CHAPTER ONE

APRIL

The greatest thing about professional wrestling is that "crazy" is not only normal, but embraced. This is a very good thing, because I'm crazy. Like, legally. I am clinically diagnosed and everything. The technical term is "bipolar." That means when I'm up, sometimes I'm too up. That can lead to serious issues, including delusions of grandeur and thinking really horrible ideas are actually extremely good ones. When I'm down, I'm so down I don't think I'll ever be up again. That can lead to frequent panic attacks and crying fits as well as the inability to shower, get out of bed, or think about anything except how much everything absolutely sucks and will never get any better.

As I had to explain to WWE Creative, being bipolar does not mean I am running around kissing leprechauns. (Not that I'm opposed to that sort of thing. Hornswoggle, or as I know him, Dylan is a friend. A peck on the cheek isn't out of the question.) I also don't dance with dinosaurs from outer space, although if that's your idea of a fun night, by all means, do your thing.

My name is April, but you probably know me as AJ Lee. I am a tiny, neurotic, nerdy wrestler who redefined what it is to be a woman in the business. Usually, I spend my time beating people up for money. Occasionally (okay, so maybe a bit more often than that), I suffer from very big, sometimes public nervous breakdowns. I am medicated for the safety of myself and others. I am full of sarcasm and I am not afraid to use it. No one is safe. (Cue the evil villain laughter.)

There. I put it all on the table. If you're still here, great! Welcome to the insanity. Now, on with the story.

I was wandering the streets of New York, too wired after RAW to go back to my hotel. I was also hoping to avoid the stalker fans. Let me explain something to everyone. I am a person. Like, an actual human being. Yes, I'm famous. No, that does not give you the right to follow me, demand to take selfies with me, or touch me... Especially that last one. Stalking wrestlers in parking lots, hotels, or airports is creepy. Now, if you see me and ask me nicely, I might pose for a picture or sign your action figure, but if you jump out of the bushes and make demands, I'm going to scream and run the other way... And I might punch you. Fair warning.

Anyway, I thought I was safe, but then a group of guys appeared out of nowhere. Either they were ninjas or they were practicing to become John Cena, but I didn't see them until I was surrounded.

"AJ, oh my God, I love you!" One said.

"Sign my arm," one insisted.

"Can I get a pic?" Another asked.

This was what I got for walking around without WWE Security late at night. "I'm sort of in a rush," I said politely. One of them snapped a selfie that I was certain featured me glaring at him.

A fourth guy grabbed my arm. "Let me go," I said firmly.

He gripped me tighter instead. "Why you gotta be like that, Bitch?" He asked. "We're fans. We're just supporting you. You should be nicer."

I was tempted to respond with a deeply sarcastic retort, but another guy appeared and fear kicked in. I'd been ambushed, and I was starting to seriously fear for my safety. Mob mentality is a powerful thing. As one of them grabbed me and forcibly kissed me, his friends laughed.

I struggled to free myself. "Back off!" I shouted. I struggled to come up with an escape plan, but I had nothing. Come on, April. You can do this. You're a badass, I told myself. You can get out of this. I'd been in worse situations before. Growing up essentially homeless had taught me to be very tough at a very young age.

"I thought you'd like that," he insisted. "Loosen up, Bitch!"

Another idiot grabbed my ass. The one holding my arm hadn't let me go. I couldn't hit anyone, so I kneed the one who'd grabbed my ass in the crotch. He cried out in pain.

"I thought you'd like that!" I shouted. "Loosen up, Bitch!" Perhaps it wasn't wise to mock the guys trying to attack me, but that's just who I am. Stick me in a bad situation and the sarcasm comes out.

This earned hysterical laughter from his friends. The guy was mad now. "Stupid slut!" He shouted. He tried to grab me, and I was certain I was screwed, but someone grabbed his arm.

DEAN

I really hate morons. I also hate assholes who pick on women. Because of these things, when I saw a group of five guys surrounding a small, terrified girl, I acted first and thought about it later. They could have had guns or knives or something, but that didn't matter. It wouldn't be the first time I got stabbed or shot. I figured I could take the punks.

I grabbed the one trying to actively attack the girl. I felt something snap as I twisted his arm away from her and was satisfied as he cursed in pain.

"Anyone else wanna fuck with me?" I demanded.

"Holy shit, dude!" One cried out. "You're Dean Fucking Ambrose!"

"I think he broke my arm," the guy I'd grabbed said.

"Maybe he'll sign the cast," the guy still restraining the girl said.

I forcibly separated them and threw the guy on the ground, slamming my foot against his stomach and putting all of my body's weight onto that foot. "Maybe I'll sign the imprint of my boot on your gut! Get the fuck out of here before I go straight CZW on your dumb asses," I said. I knew I could get in some serious shit for physically assaulting fans, but I get into serious shit pretty much every other day, so that wasn't a big deal to me.

I looked at the trembling girl as they ran and realized I knew her. "April?" I asked. "Jeez... Are you alright?" I became angrier realizing they'd been picking on one of my friends.

"I think so," she replied. "Thanks... That could have ended badly... Although I'm sure I could have gotten myself out of it. I'm not a damsel in distress..." Then, the reality of what had happened seemed to set in. I thought she might start crying, but instead, she began laughing hysterically.

"Um... Are you sure you're okay?" I asked.

"He wanted you to sign his friend's cast!" She said through her laughter. "Like, hold up, I'ma let you kick his ass, but first... Do you have a Sharpie?" She put on a super-serious face as she asked the last part.

Now, I was laughing, too. "Fucking Marks," I said. "Come on, let me walk you back to the hotel. If anyone tries to get stupid, I'll unleash her." I motioned toward the fork I always keep in my pocket. It's something I started doing as a kid. When you're pretty much living on the street, you learn to adapt. A fork could be used to eat food that I somehow miraculously discovered, or it could be used as a weapon against assholes who wanted to hurt me. Either way, she was always by my side. That fork was the most stable, reliable relationship I'd ever had.

"How very CZW of you," April said. People at WWE were used to my quirks.

"I told them I'd Mox-out on them. I don't give that warning unless I can back it up." Jon Moxley had been my CZW ring name. I might have been forced to play it a bit more PG in WWE, but Mox would always be a part of me. He represented the darkest parts of me, and also the most damaged ones. I'd dropped the name when I got to WWE, and I liked being Dean. I liked it so much, in fact, that I'd stopped using my birth name all together. There were a million and one guys named some variation of Jon in WWE, and I didn't connect with the name. Jon Good was a scared little kid who'd barely survived an extremely fucked-up childhood. Moxley was stronger, but angry and extremely psychotic. But Dean Ambrose? He was all grown up, and he was through taking everyone's shit. (Don't get me wrong. Dean's psychotic, too… I'm just slightly quieter about it sometimes now.) That's why I don't let anyone in WWE call me anything but Dean. It's who I choose to be, and unless you knew me during my indy days, it's the name you need to use if you don't want to find out how it feels to have a fork in your neck.

We walked back to the hotel without incident. I took April to her room, just to make sure she was safe. Only when I made it back to the room I shared with Colby Lopez, a.k.a. Seth Rollins, did I realize how lucky we'd been that things hadn't gone in a different direction.

"You okay, Dean?" Colby asked as he looked up from a comic book. Have I mentioned that Colby's a total dork? I love him anyway, but it's the truth.

"Yeah," I replied.

"Liar. What's wrong?" Colby always knows when I'm upset.

"There was almost an incident... But it's okay. I just beat a couple of marks up."

"Seriously? You can't beat up fans, Dean. You'll get us sued, and they'll fire you-"

"They assaulted April." I didn't think she'd mind me telling Colby that. Everyone knows I tell Colby and Joe everything. They are my brothers.

"Did you make them bleed?" Colby asked, immediately changing his tune.

This was why we're family. Colby gets me. Joe does, too, but it's different with him. He's Roman Reigns, a wrestling legacy. That means he was born into greatness. Colby and I were indy guys. We had to fight for every scrap we got. For a long time, I resented Joe, but it wasn't really his fault. We fought like crazy at times, but I knew he'd take a bullet for me even in the darkest days of our friendship, and I'd gladly have done the same for him. That's still true.

I curled up next to Colby, too frustrated by the morons to relax. He pet my head affectionately and allowed me to take over half of his bed as I fell asleep. This wasn't unusual for us. It was almost a routine, and it never failed to calm me down.

ELLIOT

It had been a hell of a night. The after-party was still going. I had learned to hang with my CZW family early into my training. Most of them didn't know I'd only been fifteen then. After running away to save myself, I'd gone straight to Combat Zone Wrestling in New Jersey. I didn't have any money, but I was desperate, so I'd offered to trade sex for training. Try not to judge me. I grew up with a father who ran in circles where children were treated as currency. It just wasn't that big of a deal to me. I'd been sold for years. At least I was doing this to take care of myself.

It went on for six months. I couch surfed with various CZW guys as I trained. DJ Hyde, the owner of the promotion, was happy to keep our deal going until one day, I crashed with Matt Tremont. I don't know what gave me away, but he sat beside me the next morning.

"How old are you, JD?" He had asked.

"Eighteen," I lied.

"I won't turn you in, but tell me the truth."

I knew I was busted. Matt had always been nice to me, but this was it. My training was over. I sighed. "I'm fifteen," I admitted.

"Whatever you ran from, let me help."

I stared at him. "What?"

"You are a girl who's clearly been through a lot. I won't send you back to a bad situation, but you can't keep trading your body like that."

"I don't mind. I have to train, Matt."

"And you will." He pulled out a ridiculously large wad of cash. "I'm paying for your training to continue."

"But... Why?" I wondered if he wanted me to have sex with him now. He had a wife, but that didn't stop a lot of the guys.

"Because I believe in you, JD. And you deserve a chance."

Those words had meant more to me than he could ever know. And so, I stopped being the unofficial prostitute of CZW and became a respectable wrestler. Two months later, I was actually good enough to have my first really horrible match at Dojo Wars. Dojo Wars is to CZW what NXT is to WWE. It's a place for the students and the greener wrestlers to have their moment. The shows cost about $5 (or a toy donated at Christmas time) and unless they're paired with an actual CZW show, they draw a pretty small (but very loyal) crowd. It was still the greatest moment of my life. It lasted four minutes and thirty-three seconds, and Brittany Blake absolutely squashed me, but it was amazing. I was a real wrestler!

Brittany's one of my favorite girls to work with. She's super talented and can kick the asses of every single guy in CZW. She's this tiny punk girl who is gorgeous to look at but not very intimidating, but that doesn't stop her.

Fast-forward to over a year later, and I was doing shows every week. This was good, because I hated living off of people, and at least this let me feed myself. Even if I wasn't wrestling, I would play valet, manager, or ring crew just to gain some more experience. I didn't get booked on CZW's big shows, which were reserved for the guys and an extremely limited number of girls. A lot of the time, there were no girls wrestling on the card. They put the women on the WSU shows instead. I was usually booked either there or at Dojo Wars. I also worked for random local promotions. Most were less than legitimate, but a few were great. The best part was getting to meet other wrestlers I'd previously idolized. Tommy Dreamer had pretty much adopted me, so anytime we were at a show together, he went out of his way to make sure I was okay. For a while, Brian Myers had tried to convince me to train at his school, Create A Pro, instead of at CZW. He was worried I was going down a bad path and told me as much, but I couldn't afford to pay tuition on my own, so I politely turned him down. I was crushed when Brian ran off to WWE to become Curt Hawkins again, but I knew he needed to do it. I still missed him.

"You're looking hot tonight, JD," Johnny Silver of the Beaver Boys said.

"You're looking drunk," I teased him. Johnny was okay for short amounts of time, but he could be a jerk.

"You're not exactly sober, either, Princess."

He had a point. I'd already done three shots of Jack Daniels and smoked a blunt with Conor Claxton behind the bar. My fake ID was a wonderful thing.

"What are you doing here, anyway? You weren't on the card," I said.

"It's Cage of Death, JD!" He said, like I'd blasphemed with my words. "I never miss Cage."

"No, Johnny, it was a bachelor party in a shitty backyard," I corrected him.

"Hmmm… Well, there was blood, anyway."

"It's CZW. There's always blood."

He pulled me closer to him. I could smell the beer on his breath. "We should make out," he said practically.

"No, Johnny, I don't think we should," I said politely.

"Come on, JD! We can have ourselves a little party." He had me pinned against the bar. I could feel him getting hard.

"Knock it off, Johnny," I said firmly.

"Come on, Baby... We all know you're no virgin."

I was getting ready to punch him when someone got between us. "Leave the kid alone, Asshole," Alex Reynolds said. Alex was Johnny's tag partner and best friend, but honestly, sometimes it seemed like the two of them hated each other.

"But she's hot, Alex!" Johnny whined.

"Dude, seriously, go sober the hell up." He took my hand and led me to another corner of the bar. "Are you okay?" He asked.

"Yeah. I can handle morons," I assured him.

"Who are you crashing with tonight?"

"Janelope."

He smirked at the couple name. Even before they announced it, everyone had known Joey Janela and Penelope Ford were an item. I adored them both. Penelope had taken me under her wing at the Dojo right away, and Joey was a really funny guy. I'd expected "the Bad Boy" to be an asshole, but he could be surprisingly sweet.

"I'll give you a lift. They bailed a little while ago," Alex said.

I got into his car. Although the Beaver Boys didn't get booked at CZW much anymore, Alex was literally everywhere on the indies. I knew him pretty well, and I trusted him not to try to violate me, unlike his tag partner.

"I'm sorry Johnny's a jerk," Alex said.

"It's okay," I replied.

"It's not. You're not even legal."

"Yes I am-"

"I'm not an idiot, JD. Don't treat me like one. I know you're a minor."

"How?"

"Tremont doesn't swoop in to rescue every girl Hyde brings into his little harem, but he's also not the kind of guy to let a kid be taken advantage of."

"I knew what I was doing."

"That doesn't mean you should have had to do it. Hyde's an asshole." He paused. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen." It was pointless to lie. Alex knew.

"What are you doing in a place like CZW?"

"Training and paying my dues so I can make it."

"Okay, but why here? There are safer, less insane wrestling schools out there."

"Because it's my legacy."

He raised an eyebrow at that. It had just sort of slipped out. I'd known my brother had come from CZW, and that was why I'd run away to New Jersey, but no one knew that. I remember watching the Shield the day they debuted at Survivor Series. I'd looked at those men... those Gods... And been mystified. My father had laughed at me and blurted out that Dean Ambrose was my brother. I hadn't believed him until I googled Dean and saw that his last name was the same as mine. For once, the son of a bitch wasn't lying. And that was the day that I decided if my brother could escape and become someone awesome, so could I. My ring name had been chosen partly to honor him, and the hope he'd inspired in me.

"Your legacy?" Alex asked.

"Sure," I said, trying to cover up my mistake. "I'm on the path I feel is destined. It'll all make a great story someday!"

Alex let it go. I'd been known as a dreamer since pretty early in my training. That's how "living the dream" had become my tag line. The one t-shirt I sold read, "Joanna Dean, Living the Dream!" It was black with purple lettering and a cartoon version of me gleefully smiling and raising my arms in the air. Penelope had designed it, and Sami Callihan and Jess Havok had paid to order them as a gift to celebrate my first match at WSU. The money I made from selling the shirts was mine to keep, and it helped me cover the costs of day-to-day living. (You know, deodorant, shampoo, soap, and coffee... If I had money left over, it went to food or transportation costs if I had to get myself to a random show.) I had made enough to order a second run of the shirts. As a birthday present, Penelope, Brittany, and Christina (who wrestled under Solo Darling) had paid for me to get promotional photos taken and had even printed them up so I could sell autographs at shows. I really had the greatest friends here.

"We're here," Alex said. He helped me get the suitcase I lived out of from his car and walked me to the door. "Have a good night, Kid. And stay safe."

Alex left as Penelope embraced me. Joey offered me a spot next to him on the couch as he put Netflix back on. Penelope curled up on his other side. I watched the random slasher movie with mild interest until both Penelope and I fell asleep on Joey. I was pretty sure Joey had no issue with two girls falling asleep on him, and if he did, he kept it to himself before he passed out, too.

This was a typical day in my life, and I liked it that way. I had no idea that with one random decision, the brother who had no clue I existed was about to change everything.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks for reading! There's plenty more to come now that we're past the introduction. I hope you are enjoying the story so far. Reviews are very much appreciated.