[SCW Staff]

Please post all roleplays here! Have fun and good luck!

[Zayvion Lyons]

The California sun beamed down on Zayvion and his younger brother Malik as they sat together, each enjoying an ice cream bar on a bench in a local Inglewood Park. Big Momma had taken the girls and Baby J shopping. Malik didn't want to go, so Zayvion opted to hang out with him for a few hours.

“How's the ice cream little man?” Zayvion asked.

“It's really good.” Malik replied “Thank you Zay.”

“Remember to eat it fast before it melts.” Zayvion smiled between bites of his own ice cream.

Malik nodded, and started to eat his ice cream a little faster, too fast.

“Whoa, careful not too fast…” Zayvion said “You don't want to give yourself a…”

And almost on Malik held his head and cried out in pain.

“...Brain freeze.” he said shaking his head “You're okay, it'll go away in a moment.”

“I'm dying.” Malik groaned dramatically.

“I promise you you're not dying.” said Zayvion

“My head is exploding.“ Malik said.

“Well that's certainly not happening.” said Zayvion “Could you imagine the mess?”

That got a laugh out of Malik and a few seconds later the brain freeze passed just as Zayvion promised.

“Better?” Zayvion asked.

“That was the worst feeling ever.” said Malik.

“That's what happens when you inhale ice cream like that.” said Zayvion “You have to find the perfect medium. Not too slow so it melts all over the place, and not too fast so you give yourself a brain freeze.”

Malik nodded and the brothers sat quietly for a moment enjoying the warm afternoon and finishing up their ice cream bars, Malik being more careful this time.

“So when do you have to leave again?” Malik asked.

“The Princess Cruise leaves port in a few days.” Zayvion replied.

“You really get to go on a big ship?” Malik asked wide-eyed.

“I do.” nodded Zayvion “A really big one.”

“Will there be pirates?” Malik asked with the excitement that only an eight-year-old could muster.

“No.” laughed Zayvion. "I'm afraid there won't be any pirates.”

“Awwww...” Malik replied.

“Sorry to disappoint you.” Zayvion said.

Malik sat and thought for a moment.

“What if there are secret
pirates?” he grinned.

“Secret pirates?” Zayvion replied raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, pirates pretending not to be pirates.” Malik said.

“Well if they're pretending not to be pirates how would we know their pirates?" asked Zayvion.

“That sounds like something a pirate would say.” Malik replied pointing at his brother.

Zayvion laughed.

“I'll tell you what.” he said “I'll keep an eye out just in case.”

Malik nodded with a smile.

“So what's the ship like then?” Malik asked.

“I'm not really sure myself.” Zayvion admitted “I've seen the pictures though, it's huge.”

“Are you going to have your own room?” Malik asked.

“Yeah." said Zayvion “I don't get one of the really cool ones because those are for the champions but I still get a pretty cool one.”

“If you didn't lose it, you would get a better room?” Malik said.

“Yep.” said Zayvion “But it's okay it's just a room. I need to focus on winning that championship again.“

“You really miss it?” Malik continued questioning

“Of course I do.” Zavion replied “I worked hard to get it and then it was taken from me just like that but sometimes that's just how it happens.”

“Well I think you're going to become champion again.” Malik said.

“Oh yeah?” said Zayvion.

“Yep.” said Malik "You always tell me to believe in myself he said so somebody has to believe in you too.”

That response caught Zayvion slightly off guard,  and he looked at his brother with a smile.

“Well thanks little man.” he said “That means a lot.”

“Are you nervous?” Malik asked.

“A little.” Zayvion admitted.

“Because of the championship right?” Malik said.

“That's part of it.” Zayvion nodded.

“And the other part is because you're going to be surrounded by secret pirates?” Malik grinned.

Zayvion laughed and put his hands up.

“You got me.” he said.

“I knew it!” Malik exclaimed.

Zayvion smiled as his younger brother laughed. Truthfully there was nervousness, a cruise ship and a chance to regain something he lost. The roulette championship. Somehow hearing his younger brother talk about it made it feel lighter.

“So what happens when you win it back?” Malik asked.

“You already decided I'm winning haven't you?” said Zayvion.

“Obviously.” replied Malik.

“Well IF I win it back.” Zayvion said “That means I become a two-time roulette champion.”

“And then you get the cool room?” Malik asked.

“Only if I'm still the champion the next time we go on the cruise.” Zayvion said. “That means I have to stay champion for a whole year, or at least win a championship before the next cruise.”

“That's a long time.” said Malik.

“It is.” said Zayvion “Maybe next year I'll get the cool room.”

“Maybe.” nodded Malik “I still say you're winning the championship again.”

“Well, I can't promise victory little man.” he said “But I'm going to do my very best, and your support means a lot.”

Zayvion playfully rubbed the top of his brother's head.

“Just be sure you watch out for those secret pirates.” Malik said

“Of course.” Zayvion laughed.

The two brothers sat and joined each other's company for some time sharing laughs and memories until it came time for Big Momma to return home with the rest of his siblings, and time for Zayvion to bring little Malik back home.

__________

The cameras open on Zayvion in a dimly lit room, sitting at a table with his headphones on. A bottle of Hennessy rests on the table. The camera stays focused on him as Swimming Pools by Kendrick Lamar plays.

##I was in a dark room, loud tunes, lookin' to make a vow soon##
##That I'ma get fucked up, fillin' up my cup, I see the crowd mood##
##Changin' by the minute and the record on repeat##
##Took a sip, then another sip, then somebody said to me##

Zayvion looks directly at the camera saying nothing, only holding out a single recovery chip coin with the number 24 on it.

##Homie, why you babysittin' only two or three shots?##
##I'ma show you how to turn it up a notch##
##First, you get a swimming pool full of liquor, then you dive in it##
##Pool full of liquor, then you dive in it##

“My name is Zayvion Lyons and I'm an alcoholic.” he said, finally speaking, still holding up the chip, “Two years clean as of last month.”

He places the coin back in his pocket and glances at the Hennessy bottle.

“There is a time or I couldn't have this bottle sitting here without feeling like I needed to consume the whole thing.” he said “But now?”

He grabs the bottle and launches it across the room, it can be heard shattering somewhere offscreen.

“I don't need it anymore.” he said “Because the truth is, I have a new addiction and that addiction is championship gold.”

He nods.

“I had a taste of it and it was oh so good.” he said, “But then it was taken from me, taken from me by you Ryan Keys.”

He shrugs.

 “Make no mistake about it, I ain't going to front on you.” [/color]he said “You were the better man that night, and that's why you won. But ever since then there's been that little tick eating at me. That little tick called addiction  and the only fix for it is championship gold and I need my fix.”

He exhales for a beat.

“The thing about addiction is..” he said “You'll do just about anything to get your fix. So I ask you Ryan Keys, and I ask you Ciaran O'Doyle, what are you really fighting for?"

He pauses staring at the camera as if waiting for a response.
[/i]
“Are you just fighting for the flash, the glitz, and the glamour?" he said “Or are you fighting for something deeper? Because I promise you, I'm fighting for so much more than either of you can ever understand.”

He pauses.

“Everything I fought so hard to overcome.” he said “I need to show that it was all worth it. I need to prove to myself that not only can I capture the ball, but I can run with it as well. When I win that Roulette Championship back I'm not going to fumble this time.”

His eyes stay confidently locked on the camera.

“See what makes me different than a lot of people.” he continued “Is that I've already hit rock bottom. I've looked in the mirror and hated the person staring back at me. I've seen the disappointment on my family's face and watched people lose faith in me. I've spent countless nights wondering if I was ever going to get my life together.”

He pauses.

“And then I did.” he said with a confident smile. “With the help of Cleo Phillips I was able to fight my way out. One day clean became one week, that week turned into a month, that month became a year and now  I sit here at two years and some change clean.”

He pats the coin in his pocket.

“So when people talk to me about adversity and struggle.” he said “You're not talking to a man that's afraid of struggle, you're talking to a man that's lived it.”

The confidence in his voice remains undeniable.

“Ryan Keys, you beat me and you earned that championship.” he said “But you need to understand that the man you beat isn't the same man showing up on that cruise ship. The man you beat was too busy riding high and enjoying the view from the top. But the man you're about to face now is hungry. The man you're about to face now is starving to get that feeling again, and that makes me much more dangerous this time.”

He pauses for a beat.

“Ciaran O'Doyle” he continued. “You've got my respect as well, but you need to understand that respect doesn't win championships, hunger does. You haven't had a taste of the top like I have. You're not as hungry as I am. Trust me, I've been right where you're at, trying to get there but once you get there, get the taste and then you lose it, something flips in you. You just…, you just need to get it back.”

He pauses again, and slides a photograph on the table. The camera gets a shot of it revealing it to be a picture of him smiling with his siblings and his grandmother.

“They are my motivation..” he said “I've got a sixteen year old sister who's working too hard for a sixteen year old.  I got a little brother that thinks I can do anything, I got a younger sister and a baby brother that deserve to know setbacks are not the end of the story, and I got my Big Momma you sacrificed everything to keep the family together.”

He exhales heavily.

“I ain't got my mom's no more.” he said. “She wasn't here to see me get clean, or see any of my success in Sin City Wrestling, so it's  up to me to be that example for my siblings. It's up to me to take every lesson that she taught me when she was here and apply that to my life
and pass that down to to my siblings. They need to see me as someone they can believe in, and I ain't about to let them down.”

He taps the photograph.

“So me? I'm not fighting because it's cool.” He said “I'm fighting because every lesson I've learned is riding on my shoulders every time I walk through that curtain. Now if I leave that cruise ship empty-handed then I'll shake the winners hand and congratulate the better man, but make no mistake about it I'm showing up expecting to leave with that championship and I'm willing to do whatever it takes to earn it.”

He nods confidently.

“You two are what stands between me and my next fix.” he said “And addicts can be some dangerous people when they want something bad enough.  But unlike the bottle,  this is an addiction that makes me better and at Summer Xxxtreme this addict is getting his fix.”

The camera focuses on him, as he outs his headphones back on and holds the picture up. The camera zooms in closer, as a slightly modified portion of Chris Rene’s “Young Homie” plays.

##Living life with loved ones close to me##
##Shh, ahh, this is the remedy##
##And I got the recipe, I don't need no Hennessy##
##Yeah, it's been two years now##
##Haven't had a drink and I'm starting to see clear now…##

_________

The scent of saltwater drifted through the air past Zayvion's nose as he and Cleo looked at the massive Princess Cruise ship looming over the harbor. He adjusted the strap of his duffle bag song over his shoulder and just stared up at the ship.

“Damn.” he said.

Cleo Phillips grinned beside him.

“That's all you got?” she said.

“I mean, does more really need to be said,” he replied.

“Naw.” laughed Cleo “I had the same reaction when I came here last year for Eddie's wedding.”

“Yet, you still look impressed.” said Zayvion

“Well, it is a pretty impressive ship.” she admitted.

“Then a simple damn is justified.” he grinned.

For a few moments. the two simply leaned against the railing of the dock and watched before Cleo finally broke the silence.

“You nervous?” she said

He didn't answer immediately it was a question he had been asked a lot lately by reporters, colleagues, friends, family and even himself.

“A little.” he finally spoke.

“Good.” Cleo replied “That means you care.”

“It just feels different this time.” Zayvion said “Like when I won the Roulette Championship,  I was so focused on winning it. After I got it I think I let myself get comfortable.”

Cleo didn't respond, she just listened as Zayvion continued.

“I wasn't lazy or nothin.” he said "I just spent so much time chasing the mountain I didn't think enough about staying on top of it.”

“That's growth you know." she said “Admitting a hard truth like that, most people would lose something and blame everyone except themselves. But not you, you looked at yourself first and that's how true winners are born.”

“What if I don't learn from it, then losing was pointless.” Zayvion shrugged.

Cleo nodded.

“Exactly.” she said

The caw of a seagull overhead interrupted their conversation for a moment.

“You know..” Cleo said quietly “I remember the day I met you.”

“Oh no….” Zayvion grinned.

“You were a mess.” she said

‘Yeah…” Zayvion said quietly.

“You had just lost your mother, and you were spiraling through your addiction and poor decisions.” she said “You came into the Lyons thinking your last name alone could save you and you quickly realized it couldn't. You came in there acting like the world owed you something.”

“But you chose to help me anyway.” he said.

“Because I saw something else in you.” she said “And I understood where you came from. So what I saw was a fighter. I saw the person underneath all that, that was trying to get back up every time life knocked him down. Sure maybe it was after he did something incredibly stupid, but he still always got back up.”

Zayvion let out a quick laugh.

“Yeah I did do some pretty stupid shit back then.” he said. “Couple years ago, I never could have imagined this. Being clean and wrestling on a cruise ship for championships, having kids look up to me. That part scares me more than the championship because at least with the championship I know what I'm supposed to do.”

He paused for a moment.

"But being somebody my brothers and sisters can look up to?" he said "Someone the kids that come to our shows look to for inspiration? That's the hard part.”

“That's just adulthood.” Cleo shrugged.

“Yeah…” nodded Zayvion.

Some announcements blared through the speakers that the ship would begin boarding soon. The reality of the trip was becoming more tangible by the minute.

“You ready?” Cleo asked.

Zayvion took a deep breath of the crisp ocean air.

“Yeah…” he said confidently “I'm ready.”

He looked at the towering ship and the chapter did his duffel bag thinking about his family and everything he had fought through to get him to this point. He lost a championship but his journey was far from over.

“Let's get to work.” he said.

Together they stepped onboard the princess ship ready for whatever waited on the next horizon.

[RyanKeys]

BUILT TO MOVE

Sasha Seams’ Studio
Las Vegas, Nevada


OFF CAMERA

Ryan Keys opened the door to Sasha Seams’ studio and nearly walked straight into a rolling garment rack.

Harley Torres caught the edge just before it hit him.

“Good start,” Ryan said.

The young assistant pushing the rack gave them an apologetic look. “Sorry about that. The wheel keeps locking up on me.”

Ryan glanced down at the crooked wheel. “Then I respect its commitment to making everyone else’s life difficult.”

Harley pulled the rack out of the doorway while Ryan stepped inside, the black case holding the SCW Roulette Championship tucked under his arm.

The studio was busier than he’d expected. Garment bags hung on almost every hook, fabric covered both worktables, boxes were stacked underneath them, and a large rainbow cape stretched across the longest table while silver trim was being carefully attached along its edge.

Near the back of the room, Sasha Seams stood in front of a mirror, adjusting one side of a violet wig. Her makeup was already finished, and reflective stones glittered across the fitted black outfit she’d be wearing to the Pride event later that evening.

She spotted Ryan in the mirror.

“You’re late.”

Ryan checked the time on his phone. “By six minutes.”

“You were expected six minutes ago.”

“I’m improving,” he said. “Usually Aron gives me a much bigger window than that.”

Sasha turned around to face him. “Where is Aron?”

“Taking a break from me.”

Harley closed the door behind them. “Ryan decided he could handle one appointment without supervision today.”

Ryan set the championship case down beside a chair. “I figured Aron deserved one afternoon where he didn’t have to chase me across Las Vegas, carry something I forgot, or remind me where I was supposed to be.”

“You drove,” Harley pointed out.

Ryan looked over at him. “That was going to be revealed later.”

“I didn’t want Sasha thinking you’d changed completely.”

Sasha crossed the room and kissed Harley on the cheek.

“My angel.”

Ryan stared at her. “I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

She gave Ryan a quick hug before stepping back toward the worktable. “And yet Harley is still my angel.”

“I came here because I missed you.”

“And because your gear needs work.”

“Both things can be true.”

Sasha checked the time. “You might have picked a bad day to miss me.”

The assistant called over from the other side of the studio, “The driver still isn’t answering.”

“What driver?” Ryan asked.

“The one who was supposed to come collect everything for tonight’s event twenty minutes ago.”

Harley looked around at all the garment bags, boxes, and clothing racks. “All of this?”

“Most of it,” Sasha said. “The rest is going with me.”

Ryan glanced toward the open rear door that led into the narrow service alley. “And when do you have to leave?”

“Soon.”

“How soon?”

Sasha gave him a look. “Soon enough that I shouldn’t still be standing here explaining it to you.”

Ryan walked over to the crooked garment rack and tested the bad wheel with his foot. “This thing isn’t making it through the alley like this.”

Sasha folded her arms. “You are not fixing my equipment.”

“I wasn’t planning on fixing it. I was planning on lifting the part that doesn’t work.”

Harley took off his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair. “What needs to go first?”

Sasha looked between the two of them. “You’re both here for Ryan’s fitting.”

“I know,” Ryan said, “but I’m not going to stand around in front of a mirror while you miss your event. Let’s get this stuff moved.”

Sasha’s mouth twitched into a small smile. “You have training tonight.”

“And you have somewhere to be.” Ryan gripped the end of the rack. “So let’s move.”

Harley took the other side while the assistant held the rear door open. A rented cargo van waited in the alley with its back doors already open.

The next several minutes turned into a steady back-and-forth between the studio and the van. Harley carried garment bags two at a time. Ryan handled the heavier boxes and kept lifting the damaged side of the rack every time the wheel locked up.

By the fourth trip, he’d pulled off his overshirt and tied it around his waist.

Sasha followed him out to the van carrying a smaller case. “You’re sweating before I’ve even put you in the gear.”

Ryan slid a box into place. “You’re welcome.”

“You could have worn something cooler.”

“I dressed for standing in front of a mirror and being admired.”

Harley passed behind him with another garment bag. “That’s how he dresses for most things.”

Ryan looked toward Sasha. “He says that like it’s a flaw.”

The assistant brought the final rack toward the door. Ryan lifted the damaged end while Harley guided it from the front. Once everything was secured inside the van, Sasha checked the time again.

“We may actually leave when we were supposed to.”

Ryan wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Aron would be very proud of me.”

“Are you going to call him and announce that you carried boxes?” Harley asked.

Ryan reached toward his pocket, then stopped. “No.”

Harley raised an eyebrow. “No?”

“I gave him the afternoon off.” Ryan looked toward the phone in his pocket but let his hand drop. “Calling him to tell him how well I’m doing without him defeats the whole point.”

Harley smiled.

Sasha noticed. “That was almost mature.”

Ryan pointed at her. “Do not ruin this for me.”

They headed back inside. With the racks and most of the boxes cleared out, the studio suddenly felt twice as big.

Ryan picked up the championship case. “Now can I see the gear?”

Sasha checked the time one last time. “You have twenty minutes.”

“That is plenty of time.”

“You have never done anything quickly when a mirror was involved.”

Harley sat down in the nearest chair. “She’s got you there.”

Ryan stepped up onto the fitting platform. “You’re supposed to support me.”

“I carried the heavy bags. I’ve completed my duties.”

Sasha retrieved a garment bag from behind the privacy screen.

Ryan’s Summer XXXTreme gear had already been made. The appointment was really just to check the fit and fix anything that had shifted during the final construction.

Sasha unzipped the bag. White fabric appeared first, followed by cyan and silver accents. Smaller iridescent details shimmered between blue and violet as she pulled out the sleeveless entrance jacket.

Ryan went quiet.

Harley leaned forward. “You like it.”

“I’m looking,” Ryan said.

“You can look and talk.”

“Not at this.”

Sasha held the jacket open for him. “White again?”

Ryan smiled as he slid his arms into it. “Summer XXXTreme.”

He had worn white the last time he competed at the event. Once this year’s match was confirmed, no other color had felt right.

Sasha adjusted the collar. “You are aware there will be a swimming pool beneath you?”

“I’ve heard rumors.”

“And you know what happens to white when it gets wet?”

Ryan examined himself in the mirror. “Then the audience gets a bonus after the match.”

Harley laughed.

Sasha smoothed the front of the jacket. “You’re planning to stay dry?”

“For the championship,” Ryan said. “Not for the modesty.”

His smile widened. “I still plan on making sure the other two don’t.”

Harley stood up and looked him over. “That looks good.”

Ryan glanced at him. “Good?”

“Do you want beautiful?”

“I left room for beautiful.”

Harley nodded. “You look beautiful.”

Ryan’s smile softened. “Better.”

Sasha stepped behind him. “Raise your arms.”

Ryan lifted them. The jacket moved with him until the left side tightened near his shoulder.

He lowered the arm slightly.

Sasha noticed immediately. “That pulls.”

“Barely.”

“Barely is enough.”

She opened the inner seam, examined the support underneath, removed a stiff section, replaced it with a more flexible piece, and pinned the seam.

“Again.”

Ryan raised both arms and turned his shoulders. The jacket followed him cleanly this time.

Harley nodded. “That fixed it.”

Sasha closed the seam and took the jacket off Ryan. “It stays inside the garment bag until you reach the ship.”

Ryan held out his hand. “I can carry it.”

“You can,” she said, then handed it directly to Harley. “You are not.”

Ryan looked at her. “I carried half your studio into a van.”

“And you did beautifully.”

Harley slipped the garment bag over one shoulder.

Ryan picked up the championship case. “I feel like that should have earned me custody of my own clothes.”

“It earned you my gratitude,” Sasha said. “Do not get greedy.”

She picked up the smaller case with the rest of the gear and handed that to Harley as well.

Ryan stared at both of them. “I see how this friendship works.”

Sasha checked the time again, then looked at Ryan. “Before you escape, have you two made any decisions about the wedding?”

Harley’s smile appeared immediately.

Ryan caught it. “There are two people in this engagement.”

“And I am asking both of them.”

Ryan looked toward Harley before answering. “Whatever we do, it’s gonna be private. We don’t need a room full of people or some giant production. Just us and the people who actually matter.”

Harley nodded. “That part we’ve agreed on.”

Sasha’s expression softened. “Private still requires clothes.”

Ryan smiled. “That sounds like you’re volunteering.”

“I was never going to let either one of you dress yourselves.”

Harley glanced down at his black shirt. “I dress myself now.”

“You wear black.”

“It matches.”

“It avoids decisions.”

Ryan pointed at him. “See? He needs help.”

Harley looked at Sasha. “Whose side are you on?”

Sasha kissed his cheek. “Yours.”

Ryan shook his head. “I walked into that one.”

A horn sounded from the alley.

Sasha looked toward the rear door. “That is my cue.”

Ryan moved toward the front entrance. “We visited, the gear is ready, and you’re getting to the event on time. I think that qualifies as a successful afternoon.”

Sasha caught his arm before he reached the door and pulled him into another hug. “Thank you.”

Ryan returned it. “You would’ve done it for me.”

“I have done far worse for you.”

“That is friendship.”

Sasha released him and pointed at Harley. “Keep the gear away from him.”

Harley nodded. “I’ll protect it.”

Ryan placed one hand against his chest. “You don’t trust me.”

Sasha smiled. “I know you.”

Ryan opened the door and stepped outside with Harley beside him.

For once, he didn’t reach for his phone to tell Aron how well the afternoon had gone.

A break was a break.

***

Training Facility
Las Vegas, Nevada

ON CAMERA

The final training session of the night had ended, but the lights above the ring stayed on.

Ryan Keys stood inside the ring wearing black training pants and a loose white shirt, his hair still damp. The SCW Roulette Championship rested over one shoulder while a towel and bottle of water sat in the corner.

He walked away from the ropes and smiled.

“I’m excited.”

There was no attempt to hide it or turn it into something colder.

“I know that probably isn’t how I’m supposed to start. I’m supposed to look angry, tell Ciarán Doyle and Zayvion Lyons they’ve ruined my life, and act like getting onto a cruise ship is some horrible burden I’ve been sentenced to survive.”

Ryan shook his head.

“Not happening.”

He adjusted the championship on his shoulder.

“It’s Summer XXXTreme. We’re getting onto a ship with thousands of people who came to watch SCW turn a vacation into complete chaos, and somewhere in the middle of all of it, the three of us are gonna be hanging above a swimming pool fighting for the Roulette Championship.”

His smile widened.

“That sounds fun.”

Ryan laughed quietly.

“Probably not safe. Definitely not sensible. But fun.”

He stepped toward the center of the ring.

“And I like the two men I’m facing because neither one of them is boring. Ciarán earned his way into this by climbing against LJ Kasey and Logan Hunter and reaching the contract before either of them could stop him. Zayvion already knows what it’s like to carry this championship, and he knows what it feels like to lose it to me.”

Ryan rested one hand over the faceplate.

“That gives us three men with three different reasons to want the same thing. Ciarán wants to turn one of the biggest opportunities he’s earned in SCW into his first Roulette Championship. Zayvion wants another chance at the title he lost.”

Ryan tapped the faceplate.

“And I want to keep the championship I chose.”

He began walking slowly around the ring.

“When I won King For A Day, I could’ve gone after Miles Kasey. I could’ve used that power to put myself into a match for the World Heavyweight Championship, the biggest title in SCW, against a man I knew I could go toe to toe with.”

Ryan nodded slightly.

“That choice was right there. Nobody would’ve questioned me for taking it, and I’m not gonna pretend the thought never crossed my mind.”

His hand moved across the championship.

“But I had unfinished business with this.”

Ryan’s attention settled on Zayvion.

“You took it from me.”

There was no anger behind the statement. There didn’t need to be.

“I wasn’t going to win King For A Day and immediately start chasing something else while the championship I lost was still sitting on your shoulder. I wasn’t gonna pretend moving on to something bigger would make leaving this behind feel finished.”

Ryan shook his head.

“It wouldn’t.”

He held the title more securely.

“So I chose you. I chose the Roulette Championship, I chose Extreme Rules, and I put us in the main event because I wanted the chance to take back what you had taken from me.”

Ryan looked ahead.

“Not because I thought you would be easier than Miles, and not because I was afraid to stand across from the World Heavyweight Champion.”

His voice gained weight without losing its control.

“I chose you because this mattered to me.”

Ryan tapped the title once.

“You took it from me. I wanted it back.”

A faint smile returned.

“And I got it.”

Ryan continued toward the opposite side of the ring.

“After the match, you congratulated me on Twitter.”

He nodded.

“I appreciated it. You didn’t have to say anything, but you did. After the two of us had put each other through tables, fire, and everything else that match became, you showed me respect.”

Ryan’s hand settled across the championship.

“But the congratulations came after I beat you.”

There was no mockery behind the reminder.

“You carried this championship before me. You know what it feels like to walk into a show with it over your shoulder while everybody else wants what belongs to you. You also know what it feels like to watch somebody else leave with it.”

Ryan looked down at the title.

“That somebody was me.”

He raised his eyes.

“Now you have another chance. I understand why you took it. I would expect any former champion to do the same.”

Ryan adjusted the strap.

“But this isn’t still your championship.”

He moved closer to the center of the ring.

“You’re not getting onto that ship to collect something I’ve been holding for you. You’re challenging me for something that became mine when I beat you.”

Ryan shook his head.

“You had this championship. I beat you for it. Now I have it.”

His palm rested against the faceplate.

“This is mine.”

Ryan allowed himself a small smile.

“Summer XXXTreme doesn’t erase King For A Day. It gives you another opportunity to create a different ending, and it gives me another opportunity to beat you.”

He lifted one shoulder.

“This time, Ciarán is there too. The championship is hanging above a pool, and none of us can win by keeping somebody down for three seconds.”

Ryan’s smile widened.

“That makes the match different.”

His grip tightened around the title.

“It doesn’t make what happened before disappear.”

Ryan looked directly ahead.

“You congratulated me when I became champion. At Summer XXXTreme, you get to watch me leave with it again.”

He turned his attention toward Ciarán.

“You’re coming into this from a completely different place.”

Ryan walked toward the ropes, resting his free arm across the top one.

“You haven’t carried this championship. You’re not trying to reverse a loss or recover something that used to belong to you. You won King’s Ransom, earned the contract, and now you get to walk into this match with nothing behind you except the opportunity you created.”

Ryan nodded.

“You earned that. You climbed while LJ Kasey and Logan Hunter were trying to stop you, kept moving when the whole thing became a fight for position, and got there first.”

A playful smile crossed his face.

“And considering what both of us used to do for money, maybe nobody should be surprised that we’re comfortable around poles.”

Ryan shifted the championship.

“But I’m still not tipping you for the performance.”

He laughed quietly before pushing away from the ropes.

“I like having you in this match, Ciarán. You’re not afraid to take a chance, you’re not here because somebody needed another body on the poster, and you’re not gonna politely wait for Zayvion and me to finish our history before you make your move.”

Ryan’s expression became more focused.

“That may be the biggest advantage either challenger has.”

He began moving across the ring again.

“Zayvion has a result he wants to change. I have a championship I intend to protect. You’re the one man here who can throw himself at the opportunity without either of those things pulling at him.”

Ryan nodded slightly.

“You can let Zayvion and me focus on each other. You can take a chance neither one of us expects and try to become the part of the match we never see coming.”

A small grin returned.

“I know why that makes you a threat.”

Ryan touched the championship.

“But being free to take the chance doesn’t make you free from the champion.”

He looked directly ahead.

“You earned the opportunity. That means you belong above that pool with us.”

Ryan’s tone remained respectful.

“It does not mean the championship is waiting for you.”

He stepped closer.

“You’ve probably got a picture in your head. You hanging from those cables, reaching up, pulling this down, and finally getting the payoff for everything you’ve done to reach that point.”

Ryan smiled.

“I’m not telling you to stop picturing it.”

His hand closed around the strap.

“I’m telling you I’m in the picture.”

Ryan continued before the line could sit too neatly.

“You’re not the extra man in Zayvion’s rematch. You’re not standing outside our history waiting for us to forget you’re there.”

Ryan raised his eyes.

“I see you.”

He nodded once.

“I see someone who earned his way into one of the biggest opportunities of his SCW career, and I know you’re going to take every chance the match gives you.”

Ryan smiled faintly.

“I still intend to put you into the pool.”

He returned to the center of the ring.

“That is what I like about this match. Zayvion knows what carrying this championship feels like, and he wants another chance at it. Ciarán earned his place and comes in without an old result weighing him down.”

Ryan spread his free hand.

“Both of you have something real driving you. I would rather have that than two opponents trying to convince themselves they care.”

He smiled.

“I want the Zayvion who carried this championship and knows what it takes to hold onto it. I want the Ciarán who saw the contract above that ring and refused to let LJ or Logan reach it first.”

Ryan’s grip tightened around the championship.

“Bring those men onto the ship.”

His smile remained, but his voice carried more force.

“Bring every reason you believe Summer XXXTreme should end with one of you standing there as champion.”

Ryan nodded.

“Because I want this match.”

He looked down at the title.

“I want to walk onto that cruise as Roulette Champion. I want to see the ship, hear the crowd, and feel what happens when everybody realizes the match they’ve been waiting for is about to hang over the pool.”

Ryan looked forward again.

“I want the music, the noise, the stupid amount of sunlight, the people wearing swimsuits before breakfast, and every ridiculous thing that comes with Summer XXXTreme.”

He laughed.

“I’m planning to enjoy all of it.”

The humor eased from his expression without disappearing entirely.

“And then I’m planning to beat both of you.”

Ryan adjusted the championship.

“I don’t have to hate either one of you to want that. I don’t need to invent some reason Ciarán is a terrible person, and I don’t need to disrespect what Zayvion accomplished while he carried this.”

Ryan shook his head.

“You’re both good.”

His voice remained confident.

“That’s why this is fun.”

Ryan took another step forward.

“Winning when everybody knows all three men can walk away with the championship means more. There’s no easy opponent for people to dismiss afterward. There’s no excuse about somebody not belonging in the match.”

His smile returned.

“One former champion, one man who earned his place, and the man carrying the title into the whole thing.”

Ryan tapped his chest with his free hand.

“I like my position.”

He looked toward Zayvion.

“You’ve already held this. Now you get another chance to take it from the man who settled his unfinished business with you.”

His attention shifted toward Ciarán.

“You earned your way here without carrying any of the history between us. Now you get to find out what happens when the champion knows exactly how much freedom that gives you.”

Ryan held the title securely against his shoulder.

“And I get both of you.”

His grin widened.

“That sounds like a pretty good night to me.”

Ryan moved closer to the center of the ring.

“I know how I want it to end. I’m staying out of the water. Ciarán is going into the pool, Zayvion is joining him, and I’m climbing up to take this championship back down.”

He gave a loose shrug.

“I don’t know exactly how we get there.”

Ryan did not sound concerned by the admission.

“That’s the fun part.”

He tapped the title lightly.

“I’m not gonna stand here and explain Ryan Keys to people who’ve already been watching me. I’ll see the opening when it happens, and I’ll use it.”

Ryan walked toward the ropes before stopping.

“What I can promise is that I’m not going into Summer XXXTreme hoping the two of you take each other out while I hide somewhere and wait for a clear path.”

His excitement sharpened into determination.

“I want to be part of everything.”

Ryan pointed toward himself.

“I want both of you coming after me. I want the match to reach that moment where none of us controls it anymore, where every person watching knows one wrong movement can send somebody into the water and change the entire thing.”

Ryan smiled again.

“That’s where I belong.”

He removed the title from his shoulder and held it in front of him.

“Ciarán, your opportunity matters. Zayvion, your rematch matters.”

Ryan looked at the faceplate.

“But I’m the champion.”

He returned the title to his shoulder.

“I chose this when I could’ve gone after the World Heavyweight Championship. I fought through Zayvion to take it back, and I’m walking onto that ship ready to fight both of you to keep it.”

Ryan shook his head.

“Ciarán, I’m not the ending waiting for your opportunity.”

His gaze shifted.

“Zayvion, I’m not holding your place.”

Ryan rested his hand over the championship.

“I’m Ryan Keys.”

The smile returned.

“I’m the Life of the Party, I’m Vegas’ Own, and I’m the SCW Roulette Champion.”

His voice carried clear excitement.

“And I am ready to get on that ship.”

Ryan looked ahead.

“Next time you hear from me, I’ll be there. The ocean will be around us, the pool will be underneath the cables, and the three of us will be one week closer to finding out which one of our reasons matters most.”

Ryan nodded.

“I already know which one I’m betting on.”

He tapped the title.

“Mine.”

Ryan gave a final smile.

“Pack something you don’t mind getting wet.”

[Celtic Thunder]

Las Vegas Coin Laundry -
Las Vegas, Nevada

Yeah, not the most glamorous of situations for a so-called celebrity, is it? You would imagine a professional wrestler in Sin City Wrestling to be shown partying in one of the Strip casinos or dining in a five-star restaurant.

Well, baby steps.

It's not so easy when mental health is on the table.

Ciarán Doyle had made it three blocks from his hotel with a duffel bag over his shoulder and the kind of determination usually reserved for workouts or competition, not one of the most basic household chores. He had told himself before leaving the room that this was all he had to do today. Go to the laundromat, get it done and come back.

Easy, am I right?

Or at least it should have been. It should have been nothing, but these days nothing had a way of becoming something the second he had to open a door and step outside where people could see him. He's Irish, isn't luck supposed to be on his side by rote? Keep a four leaf clover in his pocket, Make A wish upon a rainbow big? Isn't that how it's supposed to work?

The laundromat wasn't really anything special. It was one of dozens throughout the city. Through the large plate glass windows, it looked like any other. People taking care of their own business, holding their laundry and leaving. Simple.

Ciarán stood outside for several seconds, watching strangers move around inside like they all belonged in the world more easily than he did. There weren't too many but just enough to make him want to pay the employees to do it for him but that would just mean he would have to return. Better to get it over with.

“Fecks sake!” He muttered under his breath, then bought against the urge to turn around and instead reached for the door. “It’s just laundry, Doyle!”

He pulled the door open and stepped inside. No sooner did he do so than his nose was under attack by the smell of cheap bargain store detergent. The heavy hum of the washers and dryers drowned out any casual conversation some of the men and women inside were having, both with each other as well as on their phones.

No one looked up, no one said anything. Ciarán kept his head down and moved toward a washer near the back.

He took care of his business as quickly as he could, eyes averted from everyone else and not inviting conversation as he did so.

He loaded the clothes quickly, dumped a cap full of detergent without a care like any good-natured bachelor, paid the outlandish price and waited. Water filled the washer and for one stupid second, he felt like he had come out a step ahead.

He sat down in one of the plastic chairs with his phone out, pretending to scroll but in truth, it was all an act to keep anyone from initiating conversation as a means to pass the time. It wasn't something he felt up to at this point.

That was when his phone vibrated in his hand, startling him. He looked at the screen to see that it was an unknown number, which under most circumstances would have made him ignore or block the call. But the fact it was an Irish country code gave him pause.

He could let it ring. He could have let it go to voicemail and dealt with it back in the hotel with the door locked and the curtains drawn, but he didn’t. The phone buzzed again, and Ciarán answered before he lost his nerve. “Hello?”

“Mr. Doyle?” The voice on the other end sounded familiar. “It’s Detective Detective Shaughnessy. Have I caught ye at a bad time?”

Ciarán’s fingers tightened around the phone. There was no good time to hear from the detective attached to the case that nearly shattered his life into two.

“No.” He said, swallowing hard. It was funny how a dry throat made the slightest swallow feel like needles. “No, you’re grand. I’m just out.”

“Are ye somewhere ye can talk?” Detective Shaughnessy asked. Ciarán looked around the laundromat, at the woman unloading a dryer, the older man near the vending machine, and the child hunched over a tablet in the far corner.

It wasn’t private by any stretch of the imagination but it was just public enough that he might not let himself fall apart.

“Aye.” He lied. “Go on.”

Detective Shaughnessy paused just long enough for Ciarán to know she was choosing her words. She spoke, “I wanted to ring ye myself. There’s been movement forward in your case.”

Ciarán closed his eyes for a second. “Movement” was such a small word, but large enough to open the world up ahead of him and make his stomach drop.

“What kind of movement?” He asked.

“We were granted the warrant.” She answered. “The phones of the women who attacked you have been seized.”

His eyes opened and for several seconds he just stared blankly ahead of him at nothing in particular, causing one or two sets of eyes to curiously turn his way and then avert their gaze before he noticed.

“Their phones?”

“Aye.” Detective Shaughnessy answered. “Several devices belonging to the women you identified. They’re in evidence now and they’ve been passed over to digital forensics.”

Digital forensics. That was what they called it, then. Not dragging the truth out of where someone tried to bury it, but digital forensics could pull the truth from seemingly nowhere - even when you were certain that you had removed it from existence.

That was what hurt the most from that experience. Not the fact he had been raped by multiple women. The fact that he had known they recorded it and it could be out there, anywhere.

“Have they found anything?” He asked.

“I have to be careful with what I say at this stage.” Detective Shaughnessy told him. “I don’t want to promise ye anything I can’t follow through with.”

“Right.” Ciarán said, closing his eyes and nodding even though she couldn’t see him. “I understand.”

“The initial examination suggests files were deleted from at least two of the devices.” She continued. “Photos, videos, possibly messages as well. The forensic team is working to recover what they can.”

Ciarán’s hand clenched so hard around the phone that his knuckles ached. “They deleted it.”

“They attempted to delete it.” Detective Shaughnessy corrected. “That distinction matters.”

“They recorded me...” Ciarán said, his voice quieter now. “Now the bitches are trying to hide!”

Ciarán stood up too quickly, and the plastic chair scraped loudly against the floor. The woman near the dryers glanced over before looking away, and Ciarán turned his back to the room and moved further away toward a corner like a naughty child with something to hide before his face could betray him.

“What else?” Ciarán asked.

“There are indications they communicated with one another after the report was made.” Detective Shaughnessy answered. “Fragments so far, but we’re seeing signs they may have coordinated their stories.”

Ciarán leaned one shoulder against the wall. “Their stories.”

“Aye.” The detective answered. “Perhaps they were trying to remove evidence or get stories straight just in case. Saying it was consensual or it was paid for…”

“Consensual.” Ciarán closed his eyes, feeling like he wanted to throw up then and there. “I guess it would be hard to argue with that logic with a ball gag stuffed in me mouth!”

“Yes.”

He pressed his free hand over his eyes until he saw those strange little dots behind his eyes. “Now they’re going to all say I allowed it. Get their stories straight and play the victims. Bunch of innocent birds against one lowly stripper!”

“That appears to be the concern.” Detective Shaughnessy said. “They’re going to want to get their stories coordinated so when questioned, their accounts match with one another against you. That would look stronger against you in most circumstances but…”

“But?”

“But if anything is found by forensics, then it becomes a very different story whether they match or not.” The Detective answered. “The word consensual doesn’t hold up well when the victim was gagged and restrained.”

“Did they send it to anyone?” He asked, and his voice broke on the last word.

Detective Shaughnessy was quiet for a moment. “That is one of the things we’re trying to determine I won’t lie to ye. I don’t have that answer yet.”

Ciarán closed his eyes. There it was, the question that had followed him for months through hotel rooms, showers, airports, and every sleepless hour when the ceiling above him looked too much like a place he couldn’t escape.

Anyone could have seen that video of him being raped by a group of women. Men who would have wished it were them. Women who would see it as empowerment. It could easily ruin his career and his life.

Who saw? Who laughed? Who still had it?

“I need to know.” He said.

“I know.” Detective Shaughnessy replied as gently as she dared. “And if there’s evidence anything was shared, we will pursue it. Right now, the devices are in our possession and that question is being treated seriously.”

Ciarán nodded again. It was something. Not enough, but something.

“I’m not ringing to ask anything from ye today.” Detective Shaughnessy said. “I wanted ye to know there’s movement. We’re making progress. The forensic work may take time, but this is not standing still. It might not be going as quickly as ye might have hoped, but it is still moving forward. That’s progress Ciarán.”

Ciarán leaned his head back against the wall. “Right.”

“And Ciarán?”

“Aye?”

“Look after yourself after this call.”

His mouth twisted faintly. “I’m doing laundry. That counts, doesn’t it?”

“It does.” She said, and there was the smallest warmth in her voice. “More than ye might think.”

He breathed through his nose and tried to steady himself. “If they recover anything…” He started, then stopped. He cou;dn’t finish whatever it was that he wanted to say.

Detective Shaughnessy understood what he wanted to say anyway. “You won’t be blindsided. I’ll do what I can to make sure of that.”

“Thank you.”

“You’ve nothing to thank me for. Ring me if ye need to, and if I don’t answer, leave a message.”

“I will.”

“I mean it now.”

“I know.” He said. “Thank you, Detective.”

The call ended, and Ciarán stayed in the corner for another minute with the phone still in his hand. The laundromat noise crept back in slowly, the hum of machines, the thump of dryers, and the distant sound of someone laughing at something that had nothing to do with him.

The television hung in the far corner to give folks something to do was flickering with highlights of a recent game of the World Cup and the chants from a team that was anything but flattering to the President of the United States. The fact it brought a smile to his face somehow felt absolutely vulgar.

The world around him continued to move, and slowly but surely he found himself able to move along with it.

When he returned to the washer, the cycle had finished. His clothes sat in a damp heap, waiting for him as if nothing had happened. He moved everything into a dryer and fed coins into the slot with shaking fingers. The machine started with a heavy turn, lifting the clothes and dropping them again, and Ciarán stepped back to watch them tumble.

Attempted to delete. He held onto that because the word did not heal anything, but it gave him something solid to grip. Something that somehow felt close to hope. The first time he had felt anything remotely close to it in nigh a yeat.

Not deleted. Attempted.

They had tried to erase what they did, and maybe, for the first time, trying would not be enough. Ciarán sat down while the dryer ran and thought about calling Ruairí.

His thumb found the name before he could talk himself out of it, but he did not press call. He just stared at it, imagining his best friend’s voice, the anger, the worry, and the familiar bite of home in every word. Not to mention the simple fact that the time difference between Las Vegas and Ireland was an altogether different thing. The Detective probably only ignored the difference because the news held too much hope to wait.

Ruairí would ask if he was alright. Ciarán would lie of course, and of course Ruairí would know. That was the problem with friends like Ruairi. When you’re so close and so loved that even when you lie to shield yourself or others, those friends know. They know and they don’t let it go.

So he put the phone face down on his knee and waited.

When the dryer finished, he folded the clothes badly. The first shirt came out crooked, and he had to do it again, but he kept going because stopping felt more dangerous than failing. He zipped the duffel bag when he was done. Outside, the sun had dropped lower and somehow, miraculously, Ciarán felt the strange desire to find somewhere to eat on the way home. Not takeout. Not somewhere he could order delivery to his room.

Somewhere he could sit, surrounded by people but alone, and simply live by experiencing an actual meal. Ciarán stood near the door, hand on the strap of his bag, and tried to decide whether he had enough in him to do just that. That was when his phone buzzed, and for one sharp second, fear shot through him again.

Then he looked down and saw the name on the screen to spot the name of Ruairí O’Callaghan.

The message was simple.

“Just checking in, lad. You alright?”


“Awkward. That’s the word for all of this, isn’t it? When I first got into the sport of professional wrestling, I thought I had the rhythm of it figured out fairly quickly. It was a bunch of posturing between a bunch of lads talking shit about how they would kick one another’s arses, insult each other’s haircuts, mothers, fashion sense, and general ability to stand upright, and then after the match was over? They’d be grand. Maybe they’d shake hands, maybe they’d glare for the cameras, maybe they’d share a drink when nobody was looking, but the rules of engagement were easy enough to understand.”

“But how is that strategy supposed to hold up against two lads I respect and actually like? How am I supposed to stand here and spit venom at Zayvion Lyons and Ryan Keys when the truth is, I don’t have any venom for either of them? I’m not going to pretend I hate them just because there’s a championship hanging above us and a pool waiting below us. I’m not going to insult two men who have earned better from me than cheap shots and lazy lines.”

“So aye, this is awkward. It is awkward because I have to look at two men I respect and say, with my whole chest, that I’m still planning to beat them both. It is awkward because I can admire the man standing across from me and still intend to send him into that pool with no apology. That is the business we’re in, and that is the line we all learn to walk sooner or later. Respect does not mean surrender, and liking a man does not mean letting him leave with what you came to take.”

“Zayvion Lyons, let me start with you, lad. You came from out of nowhere and became another gold star in the legacy of the Lyons Den, and I know that might not be what you want to hear. Maybe that comparison gets under your skin a bit. Maybe you’re tired of people hearing the name Lyons and deciding they already know the story before you ever open your mouth. I can understand that.”

“You want to forge your own path. You want people to look at you and see Zayvion first, not a surname, not a family tree, not a reputation handed down to you like an old jacket someone expects you to wear whether it fits or not. And do you know what? So far, you’ve done exactly that. You might be a Lyons, but first and foremost, you’re Zayvion, and anyone who has watched you in SCW with both eyes open should know the difference.”

“You debuted and moved faster than most anyone expected. You stepped into this company with all those shadows trailing behind you, because legacy is a heavy thing whether people admit it or not, and you did not let them swallow you. You stepped out from under them, made your own noise, took your own space, and before anyone could decide whether you were promise or pressure, you won the Roulette Championship. That does not happen by accident. That does not happen because of a name alone.”

“And then, just as quick, you learned the part nobody likes to talk about. You went from challenger to champion and back to challenger, and a lesser man might have let that knock the wind out of him. A lesser man might have sulked, blamed the wheel, blamed the match, blamed the champion, blamed everyone but himself. But you didn’t do that. You kept moving, and more importantly, you kept moving without stepping on people just to make yourself look taller.”

“That matters to me. It matters because I have seen men get one little taste of attention and suddenly forget how to treat people. I have seen men chase gold like it gave them permission to be rotten, like ambition was a hall pass for arrogance. You did not do that. Even when your path crossed with mine, you showed respect. You even said you liked me, which tells me your taste in people is not completely hopeless.”

“And for what it’s worth, the feeling is more than mutual. I like you, Zayvion. I respect you. I think you have the kind of future in this business that people will be talking about long after the novelty of your arrival has worn off. But liking you does not mean I can afford to hesitate, and respecting you does not mean I can let you climb past me when the bell rings.”

“That is where the awkward part becomes simple. You and I have the same goal. We both want the Roulette Championship, and there is only one belt hanging above that pool. So when the time comes, all the respect, all the mutual admiration, all the polite nodding and good faith between us has to be set aside long enough for us to take care of business. I will shake your hand after, lad. I will mean it too. But during the match, if I have to kick you off that structure and watch you hit the water below, then into the pool you go.”

“And that brings me to the business at the center of all of this. Ryan Keys. SCW’s original Party Boy. The man with the smile, the style, the swagger, and now four Roulette Championship reigns to his name. Four. That is one more than Logan Hunter, which just has to gall the little piss ant something fierce, but we’re not here to talk about the guy with the Ramen hair. Not today, anyway.”

“We’re here to talk about Ryan Keys, and Ryan, I am not going to stand here and pretend you are some lucky pretty boy who stumbled into history because the lights caught your cheekbones at the right angle. That would be stupid, and I try not to be stupid more than once before breakfast. Four Roulette reigns tells the world something very clearly. It tells the world that Ryan Keys is more than a pretty face and a fun party style outside of the ring.”

“It tells the world that inside of the ring, you are all business. It tells the world that when the bell rings, the music stops, the party lights go dark, and what’s left is a man who knows how to win under conditions that change by the minute. That is the real trick of the Roulette division. It is not just toughness. It is not just athleticism. It is being able to adapt before the ground finishes shifting beneath your feet, and Ryan, you have done that again and again.”

“That belt around your waist is proof. Nobody gets four reigns by accident. Nobody survives the wheel, the chaos, the ladders, the falls, the weapons, the madness, and the pure nonsense that comes with that championship unless there is something real beneath the flash. You have earned your place. You have earned the respect that comes with being champion. And aye, you’ve earned mine.”

“But respect is not protection. Respect will not keep you dry. Respect will not save you when I get my hands on you, and it certainly will not stop me from doing what needs to be done when that championship is there for the taking. I saw what happened the first time Ryan Keys took the plunge in the pool at Summer XXXTreme. I remember it well enough, and I know the circumstances are different this time. Different match, different stakes, different version of you, different version of me.”

“But history has a funny way of circling back around, doesn’t it? Sometimes the details change, but the image remains the same. Ryan Keys, SCW’s original Party Boy, splashing down in front of everybody while someone else reaches up and takes what he came to keep. That is not me mocking you, lad. That is me telling you the truth as I see it. At Summer XXXTreme XIV, Ryan Keys is going in that pool again.”

“And Zayvion Lyons? You’re going in too, kicking and screaming if that is what it takes. I know you will fight. I know you will claw for every inch. I know you will not make this easy, and I would be insulted if you did. But I am not coming into this match hoping to survive the two of you. I am coming into this match to beat the two of you, and there is a world of difference between those things.”

“I know what people might expect from me here. They might expect nerves. They might expect doubt. They might look at Ryan’s four reigns and Zayvion’s rise and decide Ciarán Doyle is the lad caught between the established champion and the shining future. That would be a lovely little story for someone else to tell. Unfortunately for them, I am not interested in playing the convenient third man in anyone else’s history.”

“I have my own history to write. I have my own reasons for standing upright when it would be easier not to. I have my own scars, my own pride, my own stubborn refusal to be treated like a footnote in a match where I know damn well I belong. Zayvion has his legacy, Ryan has his reigns, and I have my moment in front of me. I intend to take it.”

“That is the thing about respect. Real respect is not gentle. Real respect is not me standing here and saying, ‘Ah well, they’re great lads, maybe next time.’ Real respect is me telling both of you the truth. I believe you are dangerous. I believe you are worthy. I believe either one of you could win this match if I give you the opening. So I will not give you the opening.”

“I am going to fight Ryan Keys like a four-time Roulette Champion deserves to be fought. I am going to fight Zayvion Lyons like a man who has already proven he can rise faster than anyone expected and still keep his feet under him. And I am going to fight myself, every doubt, every hesitation, every instinct that tells me respect should make me kinder than the moment allows. Because in that match, kindness can wait.”

“The wheel can do what it wants. The water can wait below us. The crowd can cheer for who they please, and the champion can carry himself like the man to beat because he has earned that much. But when it comes down to the final reach, the final breath, the final desperate second where one of us holds on and the others fall, I know exactly where I plan to be. I’ll be hanging on, reaching up, and taking that belt above for my own.”

“So Zayvion, Ryan, understand me when I say this with love and respect. I like the both of ye. I respect the both of ye. When this is over, drinks are on me, and I mean that sincerely. We can toast the fight, toast the effort, toast the bruises, and laugh about the poor bastard who swallowed half the pool on the way down.”

“But until the bell rings and the dust settles, do not mistake warmth for weakness. Do not mistake respect for mercy. Do not mistake the fact that I like you for any lack of willingness to do what must be done. At Summer XXXTreme XIV, Zayvion Lyons is going in the pool, Ryan Keys is going in the pool, and Ciarán Doyle is climbing out of that chaos with the Roulette Championship in his hands. Then, and only then, lads, we’ll have that drink.”

[Zayvion Lyons]

The first day of the cruise had been a blur of boarding lines, luggage, room keys and wrestlers wandering around the ship like they had been dropped into a floating luxury hotel. There were plenty of jokes about who would spend all week at the buffet, who would get lost first, and which of them were going to somehow turn a relaxing vacation into a backstage argument. But by the second day, the Princess Cruise had begun to settle around the SCW roster and the ship was well out into open water.

Zayvion stood at the railing of one of the upper decks wearing a sleeveless shirt,  athletic shorts, and a pair of sunglasses he had bought at one of the gift shops on board after realizing he had packed at least five pairs of wrestling boots but only one decent pair of sunglasses. He took a ship from a bottle of water and watch the waves roll away beneath the ship. It was all just so peaceful.

Cleo Phillips emerged behind him wearing a loose white cover up over a dark swimsuit and carrying two plates of food from the buffet, she held one plate out to him.

“Don't say I didn't bring you anything.” she said.

Zayvion looked at the plate. There was some fruit, a couple small sandwiches, some grilled chicken and an unnecessarily large slice of chocolate cake.

“You brought me cake?” said Zayvion

“I got me cake.” Cleo corrected him “You can have the fruit.”

“That's cold.” Zayvion replied.

“Well you have a match.” she said “You need to eat healthy, to keep your body healthy.

“Is that right?” said Zayvion with a grin.

“Just being a good coach and trainer.” Cleo grinned back at him.

The two laughed together as Zavion popped a piece of pineapple into his mouth. It was delicious.

“That's got to be some of the freshest pineapple I've ever tasted.” Zayvion said.

“Still not cake.” Cleo smirked.

The two laughed as Cleo stepped up beside him at the railing. The pool deck below them was busy, families were lounging in chairs with their kids racing from one side of the pool to the other as soft music played from the speakers. He could spot a few of his SCW colleagues milling about enjoying the ship in their own way.

“I still can't get over how big this ship is.” Zayvion said “It's like a giant floating city.”

“It basically is.” Cleo agreed.

“And somehow everyone in the city is either a tourist, a crew member, or a wrestler trying not to get recognized while wearing flip flops.” Zayvion said.

They shared another laugh together and things went quiet for a moment, Zayvion enjoying more pineapple, Cleo enjoying bites of her cake. Zayvion’s eyes shifted around between all the activity of the ship around him.

It was the little things Zayvion was really starting to notice, an elderly couple sitting side by side enjoying the ocean view together, a group of teenagers taking what seemed to be the same selfie over and over, crew members moving efficiently through all the crowds somehow making the whole operation look effortless.

Zayvion said his forearms on the railing and looked out at the ocean.

“You have the thinking face on.” Cleo said.

“Just taking it all in.” Zayvion replied.

His eyes went back to the elderly couple, a how they simply sat beside each other, close enough that shoulders touched. They sat looking out at the waters if they had seen a thousand oceans together. He wondered how long they had known each other,  and how many trips they had taken. All the hard days they must have survived and the good ones as well.

His thoughts drifted back home. Big Momma would be lounging poolside judging everybody that walked by. Kaelani would have been taking selfies all over the deck like a typical teenager.  Saphira would try stealing desserts from the buffet,  Baby J would be fixated on all the seagulls and Malik? Malik would be running from one deck to the other looking for pirates.

Zayvion smiled, Cleo caught it straight away.

“What?” he said.

“That's twice now.” she said.

“Just thinking about home.” he said “I wish they could all see this.”

“You could consider bringing them next year." Cleo suggested.

“Yeah..” he said “I just might.”

As his eyes shifted around someone in particular caught his attention.

“No way.” he said.

“What is it?” Cleo asked.

Zayvion pointed to an older man across the deck from them moving past a row of lounge chairs with a towel slung over his shoulder.  He held a book under one arm, but most importantly, he had an eye patch.

“Pirate.” he said.

Cleo raised an eyebrow.

“You know that man is not a pirate.” she said “This is a cruise ship, not a cartoon.”

“I know..” he said “But Malik had this whole thing about me keeping an eye out for pirates, and what sort of big brother would I be if I didn't entertain him a little bit? I need to get a picture.”

“You can't just go taking pictures of random people." Cleo said “It's weird.”

“So just stand over there real quick.” he said "If I take a picture of you, and happen to catch him in the background then it's not weird.”

Cleo shook her head and laughed.

“You're lucky I love the little guy too.” she said.

Cleo got into position and gave a quick pose as Zayvion snapped a photo successfully,  cleverly capturing the potential secret pirate in the background.

He wasted no time sending the picture to Malik, along with a message.

Took a picture of Miss Cleo, and look who I caught sneaking around in the background.

Moments later, the familiar ding of the notification bell went off on his phone.

I KNEW IT!! THat is defanetley a secrut pirate. He might be looking for tresure. DO NOT LET HIM STEEL THE CHAMPONSHIP

Zayvion laughed, and show the response to Cleo who laughed as well.

He responded back.

I'll keep an eye on him. Big Brother Zay is officially on pirate watch.

Ding.

Be carefuul Zay.

Zayvion smiled.

“We really got to work on that kid's spelling.” he said to Cleo.

“Well he doesn't lack imagination, that's for sure.”  said Cleo.

“You can say that again.” Zayvion replied.

“He's going to tell everyone for weeks that his brother fought off a pirate on a cruise ship.” Cleo said

“I didn't say I fought him off.” Zayvion replied.

“You're going to let Malik believe you did.” Cleo replied.

“Depends how dangerous the situation gets.” Zayvion grinned.

“You're such a bad influence.” Cleo laughed

"I'm a supportive big brother." said Zayvion.

“You can be both.” said Cleo

They both laughed together. The message from Malik helped ground him. He imagined his little brother back home thinking about treasure maps, pirate swords and some eyepatched villain plotting to steal the roulette championship.

He was going to do everything in his power to make sure he was the one we left with the roulette championship not Ryan Keys, not Ciaran O'Doyle and certainly not any secret pirates.

__________

The cameras catch Zayvion Lyons poolside lounging in one of the chairs with his headphones on as we hear the familiar sound of music that accompanies the beginning of a Zayvion Lyons promo. This week it’s “Will” by Joyner Lucas

##I'm feelin' like Will##
##I think I'm a prince.##
## I'm feeling myself##
##I'm loaded with bills##
##'cause I wasn't blessed with no Uncle Phil##

He looks to the camera as he lowers the headphones and the music fades.

“So it's respect then.” he said “That's what the three of us are building this match on."

He nods.

“Aight, bet.” he said “I can fuck with that. But don't either of you mistake respect for complacency. When that bell rings I'm coming for both of you and I'm coming to take back the Roulette Championship.”

Zayvion glanced for a moment before looking back at the camera.

“I like that this match isn't going to be personal.” he said "Ryan Keys you were the better man at King for a Day, and Ciaran O'Doyle, I see the hunger in your eyes and I know exactly how tough that hunger can make somebody.”

Another nod.

“That makes it simple.” he said “This ain't no blood feud  and there ain't no hatred or personal vendetta. It's just three men that want the exact same thing. The SCW roulette championship and honestly I like it that way.”

A smile grows across his face.

“I like going out there competing and knowing there ain't going to be no excuses.” he said “If I win, then I earned it. If one of you win, then you earned it.”

A small pause.

“That's the thing about respect.” he said in a calm but firm voice “Respect is cool, and respect means that we all understand what the match is supposed to be. It means I know neither of you are a joke, and it means you know I'm not just here to float through the cruise happy to be here. But at the end of the day we all know that respect doesn't win championships.”

Another pause.

“So while I respect the both of you, and everything you both can do.” he said “When that bell rings all that respect gets left on the deck with the rest of the vacation plans. Because I'm not coming out there to share a nice moment with either of y'all.  I'm not coming to clap for having a good match and smile while somebody else walks out with that championship."

He shakes his head.

“I already did the hard part.” he said “I won the championship once so I know what it feels like to have that gold on my shoulder and hear the crowd say my name.  This isn't about proving I belong, that part's over. This is just about taking back what was mine.”

He pauses for a moment the ocean basking in the sunlight behind him.

“Some people look at redemption like it's some soft thing.” he said “A bunch of tears and speeches with everybody clapping because someone had a bad night and decided to try again. But to me, redemption is ugly. Redemption is sweaty. Redemption is somebody getting dropped on their head and getting back out because they decided they're not leaving without what they came for, and here on this cruise that person is me.”

He points to himself.

“All I've been doing is working since I lost that championship.” he said “I've been in the gym, I've been in the ring and I've been studying and listening. Not just the two of you, but myself as well. I need to look at the mistakes in my game so I don't slip up and take the L this time. I've been grinding myself into the ground so I can get back up one more time better than I was before.”

He lets his words hang for a moment as this ship moves steadily on carrying them with it.

“That's what people are missing.” he said “I'm not out here hoping for a lucky break or asking the universe to hand me something because I've been patient. I know patience.  Patience get you watched and studied but it also gets you left behind if you get too comfortable. So I ain't waiting on the right moment, or the ideal little storybook ending where everybody gets a nice handshake and a round of applause. I'm coming to make my own ending."

A smile creeps across his face.

“Ryan Keys,  I know you're not coming to that ring thinking it's going to be some easy night at sea.” he said “You've already beaten me once and that gives you confidence as it should confidence is useful and it keeps you moving, just be careful not to slip into overconfidence because because overconfidence will get you hurt."

He pauses.

“Ciaran O'Doyle..” he said “You're looking at this match like the opportunity of a lifetime, and in some ways it is because you know you don't get endless chances at this. You know you don't get to sleep walk through anything and assume the belt is going to wait around for you. So while I respect your hunger,  and I respect your drive and the fact that both of you are stepping in there for a reason. But don't forget that I've got one too and it's simple. I lost something I earned and I don't like how that feels.”

He shrugs.

“That's it.” he said “No complicated story, just  a man who doesn't like losing and doesn't intend on staying in that position.”

He pauses.

"Some would say Zay, you're on a cruise you should enjoy the vacation, relax and not put so much pressure on yourself.” he said “But the problem is if you've been through enough you know how to carry pressure, and you know how to breathe under it and keep moving when everybody else thinks you should buckle. I've been doing it my whole life carrying the weight of expectations, be it family, failure, recovery, wrestling, all of it. If I can carry all that, I can carry the weight of one championship match on a cruise ship in front of the whole world.”

He grins.

“Especially if the prize is my championship belt.” he said. “This week is supposed to be about enjoying the ride and I get it. I mean the sun, the ocean, the food. It's all beautiful  but I didn't come here for beautiful I came here for business. The business of taking back what's mine,  and I'm ready for all of it. When I step into that ring I'm not going to think about the buffet or the pool or all the amenities this cruise ship has to offer. I'm thinking about the roulette championship and hearing my name announced as the winner after I knock you both into the drink.”

He motions toward the pool.

“Maybe that's where it ends for one of you.” he said “Maybe that's where it ends for both of you if you ain't careful. You take a nice little splash, and I walk out with the championship.  Some people talk about pressure like it's a curse like it's the thing that's going to break you, but it doesn't break everybody oftentimes pressure makes diamonds and sometimes pressure makes men.”

He pauses again.


"I'm not asking to be validated." he said "I'm just telling you who I am a man who got knocked down and got back up a man who lost something and refuse to let that be the end of the story I'm a man who understands what he's stepping into and knows exactly what he's willing to do is leave for he came for."

His eyes narrow.

“So enjoy the cruise boys.” he said "Enjoy the sun, the water, the food. Enjoy the chance to say you are part of the Summer Xxxtreme aboard the Princess Cruise because once that bell rings, it's just me, the two of you and the championship. And I'm not leaving till I get mine back.”

He exhales.

“I've been through too much to treat this like a one-night story.” he said “I've come too far to get all the way here to be satisfied with looking respectable. I'm not here for respect alone, I'm here for the championship. So we can start with respect, but we're going to end with my hand raised as the new SCW roulette championship.”

He nods confidently to the headphones back on his head and leans back into his lounge chair.

“So enjoy the cruise fellas, because when Summer Xxxtreme actually gets here then the work begins.” he said

He eases more comfortably in his chair relaxing as the camera steadys on him for a moment before fading to black.

[Celtic Thunder]

Well, this could have started off better.

Ciarán Doyle stood outside his cabin door on the Princess Cruise ship with his gym bag over one shoulder, his suitcase leaning against his hip, with the faint but unmistakable feeling that everyone passing by him in the crowded hallway was watching him lose a private argument with modern technology.

The keycard didn’t work the first time, because of course it didn’t. He pulled the card out, looked at it as though it’d personally insulted his mother, then slid it through the reader again, resulting in another blinking red light.

“Aye, grand!” Ciarán muttered. “Good to know I’ve been rejected by a door! If this is any indication of what's to come, I better not be looking for company during this cruise!”

Somewhere down the hall, a couple of fans walked by in Summer XXXTreme XIV shirts and tried very hard not to stare. One of them failed completely and whispered his name with the same tone of reverence a person might use with anyone with any sort of celebrity standing.

Ciarán gave them a polite nod, then turned back to the lock and slid the card through a third time. The light finally flashed green.

“Third time’s the charm!” He said, relief washing over him and pushing the door open with his shoulder. “Guilt works. I'll have to remember that.”

The cabin was smaller than the photos had suggested, because photos lied for a living, but it was nice enough. For his first experience, he certainly wasn't going to complain.

There was a bed against the far wall with linen tucked tight it could have been made by military hands. There was a little desk, a television mounted to the wall, a balcony door with sunlight spilling around the curtains, and a towel animal sitting on the bed with what Ciarán could only describe as judgmental ears.

He dragged the suitcase inside with one hand and let the door shut behind him. He stood in the center of the room for a moment and listened. There was a muffled cheer from somewhere below, music thumped faintly through the walls, and outside the balcony, the ocean flashed blue and bright like something expensive.

“Well…” Ciarán said to the towel animal. “At least if anything goes wrong, we can throw ourselves dramatically into the sea.”

The towel animal offered no opinion. Ciarán closed his eyes and muttered halfheartedly, “Get it together, Doyle. Yer talkin’ to a feckin’ towel!”

Ciarán set his gym bag on the chair and started looking around the cabin. He checked the closet, opened the bathroom door, tested the balcony handle, and found that it stuck badly enough to make him wonder if the ship was encouraging him to remain indoors.

After a shove with his shoulder, the door opened, and a rush of warm sea air moved through the cabin, carrying the smell of salt, sunscreen, and the sounds of people in all directions, talking at full volume and some screeching like they were fighting to be heard above everyone else. He stepped onto the balcony and leaned his forearms on the rail.

The ocean stretched out in every direction, and he tried to take it all in at once and somehow failed to do so. He’d performed in plenty of strange places, but this was different. There was nowhere to leave if he became tired of being seen. That didn’t settle with him too well.

In fact, that thought sat with him longer than he liked.

He turned back into the cabin and noticed the envelope waiting on the desk. It was placed neatly in the center, which immediately made him suspicious. Nothing good ever came from an envelope left for you in your own private room.

His name was printed across the front in clean lettering.

CIARÁN DOYLE

That made him even more hesitant at picking it up, let alone reading it. But he soon lost the struggle against himself and he picked it up.

“If this is a bill for the balcony door, I’m fighting someone.”

He murmured as he opened the envelope and pulled out a notice on SCW letterhead. The top of the page welcomed him aboard the Summer XXXTreme XIV Cruise in language so bright and polite that he already knew there was something dangerous hiding near the bottom.

“Mr. Doyle,

Welcome to the SCW Summer XXXTreme XIV Cruise aboard the Princess Cruise ship!

On behalf of Sin City Wrestling, I hope you enjoy yourself during this traditional working vacation. This cruise is our chance to thank the SCW stars for everything they do for the fans throughout the year, while also giving everyone the opportunity to relax, unwind, and make memories away from the usual arena setting.

Please enjoy your downtime, take advantage of the ship’s amenities, and have fun with your special assignments.

Sincerely,
Evelyn Hall

Ciarán stopped reading.

He lowered the paper, looked out toward the balcony, then back at the page.

“Special assignments.” He repeated.

The words had the same energy as a smiling woman who stood dangerously outside of shopping mall perfume stores with a bottle in hand. Pleasant in theory. Dangerous in practice.

There was a second page tucked behind the first one. Ciarán pulled it free and raised his eyebrows as his eyes moved down the schedule.

Fan photo greeting? That sounds fun, actually.

Costume social appearance? Costume? What the fu-

Autograph table? Always loved doing those.

And there, highlighted in blue because Evelyn Hall apparently believed crimes should be decorated, was the one that made him stare.

“LEARN A ROUTINE WITH THE STARS

Hosted by Ciarán Doyle”

“Oh, she’s taking the piss!” Ciarán exclaimed aloud, as if anyone was in the room besides himself to overhear.

He read it again, just in case the words had rearranged themselves into something less insulting. They hadn’t.

A dance class.

Not a meet-and-greet where he could smile, sign, and slip away. Not a photo op where he could stand still and let people make bad jokes about looking short beside him. No, they’d assigned him to teach a dance class to fans and fellow SCW stars on a cruise ship, as though the sea itself hadn’t already made balance enough of a challenge!

He set the paper down on the desk and stared at it.

The worst part, and he hated this deeply, was that Evelyn Hall hadn’t been wrong. If you wanted someone to walk into a room full of strangers and make movement feel less humiliating, Ciarán Doyle was a reasonable pick. An annoying pick. A suspiciously accurate pick. But a reasonable one.

Dance had been part of his life long before wrestling had taken him by the throat and dragged him under brighter lights. Back then, movement hadn’t been about applause first. It had been about control. Learning how to stand. Learning how to enter a room. Learning how to make eyes land where he wanted them to land and not where fear told them to go.

He’d learned very young that if people were going to look, he’d better decide what they saw.

Ciarán looked back at the towel animal on the bed.

He asked, “Why did I think this cruise was going to be anything remotely close to fun?”

By the time he reached the activity lounge later that afternoon, the event was already louder than it needed to be.

The room had been cleared for the class, with chairs pushed against the walls and a speaker system set up near the front. There were fans in cruise casual clothes, a few in SCW shirts, a couple of older guests who looked like they’d wandered in by accident and decided it was too late to escape, and several wrestlers who were clearly there because someone in management hated them personally.

A woman with a clipboard stood by the sound table. She was small, blonde, cheerful, and had the hardened eyes of someone who’d scheduled activities on cruise ships long enough to fear nothing living.

She looked up when Ciarán walked in.

“Mr. Doyle!” She said brightly. “We’re so excited to have you!”

“That makes one of us…” Ciarán replied, glancing around the room, wondering if there was an escape route.

Paige smiled wider. “Evelyn said you’d say something like that.”

Ciarán gave her a look. “I’m becoming concerned by how well that woman knows me. Especially considering she never talks to me.”

Paige handed him a wireless microphone and pointed toward the open floor. “We have forty-three participants, including four SCW talent members, one birthday group, and a gentleman named Dennis who says he has two left feet but a brave heart.”

A man in a floral shirt near the back raised his hand proudly.

Ciarán looked at him. “Dennis, already I respect the honesty! We’ll see what we can do about the feet!”

Dennis gave him two thumbs up. His wife beside him looked thrilled, which told Ciarán everything he needed to know about whose idea this class had been.

Ciarán clipped on the microphone and walked to the front of the room. The chatter quieted as people turned toward him, some excited, some nervous, some already regretting every choice that led them there.

“Right then!” he called. “Who here signed up willingly?”

Several hands went up.

“And who here was dragged in by someone who claims to love you?”

More hands went up, including Dennis’s - and right before his wife pulled his hand right back down.

“There we are!” Ciarán said. “The truth is healing!”

The room laughed, and that helped. Laughter was useful. It loosened people before their bodies had to.

Ciarán looked across the group and spotted the problem areas immediately. A young woman in the front row was standing half behind her friend, arms folded tightly over herself. A broad-shouldered wrestler near the side wall stood like he was guarding a prison gate. Dennis was already bouncing in place with confidence he hadn’t yet earned.

It was going to be a long hour.

“Before we start…” Ciarán said, pacing slowly in front of them. “Nobody’s here to win anything. Nobody’s here to be judged. If you mess up, you laugh and keep moving. If the person beside you messes up, you mind your business unless they’re about to kick you in the knee.”

That got another laugh.

“Good!” He said. “That’s the sound of people realizing nobody dies from looking foolish. An important lesson! TAke it from a man who used to take his clothes off dancing. I know what foolish looks like!”

He paused beside an elderly woman and said, “It was usually the other lads.” Which sparked even more laughter from the implied mischief.

Paige started the music. It was some bright, simple pop song with enough beat for beginners and enough cheerfulness to qualify as harassment. It made Ciarán cringe from the inside out.

Ciarán listened for the count, then lifted one hand.

“Simple first. Step right. Bring it in. Step left. Bring it in. That’s all. Do not add drama yet. Some of you are already thinking about drama and I can see it in your shoulders.”

They tried and were terrible. Not hopeless, but terrible.

Half the room moved early. The other half moved late. Dennis moved with such confidence in the wrong direction that his wife had to grab his sleeve before he collided with a fan in a captain’s hat.

Ciarán stopped the music. He stood there for a second, nodding slowly.

“Alright.” He said. “We’ve discovered the problem.”

A woman near the front covered her mouth, already laughing.

“The problem is all of you.”

The whole room broke.

Ciarán pointed at them. “But that’s fine! I’ve seen worse. I’ve been worse! The difference between dancing badly and standing there apologizing with your entire body is effort. So we try again.”

He restarted the music and counted them in. This time, he moved with them, exaggerating each step so they could follow. The room did better. Not well, but better.

“See?” He said. “Progress! Very small progress, but we respect it!”

They went through it again. Then again. Step right, bring it in. Step left, bring it in. A shoulder roll was added, which caused immediate distress among people who apparently believed shoulders were meant to remain private. Ciarán corrected them gently at first, then less gently when one man began moving like a malfunctioning coat rack.

“No, no.” Ciarán said, walking over. “Your shoulder isn’t filing a complaint. Let it move.”

The man laughed and tried again.

“There!” Ciarán said. “Look at that! Nearly human!”

The class kept going. The awkwardness didn’t disappear, but it changed shape. People began laughing at themselves instead of flinching. That made all the difference in the world. Ciarán knew the difference because he’d lived in that difference for years.

Ciarán noticed the young woman in the front row was still hiding behind her friend.

He didn’t call her out. That was the mistake amateurs made. You didn’t drag someone into confidence by making the whole room watch them panic. You gave them something small enough to survive.

He moved closer during the next count and adjusted his own posture where she could see him.

“Eyes up.” He said, not directly to her but near enough that she knew. “The floor’s not going to help you unless you’ve dropped money. Usually in me waistband.”

Her friend laughed. The young woman smiled despite herself and lifted her gaze for half a second.

Ah! There it was!

Ciarán moved away before she could regret it. They added a turn next, which nearly destroyed everything.

Paige, standing by the sound table, made the mistake of laughing into her clipboard. Ciarán pointed at her.

“Don’t you laugh! You helped cause this!”

“I’m being supportive!” Paige called.

“You’re documenting casualties!”

Dennis raised his hand. “What if we get dizzy?”

“Then you stop spinning.” Ciarán answered. “This is a dance class, not a hostage situation.”

Dennis nodded thoughtfully, as though this was valuable advice.

They tried the turn again. This time only three people went the wrong direction, which Ciarán declared a miracle. The room was warmer now, both from movement and from embarrassment burning itself off. People were sweating, laughing, bumping shoulders, and grabbing water between counts. The class had become less about dancing and more about permission. Permission to look foolish. Permission to take up space. Permission to stop waiting until they were good enough to participate in their own lives.

Ciarán didn’t say all of that. He fixed shoulders instead.

“Back.” He said, tapping one fan lightly between the shoulder blades. “Don’t cave in. You’re not sneaking past the room. You’re entering it.”

The fan straightened.

“Chin up.” Ciarán told another. “Not because you’re better than anyone. Because you’re not asking anyone whether you’re allowed to be here!”

That one landed harder than he meant it to. The young woman in the front row looked at him again. Really looked this time. Ciarán pretended not to notice and turned back to the room.

“One more time from the top!” He called. “And this time, try not to dance like you’re apologizing to your ancestors!”

The final run was not clean. It would’ve gotten them booed out of any serious dance studio in the world, and possibly several unserious ones. Dennis turned late, the wrestler forgot the shoulder roll, one of the birthday women added a hair flip that nearly took out her friend, and Paige had to put the clipboard over her mouth to stop herself from laughing too loudly.

But it had actual life.

When the song ended, the class burst into applause. Some of them clapped for Ciarán, but most of them clapped because they’d made it through and were proud despite themselves. That was better.

Ciarán bowed with unnecessary flourish, because if a man couldn’t be dramatic on a cruise ship dance floor, where could he be?

“Thank you!” He said. “You were brave! Not coordinated, but brave!”

The applause turned to laughter. People began gathering their things, still talking over one another, already recreating their favorite disasters from the routine. Dennis’s wife made him pose with her for a photo, and Dennis did a hip pop so alarming that Ciarán looked away out of respect for the marriage.

The young woman from the front waited until the crowd thinned before approaching him. Her friend stood a few steps away, pretending not to listen and failing.

“Can I say something?” The young woman asked.

Ciarán turned fully toward her. “Aye.”

“I almost left before you came in.” She said. “I thought everyone would look at me.”

“People usually do.” Ciarán replied. “They’re nosy creatures.”

She laughed softly, then looked down at her shoes. “I hate that. Being looked at.”

Ciarán leaned one shoulder against the wall, giving her space but not dismissing her. “Most people do, at first.”

“You don’t.”

He smiled a little. “Love, I’ve made a career out of looking like I don’t.”

That made her glance up. He let the honesty sit there without dressing it up too much. There were some things people understood better when you didn’t explain them to death.

“Dance taught me a trick.” He said. “Not magic. Not confidence. A trick. You move before fear finishes talking.” Ciarán said. “That’s all. Shoulders back, chin up, step when the count tells you. Fear can catch up later if it’s that desperate.”

The young woman looked over at the empty dance floor. “I did feel stupid.”

“Aye.” He said. “And you survived it.”

She nodded, and this time when she smiled, it looked less like an apology. “Thank you.”

“You did the work.” Ciarán said. “I only yelled numbers at you.”

Her friend finally stepped in. “You also insulted our ancestors.”

“Yeah, well… they had it coming.” Ciarán said.

Both women laughed, and that was better than any deep speech he could’ve given them. They asked for a picture after that, and he agreed as long as nobody made him look shorter than he was. Paige took the photo, and when she handed the phone back, the young woman looked at it like she’d expected to hate herself and didn’t.

That, Ciarán thought, was no small thing.

When they left, the lounge was almost empty. Paige began collecting discarded water cups while Ciarán unplugged the microphone and placed it on the sound table.

“That went well.” Paige said.

Ciarán looked at her. “You say that like you expected riots.”

“I expected more complaints.”

“From them or me?”

“Yes.”

He snorted and reached for his bottle of water. “Tell Evelyn Hall she owes me a drink.”

“I will.”

“And tell her if she assigns me to anything else involving public rhythm, I’m reporting her to whatever authority governs crimes at sea.”

Paige hesitated.

Ciarán slowly lowered the bottle.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Paige.”

She hugged the clipboard to her chest. “There may be a towel animal workshop tomorrow.”

Ciarán stared at her.

“There may also be a celebrity guest judge.”

He closed his eyes. “I’m the celebrity guest judge, aren’t I?”

“You’re very popular.”

“I’m being punished for something I did in a past life!”

Paige laughed and left him there with the empty room. Ciarán stood alone for a moment, looking at the floor where forty-three people had stepped wrong, turned late, laughed loudly, and somehow left standing taller than when they came in. He’d spent enough of his life being watched to know that attention could take from a person. It could strip you down, flatten you out, make a thing of you before you’d a chance to be a man.

But not always.

Sometimes, if the room was kind enough, or if someone made it kind by force of will and a few sarcastic comments, being seen could remind a person they were still there.


"What a week it’s been! Me first cruise, a week of fun and sun and fans, and I’ll tell ye true, I didn’t know how badly I needed it until I was standin’ out there with the ocean all around me and no road beneath me feet to run down. I’ve got me demons. I’ve never pretended otherwise. There are things in me head and me heart that don’t clock out just because the ship leaves port, but this week gave me somethin’ rare. It gave me time to lock those demons away for a little while, shut the door, turn the key, and remember that life is not only about survivin’ the dark."

"And I value that time more than I can properly say. Because there have been days when even a bit of peace felt like somethin’ I had no right to touch. Days when joy felt suspicious, like if I smiled too long then somethin’ cruel would come collect the debt. But this week, I let meself breathe. I let meself laugh with the fans, feel the sun on me face, and remember that I am more than every bad thing that has ever tried to drag me under."

"And now that the sun’s gone down on the fun, now that the laughter and the fans and the memories have had their moment, it’s time to talk about the Roulette Championship! Ryan Keys. Four-time champion. A man who does not just carry that title, but understands the weight of it because he’s carried it again and again. Zayvion Lyons. Former champion. A man who knows what it feels like to have gold in his hands and then feel the cold air where it used to be. And then there’s me. Ciaran Doyle. The man with some catchin’ up to do!"

"Ryan, ye said I’m comin’ into this from a different place, and ye’re right. I’m not walkin’ in tryin’ to reclaim what I lost. I’m not standin’ over the pool haunted by the ghost of a championship that slipped through me fingers. I won King’s Ransom. I climbed while men tried to stop me, I reached while bodies were crashin’ around me, and I earned the contract that put me right here. That means I didn’t wander into your picture by mistake. I forced me way into the frame."

"And as for the crack about poles and tips, I’ll give ye this much, Ryan. Ye got a laugh out of me. We’ve both lived lives where performance paid bills, and neither one of us needs to blush about it. But at Summer XXXTreme, I’m not climbin’ for applause, I’m not climbin’ for a wink and a folded note tucked into me waistband, and I’m not climbin’ because somebody booked me as a novelty act. I’m climbin’ because above that pool hangs the first piece of SCW gold that could ever belong to me."

"Ye said ye see me, Ryan. Good. Keep your eyes open, lad, because blinkin’ is where champions make mistakes. Ye know I’m not goin’ to wait politely while you and Zayvion settle your history. Ye know I’m not there to be the extra man in somebody else’s rematch. But know this too. Seein’ me does not mean stoppin’ me. Respectin’ me does not mean survivin’ me. And intendin’ to throw me into that pool does not mean ye’ll be the one still dry when the match is done."

"Zayvion, ye asked what I’m fightin’ for, and I’ll answer ye plain. I’m fightin’ for the flash, the glitz, and the glamour. Aye, I am! I’m fightin’ for the lights and the roar and the moment where the whole world has to look up and admit that Ciaran Doyle is not just a lad with a contract and a dream. But I’m fightin’ for more than that too. I’m fightin’ for the one thing neither you nor Ryan can answer for me. I’m fightin’ to find out whether I belong."

"That’s the question, isn’t it? Not whether I can wrestle. Not whether I can climb. Not whether I can take a hit, or make a crowd believe, or keep comin’ when me lungs are burnin’ and me hands are slippin’. I’ve answered those already. But championship matches ask a harsher question. They ask if ye can stand between men who have already tasted the top and refuse to feel like an outsider. They ask if ye can look at a champion and a former champion and say, no, lads, history does not get to decide the future without me."

"And I have lived too much of me life wonderin’ where I fit. Wonderin’ if I was too much for one place, not enough for another, too damaged for peace, too stubborn for pity, too proud to admit when I was breakin’. In this business, people love to say someone has potential, and it sounds lovely until ye realize potential is just a room ye’re expected to live in until somebody decides ye’ve earned the door. I am tired of bein’ potential. I am tired of bein’ the man people nod at and say, someday. Summer XXXTreme is not someday. It is now."

"Ye said respect doesn’t win championships, Zayvion. Hunger does. I’ll not argue the first part. Respect won’t climb for me. Respect won’t hook me arm around a cable. Respect won’t drag Ryan down, throw you off balance, or put that championship in me hands. But don’t mistake me smile for satisfaction. Don’t mistake me gratitude for weakness. I may not be hungry in the same way ye are, but I am hungry. And in nature, it is not always the hungriest beast that gets fed. It’s the one willin’ to reach out and take what will finally satisfy that hunger!"

"And that is what I intend to do. Not because I think either of ye are lesser men. Not because I think Ryan’s reign is a decoration, or Zayvion’s hunger is some pretty speech meant to fill time before the bell. I know better. I know I’m steppin’ into danger with two men who have every reason to believe this match belongs to them. But the beautiful thing about the Roulette Championship is that it does not care what any of us believe. It cares who adapts. It cares who survives the spin, the stipulation, the chaos, the climb, and the fall."

"And I heard ye when ye spoke of family. I’m not bringin’ them into this as ammunition, because that’s not my place and not my way. I understand family. I understand sacrifices made to keep family alive in every way that matters. I also understand the harm a man can do to himself when he decides he has to shield the people who love him from the truth of what he’s carryin’. I know. I nearly buried meself because I thought I knew better than family."

"So when ye say ye’re fightin’ for them, I believe ye. When ye say ye want to be an example, I believe ye. When ye say ye’ll shake the winner’s hand if ye leave empty-handed, I believe that too. Ye have a lovely family, Zayvion, and I mean that with every bit of respect in me chest. But their influence is not goin’ to keep me from dunkin’ ye in that pool and walkin’ away with me first taste of gold."

"Ryan has the championship. Zayvion has the need to get back what he once held. And me? I have the opportunity I earned, the question I need answered, and the nerve to take the leap even if there’s nothin’ beneath me but water and consequence. That makes me dangerous. Not because I have nothin’ to lose, because I do. Pride. Momentum. Belief. The chance to prove that all this fightin’ has been buildin’ toward somethin’. But I’m still comin’."

"I’m comin’ as the man who survived his own head long enough to stand here with clear eyes. I’m comin’ as the man who climbed his way into this match instead of waitin’ for someone to notice him. I’m comin’ as the man who can respect Ryan Keys, respect Zayvion Lyons, and still look both of ye dead in the face and say that respect will not soften me hands when it’s time to fight. I’ve been patient. I’ve been grateful. I’ve been honest. Now I need to be selfish."

"So at Summer XXXTreme XIV, above that pool, on that cruise ship, under those lights, the Roulette Championship hangs where only one man can reach it. Ryan, I respect the reign. Zayvion, I respect the hunger. But respect is where this starts, not where it ends. When the bell rings, I’m not askin’ permission to belong. I’m reachin’ up, I’m takin’ hold, and I’m doin’ everything in me power to make sure the first taste of gold belongs to Ciaran Doyle!"

[RyanKeys]

THE BEST PART

Princess Cruise Ship
Ryan and Harley’s Cabin
At Sea
Friday, June 26, 2026
11:42 PM

OFF CAMERA

Ryan reached their cabin door first and tried the handle twice before Harley could get the keycard out of his pocket.

“Still locked, genius.”

“I thought it might’ve missed me.”

Harley stopped with the card halfway to the reader. “The door?”

“Yeah. I’ve been good to it all week.”

“You’ve kicked it at least three times.”

“By accident.”

Harley swiped the card. The light turned green, and Ryan pushed the door open before it finished clicking.

He stepped inside carrying two drinks in one hand and a greasy paper bag under his other arm. Harley followed with a napkin-covered plate and Ryan’s shoes hooked through two fingers. Ryan had decided he was done wearing them somewhere around deck nine, then kept walking as though handing them over had been part of the plan.

Ryan dropped the bag onto the small table.

“Everything made it.”

“You ate half the fries on the way here.”

“That was quality control. They were getting cold.”

“They’re fries. That happens.”

Ryan looked at the covered plate. “What’s under there?”

Harley lifted the napkin. Two slices of cake sat underneath it, one chocolate and one layered with enough fruit to make Ryan suspicious.

“Where the hell did those come from?”

“You were talking.”

“That doesn’t explain the cake.”

“It explains why you didn’t notice me getting it.”

Harley took a bite from the chocolate slice. Ryan stared at him.

“You got cake without me?”

“I got two pieces.”

“One of them has fruit in it. That’s not cake. That’s a salad trying to sneak into dessert.”

Harley held out the fork. Ryan accepted the bite, chewed, then leaned in for more. Harley pulled the plate away.

“That one’s mine.”

“You offered.”

“One bite.”

“You should’ve explained the limit.”

Harley laughed and moved to the bed with the chocolate slice, leaving the other for Ryan.

Ryan picked up the second fork and sat beside him. “I still don’t trust this.”

“Then leave it.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Music came through the walls in a low thump while people passed the cabin talking loudly enough for Ryan to catch pieces of conversations he knew nothing about. His phone had buzzed several times since they came inside, but he left it in his pocket.

Harley had his phone out, going through pictures from earlier. He showed Ryan one from the pool with a small group of fans around them.

“That one’s good,” Ryan said.

“You barely looked.”

“I look good, you look good, everybody looks happy. We’re good.”

Harley rolled his eyes and moved to another picture. This one was only the two of them. Ryan was looking toward the phone. Harley was looking at Ryan.

“You weren’t paying attention.”

“I was paying attention to you.”

“You ruined it.”

“Shut up. I like it.”

Ryan sent it to himself anyway and handed the phone back.

“You saved the ruined one,” Harley said.

“I can appreciate your mistakes.”

“That is very generous of you.”

Ryan grinned, then reached for the paper bag.

“There are still fries in here.”

“You carried them all this way. I figured.”

Harley tried to take the bag. Ryan moved it to the dresser.

“Those are for later.”

“They’re going to be awful later.”

“Cold fries have their place.”

“Where?”

“Later.”

They sat quietly for a minute while the ship carried on around them. They had spent the cruise moving from one thing to the next together, usually staying longer than either of them planned. Ryan liked meeting fans, especially the nervous ones who relaxed after a few minutes. Harley joined the conversations, wandered into his own, came back with food, and sometimes agreed to something before Ryan had even heard the plan.

They had been together the whole time, but almost never alone.

Harley looked up. “So what now? Are we going back out?”

Ryan glanced toward the balcony. Beyond the glass, the ocean was dark except where the ship’s lights reached it.

“We could.”

“There was something happening by the pool.”

“There’s always something happening by the pool.”

Harley raised an eyebrow. “That usually works for you.”

“It still does.”

Ryan did not move. Harley set his phone down and took another bite of cake, comfortable where he was with his feet near Ryan’s leg.

Ryan reached into his pocket, silenced his phone without checking the messages, and put it facedown on the table.

“I did a lot today.”

Harley nodded. “We did.”

Ryan smiled. “Yeah. We did.”

He looked at Harley.

“Now I get to do my favorite thing.”

Harley glanced at the cake. “Finish mine?”

“That’s up there.”

“What’s the favorite?”

“Spend time with you.”

Harley smiled. “Good answer.”

“It’s the truth.”

“You look very proud of it.”

“I found the right answer without help.”

“You’ve had thirty-four years.”

Ryan pushed his shoulder. Harley laughed and almost dropped the fork, but Ryan caught his wrist before the cake landed on the bed.

“Careful.”

“You shoved me.”

“You insulted me.”

“You’ll recover.”

Ryan took the fork while he still had Harley’s wrist and stole the bite.

“That was my cake.”

“You were distracted.”

Harley watched him finish it. “You know I’ve been with you all day.”

“I know. That’s what made it fun.”

Ryan handed the fork back and leaned against the headboard.

“But everybody else got us too. I want you to myself for a while.”

“That sounds a little possessive.”

“It is.”

“How long is a while?”

“Until morning.”

Harley looked surprised. “That long?”

“Food gets temporary access. Everybody else can wait.”

Harley reached for the room-service menu. “Then we’re going to need more food.”

They ordered burgers, more fries, another dessert, and fruit they both knew they would probably ignore. While they waited, Harley found a movie with a badly made shark bursting through the side of a ship.

Ryan leaned closer. “That one.”

“It has one star.”

“Somebody liked it.”

“That may have been the director.”

“He deserves support.”

The movie opened with a ship that looked nothing like the one around them.

“That is not how ships move,” Ryan said.

“You’ve been on one for less than a week.”

“I’ve seen ships before.”

“You also thought the door might miss you.”

“That’s different.”

They had barely made it through the opening scene when somebody knocked. Harley started to get up, but Ryan put a hand against his chest.

“I’ll get it. You picked the movie, so make sure nothing important happens.”

“The shark hasn’t even shown up.”

“Exactly. I don’t want to miss that.”

Ryan answered the door and returned several minutes later pushing the cart toward the balcony.

“That took a while,” Harley said.

“He watches SCW with his brother.”

Ryan said it like that explained everything, and for Harley, it did.

They carried the food outside, made room on the small table, and restarted the movie because Ryan insisted hearing the opening was not the same as seeing it.

They talked through most of it. Sometimes about the shark, though neither understood what it was supposed to be doing. Mostly, they talked about the cruise.

Ryan told Harley more about a nervous fan they had met earlier who ended up talking about the first SCW show they attended with their father.

“They kept apologizing for taking our time,” Ryan said, stealing a fry from Harley’s plate.

“You told them to stop.”

“They were already there. I wanted to hear the rest.”

Harley stole two fries from Ryan’s plate.

“That was retaliation.”

“That was sharing.”

“You have your own.”

“Yours looked better.”

“They came from the same kitchen.”

Harley took another one, so Ryan moved his plate closer.

They kept talking, filling in parts of the day they had seen differently even though they had been beside each other for most of it. Harley reminded Ryan of things he had missed while talking to someone. Ryan corrected parts of Harley’s stories that Harley had made worse on purpose.

Ryan’s phone lit up inside the cabin.

“You curious?” Harley asked.

“Yeah.”

“Me too.”

Neither got up.

A few seconds later, Harley’s phone lit up beside Ryan.

“That one could be important,” Ryan said.

“It probably isn’t.”

“What if somebody found more cake?”

Harley started to move. Ryan caught the back of his shirt and pulled him into the chair again.

“No. You agreed to this.”

“I was testing you.”

“You failed.”

Harley stole another fry while Ryan still had hold of his shirt.

“That was dishonest.”

“I used the opening.”

“That is not a defense.”

“It worked.”

Ryan let go and looked back at the movie just as the shark appeared in a place no shark should have been able to reach.

“How did it get inside?”

“Maybe somebody held the door.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“You picked the movie.”

Ryan watched the shark move through what looked like an air vent.

“I may have made a mistake.”

Harley smiled. “Want to change it?”

Ryan settled farther into his chair. “No. Now I need to see how bad it gets.”

The music above them kept going. People were still moving through the ship, eating, laughing, and finding new things to do.

Ryan would be back out there soon enough.

For now, he stayed where he was, listening while Harley finished another story and keeping one hand close to his fries in case Harley tried again.

Their phones lit up once more inside the cabin.

Neither of them moved.


Princess Cruise Ship
Pool Deck
At Sea
Saturday, June 27, 2026
1:36 AM

ON CAMERA

The pool deck had mostly cleared out, but the ship was still wide awake. Music came through the doors whenever somebody passed, mixing with the water and the low rumble beneath everything.

Ryan Keys stood a few feet back from the pool with the SCW Roulette Championship draped over his shoulder. His shirt hung open, his hair was loose around his face, and he looked comfortable enough that the match might have been another event on his cruise schedule.

He ran his thumb across the faceplate and smiled.

“I’ve carried this thing everywhere on this ship. Karaoke, the Pride Ball, dinner, parties, the pool. It’s been in more pictures than some of the passengers, and I swear one fan talked to the belt before they even said hello to me.”

Ryan laughed quietly.

“I respected it. I waited my turn.”

He shifted the championship higher on his shoulder.

“I love having it. I wanted it, I won it, and now I’m greedy as hell about keeping it. Winning this didn’t settle me down or make me feel like I checked something off a list. It made me worse. Now I know what it feels like walking into a room carrying the Roulette Championship. I know what it feels like when somebody sees the champion before they see Ryan Keys, and I like that.”

His smile widened.

“They still get plenty of Ryan Keys once I start talking. Nobody needs to worry about that.”

Ryan kept one hand over the title.

“I’m proud of this, and I’m proud that I’m the one walking into Ultimate X with Ciarán Doyle and Zayvion Lyons coming after me. I already talked about why they belong in the match. They heard it, I meant it, and I don’t need to spend another night introducing either one of them.”

He glanced toward the water.

“Tonight is about what happens when the three of us stop talking and somebody has to fall.”

Ryan began walking slowly along the pool.

“Ciarán, in Copenhagen, I was the referee for you and Bill Barnhart. I was right there in the ring, close enough to hear every hit and see what happened before anybody watching from farther away could react.”

A grin crossed his face.

“I looked good in the stripes too. That matters.”

Ryan kept moving.

“I had to stay out of your way that night. I had to make the calls, keep an eye on both of you, and stop myself from becoming part of the match whenever one of you gave me a reason. I did better with that last part than I expected.”

His gaze moved toward the pool.

“Sunday, I get that job. I don’t have to be neutral or stand close to you with my hands to myself. You’re coming after my championship, so now I get to be part of whatever happens to you.”

Ryan turned forward again.

“That changes the whole thing for me. Copenhagen gave me a close look at you, but it was still a look from somebody who had another job to do. I wasn’t trying to stop you from moving, force you into a bad position, or find out what happens when Ryan Keys refuses to leave you alone.”

His smile returned.

“I get to do all of that on Sunday.”

Ryan rested one hand on the back of an empty lounger.

“I’m not going to pretend one night in a referee’s shirt told me everything about you. It didn’t. What it did was give me enough to know I can’t treat you like somebody standing off to the side while Zayvion and I deal with each other.”

Ryan pushed away from the lounger.

“You know what you want, and you don’t need my permission to throw yourself into the middle of everything. What I care about is what you do when the moment stops looking like the one you pictured.”

He continued along the deck.

“I got to watch you from inside the ring in Copenhagen. Sunday, I get to feel you for myself. I get to find out how much weight you put behind something, how you move when somebody crowds you, and what you do when the person in front of you refuses to give you the space you thought you had.”

His tone stayed light.

“I don’t need those answers tonight. I’ll know them when you give them to me.”

Ryan glanced toward the water.

“You might get the better of me early. Maybe you catch me with something I wasn’t ready for. Maybe you get enough room to move and suddenly I’m the one trying to hang on while you get closer to the championship.”

He looked forward.

“That is where I start learning you. I don’t mean studying every little thing you do like I’m taking notes. I mean being close enough to feel when you’re sure of yourself, when you reach a little farther, and when the title looks close enough that part of you starts thinking about the ending.”

Ryan smiled.

“That part of you is what I’m waiting for.”

He took another step.

“I want to be the man who puts you in the water, Ciarán. Not because I don’t respect you or because I want to embarrass you. I want it because I don’t want your night ending on a slip or because Zayvion happened to be closer.”

Ryan tapped his chest.

“I want you to know I was the reason. You are coming after something I care about, and I want to answer that myself.”

He shifted the championship.

“And I meant what I said about liking you. I can see the two of us working together somewhere down the road, and I’m not talking about one friendly drink after the match before we never mention it again.”

His grin widened.

“I would actually like to see what happens if somebody puts our names beside each other instead of across from one another. We might work frighteningly well together, or we might become the reason management starts screening our ideas before putting us on the same show.”

Ryan laughed.

“I would be happy with either. You know how to work a crowd, you know when to turn something up, and you know how to make people remember you were there. Put that beside everything I bring, and I think we could make a lot of people very uncomfortable.”

He looked toward the doors, then back toward the pool.

“I think our energy could work. You know how to make yourself part of a room without begging people to look at you. You can have fun without forgetting why you’re there, and I don’t think either one of us would be interested in being the sensible half of the team.”

Ryan rested his hand across the championship again.

“But that does not buy either one of us anything on Sunday. You are not my partner in Ultimate X. If you start to fall, I am not reaching down to save you, and I know you would not do it for me.”

He nodded once.

“That is how it should be. I can like you and still want to hear the water when you drop. I can think we might make a great team and still make sure you do not leave this ship with my championship.”

His smile returned.

“Actually, if we ever do team up, I would rather start without you being able to tell everybody you took my title the first time we fought over it. I’d never hear the end of that.”

Ryan looked ahead.

“So bring everything you have. Give me the Ciarán Doyle who believes this can be his night. Do not stand back waiting for Zayvion and me to make the match easier for you, because I don’t want the careful version.”

His expression became more focused.

“I want the one who makes me work. When that version is hanging there, one hand starting to slide while the championship is still out of reach, I want him looking at me. I want him to know exactly who is sending him down.”

The smile returned.

“Then, after you dry off, we can talk about teaming.”

Ryan’s attention shifted.

“Zayvion, you and I don’t need a referee standing between us to know what happens when we get our hands on each other.”

His voice carried more familiarity now.

“I remember how hard it was to move you when you planted your feet and decided the space belonged to you. I remember how quickly you could take away room I thought I had, and how many times I had to change what I was doing because you were already there.”

Ryan glanced toward the pool.

“Last time, we had fire. This time, they gave us water. Somebody wanted balance.”

His smile faded only a little.

“I remember the heat, the furniture breaking, and how little either of us cared about finding the easier way through once the match got going. I remember you making me pay every time I stayed close for too long. I also remember that none of it made me want out. It only made me look for another way back at you.”

He moved closer to the edge without getting too near it.

“I remember more than the finish. I remember what the match felt like. I remember the pressure of trying to keep you from settling into something you liked, because once you did, everything got harder.”

His hand tightened around the championship strap.

“You don’t need me to remind you how it ended. You were there. I was there. What matters now is that we are not walking into the same match.”

Ryan moved along the water again.

“The first time, I was the man trying to take something from you. That gave me one kind of hunger. Now I’m the man carrying it, and that changes me.”

He rubbed his thumb along the faceplate.

“Not because I suddenly think I’m untouchable. You already proved I’m not, and I would be stupid to forget what you can do. It changes me because I know what I’m fighting to keep now. Before, I knew what I wanted. Now I know how it feels when I have it.”

Ryan smiled faintly.

“I like this feeling. I like waking up knowing the division has to come through me, and I like that the next strange match is mine until somebody takes it away.”

He looked forward again.

“You know what I’m like when you’re standing across from me. You know I do not stay where you put me just because something hurt, and you know a bad position usually makes me more irritating, not less.”

Ryan laughed.

“You’ve had enough Ryan Keys to know that part very well.”

He lifted one shoulder.

“But I know you now too. I know what it feels like when you close the space. I know how quickly you can turn one small mistake into something that hurts for the rest of the night, and I also know I can survive it.”

He continued before the thought could sit too neatly.

“I already did. That means you do not get to come into Sunday wondering whether I can take what you bring. You know I can, so now you have to bring something different.”

Ryan adjusted the championship.

“I expect you to. I would be disappointed if you didn’t. You have had time to think about what failed, and I have had time to get comfortable carrying the thing you want back. If either of us walks in trying to repeat that night exactly, then we learned nothing from it.”

He glanced to one side.

“The problem is that whatever you bring for me has to work while Ciarán is there too. I’m not saying you are going to forget him. You are too good for that. But you and I have something sitting between us that he does not share.”

Ryan tapped the title.

“When you see me up there, you are going to feel what happened at King For A Day. Maybe it lasts half a second. Maybe it lasts longer. You are going to see the man who left with your championship.”

Ryan shrugged.

“That would pull at me too.”

He took another step.

“You can come straight for me and try to make sure I hit the water before either of you goes near this title. That makes sense. It also gives Ciarán room to move while you are busy making sure I stay gone.”

Ryan held up one hand.

“I’m not pretending I know which choice you will make. I’m telling you I will be there when you make it. If you look toward Ciarán because he starts getting close, I am still beside you. If you keep your attention on me because you need to finish what we started, he is still moving.”

He rested a hand against his chest.

“I don’t carry that split. I have both of you coming for the same thing, and my job does not change depending on which one is closer. I stay in the match, keep the championship out of your hands, and make sure I am there when the ending comes.”

Ryan looked toward the water.

“You are going to get me close. I know that because I remember what it felt like when you had me in trouble before. There will probably be a moment where you think this is finally the second you correct what happened between us.”

His gaze returned forward.

“That is the moment I want. I want you at your strongest. I want you sure that you have me. I want the people watching to start reacting because they think the next sound is going to be Ryan Keys hitting the pool.”

Ryan smiled.

“You know what happens when somebody believes I’m finished too early. You have felt me come back from places where the match should have moved on without me.”

He tightened his grip on the title.

“If you do not hear the splash, I am still there. If you are not looking at me, I am still there. If you think Ciarán has become the bigger problem, I am still there. And if I am still there, I can take the whole thing away from you again.”

Ryan’s tone softened slightly.

“I want to be the man who puts you in the water too, Zayvion. Not because I hate you, and not because I think your reign meant nothing.”

He looked down at the faceplate.

“You were good enough. That is why taking it from you mattered.”

His eyes returned forward.

“I want to eliminate you myself because I want Sunday to end with both of us knowing this reign continued through you. No accident, no Ciarán doing the work for me, and no question about whether I only stayed champion because the two of you got rid of each other.”

Ryan’s pride came through more strongly now.

“I want to look at the man I took this from, send him into the pool, and keep climbing. I want you to know I did not survive you once and spend the rest of my reign hoping somebody else would handle you for me. That is personal. It does not have to be hateful.”

Ryan stepped away from the water and opened his attention back to both challengers.

“Ciarán gives me somebody I have watched closely but have not dealt with in a match like this. Zayvion gives me somebody whose strength I already know and whose mistakes I already survived.”

He adjusted the championship.

“One of you wants to turn his opportunity into something bigger. The other wants another ending to a story we already started. I’m the man standing in front of both of those things, and I like that.”

Ryan glanced toward the structure above the pool.

“I know this is going to hurt. I know one of you will catch me somewhere I do not want to be, and I know there will be a moment where the match stops looking like anything we expected.”

He looked forward again.

“That is the part I trust myself in. I have been doing this long enough to know the night does not have to make sense for me to keep moving through it. I do not need Sunday to be clean, easy, or fair. I need to stay involved until neither one of you is.”

Ryan rested his hand across the faceplate.

“Then I take this back down.”

His expression stayed bright and confident.

“When it is over, the invitation is real. Ciarán, come find me. We can talk about whether teaming up still sounds fun after we have finished trying to throw each other into the pool.”

Ryan smiled.

“Zayvion, you come too. We can eat, dance, complain about how sore we are, and argue about who came closest.”

He raised one finger.

“I’ll buy the first round. Mine will be nonalcoholic, because nobody is turning this into the night Ryan Keys tries rum.”

The doors opened behind him and music spilled across the deck.

Ryan glanced toward the pool.

“You two can compare notes on how cold the water is. I’ll listen from somewhere dry with this still on my shoulder.”

Ryan started toward the doors, then slowed.

“Until I have it back in my hands, there are no favors. If one of you starts falling, I am not catching you. If both of you are in the water, I am not wasting time waving goodbye.”

His grin widened.

“After that, we’re good.”

Ryan turned toward the music, then looked back over his shoulder.

“Meet me at the party.”

He smiled.

“After you dry off.”