November 17, 1998 – 11:48 PM – I-95 Northbound
The post-show air was cold enough to bite, and steam rose from the vents outside the CoreStates Center as wrestlers loaded into the charter buses. The show's energy was still in everyone's muscles, but the mood was winding down into that strange mix of fatigue and adrenaline only the road could create.
J.J. climbed onto the second bus — the one for mid-carders, agents, and the occasional veteran who wanted a quieter ride. The low hum of conversation and the faint smell of fast food wrappers greeted him.
He slid into an empty seat toward the middle, duffel bag at his feet. Across the aisle, Al Snow was digging into a greasy paper bag of cheesesteaks.
"You survived Philly," Al said without looking up. "Not bad."
Unexpected Acknowledgment
Halfway down the aisle, Hardcore Holly was talking quietly to Crash Holly and D'Lo Brown. When J.J. walked past to toss his jacket into the overhead, Holly glanced at him.
"You didn't flinch," Holly said flatly. "Most new guys do when I lay it in. Keep it that way."
It wasn't a smile, but it was the closest thing to an endorsement Holly gave.
The Ride
The bus rumbled onto the highway, Philly's city lights fading in the distance. Some wrestlers played cards in the back — Owen Hart dealing, Steve Blackman watching with his usual quiet intensity. Others leaned against the windows, headphones on.
J.J. kept his gaze forward, watching the dark stretch of road ahead.
Stephanie passed through the aisle from the front, clipboard in hand. She paused at his row.
"You didn't embarrass yourself tonight," she said with a faint grin.
"I'm flattered," he replied, tone dry.
She gave a soft chuckle, then kept walking toward the front of the bus.
Late-Night Stop
An hour into the ride, the driver pulled into a 24-hour diner off the interstate. Inside, the group took over three booths, filling the place with laughter, big plates of pancakes, and the clink of coffee cups.
Al Snow leaned over from the next booth. "You keep fighting like that, and in a year you might not have to carry your own bags."
J.J. smirked. "I don't mind carrying them. For now."
The Road Ahead
Back on the bus, he leaned against the window, watching the blur of highway lights. His ribs ached, his neck was sore, but he felt alive. The Philly crowd hadn't chewed him up. Holly hadn't broken him.
Somewhere down this road, the European Championship was waiting. He didn't know when, but he knew one thing — every night like this was a step closer.