"I used to be gold. Now I'm rust with memory."
He was the flash to Bobby's finesse. The smirk to Jim's snarl. The smooth tan thunder of the Midnight Express. A founding member of the Heavenly Bodies.
And he still is... but now his shine comes with shadows.
He's still got the hips. Still got the footwork. Still got the power to make a whole room grin. But the boys can tell when the lights go out, and Stan's left holding a drink and the weight of everything he ran from.
He trains new talent like a man paying off old debts. He parties like he used to -- but with more whiskey than usual.
And when his daughter, Cassidy, appears on the other side of the ring, draped in glitter and vengeance? Stan doesn't smile anymore.
"I ain't perfect. But I never meant to leave her. Not really. Not for good."
Stan Lane walks like he owns the joint. Laughs like he's not carrying ghosts. Flirts like it's muscle memory -- not habit.
But underneath all of that? A man who knows he failed. A man who really doesn't know how to be a dad.
"I've been called Sweet Stan. Stud Stan. Showtime Stan... I'd trade all of it if she'd just call me Dad once."
Stan Lane is the poster boy for glam and real redemption. Because he's still fighting -- not just in the ring, but for connection. Because he reminds us that legends are human too. And that sometimes? Being sorry is only the start.
He's the razzle-dazzle of the territory era. The pretty boy with a hollowed-out rib where regret lives. The father who showed up too late -- but still stayed.