The doctor raised an eyebrow but brushed it off, accepting the professional curiosity.
The thought was sweet, Cal worrying enough to ask, risking the exposure to make sure he knew how to take care of me. Though I wish he would’ve just asked me later, when we were alone.
“Try not to drop him on it if you can,” the doctor said matter of factly. “Don’t pull that arm. If you do any kind of clotheslines, or pulling by the arm, don’t target the left, stick with the right when you can. I’m sure Mr. Reed knows to try and land to cushion it, but the way you position him in throws can also prevent it getting injured if you’re aware too.”
Cal just nodded, absorbing every word like it was gospel.
Then, the door flew open. Evan burst in, looking kind of panicked.
“Hey!” Evan said a little too loudly, stepping purposefully between Cal and the doctor. “Good match, right? Deadlock came with Silas because I had to talk to Presley and uh, get some feedback on the finish.”
Evan shot Cal a look that clearly said:What in the actual fuck are you doing?
Cal glared back. It wasn’t an apology. It was a look of protectiveness. A look that said:Fuck you, you won’t keep me away from him.
The air in the room grew thick.
“Can you give us a second, doc?” I asked awkwardly.
The doctor shrugged, clearly not paid enough to deal with wrestler drama, and walked out.
The second the door clicked shut, the mask was gone.
Cal wasn’t in work mode anymore. He wasn’t checking on a coworker. He wasn’t “Deadlock.” He was Callum. He was worried. He was looking out for me.
Cal crossed the room in two strides. He rested both hands on either side of my face and kissed me. It wasn’t charged with the frantic energy of last night. It was a kiss of relief.
“You’re sure you’re not hurting?” he asked, looking down to my left shoulder, staring at the scars.
I had three thick, jagged lines running across my front deltoid from the surgery to repair my shoulder after the botch. I tried to keep them covered as much as possible, or ignore them. I hated them. They were a permanent reminder, a physical receipt, that one mistake ruined my life, and two other men’s lives.
“I hadn’t seen them close up,” Cal said softly.
“Stop,” Evan said, standing guard at the door, turning his back to us. “Someone’s coming.”
Cal pulled away, creating distance that wouldn’t seem questionable.
There was a knock at the door. It opened.
Presley Murran, The Chairman. “Shoulder good?” he asked, staring at me.
I nodded.
“Good. Great job you guys.”
He walked away. We let out a breath we didn’t know we were holding.
The main locker room was a madhouse. Everyone was showering, celebrating, or packing. The noise was overwhelming, an anxiety I didn’t want to deal with right now.
I grabbed my duffle bag and managed to slip out toward the back. There was an accessible changing stall tucked in the far corner of the locker room. It was private, spacious, and most importantly, it had a lock.
I went to slide inside, desperate for silence. And just like he did at medical, Cal was on my heels, and swiftly invited himself in with me.
“Are you fucking insane?” I hissed as the lock clicked shut. “There’s like twenty guys around the corner from here.”
“They’re loud,” Cal murmured, stepping into my space, effectively trapping me against the metal wall. “And I wanted to see you again before we leave.”
His gaze fell back to my shoulder. I was shirtless, holding my street clothes. I looked away from him. I didn’t want his eyes on it.
