Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ASHER
Asher makes it back to the hotel fifteen minutes late with a macchiato in hand, head so clouded by thoughts that he forgets the word “iced” and asks for it “on the rocks” instead.
As he drives, he catalogs revelations about himself that have come to light.
Yes, he is definitely bisexual. Be it inklings throughout his life that he’s never gotten the chance to closely examine or something he’s just figuring out later in life, he’s bisexual.
It doesn’t matter how long it’s taken him to get here or how many detours he’s made along the way.
Time is fake. He isn’t late. He’s bisexual, and not just because he’s kissed a boy.
Even if he doesn’t do anything with it, even if he chooses to quietly hold this fact close to his chest, he is still bisexual.
Yes, he likes Caleb. He has for quite some time now, all the way back to when he’d hung Caleb’s poster on his wall, smoothing out the edges beneath his fingertips with a sense of something unnamed yet hallowed.
An unrelenting yearning to both be and be with.
Caleb was his first heartbreak, and he hadn’t even known it.
And, yes, he would have very much liked to stay.
Caleb didn’t have to say it. Asher’s gotten good at reading him, peeling apart the words that he’s too afraid to speak.
Each time he glances at Caleb, he's overcome with a desire so ferocious it’s practically one with the blood coursing through his veins.
This is why he has to remain cautious. He should not—and cannot—let it cloud his judgment.
Wrestlers, contrary to popular belief, aren’t meatheads.
Asher has a mathematician’s brain, the practiced ability to think calmly and rationally even under the most stressful conditions.
Each time he launches himself off the top rope, he’s calculating where he’ll end up, careful before he even takes that leap.
So, before he remains in Caleb’s bed, blissfully tangled up in the sheets, he’s asking himself, What if we get caught? What happens to our careers?
It’s one thing to stay the night, to turn his back on the real world and spend a couple hours pretending it doesn’t exist. But the sun always rises. He can’t afford to behave this carelessly under broad daylight. He has little doubt that is what’s running through Caleb’s brain too.
Yet he’s also wondering, Who the fuck cares?
He might have risked it all for a couple more minutes with Caleb, and it is precisely because he wants to, and therefore cannot, have remained by his side.
When he pushes open his hotel room door, he’s met with a flying sweatshirt to the face.
“Rest in pieces,” Alexei sings gleefully, shouldering past Asher with two backpacks in tow.
“Sorry I’m late. What are you guys”—he snatches a second pair of shorts out of the air—“doing in my room?”
Thea pauses, her arm arched mid-throw. She looks like a snarky remark is on the tip of her tongue but takes one look at the state of him and course-corrects, saying, “You had sex.”
“We’re not having this conversation,” Asher says. He crosses the length of the room and dumps the rest of his clothes into the unzipped suitcase lying on the bed.
“You had sex while we were helping to pack up your stuff.” Thea’s face screws up, her glossy lips curling. “Oh, ew. I’ve become my mother.”
“Thank you, and also I invite you to shut up.”
“You sound like you rawdogged a dick.”
“Can you please—” Asher begs. “It’s probably just a cold.”
A flash goes off. He winces. When his vision clears, Thea is violently jabbing at her phone.
“Bailey’s gonna freak,” she says mildly.
Blowing past her, Asher shoves his shoes into a gym bag, zips it up, slings it over his shoulder, and gives the room one final scan.
“Funny,” Alexei says. Out in the hallway, he leans against a wall, nose buried in his phone. “Bailey says Caleb told her that he’s also coming down with a sore throat.”
Squinting, Thea strides across the room, hooks her index finger into the neckline of Asher’s shirt, and tugs the fabric down, exposing a hickey.
Oh fuckity fuck.
“Do not say it.”
A dirty smile dawns on Thea’s face. “You’re a little freak,” she says.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“C’mon man, we’re adults. Would you rather hand in a thousand word character study about his dick or something?”
Groaning, Asher follows Thea out into the hall.
“Did you get your back blown out?” Alexei asks. “Congratulations.”
Thea cackles.
“You all suck,” Asher says. “I’m walking to Texas.”
SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS
The next couple of weeks fly by. Riding the momentum that follows their title match, Asher and Caleb’s kayfabe feud continues.
They square off against one another from Houston all the way to Edinburg, trading barbs, blows, and blowjobs.
Between all that, however, is a highlight reel of slinking into hotel rooms, Asher sneaking kisses at gorilla position just so he can bask in the flush that settles over Caleb all evening, and Caleb retaliating by pushing him up against the locker room wall and later, when they’re in a world of their own, doing many, many things that sully the sanctity of the championship belt.
Asher doesn’t know what they are exactly, but it’s fun. It’s good. It makes sense. After nights spent letting himself go to pieces in Caleb’s reassuring hands, Asher starts to feel like his body now belongs to Caleb. It’s probably ridiculous, but the idea is strangely delightful.
When the roster reaches San Antonio, as part of GEW’s community involvement projects, they spend a day with Make-A-Wish kids.
“Hey, y’all,” Bailey says as the roster files into the Frost Bank Center’s locker room.
She’s in her most intimating and powerful form today: with a clipboard in hand.
She raises her voice to address the room at large.
“Right. Real quick. The kids will be arriving soon. Let’s just keep things chill in the ring and go with whatever they’re comfortable with. ”
There are nods all around.
“Any questions?”
Asher raises his hand. “What exactly do we talk to them about?”
“Most of them ramble on about their favorite matches, but if you get a shy one, showing off some moves is almost guaranteed to break the ice.”
“Worst-case scenario, you can talk to them about what an asshole Caleb is,” Malik pipes up. “The kids love roasting him.”
Asher bites his tongue, feeling oddly protective.
“See?” Bailey says. “You’re all babies. You’ve totally got this.”
Soon, Asher’s being hustled out from backstage, where Bailey introduces him to a young boy in a wheelchair named Gael. He wears a crewneck with Asher’s logo stitched on it.
“He has spinal muscular atrophy,” Bailey explains on the way over. “He wished to meet you before going for a spinal fusion surgery next month.”
Asher mentally pencils in ten minutes to cry over this when no one is watching.
“Holy shit, you’re real!” Gael exclaims as soon as Asher walks down the ramp. He glances up at his mom then back at Asher. “Mom didn’t tell me I’d be meeting you!”
Laughing, Asher offers Gael a fist bump. “How’s your day been?”
“Oh, I’m doing wonderful now,” Gael announces, smiling so widely it reveals a missing front tooth. He thrusts a blue pouch up at Asher. “I made you a bracelet.”
Red, orange, and yellow beads intertwine in a double helix.
Asher slips the elastic around his wrist. “I’ll wear this during my next fight,” he promises Gael.
“It’ll be my lucky charm, yeah?” Asher crouches down beside Gael, low enough so that the little boy doesn’t have to strain his neck looking up at him.
He grabs the snapback tucked into the waistband of his jeans and signs on it with a silver Sharpie before handing it to Gael.
“Now we match, see? You wanna sign mine?”
Gael’s face brightens, gleefully scribbling on Asher’s cap. “Twinsies!”
They settle down in the stands to watch the action in the ring, Gael snug in between Asher and his mom.
They laugh at Bailey and Montez, who cartwheel across the ring with a shrieking group of kids in tow.
Alexei kneels on the mat behind them, his tongue lolling out dramatically as a pint-sized girl pretends to choke him out.
The three of them sit in a comfortable silence.
Every now and then, Asher steals a glance at Gael.
Thanks to his torn ACL, Asher’s spent years navigating chronic pain.
Every day is different. He’s still learning to live alongside it, learning to make a home with the discomfort instead of pushing it away.
He’s still reminding himself that there is nothing wrong with relying on his brace and treating his body kindly when it is too overwhelmed by pain and refuses to cooperate.
But it was hard at first. Asher didn’t speak to anyone the first two weeks after the incident.
He withdrew. Everyone kept treading so carefully around him that it made him feel like he was made of glass—brittle and different.
But he was still . . . Asher. He wanted to be a part of something without having to make a big deal out of it.
Taking a fortifying breath, Asher leans behind Gael and makes eye contact with his mom. “Do you suppose he could join the rest of them?” he asks. “I could carry him like some of the other kids.”
His mom mulls over it before nodding. “Yes, but only if you’re careful with his neck.” She makes a show of cradling the back of Gael’s neck so his head doesn’t flop over. “His muscles are weaker than average, so you need to support them.”
“Gotcha. Thank you, ma’am.” Asher turns his attention to Gael. “Hey, champ. You wanna join everyone else?”
Gael’s eyes widen. “Can I?”
“Absolutely. I’m going to pick you up, if that’s all right?”
Gael looks up at him, considering. “Probably,” he agrees and reaches his free hand toward Asher. Asher accepts it and scoops him up with a steady hand behind his neck as his mom instructed.
They enter the ring slowly, carefully, where they are immediately swarmed by the other kids.