NOT EVEN THE WATER IN MEXICO COULD KEEP ME FROM SHOWING UP, MIGHT BE A BIT MESSY THOUGH

LIFE'S (NOT)A BEACH

The beach stretched out in both directions, but only he stood there and glared out into the void, as though the world had quietly stepped away. The sand beneath his feet was cool and uneven, clung to his skin as he shifted his weight, unsure whether to move or remain still. Before him, the sea breathed in slow, deliberate rhythms, its surface caught the light and fractured it into soft, trembling patterns. Each wave reached farther than the last, tickling his toes playfully before it ran back to the comfort of home.

The water slowly crept higher, wrapped his feet and ankles in a shimmering veil. The water was cool, it grounded him, held him in place while the sand shifted and sighed beneath the tide’s pull. Tony watched the waves rise and fall, caught in a silence where time seemed to slow, and the world narrowed to the glow of water and his own steady breath.

He felt similar a few weeks ago, alone in the middle of a parking lot in Atlanta, Georgia as an ambulance, with Hessian loaded up in the back, was swallowed up by the darkness sporting a grin that rivaled his own. He figured as soon as the show was over, after the dust had settled in the Mercedes-Benz Stadium, the rest of The Red Army would join him at Grady Memorial.

That never happened.

Alexei Ruslan was too busy preparing the Red Army's tale of triumph over the frigid Queen's demoralizing attempt to reign over PRIME unopposed, fabricating the explanation of how the Red Bandits decided to relinquish the PRIME tag team titles. Ivan tended to his wounds, while Dawkins enjoyed time well spent with his child.

What bothered him the most though, was the fact Coral, the Golden Bandit himself, was far more interested in discussing the Octane…mentioning Jiles being aware of what had happened. The Grin and Hessian had just fallen in with the Red Army, but he figured the amount of time spent as Bandits had formed more of a connection. He realized his assumption was wrong pretty quickly.

The thing is, Avalon was supposed to be different than the rest of them, supposed to be better. In the end, he was a bigger Bandit than even Jiles.

Gamble should have just walked away from it all last night, left his boots in the center of the ring and enjoyed one final chorus of boos from the crowd as he disappeared behind the curtain for the last time. Instead, he walked down to the ring with the rest of the Red Army, unaware that the absence of Rose was only the first step down a path the Red Army did not expect to explore. Dawkins was no longer a happy camper, and while Ivan remained calm as Alexei erupted…it was obvious Stanislav was a time bomb ready to explode at any moment.

Tony wondered whether or not he wanted to be there when it happened.

=-=-=-=-=

THE YELLOW PAGES

I'm not going to lie, I didn't know who you were Steve. I'm not even sure if that's changed while preparing for our upcoming match…If we can even call it that.

Are we actually wrestling?

When I asked for the match stipulation, all I was told was that it was American Gladiators. Not sure if we're taking turns being the gladiator, both being competitors against gladiators, or even which competitions we're going to be participating in.

How am I supposed to prepare for something I have no clue about?

That is the whole reason we get to pick our own stipulations though, so the Alias champion can have the advantage. So why wouldn't someone who cannot wrestle, pick something that has nothing to do with actually wrestling.

I guess we can blame Blaze for opening the door with his ridiculous Supermarket Sweep stipulation, but I don't really want to give that guy credit for anything. What's done is done, and here we are competing in whatever the hell this ends up being.

I wish I could say I'm excited about the possibilities, curious about the surprises you have in store, but I am seriously having a hard time getting motivated. I feel like you are making a mockery of the sport that I have spent my life competing in. It upsets me so much that I feel I have no choice, but to go out there and completely destroy you in order to save the Alias title from becoming a complete joke. The thing is, I'm not – and probably never will be – a hero.

Of all people, I feel like you understand how that feels, not being able to become something people expect you to be. Not that there's more than one – maybe two – people that would actually believe I could ever be a hero, but with the entourage you have surrounding you…I feel like you have a few people that believe you can eventually become an actual wrestler. Hell, Sid made a career using the powerbomb in a bunch of different ways, so you have a pretty good chance.

A better chance than I do of becoming a hero, that's for sure.

=-=-=-=-=

BALLS TO THE FACE

“What happened to your face?”

“I didn't move fast enough,” The Grin replies as he presses a bag of ice against his lip. “Took a tennis ball to the chin, then stumbled over the box I was trying to hide behind and busted my lip.”

“Did you forget you had hands,” Victoria tried her best to stifle her laugh, but isn't doing a very good job.

“Glad you're amused,” Tony keeps the ice pack against his lip as he rests his elbow on the table, wincing from the pain that shoots up his arm when he does. “Never really thought a tennis ball could cause so much pain.”

“Frank was shooting them at you from a pitching machine at over eighty miles an hour,” she runs her hand down his back, applying slight pressure with her thumbs. “What did you expect?”

“I don't know,” he shakes his head, placing the ice on the table with a slight moan as Victoria massages a tight spot on his back.

“Gross,” Olivia mutters when she enters the dining room. Her eyes widen when she sees her father. “Wow, what happened to your face?”

“Long story,” her mother responds, shaking her head to cut Olivia off before she pursues the sore subject.

“You're okay though, Dad?”

“Yeah,” Gamble nods, momentarily forgetting about all the pain as warmth fills his heart. He never actually expected to be a father, much less a ‘girl dad’, but he welcomed the title and the challenge that came with it. He was reveling in his new found role, even if it hasn't always been easy.

“I wanted to talk to you both about something,” she hesitates, tucking a stray strand behind her ear as her cheeks turn a brighter shade of pink. “Maybe I should wait until you're feeling better though.”

“I'm fine,” Gamble sits up straight. “What's on your mind?”

“Well I…” her voice trails off as she lowers her head and stares at her feet, which she struggles to keep still. “Actually, Travis and I…”

Tony's sigh is anything but quiet, especially considering this involves ‘the boy’, which is what he has nicknamed his daughter's boyfriend. Travis has been nothing but a gentleman with Olivia, as far as he knows, but he knows what his own mind was focused on at that age. That alone has the alarm ringing in his ears to wrap her up in bubble wrap and lock her in the basement until she is twenty one, but there's this whole Child Protective Services department of the government that frowns on that sort of thing.

“Well, with Valentine's day falling on a Saturday,” not only her cheeks, but now her whole face has turned beet red. Pale hands tightly clasped together swing to and fro as she begins to rock in place. “he is planning to…”

Tony feels he already knows what Travis is planning, so he doesn't hear her say dinner and a late movie. His head is already shaking, because this kid isn't getting lucky with his daughter.

“Hell no,” Tony’s voice rises an octave or two as he stands up, knuckles white on the table as he presses his fist against the wood to steady himself. “The nerve of this kid, I swear.”

“It's just that the movie ends at nine, so we figured thirty minutes wouldn't be that bad.” Avoiding eye contact, she continues. “His parents already said okay, and his mom is driving so…”

“He's a boy, of course his parents are okay with it.”

“Wait, what?” Olivia looks around, not for help exactly, but for a clue as to how the conversation had slipped out of alignment.

“Antonio,” Victoria chimes in, cutting him off before he says something that will make the conversation even more awkward for their daughter. “She's just asking to extend her curfew, not for our permission to get married.”

“That isn't even what I was thi…” he notices the pause first, like a silent brake squeal. Her head tilts a little more than it should, like she's trying to re-aim a telescope. Her left eyebrow rises, not in surprise, but in sluggish calculation. Her smile doesn't fade away, it stiffens, flattening into something polite and methodical, the type of smile you wear when having a conversation with a dentist that talks too much.

It's her eyes that do all of the heavy lifting though. They stop blinking. Her gaze locks on. There's a slight narrowing, as if she's mentally circling the point in the conversation where he should have stopped.

She might have inhaled through her nose very quickly, but it was controlled, authoritative.

It's uncertain of the origin, but this look has been passed down from generation to generation like type two diabetes.

It was time for Tony to stop talking.

=-=-=-=-=

THE YELLOW PAGES

I'm pretty sure I understand how you feel right now though.

This is new for you.

It's exciting.

I remember the first time I won the Alias title, or as I liked to call it way back in the day…the Internet title, since I had the internet going nuts.

I too was new to the sport, a freshly won title draped over my shoulder – because that's how all the cool kids carried it – when I walked down to the ring.

It felt like I was walking on cloud nine, able to make even Godzilla turn around and head back into the ocean.

I took down champion after champion, from Frosty the Jason Snowman to the Deville himself. Hell, I even put Troy's little lapdog Wade to sleep a few times.

In my humble opinion, I don't think you'll ever get to that point.

Not after what I saw at Colossus.

I just don't believe you have the testicular fortitude guys like me and Hessian have. Your heart just isn't in it, and I could see that every time you punched Blaze in his sack.

You looked ready to throw up the lunch you had that afternoon, maybe even the dinner from the night before.

You have the will to win, just not the stomach for it.

It's okay though, because not everyone does.

Don't lower yourself to my level, disregarding your morals because having that gold in your hand is precious.

You're not me, and I honestly hope you never have the desire to be, because I'm not a good person. Some might even call me an asshole, and I would have a hard time convincing them otherwise.

I know who I am…what I've become.

I'm okay with that though.

I lost the fucks needed to keep me up at night, and have demons on both shoulders screaming in my ear.

This is my life, but it doesn't have to be yours.

You still have a chance to walk away.

If I knew now how things would turn out, I may have taken that trip myself. Unfortunately for you, that's no longer an option, and I have no problem doing what I need to do in order to walk out of eighty two with that title on my shoulder.

Even if it's no longer cool.