Lights glared down on the ring, bright white beams cutting through the otherwise darkened room as it cast a spotlight on the mat. Around the stadium, people cheered from their seats, some up on their feet making bets as they watched the two fighters circle like sharks before going in for the kill. The ropes around the ring strained as one of the wrestlers is pushed to the side, their feet scuffing against the mat to gain some traction to push back.

Abby Anderson. Up-and-coming WWE star, six feet of muscle, and a force to be reckoned with. When she was in a match she was no-nonsense, usually letting her opponent wear themselves out before she took them down. Tonight she was up in the ring, sweat beading down her forehead, braid swinging as she dodged a hit, side-stepping the other woman.

You weren’t even sure how she was put in this match, considering she likely had the upper hand over her competitor. But that issue seemed to be overlooked by the referee and the other coach, as this girl was completely ignoring any predictions of loss. She was quick on her feet and seemed to be a bit shorter than Abby, but that made it easier for her to slip away from any attempts to pin her.

It’s not like Abby was being much help either, since she was ignoring every single thing you tried to tell her. Instead she was off in her own world, completely oblivious to your yelling from the corner. It was to the point where some days you genuinely considered quitting and telling her to find a new coach. Her manager got paid enough to do that, and you knew it for a fact.

She had recently lost her father in a car accident as he was driving home from the gym one evening. The truck came out of nowhere, blowing through the red light and pinning Jerry’s car against a light post. Not only was he family, but he was her coach as well. He started out in a career as a sports technician, but became a trainer when he realized he could predict injuries and teach fighters how to avoid them in the first place, saving a handful of young careers. Now, that was gone.

You had worked at the gym Jerry ran, being a part time trainer since you were out from an injury that made wrestling too much of a risk to your future help. So, instead of dropping the sport altogether, you found a different way to be involved. You’d seen Abby around obviously, but it was mostly in passing, and she didn’t necessarily seem to appreciate your tips much. Different styles of fighting clashed, and you decided it was better to just let her figure herself out.

For the first few weeks after her father passed, she started working with you, albeit begrudgingly. She would listen to your advice, but very rarely was it ever actually applied. It’s like no one could compare to her father in her mind, and your style was not one she wanted to adopt. You stopped counting the number of times you argued with her, threatening to quit if she didn’t start taking you seriously.

Still somehow, you stayed since you didn’t necessarily want to leave her alone entirely. You were going to do the best you could to help her, even if she was a pain to rationalize with. You watched as she missed out on a perfectly clear shot yet again. She was distracted— too in her head— but too stubborn to hear your voice.

Abby turned away for a moment as you were trying to warn her, and the world slowed for a moment as her opponent leapt from the ropes, legs wrapping around Abby’s neck and slamming her onto her front. Her arms were pinned, one of her legs pulled up so she couldn’t stand. You were practically screaming for her to get up, but the ref counted her out before she could move.

You basically dragged her back to her dressing room, your eyes narrowed and your shoulders tensed as you worked on getting her face cleaned up, muttering under your breath despite the fact that she could very well hear you. She caught you by the wrist as you tried to patch a nick in her eyebrow, making you freeze.

“I don’t need you to do that. Just back off, would you?”