Laney lay sprawled across her bed, her small frame cocooned in a tangle of blankets that she had kicked free during the night. Wisps of her dark hair fanned out across the pillow, soft and wild, like stray ink strokes on a white canvas. Her breathing was steady, a quiet rhythm that filled the room, calm as a lullaby.

Next to her, the golden glint of the HWA Championship belt caught the dim moonlight seeping through the curtains. It lay nestled beside her, too big for her hands to fully grasp, yet resting there as if it had always belonged. The engraved letters shimmered faintly, their weight both literal and symbolic, an artifact of triumph that seemed strangely at home amidst the innocence of her slumber.

Her fingers brushed its edge, small and delicate against the leather strap. Even in her dreams, she clung to it, the room silent but for her soft sigh, a perfect stillness a contrast to her dad, just a few rooms away.

In the dim glow of the living room, Stu-E leaned back into the couch, his legs stretched out, one foot crossed over the other. And of course, a bottle of beer cradled loosely in his hand. The television bathed the room in flickering light, the sound of high-energy commentary and roaring crowds echoing faintly against the walls.

On the screen, highlights from Road to Ruin played out in a symphony of chaos and glory, his eyes narrowed slightly, however, when the footage of Starlight ringing the bell popped up. Everything goes in slow motion; close-ups of Parker’s and the referee’s face show their confusion before it speeds up to Price getting the job done.

A smile creeps across his face as he watches himself be handed the title, as it does, the sound of his phone breaks his enjoyment. The view cuts to his phone screen, clearly showing the big announcement, the reveal of Tobias Clarke as the next contender for the HWA Championship on New Year’s Eve.

Stu-E let out a low whistle, taking a long swig from his beer as the icy condensation left a ring on the table beside him. “Clarke, huh?” he murmured to himself, his voice roughened by years of late-night matches and too many road stories. His lips curled into a smirk, equal parts respect, and curiosity. He had seen Tobias’s work first hand, knew what the man was capable of, but a title shot? That was a whole other arena.

The volume of the television dipped as adverts began to play, but Stu-E barely noticed. His mind drifted to Laney asleep in her bedroom, curled up with her dad’s belt as if it were a bedtime story brought to life. He tipped the bottle to his lips again and muttered, “Bastard better be ready, that title means the world to some people.” The words lingered in the quiet, as much a reflection as they were a challenge.

In the morning, sitting around the breakfast table, sunlight filtered into the cozy kitchen as Laney sat waiting in her pyjamas. She yawned, stretching her arms high before dropping them onto the table with a soft thud.

Stu-E stood at the counter, humming tunelessly as he worked. The waffle iron hissed and steamed, filling the room with the sweet, buttery scent of batter. “Want syrup, fruit, or both?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

“Both!” Laney said, her face lighting up despite her sleepy state.

Stu-E chuckled, carefully lifting a golden waffle from the iron and placing it on her plate. He drizzled syrup over the top, letting it pool in the little squares, then casually threw a handful of blueberries across the plate. “There you go, champ,” he said, sliding the plate in front of her before ruffling her hair on his way to grab his own.

Laney grinned sleepily, grabbing her fork, and digging in. “Thanks, Daddy.”

They ate in companionable silence for a while, the clink of cutlery and the occasional sip of juice the only sounds. On the counter, the television murmured quietly, running through the morning news but Stu-E was not paying attention to it all.

As he watched Laney enjoy her breakfast, he thought back to the press conference hoping his choice of words and demeanour were as humble as he intended them to be, and as respectful. It is true that he respects both Hans and Sean, and though he did enjoy the wind up leading up to the show he had always hoped that the majority was taken in good humour.

“Have I told you the news?” Stu-E asked, breaking the quiet as he sat across from her.

Laney shook her head; a bite of waffle smeared with syrup cream dangling from her fork. “Tobias Clarke is getting a shot at Dad’s title.”

“Yup.” Stu-E leaned back in his chair, studying her with a sly smile. “What d’you think about that?”

She chewed thoughtfully, her brow furrowing in the way that made her look so much like her father. “Didn’t he lose to Wolfy?” She paused, glancing up at him with a flash of mischief in her eyes. “So much for earning a title shot…”

Stu-E barked a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re getting too clued up on this business, girl.”

Laney giggled, spearing another piece of waffle as her dad smiled at her little bit of sarcasm in the morning. Although caught by surprise at the announcement of his next challenger, he knows it is not as simple as that, however. He could sense he would be having a conversation with Butch and Wisdom, and in the meantime, Clarke would of course have something to say soon.