I just need to find someplace quiet.

I've been here for three hours. Three hours spent answering the same questions over and over, repeating the same bland reassurances. Three hours having my every move studied, like I'm walking around with a neon sign over my head, a great big arrow pointing down at me, the words "Damaged Goods" flashing in blinking lights. Three hours feeling like some kind of distant relative who has come for a visit and doesn't know where the glasses are kept. If one more person asks how I'm feeling, I'm going to whack them with a chair.

I retreat down a narrow side hallway, made narrower by packing crates that line the walls. At the end, I find the door to a stairwell and slip through it.

Better. The stairwell is cool and dimly lit. I can still faintly hear the crowd above me, but now they seem far away, removed. Climbing to the next landing up, I sit down on the top step and take a deep breath.

Unfortunately, there is no place I can go to escape the noise in my own head.

What if I'm not ready?

Over and over. Every time I think I'm relaxed and calm and ready to go, those words creep up on me. As much as I try to deny them, ignore them, I can't. They won't go away.

What if I'm not ready?

I know my body is ready. I'm as fit as I've ever been. The neck is fine. I've been in the ring a few times to shake off the worst of the ring rust. So if my body is good to go, why isn't my head?

I'm not someone who gets nervous. I suppose you could say that I was born with a dangerous amount of self-confidence. I've never worried about what could happen to me in the ring. Thought about it, sure, but never worried. I just always knew that I'd be okay.

Of course, that was before.

Sighing, I drop my head into my hands. Sometimes I think the rest of my life will be divided in half. Before and after. Before: young and strong and invincible. After: old and shaky and uncertain.

A year is a long fucking time.

Before I can crumble completely in the face of my newfound self-doubt, the door below me opens and Jay sticks his head in. He gives me his lopsided grin and steps in.

"Hey dude. Been looking all over for you."

Straightening, I summon up a smile for him. "Found me."

He leaps up the stairs two at a time and drops down next to me. He sits close enough for our shoulders to touch, slapping my leather-encased thigh in greeting.

There's something you have to know about Jay and I. Okay, well, maybe you don't have to know, but I'm going to tell you anyway.

I love him. I love him in all the ways that it's acceptable to love another man. He's the closest thing I've ever had to a brother, and he's been my best friend since before I understood what those words really meant. He can piss me off faster than anyone else I know, and he seems to live to aggravate me, but he's also the only person in the world that I have absolutely no secrets from.

Do I love him in ways that are less acceptable?

Wouldn't you like to know.

Jay is not someone who can abide silence for long. He asks if I saw his match with Spike, which of course I did, tells me about something stupid that Shane Helms did, and generally chatters on to himself for a couple minutes before he seems to realize that I'm not talking. Then he pauses to look at me.

"Hey, Adam, you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Yeah? Why are you hiding in here, anyhow? You have to go out pretty soon."

"I know."

His eyes narrow slightly as he studies me. "What's the matter? Not nervous, are you?"

I scoff, but it's too late. He saw.

"Wait a minute, are you nervous?"

"Jay…"

"Holy shit, you are nervous!" He laughs, the sound bouncing off the concrete walls around us, echoing back at me. "Adam Copeland is nervous! I have to write down the date or something. This is a momentous occasion…"

"Fuck you, Jay." I snarl, but I'm smiling. I can't help it. He has that effect on me.

Jay continues to laugh, dragging it out further than necessary, leaning against me as he pretends to wipe tears from his eyes. I decide that I'm glad he's there. If anyone can take my mind off my nerves, it's Jay.

On that note, I put my arm around him. He neither moves closer nor pulls away. He just sits there, still chuckling.

"Wait until I tell Chris…and Matt…"

"Oh shut up!" I order. "Or they'll never find the body."

It's a lame threat, and an old one, but he quiets. For a few seconds we just sit together. I slide my hand up to the back of his neck. He relaxes under my touch, still smiling at me. Rubbing his neck gently, I run my fingers through his short hair. He shivers, a blush rising in his cheeks.

"I think I like your hair like this."

"Adam, I cut it, like, months ago."

"I know. I just now decided I like it."

Another long stretch of quiet follows and he shifts a little, looking away from me. I take a deep breath and move my hand away from him.

"Jay?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm nervous."

His eyes meet mine again and he gives me a smile, different from the one I usually see. "I know. The last hour or so, you've been walking around here like you wanted to hit somebody with a chair."

Did I mention that sometimes he can read my mind?

"It's okay to be nervous. I still get nervous just stepping out onto that stage, and I've been doing a few times a week for the past six years."

I nod, but there's no comfort for me there. Because Jay might get nervous, but Jay's not the one who ended up with vertebrae pinching his spinal cord. Jay's not the one who had his throat opened up so they could shove a piece of his hipbone into his neck. Jay's not the one who spent weeks in a hard collar, aware that a single slip could cause him to be paralyzed, or even die. Jay's not the one who had to listen to doctors telling him, for months, that he was still in danger even thought he felt fine. Jay's not the one who lost a year of his career, his life.

"Adam." It's Jay's turn to put his arm around me now. He pulls me close enough to lean our heads together. "It's okay. You're going to be fine."

"I know." Shit, I wish I could make my voice calm and steady, like his.

"You're ready." He says then, rubbing my knee.

"How do you know?"

"I just know." Drawing back, he looks into my eyes. "I may be a miserable bastard, but I know you better than I know myself. You're ready. You're going to go out there, and those people are going to freak out. Girls are going to be crying and screaming and fainting…"

"Just girls?"

"Okay, maybe some guys are going to faint too."

I can smile again, shaking my head slightly. As always, he knows what to say. I can feel myself relaxing, the troublesome voice in my head being drowned out by the sound of Jay's breathing.

He kisses my cheek then, just a quick peck, and moves away. "Ready?"

"Yes. I'm ready."

He gets to his feet and drags me up after him. Before he can move away, I wrap my arms around him. He just stands there, completely trapped in my embrace, his face buried in my leather jacket.

"I missed you, JayJay." I whisper to him.

"Missed you too."

When I release him, he's blushing again, but grinning. "Come on. You go out there and do your best to snap Eric in half, and then I'll take you out and get you sloppy drunk. How's that sound?"

I grin back. "Like old times."

We walk toward the stage entrance together, Jay chattering away. I'm getting nervous again, but I can handle it. I'm starting to think I can handle just about anything, so long as I don't have to handle it alone.

Coming around the last corner, I find myself slowing. There are always a handful of people standing at the gorilla position, watching the monitors or waiting for their own cue. But now…

Everyone is there. From the looks of it, both locker rooms have emptied. I find it difficult to breathe, just seeing them. They notice me approaching and slowly turn toward me.

My friends. My family. There are some faces missing, but there are some new ones, too.

I glance over at Jay and find a mischievous gleam in his eye that tells me he knew about this. Before I can speak, he holds out a hand.

"Welcome home, bro."

Ignoring his hand, I embrace him again. He pulls away after only a couple seconds and gestures to the others.

"Go on." He whispers, and I notice the faintest quiver in his voice despite his smile. "Go."

One by one, they all greet me as I move through them, some shaking my hand, some drawing me in for a hug. All of them say the same thing.

"Welcome home."

"Welcome home, dude."

"Welcome home."

"Welcome home. Good to have you back."

"Welcome home."

"Welcome home, Adam."

"Welcome home, Edge."

When the last of them has parted way before me, I face the curtained tunnel that leads up to the stage. My music hits. Taking a deep breath, wiping the tears off my cheeks, I start walking.

Time to come home.

THE END