“You know,” Cal whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “When I started getting my push… I convinced myself that was it. I told myself, ‘You don’t get the love story. You get the gold. That’s the trade.’ And for seven years, I made myself believe that the roar of the crowd was enough to fill the silence in my house.”
He looked back at me, a single tear tracking through the stubble on his cheek.
“But it wasn’t. It never was. I spent every night in those hotel rooms staring at the ceiling, wondering if you were okay. Wondering if you ever thought about the house we talked about.” He shook his head, laughing wetly. “And the whole time, you were building it. You were building us.”
I looked at him, really looked at him, standing there in the early morning light on the porch I built for a ghost that had finally come home. The realization hit me so hard it nearly knocked the wind out of me.
I reached out, lacing my fingers through his, gripping him tight.
“I got the guy,” I whispered, the words trembling as they left my lips. “I finally got the fucking guy. I got the house. I got the porch. I got the family. I have everything I ever dreamt of, right here in my hands.”
I squeezed his hand, my eyes burning with intensity as I looked at the man who had been my only wish for a decade.
“Everything I went through, the loneliness, the anger, the empty nights, it was all worth it. I’d do it all again, every second of it, if it meant ending up right here on these steps with you.”
We sat on the porch in silence, close, watching the sunrise together, something we’d neglected to do the entire time we were home. I found that fact kind of ironic, given this was the dream all along.
We never said it out loud, but the fact was so obvious: neither one of us was ready to leave the safety of this place, of my family land, of everything this week together had given us. It felt like agony to me, knowing that in just a couple of hours, this bubble would burst. No more being with Cal in the daylight, kissing him while making breakfast, or just simply being together without fear. In just a few hours we’d be back in the airport, back to pretending to just be coworkers, friends at best. We’d be back to sneaking into each other’s hotel rooms in the early hours of the morning, stealing glances in locker rooms, and pretending not to notice every little thing about one another.
I hated it. I hated it with everything in me right now. I loved wrestling, sure, it was the only thing in my life I ever knew was certain. But right now, wrestling had become my fucking enemy, and in this very moment, I wanted to call Presley Murran and tell him to fuck off and keep me and Cal here forever.
But that isn’t the world we get to live in.
Wetook our time packing our bags, time we didn’t necessarily have, but didn’t want to rush through in any way, shape, or form.
I was folding a hoodie when I noticed Cal reach for the nightstand. He picked up the cream-colored Polaroid camera, turning it over in his large hands.
For years, that camera had been a symbol of our secrets. It was the only witness to the love we were too terrified to name. Looking at it usually made my chest ache, a physical reminder of a time when we existed only in the dark.
Cal didn’t hesitate. He unzipped the front pocket of his carry on and tucked the camera inside, right next to his passport and wallet.
“You’re bringing it?” I asked, my voice quiet.
“Yeah,” Cal said, zipping the pocket closed. He looked up at me, his expression soft but determined. “I figured… we shouldn’t leave it behind. It’s got way more memories to catch now.”
He patted the bag gently.
“Si, the biggest moment of our careers is about to happen. This thing started it all with us. It deserves to come along for the ride.”
My throat closed up. The ache was still there, but it wasn’t pain anymore. It was relief.
“But remember,” Cal added, pointing a finger at me, shifting the mood. “You promised I could take phone pictures now, too. That wasn’t a one-time offer.”
I laughed, a wet, shaky sound. “I remember.”
Cal picked up his phone to check the time. The screen lit up, and there it was, the photo he’d taken the other morning. Me curled into his side, lips pressed against his neck, with Cal looking at the camera with the softest, most genuine smile I’d ever seen on him.
It was undeniable. It was intimate. It wasus.
“You’re going to change that before we get to the airport, right?” I asked, nodding at the screen. “If a fan sees that over your shoulder…”
“Let them see,” Cal shrugged, dropping the phone into his pocket without changing a thing.
“Cal, seriously,” I pressed. “The internet will melt.”
“I don’t give a fuck,” he said, his voice dropping to that serious, immovable tone he used when he made up his mind. “If someone asks, I’ll tell them it’s none of their business. But I’m not changing it. I like looking at it.”
He paused, leaning against the dresser, looking down at his hands.
