We didn’t speak. I didn’t know how. I don’t think Cal did either. I knew he felt me. I knew he felt I was off. We were too connected for him not to.
We walked in and went straight to the ring. We had to practice. This match was far too big to not get right.
We were the main event. The thing every fan paid to see. We had a sold-out arena in my home state waiting to see us bring the house down. I’d even got Carolina Blue themed gear for this. This was my time. We all knew it.
Our match was the Warzone one match. Two teams.Showdownvs.Demolition. The flagship vs. the flagship. These matches consisted of no rules, and six men on each team. The objective: make each member tap out or be pinned for a three count. Each member that succumbed to a pinfall or submission was eliminated, and this would go on until one team was left standing.
But this year, the focus was me. It was selling me. It was sending me into the stratosphere, sending me to the level my dad and uncle were supposed to hit. This was merewriting history. This was me becoming the face of this business. This was a guaranteed win in January atMan Overboard. This was an absolute shot at the heavyweight title.
The match had a stacked team. ForShowdown, it was myself, Cal, Evan, Julian Martinez, and two new rookies proving their place, Carter Divine and Dean Knoxville. Our opponents were just as stacked withDemolition’stop guys: Camden Coranto, Maxx Thornton, Jesse Jones, Dante Andrews, and Raven.
This match was a seller. Big names, big draw, more tickets. We were told to expect an hour in ring, to conserve energy the best we could, to be clean, to do our best to prevent injuries. To sell me.
We ran our drills. We practiced our moves on one another. And we ran through the high fly setups for myself. Especially the big one. The one that would leave the crowd speechless.
Martinez would set up tables. We were meant to make a warzone, and that’s what we were doing. I was going to launch myself, The Shooting Star Press off the ladder, from inside the ring down to the table on the outside, and collide with Camden Coranto below. Martinez would spot. It was intricate, but we knew we could do it. Camden was a veteran; though he’d only been in the UWF a few years, he’d spent years on the indies and making a name in other companies. He was older, mid-forties. His time in the ring was close to its end, and he knew that. But much like my dad, he didn’t intend on stopping until he couldn’t anymore.
Cal listened to the run through of the move intently. “What do we do if this goes wrong?” he asked.
“Yeah, I want to know that too,” Evan added.
“You throw an X like we always tell you, but be discreet,” the match producer, Jim Dallas, said in a thick southern accent. “Don’t let the fans see, but make sure the refs or medical can.”
Throwing an X in this business was like a death sentence. You didn’t do the dreaded cross your arms and nod to the ref combo unless you were dying. But we always knew it was there. One wrong thing, one fuck up, any moment where severe injury was sustained, kayfabe would disappear, and the match would stop.
I felt stiff the entire time we practiced. My body was on edge. It was as if it didn’t know the difference between drowning in the ocean during a category five hurricane, and being in the ring anywhere close to Callum right now.
Evan saw it. I know he did. But he hadn’t said anything to me yet.
“There’s supposed to be a really solid sushi place in uptown, you guys wanna go?” Evan asked as Cal and I repacked our duffle bags in the locker room.
“I’m game. Si?” Cal asked.
My brain wasn’t working. I felt like I didn’t hear him. It took a minute to answer, like the words got stuck. “I’m okay, I’m gonna go to the hotel,” I said sharply.
“Are you sure?” Cal asked, the concern showing through.
“I don’t have to go do everything with you, dude,” I snapped.
Cal looked at me stunned, hurt. I didn’t mean it. I don’t even know what the fuck is wrong with me.
“Whoa, Si, calm down. He was just asking if you were okay,” Evan said, his concern jumping to the forefront.
“I’m fine. I’m leaving,” I said, snatching my bag.
“Don’t got the keys, smart ass,” Cal said, tossing them to me.
Of course, I fumbled them and dropped them.
“I’ll ride with Evan. Have fun sitting alone, man,” Cal said, venom on his words. Cal didn’t call me things like ‘man’. He hadn’t since before Miami. Since before things changed.
I huffed and stormed out of the locker room, swinging open the door as fast as I could, beelining for the rental, a shiny SUV we didn’t fucking need. I jumped in, slamming the door.
I let out a shaky, panicked breath as I viciously raked my fingers through my hair, memories flashing through my mind, the thought getting louder.
You two will never succeed if the world knows.
I drove to the hotel, much faster than I should have.
