#hoj

           It was daytime—the light streaming in the windows was evidence of that—but there wasn’t much more I could figure out. I didn’t know what day it was. My phone was dead, having sat on the bedside table unplugged for God knew how long. An ache settled in my stomach. My vision swam with each move of my head. Moving required more energy than I had.

           Noise filtered from the rest of the house. Echoed and reverberated and grew louder as it got closer. The door banged against the wall.

           “Alright, dollface,” Jon said from behind me. His voice was almost too loud in my ears. His ever-present frenetic energy made my skin crawl and itch. “I’ve had just about enough of this.”

           He rounded the bed and stood over me, his eyes flashing like blue chips of ice. I blinked slowly. He ran his hands over his close cropped hair. “Get up.”

           I blinked again. Tried to roll away. Ended up flopping in a contorted position that made my neck throb.

           Jon kicked the bedpost with his steel-toed boot. “Sophie Weston Lopez. I said to drag your ass out of this bed right now.”

           Movement flickered in the corner of my eye. Seth standing at the doorway, our sleeping two-year old against his shoulder.

           The bed jerked again. The sound of steel on wrought iron echoed again.

           “Alright,” Jon snarled, “that’s it. I’m sick of this shit.”

           He leaned over the bed, scooping me up into his arms and practically draping me over his shoulder. The world tipped and swayed as he walked. He brushed past Seth. I caught sight of his face—part terrible sadness and part complete relief. Sefina shifted against his shoulder, wrapping her arm around his neck.

           A moment later, I was plopped unceremoniously at the table. A bowl of cereal and a full glass of water sat just a few inches away.

           “Eat,” Jon said from right beside me, pointing his finger angrily at the food. “Now.”

           I drew a breath. My chest ached with it. I wanted to cry, but didn’t have the tears.

           He moved around the table, pulled out a chair. Turned it backwards and straddled it. His mouth tipped into a frown.

           “Eat,” he repeated, more angrily than before.

           Seth crossed in front of me. I glanced up, met his gaze, begged somehow for him to drag me out of whatever this was. He smiled softly but shook his head. It seemed like I was on my own.

           My fingers shook weakly as I gripped the spoon and maneuvered a bite of cereal to my mouth. I gasped in a breath after each bite, even as I felt a little bit of awareness creep in as sugar flooded my system.

           Jon wasn’t satisfied until I had eaten every bite, slurped down every drop of milk left in the bowl, and drank every ounce of water in the glass. I felt full and sluggish at the same time as my nerves started to jitter with sugar rush.

           “Good,” he said at last. He stood, arms crossed over his chest. “Now get up. Let’s go.”

           “I don’t want to go anywhere,” I murmured barely loud enough to be heard.

           Jon leaned forward, bracing his fists on the table. Fire snapped in his eyes. He stared me down ferociously. “Let’s. Go.”

***

           The lights were too bright. Every sound echoed painfully through the empty room. Dust motes danced in the light as Jon half pushed half dragged me across the room toward the training ring in the corner of Black and Brave’s gym. We were alone in the silence.

           “Get in the ring.” Jon gave me a firm shove between the shoulder blades. “Right now.”

           I fetched up against the apron, folding forward and resting my head on my forearms. Whatever energy I’d gotten from the sugary breakfast had swept out of me in the walk from the kitchen to the car and the car to the ring.

           “I can’t.” The words came out in a weak moan. “I can’t, Jon.”

           The ring rattled and bounced as he swept in beneath the bottom rope. I could sense him hovering over me. In the next moment, Jon grabbed me under the arms and yanked me up to stand on the apron. He barely gave me time to get my bearings before he hefted me over the top rope and pushed me into the corner.

           Turnbuckles dug into my back. I couldn’t quite find my balance. Vertigo made my head spin.

           “You can’t?” Jon whispered frustratedly. “Can’t or won’t?”

           I whimpered. “I can’t.”

           He walked a few steps away and leaned against the ropes. “Huh. That’s not the woman I know. You’re weak.”

           Something like shame and anger burned in my chest. My brain wanted to fight him, but my body didn’t have the energy. I didn’t even think I had it in me to argue with him.

           Jon paced across the ring, bounced off the ropes on the other side. I watched him with a detached disinterest. Like there was a thick glass that separated me from him. From being able to care.

           “You should have stayed out of the ring when Ronda put you down,” he said, his voice stern and cold. “She did you a favor really. All of us. So we don’t have to watch you anymore.”

           Anger burned bright in my chest. Every word out of Jon’s mouth was an echo of the doubts and fears that had plagued me from the moment I’d returned to wrestling. They were the nightmares that shocked me awake at three in the morning, sweat making my clothes stick to my skin.

           I hated myself for every whisper of those doubts. And God knew, in that moment, I hated Jon for repeating them.

           “Fuck you,” I spat.

           He grinned, one corner of his mouth tipping upward. “Bringing you back was a mistake. Giving you another title was a pity move. Because they knew you wouldn’t last much longer. ‘Let’s give her one more run, she’ll be on the shelf soon.’”

           “Fuck you, Jon,” I snarled back. I balanced myself with the ropes, putting my feet firmly beneath me. Anger boiled in my blood. “Fuck you for every word you just said.”

           He chuckled. “What are you going to do about it? You left whatever was good about you in the ring when Ronda almost broke your neck because you fucked up.”

           I sucked in a breath and let out a scream that echoed against the rafters. My feet pushed me across the canvas before I consciously thought of it. Blood pounded through my veins. Adrenaline flooded my limbs.

           Jon and I slammed into each other in the center of the ring. He caught me by the head, snapping me into a side headlock. His bicep crushed into my ear. Fingers locked as the pressure made me feel like my skull was going to explode.

           I wriggled, pain lancing along my face as I squeezed out of his hold. I ducked under and ran toward the ropes. Bounced off, swerved away out of his reach, and kicked out with the top of my foot against the back of his thigh. He swore and limped for a moment. Then he turned back toward me, a playful grin on his face.

           “Now,” he said with a chuckle, “are you done feeling sorry for yourself?”

           My limbs buzzed with electricity. Being this close to Jon drew out some of that frenetic energy that always crackled when he was around. I felt a smile rush over my face as I crossed over to him, throwing my arms around his waist.

           “Thank you,” I whispered. I felt his lips brush the top of my head. “You always know exactly what I need.”

           He laughed. “What was it Seth called me—I’m your emotional support Jon.”

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