Asher rolled his eyes as he pulled out his tablet and stylus. “Ugh, fine. But I’m charging you a bad-friend tax. What kind of font do you want?”
“Bold,” I said, my voice turning serious. “In script and heavy blackwork. I want it to be undeniable.”
When I arrived at the Barclays Center, the pre-show chaos was in full swing. I kept my leather jacket zipped up high, the collar popped, hiding the thick white bandage currently plastered to the side of my neck. Silas was still in the ring training with Evan, so I made a detour toward the wardrobe department.
“Rosa!” I called out softly as I entered her domain.
Looking up and pushing her glasses back into place, her face broke into a massive smile. “Cal! Mi amor! Come here!” She jumped up, wrapping her arms around me in a tight, motherly hug. Other than sewing, Rosa’s only other care was for our well-being, and I always made a point to check in.
“It’s good to see you, Rosa. How’s the chaos today?”
“Ay, don’t ask.” She waved a hand toward a rack of sequined jackets. “Rico wants his entrance vest taken in an inch, but he won’t stop eating the catering long enough for me to measure him. But enough about me. I saw the photos! Congratulations!”
I let out a soft laugh as warmth spread through my chest, knowing that she’d always rooted for us. “Thank you, Rosa. That means a lot.”
“I would love to chat some more, but I have to fix this disaster before showtime,” she said, scurrying back toward her sewing machine.
Leaving her to her work but with no match to prepare for, no script to memorize, and no locker room to sit in, I was a ghost haunting the arena. Eventually, my feet carried me toward the Gorilla position. I hesitated at the curtain. Through the thick fabric, I could hear the loud, reverberating smack of bodies hitting the canvas, followed by Evan’s muffled cursing. I wasn’t about to go out and distract them, and honestly, it was nice to sit in the quiet for a moment.
Sinking into one of the plush leather chairs that are normally saved for the producers and Presley to scream in, I leaned back and stared at the monitors.. The camera was zoomed in on the ring, showing Silas standing at its center. He looked perfectly in his element. His movements carried an effortless grace of athleticism as he helped Evan off the mat and patted him on the back. It made my chest tighten with a fierce, possessive pride.
I was so focused on watching my man, that when someone dropped into the chair beside me, my head snapped to the right. Sitting next to me, holding a clipboard and wearing a headset loosely around his neck, was Jim Dallas.
Jim was a legend. Even with his age, silver hair, and eyes framed with deep lines, his mind was still the sharpest in the business. As one of the few guys left from the original writing and production team that existed in the early 90s, he’d navigated the UWF through the most controversial and explosive eras of professional wrestling. He was also credited for creating some of the best, most emotionally resonant storylines in the history of the sport. Everyone respects him, Presley included.
“Jim.” I breathed, relaxing back into my chair. “You scared the shit out of me.”
Jim laughed, a rich, booming sound as he leaned over and clapped a hand on my shoulder. “It’s good to see you, Cal. I wanted to catch you before the madness started. Congratulations, truly. Getting married is a beautiful thing, and you two…well, you two broke the internet. I haven’t seen on-air numbers like this since ‘98.”
It took me off guard. Jim was one of the few who cared about the people behind the stories, but I didn’t think he would personally want to reach out. “Thanks. We appreciate it. It’s been… It’s been eventful.”
“I can imagine.” Jim smiled knowingly, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. He looked at the monitor, watching Silas run the ropes. “So, tell me, how are you holding up with being off-screen? Are you going stir-crazy, or are you enjoyingthe freedom?”
I hesitated, rubbing the back of my neck, careful to avoid the bandage. “It’s weird, I’m not going to lie. I’ve been on the grind for thirteen years, so going from the main event to sitting in a folding chair backstage is…an adjustment. But it’s been relieving in a way. The pressure is off now that I don’t have to carry the show. I’m actually really enjoying watching my husband achieve his goals. He’s shining out there. He deserves the spotlight without Creative throwing us into a storyline together every six months.”
Jim watched me intently, nodding slowly as he tapped a pen against his clipboard. “You’ve got a good eye for the mechanics of it, Cal. You always have, and you know how to build a match. It’s an amazing ability to be able to tell a story in the ring without saying a word. Have you ever thought about joining Creative’s production team? Sitting on this side of the curtain with me?”
I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head. “Me? A producer? I’m not a sit-behind-the-monitor kind of guy. I don’t even know the first thing about formatting a television block.”
Jim didn’t laugh with me. He turned his head, his expression dead serious. “Cal, listen to me. You’ve given years of your life to that canvas. You’ve broken your body and taken chair shots that would paralyze a lesser man.” He leaned in closer, his eyes boring into mine. “Do you realistically see yourself wrestling until your body is broken, like so many of the greats? Limping down the aisle in your fifties for a paycheck? Or do you want to play it smart and retire from the ring while you can still walk? While you can still hold your husband without wincing, because you have a cushy and respected job backstage?”
I stared at him on an exhale, it was a question I’d been asking myself as well. The aching in my knees when it rained, the stiffness in my lower back when I woke up, the signs were there. I was thirty-three, and my bump card was getting terrifyingly full.
“You’ve more than paid your dues, son,” Jim reminded me gently, his voice soft but firm. “You don’t have anything left to prove in that ring. If you ever decidethat stepping behind the curtain is the route you want to take, just know the seat is earned, and it’s waiting for you. All you have to do is say the word.”
Jim gave my shoulder one last squeeze, stood up, and walked away before I could formulate a single syllable in response. I sat there in the quiet of Gorilla, staring at the empty leather chair next to me. A seed had been planted, a liberating but world-shifting kind of seed.
I didn’t have time to process the possible career shift. The black curtain rustled, and Silas and Evan pushed their way through. They were both dripping with sweat and breathing heavily.
Silas’s face lit up with a bright smile the second he saw me sitting at the monitors. “Cal! You’re back early! How was the interview?”
“It was fine, baby.”
Silas reached out to pull me into a hug, but his smile vanished instantly as his eyes locked onto the side of my neck. Specifically, the thick white bandage peeking out from the popped collar of my leather jacket.
“What the hell happened?” he gasped, his hands shooting out and hovering over the spot.
Evan stopped a few feet behind him, wiping his face, but upon hearing Si, the towel fell and his eyes widened. “Dude. What the fuck is on your neck?”
