“See it how?” Cal laughed, lifting my hand from the table and pressing a kiss to my knuckles, his eyes dancing with mischief.
I smirked. “You look like you should be yelling at sheep in a kilt. You’ve got that rugged, ‘I fight mountains for fun’ look.”
Cal threw his head back and laughed, a loud, genuine sound that made a few locals look over with smiles. “Yelling at sheep? Wow. You really know how to charm a guy, Reed.”
“I try,” I said, unable to stop smiling.
Cal’s smile faded into something softer, more wistful. He looked out the frosted window at the gray sky.
“My dad,” Cal said, his voice dropping. “Before the drinking got bad… before Mom left… he always talked about coming back here. He wanted me to see where he came from. He had this map pinned up in the garage. He talked about taking me when I turned eighteen.”
He traced the rim of his glass, his expression far away.
“He’d be so fucking pissed if he knew I did it without him,” Cal murmured. “Or maybe he’d be glad one of us made it out.”
I watched the way the sadness and joy warred in his eyes. He was a runaway who built himself into a star, but sitting here, he was just a kid looking for home.
“He’d be proud,” I said softly, squeezing his hand on top of the table. “You made it, Cal. You’re here.”
He looked back at me, his gaze intense, swimming with emotions he usually kept locked behind his Deadlock persona. “Yeah. I am.”
We walked off the heavy lunch in Princes Street Gardens, a massive park that sat in the shadow of the castle. The leaves were just starting to turn gold and brown.
Wefound a bench overlooking the fountain. It was secluded, tucked away behind a row of ancient trees. Cal stretched his legs out, resting his arm along the back of the bench behind my shoulders. It was casual, possessive, and comfortable.
“It’s so quiet,” I murmured, watching a couple walk a dog nearby. “It’s nice not hearing the noise.”
“The noise of the ring?” Cal asked.
“The noise of everything,” I said. “The pressure. The schedule. The expectations. Maverick breathing down my neck about what a ‘Reed’ looks like.”
I looked at the couple with the dog. They were holding hands, talking about what to make for dinner. They looked ordinary. Boring, even. And I felt a pang of jealousy so sharp it hurt.
“Sometimes I wonder what it’s like,” I said, the words slipping out before I could check them. “To just… be. To not have to be someone.”
Cal hummed, his fingers idly playing with the collar of my coat. “I think about it all the time.”
I turned to look at him. “You do?”
“Yeah,” Cal said. He wasn’t looking at me; he was looking at the skyline, his expression soft and dreamy. “I think about after. When the bumps add up too much. When I can’t power through anymore.”
“What do you see?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
“Silence,” Cal said immediately. “Somewhere green. Somewhere with a lot of trees and no cameras. Maybe a little house near the water. I’d get a dog. I’d learn to cook more things.”
He turned his head then, locking eyes with me.
“And I wouldn’t be alone,” he said.
The air between us charged with electricity. He wasn’t talking about a vague partner. He was talking about me. He was painting a picture of a life that didn’t include championships or main events, a life that consisted of silence and us.
“That sounds…” I swallowed hard, my throat tight. “That sounds like a dream.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” Cal said, his voice steady, serious. “I’d do it, Si. I’d retire tomorrow if it meant I could have that. If it meant I could wake up and not have to hide.”
My heart stopped.
This was it. This was him laying his cards on the table. He was telling me that I was worth more to him than the wrestling business. He was telling me he loved me without saying the words.
