Chapter 27 #2
“You people talk about Wrestle Empire like it’s a celebration,” I sneered, pacing the ring. “You talk about Evan Wilder. You talk about Deadlock. But you forget one thing. Who built this new era? Who laid the foundation for it so you people could have something to watch?”
The boos rained down. I smirked.
“I am the prince of this industry. And come Sacramento… I’m taking my crown back.”
Evan’s music hit. The crowd popped huge. He bounded down the ramp, sliding into the ring, snatching a mic.
“Silas, Silas, Silas,” Evan mocked, leaning against the ropes. “You sound miserable. You talk about crowns and princes like this is a fairy tale. But the reality is, you left. You walked away. And while you were gone? I was stealing the show every. single. night.”
“You were keeping my seat warm!” I shouted back.
Then, the lights cut. The heavy, distorted guitar riff of “Death March” hit.
The arena shook. Callum walked out. He didn’t run. He didn’t pose. He just walked down the ramp with the World Heavyweight Championship over his shoulder, looking like a man who owned the building.
He got in the ring, standing between me and Evan. He looked at Evan. He looked at me. He raised the mic.
“You two can argue about who stole the show and who built the show,” Cal said, his voice calm, dangerous. “But as long as I’m holding this title? I am the show.”
I stepped into his space. “You’re a placeholder, Deadlock. You always have been.”
“Is that right?” Cal stepped closer, until our noses were almost touching. “Then why can you never beat me? Why are you begging for a second chance?”
I shoved him.
That was the cue.
Cal dropped the belt and tackled me. Evan tried to pull him off, but I kicked Evan in the gut.
It turned into a three-way brawl. I threw a punch at Cal’s jaw, working light, but making it look stiff.
He sold it perfectly, stumbling back before rebounding off the ropes and hitting me with a Spear that nearly cut me in half.
The crowd lost their minds. Security rushed the ring. Referees were pulling Cal back. Producers were holding me against the turnbuckle.
In the chaos, Cal broke free. He lunged at me again, grabbing the front of my shirt, pulling me close like he was going to headbutt me.
“Fighting you turns me on,” he whispered in my ear, breathless and hot, hidden from the cameras. “God, do that again.”
“Fuck you,” I whispered back, shoving his chest while fighting a smirk.
We were dragged apart, the segment ending with the crowd going feral.
Backstage, Evan shook his head, looking traumatized. “You two are sick. I literally heard you. ‘Fighting turns me on’? Really, Cal? On live TV?”
“I didn’t say that,” Cal lied effortlessly.
“You two were eye fucking across the ring,” Evan groaned. “I felt like a third wheel in a three-way match.”
“Jealous?” Cal teased.
“Traumatized,” Evan corrected.
As we were packing up to leave, Cal and I pulled Evan aside near the loading dock. We told him we were taking the mandatory week break starting tomorrow, but we’d be back the Thursday before Empire to perfect everything for the match.
Evan leaned against a crate, looking at us both with a soft, genuine smile.
“Good,” Evan said. “Take the week. You guys earned it. And honestly?” He looked between us, his expression turning serious. “I’m really proud of you guys. Not just the work in the ring, which is insane, by the way, but… this.” He gestured between Cal and me.
“You guys are good for each other,” Evan continued, his voice quiet amidst the noise of the crew breaking down the set.
“Really good. The last several years… they sucked, man. Watching you both be miserable, knowing you wanted nothing more than to be where you are right now, but being too damn stubborn and prideful to fix it? It was brutal to watch. Seeing you guys finally get your heads out of your asses… it’s a relief. You’re a unit. Keep it that way.”
It meant everything coming from him. We didn’t tell him about the cameras, or Tate, or the panic attack. We just let that support settle over us like armor.
We got back to the hotel and showered, both of us preparing to tell Lena everything.
We ordered pizza, slid into comfy clothes, and texted her, waiting for her to show up. Cal scolded me for my text to her; apparently, I didn’t understand the whole ‘dad’ role and sent her a text he said surely gave the girl anxiety.
There was a frantic knock at the door.
I opened it, and Lena burst in, looking panicked.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, looking between us. “Silas texted ‘Come to the room, we need to talk.’ That’s dad code for ‘someone is in trouble.’ Did I botch a spot?”
“No,” Cal said soothingly, guiding her to the small table where the pizza box sat. “Sit down, kid. You’re not in trouble. No one is in trouble.”
Lena sat, looking suspicious. “Then why do you guys look like you’re about to give me the ‘birds and the bees’ talk?”
I sat across from her. My palms were sweating.
“We wanted to tell you something,” I started, glancing at Cal for support.
He nodded, taking a seat next to me on the small loveseat. “Because you’re family. And we don’t want to lie to you anymore.”
Lena’s eyes widened as she sat down on the floor in front of us, legs crossed. “Oh my god. Is it the girlfriend? Is she pregnant? Am I going to be an aunt?”
“No,” Cal laughed, a dry, nervous sound. “There is no girlfriend, Lena.”
Lena paused, confused. “But… the sneaking around. The texting. The hickey… Oh god, she wasn’t a girlfriend! Was she just a hookup? Wait, is she married? Si, are you dating a married woman because—”
“It wasn’t a girl,” I said softly.
I reached out and took Cal’s hand, lacing our fingers together.
Lena stared at our hands. She blinked. Once. Twice.
She looked up at Cal. Then at me. Then back at our hands. The gears in her head were turning violently.
“Wait,” Lena whispered. Her eyes darted around the room as if replaying the last several weeks. She looked at Cal, and then her eyes widened in horror. “Wait. The hickey.”
“Yeah,” Cal said, rubbing the back of his neck, actually looking a little sheepish.
“The hickey I pointed out?” Lena shrieked, her voice jumping an octave. “The one I poked? That was you?!”
“Yeah, it was me,” Cal admitted, his face turning red and an awkward smile creeping across his lips.
Lena gagged. Actually gagged. She covered her face with her hands.
“Ew! Oh my god! Ew!” She peeked through her fingers, looking horrified. “I asked about it! I asked if she was pretty! And it was you? I was talking about your neck while you guys were… oh my god, I’m going to throw up.”
“Lena,” I started, trying not to laugh.
“No!” She held up a hand. “That is disgusting! You are my dad’s! I don’t want to know about you guys giving each other hickeys! I was in high school when you guys debuted! You’re supposed to be asexual beings who just wrestle and buy me food!”
She stood up, pacing the small room, looking traumatized. And I think we all were a little bit.
“Cal said she was a ninja,” she muttered to herself. “And I agreed. I called Cal a ninja. And he was just… sneaking into your room to be a full-blown freak. Oh my god. And the hoodie! The vintage one!”
“A freak?” Cal said, smirking. I was trying not to laugh as he glanced at me.
“So it literally was a boyfriend hoodie,” Lena groaned. “I hate you both.”
“I mean technically… Yeah,” I agreed.
She stopped pacing and looked at us. Her expression softened, just a little, beneath the dramatic disgust.
“So,” she chewed on her lip. “You guys are… good? Happy?”
“Yeah,” Cal said, throwing his arm around me. “We’re happy.”
“Good,” Lena mumbled. “I—I really don’t know what to say here—just… keep the PDA to a minimum. My brain is still processing.”
She grabbed her phone, typing furiously. A moment later, both of our phones pinged.
Group Chat Name Changed to: The Dads
I checked the contact details. She had changed my name to Nice Dad and Cal’s to Moody Dad.
“There,” she stated. “Now it’s official.”
We spent the rest of the night with Lena, her cracking jokes and putting things together like a giant puzzle. She thought she was totally blind, but we promised we’d just been damn good at hiding it all.
After Lena left, the silence settled back into the room. It was late, pushing past midnight.
I knew I had to do it.
“I have to call Scott,” I whispered.
“It’s late,” Cal said, looking at the clock.
“He’ll be up,” I said. “And even if he isn’t, he’ll answer.”
Cal nodded. He moved to sit on the bed, intending to give me space, but I didn’t want space. I climbed onto the bed and curled up between his legs, pressing my back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around me instantly, resting his chin on my shoulder.
I dialed. It rang twice.
“Silas?” Scott’s voice was alert. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I said, my voice thick. “Yeah, everything’s okay. I’m sorry to call so late.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Scott said immediately. “What’s going on?”
“I’m coming home,” I said. “Tomorrow. For the week break before Empire.”
“That’s great, Si,” Scott said, sounding relieved. “We’d love to see you. Your Dad’s been asking.”
“Scott,” I cut in, gripping Cal’s arm. “I need… when I get there, I really need to talk to you. Both of you. But I need you to be there. I need your help with Dad.”
There was a pause on the line. I could hear Scott shifting, sitting up.
“Okay,” Scott said, his tone shifting to serious, protective big brother mode. “Is it bad?”
“No,” I choked out. “It’s… it’s just a lot. And I need to know you’re in my corner.”
“I’m always in your corner, Silas,” Scott said firmly. “Whatever it is, we’ll handle it. Just get here safe. I love you, kid.”
“Love you too,” I whispered.
I hung up. I didn’t panic this time. I just cried. Quiet, relief filled tears. Cal held me tight, kissing the side of my head, letting me fall apart safely in his arms.