Present Day - The Reed Land, North Carolina
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The TV was on. Man Overboard.
It was the main event. Thirty men. One shot at the main event of Wrestle Empire.
My dad and uncle were cheering for the old guys, veterans from their glory days who had come back for surprise spots. I tried not to look at the screen. I focused on my steak. I focused on my breathing.
But then the music hit. “Death March.”
Cal walked out.
He looked different. He wasn’t the boy I left in Charlotte. He was a man. His hair was cut short, wet and slicked back. His gear was black and white. He moved with a predator’s grace.
He entered the ring and he dominated everything. He threw guys over the top rope like they were children.
Ten guys left.
Five guys left.
Three guys left.
It came down to Cal and Demolition’s new top guy. They went back and forth for ten minutes. And then, with a clothesline that shook the ring, Cal eliminated him.
The bell rang.
Cal fell to his knees in the center of the ring. He was crying. He looked up at the Wrestle Empire sign hanging from the rafters and pointed.
I stood up, my chair scraping loudly against the floor. My eyes were locked on the TV. My heart was hammering so hard I thought it would crack my ribs.
He did it. Come April, he would be the Heavyweight Champion.
A wave of emotion so strong it nearly knocked me over crashed into me, pride, jealousy, love, grief.
“I have to go,” I muttered.
I left in a hurry. I didn’t go home. I ran straight to the garage.
I turned the lights on. The ring stood there, waiting. I hadn’t stepped inside the ropes in seven years.
I climbed the steel steps. I wiped my feet on the apron. I stepped through the ropes.
I started running.
Back and forth. Hitting the ropes. Feeling the tension. I climbed the turnbuckle. I jumped. I landed. My body remembered. My shoulder held.
Tears were streaming down my face the entire time.
I took a bump, a hard, flat back bump that rattled my teeth. I lay there on the canvas, staring at the corrugated ceiling.
The memories flashed through my mind like a film reel. Cal. The hotel pool. The night in Seattle. The talk of the future. The trust. The botch. The hoodie. The look on his face when I left.
The fury erupted.
I didn’t sleep. I stayed in the ring all night, running drills until my lungs burned and my shirt was soaked.
At seven in the morning, I picked up my phone. My hands were shaking.
I dialed the number.
It rang once. Twice.
“This is Mark Murran.”
I almost couldn’t speak. The last time I talked to the Chairman of the UWF was the night he released me.
“Hey, Mark,” I said, my voice raspy. “It’s Silas Reed.”
“Reed!” Mark’s voice boomed. “How are your dad and uncle? How are you?”
He knew. He knew exactly why I was calling. We both did.
“We’re good,” I said. “Listen, I want to talk to you about something.”
There was a pause. A heavy, knowing silence.
“Silas,” Mark said, his tone shifting. “I’ve been waiting for this call. And dare I say… I knew last night it would come soon after.”
I swallowed hard. “It’s got nothing to do with that.”
“Doesn’t it?” Mark chuckled darkly. “You just watched someone you were in competition with fulfill the spot we had designed for you. I probably would have put a bullet in my head at the sight.”
I clenched my jaw. He was right. Fuck, I hated that he was right.
“Look, son,” Mark continued, all business now. “I’ve planned for this. You know I did. I retire after Wrestle Empire. My son is taking my position. But effective immediately, and I will tell him as soon as we get off this call, we’ll see you at Front Lines in Philadelphia in November.”
I shuddered, gripping the ropes. “What?”
“You have until November to be ready,” Mark said. “I’ll send you the email with the creative score for this. I told you, Reed. I’ve been waiting. And we made a creative angle just in case this happened. Be looking for it.”
“Welcome back, kid.”
The line went dead.