Wolf Like Me

One time, in Tijuana, I had to shit in a hole they’d dug behind the shanty we was wresslin’ in. There’s a god awful gas station in Waycross, Georgia named.. Ah, fuck, I don’t remember the name. But there was a river of shit big as the Nile floating through that fucker. 

I say all of this to say that I’ve shit in some god awful places. 

There ain’t nothing bad as shitting in the Atlanta Airport. 

It sounds like the goddamn brass section in there. Nervous shits, beer shits, seeing the kids for the first time since the divorce shits. This bathroom has it all.

Mostly it’s all those cool kids you went to high school with. The aftermath of the early morning beer or cocktail they made sure to post to instagram on the way to take their shitty little family to Missouri or, god forbid, Disney.

This is hell. 

But when you gotta go, you fuckin’ go.

So there I was, enjoying the Atlanta Airport Brass Quintet and scrolling through my phone when I come across the card for UltraViolence. 

Rob Williams versus Henry Keyes. 

Boy, the bookers must be runnin’ out of fuckin’ ideas. Two beat ass old dogs in a fan’s bring the weapons match - that’s what the truck drivers and plumbers in the PRIME audience pay to see. Really scraping the bottom of the barrel here. 

If the old bastard had any creativity, he’d cut a promo playing on their stupid Mean Girls’ obsession. Wear a hoodie and sunglasses while shouting, “He doesn’t even go here!” 

I bet he doesn’t even get the you can’t sit with us references. 

Instead, he’s probably going to cry about how unfair it is that someone not even in PRIME gets the shot. He’ll beg someone, anyone, to tell him his insecurities are false. Oh I’m not good enough. Maybe he’ll even fucking cry.

Boo fucking hoo.

I did the little snort laugh thing and about puked my overpriced Chik-Fil-A all over the tiled floor. 

We should tell Bush this place has weapons of mass destruction.

Add all of this to the list. 

What list? All the reasons I’m going to kill Rob Williams… that is if the one-eyed cosplayer leaves anything after UltraViolence. 

We’re up to about three-hundred and eighty-one.

A text from the alcoholic ball sack I came from nearly makes me drop my phone in the porcelain nuclear reactor.  King Asshole

see u @ gym @ 3 

Ok

Another nose snort and I’m done, I have to claw my way out of this hell.

I send a quick text to my brother.  Brocephus

Heading to the gym. 

Keep your shit together. 

“Fucking hell.”

Reason number three-hundred and eighty-two. 

Rob Williams stands in the kitchen of his shitty little apartment in his underwear smiling at his phone.

Satisfied, he drops the phone on the counter with the recklessness of a man who grew up analog.

No regard for the finely crafted OLED screen.

Nope, just a caveman grin.

“Ok, I’m ready babe,” he calls out over his shoulder, staring at the superb delicacy he’s prepared for Charlotte.

Lightly breaded chicken breast, cut into small morsels. A perfectly mixed tomato paste sauce.

“Are you sure?” Charlotte pops her head through his arm and chest, smirking up at him. “This is a big deal.”

“I’ve never been more ready in my life.”

“Ok, preheat the air fryer to 375.”

“Pfft, I knew that.”

The absent and toothy nod confirms Charlotte’s fear: Rob has no fucking clue how to work this air fryer.

He senses the concern in her slightly cocked eyebrow.

“Look, I got this. Matter of fact, you go change. I’ve got this all under control.”

That’s what the better part of twenty years together affords you: the intangibles. You know you’re fucked even when they don’t say it.

Charlotte loves how life with Rob is full of surprises.

First he comes home with an air fryer like he read her mind. Next he buys a bag of chicken nuggets unprompted.

“What a lucky girl I am,” she smiles and pecks Rob on the cheek before going back to her book in the bedroom.

Once she’s out of earshot, Rob pulls out his phone.

“Siri - how the fuck do I work this machine?”

“I’m sorry, King Assfuck, I don’t understand.”

Rob constantly regrets telling Siri to call him King Assfuck.

“Rob, you’re the Five Star Champion. A goddamn millionaire. You can do this,” he whispers to himself.

The air fryer beeps and boops as Rob hits buttons and twists knobs. Lights come on, lights turn off. At the end of it all… nothing.

“Come on, work with me, you cunt,” Rob whispers in a way that’s actually yelling.

But the air fryer doesn’t give a fuck. There is no crying to the air fryer gods. It doesn’t matter if he likes what the air fryer does.

The air fryer is binary.

“Everything good in there?” Charlotte calls from the other room.

“Just peachy, babe.”

It is not just peachy.

With every beep and light and perceived non-compliant response, the shitty little pot inside Rob Williams that holds his anger bubbles closer to the edge.

“You can fucking do this,” he whispers to himself.

The screen reads 375. Holy shit, he’s doing it.

He accidentally hits the power button and the whole air fryer goes dormant.

The pot boils over.

Tripwire.

The pause most people have between frustration and violence just… isn’t there.

With a thunderous crash the air fryer flies across the room.

A thousand little pieces lay on the floor - each of them reflecting a bit of Rob’s shame and guilt and rage.

“God damnit,” he exhales, head in hand.

“It’s okay babe,” Charlotte chuckles from behind him, “we have air fryer money. I’ll order some ramen.”

“Order it for one - I have to meet Finn at the gym.”

“You’re late.”

Rob sits on the edge of the ring - Cooley on his haunches just beside him.

“You ever had to shit at the Atlanta airport?”

“More times than you know,” Rob chuckles. “You ready?”

Finn reaches out to pet Cooley and the dog cowers.

Feeling spurned, Finn lets his anger show, “Why do you take that ugly mutt everywhere?”

Rob doesn’t know the adoring smile of a loving father, but he’d guess it’s pretty fucking close to his face.

“Hm,” Rob remarks while rubbing Cooley’s head, ”...ain’t no love like that of a rescue. Nobody wanted this bastard.”

“Let’s get to it, I got shit to do.”

Rob registers the anger in Finn’s voice, but waves it off for their pre-training rituals.

Tape. Stretch. The forced whistling of “Cover of the Rolling Stone”.

In the ring, they no longer need to plan things out. It’s a game of pinball - each man a flapper, anticipating the ball and sending it perfectly to the other.

Their dance is the Mona Lisa. Moonlight Sonata. It evokes emotion.

Maybe it’s the time they’d spent training together. Maybe it’s genetics.

Either way - they move as one.

Rob can’t help but grin as he ducks under a lariat to hoist Finn for a German suplex. Somehow the kid manages to backflip out of it.

There’s a new feeling anytime they’re in the ring. Rob doesn’t know it and doesn’t have the vocabulary to describe it.

Pride.

Finn runs up the turnbuckles and launches at his dad with a crossbody, but Rob telegraphs it and catches him. He holds his son close, in the only way he knows how, before delivering a huge bodyslam.

A leg sweep brings Rob down to Finn’s level.

They tussle on the mat, each trying to gain the upper hand. Finn’s strength seems to be growing by the day. Maybe Rob is just tired.

He might even be slowing down a step on purpose - who knows.

Both men push away and come up at the same time.

With a head full of steam, Finn charges Rob. Wide ass open.

Lessons aren’t free.

Right before impact, Rob side steps. It doesn’t take much of a push on the back of Finn’s head to send him flying into the turnbuckle.

The collision is enough to pause the tit-for-tat. That one hurt.

“You good?” Rob winces and smiles, holding out his hand.

Finn tries his best to be calculated, to keep it under wraps. He knows he has to play the game. But sometimes the weight of lies is too heavy to bear.

“I’m fine.”

This is one of those moments. Finn just cannot help but wipe the smug smile off this bastard’s face.

He grabs Rob’s hand and pulls him in for a stiff kidney shot.

The vet drops down to one knee.

A nuclear bomb goes off in Rob’s body. Everything hurts and he’s seeing those little silver gnats. His chest tightens.

The kid just stuck his dick in a wasp’s nest. Rob is TNT. He’s a vengeful god’s childish rage.

Finn steps back, dancing a bit on his feet, inviting the old wolf to come do his worst.

An audible creak comes from Rob’s gritting teeth - his whole world is red. A searing lightning bolt flows from the tips of his hair all the way down into the balls that Finn came from.

The pot is bubbling again.

Rob unclenches his jaw and clenches both fists. He rocks back and loads his weight on his downed leg, preparing to communicate the only way he knows how: violence.

Then he sees the kid’s face.

Sees his chin. His chin.

Oh no - here comes the water works.

“Goddamn, boy. Gimme a minute,” Rob rolls out of the ring as quickly as he can, rushing to the bathroom.

…

It’s been a while since Rob has seen blood in his piss.

He did that on fucking purpose. I should fucking skin him alive.  

A rat runs through the bathroom behind Rob. He turns and catches a quick glimpse of himself in the mirror.

You look like a hundred bucks. 

He pushes his head against the cold tile wall in front of the urinal - no concern for hygiene. Eyes closed, teeth clenched - the elder Williams breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth.

Why the fuck would he do that? Oh, I don’t know, Rob. Maybe because you’re a piece of shit. 

Rob opens his eyes and puts himself away, flushing the pinkish-red piss away. Better keep that to himself.

Despite it all, you’re still a piece of shit. 

He pulls a small box from his pocket. It’s the ring - big and gaudy, sparkling like the Fourth of July even in the low lights of the gym bathroom.

You can’t fucking buy it, Rob. Her love. His forgiveness. This shit is earned. 

Maybe John is right. Rob snorts, snapping the box shut and tucking it in his pocket.

The cold tap whines and hammers as a blast of water sputters out. Rob cups his hands underneath - splashing the cool water on his face. He runs his wet hands through his hair trying to cool off the boiling rage inside.

Does Rob even recognize this man in the mirror?

Caught between two worlds.

An animal that wants to become self aware.

Can he put down the wolf inside - stop biting the hand of everyone who tries to pet him?

To love him.

We’re not so different, Keyes. Battle born. Broken. 

I know where you are right now. It fucking hurts to lose the gold. 

When I lost the Five Star Title to Winters, I wanted to quit. Thought about offing myself. Taking a hot shot. Fuck, I even tried. 

The fans loved that asshole. 

You want to know what’s wild? It was all a work. 

It was his idea for me to put out those tapes. The crucifixion was Winters’ brainchild. 

I thought we were doing something together - but really, that con-man used me like the fucking fool I was. 

I did exactly what he said and in return I lost my belt and any fans I had left turned their back on me.

So I leaned into their hate. Tried to crucify the Preacher - joined The Whoresmen. Cut off Fred’s dick with a samurai sword. Where you put your cards in with Troy and pandered to the fans, I doubled down at every turn.

He leans in close, looking at all the scars and wrinkles on his face. The bags under his eyes.

When did I get so fucking old?

One last splash of cold water.

How did you do it, Keyes? How did you make them love you? Why is it that guys like you and Winters and Farthington can play guys like me and the world just keeps turning? 

He sniffles and slicks his hair back, leaning his head to either side to crack his neck.

Rob Williams is a bad motherfucker.

The type of man who cuts off his own friend’s dick.

He definitely wasn’t crying in the gym bathroom.

Nope, that’s just the cold water.

He grits and nods to the bad motherfucker in the mirror, and swings the door open hard enough to crack the tile wall.

...

From the ring, Finn sees “The Legend” approaching with fury and sound.

His stomach tightens and his breathing quickens. Suddenly his head feels like a balloon floating away.

As Rob leaps into the ring, Finn pushes his weight back onto his heels.

Waiting.

All of the times he fucked up. The bad grades. Every failure.

Deep in the cesspool of his psyche… this is what he wanted.

Rob gives a devious smile and lifts his hand. Finn takes a deep breath.

And stares in disbelief at Rob’s outstretched hand.

“Hell of a shot, kid,” Rob nods towards his hand. “I’m proud of you.”

Finn is catching flies. Mouth open, dumbfounded.

He doesn’t know what to do.

This was not in the plan.

Shocked, Finn reaches out and takes Rob’s handshake. Rob pulls him in tight for a hug.

Fireworks go off in Finn’s head and heart. The world is swirling, mind racing a thousand miles an hour as his father squeezes him close.

Did he just praise me? Where were you? Get the fuck off me. I love you, dad.

Finn’s whole life, he’s had a dad shaped hole inside. It ached when his friends’ dads bailed them out of jail and he was left alone. When he was at the bus stop and saw the other kids being dropped off.

Part of Finn is telling him to level the old fucker with another kidney punch. It’s the perfect set up and he’ll never see it coming.

The other part, the wolf that wins, says let yourself have this. Allow yourself to be that little boy.

Squeeze him back.

And he does.

Despite the anger - in burying his mom alone. In watching his father drink and whore on television like a fucking clown while he was getting whipped by his foster dad. Despite the plan.

Despite everything that got him here with one goal: destroy Rob Williams.

It all melts away.

For just one moment, Finn Thorne is just a kid hugging his dad.

And for the first time in his life, the ache stops.

Just a breath.

Reason number three-hundred and eighty… one?

Finn breaks the embrace and quickly rolls out of the ring.

“You did a hell of a job today,” Rob calls out as he turns and goes for his water bottle.

Sure the kid isn’t looking, Rob tactically slides his shoulder across his cheek as he reaches down for the bottle.

Meanwhile, Finn is leaning down to grab his bag.

The dog - the fucking mutt - is in the way, though.

Finn keeps his eye on the old man in the ring and reaches towards the bag. Instead of cowering, Cooley leans in and nudges the young man’s hand onto his head.

It startles Finn.

Shocked, he looks at the dog. In the brown eyes that have been left, forgotten.

The dog that walked the world alone.

Until Rob took him in.

He sees his reflection.

Three-hundred and eighty.

Cooley shakes his head as something wet lands on his nose. Finn grabs the bag and rubs the dog one last time before making for the door.

“I think you’re ready for a match in PRIME.”

Rob turns around in time to see Cooley staring at the door as it closes.

“What the fuck,” he whispers to himself.

It’s late when Rob gets home, which is normal.

But there’s no stink of vodka on his breath. No need to beg for the salvation Charlotte never had to give him.

She’s sitting on the couch cross-legged watching a movie. Cooley runs over and cuddles up next to her. One of her hands rubs the rescue’s scruffy fur and the other scrunches her blankie.

The blankie. Rob smirks at it.

Part of why she fell for him so fast. He never judged her baby blanket - never even acknowledged it. In turn, she never judged his rampant alcoholism and drug abuse.

Life is funny, isn’t it?

Maybe there is no karmic balance. You just do good because it makes you feel good, not because it promises some type of return - cause the reality is a man like Rob Williams would be up shit’s creek without a paddle if those scales did exist.

Yet, here he is, lying on the couch next to the woman who he probably doesn’t deserve and his protective mongrel dog.

Unconditional love.

“What’s the matter, babe?” she asks, almost like she can see his burdens in his eyes.

Maybe she can.

“One of those fucking days,” he chuckles quietly, absent-mindedly staring at the TV.

“Come over here - let Miss Trixie sit up front and rub your head,” Charlotte calls out in her best Mademoiselle voice.

Paper Moon. As timeless as Charlotte’s beauty, Rob thinks to himself as he follows orders. He’s always been a good soldier.

He’s uncharacteristically careful as he settles his head against the tiny bump of her belly.

Charlotte’s hands run through his gray locks. “What’s going on in here?” She twists a handful of Rob’s hair in her hands.

“I… don’t know. It’s really fucking hard to not be a dick.”

“You don’t say?”

“I’m serious. Like I’ve made a career out of being a proper dick. My whole fucking job is hurting people. How do I do this?”

“Oh, babe, you’re overthinking it.”

He’s not willing to put down his cross just yet.

“And you got fuckers like Keyes and Farthington that are, objectively, pieces of shit, too. They’re terrible people. They’re everything these fucking fans aren’t - rich, selfish pricks that just take and take and take. But everyone loves them.”

She nods, knowing he needs a bit of validation here. “That’s right.”

“Why, though? They should love me. I am the one who grew up without a dad. I cut my teeth working in bingo halls and high school gyms. My body is falling apart from trying to keep these fucking people entertained for the last thirty years.”

Charlotte cocks her head and sucks her bottom lip in - giving Rob the space he needs to find the vocabulary for what’s actually going on in there.

“It’s just like… why don’t they love me?”

Her hand traces the side of his face and down his broad, achy shoulders - lacing her fingers between his.

“Who cares if they love you. Daytona, Fred, and Anna do,” she pulls his head closer to her belly, “We do.”

There’s no bitching strong enough to argue with that one. Rob knows she loves him  - warts and all. That has to be enough.

“I want to be a good guy, Char. How do I do the shit I need to beat a guy like Keyes - to keep my fucking title… and not be the bad guy?”

Deep in Rob’s blue eyes, Charlotte sees he needs more than a witty deflection.

It has to be careful, deliberate.

“Howl at the moon all you want, babe. You’re protecting your pack.”

He smiles at her, craning his neck to kiss her twice on the lips and once on the forehead before lying back down in her lap.

She slowly strokes his gray mane as they watch Paper Moon - here, safe from it all in their little bubble.

His mind quiets as Moze drops Addie off with her aunt and begins driving away.

In this dark room they sit with their love, accepting each other exactly as they are. They watch silently as Addie chases after Moze’s truck. Rob nuzzles in closer to Charlotte’s belly and scratches Cooley’s scruff as Moze sees the little girl chasing after his truck in the side view mirror.

Rob doesn’t know it, but Charlotte is watching him while Moze tells Addie to come on.

And yes, Rob cries as Moze and Addie run after the truck.

Together.