He turned his back on Cal, focusing entirely on me, grabbing my arm and pulling me a few feet away.
“Dude, are you okay? You look pale,” Evan whispered, his voice dropping.
“I’m fine,” I said quickly. “Just… big night. Nerves.”
Evan frowned, his eyes darting back to where Cal was standing, leaning against the apron and retying his boots.
“Is he giving you a hard time? I heard you guys are riding together for all the upcoming shows. If he’s being a dick, tell me. I know he’s intense.”
“What? No,” I said, shaking my head. “Cal’s fine. Seriously. We’re cool.”
“Cool?” Evan repeated skeptically. “Since when? You guys barely spoke a few months ago. Now I hear rumors you’re rooming together, driving together… it’s just odd, Si. He’s not exactly the friendliest guy in the locker room. I just don’t want you getting dragged down by his attitude.”
I opened my mouth to defend him, but a shadow fell over us.
“Careful, Wilder,” Cal’s voice rumbled from right behind Evan’s shoulder.
We both jumped. Cal was standing there, hands in his pockets, looking entirely too amused for someone who claimed to hate everyone.
“You’re getting awfully worried about who Silas spends his time with,” Cal drawled, his eyes flicking between Evan and me. He stepped closer, invading Evan’s personal space just enough to make him uncomfortable.
“Are yousurehe isn’t your boyfriend, Si?”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Evan choked on air. His face turned a violent, panicked shade of red. “I—What? No! I’m straight! Silas is—We’re not—Dude, what the hell?”
My own face felt like it was on fire. I looked at Evan, spluttering and horrified, and then at Cal, who looked entirely too pleased with himself. I shuddered, a nervous laugh escaping me.
“Oh god, stop. Please.”
“Just checking,” Cal said with a shrug, winking at me. “You guys bicker like an old married couple. Just wanted to clarify the boundaries before we go beat the shit out of some legends.”
He walked off toward the ring, leaving Evan looking like he’d just swallowed a lemon and me trying to restart my heart.
“He is the worst,” Evan hissed, smoothing down his shirt. “The actual worst.Boyfriend? Please. You’re like my brother. A gross, sweaty brother.”
“Thanks, Evan,” I laughed, the tension in my chest finally loosening. “Come on. Let’s go run this spot.”
We spent the next two hours running the segment. The choreography was intricate. Evan would interrupt Dante. Dante’s crew would jump Evan. Then, the cavalry, us, would hit the ring from the crowd.
When the show finally started, we were hidden away in a blacked-out locker room near the loading dock, watching the monitor. The crowd was hot tonight. They hated Dante Andrews with a passion that made the floor shake.
Then, the music hit.
Dante Andrews walked out in a three-piece suit that probably cost more than my dad’s house. He grabbed a mic and stood in the center of the ring, flanked by Jonathan Rockwell, Madden Smith, and Carlos Manta. They stood there like statues of arrogance.
“You people make me sick,” Dante sneered, his voice echoing through the Garden. “I come out here week after week and give you excellence. My grandfather built this company. My father carried it on his back. And now I am the pillar that holds up this entire industry. And what do I get? Disrespect.”
He paced the ring, wiping imaginary dust off his shoulder.
“And now, I hear rumors,” he continued, his voice dripping with venom. “Rumors that management wants to bring in some new blood to challenge us atMan Overboard. Some rookies. Some indie darlings who spent their careers wrestling in bingo halls for hot dogs and handshakes.”
The crowd booed harder, but Dante just laughed. He gestured to Rockwell.
“Look at this ring. Look at this talent. Jonathan Rockwell has been breaking backs in this ring for a decade. He paid his dues in blood. Madden Smith is a third generation in this company. We earned this spot. We didn’t just walk in off the street with a viral video and a bad haircut.”
He glared at the camera.
