18. NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK #2
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 enjoying the 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 decide that 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?”
“I’m fine.” I chuckled, batting Silas’s hands away from my collar. “It’s nothing to worry about.”
“You have a bandage the size of a brick on your jugular!” Silas argued, his voice pitching up a notch. “Let me see it!”
“No.” I laughed. “I’m fine. Seriously. Go hit the showers. We only have an hour before the pre-show meeting, and I want to relax for a bit. I’ll meet you in catering.”
Silas looked as if he wanted to argue, his protective instincts no doubt were in overdrive, but he trusted me. “Okay. Okay, fine. But I’m examining you the second I’m done.”
“I’m counting on it.” I smirked, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.
When I hit catering, Lena was in the corner, stabbing at a plate of fruit while staring at her phone. “Who are we fighting with on the internet today?”
Lena jumped, her phone clambering against the table. “Dad! You scared me.” When she looked up at me, her eyes immediately zeroed in on the white square on my neck. She squinted, leaning across the table. “What happened to your neck? Did you shave a patch of your beard wrong and need a tourniquet?”
“Very funny.”
Evan showed up moments later, his blond hair slicked back and damp from the showers. He dropped a plate of grilled chicken on the table and sat down next to Lena, pointing a plastic knife at me. “Alright, out with it. What’s under the tape? Clearly Si isn’t responsible for it this time.”
“I’m not telling you anything,” I deflected, taking a sip of water. “I’m waiting for Silas.”
As if summoned by his name, Silas appeared dressed in his street clothes. He slid into the open seat next to me, reaching across the table to steal a grape off Lena’s plate.
With a loud smack, Lena slapped the back of his hand without even having to look up from her phone. “I will literally end your title reign right here in catering, old man. Get your own fruit.”
Silas chuckled and rubbed his hand, but his attention didn’t stay on Lena. His gaze darted immediately back to my new hidden ink as he turned toward me in his chair.
“Okay, I’m done. Can I please see it now? This is killing me,” he pleaded.
A warm flutter erupted in my chest. He knew I couldn’t say no to him when he looked at me like that. “Fine, but you have to take it off yourself. Be gentle, the skin is sensitive.”
As Silas carefully pulled back the tape, the fresh, slightly raised, and still a bit bloody tattoo was revealed. Bold, black, undeniable.
Silas.
Mouth hung open and eyes fixed on my skin, Silas paled. Across the table, Evan choked violently on a mouthful of water, coughing and slamming his fist against his chest. Lena dropped her fork onto her plate, her hands flying to cover her mouth.
“Oh my God!” she gasped.
Silas didn’t speak. His hands shook as he quickly slapped the sticky bandage right back over the tattoo.
“Are you fucking insane!” Silas hissed, his eyes darting between Evan, Lena, and me. “Please, tell me it isn’t real! Tell me you drew it on with a Sharpie as a joke!”
I laughed, a loud, completely unbothered sound that earned a few looks from the table next to us. “It’s completely real, baby.”
Silas buried his face in his hands, laying them against the tabletop. “Cal! Presley is going to murder you! You are going to be fired before the show even goes on air!”
“Let him try,” I said smoothly, leaning back in my chair.
Lena stared at my neck, her eyes wide. “Uh, how are you going to cover that up? That’s going to take, like, industrial-grade special effects makeup. And even then, the sweat in the ring is going to wash it right off!”
“She’s right.” Evan finally caught his breath and wiped water from his chin. “It’s so high up. You’ve placed it in a spot where literally every single camera angle is going to catch it!” Evan stared at me, and realization dawned across his eyes. “There’s no way to hide it.”
I smirked back, reaching up and gently touching the edge of the bandage. My eyes drifted back to Silas, who stared at me with an expression of overwhelming admiration.
“I know.” My voice dropped into a low register. “That’s exactly how I wanted it.”