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❝For what it's worth it was worth all the while . . .❞
Dead air. It is the worst mistake you can make on color commentary but after watching my husband get speared by Bobby Lashley just feet in front of me there were no words. Only fear as I watch him gasp for air on the ground dragging himself trying to get to his feet at all cost.
My heart rattles around in its cage begging for someone to stop this. Roman, Seth—anyone. Lashley yanks Dean upright only to send a clubbing fist against his head. Dean flies backward, against the cleared off commentary table and it's like someone sticks their hand through my chest and clenches my heart freezing it in its place.
Even the most unversed fan knew what was coming.
Bobby scoops him up in the blink of an eye, "No, no, no, no!" Cole says beside me as Bobby throws Dean's broken body through the table. A shriek escapes my lips before I can pull it back. Every muscle every movement tightens, every vertebra in my spinal column is a block of ice. I can't look away.
There are 10,000 feelings of disbelief hole-punched in my heart. Lio and Lashley are hovering over Dean's motionless body with a smug smirk on their faces. I keep waiting for Dean to get back up to continue fighting to push through all this pain he feels in every muscle and bone in his body like he would have just a year ago but when the two assholes start to back away toward the entrance ramp I realize it won't happen.
"Nikki don't--" Graves and Cole's voice falls on deaf ears as I rush up the steps to his side. Not caring how unprofessional it might be. I throw my headset behind me as I drop to my knees.
"Dean?" The prospect of him in pain is like a cold hand clutching my esophagus. I can't catch my breath. I feel like I'm struggling to swallow a toothpick.
His lashes flutter open, his eyes are the perfect shade of cobalt, blue like a blossoming bruise, clear and deep and decided before his eyelids drop back down. "Medic . . . where the hell is the medic?" I shout looking over to the ramp momentarily, Dean stirs under my hand and out of pure instinct I clamp down on his waist.
I feel frantic and unsure of myself my head turning every way as people finally start to help. I know I'm in the way but I can't bring myself to leave his side. "You're gonna fall," I gasp out, "stay still, everything's gonna be okay."
"Let's get him up." The medic says, the ref's nod. I finally take a step back, giving them just enough room to help but making sure Dean's insight.
They pull his arms over their shoulders and help him to his feet. He's helping a little bit, taking clumsy steps stumbling, almost dragging the other men down with him.
I know I'm supposed to stay. It's my job to be impartial, to keep my emotions—my personal life—out of it, still, I'm struggling. My eyes follow the men watching them disappear, my heart feels heavy in my chest. I can't look away.
