Chapter 4 #2
Jonathan Rockwell was another pillar of this business.
He was the oldest of all the names listed.
He had already been in the UWF for ten years when I signed and was certainly cemented in history.
He had been a babyface the entire time he’d been here.
A heel turn for him was probably the most shocking part of this entire scenario.
“And who comes out on top of this free for all?" Cal asked, cutting straight to the chase.
“You guys,” said Tate.
Mark nodded. “We think this is the best outcome. Fans will be torn on if they love or hate you guys, and going into Man Overboard, this is going to send everyone into a frenzy. There will be more to prove in this. This will showcase who can hang with the big dogs, and who falls behind in the end. And unfortunately… one or two of you falling behind will be inevitable.”
I swallowed hard, the air leaving the room. We all glanced at one another.
Who falls behind.
What if it was me? What if I couldn’t hang?
High flyers like me weren’t known for longevity, or for selling the way the big guys did.
It was the guys like Cal, built like tanks with a grounded, strike heavy style that prioritized efficiency and violence, who survived this business.
Guys like me, who used our bodies as projectiles, defying gravity with reckless abandon, usually ended up broken before thirty.
The meeting ended shortly after. We were all shellshocked. I didn’t feel like I was even in my body as we walked out silently, packing our bags to move from the smaller Aftershock venue to the arena forty-five minutes down the road for Showdown.
When Cal and I reached the rental car in the parking lot, I stood there for a beat. The cold NYC air hit my face, biting and sharp, but I couldn’t feel it. I was numb.
“Si? You good?” Cal asked, snapping his fingers in front of my face.
I shook my head as if it would make the thoughts go away. I didn’t realize I was standing there holding the keys but making no move to unlock the damn thing. My fingers felt like they didn’t belong to me.
“Sorry… can you drive maybe? I don’t really like driving in cities like this,” I said, my voice tight, sounding thin and far away.
Cal nodded and walked around to the driver’s side where I was standing. But by the time he got there, I was crouching down near the tires.
It hit me all at once.
The tunnel vision started at the edges of my sight, turning the grey parking lot into a blur. My heart, which had been racing all day, suddenly felt like it was trying to batter its way out of my ribcage.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
It was too fast. It was erratic.
I was panicking. Completely. I knew the feeling well, the tight chest, the inability to draw a full breath, but having a panic attack in public? In a work parking lot? That hadn’t happened before.
“Dude, what’s going on?” Cal asked with sudden concern, crouching down next to me.
My knees gave out. I tumbled onto my ass on the cold asphalt, my hands flying up to cover my face. I needed to hide.
“I’m g-good… f-freaking out… I’m f-fine,” I stuttered out, gasping for air that refused to fill my lungs. It felt like breathing through a straw. Like drowning on dry land.
“What can I do?” Cal asked. His voice dropped the sarcasm instantly. The edge was gone. “Do you need anything? Water?”
I couldn’t answer. My mouth wasn’t working. My tongue felt too big for my mouth. The noise of the city, the distant sirens, the hum of traffic, faded into a high-pitched ringing in my ears. It felt like dying, totally bombing out in a packed parking lot before my career even really started.
This is it, the voice in my head screamed.
You’re a fraud. You’re broken. You’re just like your father.
“Silas, talk to me,” Cal said.
His hands settled on my wrists, warm and grounding, trying to pull my hands away from my face.
My breathing was fast, shallow, dangerously close to hyperventilation. I forced my eyes open.
Our eyes locked. Cal looked concerned. Uncertain. For a moment, he didn’t have a mask on. He wasn’t hiding beneath hardness and spite. He was genuine. He was trying his best to be whatever the hell I needed, and he had no reason to do that.
“I just—want to go—Please,” I managed to wheeze out.
Cal nodded instantly. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t tell me to man up. He hopped up, hauling me to my feet with a surprising amount of strength, and helped me steadily walk over to the passenger seat. I think he thought I was going to pass out. Part of me thought I might, too.
He helped me climb into the car, shut my door, sealing me in the safety of the cabin, and walked around to the back. I heard the trunk slam, then the driver’s side door opened, letting in a gust of winter air.
“Drink this,” he said.
I wanted to laugh, but my body wouldn’t let me. Cal had gone through my snack bag, the one he always gave me hell for, and pulled out one of my canned coffees.
For once, I didn’t think he was being an asshole.
“Coffee?” I questioned weakly, my hands shaking so bad I almost dropped the can.
“You told me you drink it when you’re nervous, so…” He shrugged, looking a little awkward, rubbing the back of his neck. “I figured it was better than a slap in the face. It grounds you, right?”
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He popped the tab and handed it to me. I took a sip, the familiar sugar and caffeine hitting my system.
It was a sensory anchor. The taste. The cold can.
It distracted me from the spiral. I steadied back out, the ringing in my ears fading, taking notice of the fact I had tears running down my cheeks, which made me even more embarrassed.
Not only did I just have a full-blown panic attack at work, I was also sitting here crying like a bitch in front of the guy I was secretly maybe sort of lusting after.
“Can’t believe you remembered the coffee thing,” I said with a soft, watery laugh, wiping my face with my sleeve.
“You drink so much of that shit, I just assume you’re nervous by default at this point,” Cal teased gently, starting the car. The engine purred to life, vibrating through the seat.
I gave a small smile, thankful for his presence right now.
“You good for me to drive now?” he asked, his hand hovering over the gear shift, waiting for my signal.
I nodded, resting my head against the cool glass of the window. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
I dozed off on the car ride to the arena, my mind seeming to think the only way to shut this shit off was sleep. The rhythm of the drive, Cal’s steady presence next to me, it all lulled me into a restless exhaustion.
Cal nudged me awake when we parked. I still didn’t feel entirely back to normal, my chest still felt bruised from the inside, but it was normal enough I could at least do my damn job. I think.
The arena was insanely busy. Production crew ran around left and right, main roster men and women appeared from tour buses, fancy cars, and limos. This was nothing like the dark matches we’d been in. This… this was the real fucking deal.
The Garden. New York City. The Mecca.
We went into the arena and made our way through to the ring.
It sat in the middle of the venue like a ghost, thousands of empty seats surrounding it.
Everyone from the meeting was standing around it.
It looked like they were already in the process of practicing everything for the promo and the fight.
Cal and I approached nervously. This still didn’t feel quite real.
“Boys,” Rob Harlow said as he stuck his hand out. “Glad you made it. Silas, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. You good?”
“Just ready to work,” I lied smoothly, shaking his hand with a grip I hoped was firm.
Before I could say anything else, a blur of blond hair and pink gear practically tackled me.
“There he is! The prodigal son returns!” Evan grinned, throwing an arm around my neck. He looked at Cal, his smile dipping just a fraction, a glint of mischief entering his eyes. “And… Deadlock. Joy.”
Cal’s eye twitched. He let out a long, suffering sigh, adjusting his hoodie. “It’s Cal. You know my name, Wilder. We have the same call sheet.”
“I know what I see on the paper, Deadlock,” Evan chirped, patting Cal on the shoulder with excessive force. “But you just really feel like a Deadlock, don’t you think? It fits the whole… storm cloud over your head thing you’ve got going on.”
Cal swatted Evan’s hand away, not with malice, but with pure annoyance. “Touch me again and I’m aiming for your face during the brawl.”
“Feisty,” Evan laughed, completely unfazed. He knew exactly what buttons he was pushing, and he was pushing them with a smile.
He turned his back on Cal, focusing entirely on me, grabbing my arm and pulling me a few feet away.
“Dude, are you okay? You look pale,” Evan whispered, his voice dropping.
“I’m fine,” I said quickly. “Just… big night. Nerves.”
Evan frowned, his eyes darting back to where Cal was standing, leaning against the apron and retying his boots.
“Is he giving you a hard time? I heard you guys are riding together for all the upcoming shows. If he’s being a dick, tell me. I know he’s intense.”
“What? No,” I said, shaking my head. “Cal’s fine. Seriously. We’re cool.”
“Cool?” Evan repeated skeptically. “Since when? You guys barely spoke a few months ago. Now I hear rumors you’re rooming together, driving together… it’s just odd, Si. He’s not exactly the friendliest guy in the locker room. I just don’t want you getting dragged down by his attitude.”
I opened my mouth to defend him, but a shadow fell over us.
“Careful, Wilder,” Cal’s voice rumbled from right behind Evan’s shoulder.
We both jumped. Cal was standing there, hands in his pockets, looking entirely too amused for someone who claimed to hate everyone.
“You’re getting awfully worried about who Silas spends his time with,” Cal drawled, his eyes flicking between Evan and me. He stepped closer, invading Evan’s personal space just enough to make him uncomfortable.