“Ooomph! Thathadto hurt. Jazz is outnumbered and outmatched right now. Maybe joining The Glam Squad wasn’t the right move for her,” Amanda comments.
“Wait! Look out! Look who’s coming!” Mike shouts.
Before Talia and I get Jazz into a pin, Eva and Sasha come barreling into the ring and rip Talia away.
“The Glam Squad is here, and they willnotlet their newest teammate go down without a fight!” Mike says.
The five of us are in an all-out brawl in the ring. Me and Eva are facing off while Talia’s battling against Jazz and Sasha. The crowd is going crazy, just like we’d hoped they would. This is a championship belt match. We have been planning this for weeks, and we’re giving everything we’ve got. There’s no holding back, and we’re making sure everyone has a moment to shine and work the crowd in some way. Contracts will be issued depending on how tonight’s events go, and Iwant all these women with me next year, and the year after. We make each other so much better by pushing and supporting one another.
Eva tries to wrangle out of the headlock I have her in by throwing an elbow into my gut. I stumble back, wedged in the corner of the ring. Talia is on the other end of the ring, on her knees, with Sasha holding her arms behind her back, while Jazz delivers hits and kicks to her body. I lunge forward and scoop Eva up, hoisting her onto my shoulder. The crowd sees what I’m about to do, but Jazz and Sasha don’t see me coming. Eva adjusts so that I’m holding her over my head in both hands and I launch her at Jazz. Talia moves at the last second, just before Eva crashes into Jazz, taking Sasha down with her, like a couple of human bowling pins.
I help Talia up, our hands gripping around each other’s wrists. Jazz is the first of the trio to get to her feet, and she stumbles, getting her bearings. Time for phase three of the match.
I race over to Jazz as she’s still dazed and off balance. I wind up for my new signature move, the chaos kick, and it lands perfectly, my boot making contact with the side of Jazz’s head—at least that’s how we sell it to the crowd—and Jazz goes flying against the ropes and flopping down to the floor. Leaving her alone to writhe in pain, Talia and I train our sights on Eva and Sasha.
“Oh! That had to hurt. The chaos kick is a lethal move by Margeaux. I never thought I’d see the day that she would use it on her former teammate and partner, Jazz,” Mike says as Jazz continues to struggle on the ground.
“Seriously! This match is crazy. These women are relentless, and you can see the ref doesn’t know what to do. He can’t stop them,” Amanda says.
“There’s a lot of tension between these two teams. I don’t think anything can be done until one person is officially the last woman standing.”
Sasha and I are paired off, while Talia handles Eva. I manage to throw Sasha out of the ring, and Devon, our ref yells that she’s out and cannot return to the ring. The crowd gets louder, cheering, applauding, stomping their feet. The entire arena is shaking.
“Whoa! Jazz is up, and she looks pissed!” Amanda says.
Jazz shakes her head, looking like she’s waking up from a dream, or a daze.
“Amanda, I think that chaos kick from Margeaux Wild has knocked Jazz out of the glamour spell from The Glam Squad,” Mike says.
“I think you’re right, Mike. Look at her. She’s got that intense look on her face and she’s even tying her hair up like she did when she was with Margeaux on Below Zero.”
They’re one hundred percent correct.Jazz is back!Talia and I have each of Eva’s arms pulled out to the side, the three of us leaning against the ropes, trying to out-muscle each other. Jazz runs from the middle of the ring to the ropes on the opposite side and slingshots herself at the three of us. The force from her slamming into us, knocks Eva and Talia out of the ring. Devon waves his hands and shouts that Eva and Talia are out of the match.
It’s still Jazz and me; we can’t both win the match, but we’re back on the same team. I crouch down and bend my fingers in a come-here motion. Jazz gives me a knowing smirk, and the match is back on. Jazz sprints for me, with the intent to tackle me out of the ring. Using my height and strength to my advantage, I scoop her up and slam her onto her back on the floor with a loud crash.
I pin Jazz down, holding her legs up in an uncomfortable stretch. Devon makes it to the count of two before Jazz is able to pop her shoulders off the floor and head butts me in the face. I fall off her. Jazz is quick to scramble out of my grip and delivers two drop kicks—one to my chest and one to my stomach. I clutch my midsection in agony. Jazz ascends the ropes, looking down on me and folds her hands into the shape of a heart over her chest. She blows me a kiss before springing off the top rope and tucking her knees into her chest, completing a double somersault before laying out on me and knocking any remaining air out of my body. We practiced Jazz’s signature move dozens anddozensof times before we felt confident with it.
“What wasthat?!”
“I’d say that’s Jazz Hart’s signature move: The Hart Drop, Mike.”
“And she just dropped Margeaux Wild like a sack of potatoes, Amanda!”
“Jazz Hart has Margeaux Wild in a pin. The ref hits the floor—that’s one! That’s two! That’s three!!! Jazz Hart is your new female champion!”
Jazz’s muscles relax as Devon makes the final count.
“Holy shit! Holy shit! Did we just do that?” Jazz cries into my ear, still lying on top of me.
“Yea, girl. Now get off me and get your belt!” I tell her, giving her a big hug.
Jazz gets to her feet, and her face is flushed as she cries astonished tears of joy. Despite how much we practiced, we were prepared for Devon to let us know if the match directors called for a different outcome. I’m so glad that Jazz came out on top.
“Ladies and gentlemen! Fans of all ages! Please give your loudest round of applause for your new women’s champion: Jazz Hart!!!”
The crowd is inexplicably loud, and I’ve never felt prouder. Jazz holds the bedazzled belt over her head, smiling the biggest smile I’ve ever seen from her. I let my tears flow. Of course, I wish it could be me with the belt in my hands. This sport isn’t about the wins. It’s about the message we’re sending. It’s about the trails we’re blazing for younger girls.
Jazz takes the microphone to give her big speech. I get to my feet and shuffle out of the ring, scanning the crowd for a familiar face. That’s when I feel his eyes. Everyone else in the crowd is watching Jazz. Cheering for Jazz. Jon is looking atme. His dark eyes are filled with genuine adoration and awe. His lips mouth the three words I never knew would have such a profound effect on me.
