Two weeks later, and here we were again. Another Monday night. Another Raw. Another chance for The Rock to run his mouth until he ran out of air. I stood backstage with Cody, just off the side of the curtain, watching the monitors. There he was — The Rock — strutting around the ring like a rooster in an empty henhouse. His sunglasses gleamed under the lights, and even from here, I could see that smug grin carved into his face like it was permanent. John Cena stood a few steps behind him, arms crossed, silent. Still. Like a statue.
Something wasn’t right with him. Hadn’t been since last time. Whatever he saw...it was still clinging to him. The Rock raised the mic to his mouth again. “You know, I was gonna come out here and talk about something important,” he drawled, pacing lazily, “but then I remembered...nobody gives a damn about important when you got two charity cases waddling around this roster like it’s a rehab center.”
The crowd booed. Loud. I saw Cody’s jaw tighten. I bumped his shoulder lightly. Not yet. The Rock just kept going. “That’s right, I’m talking about your favorite sob story—Cody Rhodes—and his personal nurse, Angel!” He leaned against the ropes like he was lounging on a beach chair. “Cody's ribs are held together by duct tape and prayers, and Angel? Well, hell, I’ve seen stronger things made in kindergarten arts and crafts!”
He grinned at the chorus of boos and jeers. “Oh, what’s the matter, WWE Universe? Feeling protective of your little broken toys? Newsflash—sympathy doesn’t win championships. Toughness does. And the only thing these two are tough at is checking into hospitals.”
He turned, smirking wider, and pointed toward the camera. “I'm gonna do all of you a favor. I’m gonna put ‘em both down for good. I’m gonna wrap up this little fairy tale with a nice, neat bow—and then? Maybe, just maybe, the WWE Universe can stop embarrassing itself by cheering for the two biggest jokes on the roster.”
I could feel Cody tensing up beside me like he was holding back a nuclear reaction. I smiled, turning to him slightly. My voice dropped into a near whisper. “Hey, Code,” I said lightly, “you trust me, right?”
He blinked at me, then gave this dry, wary little smile.
“You know,” he said, voice rumbling low, “every time you ask me that, it makes me nervous.”
I couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped my throat. I shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “What can I say? I like to keep you on your toes.”
He shook his head, grinning despite himself. “Yeah, Angel. I trust you. Always.”
My smile grew, a little sharper at the edges. “Good. 'Cause I got a plan... but it kinda depends on how they react.” I thumbed toward the arena, meaning the WWE Universe. Cody sighed like a man heading straight into a hurricane but threw his arm around my shoulders anyway, pulling me in for a quick, brotherly squeeze.
“Whatever happens, I got your back. One hundred percent.”
Warmth filled my chest. I nodded firmly. He bumped his forehead against mine for half a second, then we turned toward the curtain as the opening riff of "Awake and Alive" by Skillet blasted through the arena. The roar that answered it nearly shook the ground under our boots. We shared a quick fist bump, grins flashing between us, and then stepped out into the firestorm.
The crowd erupted. Signs waving, people screaming our names. A chant of “LET’S GO ANGEL! LET’S GO CODY!” caught like wildfire in the stands. Energy crackled through my veins, washing away every lingering ache, every bruise that still throbbed beneath my skin. I reached out, high-fiving every hand I could along the barricades. Cody did the same, feeding off the crowd, both of us moving like we owned the moment. The Rock’s smirk faltered when he saw us. Just a twitch.
Good.
We climbed into the ring—shoulder to shoulder, bandages, bruises, stubborn fire and all. Our music faded out, leaving only the electric hum of the crowd. I caught The Rock’s eye and lifted my mic. His shades couldn’t hide the irritation flashing there. Cody spoke first, cool and calm. “Rock, you talk a big game for a guy who's been running on nostalgia and bad punchlines for the last decade.”
The crowd OOOH’d loud enough to make the ring ropes shiver. I tilted my head at The Rock, tossing a slow, crooked smile. “And congratulations, by the way,” I said sweetly, “on still being able to almost sound relevant... even while your best friend over there is stuck seeing ghosts.”
John Cena didn’t flinch. Didn’t even look up. The Rock’s jaw ticked, a tiny tic that made my heart sing. “You call us broken toys, Rock?” I added, stepping closer. “Funny. Broken toys still have teeth.”
The crowd screamed in approval. The Rock stepped forward, trying to bulldoze over us with sheer presence. “You two come out here wrapped up in pity and duct tape, thinkin’ you’re gonna scare the Final Boss? Please. You’re like mosquitoes buzzin’ at a lion.” He chuckled, but it was forced now. “And trust me... the only thing the WWE Universe is gonna chant after tonight is ‘Good riddance!’”
He pointed at the crowd, sneering. “They don’t love you. They love the idea of you. The idea that broken things can win. Spoiler alert—they can’t.”
Cody lifted his mic again, stepping forward, steady and sure, the way only he could. “It’s not their job to make us feel good," he said, his voice carrying clearly over the buzz of the crowd. "It’s our job... to make them feel good.”
The crowd roared, eating up every word. A fresh wave of "Cody! Cody!" chants broke out. I could feel it humming in the air like static electricity. I smiled wide, feeling the pride and fire spark up inside me. I lifted my own mic, stepping right beside Cody, my boots hitting the canvas with purpose. “He’s right,” I said, my voice firm and sharp. “Whether they’re booing us, cheering us, chanting, screaming, throwing their voices into this place—without the WWE Universe? There is no WWE.”
A huge pop exploded from the stands, fists pumping, signs waving. I turned my head slightly, locking eyes with The Rock. He didn’t look impressed. The Rock pulled his shades down just enough to peer at me over the top of them, sneering. “You’re cute, Angel. Real cute. Out here giving Hallmark card speeches like it’s gonna save you.” He pointed between me and Cody with a lazy flick of his hand. “But all the cheering in the world won’t change the fact that you’re broken. Fragile. Held together with duct tape, good intentions, and false hope. And when the Rock steps in the ring with you—he’s gonna shatter what little pieces are left.”
I took a single step forward, boots scraping the mat. Got right up into his space where even the smugness couldn’t shield him from my fire. I tipped my chin up, smiling that small, dangerous smile I'd learned from being around Kane and Taker too long. “Well," I said, "if you’re so confident, Rock... why don’t we just settle this right here, right now?”
His eyebrow shot up. I didn’t flinch. “Tornado Tag Team match,” I said, loud and clear, throwing my arm out between us like I was throwing down the gauntlet. “Cody and me... versus you and Cena.”
The building erupted. I swear, the roof shook from the sound. The whole crowd was on their feet now, arms pumping in perfect unison with the “YES! YES! YES!” chant that rippled through the arena like a living thing. The Rock’s face twitched. Just for a second. A crack in the armor. I saw it.
And I pounced. “What’s wrong?” I taunted, my voice dripping with mock concern. “Unless you’re scared... of the broken toys you couldn’t stop talking about.”
I let the smirk curl at my lips, knowing exactly what I was doing. Baiting him. And sure enough, his nostrils flared. His whole body stiffened, like a bull about to charge. “Fine!” he barked, stepping up into my space. “You want it? You got it! Get ready, Angel—you and your little sidekick are about to get SMASHED by the most electrifying team in sports entertainment!”
I felt Cody shift slightly beside me, like he hadn't expected that to be the plan. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye—he gave a subtle nod. Just as the crowd went absolutely ballistic, the sound of another mic cutting through stopped us.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!"
Adam Pearce came hustling out from the back, waving his hands like he was trying to calm a riot. He had a mic in one hand, a look of panic written all over his face. He slid into the ring, getting between us and raising his voice over the madness. “No, absolutely not!” he said firmly, shaking his head. “You two are NOT cleared for full matches yet!”
The fans immediately booed like he'd personally slapped every one of them. “LET THEM FIGHT! LET THEM FIGHT!” they chanted, stamping their feet, making the whole arena rumble.
Adam lowered his mic, turned to face me and Cody, voice dropping low enough the mics barely picked it up. “Are you two sure about this?” he asked quietly, concern flashing in his eyes. “You're not fully recovered. This could end badly.”
Cody didn’t hesitate. “I trust Angel’s call,” he said simply, like that was all he needed. I smiled at him, heart thudding with pride and something fiercer. I nodded to Adam, stepping closer.
“The WWE Universe wants this,” I said. “And so do we.”
Adam sighed, running a hand over his face like he already regretted it. He lifted the mic again with visible reluctance. “Alright... alright!” he called over the crowd. “Get a referee out here. We’re having a Tornado Tag Team match!”
The eruption that followed nearly blew out my eardrums. Cody and I backed into our corner, facing The Rock and Cena across the ring. Cody leaned closer to me, his voice low. “Why Tornado Tag instead of a regular tag match?” he asked, arching a brow. I grinned, eyes flashing.
“Because we can watch each other’s backs better that way.”
Cody chuckled, a low, warm sound. He nodded once. “That’s true. Let’s show ‘em what broken toys can do.”
I tightened my gloves, bouncing lightly on my toes, the adrenaline flooding me. This was it. Win or lose, fight or fall, we were about to make sure nobody ever forgot who we were.
ns216.73.216.122da2
and then Add to home screen.