From the moment the bell rang, I didn’t take my eyes off Cody. Not once. MetLife was shaking beneath us, the noise a living thing—half of it for Cena, half for Cody, all of it deafening. The air felt heavy, almost too thick to breathe, charged with that strange electricity you only feel in matches that matter. Not just a title match… a collision of worlds. Cody’s now. Cena’s era. And me, in the middle of it all, stationed ringside like a guard dog. I was there for one reason: to make sure Cody didn’t go too far. I’d seen the way his eyes had been burning for months now. I’d felt the frustration coming off him in waves every time a win slipped through his fingers. I knew that darkness, because I’d carried it before. And I wasn’t going to let it consume him.
When Cena stepped forward with a smile and his hand out, the crowd roared. “Shake his hand!” someone shouted behind me. Cody clasped it with his own grin—but I caught the flicker in his eyes. Not warmth. Not yet. That was a smolder. And then the calm shattered. Steel steps smashed into ribs so hard I flinched. Monitors flew when the announce table gave way. Cody suplexed Cena into the barricade right beside me, fans screaming and grabbing for their phones.
“Focus, Cody!” I yelled, gripping the apron when his forearm strikes lingered on Cena’s head just a little too long. “Don’t get lost in it!”
He glanced at me mid-swing, jaw tight, then went right back at it. The fight spilled everywhere—apron, floor, up the ramp. Cody’s Disaster Kick rang out like a gunshot, but seconds later he was folded in half with a Super AA off the stage ramp. I winced as both men lay there, writhing in the wreckage. Somehow, they crawled back to the ring. Cody hit two Cross Rhodes in a row, then a moonsault that shattered a table. Cena still kicked out. That’s when I saw it—his face twisting, that barely contained rage. He rolled under the ropes and reached beneath the apron. My stomach dropped.
“No…”
The crowd roared as he came up holding a steel chain, wrapping it around his fist. His knuckles went white. “Cody!” I shouted, slamming my hands on the mat. “Don’t do it! This isn’t you!”
Cena was on his knees in the corner, chest heaving. Vulnerable. Cody raised the chain high. I didn’t even think—I slid into the ring, planting myself between them. “Don’t!” I said again, my voice shaking. For a second, all I saw in his face was conflict. Then I remembered Dusty’s voice from my dream: “Walk forward… with love in your fists. With legacy in your soul. Don’t let me down now… I came back for you. For that man up there that died ten years ago, who never got to see a real World’s Champion.”
His grip faltered. The chain dipped slightly. But Cena moved. He lunged, and in Cody’s reflex, his arm swung. I shoved Cena back—taking the hit myself. The chain cracked across my shoulder and jaw, white-hot pain ripping through me. The arena gasped as my knees hit the mat. Blood traced down the corner of my lip, metallic and warm. Cody froze. The chain slipped from his fingers, clattering to the mat. “Angel—” His voice was hoarse, almost broken.
I reached up with my good arm, pulling him into a hug, pressing my forehead against his. “I’m still here,” I whispered. “And I still believe in you.”
Something in him shifted. His breathing slowed. His shoulders loosened. He set me down gently by the ropes, turning back to Cena. The final moments blurred together—Cena lunging for the STF, Cody powering out, spinning him into one last, perfect Cross Rhodes.
One.
Two.
Three.
The bell rang, and the stadium exploded. Cody Rhodes—Undisputed WWE Champion. I stayed seated against the turnbuckle, clutching my shoulder, grinning through the pain as Cody knelt in the center of the ring with the belt cradled in his hands. Cena staggered to his feet, looked at Cody… then looked at me. He mouthed a clear thank you. And for that brief moment—it wasn’t about grudges, titles, or eras. It was about survival, belief, and the ghost of Dusty Rhodes smiling down from somewhere above.
I stayed propped against the turnbuckle, trying to breathe through the ache, while Cody held the championship like it was the only thing keeping him upright. Then he turned to me. The fire in his eyes had dimmed, replaced with something gentler. He crossed the ring and crouched down, extending a hand. “You okay?” he asked, voice low but laced with concern.
I took his hand and let him pull me to my feet, forcing a grin despite the throbbing pain in my side. “Eh… nothing a gallon of ice cream and three painkillers won’t fix.”
I heard Michael Cole say, “That’s classic Angel right there—wounded, but still throwing shade.”
Pat McAfee responded with, “Ice cream fixes everything, Cole!”
The corner of Cody’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t laugh. He just nodded once, then turned and walked away, title clutched tight in his hand like it might vanish if he let go. I watched him disappear up the ramp, my smile fading. That’s when Cena walked up beside me. “Guess I should say thanks,” he said, breathing hard. “Even though… let’s be real, you were probably protecting him more than me.”
I tilted my head toward him, giving a small, knowing smile. “Maybe. But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t protecting you, too.”
He looked at me for a moment, like he was deciding if I meant it. “I’m… sorry, Angel. For everything these past few months. How I acted. What I said. I—”
I put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. “It’s gonna take a little while for me to fully trust you again. I’m not gonna lie about that. But tonight? I wasn’t picking sides. I was trying to make sure neither of you destroyed the other.”
I let out a slow sigh, my gaze drifting toward the ramp where Cody had vanished. “I don’t even know what’s going on with him anymore.”
Cena followed my line of sight, his voice softer now. “Whatever it is… you’re not alone in figuring it out. If you’ll let me, I’ll help. No matter what I’ve done before.”
I glanced back at him. He wasn’t faking it—at least, not at that moment. A small, grateful smile tugged at my lips. I nodded. “We’ll see.”
And then—a theme I knew of but hadn't heard in person before hit. The place erupted in a roar so loud it felt like the ring shook. My gut twisted instantly.
Brock Lesnar.
I could hear the commentary team freaking out, even over the music.
“OH MY GOD! BROCK LESNAR! THE BEAST IS BACK!”
“Cena doesn’t need this, Cole! Angel sure as hell doesn’t need this!”
He hadn’t been around in years, but I didn’t need a reintroduction. Everyone in this business knew of him—his reputation for breaking bodies was as legendary as it was terrifying. As he stalked down the ramp, eyes locked on Cena, I stepped forward without hesitation, planting myself between them. “Angel—” Cena started, but I didn’t move.
Brock stopped a foot away, looking me up and down with that smirk that screamed you’re not a threat. “You think you can stop me?”
I smirked right back. “You’re not the first giant I’ve faced, Lesnar. And you wouldn’t be the first I’ve put down, either.”
“She’s gonna get herself killed, Cole!” Pat exclaimed.
“That’s Angel—she’s not backing down from anybody!” I heard Michael respond, making me smile to myself.
The crowd lost it. Brock’s smirk twitched into something colder. Before I could react, his arms were around me. The world spun—then CRASH. The mat slammed into my back as his F-5 rattled my bones. Pain exploded through me, stealing the air from my lungs. I barely had time to gasp before he yanked Cena into the same fate, planting him beside me with another bone-jarring impact. Brock’s music hit again as he stood over us for a heartbeat, glaring daggers at Cena, before stepping out of the ring and disappearing up the ramp. I rolled onto my side, groaning. Cena pushed himself up beside me, then reached down to haul me to my feet. “Thanks,” I muttered, shaking my head. “Looks like you’ve got one more boss fight before retirement—The Beast.”
He actually laughed, wincing through it. “Yeah, and lucky me… now he’s pissed.”
I smirked faintly. “If you need backup… I’ll be there.”
The commentary team’s voices came through again:
“What a moment—Angel and Cena, united after everything they’ve been through.”
“United and sore, Cole. Real sore.”
Cena gave me a long look, something almost like respect settling between us. I raised his hand one last time, and together we left the ring—limping, aching, and still breathing.
The following week-
The crowd was a living thing that Friday night—loud, hungry, electric. It hit me in the chest the second we stepped through the curtain. Cody was at my side, the Undisputed Championship gleaming in his grip, his chin set like stone. I walked just behind him, my eyes locked on the ring like a hawk tracking prey. I wasn’t here just to be seen. I was here to keep him from going over the edge. Michael Cole’s voice boomed over the commentary desk as we made our way down the ramp.
“Angel’s been glued to Cody’s side these past few weeks, not just as a friend, but as a guardrail keeping him from going too far.”
Corey Graves: “And tonight she might need to hold that line harder than ever.”
John Cena came out next, his usual spark and energy back to normal. He joined Cody and me inside the ring, and I shared a fist bump with both of them. Then, Clickbait Kid and the Washed Up Warrior showed up, smug as ever. It took every ounce of strength in me, plus Cody’s gentle, reassuring hand on my shoulder, to keep me from taking down Logan right then and there. I gave my best friend a small smile, then slid out of the ring before I turned this into a handicap match.
The bell rang and Cena took the early control, rag-dolling Logan Paul from corner to corner. The crowd ate it up—“Let’s go Ce-na!” thundering back at us. Cody tagged in next, meeting Drew in the middle of the ring with a fury of fast, heavy strikes. I paced the apron, my fingers gripping the rope, ready to call to him if he started to lose himself. But momentum turned fast. Logan, ever the snake, caught Cena with a low blow the ref couldn’t miss. The bell rang instantly—DQ win for us—but the damage was done.
Cena stormed after Logan, chasing him up the ramp and disappearing backstage, leaving Cody alone with Drew. My pulse spiked. I wasn’t worried about Cena; I knew a legend like him could handle an outsider like Loser Paul. It was Cody I was concerned about. That’s when I saw it—Drew sliding out of the ring, grabbing Cody’s title from the timekeeper’s table. His eyes weren’t just mean; they were cold. Calculated.
Michael Cole: “This isn’t a match anymore—this is a setup for disaster.”
I didn’t think. I moved. Just as Drew swung the belt toward Cody’s head, I shoved Cody hard to the side.
THWACK!
The sound rang out like a gunshot. My vision blurred for a split second as I hit the mat. I tasted blood almost immediately, warm at the corner of my mouth. The crowd gasped loud enough to drown out everything else.
Michael Cole: “Angel just sacrificed herself for Cody!”
When my vision cleared, Cody was standing over me, his jaw clenched so tight it looked painful. The belt Drew had dropped was now in his hands. His chest was heaving, his knuckles white around the leather strap. The crowd’s reaction shifted—cheers mixed with unease.
Corey Graves: “This is it—Cody could snap right here.”
I forced my arm to move, my hand wrapping around his wrist. My voice came out hoarse but urgent.
“Don’t. That’s not who you are.”
His grip tightened, but his hand shook. I could feel the war going on inside him. Then Drew recovered enough to rush him—shoulder tackling Cody toward the announce table, setting him up for a Claymore.
Michael Cole: “McIntyre’s gonna end this man’s career!”
Pain shot through me when I moved, but I didn’t care. I dragged myself up the turnbuckles, every muscle screaming. And then I leapt—BAM!—a missile dropkick right into Drew’s chest. The big man tumbled backward into the barricade. The crowd exploded. I crawled to Cody, ignoring the metallic taste in my mouth, and cupped his face in my hands.
“You okay? Cody, talk to me.”
He swallowed hard, his voice low. “You… you saved my ass… again.”
I smiled weakly. “Always. It’s part of the best friend-slash-annoying little sister job description.”
His shoulders loosened, the dangerous fire in his eyes dimming just enough. Then he pulled me into a shaky hug, one arm holding me like I might disappear if he let go. “THANK YOU ANGEL!” chants rolled through the arena. Over Cody’s shoulder, I caught sight of Drew retreating up the ramp, seething, mouthing, This isn’t over. Cody’s arm tightened protectively around me.48Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7ppH6kcgjJ
and then Add to home screen.