The Reason (Roulette 1 of 3)

[King]

March 12th, 2022
Saturday, 10:48 a.m. PST
Somewhere in Nevada

Experience, as they say, is life's greatest teacher.

Odd as it may be ahead of such a monumental opportunity, a sense of calm had fallen over Stephen Terrella just fifteen days out from the High Stakes pay-per-view, at least regarding the Roulette match itself. Last year had been his first taste of the Roulette experience, and while he came up short in that one, he had gained a handle on what the match was. Washed away were the pre-match nerves he had been riddled with last year at this time, the constant feeling of need to try to plan and account for every scenario that may unfold once his number was called. Walking away with twenty-eight other men a loser had taught him it was an impossible task.

An ache shot through his knee as Stephen walked across the front porch of his home, boards creaking under boot with his heavy steps. Drawing near the chair positioned next to the house, he lowers himself down onto it's seat. The warm, desert sun felt good as it bathed the leathery skin on his face. Three times he slaps a can of chewing tobacco against the palm of his hand to pack it, a reintroduction of an old habit. Popping the lid, his meaty fingers dig into the finely ground cuts and place a wad inside his lower lip. Exchanging vices may not be the best trade-off on it's surface, but he was firm in his desire to quit smoking in an effort to improve his conditioning.

Placing his hands behind his head, he leans back in the chair, still feeling some tightness in his back from the grind he has been on. One massive breath would cause to fall, and the rise again. "Loss would still be a good payday," he thought to himself, beginning to look ahead to March twenty-fifth. This, after all, is one of the IWF's premium events. Rumbles sell themselves to consumers, but when the stakes will be as high as they are, the numbers will be through the roof.

Head turning to the side, he spits out onto the sand. "To fucking win though, man...walk into Night Of The Immortals a few miles down the road here, fighting for the World Title," he mused to himself. Imagining the moment, he could practically hear Alison's voice as she announced him as the winner of this contest taking place in his head, and the new World Heavyweight Champion. There was no thought to the adversary on this night, however, because the adversary didn't matter to him. The rush he felt was, in truth, only partly about the belt. The driving force was how his life could change in the span of a few short months by winning the Roulette, prevailing at High Stakes, and potentially even taking a knee to propose to the woman he loved after doing so.

An opening of a door returns his thoughts to the present moment.

"Have you seen my phone," Portia asks Stephen, her head poking through the frame of the door.

Stephen once more pivots his head to the side, projecting his spit over the rail and onto the sand just off the porch. Turning to her, he says: "No, babe, haven't. You leave it in the car?"

Portia bites at her lip, eyes darting to the right as she makes an effort to recall. "I'm not sure. I guess I'll go look there."

"I'll get it, babe. I'm dressed." Stephen lifts himself off the seat, a slight pain darting through his right knee that he acknowledges with a muffled grunt.

"Thank you." With no neighbors for a few miles on either side, Portia steps out onto the porch. "What time is your appointment for that cortisone shot in your knee again? Was it at three?"

"Yeah, three," is his reply.

Drawing closer to him, she wraps her arms around him in a hug. The morning wasn't particularly cold, but in her state of partial-undress, she came in with a slight shiver. "Okay, I'll try to be ready by one. Are you sure this is safe, baby?"

Stephen wraps his arms around her tightly, holding her close. "Yeah, nothing it's nothing to worry about. It'll help with the pain. I took a few when I was playing football, never a big deal. Worst it'll do is flare up for a few days after the needle, then I'll be good for a few weeks through Night Of The Immortals."

"I got to get this knee right, though. I know the big ass brace already puts a target on me, but I can't walk into the Roulette limping on my way to the ring. It'll take about three seconds for one of those motherfuckers to cut me down in the back of the leg. Lot of guys are going to be desperate, and everyone is going to be looking to change their luck."

"That's what scares me," Portia says to him. "I really hope you enter last."

Letting out a soft chuckle, Terrella jokes, "Me too, babe. I'm too damn old to want to enter first and stand out there and fight with twenty-nine guys for an hour. Someone else can prove themselves. I only care about winning, and I'll take the easiest fucking path possible to get there."

"Good," Portia tells Stephen, relieved to hear him say those words. "I think I've been freaking out about this more than you have."

"Don't do that to yourself, babe," Terrella tells Portia. "I got big plans coming up, but I ain't losing sight of what's important. I got you at my side, that's all I need. I'll figure the rest out."