Flames

Creating and Evolving, part 1

At first, Seth didn't want to look at it at home. Becky swore up and down that she wasn't envious, but he knew she was—at least in a professional sense. She definitely coveted the Money in the Bank briefcase more than she did any of his ring attire, but she also knew she could more or less steal any of his coats at any time. The briefcase was different. It was one of the few accolades she hadn't earned yet, and now he'd won it twice.

Keeping a secret in a house with a four-and-a-half year old, though, felt like starting the Royal Rumble at number one and trying to avoid being tossed over the top rope. Seth thought opening the box in his office would be safe: Becky and Roux were busy making cookies and he could hear his daughter's lively chatter in the distance. He had to fight to get the packing tape off, though, and when he finally pulled the last piece of tape off and looked up, Roux was standing in the doorway, holding a plate with some cookies. "I knocked, Dada," Roux insisted, "and you said yeah, so that means I could come in."

Seth sighed. They were teaching her about boundaries and privacy, so he was glad she had taken the lesson to heart. He was pretty sure he had muttered yargh, though, while struggling with the last strip of tape, but he couldn't expect Roux to know the difference. "I was just thinking it was time for a cookie break," he replied, taking a cookie from the plate and settling Roux on his lap.

"Mama said that too!" Roux took the other cookie meant for Seth and nibbled on it. "Don't tell Mama," she whispered. "I already had one."

"Here." Seth reached over and broke off a chunk of the cookie. Before his daughter could protest, he added, "Now you only ate part of a cookie."

Roux wasn't too happy about having half of her pilfered cookie taken, but even she knew half a cookie was better than none. "You're smart, Dada." With her free hand, she pointed at the box. "What's that?"

Seth was tempted to say a box, but Roux had inherited her mother's withering stare, so chose honesty instead. "My new Money in the Bank briefcase. They made me a custom one. Wanna see?

"Yeah!" Roux almost dropped the plate in her eagerness to explore the box, but Seth luckily caught it and set it aside. By the time he had turned back, Roux had already pushed back the box flaps and pulled out a smaller box. "Dada!" She jumped up and down so quickly the small box in her hands was a blur, and he could only hope there was nothing breakable in it. "It has my name on it. R-O-U-X," she spelled carefully. "See?" When she finally came to a stop, she thrust the box up at her father and pointed.

When he could finally take the box from his daughter, Seth smiled. Roux's was indeed there, spelled out in big block letters; the sender had even used a box that opened with a pull strip, so Seth opened it a bit and then sat down beside her. "Pull on that," he said, holding the box steady for her.

Roux pulled on the tab so eagerly she nearly lost her balance and toppled over, but Seth quickly reached out to steady her while keeping one hand on the box. "My money!" Roux exclaimed, lifting a lunchbox-sized Money in the Bank replica out of the box. "Mama! I have my own money, like Dada's!"

A moment later, Becky peered around the door frame, brows dipped in confusion. "What's this about money?" Then she looked at the mini briefcase Roux was hugging to her chest and nodded. "Ah. That makes more sense. Oh, those are nice!" She stepped into the room just as Seth was taking his regular-sized briefcase out of the box. It was sleek black with gold lettering, his logo in the middle of the O. "You got your custom one before Naomi finished hers? I'm surprised."

"This is the prototype, but at least I'll get to keep this one," Seth replied, giving the briefcase a once-over before handing it to his wife. He often wondered how she would customize hers and occasionally considered getting her one as a gift, but he knew she had complicated feelings about the accolade. "I'm sure Naomi's is almost done. And she had that bodysuit...."