“I just—want to go—Please,” I managed to wheeze out.
Cal nodded instantly. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t tell me to man up. He hopped up, hauling me to my feet with a surprising amount of strength, and helped me steadily walk over to the passenger seat. I think he thought I was going to pass out. Part of me thought I might, too.
He helped me climb into the car, shut my door, sealing me in the safety of the cabin, and walked around to the back. I heard the trunk slam, then the driver’s side door opened, letting in a gust of winter air.
“Drink this,” he said.
I wanted to laugh, but my body wouldn’t let me. Cal had gone through my snack bag, the one he always gave me hell for, and pulled out one of my canned coffees.
For once, I didn’t think he was being an asshole.
“Coffee?” I questioned weakly, my hands shaking so bad I almost dropped the can.
“You told me you drink it when you’re nervous, so…” He shrugged, looking a little awkward, rubbing the back of his neck. “I figured it was better than a slap in the face. It grounds you, right?”
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He popped the tab and handed it to me. I took a sip, the familiar sugar and caffeine hitting my system. It was a sensory anchor. The taste. The cold can. It distracted me from the spiral. I steadied back out, the ringing in my ears fading, taking notice of the fact I had tears running down my cheeks, which made me even more embarrassed.
Not only did I just have a full-blown panic attack at work, I was also sitting here crying like a bitch in front of the guy I was secretlymaybesort of lusting after.
“Can’t believe you remembered the coffee thing,” I said with a soft, watery laugh, wiping my face with my sleeve.
“You drink so much of that shit, I just assume you’re nervous by default at this point,” Cal teased gently, starting the car. The engine purred to life, vibrating through the seat.
I gave a small smile, thankful for his presence right now.
“You good for me to drive now?” he asked, his hand hovering over the gear shift, waiting for my signal.
I nodded, resting my head against the cool glass of the window. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
I dozed off on the car ride to the arena, my mind seeming to think the only way to shut this shit off was sleep. The rhythm of the drive, Cal’s steady presence next to me, it all lulled me into a restless exhaustion.
Cal nudged me awake when we parked. I still didn’t feel entirely back to normal, my chest still felt bruised from the inside, but it was normal enough I could at least do my damn job. I think.
The arena was insanely busy. Production crew ran around left and right, main roster men and women appeared from tour buses, fancy cars, and limos. This was nothing like the dark matches we’d been in. This… this was the real fucking deal.
The Garden. New York City. The Mecca.
We went into the arena and made our way through to the ring. It sat in the middle of the venue like a ghost, thousands of empty seats surrounding it. Everyone from the meeting was standing around it. It looked like they were already in the process of practicing everything for the promo and the fight.
Cal and I approached nervously. This still didn’t feel quite real.
“Boys,” Rob Harlow said as he stuck his hand out. “Glad you made it. Silas, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. You good?”
“Just ready to work,” I lied smoothly, shaking his hand with a grip I hoped was firm.
Before I could say anything else, a blur of blond hair and pink gear practically tackled me.
“There he is! The prodigal son returns!” Evan grinned, throwing an arm around my neck. He looked at Cal, his smile dipping just a fraction, a glint of mischief entering his eyes. “And… Deadlock. Joy.”
Cal’s eye twitched. He let out a long, suffering sigh, adjusting his hoodie. “It’s Cal. You know my name, Wilder. We have the same call sheet.”
“I know what I see on the paper, Deadlock,” Evan chirped, patting Cal on the shoulder with excessive force. “But you just really feel like a Deadlock, don’t you think? It fits the whole… storm cloud over your head thing you’ve got going on.”
Cal swatted Evan’s hand away, not with malice, but with pure annoyance. “Touch me again and I’m aiming for your face during the brawl.”
“Feisty,” Evan laughed, completely unfazed. He knew exactly what buttons he was pushing, and he was pushing them with a smile.
