8. MONDAY — SAN JUAN, PUERTO RICO #2
“Hey, Kincaid!” someone called from down the hall. I suppressed a groan, tearing my eyes away from Silas, and spotted a mid-card duo. Atlas Knight and Ethan Roberts were heading my way with their gear bags.
“Tough loss yesterday, man.” Atlas clapped me on the shoulder a little too hard. “Hell of an Ironman, though. But hey, look on the bright side. You got free time now that you’re not carrying the company on your back.”
“Yeah,” Roberts smirked, leaning in like we were sharing some frat-house secrets. “Plus, Dani’s been hangin’ around catering looking real lonely lately. Hottest chick you ever snagged, man. You gonna take a spin round that block now that you got your nights free?”
My stomach dropped, a cold wave of guilt washing over me. I kept my face blank, but internally, I was spiraling.
“I’m not spinnin’ round any block,” I said, my voice dropping to a flat, icy register.
Atlas smiled, stepping closer. “Oh yeah, why not? Come on, man. Everyone knows you two had a thing. She was practically drooling when she watched your match.”
“Because I’m seeing someone.”
He frowned, trading a look with his partner. “Seriously? Who? How come nobody knows about it? If it’s so serious, why are you hiding her like a state secret?”
It was a direct echo of Cora’s words days ago, another glaring spotlight on how hard it was becoming to maintain this wall. Hiding had become exhausting. So much so, that I debated telling them. To shove the truth down their throats and make them choke on it.
“Because it’s none of your damn business,” I snapped, the overbearingness of the closet finally bleeding into my voice. “We’re serious. Leave it alone.”
They stared at me for a whole two seconds before bursting into loud, obnoxious laughter. “Good one, Cal!” Ethan snorted. “You? Tied down? Yeah, right.”
They walked off, laughing, casually throwing one last barb over their shoulder. “Let us know when you and Dani hit the hotel bar later.”
Suddenly, a hand clamped down on my bicep, yanking me back hard behind the stack of production crates where no one could hear us.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Evan hissed. His voice was hushed, but no less lethal.
“I handled it!” I snapped, trying to pull my arm away.
“You did not handle it!” he shot back, stepping further into my personal space.
“I know we’re close now, and I love you like a brother, but I am Silas’s best friend first. You know how insecure he gets about your past, and he hates that you slept with her.
You used your body to cope with losing him, and I get that, but he sat in that swamp for seven years.
He is out there right now, on the highest-high of his life as a champion, a fiancé.
If he walks through that curtain and hears some locker-room rats making jokes about you and Dani hooking up, it’s going to shatter him. ”
“You think I want them talking to me about her?” The harsh whisper of my tone cracked. “It makes me sick, Evan. I hate that I ever touched anyone else. That I did that to him. If we were out, it wouldn’t matter. Nobody would be stupid enough to say shit if they knew he belonged to me.”
Evan’s expression softened a fraction, his jaw unclenching enough that he may not bust a tooth. “I know it eats you up, man. But you have to protect his peace right now. You can’t let the locker room talk get back to him. Be a dick if you have to, but shut that shit down.”
“It won’t reach him. I’d break my own jaw before I let his day get ruined.”
Evan gave me a single firm nod before stepping back out to the monitors. A few feet away, standing in the shadows near the tech desk, I noticed Rico Martinez had appeared.
The high-flyer glared at the monitor with a sour grimace on his face and his arms crossed over his chest. When the crew began to cheer, Rico scoffed, muttering something under his breath about a “fake king” before he turned and stormed down the hallway.
I filed that away in the back of my mind to dissect later because Silas was entering the ring.
“For years,” Silas’s voice echoed through the speakers in a commanding tone that silenced the arena. “I was told I was the runner-up. But on Sunday night, I dragged Deadlock through an hour and twenty minutes of hell, and proved exactly what I am.”
Silas swapped hands, raising the microphone to his mouth with his left. And right there, gleaming under the million-dollar arena lighting, completely unapologetic and loud as hell, was the ring I’d slid onto his finger this morning.
Evan choked on his own spit, coughing violently as his eyes bugged out of his head. He pointed at the monitor and stuttered, “Cal? Cal, is that…”
A slow smirk spread across my face. I knew exactly what Silas was doing. It wasn't just a sweet gesture. It was a silent and fiercely possessive claim to the entire locker room.
“Holy shit,” Evan breathed, looking like he might actually pass out. “You told me you were engaged. You didn’t say he’d be wearing the damn ring on live television! Everyone can see that!”
“I know,” I said smoothly. “He told me he wasn’t taking it off.”
Evan stared at the monitor, then looked down at my bare finger. “Wait, you don’t have yours.”
“Not yet. He still wants to do his planned proposal back at the house. He just wanted the world to see his.”
Evan let out a loud, disbelieving laugh, running a hand over his face. “You two are going to give management a collective aneurysm. But…damn. Good for him.”
Five minutes later, Silas came bursting back through the curtain, sweating and breathing heavily. The second his eyes locked onto mine, his face broke into a newsworthy smile. Before he could reach me, however, Tate Martin, the Aftershock GM, stepped into his path alongside Rosa.
Tate clapped him on the shoulder. “Hell of a promo, Silas.” With a smile, Silas thanked him as Tate’s sharp, observant eyes dropped to his left hand. He stared at the black band then looked up, his gaze sliding to meet my eyes.
He didn’t make a scene. Didn’t ask questions. He just gave me a slow, knowing nod, and a quiet smile. “It’s about damn time,” Tate said softly, just loud enough for Silas and me to hear. “Congratulations, boys.”