Keeping the Fire Burning

We’ve talked before about my father’s master plan. His sons aspire to become professional football players, and have a backup of being an executive at his oddly named car dealerships. And we also talked about how I didn’t want that plan, and how my entire wrestling career is my way of rejecting his plan and going forward with my own plan, however ill-prepared I may be.

But let’s talk about why I don’t like his plan. There are a lot of reasons, but one of the biggest reasons is how the plan affects the people who have to follow it. As a result of my dad’s goals for us, I have become complacent. I have accepted failure. I have been good with good enough.

Why try your best when failure still lands you in a comfortable spot? There are no stakes. Sure, you could say that the NFL carrot dangled in front of us was enticing, but what if we fail? We’d still find a well paying gig and stay in Pittsburgh where everyone idolizes us. It’s almost the same thing. It made me feel like nothing mattered.

Miss a field goal in a close game? Who cares? Have a tough final in a class I barely showed up for? Whatever. Maybe the rest of my brothers didn’t feel this way, but they also didn’t have four examples to look to. By the time I was in college, every other brother was already either at Roswell’s Deals or graduating college with that as the clear next step. I got to watch their paths, and more importantly I got to watch their eyes.

That competitive fire, the one that the best athletes need to survive, was gone. Their path was secure, their bellies were full, their story was over. Seeing that happen in each of my brothers and feeling it happen to me gradually was what drove me to this wrestling gym in New Orleans. I had found myself accepting anything handed to me. Being okay with whatever happened. And before that fire was fully extinguished, I left.

But then my dad sent my older brother to New Orleans to put the fire out for good.

_______

March 16, 2026

We had flown back to New Orleans on Saturday night. I went to Gray’s on Sunday afternoon, desperate to get some work in for my upcoming match at Culture Shock. It was all a whirlwind – two matches with Satan, and now I found myself leading off Night 2 in a ladder match for a title opportunity. This exemplifies my point above – I felt the fire to keep working, to give myself every advantage possible to win.

The gym was practically empty on Sunday. And that’s not normal for Gray’s – there’s a trainer there every day, and most students have key cards they can use to get into the building. So I went through some independent work – lunges, deadlifts, leg presses. I know I always focus on leg work, but this time it was especially important because this match involves climbing a ladder. I kept waiting for students and trainers to come in, but I was alone the whole day. It was kind of discomforting. When you grow up in a house of 7, silence feels like drowning.

So the next day I came in early, ready to figure out why Gray’s was a ghost town the day before. I got my answer pretty quickly. A group of trainers and students rolled in laughing and wearing hideous yellow shirts and jerseys. The group was led by my brother Hercules and included Foster Nackedy, his brother Ian, Roosevelt Black, Chet Fleetwood, and, to my horror, my tag partner Satan Jones.

“The bananas!” Hercules shouted, and all of his lemon-loined lemmings shouted it back to him. As he stopped laughing, he looked at me and frowned. “Where were you yesterday, brother? I invited everyone out to see the Savannah Bananas at the Super Dome. I texted you in the morning.”

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and saw that I had no missed call or text from Hercules, then sighed. “Yep, there it is. My bad. I was pretty focused on training yesterday anyway.” I don’t know why I was protecting my brother’s obvious lie, but I knew that arguing with him in front of everyone would be a bad look.

“It was amazing,” Satan said. “It was baseball, but there were also bananas and monkeys and dancing, and Hercules bought everyone fifteen dollar beers that were as thick as my bicep.” He flexed for emphasis, then dug into a bag he was holding. “Here, I got you something.”

Before I could protest, he pulled out a little cloth banana and affixed it to my head. He turned me towards a mirror so I could see myself. I am no poet, so all I can say is I looked like I had a banana on my head.

“The bananas!” Satan shouted, and the choir repeated him. “Boy, your brother is a damn hoot.” He walked towards the locker rooms, but not before shooting me a strange look. I looked from him to my brother, who was flashing his fakest smile. It’s funny: I’ve been around him my whole life, so I know when I see that smile that he is feeling the opposite way on the inside. No one else has ever been able to tell. He’s fooled the whole world except me.

“So everyone went, huh?” I said, walking with the group towards the locker rooms.

“Everyone except Quinn,” Chet said, beaming. “He had a date.”

“A date? Quinn?” Yeah, I know, there’s someone for everyone, but I never thought that applied to Quinn Fleetwood. “Who is she?”

“No idea. He’s being secretive. Must be an uggo,” Chet said, then walked away as Hercules walked up beside me, still with the same fake smile.

“Let’s go, brother. Got to get you ready for that big opportunity!”

He clapped me on my back, definitely putting more mustard on it than he needed to. I still hadn’t figured out what his game was. Why did he come down here? He didn’t want to be a wrestler. Was he just here to spy on me for dad? Maybe, but if dad wanted to keep track of me, he could’ve sent any other brother. Why was it Hercules? What was going on?

With little else to do but follow, I got dressed and made my way out into the main gym area where Foster and Ian Nackedy had gathered the rest of the students. Foster was still wearing his ridiculous Savannah Bananas jersey, which sapped away any authority he may have had. At least he didn’t have that dumb helmet on. “All right, today is going to be different than most days,” Ian said. “Foster asked me to organize something special.”

Foster stepped forward. “I need Kris, Satan, Rosy–”

“Not my name.”

“--Tani, Indy, and Quinn to come forward.” We all walked towards Foster, who looked past us and frowned. “Where the fuck is Quinn?”

“No idea,” said Chet, standing near the entrance.

“I can take his place,” Hercules said, standing up and walking next to me. “What do you need, coach?”

Foster stared at my brother and smiled. “I love to see that enthusiasm, HR. Ian, let them know.”

Ian nodded towards Hercules. Maybe I was seeing things, but it didn’t look like Ian regarded my brother with the same warmth that Foster did. I made a note to talk to him about it later. “So, our buddy Kris is going to be in a ladder match in a couple weeks. Big stakes, definitely the biggest he’s faced so far. And so to prepare him for that huge opportunity, we’ve decided to put on our own little ladder match. Dith?”

The double doors swung open and I turned around to see Aaron Timble bringing a pallet towards the ring. He struggled to pull the pallet jack, which was buckling under the weight of at least six heavy-duty ladders.

“That’s right,” Foster cut in, clearly having trouble fully delegating this responsibility to his brother. Ian’s eyes flashed in anger. I didn’t know their relationship, but as I looked at Hercules’ gleaming eyes, I understood his frustration. “We’re going to show Kris here what it’s like to have seven other people trying to reach the same prize you are. Well, we only have five, but you get the idea. And because I don’t want you guys giving him a free pass, there’s an actual prize at the top. You see, the winner gets to get out of–”

“Sorry, Foster,” Ian said, shaking his head and moving towards the pallet of ladders. He grabbed one and slid it under the ropes of the center ring. “You gave me the task of creating this match, so I’m providing the prize.” Ian popped up quickly and set up the ladder before scaling it. I was impressed with his agility, even though he was in his 40s. He reached the top of the ladder and grabbed a rope that was hanging from the ceiling, then attached something to it and started to slide down. I started laughing as soon as I realized what it was.

Foster was not laughing. “What the fuck, Ian? Get that down from there.” Ian had hung Foster’s disco-ball concussion helmet above the ladder. Tani, Roosevelt, Satan and I were grinning, though Hercules and the other new student Indy weren’t in on the joke.

“Nah, I think this is a great prize for everyone to fight for. You were going to give them an excuse to not do rope runs, but that lasts one afternoon. Wearing the concussion helmet can make memories that will last a lifetime.”

I laughed, but stopped when I looked at my trainer. Foster looked like he was going to shake with rage. I was tempted to put myself between Foster and his brother for a moment, but after a few seconds Foster shook his head and swiped a hand in his brother’s direction. “Fine, it’s your fucking match, you run it.” Then he went to his office.

“Don’t you think that was a little mean to your brother, sir?” asked Hercules. He had replaced his fake smile with fake concern.

“Just brothers being brothers, HR. I’m sure you understand more than most.” Ian shot a look in my direction, and so did Hercules. I didn’t reply.

“Okay, take a few minutes to get ready, and then we’re going to start. First to grab Foster’s crown becomes King of Gray’s for a day. Get ready, Kris.”

I nodded, bouncing from foot to foot, hoping I was ready.

_______

I wasn’t ready.

Not necessarily for the match itself, or for how much a ladder hurts when it smashes into your head, though I definitely wasn’t ready for that. No, I wasn’t ready for how far Hercules would go to fuck me over. I thought I was, but then the match happened.

I first realized something was wrong when Roosevelt Black and I grappled at the start of the match. He took control and was laying into me, but there was something in his eyes. He didn’t look like he was just focused or determined; he looked furious.

“Damn,” I said, avoiding a punch and sending one of my own. “Everything good, bro?”

“Oh, I’m doing just fine, bro,” he said, kicking me and knocking me to the ground. “Not feeling so big time now, are we?”

“Big time?” I asked dumbly, and got stomped in the face while I was distracted. I shielded myself from his blows and fought back to my feet, pushing him back. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I know you’ve been bragging about making PRIME while Tani and I got left behind.”

“What?” Again I was focusing on his words when I should’ve been focusing on his arms. He threw me to the ground in a gutwrench suplex, knocking the wind out of me.

Roosevelt took a break to prevent Indy from setting up a ladder, and that gave me enough time to get back up. “I haven’t said anything like that,” I said, then unnecessarily added, “I don’t even think about you like that.”

“Oh, so we’re not even worth a thought,” Roosevelt said, grabbing the ladder and swinging it at my head. I ducked, but couldn’t duck a kick to my face. “He was right about you.”

“Who was?” I asked, but Roosevelt left me to help Tani deal with Satan Jones. Popping up, I decided if Roosevelt and Tani were upset about any comments I may or may not have made about them, then I would show them why Satan and I were doing so well in PRIME. I kicked Tani in the stomach, causing him to fall out of the ring. Then Satan and I grabbed Roosevelt and knocked him to the floor, Satan going at his knees while I hit him with a high kick. We really did make an excellent team.

I jumped up and held a fist up for Satan to dap, but he left me hanging. Instead he nodded towards the ladder set up beneath the helmet. “Go on, buddy,” he said coldly. “Get that win, you deserve it.”

I started to walk towards the ladder, but something stopped me. “You all right, man?”

“Of course. Just happy to help the real star of the team win.” There wasn’t anger in his face or tone like I had just seen from Roosevelt. Instead he just seemed defeated, and it broke me.

“Stop, man. I’m not a star. We’re a team. Together.”

“Yeah, but only one of us is in this ladder match,” he grumbled. Around us the other four competitors fought, but this conversation made me want to sit down in the middle of the ring. “And I know if you win you’re going to choose a shot at the Five Star or Intense title instead of the tag titles.”

“What?” I honestly hadn’t thought about it before that moment. It wasn’t even a question. I was a tag wrestler. If I won the ladder match, I was bringing Satan with me. But he clearly didn’t think so. “How do you know that?”

“You’re not denying it,” he said. Suddenly, our teambuilding session was cut short as Tani and Indy flew into us. Once again Indy made a break for the ladder. He got to the third rung before I kicked him, causing him to fall to the canvas. Satan dumped Tani out of the ring, then turned back to me. “Just sucks.”

“Who told you I was going to choose a singles title?” I asked, but I already knew the answer. Just like I knew who told Roosevelt I thought I was a big timer.

Satan’s eyes drifted behind and above me, and I turned to see Hercules climbing the ladder quickly. I jumped and climbed on the other side until my brother and I were face to face.

“What are you doing, Hercules?”

He smiled, but it wasn’t the fake smile he gave to other people. It was the sincere, shit-eating grin he reserved for me. “Winning an ugly helmet.”

“No, why are you turning my friends against me?” I punched him in the face. It felt good, even though my punches aren’t very strong. In fact, in that moment I realized that whatever reason Hercules had for coming down to New Orleans to ruin my life, it at least gave me a proper excuse to hit him, which I’ve always wanted to do.

“They’re not your friends, you idiot,” he muttered, and punched me back. His punches were much stronger than mine. “They’re dumb wrestlers. You don’t need them, and they certainly don’t need you.”

“So this is why you’re here? Bring my friends out, don’t invite me, and spend the whole time lying about me behind my back?” I tried another punch but he blocked it and rocked me back with another right fist.

“I’m here to bring you home, Kris. You belong with the Roswells. You belong with dad. So yeah, if making your friends realize you’re too good for them will chase them away, then I’ll tell them you think you’re Tom fucking Brady.” He sent another punch, and I felt my grip on the ladder slip.

“I’m not going home, Herc. This is my new home. This is my plan. And not you, or dad, or anyone in the fucking world is going to stop me from climbing this ladder and living out my plan for once. Mine. No one else’s.” I felt like a five year old clinging to a toy as my older brother used his strength to rip it from me.

“Fine. Then I’m going to make your life here hell. I’m going to make them hate you. And then you’ll be all alone. And I know how much you hate being alone.”

I tried to punch back, but my strength and conviction had left me. He was right. I thought about the day before, when I was by myself at Gray’s. I had felt so alone then, and I was starting to feel that way now, even as I was in a ring surrounded by other people.

He fended off my feeble strike and sent one more punch into my temple, causing me to crash into the mat. The last thing I saw before passing out was Hercules holding Foster’s helmet high.

_______

They gave me some smelling salts and propped me up in the corner as the rest of the gym celebrated with my brother. I tried to normalize my breathing, but I couldn’t calm down. Just like I had feared, my brother had come to ruin my new life, and he was doing an amazing job of it.

Ian Nackedy walked over and sat down next to me, putting a hand on my thigh. “You good?”

“Besides the fact that my brother sucks?”

Ian laughed, then leaned back against the wall. “Boy, have I been there. Did you know Foster tried to poison me before a match? True story.” I laughed because it sounded ludicrous, but Ian’s face was grim. “Look, I don’t know your story, and I don’t want to. But it sounds like he’s trying to make you miserable enough to quit, right?”

“That’s his plan.” His or my dad’s. It didn’t matter whose at that point.

“Well, then you have one option.”

“What’s that?”

“Fight.” He stood up, then held a hand towards me. I grabbed it and let him pull me to my feet. “You’ve been fighting like hell since you got here. Shit, you blasted Foster in his head after a few months. You’ve taken down everyone PRIME has thrown at you. What makes your brother so special that you won’t fight?”

I thought about it. Fighting Hercules wasn’t just one man in front of me in the middle of the ring. Hell, it was more like this ladder match I was about to have at Culture Shock. Multiple opponents, attacks coming from nowhere, nobody fighting fair. If I was going to fight Hercules, I was fighting my whole family. And I had to figure out if I could do that.

Finally, I nodded at him. “Thanks, Ian. I’m not going to let him ruin this for me.”

“That’s it,” Ian said, clapping his shoulder. “Now go get your team back.”

I nodded, then walked over to Satan, who was standing near the celebration. “If I win this ladder match, you and I are facing the tag champs, whoever they will be. And they won’t know what hit them.”

Satan turned, smiling. “You mean it?”

“Hell yeah, Satan. Hell yeah.” He grinned wider as I used his catchphrase, and we hugged.

And, if life was good and fair, that’s how that day would’ve ended. With me and Satan back on good terms, and my fire to fight wrestlers and my family burning again.

Instead, the double doors swung open and Quinn walked in. He was followed by a woman – older than Quinn, from the looks of it, and maybe even older than Ian. She had purple streaks in her dark hair and was wearing a pink leopard print shirt. I immediately sensed danger, even though I had never met her before. “Is that Quinn’s new girlfriend?”

“Yes,” Satan said, staring in horror. “And I know who she is. Her name is Savannah Scandal. She’s a dirt sheet reporter, and even that is insulting dirt sheets. She’s a slimy one.” Satan turned to me. “Her being here is bad news, man. If anyone is keeping a secret, that woman is going to sniff it out.”

As Quinn showed her around the gym, her brown eyes darted around the room and locked with mine.

Secrets? Fuck.