The phone was barely held to Laney’s ear, a fragile tether to the voice on the other end. Her mother’s words tumbled through the receiver, half worry, half fury, each syllable sharp with the rhythm of fear. Laney winced, adjusting the position of her arm in her dark blue sling as the stream of questions surged at her like an unforgiving tide.

“What were you thinking? Why would you even try that? Do you have any idea how close—”

Laney closed her eyes, letting her mom’s voice blur into the steady hiss of air through her teeth. She didn’t need the replay—she could still feel the moment her balance wavered, the weightless, terrible arc of her body, and the slap the landing made. A tornado DDT gone wrong. So wrong.

“Mom, I’m fine,” Laney murmured, though her voice was thin and splintered. She didn’t sound fine. She didn’t even believe herself. It hurt like hell.

“You almost broke your arm!” her mom snapped, her voice faltering at the edges. Laney could hear the tremor beneath the anger, the way worry softened the harshness. “What were you thinking, Laney? You’re not invincible!”

Laney swallowed. Her throat was dry, her words stiff, but she said them anyway. “It wasn’t supposed to go that way. I—I just wanted to take him down.”

There was silence, heavy and brittle, before her mother exhaled, and it was more a sigh than a breath, as though all the air had been punched out of her.

“Laney, you scared me.”

The words were quiet, but they hit harder than the fall. Laney’s chest tightened, the guilt creeping in like smoke through a cracked window.

“I’m sorry, Mammy,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

Alex didn’t answer right away, but when she spoke, her tone was softer, threaded with a raw, aching love. “You must be careful, sweetheart. I agreed to you doing this wrestling thing if you didn’t get involved. You can’t keep putting yourself at risk like this. I’m not joking, anything like this again, and you’ll be back in England with me, full time!”

Laney blinked hard, staring at the simple cotton sling as if it held answers. She hated the way her mam’s worry made her feel—small, reckless, undeserving of the faith she tried so hard to earn.

“I’ll be careful,” she promised, her voice steadier now. “I’ll be okay.”

It wasn’t much, but it was something, a fragile bridge between them. And as her mom sighed again, the tension in her voice easing, Laney thought maybe, just maybe, she’d calm down and all this would be forgotten about very soon. As she sat on her bed, the sound of footsteps in the hallway can be heard passing her door.

The view switches to the hallway, Stu-E had just walked past and headed into the living room, his World title casually tossed on the floor with his and Laney’s bags, he hadn’t even bothered to unpack with everything going on. His phone hadn’t stopped ringing and buzzing, flashing notifications of various messages coming through since Havoc, it had got to the point where he couldn’t be arsed with it, and he’d turned his phone off as soon as he’d spoken to his family back home and reassured everybody that everything was ok.

Sitting down in his dark red reclining armchair he leans as far back as he possibly can, picking up some paperwork off the side table, glancing it up and down. It’s always surprising to him how much healthcare is in the States, when in the UK you can just be seen to and taken care of for free.

The sight of Laney laying on the floor replays in his head, it’s not something any parent wants to see. It had been a long, quiet journey back to the hotel suite from the medical centre as he contemplated everything about that night, Laney just cuddling into her Dad all the way home.

**Four Hours Later**

The living room was a blur of muted shadows and flickering blue light from the forgotten television. Stu-E had tipped back in his recliner, his broad chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. The old chair groaned beneath his weight, as if caught mid-protest.

Laney stood in the doorway, her silhouette small and trembling in the dim light. She held her arm against her body like something fragile, something broken. Tears welled in her eyes, hot and unwelcome, spilling over as she took a shaky step forward.

“Daddy,” she whispered, her voice cracking like dry wood.

He didn’t stir. The low hum of his snoring filled the room, punctuated by the faint crackle of the TV static. Laney’s breath hitched, and she tried again, louder this time, desperation sharpening her tone.

“Dad!”

His eyes flew open, bleary and confused, as if he’d been yanked from a dream. The recliner snapped upright with a jolt, and his boots hit the floor with a dull thud. He squinted at her, his face a mix of sleep and alarm.

“Laney? What’s wrong?” His voice was rough, gravelly, but beneath it was a thread of concern that cut through the fog of sleep.

Her tears came harder now, fast and silent, as she crossed the room. She sank to her knees beside him, her good hand clutching the armrest like it was the only solid thing in a spinning world.

“It hurts,” she choked out, the words small and raw. “My arm… it won’t stop.”

Stu-E leaned forward, his movements slow and deliberate, like he was afraid to make things worse. His calloused hand brushed her shoulder, light as a whisper, before it settled on her wrist, steadying her.

“Let me see,” he murmured.

Laney flinched as he gently moved the sling, revealing the angry swell of her arm, a vivid bruise blooming beneath the skin. Stu-E’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, his eyes darkened with something fierce—anger, worry, guilt.

“#### sake,” he muttered, though his voice cracked at the edges, softening the words. “They said it wasn’t broken!”

She shook her head, her tears falling faster now. “It’s really hurting, Daddy.”

Stu-E exhaled, a long, heavy breath that seemed to carry the weight of the moment. “We’re going back,” he said, his voice firm, “this needs looking at again.”

He eased her up, careful not to jostle her arm, and pulled her into a gentle embrace. She buried her face in his shoulder, her tears soaking into his worn flannel shirt as the scene fades out.