Wrestling

"I was tired of sitting around all day." Linda said simply, resting her head against his chest for a brief second before gently nudging him away with her elbow. "Now, go wash your hands. Both of you. The food is ready, and I refuse to let this beef overcook after I stood here for minutes preparing it."

Bambietta swiftly moved to grab bowls from the upper cabinets, her demeanor replaced by a warm, domestic ease. "It smells amazing, Mrs. Ray. I was ready to pass out from hunger."

"I made enough for an army," Linda said, carefully reaching over to turn off the stove burner. "Grab the chopsticks, dear."

Jey retreated to the bathroom to wash his hands. As the warm water ran over his knuckles, he stared at his reflection in the mirror.

His mother was doing well. She was thriving. The medical care funded by the JW front office was finally yielding something he could say was real, tangible results. She was cooking. She was learning the language.

"She probably doesn’t know about the match," Jey realized, drying his hands on a towel.

The live broadcast had ended with the jumbotron announcement of the Tables, Ladders, and Chairs match. If Linda had seen it, she wouldn’t be standing in the kitchen making jokes about stolen credit cards. She would be a nervous wreck, terrified that her son was about to be subjected to the exact kind of spectacles that had plagued her late husband.

Jey made a silent vow to himself as he walked back out to the living area. He wasn’t going to tell her. Not tonight. He would let her have this victory. He would let her enjoy the meal, the mobility, and the peace. He would deal with Mr. Shin’s ruthless booking another time.

He sat down at the dining table adjacent to the kitchen island. Bambietta was bringing over the steaming bowls of Sukiyaki, setting one down in front of him.

Linda slowly navigated her way to the table, leaning heavily on the crutch. Jey half-rose from his chair to assist her, but Bambietta shot him a warning glare, silently telling him to let her do it herself. Linda managed to slide into her seat with a satisfied sigh, resting the crutch against the edge of the table.

"Eat," Linda commanded, picking up her chopsticks.

They ate in a comfortable, easy silence for the first few minutes. The food was incredible. The beef was tender, soaking up the sweet and salty broth perfectly. Jey felt the warmth of the meal settling into his empty stomach, providing a much-needed anchor to reality.

"So," Linda said casually, taking a sip of water. "How did it go today? No one has called here to complain, so I assume you didn’t burn the building down."

Jey swallowed his food carefully, keeping his expression neutral. He glanced at Bambietta, who was focused intensely on her noodles, clearly leaving this minefield for him to navigate alone.

"It went fine," Jey lied smoothly. "Just the regular stuff. I did some work. Watched Tyler Briggs put on a good match."

"You didn’t do anything reckless?" Linda pressed, her eyes shaping slightly in motherly suspicion.

"Nothing reckless," Jey promised, ignoring the sharp twinge in his neck that reminded him of the show. "I just stood my ground. The crowd loved it. Mr. Shin is happy with it. Standard business."

"Good," Linda said, returning to her food. "I worry when you stay out late at that place. Your father used to come back late, covered in bruises he refused to explain."

"I’m fine, Mom. Seriously." Jey offered a reassuring smile, picking up a piece of tofu with his chopsticks.

He spent the rest of the meal steering the conversation toward safer topics. He asked her about the Japanese audio lessons, praising her pronunciation. Bambietta chimed in, offering to take Linda out to a local market later in the week if she felt comfortable using the crutch for short distances. The atmosphere remained light, domestic, and devoid of the violence that paid for the food on their table.

Jey felt a profound sense of accomplishment. He was successfully protecting her state of mind.

As the meal wound down, Bambietta stood up to collect the empty bowls. "I’ll handle the dishes, Mrs. Ray. You sit and rest."

"Thank you, deary," Linda said, placing her chopsticks neatly across her empty bowl.

Jey leaned back in his chair, feeling relaxed for the first time in hours. The apartment was quiet, the city lights glowing softly through the glass. He had survived the night, and his mother was safe and happy.

Linda reached out, placing her hand gently over Jey’s resting arm on the table.

Jey looked at her, expecting her to ask for a glass of water or help standing up.

Instead, Linda looked him dead in the eyes, her expression shifting from warm domesticity to unbreakable resolve.

"I know you think you’re protecting me by lying, Jey," Linda said softly, her voice steady and clear.

Jey’s heart skipped a beat. He looked at Bambietta by the sink, she had also stopped moving, the water running silently over the dishes.

"Mom, I don’t know what you mean," Jey started, trying to maintain the facade.

"I watch all your matches," Linda said, her thumb lightly brushing his arm. "I saw you run down that ramp. I saw you and Okada clear the ring. And I saw the screen at the end."

Jey felt the air leave his lungs. He had been so careful, so sure that he had shielded her from the TLC announcement.

"Mom, I’m sorry," Jey said immediately, his voice thick with guilt. "I didn’t want to ruin tonight. I didn’t want you to worry. I know what a Tables, Ladders, and Chairs match means. I know what it did to Dad."

Linda didn’t look terrified. The fragile, grief-stricken woman who had wept over Billy weeks ago was gone. In her place was the matriarch of a wrestling family, a woman who had survived decades married to a man that lived and breathed the hardest industry in the world.

"I know what it means too," Linda said quietly.

Jey looked down at the table, ashamed. "I can handle it. I’ll be careful."

Linda squeezed his arm firmly, forcing him to look back up at her. Her eyes were fierce, burning with a quiet, undeniable pride.

"I know you can handle it," Linda said, her voice unwavering. "You aren’t your father, Jey. You’re smarter than that dimwit. You know when to fight, and you know why you’re fighting. You aren’t doing this for ego. You’re in this because you fought for what you believed is right."

Jey stared at her, completely stunned by the absolute certainty in her words. She didn’t look afraid for him. She looked like she believed in him.

Linda let go of his arm and reached for her crutch. She gripped the handle, planting the rubber tip against the hardwood floor, and pushed herself up to a standing position with a soft grunt of effort.

She stood tall, leaning on the crutch, and looked down at her son.

"Good luck at Unforgiving, Jey," Linda said, offering a small, confident smile. "I know you’ll show them who you are."

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