One Good Day
The morning light crawled across the mats of Wolfslair. It wasn’t the blinding white of a new beginning ,more like the soft grey of something still trying to wake up. The gym smelled faintly of sweat, tape, and detergent. The sound of the air conditioner hummed somewhere overhead, and for once, Aiden didn’t feel the weight of it pressing down on him.
He’d been here since dawn. Not because he was told to. Not because Alex had ordered extra drills. He just… didn’t know where else to be.
His hands ached from the bag. His knuckles were raw. There was a line of sweat down his neck that had gone cold, sticking his shirt to his skin. He wasn’t training to prove anything. He wasn’t chasing redemption. He was just trying to exist in the space between thoughts.
He wrapped his gloves and threw another jab. The dull thud echoed through the empty gym. Each hit was rhythm, not anger. Each breath was control…….not survival.
But underneath it all, the whisper was still there.
You’re not fixed. You’re just pretending. He ignored it. Hit again. Harder. One good day. That’s what Alex had said yesterday before leaving. It wasn’t a pep talk. It was a statement. One good day didn’t mean victory. It meant choice. And maybe today was that day. He could live with that. A door creaked somewhere behind him. Aiden turned slightly, gloves still up, expecting Alex or one of the other trainees. Instead, it was Austin. Hoodie, coffee in hand, the familiar calm in his posture that felt like a counterweight to all the chaos. “You’re early,” Austin said, leaning against the ropes.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“Nightmares?”
“Noise.” Aiden threw another punch. The sound cracked through the air. “Couldn’t shut it off.” Austin didn’t answer right away. He just watched. The older man had that quiet way of studying people, not judging, not waiting, just letting them speak themselves into understanding.
“You do realize you don’t have to fight it alone, right?”
“Yeah, I know.” He jabbed again. “But I need to.”
“That’s not what needing is, Aiden.”
He stopped mid-combo, turning slightly toward him. “You ever feel like if you stop moving, you’ll drown?”
Austin nodded slowly. “Yeah. I’ve been there.”
Aiden’s eyes flicked away, like he didn’t want to be seen too much. “It’s not about the bottle anymore,” he said. “It’s about what’s left when it’s gone.”
Austin set the coffee on the apron and leaned forward on the ropes. “And what’s left?”
Aiden thought for a long time before answering. “Noise. Regret. This constant feeling that I’m chasing a version of myself I can’t find.”
“That’s part of it,” Austin said softly. “The part where it’s quiet, but it still hurts. That’s where you figure out who you actually are.”
Aiden took a slow breath and looked down at his gloves. “Feels like punishment.”
“It’s not,” Austin said. “It’s a clean slate. You just don’t trust it yet.”
Aiden let out a bitter laugh. “You sound like Alex.”
“I doubt it,” Austin smiled faintly. “He uses fewer words and more threats.” That almost drew a grin from Aiden. Almost.
Austin stepped into the ring, slow, careful, like approaching a wounded animal that still had teeth. He picked up a set of mitts and held them out. “C’mon. Work with me for a bit.”
Aiden hesitated. “You sure?”
“Yeah. Let’s see if all that self-pity improved your footwork.”
The gloves met leather. The rhythm started again. Austin called out combinations, steady, methodical…. and Aiden followed. Jab, cross, hook. Breathe. Reset. Again. For a while, they didn’t speak. The gym was quiet except for the sound of impact, the squeak of shoes on canvas, and the rasp of Aiden’s breath. His arms burned. His shoulder throbbed from yesterday’s spar. But this time, he didn’t care. The pain felt earned. It felt alive. Austin caught a jab mid-motion and lowered his mitts. “You’ve got control again,” he said.
Aiden wiped his forehead with his wrist. “For now.”
“That’s all it ever is,” Austin said. “Control’s not permanent. It’s a choice you keep making.”
Aiden exhaled. “Yeah. Alex said something like that.”
“Alex is right more than he’s wrong,” Austin admitted. “He just forgets that people aren’t machines. You can’t train grief out of them.”
That hung between them for a second. Aiden looked down at his gloves, the red fading at the seams. “You think I’m grieving?”
“You’re grieving the version of yourself you lost,” Austin said. “The one that didn’t flinch, didn’t question, didn’t need help. That’s the hardest kind of grief. Because that person’s not dead. He’s just different now.” Aiden went quiet. The words landed deep. He wanted to argue, but he couldn’t. It was true. Every time he saw himself in the mirror lately, he didn’t recognize the man staring back. And for the first time, he wasn’t sure if that was a bad thing.
He stripped off his gloves and sat on the edge of the ring. Austin joined him. Outside, the city was starting to stir, car horns, sirens, the faint pulse of life coming back to the streets. Inside, it was just them, the faint hum of the AC, and that same strange peace that Aiden was still learning to trust. He rubbed his hands together. “Do you ever stop hearing it?”
“Hearing what?”
“The whisper. The one that says you’re not enough.”
Austin looked down, then shook his head. “No. It just changes its tone. Sometimes it’s quiet. Sometimes it’s loud. But the trick is, you stop believing it.”
Aiden leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “How long did that take you?”
“Still working on it.” That earned a short laugh from Aiden. He didn’t smile often these days, but this one felt real, small, quiet, genuine. For the first time in a long while, the silence didn’t feel hostile. It just was. The rest of the morning passed without words. Austin left first, muttering something about paperwork and too much caffeine. Aiden stayed. He cleaned the ring, wiped down the mats, folded towels, simple things that didn’t require thought. When he finally sat down on the bench in the locker room, he realized how still everything was. The same place where he’d almost broken again. The same bench. The same bag.
Only this time, the bottle wasn’t there. He’d thrown it out last night. No ceremony. No big gesture. Just tossed it in a bin outside the gym and walked away. He’d half expected to regret it, to feel panic crawl under his skin. But instead, there was only a strange, almost uncomfortable quiet. He picked up his phone. There were no missed calls. No messages. Just the faint reflection of himself in the black screen. He looked tired, older maybe, but clearer somehow. “Maybe that’s what progress looks like,” he muttered. “Just less noise.”
He set the phone down and leaned back against the locker. Time passed. He didn’t track it. He didn’t need to. For once, the silence didn’t demand anything. It didn’t accuse him. It didn’t remind him of what he’d lost. It just was. Eventually, the door opened again. This time it was Alex. He didn’t say a word when he walked in. He just gave Aiden a look, quick, assessing, and nodded once. Approval without praise.
Aiden nodded back. “Morning,” he said quietly.
Alex stopped halfway to the opposite locker. “You trained early?”
“Yeah. With Austin.”
“How’d that go?”
Aiden paused, thinking. “Not bad. Still standing.”
Alex grunted. “Good start.”
The two men didn’t exchange much else. But they didn’t need to. Alex changed silently, grabbed his towel, and headed toward the gym. Before he left, he stopped at the door. “One good day,” he said over his shoulder.
Aiden looked up. “Yeah.”
“Make it two.” Then he was gone. Aiden sat there for a long while, staring at the door. The words replayed in his head.
Make it two.
He smiled faintly, stood, and started wrapping his hands again. His shoulder hurt. His head was tired. His chest still ached with everything unsaid. But he was here. And that was enough. The world outside would still be loud. The fights, the noise, the pressure…all of it would come back. But not yet. For now, there was only the sound of tape against skin. The steady rhythm of breath. The hum of the lights above. And for the first time, he didn’t need the quiet to hide. He just needed it to start again.
One good day.
Mine
”I did it…”
A deep breath, a heavy exhale. Aiden Reynolds sat forward, clasping his hands together as he balanced his elbows on his knees.
”Despite everything, despite the bullshit that I’ve had to hear and put up with from everyone involved, despite the stupid stipulations and gimmick matches that come with Halloween, I now get my opportunity at becoming the SCW World Champion. And I did it in one of the most satisfying ways. Alexander Raven is someone who many earmarked as a World Champion. He spent years trying to become an SCW World Champion. He went after everyone who held that championship and has never been able to break through the ceiling above him to claim it. Because, quite simply, he’s not good enough.”
“And it isn’t that he never will be. The truth is that if Alexander really wanted to become the World Champion, he could. But deep down, in his heart of hearts, he doesn’t. Because it’s more satisfying to him to be able to whine and bitch and cry and wax lyrical about the state of the company and the championship instead of being part of the change that he so desperately wants to see. You see, if Alexander Raven actually won the SCW World Championship, then he would have to defend it. He would have to be the champion. He would have to lead this company — and he doesn’t really want that.”
“That is too much responsibility…”
“And as far as responsibility goes, it’s a large one. Leading a company is no small feat. When you’re holding the World Championship, everyone looks to you for guidance. And they’re all looking at you like a target. The fans, the back office, all the boys and girls in the back — they’re all looking squarely at you, judging and watching. Waiting for you to do something. Something they can either emulate or something they disagree with so they can jump all over you and try and throw you under the bus. But either way, when you are the World Champion, everything runs through you.”
Aiden closed his eyes and took another deep breath. He calmed himself down as he let go of his hands and pushed off his knees to get to his feet.
”It’s something that very few people are ready for. To my surprise, it seems like Carter has started to learn what it is to be a World Champion. I still don’t think you should be the World Champion, Carter. I don’t think you should’ve beaten Alex, and the fact that we’ve gone from Finn to Alex to you is a huge downgrade. Because you can’t really take anything seriously. You like to pretend that you can, you like to pretend that you are a World Champion, and you like to pretend that you are a professional wrestler — but that’s all you ever do. You pretend. And the masquerade that you’ve been living needs to stop.”
“You have been able to reach heights that so many other people will never even get a sniff at. And you should be applauded for that. But this whole dog and pony show needs to end. You are embarrassing this company. And that might sound harsh, but it’s the truth. When people look at SCW, they laugh seeing you as the World Champion. They laugh looking at you as our World Champion. That whimsical charm that you’ve always had, that most people seem to be drawn to, is excellent for an Internet Champion or a Roulette Champion. It’s excellent to see you in this company, and you are a talented and entertaining wrestler.”
“But a World Champion? No.”
“A World Champion needs to be intimidating. A World Champion needs to be a leader. And you can’t even lead yourself out of the funk that you constantly find yourself in. You and Miles are a toxic relationship built on fake positivity. You lead Miles astray and call it love. He should’ve been a World Champion at least once in this company, but he followed you around and was more concerned with playing dress-up with you and posting pretty little pictures for whatever man-crush bullshit you guys keep getting involved in. He’s more concerned with putting up pictures of you for himself to drool over in the future than he is about training and becoming a World Champion. That’s what you’ve done, Carter. That’s what you’ve done to him, and that’s what you’ve done to his career. All so you can hold that championship like it’s a fucking trinket.”
Aiden started to get more animated now, throwing his hands in the air and pacing back and forth. The anger seemed to be rising inside him — anger that he used to push down and deflect with a joke or something similar. Anger that he never wanted to feel, but now flowed freely through his veins as easily as his blood and oxygen.
”Seeing you hold that championship makes me sick. But I’ve come to a realisation. Last time you and I faced each other, I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready for the burden of being the World Champion. I wasn’t ready for the responsibility of leading this company. But unlike Alexander Raven, I do want that pressure. I do want that opportunity, and I do want to be the one that everybody targets or looks at for guidance. I want to join everyone who I train with in being a World Champion. I want to join Alex and Austin and Alicia — people who are my mentors, who are my friends. They have their fingerprints all over this company, and they made damn sure that SCW kept its fucking lights on after everyone else left.”
“And they’re still doing it. Austin works behind the scenes. Alicia has had to come back and save the Bombshell mid-card, and Alex came back to stop Finn from holding that championship forever. They’re still trying to keep this company alive, and they’re still trying to keep this company afloat. Meanwhile, you and Miles are playing touchy-feely out the back and posting stupid pictures all over Twitter and making dumb shit jokes. Instead of promoting the company that you’re the champion of, you’re just promoting your own relationship.”
“We get it — you and Miles love each other, and there’s nothing going wrong between you two at all. You never have arguments, and you have the most perfect relationship ever. Because that’s realistic and not toxic and isn’t going to blow up in your face whatsoever. And trust me on this — I don’t care what Miles says. He’s jealous. He’s angry. And he’s hurt. Because you’re standing there as the World Champion, and you took all of those opportunities away from him because you stole all of his focus. When he should’ve been training at the same gym as me and focusing on becoming a World Champion, you swooped in, you took him away, and you’ve now made it so that every single one of his friends and people who could’ve helped him become a World Champion don’t even want to talk to him or look at him.”
“But nah, Carter… you’re a fucking peach…”
“A sweetheart…”
“A champion…”
“Only, you’re not. Not by a long shot. For the last few months, I’ve had a change of attitude. I’ll be the first one to tell you that I never wanted this. I was the guy that everyone looked to for entertainment. I made people laugh with the different comments that I made and my outlandish stupidity — like bringing my pet wombat backstage, so Christian could freak out over the fact my wombat shat in his office. I would make stupid jokes and wrap myself in the Australian flag or start humming ‘Land Down Under’ under my breath.”
He rolled his eyes and chuckled to himself.
”Not now. Not anymore.”
He took another deep, shaky breath before continuing.
”I needed to grow up. I needed to start taking my career seriously — something that you should’ve done when you became the World Champion. And I know, I know, some people — including yourself — will sit there and say that you shouldn’t have to change when you become a World Champion. A lot will sing your praises and talk about how you’re such a nice person. Carter wouldn’t hurt a fly. He just goes and does his job and wrestles and becomes a champion and does so well and has so many fans. It’s just too bad it’s all complete bullshit. And you are the biggest snake that I’ve ever seen in this company.”
“You’re more of a snake than anyone with the last name Harris. You’re a bigger snake than J2H — because yeah, he had a huge ego, but at least he was honest about the kind of prick he was. You’re a bigger piece of shit than Mac Bane…”
“But you try to hide it.”
“The thing is, I see right through you. I see the kind of person you are. You’ve taken away opportunities from those you say you love, you’ve distracted them, held them down, and pushed them aside all for your own gain. You’re holding a World Championship hostage when other people should be the ones leading this company. And you disregard other people’s accomplishments — like going all over X or Twitter or whatever you want to call it and shitting on Alexander Raven’s accomplishments in other companies, all because it doesn’t fit your stupid little narrative that SCW is the only company that matters. And that’s the problem. The fact that you think SCW is the only company that matters means that you don’t have to put any effort into being the World Champion and keeping this company relevant.”
“You believe that all the hard work has been done.”
“If you openly admitted that there are other companies out there, then you’d also have to admit that as a champion, you’re a joke. An unfunny joke. And the feel-good moment you had where you were able to beat Alex and become the World Champion has now overstayed its welcome. Eventually, all those fans cheering your name and talking about how you’re an inspiration and how you’re a good person are slowly going to see you for the real little snake that you are. And Carter, trust me on this — you are going to end up feeling that weight and that pressure, and you are going to start looking for an exit because you won’t be able to do anything about it. So I’m going to go into High Stakes and I’m going to take that championship from you. But not to save you — no, I don’t give a fuck about you. I’m going to take that World Championship because I deserve it.”
