The Sad Café

Blink.

Blink.

Breathe in.

Hold.

Breathe out.

Nate Colton stared at the ceiling.

His left hand rested behind his head; his right pinned to his chest thanks to the sling on his arm. His consolation prize from Cecilworth Farthington.

Breathe in.

Hold.

Breathe out.

The ceiling was blank; the only surface in his old bedroom that wasn’t adorned with memories from a decade ago. Reminders of a bygone age, when his future looked so much brighter.

Pennants, posters, and other knickknacks from high school and college.

Big fuckin’ deal

Sports heroes, like Reggie Miller.

Another guy who never won it all

A buxom young lady wearing only work boots and a pair of coveralls that were unzipped to a dangerous level. She held a massive wrench in her hands, and her pose suggested that she was not a certified plumber.

I really need to take that down; I’m not even into that anymore

…

Well, unless she owns her own business and understands the value of a hard day’s work

And still dressed like that at home

I wonder how Kohime would look in–

…

Breathe in.

Hold.

Breathe out.

Pictures of his family. His father.

Yet another

His brother and cousin.

Who took a big step back this year, lost their contracts, and now they’re bumming around the indies

His sister.

Who fucked off to Japan and spends most of her time either getting her ass kicked or ignored by her own stable

His mother.

Love you, mom

And his baby brother.

…

It’s all on you now, kid

Maybe you’ll make it farther than any of us could

Breathe in.

Hold.

Breathe out.

His physical therapist recommended a lot of rest, and avoiding strenuous activity for a while.

His other therapist recommended the same.

Fffffffuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

But time off never agreed with Nate Colton. Despite the opinions of medical professionals and his own body, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he could be doing something more productive. A better use of his time than controlling his breathing.

Breathe in.

Hold.

Breathe out.

Or his thoughts.

Fuck is the matter with you, you’ve lost before, you’ve lost THIS MATCH before, why does it bother you so much now

So easy to say ‘feel your feelings and move on’ when you’re preaching at Blake but you can’t actually do it anymore can you

Maybe it’s because you know it’s over

You’re pushing thirty and you’re already starting to break down

The rest of PRIME is lapping you and it’s taken you all year to notice

You went from facing the best wrestler in the world to taking on a fucking Lasagna Boy; shows just how much the company still believes in you

You’ve already peaked, just like Hayes Hanlon

FUCK YOU AND FUCK HANLON I AM NOTHING LIKE HIM

…

…

Breathe in.

Hold.

Breathe out.

Recognize the…fuck, what did the doctor say? Recognize which voice is thinking those thoughts

Recognize that it’s not your voice

Breathe in.

Hold.

Breathe out.

It ain’t your voice

It ain’t the man your mom and dad raised. The man your baby brother looks up to. The man Brandon Youngblood knew you could be. The man so many people say is a future champion in the making. The future just ain’t here yet

Breathe in.

Hold.

Breathe out.

Now. Is Nate Colton the sort to wallow in self-pity? Is he someone who gives up when things get tough? Does he lack that “persistence” he thinks is so important?

Is Nate Colton a goddamn quitter?

Breathe in.

Hold.

Breathe out.

Blink.

Blink.

No

No, he is fucking not

Well, all right then. What are we going to do about this?

…

Breathe in.

Hold.

Breathe out.

…

…

Fucked if I know

Whatever it is, I can’t do it from here

Nate gingerly rolled onto his side, then carefully pushed himself up.

Not screaming in pain yet, that’s a good sign

Another swing of momentum got him standing, and already the world was starting to look a little clearer.

Maybe I can drop by the Academy. Can’t spar with Blake, but at least I can get a look at his progress

A plan of action formed, the New Diamond pushed open his door and padded out into the hallway.

Nate was greeted to the sounds of chopping and the overwhelming aroma of pressed garlic. He smiled, his negative thoughts fading in the face of a good home-cooked meal.

He followed the smell, which led him to his mother splitting her attention between a pile of vegetables and a recipe on her tablet. Mallory Colton wasn’t on the level of her sister-in-law or nephew, but she was a respectable third place–and no more satisfied with that ranking than Nate was with his recent results in PRIME.

“Hey, Nater Gator!” she said, a slight hint of irritation in her voice. “Can you grab those tomatoes and bring them over here?”

“Sure thing, ma.” He looked around the kitchen, eventually finding a plastic bag of fruits that were a far darker color than he was comfortable with. “These ones? I think they’ve gone bad already.”

“They better not, I only bought them this morning.” She turned around and smiled at her oldest son, gesturing toward the tomatoes with her knife. “They’re supposed to look like that. Bring ‘em over.”

Nate did as ordered, punctuating the delivery with a kiss to his mother’s cheek. “Whatcha making?”

“You know that pasta place you boys love so much? I found a recipe for their purple sauce online. The comments say it’s just like the real thing.”

Nate smiled. While Dennis was right about Garden Fresh Pesto being the best one, sometimes Purple scratched that itch like nothing else on Sketti Bucket’s menu.

“Sounds great; can’t wait to try it.”

“It’ll be ready by suppertime. Make sure your brothers work up an appetite.”

“I will. Just heading down there now.”

“Call an Uber; I know you’re not OK to drive.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “Need anything else before I go?”

“Should be OK. But I’m serious; don’t drive. What happens if someone’s driving crazy out there?”

“Well, I guess I’ll just die in a horrible fiery wreck.” He chuckled under his breath, though not enough that his mother didn’t catch it.

“That’s not funny!” she shouted, which only made it funnier. “I’m serious! No dying in a horrible fiery wreck!”

“Ugh!” he replied in his best unruly teenager voice. “You never let me have any fun!”

“STOP THAT!”

Still giggling to himself, Nate left the kitchen and headed for the landing of the Colton family home. He stuck one foot into a slip-on shoe–not his usual, but so much easier to put on–and then the other.

See, I’m not completely useless. Now I just gotta drive down there and–

He looked down at his arm, still held in place by the sling, and briefly worked out the logistics of driving the Nate-and-no-girls-mobile anywhere.

…

Breathe in.

Hold.

Breathe out.

…

OK, Mom’s right

“Calling that Uber now, ma.”

“Thank God!”

# # #

The Colton Academy. Where dreams are forged into reality, as long as those dreamers are strong enough to withstand the exertion, the exhaustion, and the weird smell.

Nate Colton took in the space as he entered. There was a buzz in the air that always infected the Academy–even more than the aforementioned smell–this time of year. The Big Day was almost here. The Reason for the Season.

…

No, not Christmas.

The Belmont Classic.

All the students, even ones who’d been MIA for a while, were getting their reps in. Every machine had a line, with every person still keeping an eye on the training rings just in case one of them opened up.

That wasn’t going to happen any time soon.

In one ring, Khalil Jeffries–the number one favorite of his class until recently–went through the paces with a returning student named Riley Severeid. Riley held her own, but couldn’t match Khalil’s power or polish.

In the other, Blake Colton tested his own mettle against his brother Benjamin. Benny obviously wasn’t going full speed, but still had the advantage thanks to a hammerlock.

“C’mon, Blake!” Nate shouted. “You can get out of that!”

“No he can’t!” Benny fired back, through is usual cocky grin. “The little wiener’s picked up a few things, but he can’t hang with me!”

True to his word, Benny deftly countered Blake’s escape attempts. The youngest Colton tried to create space with his free arm, but Benny shifted his body to prevent it. Blake tried to spin through, hoping to backdrop his way out of the hold; Benny blocked that by hooking his brother’s knees with his feet.

That cocky grin got even wider, and he shuffled his feet in a sort of dance. “Told you, squirt! What are you gonna do now, huh? What are you gonna–waaaghh!”

“Waaagh,” being the sound one makes when they’re suddenly caught in a drop toehold.

WHAM!

Less than a second after Benny hit the ground, Blake zipped forward and caught his brother in a headlock.

“Nice one, Blake!” Nate said. This was shaping up to be a great day already; not only was Blake still showing improvement, but he also got to see Benny eat shit.

“Any notes for me?” Khalil asked. Nate turned to see the young man standing in the center of the ring, his opponent trapped in a fireman’s carry.

“Don’t waste time showboating,” Nate said. “Or you’ll end up looking as dumb as my brother.”

“Hey!”

“Not you, Blake.”

“Hey!”

“Yes you, Benny.”

Khalil nodded, then planted Severeid with his fireman’s carry powerbomb.

WHAM!!

Riley bounced off the mat with a heavy “OOF!” as the wind was knocked out of her. Jeffries got cheers from some of the onlooking students, both for the impressive display of power and the fact that he’d stopped Riley from jaw-jacking for at least a couple of minutes.

Nate turned his attention back to his brothers; Benny was now standing but trapped in a front facelock. “Where’s Dad?” he asked.

Benny pointed toward the office; Blake quickly transitioned to an armbar.

“Hey, no fair! I was–ahh!”

“Thanks, Benny! Blake, try not to kill him.”

“I can’t promise anything!”

This was the right call, Nate thought as he walked across the room. Already feeling miles better. Blake’s showing a lot more confidence; those counters are looking crisp. Shame we don’t have more time, a few months at the Wallenquist School would have him razor sharp

He gave a few quick raps on the door before opening it. He saw his father sitting behind his desk, with his scout friend Frank Mazurskiewicz seated on the other side.

Frank’s crutches–an ever-present reminder of his disability–rested against his chair. They were new, and sturdier than his old ones; his back and legs had deteriorated further as he aged.

His mind–and tongue–were as sharp as ever.

“You already know, Jake.”

Much to Jake Colton’s chagrin.

The old man snarled a little at his friend before looking up, looking every day of his fifty-four years. “You wanna close that, Nate?”

Nate did as told, then crossed the room toward the large media cabinet that held countless match recordings along with Jake’s secret popcorn machine. “What’s going on?”

“What’s going on,” Frank said, “is that your father is trying to ignore the obvious.”

“Would you just gimme a minute, Frank?” Jake snapped, and looked over the pair of open files on his desk.

The old man had a decision to make. The same one he’d been wrestling with for two months. The answer was in those files, but he’d looked them over twelve times already that day, and it hadn’t presented itself yet.

You know what they say; thirteenth time’s the charm.

Those two files represented his top students for the year. While he’d encourage anyone from his school to apply for the Belmont Classic, he could really only throw his weight behind a select few–fewer now, with a new wave of celebrity trainers crowding out the old guard.

Both of these students would probably get selected. But if they didn’t, he had to support one over the other.

“Jeffries is the move,” Frank continued. “He’s more polished, he’s got a higher ceiling, and you’ve been prepping him for two years now.”

Jake nodded in agreement, picking up the report for Khalil Jeffries. He’d been at the top of his class on each level. A standout since turning pro in February, picking up win after win in Rust Belt Wrestling, plus a few in surrounding promotions. He had the edge over the other candidate in size, power, experience…really, in every category except one.

Name.

“I can’t believe this is even a question,” Nate said. “Blake’s the number one, and that’s that!”

“You wanna keep it down?!” Jake’s words came out in a harsh whisper. “These goddamn walls ain’t soundproof, you know!”

“OK, but seriously,” Nate said, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. “Why are you letting Frank talk you into anyone else?”

“I ain’t letting him do shit,” Jake said. Frank, for his part, turned his full attention toward Nate.

…

OK why do I think you’re trying to use mind control powers right now

“Nathan. How’s the shoulder?” the old scout asked, a slight smirk creeping onto his lips.

“It’s fine. Physical therapist says it’ll be fine by Morgantown.”

“Mm-hmm. And what about your other therapist?”

WHO THE FUCK TOLD YOU THAT

Nate narrowed his eyes at the old scout. “Why are you even here?”

“To tell your father what he needs to hear,” Frank said. “Not what he wants to hear. He’s got you for that.”

Breathe in.

Hold.

Breathe out.

We’re regulating our emotions, we’re staying calm, we’re not fantasizing about punching a crippled old man in the face

“Jeffries was always the plan,” Frank said, shifting his focus back toward the Academy’s namesake. “He’s impressed at every step. He’s been pro for almost a full year now. Plus, he’s earned this. Taking that away, even the risk of it…those are bad optics, Jake. You know who they’re going to compare you to.”

“Don’t fuckin’ say it,” Jake growled.

“Taking a chance from a viable candidate and handing it to your son? They’re going to say it’s some Lee Best shit.”

Jake pounded his fists on the desk and stood up. “I SAID–” he shouted, a split second before remembering himself. “I said, don’t fuckin’ say it.”

“I’m not wrong, Jake.”

“Like hell you’re not,” Nate said, his own words as sharp as his father’s. “First of all, there’s no world where Khalil doesn’t get in. Kid’s a stud; everyone can see that. Second, you think Blake hasn’t earned this? He got put in the goddamn ICU a year ago; a year later he was staring down the guy who did it. He’s got more guts than any of us ever realized.”

“That’s all well and good,” Frank replied, his voice taking on an eerie calm that only agitated Nate further. “But he still doesn’t match up to what Khalil’s accomplished.”

“He will,” Nate said. “Me and the Lads have done everything we can to get him up to speed, and he keeps getting better. He’s been locked the fuck in all year, and the Lads and I are right there with him.”

“And you can keep that up, can you? With your injuries? With Colossus just a week before the Belmont, and Hayes Hanlon back on your radar?”

Every word from the old scout felt like it had a needle hidden inside. They poked. They prodded. They drew blood…and made it boil.

Breathe in.

Hold.

Breathe out.

“Goddamn right I can,” Nate said.

Through gritted teeth, so you could tell he meant it.

“Khalil’s ready now, Nathan. Blake isn’t–”

The New Diamond cut off the old scout. “You think he’s not ready? Fine. He’s gonna get there soon; I’m gonna make goddamn sure. If you can’t see that, maybe you’re not as smart as you think.”

Frank looked Nate up and down again, as if seeing him for the first time. When he spoke again, the irritating quality in his voice was mysteriously absent.

“Maybe. I’ve been wrong before.”

…

Not completely absent.

“Fuck this,” Nate snapped. “I’ve got work to do.” He pushed himself off the cabinet and went for the door.

“Don’t slam it,” Jake said. “Don’t need any more interest from outside.”

Again, Nate obeyed his father’s order.

Mostly.

# # #

Back in the office, Jake regarded his old friend with a confused look.

“What the fuck, Frank?”

Frank’s sly smile grew ever wider. “Just trying to give Blake another edge.”

“By pissing off Nate?”

“Your boy can be as stubborn as you are. He just needed to dig in his heels.”

“But…God dammit, Frank. I thought you were done with his mind game shit.”

“I use the tools as they’re needed. Jake, you’re an excellent trainer. You’ve gotten the best out of these kids with love, patience, and support…but sometimes, there’s just no substitute for spite.”

Jake rolled his eyes as he gathered the papers on his desk and closed the files. Clearly, his decision had finally been made. “Y’know, for such a small guy you’re a huge pain in the ass.”

“That’s what they tell me. You’re welcome, by the way.”

# # #

By the end, both Khalil Jeffries and Blake Colton were left with barely enough energy to shower.

They stumbled out of the locker room, their gym bags dragging behind them. “I’m gonna have noodle arms tomorrow for sure,” Khalil groused.

“Girl, same,” Blake said, his head drooping. Jeffries gave him a weak shove, but that was still enough to nearly topple his friend. “No pain, no gain, right?”

“You said it,” Nate said, joining them as they made their way through the gym. “You guys keep busting your asses, and with a lucky draw we’ll see you both in the final.”

“Sounds good to me,” Jeffries said. “Just hope you’re not too mad when I win.”

“Ha! In your dreams!” Blake replied, shoving his friend back.

The group split when they went outside; Khalil heading toward his car, while Nate and Blake joined Jake and Benjamin.

“Hope you’re all hungry,” Nate said. “Mom’s making Sketti.”

“Oh, no,” Benny said. “This isn’t the homemade purple sauce, is it? You know it won’t be the same.”

“It’ll be better,” Nate said.

They’d both be right. Almost none of the ingredients Mallory used would be found in Sketti Bucket’s actual Purple recipe. It would look more like food, and less like a Play-Doh massacre. It wouldn’t taste cloyingly sweet, nor would it turn their poop hilarious colors.

But it was made by, and enjoyed with, family. The people who filled Nate’s heart the way they filled his life. A nourishing meal, with jokes and stories as the complimentary sides, and plenty of shared smiles for dessert.

As they ate, Nate shifted his thoughts between the family members. From his father…

The best man I’ve ever known

To his brother and cousin…

Ready to reload and turn the world on its head again

To his sister, on the other side of the world…

Kicking ass and taking names in the TC-X. You’re gonna open their eyes, sis

To his mother…

Love you, mom

And finally, to Blake. A young man on the cusp of realizing his potential.

Four for, little bro

Just gotta keep focused and stay calm

Breathe in.

Hold.

Breathe out.