2. FRIDAY, AUGUST — SAN JUAN, PUERTO RICO
FRIDAY, AUGUST — SAN JUAN, PUERTO RICO
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Friday morning was a suffocating media circus.
The UWF had taken over the entire ground floor of the resort, converting the ballrooms into a labyrinth of press tables, ring lights, and step-and-repeats.
My media block wasn’t for another hour, so I stood off to the side of the main stage, arms crossed over my tailored suit as I watched Silas’s interview.A reporter from a sports outlet stood up.
“Silas, you’ve mentioned briefly in past interviews that your mother was from Puerto Rico.
Coming into Heatwave as the number one contender, what does it mean for you to compete in the World Heavyweight Championship here on the island? ”
Silas’s jaw tightened, but with sincerity running through his chocolate eyes, he leaned into the mic.
“It’s surreal,” he answered with a heavy, quiet vulnerability.
“I was actually here once before, in my early twenties. But I didn’t take the time to really appreciate it, because I wasn’t sure how. I ran from a lot back then.”
My chest ached as I recalled the last time we stood on this island together.
We were kids back then, still trying to fight ourselves. Hiding behind women and toxic masculinity, desperately hoping that nobody would catch on to who we were behind closed doors.
“I’m trying to connect with it now,” Silas continued, looking out at the reporters.
“I don’t speak the language. I didn’t grow up in the culture, and sometimes it feels like I don’t have any right to claim it.
But being here, feeling the energy of this place, I want to earn my spot here. To make this island proud on Sunday.”
The reporters loved it. I could already picture the crowd on Sunday night and the signs they would hold up in support. The citizens here loved him, even if he lived in total denial of it.
“He’s good on the mic.”
My jaw locked as Cora stepped up beside me, dressed in a very strappy, very short, very deliberate dress. She leaned back against the wall, crossing her arms.
“He’s the number one contender,” I said flatly, my eyes on Silas. “He’s supposed to be.”
“Sure.” Cora hummed before pushing off the wall and crowding my personal space. Her voice lowered while giving me a knowing, suggestive look. “You know, Cal, it’s Friday. You don’t have to play ice-king with me. The boys talk. I know I’m most definitely your type.”
My skin crawled. I turned my head to look at her, and my patience completely evaporated.
It rubbed me the wrong way to know the locker room still gossiped about who I was before Silas came back.
That man had been completely lost; he was nowhere near who I am today.
I dropped my voice into a dangerous register.
“You heard wrong.” “Oh, really? What’s your type then? ”
I looked back at the stage and watched as Silas ran a hand through his hair, laughing at a reporter’s question.
For the first time in my career, the heavy, suffocating cage of us always hiding felt like it was crushing my ribs.
I was tired of the game. So fucking tired of concealing the best thing that ever happened to me.
“Stubborn, funny, with a smile that could light up a room,” I mumbled under my breath before snapping her way. "Look, Cora. I’m seeing someone. So back off.”
Cora stared at me for a total of three seconds before she laughed, assuming I was just playing up my “untouchable heel” persona.
She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, right, you’re seeing someone. Someone I’ve never seen around the arena. You never bring her to the after-parties, and you sure as hell don’t post—”
Coldly, I cut her off. “They prefer their privacy.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Well, whoever she is, she’s keeping you on a tight leash.”
By noon, the press antics were over, and I was able to step out into the vibrant, sun-drenched streets of Old San Juan with Lena. I would rather have been walking these streets with Silas, holding his hand, but the island was crawling with dirt-sheet media.
“You’re pining,” Lena noted as she sipped an iced coffee. “It’s gross. But if it makes you feel any better, I know he’s miserable, too.”
I opened my mouth to tell her to shut up, but my eyes caught something on the table of a local artisan stall, and I stopped. Set atop the woven cloth was a rustic white stone pendant, strung on a dark brown, suede cord. Carved deeply into the stone was a striking, fierce sun with a face.
“That’s El Sol de Jayuya.” The older vendor smiled warmly. “The Taino Sun. It’s a symbol of the island. Of life, strength, and longevity.”
My chest tightened. Golden. Sun God. A symbol of life and strength. Those were the things that came to mind when I thought about Silas. He wanted to earn his spot here, but in my eyes, he already had.
“I’ll take it.”
When we arrived back at the resort ten minutes later, I stopped outside the locker rooms and handed the suede-wrapped package to Lena. “Slip this to him before the photo shoot.”
“You’re so lucky I support this incredibly high-maintenance romance.”
Fifteen minutes later, when I walked out toward the beach staging area, Lena was leaning against a production crate waiting for me. “Mission accomplished.”
“Did he open it?” I asked quietly.
“He did.” Lena smirked. “He looked like he was about to cry. Then he shoved it in his gear bag, and told me to tell you he loves you. But…some of the girls from the women’s division were walking out of the locker room exactly when I handed a secret, intimate little gift to the Golden Boy.”
“No.”
“Yep. The rumor is officially flying. The entire women’s locker room now thinks I’m sleeping with your boyfriend. Which makes me want to fucking throw up. Do people really not hear me refer to you guys as dads?”
I dragged a heavy hand down my face. “Evan is going to have an aneurysm.”
By two o’clock, the private beach was a chaotic, high-budget circus.
Presley had insisted on reviving the early 2000s tradition of the UWF summer roster photo shoot.
As awkward as standing mostly naked on a public beach surrounded by corporate synergy felt, the kid had made a good point in his pitch to Creative.
It was a massive part of the summer season back in the day, and the fans went absolutely rabid for the rare instances when the men’s division participated in the sexy shoots, too.
I stripped down to a pair of tight, black swim trunks and stepped onto the glaring white sand.
The photographer immediately pulled me toward the shoreline, insisting on extra shots in the water.
The turquoise waves crashed against my waist, the dark contrast of the ocean amplifying the heavy black ink of the tattoos across my body.
I felt each lingering gaze boring into me from the shore. Several women stood a few yards down the beach, watching. Over the crashing waves, I caught their hushed, giggling ramblings. There were comments regarding my back, the cut of my obliques, and the way the water clung to my body.
It made my skin crawl.
Knowing the opposite sex found me attractive was one thing. But women openly ogling me, aiming their desires at a man who felt entirely disconnected from them, left me deeply uncomfortable.
My face stayed locked in a cold, arrogant scowl for the camera, trying my best to tune out the unwanted female gaze.
I sought refuge by locking eyes with Lena and Evan, who were relaxing in beach chairs after finishing their own shoots.
More than anything, I desperately searched for Silas, who was supposed to be up next.
When my shoot was over, I retreated to the shade of a massive cabana, gratefully throwing an unbuttoned black linen shirt on to cover my skin. That’s when Silas stepped out of the styling tent.
The Caribbean sun hit his deep bronze skin, giving him an almost angelic glow.
He wore Carolina blue board shorts, his broad shoulders glistening with tanning oil.
Instead of appreciating the view, my eyes locked dead-center on his massive chest. Resting right in the middle, stark and beautiful, was the Taino Sun.
“Alright, Silas. You’re up!” the photographer shouted. “Hey, Sarah? Can we get that necklace off him? It’s not approved UWF merch.”
A wardrobe assistant scurried over. “Sorry, Silas. I just need to grab—”
“Nope.” Silas’s voice was calm, but it carried an absolute, unshakable authority. His large hand moved up to wrap protectively around the carved stone. “I’m not taking it off. It’s a necklace from here with meaning. It’s not going anywhere.”
The photographer blinked. “You know what? Sure, it works. It fits the vibe. Let’s roll with it.”
Under the cabana, my heart hammered violently. Watching Silas defy UWF production to wear the gift I bought him, was the most incredibly attractive thing I’d ever witnessed.
When he finished his shots, he waded out into the water to cool off. I stood up, ignoring Evan’s warning glare.
“You two cannot follow instructions to save your goddamn lives,” he muttered.
I responded with a middle finger as I crossed my arms and walked out from under the shade. With my jaw set into a cold scowl, I waded into the water until it hit my waist.
“Look at you,” I murmured, keeping the mask on my face for the cameras on the shore, but dropping my voice so only he could hear. “Taking up all the camera time.”
Silas laughed, a bright, easy sound, then splashed me. “What are you doing out here? Evan looks like he’s trying to pass a kidney stone.”
“I couldn’t sit under that cabana for one more second. ” I turned slightly so my back faced the beach. “You look so fucking good, baby. All I want is to drag you back to the hotel, drop you to your knees, and see how far down your throat I can shove my cock.”
A heavy flush crept rapidly up Silas’s neck. The filthy, eager heat he only ever showed to me flared to life.