Win... or Go Home

Ginny let out a long, satisfied sigh as Adam's skilled hands worked over her slightly swollen feet, relieving the knots and tension that came with being seven months pregnant. She sank back into the plush cushions of their living room couch, grateful for the soothing pressure that brought her immense relief. Before this, he had spent thirty minutes easing her tense shoulders and even brought her a cold bottle of Yoo-Hoo cola from the fridge. The coolness of the glass against his warm skin created droplets of condensation that sparkled like tiny pearls.

Placing the bottle on the coffee table with a soft clink, Adam signaled the end of their quiet moment together. Ginny sighed contentedly one more time, feeling completely taken care of in Adam's gentle and attentive hands.

"Hey, darlin'," Adam started, his voice uncharacteristically tentative. The deliberate cadence of his Midwestern twang faltered ever so slightly.

“Yeah, Adam.”

"Can we talk?"

“Shure.” Ginny nodded.  She could sense the weight of something weighing heavily on her husband’s 6'4" frame… she’s known it since Adam returned from France following the crushing loss to Flamberge.  She watched him closely as he sat down next to her on the couch, his large hands fidgeting nervously in his lap. Her stomach tightened with worry as he spoke, the tension in his voice palpable.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

"I want to talk to you about my pro wrestling career at PRIME," he began, looking at her with pained eyes.

“Okay.” Ginny's eyes flickered with apprehension, a stark contrast against her fiery red hair. She sat up straighter, pulling her feet from his lap as she waited for him to continue.

“I’m really wondering if maybe it’s time to cut my losses at PRIME and just focus on Appalachian Mountain Championship Wrestling right now,” Adam said.

Ginny looked at him with concern etched on her face, her petite frame fidgeting with nervous energy. "But Adam, ain’t a bird in hand is worth 2 in the bush-"

"I'm serious, Ginny," he said firmly, his jaw set in determination. “I really question if I’m good enough for this level.”

Ginny placed a hand on his shoulder and looked at him with unwavering support and love.

"Y'all know I got y'all's back, no matter what's goin' down in that ring or anywhere else," she drawled with a warm smile.

Adam took a deep breath before confessing his fears. "I feel I’m letting everyone down. Lindsay Troy, Joe Bergman, Ray McAvay... you, my folks, Dawn McGill... hell, I've even let myself down. Maybe I’m out of my league," he admitted. "I feel like I'm drowning... I’m losing my edge, my fire." Adam shook his head. “My confidence.”

Ginny squeezed his large hands in hers and looked him straight in the eye. "You listen to me, Adam Ellis," she said fiercely. "Them folks, they believed in you 'cause they seen somethin' special. It ain't about never fallin', it's 'bout gettin' back up. An' y'all gonna get back up, I reckon. We get up t'gether, like we always do. Just us two - husband an' wife... wrassler, best friend... you got me lock, stock, and barrel… joined by love an' the shared fights of life."

Adam got up from his seat and paced the length of their modest living room, his boots leaving faint imprints on the carpet. Ginny watched from her spot on the sofa, her hands resting protectively over her rounded belly.

Adam's voice was a damn bitter growl, still haunted by the events of ReVival 47. "I messed up in France two weeks ago," he hissed, reliving that moment in his head. "The crowd gave me shit...”  he caught himself.  “…I mean a bunch of crap.  So I flipped them off...”

“You flip’d them off?” Ginny asked.

“Yeah, I flipped them off… twice.  What a stupid move." Adam clenched his fist in frustration and then just as quickly dropped it, filled with shame and regret.

"Adam, you ain't perfect," Ginny drawled, her accent thick and twangy. "I sure as hell ain't perfect."

"But I've never lost my composure like that before," Adam said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Hell, Bill Dickinson hit me with three consecutive Southern Fried Powerbombs and I didn't act like that. I’ve had it," Adam said, his gaze fixed on a distant point in the room. "I wrestle Kenny Freeman Friday night at ReVival 49. If I can't beat Kenny, I'm comin' home for good."

Ginny's question cut through his brooding silence like a knife. "You reckon on talkin' to Lindsay Troy first?"

Adam stopped pacing and glanced out the window, watching the sun dip below the horizon. "I don't know," he murmured, the twilight casting long shadows across his face.

“What ‘bout Dawn McGill.  Does she know?” Ginny prodded further.

"Dawn knows,” Adam confirmed, his tone weary and defeated.

“And?” Ginny persisted.

Adam looked up at her with tired eyes. “She thinks I should take a few days and think this through."

"You ain't done nothin' but thinkin', Adam," Ginny echoed, her words laced with frustration even in her rural Kentucky dialect. “It's just eatin' ya up from the inside."

He turned back to her, eyes softening. "It's hard, Gin. Every time I board a plane, flying halfway 'cross the world..." His voice trailed off as he sat down beside her, the weight of his body sinking into the cushion. “… I leave knowing you're here by yourself, carrying our little one." The unspoken fears hung between them like a wrestler poised on the top rope, ready to leap.

"Aw, Adam, it's jus' till the baby gets here," Ginny reassured him, her red hair catching the last light of day. "A short lil' tussle with distance an' time."

"But I know it's rough on you too," Adam said, taking her hands in his. "At least, if I'm wrestling in the Appalachians, I'm only a two-hour flight away."

"Right," she agreed with a nod, her spirit as indomitable as any champion's. "Just a hop, skip, and a jump over yonder back to me."

“I just… just don’t know what to do next,” Adam said.

“Maybe,” Ginny said, her fingers intertwined with Adam's, a silent signal that it was time to invite a higher power into their struggle, “as the good book says, we just give it up to Him.  God works in mysterious ways, Adam.”

Adam remained motionless beside her, his massive frame a quiet fortress, eyes locked on the faded carpet where so many times he'd practiced holds and pins, imagining championship belts and victories. Now, those same floors were witness to a different kind of fight—a battle within.

"Lord," she began, her voice steady as a bell in the still room, "we're standin' at a crossroads here. Give us yer guidance," Ginny continued, her Appalachian twang painting each word with honest fervor. "Show my man the way to go."

Silence enveloped them, thick as the tension before the ringing of the opening bell. Adam's heart thundered in his chest, each beat a drum of war, echoing the internal struggle that had brought him to this vulnerable crouch.

"Dear Lord, bless him with some wisdom," she prayed, squeezing his hands as if to transfer her fiery spirit through their clasp. "Wisdom to see past all them fancy lights of the city and commotion of the city folk, and focus on what truly matters."

In the quiet sanctuary of their living room, Adam felt the magnitude of his life choices weigh heavier than any opponent he’d ever hoisted onto his shoulders. Ginny’s words wrapped around him like the ropes of the ring—supportive yet unyielding.

"Most of all, Lord, please give Adam courage," Ginny said, her voice now a whisper, a secret shared between them and the divine. "Courage not just to take on whatever comes in that ol' ring, but to make a decision he can live with... one that's right for our lil' family an' fer himself."

Adam drew in a breath, deep and slow, the kind that filled his lungs before a match—before stepping into the chaos. Ginny's prayer was a balm to his frayed nerves, her faith a testament to the strength he knew he'd married.

"Amen," Ginny concluded, the single word a seal on their heartfelt plea.

Adam finally stirred, his thoughts still a tangled web, but her prayer had anchored him. He rose, the movement deliberate, every inch the wrestler ready to confront his next challenge. Ginny stood too, her vibrant red hair a fiery crown as she moved toward him.

They embraced, Adam folding his wife into the vastness of his arms, her petite frame melding perfectly against him. No words were needed; their long, heartful hug spoke volumes. In that embrace, Adam found solace—found home—regardless of the miles he might travel or the decisions he would face.

In a booming voice, Ginny exclaimed, "Now, how 'bout a whack of jacks 2 tall men couldn't even shake hands over!"

Adam's brow furrowed in confusion as he looked at her with a mixture of amusement and bewilderment.

"A plate full of flapjacks, honey," she clarified, her eyes sparkling mischievously.

“Oh, right.” Suddenly understanding, Adam chuckled and nodded in agreement. "Yes, that would be nice," he replied with a grin. Deep down, Adam knew Ginny was his rock, his constant source of support and motivation. Prepared for what would be the biggest match of his PRIME career, he knew that no matter what happened in that ring, they would face it together. For better or for worse, through victories and defeats, their love would always be their ultimate strength.

***

The gravel crunched under Adam Ellis's boots as he approached Joe Bergman’s’ Barn out in the middle of rural Missouri about thirty miles south of St. Louis. The sun cast a golden glow over the wood and steel structure.  Adam’s towering figure cast a long shadow in the late afternoon sun that reached towards the front door. Adam opened the door and went inside.

Adam paused just inside the threshold, his eyes adjusting to the scene unfolding before him. The first thing he saw… Dawn McGill laying on and posing for the camera on the plush chaise lounger located in the center of the wrestling ring with three cabana boys eagerly catering to her every need, making her feel like a goddess in their adoring gaze as a photographer snapped pictures of her and her new faction-The Queens of Desire.   Dawn’s daughter Victoria McGill was perched on a hay bale next to the lounger and fanning herself with a cowboy hat.  Tammie Hardy and Savannah Smith lay in front of the lounger where a large fan blew their hair dramatically as the camera continued to flash with every shot. The Queens of Desire attire left little to the imagination, glittering fishnets and revealed skin catching the bright lights inside the barn.

Catching Adam inside the barn in the corner of her eye, Dawn raised her hand to signal to the photographer.  "Alright, let's take five," she called out, her voice cutting through the background noise.

Dawn stood up from the lounger and gestured at Adam to come forward. She moved with a confidence that was magnetic, her medium-length blonde hair catching the light as she walked toward the edge of the ring. Her blue eyes locked onto his, a knowing glint within them.

"Hey there, Adam," she greeted, her tone shifting seamlessly from sultry showmanship to brisk efficiency. "Let's talk in my office."

She led the way, her long legs carrying her effortlessly across the barn to a door marked with a simple brass plaque: "Dawn McGill." Adam followed, ducking slightly under a low beam, feeling out of place amid the chaos of glamour and lights. Her office had a minimalist feel, not nearly as spacious as Joe Bergman’s. However, it was sufficient for the woman who had become Joe’s top trainer at the barn.

As soon as they stepped inside the dimly lit office, Dawn closed the wooden door behind them. The sudden silence was a stark contrast to the bustling noise of the arena outside. The room was lined with shelves of trophies and wrestling memorabilia, each one telling its own story of hard-fought battles. A sense of history and tradition hung in the air.

Dawn motioned towards a plush leather chair placed in front of an old oak desk. Adam sank into it, his large frame making the chair look small in comparison. He fidgeted with his hands, unused to being still for too long.

"Adam," Dawn spoke up, leaning back against the desk with a relaxed posture but intense focus in her eyes. "How are you doing?"

He shrugged, struggling to find the right words to express himself. Words never seemed enough to convey his emotions.

"Been better," he muttered.

"Talk to me," Dawn said softly, her business-like tone softened with empathy. "What's weighing on your mind?"

“You know what’s weighing on my mind,” Adam replied bitterly.

“Adam, let's set aside the fact that you flipped off a crowd full of Flamberge fans not once, but twice in France,” Dawn said gently. “If we just focus on your performance in the match itself, you did really well. Flamberge is at a different level right now.”

“That's exactly my point, Dawn,” Adam interrupted. “I'm nowhere near Flamberge's level...or anyone else's level in PRIME for that matter. I'm starting to question if I even belong here.”

“Adam…” Dawn began to speak but then stopped.  Adam met her gaze, his silence hung in the air, an unspoken plea for guidance. Dawn tilted her head slightly, thoughtful, as if she were sifting through the annals of her own storied past for something that could light his way.

"Let me tell you about my start in High Octane Wrestling," she said, her voice a low drawl, each word deliberate and sure, like a wrestler measuring their next move. "Back in 2010." Her eyes sparkled with the reflection of distant spotlights from battles long ago. "My debut match, I stepped into the ring with Max Kael." Dawn paused, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "Max was top of the game, Adam. Already a legend. And I took him to the limit- came this close to beating him." She held up her fingers, barely apart, a visual cue that spoke louder than any boast.

"Second time around, it was déjà vu. Another nail-biter, another near-victory." Dawn pushed off from the desk, her movements fluid despite the memories of old injuries. "But after that? Loss after loss started piling up. It wasn't just my pride taking a hit; my knee was giving out on me, too."

She circled around the chair where Adam sat, her presence imposing yet comforting—the general surveying her troop. "Frustration wasn't just a feeling; it was my constant companion. Until one night, everything clicked into place."

Dawn leaned in closer, her shadow falling over Adam like a cloak. The dim lights of the office cast eerie shadows on her determined face as she recounted her match with Tim Shipley. "He had the LSD title," she began, her voice laced with determination and a hint of bitterness. "But he didn't see me as a real competitor. Just a woman with a balky knee and a string of losses."

Her words were like a spell, pulling Adam into her story as if he were experiencing it firsthand. Her piercing blue eyes never left his as she spoke in a conspiratorial whisper.

"But during the match, Shipley worked on my bad knee and I was in excruciating pain," Dawn continued. The memory seemed to physically pain her as she shifted uncomfortably. "Then, when he went to lock in his signature submission finisher- a reverse figure four lock he called the Newton’s Paradox.  I would have been done had he got the move on.”

“So how did you get out of it?” Adam asked.

"I reached up and grabbed his testicles," Dawn revealed, causing Adam's eyebrows to shoot up in surprise.

"I got to my feet with Shipley's balls in my hand," she continued matter-of-factly, "swept his legs out from under him, and locked in my own figure four submission. That was it. I walked out with that belt around my waist and he learned a hard lesson about assumptions."

As Dawn straightened up, crossing her arms confidently, she exuded the energy of someone who had overcome great odds. "Winning isn't just about talent," she said firmly, "it's about seizing your moment. You find your opportunity and you make it yours."

She met Adam's gaze directly before adding with a smirk, "Sometimes, you just have to grab it by the balls."

“I’m not going to grab anyone’s-“ Adam pointed out.

"Not literally, Adam. Metaphorically."

"Oh," he said with a sheepish grin as Dawn's words sank in.

“Look, Adam," Dawn's voice cut through the stillness, snapping him back to the present. "You've been throwing down with some really big guns in PRIME." She paced before him, her heels clicking authoritatively on the wooden floor. "You're not just wrestling; you're bettering yourself each time. But let's face it, PRIME's a different beast—top tier, no easy bouts." Her piercing blue eyes locked onto his, leaving no room for self-deception or doubt. "And you knew this walking in."

Adam sat silent, absorbing the truth in her words. His large frame seemed to fill the chair, yet a humility about him resonated within the room's storied walls. He nodded slowly, acknowledging the mountainous path he had chosen to climb.

"So, here's what I think you should do," Dawn continued, her tone shifting from mentor to coach, the sultry edge replaced by a commander rallying her forces. "You work your tail off. You get back in that gym, study your tapes, and push past what you think are your limits."

She leaned over him, her shadow enveloping him like an eclipse. "Then, at ReVival 49, you let it rip. No holding back, no second-guessing. Just pure, unadulterated passion and drive.  Grab the match by the balls… not literally, but metaphorically… and just wrestle.  If you win, great.  If you don’t win.  Well… I’ll support whatever decision you decide to make.  And I’ll still be your manager in Appalachian Mountain Championship Wrestling if you want until Ginny has your baby and can come back."

Dawn held out her hand.  “Deal?”

Adam paused.  His head nodded and his hand met Dawn’s in a handshake.

“Deal.”