Post by Old Line Jeff on Oct 21, 2022 2:48:42 GMT -5
Fall comes a little bit later to the American Southeast than it does to the UK, and Ronnie Long rolled the windows of his car down to enjoy the warmth in the air and the country smells he missed - mown grass, leaves, and that bit of mustiness that rose up from the creek beds in warm weather. And he sat.
He could see the old farmhouse at the end of the driveway. Deanna had been busy while he was gone. The yard was freshly mowed, the flowerbeds tended and mulched. The front porch had been decorated for fall, with an array of cornstalks on the pillars and a wreath of fall leaves and indian corn on the door.
And he heard his voice in his head, for the umpteenth time since he’d left.
“Well, you know what you do to dogs that don’t behave themselves? You chain them up in the backyard!”
Ronnie wasn’t particularly an animal lover - he and Deanna mutually preferred a neat, tidy house with nice things in it to having a pet - but he wasn’t an animal hater either. If he’d had a dog, it wouldn’t be chained in the backyard, it would be in the house like it was part of the family. He hadn’t even liked the line when he was saying it, because it didn’t sound like him.
It wasn’t him.
Or at least, hadn’t been.
He took another look up the driveway, and sighed.
‘You’re gonna have to go in there.’ he told himself. ‘And you’re gonna have to tell the love of your life why you beat a kid who did you no wrong.’
And he looked up at the driveway again.
Forget the Green Mile, this was a Gray Mile. Gravel tracks, green grass on either side and a strip of sun burnt tan grass in the middle, leading to a covered car park.
The door of the house opened and Deanna stepped out onto the front porch. With one index finger, she beckoned.
There was no avoiding it. Gravel crunching under his tires, he drove up to the house and wearily climbed out of the truck, grabbing his duffel bag.
She met him on the porch. Went up on her tiptoes, kissed him on the cheek.
“You forgot to shut your truck door.” was the first thing she said to him.
He looked down at her.
“It’ll be fine.”
Next thing he knew, she was leading him into the living room, taking the longcoat off his shoulder and hanging it up on the coat rack, and then leading him to the couch. He sank back into it with a sigh, and she sat next to him, resting her head on his chest.
“I know that look.” she said to him.
“What look?”
He knew exactly what look she meant.
“It’s just like the one you used to have when you’d come home from DEFIANCE. You know, after you beat up Tom Sawyer because Heidi asked you to. Or after helping Jeff cheat to retain the World Title yet again. Or just… being around Kai Scott in the first place. So, pretty much the whole time you were employed there.”
He actually chuckled. Once. “Yeah. I hated that place.”
“But don’t you hate the XHF?”
“If you’re gonna put it like that I guess I don’t actually hate the XHF. None of the people running the place are trying to break everyone that works for them down and rebuild them into a narrow and constantly changing view of what the game ought to be like.”
For some reason, this was what caused Deanna to pull back from him. She looked him straight in the eyes.
“Then do you hate Eron Hunter?”
He shook his head.
Deanna was, by the standards of an average guy, hot. But, as an athlete who made six figures, if hot was all Ronnie had wanted, there were plenty of women who would’ve told him everything he wanted to hear. They’d have been supportive.
Deanna was supportive in a different way. She listened to him, and she asked questions about what he told her, and those questions spiderwebbed through the bedrock of his thoughts and the good ones were unaffected. Strengthened, even. But others, the ones based on twisted logic and self-deceit and deliberate ignorance, crumbled.
“No.”
“Then why did you do that thing with the chain?”
“Because Daeriq can get under my skin. I was already angry about the first match with Hunter, and… I don’t know.”
Ronnie leaned back against the couch. Deanna tilted her head to the side. But she didn’t speak, and so finally he asked…
“Do you want me to quit?”
“I don’t know. What do you want?”
He thought. He thought about Damien, and about Eron Hunter. He thought about Juliana DiMaria swearing vengeance on him. He even thought about Rob Riot - just for a second, because his blood immediately started simmering.
And then he figured it out.
“I want to win that fucking belt. NPW… I was on my way to the top… and Jeff had his problems just then and so I left. Now I’m in W:UK and it feels like I lost all the progress I’d made on my ‘stunning career resurrection’, except this time instead of failing to become legendary with the midcard title I can’t win the damn thing in the first place. And I think… maybe it’s got less to do with me and more that Hunter might just be the best wrestler in the entire promotion. He-”
Deanna raised a finger to his mouth.
“No. Leave it there. If you want motivation to fight Eron Hunter, fight him because he’s good, and because you want the challenge, and not because Daeriq Damien got you worked up over a questionable rope break.”
“Still, a questionable…”
“No, Ron. I tivoed it. He had the rope before the three.”
Heidi Christenson was leaning in the dining room doorway.
He could see the old farmhouse at the end of the driveway. Deanna had been busy while he was gone. The yard was freshly mowed, the flowerbeds tended and mulched. The front porch had been decorated for fall, with an array of cornstalks on the pillars and a wreath of fall leaves and indian corn on the door.
And he heard his voice in his head, for the umpteenth time since he’d left.
“Well, you know what you do to dogs that don’t behave themselves? You chain them up in the backyard!”
Ronnie wasn’t particularly an animal lover - he and Deanna mutually preferred a neat, tidy house with nice things in it to having a pet - but he wasn’t an animal hater either. If he’d had a dog, it wouldn’t be chained in the backyard, it would be in the house like it was part of the family. He hadn’t even liked the line when he was saying it, because it didn’t sound like him.
It wasn’t him.
Or at least, hadn’t been.
He took another look up the driveway, and sighed.
‘You’re gonna have to go in there.’ he told himself. ‘And you’re gonna have to tell the love of your life why you beat a kid who did you no wrong.’
And he looked up at the driveway again.
Forget the Green Mile, this was a Gray Mile. Gravel tracks, green grass on either side and a strip of sun burnt tan grass in the middle, leading to a covered car park.
The door of the house opened and Deanna stepped out onto the front porch. With one index finger, she beckoned.
There was no avoiding it. Gravel crunching under his tires, he drove up to the house and wearily climbed out of the truck, grabbing his duffel bag.
She met him on the porch. Went up on her tiptoes, kissed him on the cheek.
“You forgot to shut your truck door.” was the first thing she said to him.
He looked down at her.
“It’ll be fine.”
Next thing he knew, she was leading him into the living room, taking the longcoat off his shoulder and hanging it up on the coat rack, and then leading him to the couch. He sank back into it with a sigh, and she sat next to him, resting her head on his chest.
“I know that look.” she said to him.
“What look?”
He knew exactly what look she meant.
“It’s just like the one you used to have when you’d come home from DEFIANCE. You know, after you beat up Tom Sawyer because Heidi asked you to. Or after helping Jeff cheat to retain the World Title yet again. Or just… being around Kai Scott in the first place. So, pretty much the whole time you were employed there.”
He actually chuckled. Once. “Yeah. I hated that place.”
“But don’t you hate the XHF?”
“If you’re gonna put it like that I guess I don’t actually hate the XHF. None of the people running the place are trying to break everyone that works for them down and rebuild them into a narrow and constantly changing view of what the game ought to be like.”
For some reason, this was what caused Deanna to pull back from him. She looked him straight in the eyes.
“Then do you hate Eron Hunter?”
He shook his head.
Deanna was, by the standards of an average guy, hot. But, as an athlete who made six figures, if hot was all Ronnie had wanted, there were plenty of women who would’ve told him everything he wanted to hear. They’d have been supportive.
Deanna was supportive in a different way. She listened to him, and she asked questions about what he told her, and those questions spiderwebbed through the bedrock of his thoughts and the good ones were unaffected. Strengthened, even. But others, the ones based on twisted logic and self-deceit and deliberate ignorance, crumbled.
“No.”
“Then why did you do that thing with the chain?”
“Because Daeriq can get under my skin. I was already angry about the first match with Hunter, and… I don’t know.”
Ronnie leaned back against the couch. Deanna tilted her head to the side. But she didn’t speak, and so finally he asked…
“Do you want me to quit?”
“I don’t know. What do you want?”
He thought. He thought about Damien, and about Eron Hunter. He thought about Juliana DiMaria swearing vengeance on him. He even thought about Rob Riot - just for a second, because his blood immediately started simmering.
And then he figured it out.
“I want to win that fucking belt. NPW… I was on my way to the top… and Jeff had his problems just then and so I left. Now I’m in W:UK and it feels like I lost all the progress I’d made on my ‘stunning career resurrection’, except this time instead of failing to become legendary with the midcard title I can’t win the damn thing in the first place. And I think… maybe it’s got less to do with me and more that Hunter might just be the best wrestler in the entire promotion. He-”
Deanna raised a finger to his mouth.
“No. Leave it there. If you want motivation to fight Eron Hunter, fight him because he’s good, and because you want the challenge, and not because Daeriq Damien got you worked up over a questionable rope break.”
“Still, a questionable…”
“No, Ron. I tivoed it. He had the rope before the three.”
Heidi Christenson was leaning in the dining room doorway.