“Now don’t think you two are going to sit out inactive until January,” Rob continued with a small laugh. “You guys are going to be doing double time until you make your main roster debuts. You will both still be on the winterAftershocktour, but you’ll be getting dates added. Dark matches forShowdown. We want to see what you guys can do against the vets, the seasoned, and the best of the best. You guys are solid, but we want to see what you both can do when you’re up against people with titles and records under their belts.”
Cal stiffened in his seat next to me. His face never faltered or showed any kind of emotion, he was a statue of indifference, but his body language screamed something else completely. The tension radiated off him like heat from pavement. He hated losing control, and being thrown into the deep end with main roster vets was the ultimate loss of control.
“And I expect to see you both busting your asses at the PC when you’re home. From here on out, a break doesn’t exist, for either of you. Every waking moment is training, matches, repeat. This is the big leagues now, boys. And now, it’s really your time to prove why the fuck you’re here.”
Cal and I nodded in sync, uncertain if actually speaking right now was the wisest decision. The weight of the offer felt like gravity increasing in the room.
We both signed our contracts that day, practically giving our lives away to the UWF for the next five years, and I don’t think either one of us gave a damn.
We left the office separately, neither speaking a word, partly from shock, but also from the pure adrenaline of what the last two hours became. “Timeless” Silas Reed and Deadlock wereofficiallymain roster slated, but more importantly, we were pay per view slated, and then, straight forShowdownweekly come January.
By the next day, we were on a plane, heading to Cincinnati, Ohio. The plan was tight: fly in today, work theShowdowndark match tomorrow night against a main roster tag team, and then fly out immediately to make theAftershockshow the day after that.
We had no days off. We probably wouldn’t have any until we retired or died.
Rob had gone over the creative plan with us. They wanted to introduce us slowly to the live crowds. OurShowdownmatches would be tag matches where Cal and I were forced to partner up, “dysfunctional partners” was the term the writers used. We would be facing established main roster talent, labeled as fill ins for absent teams. This would gauge the fan response and give management an idea of if we were worth a damn on the big stage.
These dark shows… they were our make or breaks. This determined if we were just mid-card guys with two-minute matches, or main eventers with enough heat to tear down arenas every week.
Neither of us mentioned the night on the balcony again.
But I couldn’t get it the fuck out of my head. I wasn’t quite sure why. Or the way Cal looked at me after our last match in Orlando. Was I imagining this? But more importantly, did I care? Did I want him to?
The thought of even questioning my sexuality made me feel like my head was spinning. I didn’t have time for that. I didn’t have the capability to be anything else, or to care in that way. My life, and my entire being, was wrestling. It didn’t matter if I wanted to fuck men, women, or both. I didn’t have the time or space in my world to make room for such things. I was a machine built for a specific purpose, and lust was just a glitch in the programming.
But fuck, sometimes the thought of it made me hard all over again, and it made me feel like I was losing my goddamn mind.
There was no doubt that Cal was attractive. Anyone with eyes could see that. Though we were similar builds, standing nearly eye to eye, me at six three, him just below at six one, Cal was different. He was denser. More lethal.
Where I was built for aerodynamics, he looked like he was carved out of granite rather than built in a gym. His definition was terrifyingly precise. The V of his hips was etched with veins, thick, roped vascularity that disappeared into the waistband of his gear. They were details I should have never noticed when he changed in the locker room, but I did. Every single time. I found my eyes tracing them before my brain could catch up to stop me.
His face was just as severe, all chiseled angles and sharp planes. He had a jawline defined enough to cut the tension in the room, usually shadowed by a day’s worth of dark stubble. His hair was dark brown, nearly black, usually swept back or falling into his face in sweaty strands, which only made his hazel eyes more prominent. They were chameleons, sometimes a bright, predatory green hue under the arena lights, other times closer to a burning amber with flecks of gold when he was tired or angry.
And then there was the ink.
His tattoos only made him look more rigid, a chaotic tapestry of black and grey that seemed to tighten around his muscles. Intricate designs resembling spiderwebstangled around his elbows and climbed up his arms, disappearing beneath his shirt collar to lick at his collarbones. A massive, dark chest piece peeked out whenever he moved, and a faded, jaggedNo One Like Usin gothic script stretched across his stomach, surrounded by smaller, filler pieces that looked like battle scars.
There were so many of them, but the one I always looked at, the one I couldn’t look away from, was the worn lettering across his knuckles that spelled outDEADLOCKin an old school font.
I asked him about it once. He said it was the first one he ever got, and laughed about how stupid he felt walking around with just his knuckles tattooed at freshly eighteen.
Cal noticed me chugging the coffee in my hands immediately as he approached.
“How many cups is that?” he asked flatly, eyeing the two empty cups sitting next to me on the floor.
The airport was insane today, a chaotic swarm of travelers that made my skin crawl. I had been sitting alone for a while at the gate, my knee bouncing uncontrollably. I didn’t really expect to see Cal before we boarded the flight. I knew we were seated together, but I didn’t expect we’d be waiting together. I had managed to chug three cups of coffee in the time I had been left unattended, and it still didn’t feel like enough to calm my nerves. I wasn’t a great flyer, which was ironic, given a huge chunk of the job description involves flying.
“We aren’t even boarded yet,” he added, raising an eyebrow as he took in my jittery state.
“They were small,” I lied, crushing the empty cup in my hand.
“They were not.”
“They were small to me.”
“Those are large cups, Silas. That’s enough caffeine to kill a horse.”
I sighed and rubbed the back of my neck, feeling the jittery buzz under my skin. “I drink even more when I’m nervous, alright?”
