This is the first draft he's been through since his return, and he's nearly convinced he's not going anywhere. The worry lingers, however. Perhaps if he moves, or Cade moves, or they both do- one to Smackdown, the other to ECW... all of his plans would be for naught.
It's a step by step plan, however, each day getting him closer to the WWE Title and his age old enemy, HHH, so something stupid like a "draft" cannot change his plans now.
--
He's probably the one who cares the least-- however, if he is drafted now, maybe he'll then get the respect he deserves, craves. A bit of him has always felt homesick for Smackdown, and leaving Santino behind would not break his heart.
He misses the old him, the man who could rage around the locker room, spit out Spanish to people and then literally in their face with apples, and ponders, late at night when he can't sleep and Santino is snoring annoyingly in the bed next to his because no one else will share a room-- or a car, or a restaurant-- with him, if a move would help with that.
--
He wants to stay. Wants to watch from the sidelines as his coulda-been father gets on with his life like that whole nonsense with Hornswoggle never happened.
Call him a masochist, but a part of him still feels like some of Vince McMahon's blood runs through his veins. Even worse, a part of him still wants that, even after months of watching Hornswoggle getting beat down by his so-called father while his true father watched on and let it happen. Thinks maybe if he proves himself, McMahon would finally turn around and acknowledge him as someone worthy of the title "son".
--
He counts the hours, minutes, seconds, as the time comes closer. He's jittery in a way he's never been before. When you have hypermobile shoulders, you get used to it quickly each time you dislocate your shoulders-- which has happened to him more times than he'd care to admit--, but drafts make it difficult to just sit around on the sidelines and wait for your fate to be decided.
He never thought he'd miss the obnoxious hustle bustle of WWE locker rooms, stuck between Carlito and Kennedy, but listening to the silence of his Missouri home broken by the tick... tick... tick... of the clock hanging over his head, he'd gladly take being stuck in a room with both men over this.
--
He's not sure how he feels. Being drafted would be ok-- new territory to conquer, new people to beat, but he likes it on Smackdown-- he has the US title, he can make a name for himself away from his brother here, and his brother can do the same over there. The independence has helped both of their careers greatly, he believes.
However it'll come to the luck of the draw and no matter what the ending outcome is, he'll accept it and take whatever brand he moves to by storm because he refuses to die, simple as that.
--
He only thinks of it late at night, while idly polishing the gold draped across his lap. Morrison simply smirks whenever he mentions it, so he kind of figures it's only important to him, this draft. He doesn't care really if he's moved away from ECW, but the thought of losing the tag team thing he has going with John leaves him frozen in time.
You could've told him a year ago that in June of '08, he'd be sitting on a hotel bed, shining up the tag belts that he and Morrison have worked so hard on retaining the past seven months, and he'd have laughed in your face like you're the biggest idiot he's never met, but here, now, he couldn't picture his career taking any other path.