19. CHICAGO, ILLINOIS #2
“It isn’t your call to make. ” My words came out cold.. “Just like it isn’t my call if you want to keep wrestling until you have a massive heart attack in the fucking ring because you’re too stubborn and afraid to walk away.”
My aim was true, The words hit, and Silas flinched. His jaw locked as tears collected along his lash line.
“Fine, then,” he clipped out.
“Good.”
Without another word, I turned off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness.
On the far edge of the king-sized mattress, I curled myself into a tight ball, facing the wall and pulled the duvet up to my chin.
This was our first real argument. Not a scripted promo, or a misunderstanding, but a terrifying clash of our deepest fears.
I heard when Silas got out of bed. The floorboards creaked as he walked across the room, settling himself on the hotel couch.
The television flickered to life, and a late-night sports broadcast filled the silence.
I lay there, staring at the textured wallpaper, and tried my absolute best to not show how upset I was.
But a hot sting burned my eyelids, and each new crack in my heart hit with the force of a semi-truck.
The sports broadcast continued to drone on, its monotone recap nearly putting me to sleep. Twenty, maybe thirty minutes passed when the television clicked off.
I held my breath as I heard him pad across the carpet until the mattress dipped heavily behind me. A second later, Silas’s large, warm arm wrapped securely around my waist. He pulled me toward him, shifting my position on the bed until my back was pressed flush against his broad chest.
“I know you’re not asleep,” he murmured into the dark.
I sniffled quietly, refusing to turn around. “And how do you know that?”
Silas pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the back of my neck, right below the black ink of his name. “Because, your breathing is different. Your body moves differently while you sleep, and you always sleep with your mouth open just a little bit.”
I couldn’t help it. A small, reluctant smirk tugged at my lips. The sheer, intimate knowledge he had of my habits dismantled my anger completely, which had me rolling over in his arms.
Silas’s hand gently cupped my face. He leaned in and gave me a soft, apologetic, and deeply reverent kiss.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered against my lips. He kissed me again as his thumb stroked my cheekbone. “I got defensive and panicked.”
“I’m sorry too.”
“Really, I’m not mad at you, Cal,” he assured me, “I could never be mad at you. I love you. Going to bed mad at each other, however, will never, ever be an option for us. We’ve survived too much to let arguments fester.”
He kept whispering sweet and reassuring things to me in the dark, mending the fracture with every word.
I let out a long, shaky sigh as the tension finally left my body.
My hand snaked around Silas’s waist, increasing our closeness, before I shifted my weight and rolled fully onto my back with him. Using him like a weighted blanket.
“It’s time for us to rest, husband.”
With one final and deeply tender kiss to my lips, he rested his head over my heart.
The gentle energy that permeated the room as we woke up in our sprawling hotel suite was a stark contrast to the heavy argument we’d had the night before.
It was exactly what my nervous system needed.
I lay on my back with the hotel duvet kicked down to my waist while Silas sprawled across me, his limbs completely tangled with mine.
Vibrant sunlight poured in through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, and I loved it.
Usually, I was a self-proclaimed creature of the dark.
I liked black-out curtains, cool air, and waking up in the shadows, but Silas loved a warm, bright room and the sun on his skin.
Even though I internally grumbled every time the light hit my retinas, I let him leave the curtains open anyway.
I’d let the sun burn my eyes out if it meant I got to see the sleepy and content smile that always spread across his face.
I gently nudged him, shifting my weight just enough to let him know I was awake.
“Morning,” I whispered, my voice thick with sleep.
Silas let out a soft hum against my chest as he nuzzled his face into my neck. His nose brushed over the fresh, healing ink of his own name, sending a tingle down my spine. He pressed a lazy kiss to my pulse point, while his hand slid up my bare torso to rest flat over my heart.
“Mornin’, husband,” he mumbled. His tone was thick with an undercurrent of a Southern drawl.
I smiled, tangling my fingers with his and placing a kiss to the top of his messy head.
Silas finally peeled his eyes open and squinted against the sunlight. He propped his chin on my chest, looking up at me. “What’s on the agenda today?”
“It’s a travel day,” I reminded him, my thumb lazily tracing the line of his jaw. “We’ve got a flight that leaves later to Wisconsin, but no rushing this morning.”
“Thank God,” he groaned, letting his head drop back down. “I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. Rico’s boots are made of concrete.”
“Lena texted me last night. She wants to grab a late breakfast with us before we all head to the airport. I told her we’d meet her in the lobby around eleven.”
“Is she riding with us to the airport? Or is she going with Evan?”
I let out a sudden bark of laughter, the sound echoing throughout the bright room.
“I think she’ll be begging to ride with us.
Somehow, the rental agency completely screwed up Evan’s reservation for this stop.
Instead of the massive SUV he usually demands, they gave him a lime green, compact hybrid sedan.
He’s furious. I’m pretty sure his knees touch his chin when he drives it. ”
Silas burst out laughing, his chest shaking against mine. “Oh my God. I need to get a picture of that. He must be miserable. I hope Lena brings her noise-canceling headphones, because he’s going to complain for the entire forty-five-minute drive.”
We lay there, laughing at our best friend's misfortune.
The image of a heavily muscled professional wrestler crammed into a neon green compact car was a welcome distraction.
The vibration of my phone on the wooden nightstand shattered the quiet atmosphere instantly.
I sighed, untangling one of my arms from Silas to reach over and grab the device.
Squinting at it through a weak haze of sleep, the random string of numbers glared back at me.
“Who is it?” Si shifted slightly to try and see the screen.
“No idea. It’s an unknown number.” I hit the button on the side of the phone to silence it and tossed it face-down onto the mattress. “Probably spam. Or some dirt-sheet reporter who managed to buy my number off a production assistant.”
I turned back to Silas, ready to pull him in for another kiss, but before our lips could touch, the phone lit up and started vibrating aggressively against the sheets. It had me frowning, my frustration beginning to rise as I silenced it again.
But not even ten seconds later. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz.
“What the hell?” I grumbled, as I reached for it. It was the exact same number. Whoever it was, they were persistent.
“Just answer it, baby.” Silas sat up and pulled the duvet around his waist. “If it’s a reporter, you can just hang up and block it. But it might be Tate or someone from the office using a burner line.”
I let out an irritated breath and swiped the green icon across the screen, bringing the phone to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Is this… is this Callum? Callum Kincaid?”
The voice that filled my ear was thin, slightly raspy, and laced with a heavy hesitation.
But something about the pitch, the specific cadence of the vowels, and the sharp intake of breath pulled at something in my gut.
It was familiar and tugged at a part of my mind that I’ve long since locked behind a brick wall.
The hotel room instantly felt like it was spinning on a tilted axis.
My stomach dropped into a bottomless freefall.
I would know that voice anywhere. I would know it in a crowded room.
I would know it in my sleep. I had spent more than half of my life trying to drown that exact voice out with the roar of arena crowds.
Still sitting in bed with my husband, the voice brought on a blinding shade of red. No. It can’t be. Tears welled in my eyes and spilled over my cheeks.
She didn’t know it was me? The thought echoed in my skull, a knife twisting in my chest. How could she not know it was me? I was her son.
But then the reality of my life forced its way through the shock.
She hadn’t heard my voice since I was a child.
She had walked out the door, leaving me alone with a monster, and she had never once looked back.
She didn’t know the deep, gravelly timbre my voice had taken on.
She didn’t know the man I had become. I was a stranger to her.
I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. My hand gripped my phone until the plastic casing cracked, my mind begging me to be wrong.
“Yeah,” I managed to push out in a hollow tone. “It is.”
Beside me, Silas sensed the shift in the room. The playful energy vanished from his face, replaced by a look of concern. He sat up fully, reaching out to rest a hand on my bare shoulder while I trembled so violently my teeth chattered.
“This is…it’s your mother. Fiona,” she said in a calm voice, as if she expected me to welcome her back.
With that confirmation, the room tilted on its axis and my stomach dropped into a bottomless freefall.
I fought the desire to scream at her through the phone with every ounce of discipline I possessed.
Every inch of me was ready to roar, and ask her how she dared to say those words to me.
Your mother. As if giving birth to me earned her the right to use the title she abandoned decades ago.