25. Cheyanne

Ihit the button, and my car window rolls down. I'll listen, but I won't meet Mac's gaze. I'm not convinced this is a good thing to be doing, meeting with Fritz and Lena like this.

After accosting me at my house the other night, Mac convinced me that this was the next step. But now that I'm actually meeting him here, I'm not so sure.

"Cheyanne, c'mon. They want to meet with you in person. You know it wouldn't be trivial if they set up an actual appointment at HQ."

I exhale.

Nothing good comes from these meetings. Fritz and Lena will be all smiles, but now that it seems the word is out about my Disastra moonlighting, I know whatever is behind their smiles won't be good.

Mac whips the door open and reaches for my arm before I second-guess my actions and tear out of the Raucous parking lot like the wind.

I sigh and let him pull me out. I walk with him like I'm trudging through mud.

Just what I need. A talking-to by the big wigs. It's sure to make my breakfast curdle.

"Look, if I knew what they were going to say, I'd give you a clue. I'm only tasked as the delivery boy for the owners. Still, you did what you did. You went against your contract and it's time to face the music. For the record, I think you're making a mountain out of a molehill. It's not like meeting with the owners is like going to your own execution."

I look up from my trudging and raise my head to look at the building's top floor. "No. It just feels like it."

Mac shakes his head and drags me into the expansive glass and brass foyer. Every time I enter the Raucous building, I get the willies. I'm not cut out for corporate office politics or ladder climbing. I'm a wrestler, through and through. My fight is in a ring, not at a boardroom table.

We hit the executive elevator and are soon whisked up to the penthouse floor. Mac is silent, probably still a little mad at me for stepping out on him as my trainer. My eyes are glued to the floor numbers, lighting up one after another.

Why don't OTIS elevators have breakdowns when you need them most?

The elevator doors glide open, and as we turn left, solid walnut double doors face us at the end of a long hallway. The tension-filled scene looks like it could be out of a James Bond movie where we are about to meet the dastardly villain and his lovely Persian cat. I would smile at my imagination, but nothing about this moment is even a bit funny.

I gulp air and wipe my sweaty hands on my track pants. Mac holds the right-side door open, and I stride in like my heart is beating fine, the day is great, and I'm not having a silent coronary.

"Cheyanne! You made it. Great. Have a seat over here, will you?" Fritz walks over and vigorously shakes my hand like it's the first time he's laid eyes on me. Okay, too weird.

"Chey, dear, yes. Do come over. We've laid out refreshments. I know you've probably come directly from the gym." Lena waves me over to a cozy furniture grouping. The glass walls behind the overstuffed sofa afford a 180-degree view of Briarwood and its surroundings. The landscape is verdant and tranquil. Oh, how looks can deceive.

I take a bottle of water from the ice bucket and sit down at one end of the sofa with Mac at the other and Lena and Fritz facing us in two chairs. They stare at me like I'm a science experiment maturing and they are eagerly awaiting the petri dish result. I take a drink of ice-cold water and swallow. Hard.

The silence is deafening. I cut it. "So, what do I owe this pleasure?" I lie.

Fritz sits forward with the eagerness of a used car salesman. "We wanted to tell you in person, so you wouldn't hear it through the industry grapevine."

"Okay. That's, uh, nice of you, I guess. What's up?" I take another swig to better enunciate with my arid dry tongue.

Lena sits forward, too, and presses her hoofs together.

Cripes, here it comes. The big bad news.

"Chey, we want you to know we've put a lot of thought into this. Fritz and I wouldn't push for this change unless we thought it was the best for everyone. We've decided to end your Archimedes character after one more sketch. We've learned about your time as Disastra, but since that's been going so well for you, we've decided to support it rather than enforce any kind of retribution. We plan to replace your brand with Disastra, full time."

"Yes. You've made such a success out of Archimedes, and we are so very proud to be the company who represented that brand. But time's change, and we think the change would be good for you, personally, and for ticket sales. You know, to whip up new fan interest. That sort of thing." Fritz flashes a toothy smile.

I had been sitting erect, but this news has me leaning against the backrest. The news hits me like a freight train, and I can't tell if I'm still breathing from the collision.

I smile but keep quiet, trying to figure out how wires got so crossed.

"I'm not so sure you understand. I was adding more aggressive moves, yes, but it wasn't because I was trying to prove Disastra could be a hit. I didn't want to swap out for Disastra permanently. I was just using the role so I could test out some new moves and get some practice undercover. I didn't mean to deceive anyone, not really."

"No, dear, no," Lena assures me. "We realize our wrestlers are under a bevy of rules and regs. Sometimes they're for the sake of the wrestler, but the bottom line is, rules can be broken."

"Absolutely. Raucous can take a gamble now and then. Why not? We've heard nothing but great things about Disastra's reception all over town. Of course, we'd want to hone your brand and make it our own. Whether you knew what you were stumbling into is hardly the point in the end."

I watch as Fritz's lips move, listing many tweaks they've discussed to make for my alter ego character. But I don't hear the words. I'm too pissed to listen.

I don't want to give up Archimedes. I wanted Disastra to fix Archimedes, since Raucous wouldn't help me. Now, I finally got a character I have complete creative control over, and my ideas are paying off. And they want to steal Disastra from me and leave their sticky fingerprints all over my work, plain and simple.

My hearing returns.

"Fritz is right, Cheyanne. Archimedes had a great run, didn't she? First, with your mother and then solo. You've done the character proud. But like all good things, they end, don't they? Archimedes' dwindling fan base and the meager ticket sales. We're having a hard time promoting her anymore. Chey, you know how this industry ebbs and flows. It's a hard reality. But your mother has passed on, and if all of us are being honest, so should the character you developed with her."

Lena reaches out to hold my hand. I don't move a muscle.

How dare she? How dare they? Put Archimedes down. Treat the character and my mom like they're yesterday's news. And on top, they want to take Disastra like they own all my ideas.

I force a smile.

If they think they can take Disastra from me, they are certifiable.

"Well, yes, Chey, we know it's a lot to take in. You sit with this proposal for a while and let us know your thoughts. Lena and I are nothing but accommodating to our wrestlers, of course." Fritz looks at his watch. Obviously, it's a hint for me to skedaddle. Gladly.

I jump out of my seat and head for the door. I turn to face Mac, who is staying put. His eyes are fixed on his feet. He doesn't have the guts to look me in the face. Never thought I'd see that from a demon, but today is a day of unpleasant surprises, isn't it?

Fritz and Lena offer their hands and I brush right by them. My head remains high, my eyes glued to the exit.

I reach my car, get in, and sit there like a mannequin, shocked, hurt, and so outraged.

"Raucous has been in the toilet ever since my parents left. There's no two ways about it. This isn't the last they'll be hearing from me, that's for sure. Though I doubt they'll like what I have to say."

I slam the door and start the car. Just as I'm about to pull out of the lot, my cell rings.

I throw the gear back into park and pick up the call, seeing it's Liam. "Hi. What's up?" I can't say much more. I run out of words when I'm spitting mad.

"Hey, Chey. Listen, I hate to tell you like this. Actually, I hate to be the one to tell you at all."

"What? I'm kind of busy right now. Stop the preamble. What's on your mind?"

"You know how gossip flies in this town. Well, I heard about a tiff, a ring brawl, if you must know."

I sigh. Big whoop. They happen all the time between athletes. I can't figure out how this warrants a call but whatever.

"Yeah, so?"

"Chey, it was between our dad and…"

"Our dad? Our dad doesn't fight anymore. You sure you have this right?"

"Yep. I heard it firsthand, from Dad himself."

"Okay. Who was it? Who was Dad fighting?"

"Chey… it was Ronan, I'm sorry to say."

"Did you tell him?" I accuse, feeling betrayed. I can't believe my own brother would do such a thing.

"No, Chey. I promise, it wasn't me. Dad said he got tipped off by Marty. How Marty knew, I can't tell you."

I'm stunned. I quit the call without saying goodbye. Then I throw the car into gear and tear out of the parking lot.

There's only one person I need to see.

From Raucous headquarters to Ronan's place, the intersections are a blur. Green lights, red lights, who the hell knows.

My mind is a blur, too. Who do I blame? Who do I offer an apology to?

God, can my life get any worse?