Chapter 20
NOVEMBER - PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA / THE ROAD
The silence in the Range Rover was louder than the Philadelphia rain hammering against the roof.
I sat in the passenger seat, knees pressed together, afraid to breathe too loud. Every time I shifted, the leather creaked, and Cal’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. His knuckles were white, the veins in his forearms prominent under the streetlights that flashed by.
He didn’t look at me. He looked at the road with a focus that bordered on violent.
I looked at him, though. I couldn’t help it. I studied the sharp cut of his jaw, the shadow of stubble, the way he’d filled out. He wasn’t the boy I left. He was a man. A man who had built a kingdom without me.
Ten minutes later, he pulled up to the curb of the hotel. He didn’t put the car in park. He just kept his foot on the brake, staring straight ahead.
“Flight is at six in the morning,” Cal said. His voice was gravel. “I’ll be here at four thirty. Don’t be late.”
“I won’t,” I said.
I hesitated. I wanted to say thank you. I wanted to say I missed you. I wanted to say I’m sorry.
“Cal—”
“Get out, Silas,” he whispered.
He didn’t shout it. He didn’t say it with anger. He said it like he was suffocating and I was the hands around his throat.
I opened the door and stepped out into the rain. Before I could even close it all the way, he was peeling off, taillights blurring into the wet night.
Four thirty came too fast.
I hadn’t slept. I stood on the curb, bag over my shoulder, shivering in the pre-dawn chill. I was just thankful Presley hadn’t mandated we share hotel rooms. That would have been the breaking point.
The Range Rover pulled up exactly on time. I climbed into the passenger seat, shaking off the rain.
“Morning,” I muttered.
Cal grunted something that might have been a greeting.
But we weren’t alone.
“Can you turn the heat up? I’m freezing back here.”
I turned around. In the backseat sat a girl. She couldn’t have been older than her early twenties. She had bright purple streaks in her hair, a septum piercing, and was wearing an oversized hoodie that swallowed her frame. She was curled up with a pillow, looking exhausted but wide awake.
“You good, Lena?” Cal asked, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. His voice was soft for her. Protected.
“I’m cold,” she complained. “And I need caffeine.”
“We’re stopping in five,” Cal said.
He didn’t look at me. He hadn’t looked at me since I got in the car.
We pulled into a drive thru ten minutes later. Cal rolled down the window.
“Medium iced oat milk latte with two pumps of vanilla and extra cold foam,” Cal ordered without looking back.
“You’re an angel,” Lena groaned from the backseat.
“And a large black cold brew,” Cal added to the speaker, his voice flat. “Light ice.”
I froze, my mouth halfway open. I looked at him. He was staring straight ahead at the menu board, his jaw set.
“I didn’t ask—”
“I’m not dealing with you uncaffeinated,” Cal cut me off, handing his card to the cashier. “You’re a nightmare without it.”
I sank back into my seat, a traitorous warmth spreading through my chest. Years of silence, and he still remembered my order.
As we merged back onto the highway, Lena sat forward, resting her chin on the center console.
“So,” she popped her gum. “This is wild. I used to watch you guys when I was in high school. Like, religiously.”
I winced. “High school? Thanks. I feel ancient.”
“You’re not ancient,” Lena laughed. “You’re just… seasoned. But seriously, I have to know. What was your favorite match? Together, I mean.”
The air in the car grew heavy.
“Every Man For Himself,” I said softly, staring out the window. “Our first pay per view.”
I felt Cal stiffen beside me. He knew. It wasn’t about the wrestling. It was about Miami. The pool. The first time I kissed him and terrified us both. It was the night the line blurred.
“That wasn’t exactly against each other,” Lena noted. “You guys didn’t even fight each other, you double teamed everyone.”
“I know,” I whispered. “But it was still my favorite.”
Cal cleared his throat. He shifted gears, the movement aggressive.
“Wrestle Empire,” Cal said, his voice rough. “The ladder match.”
My chest seized.
“Oh, for the contracts?” Lena asked. “When you guys got called up to Showdown?”
“Yeah,” Cal rasped.
I looked at his profile. He wasn’t thinking about the briefcase. He was thinking about after.
I remembered it vividly. My dad and uncle were there backstage, beaming with pride. They kept slapping my back, telling me I was a “true Reed.” But seeing them… seeing the legacy I was chained to… it broke me. I ended up in our hotel room, drowning in resentment for a childhood they stole.
Cal didn’t tell me to get over it. He just held me.
And when the crying stopped, the world shifted.
I remembered how he picked me up, literally lifted me off the floor while kissing me like he wanted to devour me, and carried me to the bed.
It wasn’t just sex. It was worship. It was the night I lost my virginity, the night I saw stars, the night I gave him everything I had.
“That was a good one,” I managed to say, my voice thick.
“Give me a funny story,” Lena pivoted, sensing the tension. “You guys traveled together for years. Give me something good.”
“Cave Hill,” Cal said suddenly. The ghost of a smirk touched his lips.
I let out a startled laugh. “Oh my god. Kentucky.”
“Cave Hill Cemetery,” Cal explained to Lena, actually chuckling. “Silas made us stop there because he wanted to see some old Victorian graves. Apparently, Maverick and Scott took him there as a teenager on some weird family road trip.”
“It’s a historic landmark!” I defended, though I was smiling.
“You were going through a phase, Silas,” Cal shot back, glancing at me. “You were deep in the trenches of Tumblr.”
“It was aesthetic,” I argued, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. “But when we scared Evan.”
“He deserved it,” Cal grinned. “He wouldn’t shut up about the car being haunted. So when we hid behind that mausoleum and jumped out?”
“He screamed like a toddler,” I finished, laughing. “He was so fucking over us.”
“We took so many Polaroids that day,” Cal murmured, his gaze dropping to my lips. “Just sitting out there…”
He trailed off. The memory caught him. The way the sun looked. The way we felt like it was us against the world.
“I still have them,” I whispered.
Cal turned his head. Our eyes locked.
And there it was. The glimpse. For a split second, the mask slipped. I saw the raw, gaping wound underneath. He looked at me with such intense, agonizing longing that it knocked the wind out of me. He looked at me like he hated that he still loved me.
“You kept them?” Cal asked, his voice barely audible.
“I kept everything,” I admitted.
Cal realized what he was doing. He realized he was looking at me like he used to, not his ex-colleague. The walls slammed back up, higher and thicker than before.
He ripped his gaze away, staring back at the road. His jaw clenched so hard I saw the muscle feather.
“That’s…” Lena started, oblivious. “That is so vintage. You travel with a Polaroid camera?”
“I did,” I said, my voice shaking.
Cal turned the radio up, drowning us out. He didn’t speak for the rest of the drive. The facade was gone, but in its place was a cold, hard distance. He was disgusted with himself for slipping. I could feel it.
Presley wasn’t kidding. The punishment was indefinite.
For thirty-five days, I lived in a state of suspended animation. November bled into December, bringing with it the biting cold of the Midwest and the Northeast.
We flew together. We drove together. We sat in rental cars in Detroit, Cleveland, and Atlanta.
After the car ride in Philly, Cal shut down completely. He did exactly what was asked of him. He was civil. He was professional. But he built a wall between us so thick and cold I felt like I was freezing to death just standing next to him.
He treated me like a coworker he barely knew.
“Ready to go?”
“Pass me my bag.”
“We need to be at the arena by four.”
That was it. No jokes. No old references. No eye contact that lasted longer than a second.
It was agony. Being this close to him, smelling him, hearing his voice, but being unable to reach him. It was worse than the seven years apart. At least then, I could pretend he still cared. Now, I had to watch him not care up close.
We landed in Indianapolis two days after Christmas. The city was a gray slush, the wind cutting through my jacket.
We went straight to the arena to train. This was the worst part of Presley’s punishment: Mandatory chemistry training.
The arena was empty except for a few rookies running ropes and a trainer leaning against the turnbuckle, looking at his phone.
Cal went to the far corner to tape his wrists. He didn’t look at me.
“Reed!”
I turned. A guy was walking toward me. He was stocky, thick necked, with dark, intense eyes. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him. Just another hungry rookie looking to make a name.
“Presley said I have to work with you on transitions,” the guy said. He didn’t introduce himself.
“Cool,” I said, rolling my neck. “Let’s run it.”
I climbed through the ropes. My left shoulder ached, a phantom pain from the stress of the travel.
We started a simple chain wrestling drill. Lock up. Headlock. Shoot off. Shoulder tackle.
The kid was working stiff. His forearms dug into my neck. His shoves were harder than they needed to be. He was sloppy, aggressive.
I took it. I glanced at the trainer. He was watching, but he didn’t say a word. I looked at the other rookies. They were watching too, smirking. Nobody was going to step in.
“Again!” the kid yelled.
We locked up. I went for an arm drag.
Instead of following the momentum, the kid shot low. He drove his shoulder directly into my bad shoulder, the one I had surgery on years ago. He tackled me to the mat, driving his weight down on the joint with a sickening crunch.