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Cody stared across at the morose gathering in his living room and heaved a deep sigh. The atmosphere was despondent, to say the least, with every man present wearing one version of misery on their face, and together they looked like the saddest set of action figures ever assembled.
They hadn’t had a chance to celebrate Sami’s big moment. His first United States Championship win had been swallowed almost immediately by Roman’s sudden trip to the Intensive Care Unit the very next day. And Cody’s own victory, reclaiming the Undisputed Championship, had gone similarly unmarked, mostly because Drew McIntyre had nearly claymored his head clean off his shoulders. It felt like the universe had decided celebration was off-limits, months of chaos had robbed them of any chance at joy, and Cody figured tonight had to be a reset. A random excuse to eat, laugh, and maybe even remember that life wasn’t just hospitals and grudges and the endless rotation of Brons.
From the looks of the room, though, his plan was tanking spectacularly.
Damian was at least trying, doing his utmost best to prop up conversation with Roman, who was sulking with Olympic commitment because Cody had vetoed eating out. As fast as Roman was healing, Cody wasn’t budging until he was sure the man could break into a run without collapsing. So dinner had been ordered in, and now their home was full of restless energy and unopened takeout bags.
Jey… Cody didn’t even have words for Jey anymore. The man looked hollowed out, like his spark had been scooped out from him and replaced with this silent, buzzing need for brutality. His teeth stayed clenched a fraction too tight, his eyes carried a low hum of violence that never switched off, and his patience seemed to have been left somewhere back in the wreckage of Raw. Even Sami, who had the patience of a saint and an alarming tolerance for Jey’s temperament, had quietly chosen distance, setting himself up on the far armchair with Pharaoh.
Jimmy, bless his stubborn optimism, kept trying. He poked and joked, leaning in with that wide grin, but even his one-man hype act couldn’t cut through the heaviness. The more he tried, the deeper Jey sank, and Cody couldn’t figure out if Jimmy hadn’t noticed or if he just refused to stop fighting for his twin’s sanity.
Sami, for his part, scrolled absently on his phone, Pharaoh curled loyally at his side. The two of them were locked in their own bubble, brows furrowed at what Cody suspected were reels. Pharaoh’s ears twitched with every sound effect, his tail wagging whenever Sami chuckled under his breath.
“Guys, what are we doing?” Cody announced suddenly, cutting through the fog of the room. All eyes swung his way. “We’re supposed to be celebrating Sami here.”
Sami reluctantly tore his gaze from his phone to look up at his name, blinking as he’d just been yanked back to reality.
“It’s not every day you win your first United States Championship,” Cody added, leaning forward, voice deliberately bright.
“What’s the point when he’s just go’n lose it later on anyway?” Jey muttered bitterly, his voice flat as concrete.
Jimmy’s head whipped toward him in considerable annoyance. He jabbed an elbow into Jey’s ribs hard enough to earn a glare. “The fuck would you say that about your boyfriend?” Jimmy hissed through clenched teeth.
“Honestly, Uce.” Jey didn’t even flinch, his tone the same drained monotone he’d been using since Raw. “Having a title basically paints a bullseye on your back. You spend every week defending it with no peace of mind until you lose it. And then what? You start again.”
“Jey,” Damian chastised softly, but even his deep voice couldn’t shake Jey’s slump.
“Oh, this is just the half of it,” Sami broke in, shaking his head with a weary little smirk. “Don’t worry. As soon as he gets to punch either Bron in the face, I guarantee you, he’ll perk right up.”
“Tell me about it,” Cody muttered, eyes flicking deliberately to Roman.
Roman, sprawled on the sofa, met his gaze with a glare sharp enough to cut glass.
“They’re rather prone to tantrums when they don’t get their way, aren’t they?” Cody added smoothly, narrowing his eyes back in challenge.
“I don’t know what you think you’re talking about—” Roman began, all righteous indignation, only for Damian to start laughing under his breath.
“The first time I had to sit through a Jimmy tantrum—” Damian started.
“Hey!” Jimmy shot upright, affronted.
“—I was this close,” Damian held up two fingers pinched nearly together, “to yelling at either of you when I saw you two,” he gestured between Cody and Sami, “And don’t even get me started on Roman. I swear, it’s something you ought to warn a guy about before he signs up for this circle.”
Sami chuckled loudly, shaking his head.
Cody seized the opening, spreading his hands in encouragement. “Look, I get it. The last couple of months have been a bit rough on all of us, but that doesn’t mean we dissolve into a pack of brooding gargoyles. Sami’s sitting here with a brand new championship, and all we’re doing is sulking.”
“A bit rough?” Jimmy cut in sharply, the sarcasm dripping particularly thick. “Drew nearly knocked your head clean off your shoulders. DP actually got knocked the hell out cold. Roman just pulled off a rather impressive hospital stint that had us all lighting candles and making deals with God, and Jey—” he tilted his head toward his twin, “has been playing loser whack-a-mole for the last few Raws.” He snapped his head toward Cody, tone dripping with finality. “Nothing at all has been going our way, Uce.”
Well, when Jimmy laid it out like that, it certainly brought a lot to think about. Cody’s lips pressed tight, letting the words settle.
He couldn’t argue with it; they had been losing awfully the past couple of months, stumbling one after the other in tired solidarity, and it was starting to strip pieces off of everyone in different ways. Roman’s frustration had simmered into peevishness, Jey’s disposition was guttering, Jimmy was wearing himself thin trying to keep them all upright, and Damian was carrying his own quiet weight behind that smooth exterior.
Even Sami, championship gleaming on the coffee table beside him, looked more weary than triumphant. He stroked Pharaoh absently, staring down at the belt with poorly hidden hostility, as if it were to blame for the entire affair.
Every setback chipped at them, and from the looks of things, the cracks were only getting wider.
Cody blew out a breath, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Alright,” he said finally, his voice low. “So we admit it. Things have been shit. We’ve been taking hits one after the other, no denying that.” He leaned forward, forcing them to look at him instead of sinking into themselves. “But what? We just sit here, marinate in it? Wait for the next bad thing to roll over us?”
Jey tilted his head at him, unimpressed. “You got a better plan?”
Cody’s mouth curved into a half-smirk, half-challenge grin. “Yeah. We can fight back—”
“Man, fuck all that.” Jey’s voice sliced through the room, sharper than necessary. The energy Cody had been trying to stir up evaporated instantly. Jey shoved himself up from his seat, shoulders tight and fists balled in sheer anger.
“Anybody needs me, I’ll be waiting in the car.” He didn’t even glance at Cody when he said it, directing the words at Sami like they were the only person he trusted to hear them. Then, without waiting for a response, he strode out of the house, the slam of the front door rattling the wall.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Sami’s mouth pressed into a thin line. Jimmy’s leg bounced anxiously against the floor, his worry plain. Damian just leaned back into the sofa with a low, tired exhale.
Roman rose slowly, a small wince betraying him even though he tried to mask it beneath his usual stoicism. Cody noticed, of course, he always noticed. Roman rolled his shoulders, stretching his joints with a tight expression, and then started toward the door with that deliberate calm that was really just him holding himself together by threads.
“I got it,” Roman said to Jimmy, cutting off the worried frown before it turned into words.
“Roman—” Cody started, his tone tipping toward chastisement. Another round of warnings, another fight about his recovery, another moment where Roman would feel caged in his own skin. And by God, Roman was in no mood for it.
“I said, I got it.” The snap in his voice was loud and muted at the same time, the entire room freezing with it. Cody’s jaw clicked shut, Jimmy sank back in his seat, and Damian arched a brow but wisely kept quiet.
Roman’s glare softened just enough to pass for control. He turned, pulling open the front door with more force than necessary.
And just like that, he was gone too, the air of the room thick with the echoes of two exits.
“Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea,” Sami suggested apologetically, eyes trained on Cody.
“You think?” Jimmy interjected.
—
The night air outside was sticky with humidity, clinging to the skin uncomfortably. Roman spotted Jey pacing by the car, arms folded so tight across his chest it looked like he was trying to hold himself together.
Roman walked slowly. His body protested with every step, his back stiff, ribs still sore. Pride had been carrying him more than his strength of late. He refused to limp in front of Jey, not when the man looked like one harsh breeze could send him flying back inside to report to Cody.
“You storm out like that, and people are gonna think you’re the one with the tantrum,” Roman said finally, voice cutting through the night air.
Jey’s head snapped toward him, eyes sparking. “Don’t start with me, Uce.”
Roman tilted his head, unimpressed. “You think I came out here to fight you?”
“You always come out to fight me,” Jey shot back, voice worn thin from exhaustion. He dragged a hand down his face before leaning against the hood of the car, shoulders sagging. “I’m done, Uce, a’ight? Every week it’s the same—get up, get knocked down, get up again just to get knocked down harder. For what? A title? Respect? Ain’t worth shit if I can’t even win.”
Roman stopped a few feet away, crossing his arms slowly. “You’re talking like a man who’s forgotten who the hell he is. What family he comes from.”
Jey let out a humorless laugh. “Don’t give me that ‘Tribal Chief’ pep talk. I ain’t you. I don’t get to just walk back into the ring and have everybody bend the knee.”
Roman studied him in silence, his quiet presence heavy. That same stillness that used to drive people standing across from him in the ring insane, permeated the air. Finally, he spoke firmly.
“I just spent a week panicking in a hospital bed where I couldn’t move my damn legs, courtesy of Bronson and Bronson. You might have to revisit that ‘bend the knee’ comment.”
Jey’s jaw clenched, and he looked away. His gaze dropped to the gravel, shoulders trembling with the kind of rage that had nowhere to go.
Roman took a step closer, voice edged in steel. “You want to quit? Say the word, I ain’t gonna hold you, but don’t lie to yourself. Don’t act like you ain’t got fight left in you, ‘cause I see it vibrating through every damn pore in your body right now. You’re tired, yeah. But you’re not done.”
Jey’s shoulders slumped, a bone-deep sigh tearing loose from his chest, resignation dragging his voice flat. “What do you want me to do?”
Roman squeezed his shoulder, grounding him, a small smirk tugging at his lips.