I caught him. I countered his finisher into a small package pin.
One. Two. Three.
Ding! Ding! Ding!
“Here is your winner… Timeless… Silas…Reed!”
I collapsed to the mat.
I did it. I fucking did it. I earned it. I laid there on the cold canvas, staring up at the lights, chest heaving, sweat and blood stinging my eyes.
I did it.
I wasn’t the botch anymore. I wasn’t the tragedy. I was the Main Event.
The referee unlocked the door. I dragged myself to my feet, holding the ropes for support. A ref raised my hand.
A UWF reporter stepped in with a mic inside the structure, but I waved him off. I snatched the microphone from his hand.
I didn’t stay in the center of the ring. I rolled under the bottom rope, crawling out the small door of the structure, looking battered and broken. I limped over to the announce area.
Calwas sitting there. He looked calm, unbothered, the perfect Champion. He adjusted his cuffs as I approached, but I saw the way his chest was heaving.
I climbed up onto the announce table. My boots crunched on the papers below. I crouched down, getting eye level with him, looming over him like a predator. Blood trickled down my temple, sweat soaking my hair.
The music cut. The crowd went silent.
“You look comfortable down there, Deadlock,” I said, my voice rasping through the speakers, breathless and raw. “Sitting in your suit. Calling the shots. Watching us bleed for a chance to stand next to you.”
Cal looked up at me. His face was unreadable, cold as ice.
“You think this is a redemption story?” I asked, leaning closer, practically spitting the words in his face. “You think I came back here for a feel good moment? You think I came back to apologize?”
I wiped the blood from my forehead and flicked it toward his pristine black jacket. A red droplet landed on his lapel.
“I didn’t come back to make friends. And I definitely didn’t come back to play nice with you. I came back to take everything I lost. I came back to take my spot. And I came back to take that ten pounds of gold off your shoulder.”
The crowd erupted.
“So you and Evan Wilder can play brothers all you want,” I growled. “But comeWrestle Empire? I’m not looking for a reunion. I’m looking for a coronation.”
Cal slowly took off his headset. He placed it on the table.
He stood up.
He jumped onto the table with me.
We stood face to face. Nose to nose. The tension was electric. It wasn’t just storylines. It was years of “what ifs” standing on a table in Austin, Texas.
“You want a coronation?” Cal shouted, his voice picking up on my mic. “Come take it!”
He shoved me. Hard.
I stumbled back, nearly falling off the table.
I didn’t hesitate. I lunged. I tackled him.
We went crashing off the table onto the concrete floor in a tangle of limbs. I threw a punch. He threw one back. We were rolling around on the floor, ripping at each other’s clothes, grunting with effort.
