Chapter 24 #2
We were separated, chests heaving, screaming at each other across the barrier of security guards.
Cal’s suit was ruined, his shirt torn open, buttons missing.
He wiped a smudge of blood from his lip, my blood, and grinned.
It was a wild, manic grin. He looked at me like he wanted to kill me.
He looked at me like he wanted to fuck me right there on the concrete.
And God help me, the violence was the biggest turn on I had felt in my entire life.
The locker room was buzzing. The adrenaline was a drug, coursing through my veins, masking the pain in my shoulder and the bruising on my back.
I was sitting on a bench, icing my knee. My phone buzzed in my bag.
You got blood on me.
I snorted, the sound echoing in the locker room.
Not like it was the first time. Besides, you liked it.
I liked watching you be ruthless and cocky. But I hated watching you on that table. You looked… exposed.
Yeah? Well, I liked being on top of you.
I looked across the room. Cal was doing a post-show interview near the lockers, holding the title belt, looking serious and professional as he answered questions about my “disrespectful” promo. But I could see the flush on his neck.
I smirked. I typed quickly.
Correction. I liked looking down at you. Not being on top. But honestly? I’m sitting here leaking thinking about how heavy you felt when you rolled me over.
Cal’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it, but his hand clenched into a fist at his side.
You look so professional right now, Cal. It’s making me crazy. I want you to drag me into the shower stall and remind me who’s bigger.
Cal paused mid-sentence. His eyes flickered toward me. He cleared his throat.
You know what I want? I want you to pin me down and use me until I can’t walk to the car.
Cal’s composure cracked. He cut the interview short, muttering a thank you, and walked away quickly. He pulled his phone out as he turned the corner.
Get to the car. Now. Before I fuck you right here in front of the entire roster.
We made it to the rental car in record time. The tension was palpable.
But the second the car door slammed shut, the high began to fade.
The silence of the car wasn’t sexy. It was heavy. My adrenaline crashed, leaving behind a cold, aching void. My shoulder started to throb, a deep, sickening pulse that radiated down to my fingers.
Steel grate.
The impact.
Rico’s face.
The tunnel vision started at the edge of my sight. A high-pitched ringing began in my ears.
Fuck, not this bullshit, not right now, of all fucking times.
“Did you see his face?” Cal asked, starting the engine, still riding the high of the brawl. “Presley was losing his mind in Gorilla, he loved it. He said—”
“Can we just go?” I snapped, cutting him off. I didn’t mean to, Jesus I needed to get a fucking grip, and fast.
The static built under my skin. I tried to push it down, tried to hold onto the arousal from the texts, but the fear was stronger.
Cal glanced at me, his smile fading. “Yeah. Okay. You hungry?”
“No.”
“You need to eat, Si. You wrestled for forty minutes.”
“I said I’m not hungry!” I yelled, staring out the window. “Just drive the fucking car, Cal.”
The silence returned, but now it was sharp. Hostile.
Cal drove. He didn’t speak again. He gripped the steering wheel tight, confusion radiating off him. He didn’t understand. One minute I was sexting him about needing him inside me, the next I was biting his head off.
I squeezed my eyes shut. Stop it, I told myself. He didn’t do anything. Stop being a dick. You’re acting like you did in Philadelphia.
Oh fuck.
Is that what happened seven years ago?
Who knows?
Fuck, my body feels weird.
I couldn’t stop. The walls of the car shrank. The seatbelt became a noose.
We pulled into the hotel. I got out before the car even fully stopped. I walked through the lobby with my head down. The lights seemed too bright. The noise of the elevator dinging was like a gunshot.
“Silas,” Cal said as we walked down the hallway. He reached for my hand. I don’t think he gave a damn if anyone saw him right now.
I flinched away, physically recoiling. Even though all I wanted was to reach out to him. “Don’t.”
“What is your problem?” Cal asked, his frustration finally bubbling over as he unlocked the door. “You were fine at the venue. Did I do something?”
“Just leave me alone,” I muttered, pushing past him into the room. I was becoming more frantic, I knew it.
I dropped my bag on the floor. My hands were shaking uncontrollably now. My heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I was a bird trapped in a cage.
He’s hurt.
You hurt him.
It’s happening again.
“I’m going to shower,” I choked out.
“Let me help you,” Cal said, stepping forward, his voice softening as he saw my hands shaking. “You look wrecked, Si. Let me—”
“I said no!” I shouted, backing away until my back hit the wall. “Just—Let me be!”
Cal froze. He looked hurt. “Okay. Fine. Go.”
I turned and bolted into the bathroom, slamming the door.
I didn’t turn on the light. I turned on the shower, cranking it to hot. I stripped off my clothes, fumbling with the buttons, ripping the fabric in my haste. I stepped into the spray.
I slid down the wall. I pulled my knees to my chest.
I couldn’t breathe. The air was too thin.
My body screamed, recalling memories I didn’t want to think of.
Rico’s knee in my back.
Julian’s scream.
The snap of bone.
It wasn’t March in Texas. It was seven years ago in Charlotte. I was back in the arena. I was watching my life end.
“Cal,” I croaked. It was barely a whisper.
I tried again, louder, desperation clawing at my throat. “Cal!”
The door handle jiggled instantly. A second later, the lock clicked. The door flew open.
Cal rushed in. He saw me on the floor, curled in a ball, shaking violently.
“What the hell,” Cal breathed.
He didn’t hesitate. He was in the shower with me in a second, fully clothed. He dropped to his knees, the water soaking his shirt instantly.
“Silas? Hey, baby, look at me,” Cal demanded, grabbing my face gently. “Breathe.”
“I—I can’t—” I choked. “It’s happening again.”
“What’s happening? Talk to me,” Cal urged, pulling me into his chest.
“No,” I sobbed into his neck. “It’s my head. I can’t—”
Cal held me tighter. “Okay. Okay, I’ve got you. Just breathe with me.”
He rocked me. He sat there in the pouring water, holding me while I fell apart.
It took me twenty minutes to finally come down enough to form sentences that didn’t sound like a clusterfuck of words.
I took a shaky breath. “I have CPTSD,” I said.
The acronym hung in the steam filled air.
“Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder,” I clarified. “I got diagnosed a few years ago. After the botch.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, the memories flooding back.
“I went home to heal. But I went home to the same house where I learned to be afraid. I was trapped there with my dad and my uncle. They didn’t understand. My grandfather would tell them I’d wake up screaming, or I’d freeze up for hours, and they would just look at me like I was weak.”
I sobbed, a harsh, broken sound.
“Maverick told me it was all in my head. He told me to ‘man up.’ He said Reeds don’t cry. So I had to learn how to survive it alone. I had to learn how to hide in my room and fall apart quietly so they wouldn’t see.”
Cal’s chest hitched. I looked up. He was crying.
“You went through this alone?” he whispered, his voice cracking. “You were suffering like this, and they told you to man up?”
“I didn’t have anyone else,” I said. “I lost you. I lost wrestling. I had to put it back together by myself.”
Cal closed his eyes, pulling me closer. “God, Silas. I am so sorry. I hate them for that.”
He pulled back just enough to look me in the eye. “What do I do? Tell me what to do. How do I help? Is this the same as what happened when we got called up?”
“You remember that?” I asked. I had almost forgotten about it entirely.
I’d had a panic attack in the parking lot the day we found out we were heading to the main roster.
Back then, I just blamed it on my shitty childhood; now, I knew it was way more complex.
And it was far worse than it was in my early twenties.
“Kind of. They’re worse now than they were then, but they don’t happen as frequently. You can’t stop it,” I said. “But… you can be there. Just hold me. Remind me where I am. Remind me I’m safe.”
“I can do that,” Cal vowed. “I’ll be your anchor.”
He turned off the water. He helped me stand. He stripped out of his own soaking wet clothes, got the towels, and dried me off, as gently as he could, kissing my scars. He led me to the bed and held me until I fell into a fitful, exhausted sleep.
I woke up the next morning to the smell of rain and the heavy weight of an arm draped over my waist.
I blinked, the room coming into focus. I was heavy, drained, like I had run a marathon, but the panic was gone. The static was gone.
I shifted. Cal stirred instantly, tightening his grip.
“You okay?” his voice was rough with sleep, thick with worry.
I turned to face him. He looked wrecked, dark circles under his eyes, his hair messy. I was almost certain he had stayed up watching me.
“I’m okay,” I whispered. “I feel… empty. But okay.”
Cal let out a long breath, resting his forehead against mine. “You scared me, Si.”
“I know,” I said, kissing his nose. “I’m sorry.”
He pulled back a little, his thumb tracing my bottom lip. He studied me for a long moment, making sure the storm had truly passed. Then, a small, crooked smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“So,” Cal murmured, his voice dropping an octave. “About those texts from last night.”
I groaned, burying my face in the pillow. “Oh god. Ignore them. That was the adrenaline talking.”
“Was it?” Cal teased, running his hand down my spine, resting it heavily on my ass. “Because you were pretty specific. Something about… not wanting to be on top? Wanting me to use you?”