22
JANUARY - TAMPA, FLORIDA / THE ROAD
Now playing: Let’s Get Lost - G-Eazy, Devon Baldwin
Tampafeltlikeadream. A hazy, humidity-soaked hallucination where the world stopped spinning just long enough for us to breathe.
But the reality of the arena hit like dunking yourself in ice water.
Twelve hours after I cried in Cal’s arms, after I fucked every ounce of anger out of the both of us, I was standing in Gorilla, listening to forty thousand people screaming on the other side of the curtain.
It was time. TheEvery Man For Himselfmatch. It was the start of the feud that would consume our lives until the spring, and mine and Cal’s long after the cameras stopped rolling.
“You ready for this?” Evan asked as he bounced on his heels. He was vibrating with adrenaline, taping his wrists with frantic energy. So was I.
“Ready,” I said, rolling my neck, feeling the familiar pop of tension releasing.
I glanced at the monitors. Cal was standing there, arms crossed over his chest, watching the match happen in real time. He had already wrestled, done his segment, but he hadn’t left. He knew the outcome, but his desire to make sure things always went to plan never ceased to bleed through, especially when it had to do with his storylines.
Thematch was a blur of bodies, sweat, and controlled fucking chaos.
I entered at number 2. The noise was deafening. I fought for forty-five minutes, a miracle for most who enter this match so early. My lungs burned, my left shoulder ached from the bumps, but I felt lighter than I had in years. The heavy, suffocating weight I’d been carrying around for so long was gone, left back in Hotel Room two ten.
Finally, the ring cleared. It came down to the final two. Myself and Evan.
The crowd was on their feet. Best friends, history, respect, staring each other down from opposite corners.
We didn’t hold back. We traded blows, the impact ringing out through the stadium. We did our fancy high spots to sell the crowd on the drama. The chemistry we’d built over the last decade was on full display; we moved like mirrors of one another.
In the end, just as planned, I pulled myself up to the apron. Evan caught me with a superkick that rattled my teeth, sending me fumbling backward to the floor. My feet hit the mats.
The bell rang. Evan Wilder had won the match. He was now the number one contender for the Heavyweight Title. For Cal’s title.
He stood on the turnbuckle, pointing down at me, grinning like a maniac. I looked up from the floor, wiping the sweat and hair from my eyes, and smiled back. This wasn’t a bitter loss. This was a loss neither man cared about. This was respect for one another’s ability. Even when we gave each other everything, we’d never be mad to see the other succeed.
I walked up the ramp, the crash of adrenaline leaving my system.
“Reed, go to medical, get that shoulder checked. Just for safety,” Jim Dallas called out from behind his monitor as I stepped through the curtain, instinctively holding the joint.
It wasn’t hurt, I knew the difference between hurt and sore, but it was tight. It hadn’t endured anything like this since it was repaired years ago.
I nodded in return as I started the long walk down the concrete hallway toward medical. I was so in my own head I hadn’t even realized Cal was trailing behind me. I didn’t really expect him to.
I walked through the door. The staff doctor was right there, sanitizing his hands.
He gave us a once over. Wrestlers going to medical together wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, but usually, they were coming in together because they’d been in the same match, dragging each other in. Not just to simply accompany one another. Especially if one didn’t have any kind of a match with the other and was already dressed in street clothes.
I hoped the doctor would just assume it was Cal doing what the face of the company would do. He’s like a team captain, and he’s building to have a feud with me long term. My health and capabilities directly affect Cal’s matches and TV time.
“Let’s just check the rotation, make sure you’re not having any unusual discomfort,” the doctor said, patting the exam table.
I sat down, and he pressed his thumb deep into the front of my left shoulder.
I hissed, gripping the edge of the exam table, my knuckles turning white. “It’s fine, really. Just tight.”
“You took a hard bump when you fell out of the ring,” the doctor noted, scribbling on a clipboard. “Ice it. If you start feeling anything worse, come back to me. Any kind of clicking in the joint or burning, we need to get it scanned.”
“He and I are going to be feuding together through the summer. Anything I need to look for when we’re training? Or in the ring?” Cal chimed in.
