Lena quietly slipped through the curtain in her street clothes, holding the gift bag Maverick had brought. She smiled, handed it to me, and skirted off without a word.
I turned to Silas, pressing the bag into his chest. “From me and Rosa.”
Silas frowned, but he still reached into the bag. He pulled out the folded fabric, letting it unroll in his hands. When he saw the flag, his breath hitched. His eyes instantly welled with tears, his large hands gripping the fabric like a lifeline.
I looked up at the massive monitors hanging in Gorilla. The camera was panning the crowd, the arena a sea of signs.
WELCOME HOME, SILAS. SANGRE DE NUESTRA SANGRE.
Dozens of hand-drawn Taino suns and Puerto Rican flags waved frantically in the air.
I didn’t point it out to him, just let my heart swell with overwhelming pride. He had done it. He stepped through the curtain, and this island was welcoming him with open arms.
Silas looked up from the flag, tears now spilling over his lashes. He didn’t care who was watching anymore. With one step, he was in my space, wrapping his massive arms around my neck and pulling me into a desperate, crushing hug.
“Thank you,” he choked out, burying his face in the side of my neck. “I love you. God, Cal. I love you so much.”
“I love you, too,” I whispered back, holding onto him as tight as I could.
Standing here, with him in my arms, the reality of the moment crashed over me. This match marked the end of an era. Tonight, I was losing the top title and stepping back. I would hand him the keys to the kingdom, returning him to his rightful place, after losing his footing all those years ago. After tonight, there wasn’t much left I wanted to prove in this ring. And although I didn’t know what was next for my career; I knew exactly what was next for my life.
Silas pulled back, resting his forehead against mine. Right here, in full gear, eyeliner smudged around my eyes, and the Championship belt heavy around my waist, we took an isolated second to soak each other in.
“Go out there, and take back what’s yours,” I whispered through our mingling breaths.
“Cal, you’re up! Two seconds!” the producer yelled over his headset, pointing at the curtain. The heavy beat of my music hit, sending a vibration straight through the air and floor. The crowd immediately erupted into a booming vicious chorus of boos.
I pulled back from Silas, my hands slipping down his arms. My fingers caught his for just a fraction of a second before I let go.
With a turn, I started walking toward the blinding lights of the tunnel, but after a few steps, I couldn’t help it. I spun around and walked backward, just to look at him one last time.
In an hour and twenty minutes, he’d take the belt from around my waist. He would achieve his lifelong dream. He was going to do what Maverick and Scott never could:be the first and only Reed to win the World Heavyweight Championship. And in two days, I was going to ask him to marry me. Because everything I wanted was now standing in front of me instead of behind.
I held his gaze for one last, sacred second as I soaked in the end of an era.
Go give ‘em hell, my Golden Boy.
5
SUNDAY — SAN JUAN, PUERTO RICO
Now playing: Death March - Motionless In White
Isteppedoutfrombehind the curtain and onto the ramp to a deafening crowd. The roars and cheers always sounded otherworldly when it came to main event matches, and I had become intimately familiar with the noise over the years.
The crowd was always a mix for me during my entrance. I wasn’t a typical babyface, never had been. I was the antihero, the one people either loved-to-hate or hated-to-love. I appealed to the fringes of both admiration and hatred, so walking out to a sea of people and hearing more boos than cheers didn’t faze me. Tonight, it actually made me smile. Because tonight, they hated me while absolutely worshipping my man, and a beaming ray of pride flared deep in my chest.
As I stood at the top of the entrance ramp, the heat of the pyrotechnics warming my back, I pulled my spiked leather jacket to the side, flashing the title belt at the cameraman. My Deadlock persona was in full swing: cocky, wearing a sly smile, overly confident. I exuded all the arrogant characteristics I didn't naturally possess, a fact only Silas truly knew.
Walking down the long ramp, I pretended to be an untouchable god, but I noticed even more signs than I had seen on the monitors. Hundreds lined the crowd, all for Silas. I knew without a doubt this place was about to show up in full force for him. This beautiful island, a piece of his very being, was welcominghim home without hesitation. It brought a sudden sting of tears to my eyes. He deserved it. Every. Single. Bit of it.
I knew Silas better than I knew myself, and I knew he had never felt like he belonged anywhere. It was no secret. He’d told me so on more than one occasion. Not in wrestling because of the botch, or on the Reed land because he felt he had failed their legacy. But the entire time we had been in Puerto Rico, I hadn't heard those words escape him once.
My man felt a sense of home here, and that made me feel complete, too. It was a form of healing, which I recognized. As someone who knew the agonizing pain of a fractured identity, watching him piece his together was profound.
At the ring, I slid inside, taking my corner to wait for Silas’s entrance. I stripped off my jacket, unbuckled the belt, and removed the heavy denim kilt, handing them all to the ringside attendant. They delayed his entrance. I knew Creative was doing it to build the anticipation and secure the biggest pop possible. This place was about to sound like an atomic bomb detonation.
A wave of low rumbles was already starting. Chants, claps, and heavy stomps shook the stadium seating. The crowd came to life right before my eyes, all for Silas. They wanted him, summoning him with the rhythmic thud of their boots echoing through the sold-out arena.
