camie giggles. "Cripes, yeah. I fear the next time we're in the ring with those two. Payback is a bitch. She better pull your hair out next time. I have none left."

We laugh.

"Well, well, what do we have here? Tonight's take-down winners. That's what we have!"

Ronan burst through the door. Camie and I smile and chorus. "That's us! The devilish duo!"

Ronan grabs a chair and sits backward on it. "Seriously, though. Congrats on a great fight. You two earned it."

Ronan's expression looks so sincere and his gaze lingers on me. I lower my head and feign brushing my hair. My cheeks are hot. I can't let him see.

"Hey, hey, no blushing tonight, Disastra." Ronan gently lifts my chin, and he smiles like a proud man at his own creation. The look in his eyes just about takes my breath away.

To hide it, I laugh, get up, and grab a water bottle. I'm feeling too much heat, inside and out.

"Thanks, Ronan. Coming from you that means a lot," offers Camie. "You saw how we goofed up right ‘til the fourth bell, though, right?"

Ronan cocks his head. "I wasn't going to mention that bit, but yeah. I did." He chuckles. "Hey, every new team has growing pains, right? You two gelled, figured it out, and came back for the win. What new team does that on the first event? That's huge."

I return to my chair, silently nodding. Suddenly, I feel proud. For me, for Camie, for us both. "You're right. Who clicks with their partner that fast? Even after two weeks of practice."

Camie grabs my arm. "All we needed was to get over the butterflies, and bam, we landed in that ring like a bomb."

I side-hug her. "We exploded. Didn't we? Man, it was so cool finally being Disastra. It's like I was made to be mean in the ring."

"Disastra is your thing now, Chey. You rock it, and it fulfills you. You must see that by now. Did you get a load of the cheering? And the bleacher pounding? That doesn't occur often. Not even with the male tag teams. The thunder juiced me up. That's when I knew you two hit all on eight."

Ronan's eyes spark. The electricity from the orc jumps to me, and I feel it. I swear I do. Ronan is all energy. Strength. Power. Such power. His excitement soaks into my body like reverberations from an exploded bomb. For a moment, I feel dizzy, or deliriously happy. I don't fight it. I luxuriate in it.

From that moment on, the rest of the night is a blur of shaking hands and photo ops and conversations in the green room. Camie and I both lap it up. We even cheat and have sips of champagne, which is definitely not on our fighter's diet.

To celebrate Disastra feels so good. It feels freeing. Like I'm my own person for once. Pains of sadness and regret quietly ebb and flow inside me, but I shake them off. And I smile. Boy, do I smile.

All the work. All the ring time. All the bruises and mat falls. All the aches, pains, and the fear of failing. It's all been worth it. If to be Disastra, only Disastra, for one successful night.

I exhale. For the first time since Mom died, I exhale.

But the ease of doing so hurts my heart.