Hayes Hanlon
For whatever reason, I felt the need to go to Sunrise hospital.
But I couldn’t go inside.
I just sat against the hood of my car, cheek swollen and bandaged from where a Russian Bear chomped his pearly whites, my back sore from four-hundred pounds pressing into my spine through a gigantic boot. Every cell in my body was spent. Used up. I could barely stand when the bell rang, despite how it might have looked on camera. I’ll never take another ass-kicking quite like that. Not in my entire career.
But I put that mother fucker across my back and dropped him off the second rope. I pulled off the Super Massive on the biggest dude in PRIME history. That image is gonna wind up on posters, and some kid will put one on their wall, just like I used to.
Normally that’d be cause for celebration. Normally I’d get a hold of a Percocet to keep the pain at bay so I could focus on tearing the Strip a new one.
Normally Paul would have called by now.
But not that night. Not after Paxton Ray pissed on everyone’s parade. Not after Cancer Jiles managed to reach the mountain top. Instead I was in Sunrise’s dark parking lot.
Why couldn’t I go inside?
I’m sure they were all in there, probably in the waiting room, just to show support if nothing else. Youngblood, TAL, the Queen.
Jared Sykes was definitely in there.
No one got the chance to celebrate Colton taking out Flambo. Or TAL and Rezin defending their gold, or Dusk’s ride into the sunset. Nova and Youngblood put on the show of the year and put the cap on a seventeen-year story. No one got a moment to stand in awe of those guys, not even me. No one got the chance to soak in the fact that Cancer fucking Jiles is carrying the big strap.
No, instead everyone was just hoping that Jonathan Rhine would wake up.
Man, I wanted to go inside with them. But I couldn’t.
I didn’t enjoy my last visit.
After Culture Shock.
The clinical white walls of Sunrise Hospital’s waiting room greeted his tired eyes as they forced themselves open. An endless phone ring from the front desk punished his ears, along with some unruly visitors arguing with the front desk administrator, still drunk from the night before. He shifted in a stiff wooden chair with cloth cushions, sitting upright from an awkward, cock-eyed sleeping position.
Hayes leaned forward, rubbing the exhaustion from his face with the palms of his hands. A green wool blanket fell from his lap and onto the tile floor, surprising him. Clearly someone had taken pity on the young man in uncomfortable black dress clothes. He cracked his neck and exhaled deeply, resting his elbows on his knees.
“Mr. Hanlon?” A voice came from across the way. He looked up with a bloodshot gaze. A young latina woman was searching from the edge of the front desk, hair pulled back, clipboard in hand. Hayes lifted his.
“This way, please,” she said, waving him over. His hips and knees groaned to stand, but he managed to carry his broad body across the waiting room floor to follow her into a side room.
“My name is Doctor Rojas, please have a seat,” she said, shutting the door behind them. Hayes eased himself into yet another uncomfortable seat while Doctor Rojas sat in a cloth desk chair, spinning to face him.
“How is he?” Hayes asked, doing his best to mask what was proving to be a hellacious come-down.
“He’s resting now,” she eased. “We have him on a saline drip to rehydrate his loss of fluid, but Paul should recover quickly.”
He visibly relaxed, relief showing in the form of a slow breath through his lips. He raked his fingers through his hair to fix the mess.
“You said you had no recollection of what he might have taken last night? Or how much?”
He searched his blurry brain. Some memories were coming back, but not the right ones. He shook his head.
“Okay,” she said, adjusting her slight frame. “Because we didn’t have any of that information, we made the decision to perform a gastric lavage.”
His eyebrows turned down, his face equal parts quizzical and concerned.
“You pumped his stomach?”
She nodded gently. “We did. And truthfully, it’s hard to tell if it was beneficial. Normally we only use the procedure in the most extreme cases, but because we were unsure what he took, how much, and when, we made that call.”
The thought made his stomach turn. He drew a hand over his bristled mustache, absorbing the information.
“Was he awake for it?”
“Yes. He was.”
“…was he comfortable?”
The doctor’s face softened.
“Everyone reacts differently to the procedure. But…no. I can’t confidently say he was.”
Hayes sat back in his chair, his face turning white. He felt like puking all over the office floor. The doctor’s hand on his knee, however, was enough to settle him.
“Mr. Hanlon, it’s a good thing you were there. If you didn’t get him here as quickly as you did, this could have been much worse. He’s lucky to have you for a brother.”
A weak smile in return. She pulled away to her desk, collecting a small stack of papers.
“Let’s get some of this paperwork signed,” she said, handing him the clipboard and a pen. He started scanning the top page, doing his best to understand the information therein.
“And Hayes?”
He looked up.
“Do you remember if you took anything last night? And if your brother might have done the same? Anything could be helpful for his recovery.”
A blank stare. Unfortunately, that blurry brain did find the right memories. The coke. The molly.
The ketamine.
“Sorry, Doctor Rojas. Nothing rings a bell,” he lied.
Why did he lie?
Days after UltraViolence.
They almost didn’t let him into Sapphire with the gauze on his cheek, but luckily he’d gotten to know Wes at the front door. He was a fan, and Hayes promised him an autographed shirt for his little boy.
He’d also gotten to know Cassidy, her real name Carrie. She’d become one of his favorite distractions when he was feeling less-than-heroic. Hayes had skipped the pony show. Skipped sitting next to the stage and stacking folded twenties. He found her finishing up a routine and asked for the private treatment for a while.
“What’s going on here?” she teased, lifting her chin to the gauze on his cheek, hips swaying over his lap to the beat of some awful house music.
“Got bit by a bear,” he replied with a weak grin, sitting in one of those chairs that looks like a shoe. A leopard print high-heel, to be exact. It matched her bra perfectly, the same one being dragged over his face at that moment. Hayes was pretty sure she grew up in Jersey.
“Sooo brave,” she said, rolling her blue eyes. He’d enjoyed her presence in enough back rooms at this point where she could bust his balls on occasion. Take that how you will.
“You lose?” she continued, every curve practically glowing in that back room, teeth illuminated unnaturally white thanks to the black lights.
“Nah,” he chuckled. “I won, if you can believe it.”
“Then why so glum, chum?” She spun around in his lap, leaning back against his chest and reaching a hand to the back of the head. He loved when she did that.
“Someone got hurt pretty bad.”
“Friend of yours?”
“Not really.”
“How bad?”
A pause. She swung a long leg to the side, laying across his lap.
“He’s at Sunrise right now. I don’t think he’s woken up yet.”
“You okay?” Those silver heels crossed over one another.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” he replied, unconvincingly. “I just feel like I could’ve done something, you know?”
“Save the day?” she smiled.
“Yeah. Save the day. Run down to the ring. Be the hero. All that stuff.”
Cassidy rolled her eyes again and stood, straddling his lap again and sitting down gently. She settled in, her short, curled amber locks hanging in his face.
“Baby, this is Vegas. There aren’t any heroes here.”
A frown. She reached for his hands.
“Listen. I’ve been doing this for a little while now, and every other drunk college boy and CEO in this place is hoping to be every stripper’s hero. Whisk us away from this oh-so-awful life. Take us back home to be their mistress. Or their trophy.”
“I’m not your hero?” he teased.
“Shut up,” she said, slapping his cheek playfully. He loved that, too.
“But the truth is…”
She guided those hands up her thighs.
“…it’s all an act. Just like everything else around here, and that leaves two kinds of people in this town; people just aching for attention…”
She pulled them further, placing them around her ass, then smiled that white smile with her tongue just peeking through her teeth.
“…and liars.”
Hayes laughed through his nose. Wise words, and for only a hundred bucks every thirty minutes.
“So,” she redirected, slapping both hands against his broad chest. “Are you gonna keep sharing your hero fantasy, or am I gonna pluck a wad of cash off your dresser later?”
He took a stronger grip. She bit her lip, and he lifted her up off the shoe-chair as he stood.
“I think…”
And then he set her down to the floor, and handed her that leopard print bra from his shoulder before whispering in her ear.
“…that tonight I’m gonna be a liar.”
Her turn to laugh through her nose. She gave his ear a quick nibble and plucked her bra from his fingers.
“See you soon, Superman.”
She turned on those heels, replacing and clipping her lingerie behind her back before disappearing through the room’s black curtain, leaving him behind with that giant shoe, and a tight zipper.
For the second time in a row, I get to be the Main Event Horizon in the follow-up to a Supershow.
I didn’t expect Jared Sykes to be on that stage with me.
And let me tell ya, I’d much rather take on Ivan again, or get another busted hand from Jiles, than take on Sykes after what happened to Jon. That was tough to watch, and last I heard there’s a chance he doesn’t walk again. But he’s a tough son of a bitch. I saw Xavier Kannon shove Ellie’s high heel in his eye back in the day. If anyone can come out of this, it’s Jonathan Rhine.
Man, this business hasn’t gotten any less violent.
It was one thing to watch it on TV when I was a kid, to see Tyler Rayne and Wade Elliott rip each other apart. It’s another to watch a competitor get his face broken-in with your own eyes. To know that it could’ve been me. That this career could be taken from me as quickly as it was given.
…
…why didn’t I do anything about it?
I know why.
It’s because I had to take on Ivan Stanislav later, and I needed every ounce of energy I could get. I couldn’t risk it. I was selfish.
Maybe that’s why I couldn’t go inside the hospital.
Man, that sucks.
Hayes and Paul drove out of Sunrise’s parking lot in silence. Paul leaned his head against the window, eyes half-open to the lights of Las Vegas passing through the glass. It was a short ten minute drive back to the MGM Grand, but Hayes drove as smoothly and as comfortably as he could.
“You hungry? He asked his older brother. “We could grab something quick on the way back to the suite.”
“Nah, bro. I’m good. I just wanna get home and crash.”
“Alright. Let’s get you back.”
A long stretch without a word. Hayes hadn’t had any time to really reflect on the last few days. On that scary scene of Paul choking on the floor of his suite, or the fact that he was currently the first Five Star Champion since Roxy Phoenix.
“What happened, man?” Paul asked, hugging himself across the chest.
Hayes darted his eyes toward his brother, lips pinched. He’d gained some clarity on their night of celebration over the last couple days. He couldn’t speak for Paul’s point of view, but for his own?
Well, he didn’t say “no” many times that night.
He remembered finishing their bag of molly before they hit their third club. And the flamboyant bald guy in a red dress shirt that they ripped a few lines with in the bathroom.
Worse, he was starting to remember the sketchy chick at the Can Can Room that led them down the k-hole.
He shook that memory away.
“I don’t know, Paulie,” Hayes lied. “It’s all a blur. Probably just took a little too much of too many things, ya know?”
“Yeah. Probably.”
Another prolonged quiet as they came to a stoplight, letting a mob of young, vibrant visitors cross to continue their journey into the night.
“Thanks for saving me, bro.”
Hayes forced a feeble smile.
“You’d do the same.”
I wish it were someone else, Jared. You’re not the guy I wanna see across the mat in the first show after UltraViolence. I wish we could take the night off, let our bodies heal. Grab a gin and tonic or something.
And yet, there we are at the top of the card. ReVival 16’s Main Event. The Blueberry King against The Event Horizon. On the back of big wins. After being denied our shots at Randall Knox. But I know those are the last things on your mind.
Now is not the time to give into the darkness, Jared. Paxton Ray showed his cards. Bathory and MESSIAH are wounded, but we all know they’re still slithering in the background somewhere. And Jiles wormed his way into the title strap. The party’s only just getting started. And you and I are gonna have a big part in it.
But because of all that, I know you’re going to be on a mission. You’re gonna want to send a message to Jon, to let him know how hard you’re willing to fight in his corner. And a message to Paxton, to let him know what Jared Sykes is capable of. It’s my bad luck that I’ll be the guy on the other side, and man, when we get in the ring on Friday, I’ll bet you’ll be seeing Paxton’s scowling face instead of mine.
And brother, that’s okay, because I’ve got a message to send to a couple douchebags, too. No better place to do it than on the main event stage. Whatever happens, your fist is getting raised in the air when the bell rings, one way or another. And if we gotta do this thing? Let’s blow the damn roof off. Let’s let em’ know exactly who Home Run Hayes and Jared fuckin’ Sykes are.
Damn, man.
You know, I remember your first run in PRIME. And Jon’s. I was thirteen? Fourteen? You were never one of my favorites, to be completely honest. Neither was Jon. I didn’t have your posters on my bedroom wall. I didn’t see you in the same light as guys like Killean, or Tsonda.
But man, if it were Jared Sykes in that ring back then, instead of King Blueberry? I might have. I bet I would’ve had your poster on my bedroom wall. I bet you would’ve been one of my favorites.
Because you are now.
Let’s fight for Jonathan.
Love ya, Matt.