7. MONDAY — SAN JUAN, PUERTO RICO
MONDAY — SAN JUAN, PUERTO RICO
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My eyes burned when Silas shook my shoulder.
His large hand rubbed the center of my back. “Cal,” Silas whispered. “Come on. Get up. We’re going to go do something.”
“No, we aren’t,” I roughly mumbled into the cotton pillowcase. “My ass hurts. Everything hurts. I’m not moving until housekeeping physically evicts us.”
The mattress shifted as Silas sat up. “It’s going to hurt worse if you stay in that position, old man. Pick your poison.” Straddling my hips, he playfully thrusted his pelvis against me.
I cracked one eye open, twisting my head to glare at the fuzzy shape of his silhouette.
Hidden in shadow, the moonlight glowing around him, he looked like a god.
“Get the fuck off me,” I groaned. After the way he used me last night, the idea of round two was a hard pass. My body actually fucking ached from it.
“I’ll be gentle,” he cooed, leaning down to kiss the side of my neck.
“You’re a damn liar.” I shifted to push his head away. “If I get out of this bed, you owe me head before our flight tomorrow.”
Silas let out a low, breathy laugh that sent vibrations straight into my chest. He leaned down, pressing a lingering and completely-devoted kiss to my bare shoulder. “That’s a reward, Kincaid. Not a punishment. Now, put some shorts on.”
With a push off the mattress, his footsteps retreated into the bathroom.
The door clicked shut, leaving me alone in the dim light of the suite.
Slowly, I sat up, my battered joints protesting.
I dragged a hand down my face, my eyes catching on the gold plates of the championship belt sitting on the desk.
All week, I’d been mourning the end of my reign, terrified of what my legacy in this business would be if I wasn't the guy at the top of the card.
But sitting here in the quiet, listening to the muffled sound of Silas moving around in the bathroom, my mind was finally calm.
There’s only one thing that matters anymore.
My eyes drifted from the belt to the black duffel bag sitting on the luggage rack.
The hesitation I’d been carrying, the fear of the corporate backlash and the press, suddenly felt entirely insignificant.
I’ve stepped back from the spotlight, so what the fuck is the point of still hiding in the shadows?
We could actually do this. We could come out, maybe within the next year, or in two.
Hell, maybe tomorrow. It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was settling down with the man in the next room.
I pushed off the bed and walked over to the bag, pulling out the black velvet box.
It didn’t feel like a terrifying weight anymore. It felt like a promise, a lifetime. The sudden, explosive fuel to a fire. I’m ready. For him, for this life. For us to start our forever.
Ten minutes later, we were sneaking through the creepily quiet lobby of the resort.
The contrast to Friday afternoon was staggering.
The corporate circus was gone, and the fans were sleeping off the high of Heatwave.
The cameras, the makeup tents, the suffocating pressure of the company, it had all vanished.
When we pushed through the glass doors, the island was still wrapped in the dark of early morning, illuminated only by the faint silver glow of the moon hiding behind thin clouds.
Silas walked a straight line from the hotel to the beach, stripping off his hoodie in stride before wading into the Atlantic in his board shorts. I followed his lead, the water was cool at first, a sharp shock to the system, but it quickly warmed, matching the Caribbean air.
Silas stopped at his waist and turned to face me. Without the blinding glare of the sun or the prying eyes of the crew, his face held a softness reserved only for me. The feral, possessive, and bloody World Champion from last night was completely gone, leaving the man I loved.
“It’s dark,” Silas murmured, his voice barely carrying over the rhythmic crash of the waves. He reached out under the water, his fingers finding mine and tangling together. “Nobody can see us out here. We can just be us.”
I didn’t hesitate. I closed the distance between us, pulling him until his chest bumped against mine.
I tilted my chin to kiss him, slow, deep, and tender.
There was no performative rivalry to maintain, no empty threats to whisper for the sake of a character.
We were just two people with an overwhelming, soul-deep adoration for each other.
“Just us,” I promised against his lips, resting my forehead against his.
We stood there for a long time, the gentle pull of the tide rocking us back and forth in the pitch-black water, admiring the quiet beauty of the island before dawn.
“I asked him,” Silas said suddenly. His voice was quiet, almost fragile.
I pulled back just enough to look at his face. “Asked who what?”
“Maverick.” Silas swallowed hard, his thumb tracing the back of my hand under the water. He turned his head, looking out at the endless horizon that stretched across the ocean. “I asked him before we left for this trip.”
My brow furrowed. “Asked him what, Si?”
“Her name.”
I went completely still, and my next breath hitched in my chest. He didn’t have to elaborate any further. I already knew what he meant. His mom.
Silas had never asked about her. Sure, he knew the bare minimum: she was Puerto Rican, had given birth to him, and walked out of the hospital the same day without looking back.
But Silas had spent his entire life burying the rejection, acting like it didn’t matter.
The fact that he had finally asked for a piece of her identity before coming to the island felt monumental.
“Oh.” I stepped a fraction closer to be an anchor for him. “Well, what was it?”
Silas stared out at the water, “Carmen,” he finally said. His voice was void of any inflection, as if he were terrified of giving the word too much power. “Carmen Ruiz.”
The weight of those two words hung heavy in the humid air.
He had a name. A piece of his bloodline.
Tension radiated off his shoulders, the overwhelming and conflicting ache of a man who now held a ghost in his hands.
If there was one thing I knew about my man, it was that he would need a lifeline right now.
He needed me to pull him out of the dark depths of his mind before it swallowed him.
Letting go of his hands, I moved behind him to press my chest against his back. My arms wrapped securely around his waist, locking him into a grounding embrace. I rested my chin in the warm crook of his neck, pressing soft kisses to his pulse point.
“Carmen Ruiz,” I murmured against his skin, keeping my tone light, affectionate, and safe. “So…I almost got a Ruiz man for life.”
A sharp exhale left his lungs, followed by a wet, shaky laugh. His hands came up to grip my forearms where they were crossed over his stomach. He leaned back into my chest, trusting me to hold him up in the shifting tide.
“Yeah,” Silas whispered, his voice cracking. “Almost.”
“You were beautiful this weekend, you know that?” I told him quietly, my lips brushing his ear. “I don't just mean the match. I mean watching you with the people here. They look at you like you’re theirs, Silas. They love you.”
“I didn’t think I was allowed to be theirs,” Silas choked out, the dam finally breaking.
A violent shudder ripped through his massive frame as I held him tighter.
“My whole life I’ve felt like a fraud. I grew up in woods nowhere like this place.
Sure, I know some of the history, but I don't even speak the fucking language. I’ve felt like such an imposter. ”
A tear slipped down his cheek, catching the moonlight before it dropped into the ocean.
“I was so terrified to come here,” he wept in a desperate, broken whisper.
“I thought I’d get off the plane, and they’d look right through me.
They’d know I was a fraud among them. But, being here…
” He took a ragged breath, tilting his head back to rest against my shoulder.
“It’s the most real I’ve ever felt. It feels like…
like a piece of me I didn't even know was missing just snapped into place. Standing here…I’m finally starting to know myself. ”
My throat closed so tight, it began to ache. I closed my eyes and nuzzled my face deeper into his neck, holding him as tightly as I physically could. Every shake, every tear, I absorbed, letting him mourn the mother he never had while celebrating his newfound identity.
“You’ve never been an imposter, baby,” I fiercely promised, kissing the drops of saltwater and tears off his skin. “You belong here. And, you belong to me.”
The sky behind us bled from pitch black to a bruised, magnificent purple.
Any minute now, the sun would break over the horizon, illuminating the entire beach.
Anyone could walk out of the hotel lobby and see us.
But standing here now, feeling his steady breathing against my chest, I didn't care.
I wanted the sun to hit us. To enjoy its light.
It felt like the physical end of our time in hiding.
A quiet, defiant promise that our story was about to become loud, proud, and thoroughly undeniable.
Silas turned his head, capturing my lips in a tender, salty kiss, his hand moving back to grip the side of my face. He tasted like the ocean and absolute, undeniable freedom. The darkness began to lift, letting the waters of San Juan wash away the last remnants of the fear we carried for ten years.
“Sun’s coming up,” Silas murmured, barely audible over the crashing waves.