“Had to take it,” Cal grinned, wincing as the medic pulled a stitch tight. “It’sHeatwave. Go big or go home.”
He looked at me, his eyes dilated and wild. “You looked good out there, Si. Technical masterclass. Very… tight.”
“Someone has to actually wrestle,” I said, though I couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips.
The medic finished up and taped a bandage over the cut. “Keep it dry, Deadlock. No swimming. And try not to bleed on anything expensive.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Cal dismissed him, hopping off the table. He landed with a stumble, the adrenaline dump clearly hitting his legs, but he caught himself on my shoulder.
His hand gripped my bicep hard. His fingers were hot. He leaned in, his bloody, sweaty forehead resting against my shoulder for a second.
“We rule this place,” Cal whispered into my ear, his voice rough with exhaustion and pride. “You know that? We own this city tonight.”
I shivered. “Go shower, Deadlock. You smell like a slaughterhouse.”
Cal pulled back, smirking. “You love it.”
He grabbed his towel and headed for the showers. I stayed by the lockers, packing my bag, trying to ignore the heat lingering on my arm where he touched me.
“So,” Evan said, his voice dreamy. “We’re going to the afterparty, right? The one at Club Brava?”
“Mandatory appearance,” I sighed. “Creative said all the winners have to be there for photos. Shake hands, kiss babies.”
“Good,” Evan nodded. “I need to celebrate. I need to find someone to kiss. Anyone. I’m a champion, Silas. Champions get laid. Tonight, I am the Showstopper in his prime.”
I laughed, zipping my bag. “Aim high, Ev.”
“What about you?” Evan asked, looking at me curiously. “The girls were going crazy for you during your match. I saw the signs. ‘Marry Me Silas’. ‘Silas Reed is Daddy’. You gonna cash in on that?”
I paused. The image of the signs, the screaming women… it felt like looking at a menu written in a language I didn’t speak.
“I don’t think so,” I murmured.
“You’re too focused,” Evan shook his head, looking genuinely puzzled. “You gotta live a little, Si. You’re twenty-two in Puerto Rico. You haven’t even looked at a girl since we got signed.”
Cal walked out of the showers then, a towel wrapped low around his hips, water dripping from his wet hair down the fresh bruises on his chest. He caught the tail end of the conversation.
“Leave him alone, Ev,” Cal said, opening his locker. “Silas has standards. He doesn’t want ring rats.”
He glanced at me, a wicked, knowing glint in his eye that made my stomach flip. He dropped the towel to pull on his briefs. I looked away instinctively, but the image of his back, marred with violence, burned into my brain.
Wegot separated for media. Evan went to do an interview with the Spanish broadcast team. Cal got pulled for a photoshoot to show off the battle damage. I was stuck in a hallway waiting for a quick promo spot.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
My ribs are screaming. Adrenaline is wearing off. Everything hurts.
Drink water. Take an ibuprofen. Don’t be dramatic.
Ibuprofen is boring. I need something stronger…
I need you to put your hands on me. The heavy ones...
I want you to press down on the bruises until I see stars. Distract me.
I stared at the screen, my mouth going dry. The description was visceral. It wasn’t just flirting; it was a demand.
You’re delirious. You just got beaten with a stick.
