I gestured to Cal, using him as my shield. “You remember Evan, obviously. But this is Cal.”
Maverick’s eyes shifted to Cal, and his expression brightened instantly. The hesitation vanished, replaced by the look of a veteran sizing up a promising rookie.
“Deadlock,” Maverick said with a grin, extending his hand. “I’ve been watching your videos from the indie circuit. Saw that match you had in the armory in Philly last year. Gritty stuff. I like your style, kid. You wrestle like you’re trying to hurt someone, but you’re safe as a house. That’s a rare skill.”
Cal, usually allergic to authority, took Maverick’s hand with a firm grip. “Appreciate that, sir. Means a lot coming from you.”
“Sir?” Maverick laughed. “Don’t make me feel old. Call me Mav.”
“He’s right,” Scott chimed in, nodding appreciatively at Cal. “You’ve got a heavy hand. Reminds me of the old days before everything got so polished. Good to have you in the mix. Keep my nephew out of trouble, will ya?”
“I’ll try,” Cal smirked, “but he’s the one jumping off top ropes.”
Scott laughed, clapping Cal on the shoulder. “Welcome to the madness, son.”
I glanced at Evan. He was standing slightly off to the side, his arms crossed, a pout forming on his lips that made him look about five years old. He was used to being the golden boy, the one the veterans fawned over. Seeing the attention shift to the scary, tattooed guy from Philly clearly wasn’t sitting well with him.
“I had a good match too, you know,” Evan mumbled, kicking at the floor. “I eliminated six guys.”
Maverick winked at him. “We saw, Showstopper. You did good.”
But then he turned right back to Cal. “Seriously, that lariat you throw? Brutal. We need more of that.”
Cal caught Evan’s eye and shot him the smuggest, most shit-eating grin I had ever seen. He was feeding on Evan’s jealousy like a vampire.
Evan huffed, rolling his eyes so hard I thought they’d get stuck. “Whatever. He cheats.”
“It’s not cheating if I’m just stronger than you, Ev,” Cal teased, his voice dripping with satisfaction.
I watched them, my father and uncle treating Cal like the next big thing, Cal soaking it up just to annoy Evan, and Evan acting like a bratty little brother. It was a normal, almost familial scene.
And I felt completely outside of it.
“Well,” Maverick said, checking his watch. “We’ll let you boys get back to it. Sorry you can’t make lunch, Silas. But work comes first. I get it.”
“Yeah,” I said, gripping my bag strap tighter. “Next time.”
“Safe travels,” Scott said.
They walked away, legends in the hallway, leaving us in the wake of their charisma.
“Dude,” Evan whined the second they were out of earshot. “Did you see that? ‘I like your style, kid.’ He never told me he liked my style!”
“Maybe get a better style,” Cal deadpanned, grabbing his gear bag.
“I hate you,” Evan muttered.
“I know,” Cal replied, winking at him.
I felt Cal’s eyes shift to me then. The humor faded from his face instantly. He hadn’t missed a single beat of the interaction between me and my dad. He saw the stiffness. He heard the lie about the “training session.” He saw the way I looked at them, not with the love of a son, but with the caution of a survivor.
Cal drove. The Miami highway was a ribbon of light stretching out into the dark, the humidity pressing against the windows of the rental car. Rain had started to fall, blurring the city lights into streaks of neon. We were both aching, our bodies cooling down from the physical trauma of the match, but our minds were still racing.
For the first twenty minutes, we just listened to the hum of the tires and the rhythmicthwack-thwackof the windshield wipers.
“Your uncle seems… nice,” Cal said finally, breaking the silence. It wasn’t a question. It was an observation.
I let out a long breath, staring at the dashboard. “Scott is… he tries. He’s the one who apologized. He’s the one who actually put in the work to fix things between us. He got sober for his girls, and he realized he needed to make amends to me, too.”
