The crowd inside Chase Field was electric—like, skin-prickling electric—as Jey’s music hit. Phoenix was on fire for him, and rightfully so. Less than forty-eight hours after he and Cody had torn the house down during Money in the Bank weekend, Jey Uso was back out here, battered and bruised but ready to put it all on the line for the World Heavyweight Championship. And I was right there beside him.
I wasn’t out there as a manager. I never was. I wasn’t interested in the spotlight or credit. I was there for one reason—Jey. My friend. My brother in arms. He'd carried the weight of the Bloodline saga, tag title wars, and personal redemption arcs on his back for years. And tonight? I wasn’t letting him carry any of that alone.
I matched his pace as we made our way to the ring, dressed in deep blue gear with silver and white accents—his colors, not mine. Didn’t matter. I wanted him to feel that someone had his back. I stayed quiet beside him, watching every shadow, every movement in the crowd, scanning for anything shady. You couldn’t be too careful when someone like Gunther was involved. Jey paused near ringside, glancing over at me with a small smirk despite the weight of the moment. “You sure you don’t wanna lace up and hop in? I could tag ya in if my ribs explode mid-match,” he teased.
I snorted. “You tag me in, I’ll dropkick Gunther’s jaw into next week, I swear. But nah, I’m better at playing bodyguard.”
He nodded, his smirk softening. “Appreciate you.”
“You know I got you, Uce. Always.”
The lights shifted. That orchestral war march of Gunther’s theme hit like a cold wave. Jey’s jaw tensed. Mine? I clenched it so hard I thought I might break a molar. Gunther walked out like a statue come to life—fresh, focused, and that signature stoicism that made my stomach twist. I’d had beef with that man. Not just rivalry-level stuff. We’d clashed before—he didn’t like interference, and I didn’t like bullies in uniforms calling themselves generals. Safe to say, I was rooting for Jey not just to win—but to humble him. My fists curled as Gunther entered the ring. I didn’t say a word, just locked eyes with him from the floor. He glanced my way—barely—and looked past me like I was some fan in the third row.
I smiled thinly.
Arrogant prick.
Then the bell rang. And Jey exploded out the gate. He was a storm—quick jabs, springboard elbows, ducking and diving, not giving Gunther an inch. I was yelling before I knew it. “Let’s GO, Uce!”
Gunther tried to set his base—he couldn’t. Jey was too fast, too relentless. For the first few minutes, Gunther didn’t know what hit him. But it didn’t last. Gunther’s ring IQ was next level, and he found the target like a sniper—Jey’s taped ribs. One brutal chop, and I swear I heard it echo across the outfield.
“Damn it!” I shouted, pounding the barricade. “Come on, Jey, you got this!”
Gunther was merciless—kicks, stomps, stretches. Each move was calculated and cruel. Jey gritted through it, jaw tight, refusing to give in. Then came the sequence. Jey hit a spear outta nowhere, followed by the Uso Splash—and I was on my feet, screaming with every cell in my lungs.
“One! Two—THREE—!”
The ref’s hand stopped just shy. I threw my hands up, head tilted to the heavens. “That was three! Are you kidding me?!”
Gunther answered like a demon—massive splash, then a spear of his own that nearly folded Jey in half. Jey kicked out. Barely. I dropped to my knees at ringside, chest heaving like I was in the match too. “You’re still in this,” I whispered. “Don’t you quit on me.”
Back-and-forth, move-for-move, they countered each other like chess masters. The crowd was losing it. So was I. But then came the sleeper. Gunther wrapped around Jey like a damn constrictor, squeezing the fight right out of him. I slammed my palm on the ring apron, shouting so hard my throat burned.
“BREATHE, Jey! Get to the ropes!”
Jey fought. I saw it—his arm moved. Once. Twice. He almost got free. But Gunther wasn’t letting go. He tightened the hold. And Jey... stopped. His body sagged. The ref checked. Then—
Ding ding ding.
The bell rang. And my heart sank. Gunther stood, breathing like he hadn’t broken a sweat, holding the World Heavyweight Championship like it was some inevitable trophy. I didn’t even glance at him. I was in the ring the second the ref backed off. “Hey, hey,” I murmured, sliding to my knees beside Jey. “I got you. I'm right here.”
He groaned, eyes fluttering open, his body drenched in sweat and pain. I gently pulled him upright, supporting his weight. “You gave him hell,” I whispered. “You didn’t lose. Not like that. You reminded every damn person in this stadium who the hell Jey Uso is.”
He leaned against me, taking a few deep breaths. The crowd was chanting now—“UCE-O! UCE-O!”
I looked up at Gunther’s retreating form. He glanced back, smug. I didn’t blink. Just narrowed my eyes like I wanted to set him on fire. “Keep walking, General,” I muttered under my breath. “You’ll answer for this one.”
Jey stirred and slowly pushed himself to his feet with my help. I wrapped an arm around his waist and helped him steady himself. He looked around, taking in the chants. Then he asked quietly, “You think I should say something?”
I nodded. “They need to hear you. And you need to say it.”
He took the mic, still leaning on me for support. “This ain’t the end of the story,” he said, voice rough but real. “I’m down… but I ain’t done. I’ll be back. And I’ll be better.”
The place erupted. I smiled and wrapped my arm tighter around him as we made our way to the back. “Damn right you will,” I said. “And when you are? That title’s comin’ home.”
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and then Add to home screen.