Backstage, Evan shook his head, looking traumatized. “You two are sick. I literally heard you. ‘Fighting turns me on’? Really, Cal? On live TV?”
“I didn’t say that,” Cal lied effortlessly.
“You two were eye fucking across the ring,” Evan groaned. “I felt like a third wheel in a three-way match.”
“Jealous?” Cal teased.
“Traumatized,” Evan corrected.
As we were packing up to leave, Cal and I pulled Evan aside near the loading dock. We told him we were taking the mandatory week break starting tomorrow, but we’d be back the Thursday before Empire to perfect everything for the match.
Evan leaned against a crate, looking at us both with a soft, genuine smile.
“Good,” Evan said. “Take the week. You guys earned it. And honestly?” He looked between us, his expression turning serious. “I’m really proud of you guys. Not just the work in the ring, which is insane, by the way, but… this.” He gestured between Cal and me.
“You guys are good for each other,” Evan continued, his voice quiet amidst the noise of the crew breaking down the set. “Really good. The last several years… they sucked, man. Watching you both be miserable, knowing you wanted nothing more than to be where you are right now, but being too damn stubborn and prideful to fix it? It was brutal to watch. Seeing you guys finally get your heads out of your asses… it’s a relief. You’re a unit. Keep it that way.”
It meant everything coming from him. We didn’t tell him about the cameras, or Tate, or the panic attack. We just let that support settle over us like armor.
Wegot back to the hotel and showered, both of us preparing to tell Lena everything.
We ordered pizza, slid into comfy clothes, and texted her, waiting for her to show up. Cal scolded me for my text to her; apparently, I didn’t understand the whole ‘dad’ role and sent her a text he said surely gave the girl anxiety.
There was a frantic knock at the door.
I opened it, and Lena burst in, looking panicked.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, looking between us. “Silas texted ‘Come to the room, we need to talk.’ That’s dad code for ‘someone is in trouble.’ Did I botch a spot?”
“No,” Cal said soothingly, guiding her to the small table where the pizza box sat. “Sit down, kid. You’re not in trouble. No one is in trouble.”
Lena sat, looking suspicious. “Then why do you guys look like you’re about to give me the ‘birds and the bees’ talk?”
I sat across from her. My palms were sweating.
“We wanted to tell you something,” I started, glancing at Cal for support.
He nodded, taking a seat next to me on the small loveseat. “Because you’re family. And we don’t want to lie to you anymore.”
Lena’s eyes widened as she sat down on the floor in front of us, legs crossed. “Oh my god. Is it the girlfriend? Is she pregnant? Am I going to be an aunt?”
“No,” Cal laughed, a dry, nervous sound. “There is no girlfriend, Lena.”
Lena paused, confused. “But… the sneaking around. The texting. The hickey… Oh god, she wasn’t a girlfriend! Was she just a hookup? Wait, is she married? Si, are you dating a married woman because—”
“It wasn’t a girl,” I said softly.
I reached out and took Cal’s hand, lacing our fingers together.
Lena stared at our hands. She blinked. Once. Twice.
She looked up at Cal. Then at me. Then back at our hands. The gears in her head were turning violently.
“Wait,” Lena whispered. Her eyes darted around the room as if replaying the last several weeks. She looked at Cal, and then her eyes widened in horror. “Wait. The hickey.”
“Yeah,” Cal said, rubbing the back of his neck, actually looking a little sheepish.
“The hickey I pointed out?” Lena shrieked, her voice jumping an octave. “The one Ipoked? That was you?!”
