Kitten

Epilogue

It wasn't as if he had forgotten. More like that time was over. He was a free man, freer than he'd ever been in his life. And as he headed to the gorilla position backstage, body jittering with nerves and excitement, he knew that she was waiting for him at ringside. Like she always had. Like she would continue to do, hopefully for the rest of their lives.

A wave of emotion seared Mox's throat and he quickly rubbed at his eyes. A large fist tapped the back of his shoulder gently. "How you doing, Uce?" Roman asked, his smile tight with his own nerves. "You've got this man. It's all you."

"It's kinda' gotta' be, man. Ya' ain't exactly gonna' fit under the ring in all your fuckin' gear." Jon grinned. "Hell of a secret fuckin' weapon you'd make though."

Roman laughed, pulling him in for a headbutt and squeezing his forearm comfortingly. "You'll do just fine."

"I wish...shit, I wish Callihan coulda' made it." Jon admitted quietly. "He always dreamed of headin' to somethin' like this, the two of us whippin' ass in a legitimate fuckin' promotion."

"There's always next year, Uce."

Jon was startled by the conviction in Roman's voice. "Y' really think I'm gonna' be around? Damn, you'll make me fuckin' cry Reigns."

"I know you'll be around, man. Bet you'll even have a belt. Nice shiny one for your waist. I've dealt with Lesnar before, though. Be careful and you'll come out on top. Barring any unforeseen sneaky bastards cashing in on you, of course." Roman said ruefully.

"'Careful' ain't really in my vocabulary, Reigns." Jon knew that the 'tough guy' act wasn't necessary around Roman, but it was a difficult habit to break.

Reigns rolled his eyes at him. "It is now, Uce. Just think about all the progress you lose if you're out injured. Remember that and it'll help." Roman's smile was knowing. "Think about her."

"Every second I ain't with her, Reigns."

Roman squeezed his arm again, bringing him in for another headbutt. "Stay safe out there. We're rooting for you."

...

The crowd roared deafeningly loud when his music hit.

Jon found himself awestruck, just turning in place on the entrance ramp for a minute to take it all in. Hundreds, thousands of people. Screaming for him. Losing their fucking minds, absolutely going ballistic. For him! Street dog, lunatic, underfed, scrappy, mean-spirited and never-say-fucking-die Jon goddamn Moxley.

Wrestlemania .

This was a once in a lifetime moment and he wished with all his goddamn heart that Callihan could be here to witness it in person, be part of it, instead of watching from home.

"You go the fuck on, Mox. Get ya' shit together, get in there an' beat some fuckin' ass." Sami had encouraged him before he left the CZ warehouse for the final time, giving him a hard wallop on the back. "Don't forget us little people when ya' up there at the top with some fancy fuckin' belt, got it? I'll be cheerin' for ya'. Fucker."

Moxley knew why they had chosen him to play with Brock. He could take a beating, could land on his neck and roll through it to stand again and again. Lesnar wasn't known for being careful or even remotely respectful, a fact that Jon was made painfully aware of once Brock and Paul Heyman made their way to the ring.

Lesnar leaned over the barricade, practically nose to nose with Kitten while Jon stood in the ring, his fists clenched. Mox just had to hope Kitten didn't panic.