Wrestling

It took nearly an hour to reach home.

Bambietta navigated the sedan into the underground parking garage beneath their luxury building. She parked the car, cut the engine, and let out a long sigh, her hands finally dropping from the steering wheel.

The process of getting upstairs was slow. Jey managed to carry the folded wheelchair out of the trunk, but Bambietta handled the rest. She helped Linda into the chair, pushed her to the elevator, and guided them up to their floor.

When Bambietta unlocked the front door of the apartment and pushed it open, the immediate sound of scrambling paws broke the heavy mood.

"Woof!"

Billy, the terrier mix, bounded into the entryway. His tail was wagging so hard his entire back half shook with the momentum. He darted around the wheels of Linda’s chair, sniffing excitedly at Bambietta’s jeans before trotting over to Jey. The dog sat back on his haunches, letting out a demanding whine, waiting for his usual greeting.

Jey looked down at the dog. He couldn’t bend over to pet him. His ribs were locked up tight, a rigid wall of bruised muscle and bone that refused to flex.

"Hey, buddy," Jey said quietly, offering a weak smile.

Bambietta stepped in, crouching down to scratch the dog behind the ears. "He can’t play tonight, Billy. Let him be."

The dog seemed to understand the tone, if not the words. He offered one last gentle lick to Jey’s boots before trotting alongside Linda’s wheelchair as Bambietta pushed her toward the guest bedroom.

"I’m going to get her settled," Bambietta told Jey over her shoulder. "Take off your gear. I might have to come back to look at your side before you get into the shower. If you can wait?"

"Of course." He replied and shuffled down the hallway, his boots dragging slightly against the floor. He got into their room, pushed the bathroom door open and flipped on the light. The fluorescent bulbs buzzed faintly.

He stood in front of the mirror and looked at his reflection.

His dark hair was scattered and mixed with dried sweat. There was a faint smear of Billy’s blood on his collarbone, transferred during one of the endless grappling exchanges on the mat. He looked exhausted. His eyes were bloodshot, the adrenaline crash left him hollowed out.

He reached down, his fingers fumbling awkwardly with the laces of his boot. He managed to kick them off, pushing them into the corner of the room. He peeled off his socks.

Taking off the black hoodie he had put on to walk out of the JW arena was the hardest part. He had to cross his arms and pull the fabric over his head, a motion that forced his ribcage to expand and stretch. An involuntary groan escaped his lips as he tugged the heavy cotton free and tossed it onto the tiled floor.

He gripped the edge of the sink, leaning his weight against the porcelain, and stared at his torso.

The damage was extensive. The entire left side of his ribcage was deep purple. The bruise stretched from just below his armpit all the way down to his hip bone. It was swollen, the skin tight and hot to the touch. The impact of crashing down onto Billy’s raised knee had left a literal imprint on his body.

The door creaked open behind him.

Bambietta walked in. She had changed out of her sweater, wearing a loose t-shirt, and she was carrying two large ice packs wrapped in thin kitchen towels.

She stopped just inside the doorway, her eyes dropping to his ribs. She sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth.

"Jesus, Jey," she whispered.

"It looks worse than it feels," he lied, keeping his hands gripped tightly on the edge of the sink.

"No need to lie, man" she said, stepping up beside him. She pressed the first wrapped ice pack gently but firmly against the darkest center of the bruise.

Jey flinched, his breath catching in his throat as the freezing temperature bit into the inflamed tissue.

"Hold that there," she said softly, guiding his hand to keep the pack in place. She moved, pressing the second ice pack against the base of his neck, right where the muscle met his spine.

She stood close behind him, her breast pressed lightly against his uninjured back, holding the cold compress against his neck. They stood there in the quiet bathroom, staring at their reflections in the mirror.

"Is she asleep?" Jey asked quietly.

"I don’t think so, but she’s resting," Bambietta replied, her voice soft. "She didn’t want to talk. I think she just needs the room to be dark and quite for a while. Today took whatever energy she had left."

Jey nodded slowly, careful not to dislodge the ice pack on his neck. "She knows it’s over now. She knows he’s gone."

"He made his choices," Bambietta said firmly. "He chose his pride over his family. He chose to throw away his health just for a shot at fighting you. You can’t carry the guilt for that, Jey."

"You’re right. I know."

"Do you?" She looked at his reflection, her eyes searching his. "Because you’re standing here looking like you’re carrying the weight of his world by yourself."

Jey let out a measured breath. He looked down at the sink basin, the white porcelain sterile and clean.

"I just thought there would be some kind of closure," Jey said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I thought if we got in the ring, if we fought it out with officials and rules, it would end definitively. One of us wins, one of us loses, and we walk away."

He looked back up into the mirror, meeting her gaze.

"It’s never clean with him, is it," Jey muttered, pressing the ice pack tighter against his ribcage. "You hear about rivalry matches, and they always make the climax sound like a movie. The bad guy goes down, the good guy gets his hand raised in the center of the ring, and everyone goes home happy. The commentators sign off, the credits roll, and the story wraps up in a neat little bow."

He shook his head, a bitter, humorless smile touching the corners of his mouth.

"They never talk about this part," Jey continued. "They never talk about the drive home. They never talk about how quiet it gets when the crowd stops screaming. There was no winner tonight, Bam. I got a disqualification victory on a technicality, and he got loaded into the back of a truck. The company got their buys, and we’re left standing in a bathroom putting ice on my bruises."

Bambietta knew better than to try and paint a silver lining over the reality of the industry they had both grown up around. She just maintained her grip on the ice pack, keeping the pressure steady on his neck.

"You’re right," she said quietly. "It isn’t a movie. It’s an ugly, brutal business. And it ruins people who don’t know when to walk away."

She leaned her head forward, resting her forehead against his bare shoulder.

"But you aren’t people, Jey," she whispered into his skin. "You didn’t let the bitterness hollow you out. You survived it. You protected your mother through grief, you protected yourself, and you survived."

Jey leaned his weight back just a fraction, resting against her as his support. The cold of the ice packs was finally beginning to numb the sharpest edges of the pain, dulling the throbbing in his ribs and his spine into something more manageable.

"So what happens now?" Jey asked.

"Now?" Bambietta said, her tone shifting slightly, the practical protector bleeding back into her voice. "Now we stand here for another ten minutes until the swelling goes down. Then you take a few tablets for the pain, you shower, you get in bed, and you sleep for way more than nine hours. Tomorrow, you ignore every single phone. You are officially on medical leave until I say otherwise. How’s that?"

Jey managed a genuine, albeit exhausted, chuckle. "Yes, ma’am."

"Then that’s the plan," she said, a tiny smile finally cracked her serious expression in the mirror. "If Shin wants to talk about your next storyline, he can talk to my ass."

That thought alone was enough to make Jey shake his head.

He closed his eyes, listening to the steady breathing of the woman holding him together. Hopefully, the ghost of Billy Bones was gone. The resentment that had haunted their family for years had finally burned itself out.

It wasn’t a picture-perfect victory, and it didn’t come with a shiny gold belt or a celebratory speech. It was messy, painful, and to him...still deeply tragic.

But Jey realized he didn’t need the perfect ending. He just needed it to be over.

"It’s over," Bambietta said quietly.

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