Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CALEB
ONE MONTH LATER
GLENDALE, ARIZONA
The feeling of waiting for a cue by gorilla position is one that will never get old.
The twisting braid of anxiety and adrenaline in Caleb’s chest, the jittery bounce from one foot to the other as he winds a roll of tape around his clammy palms, the hum of fans just beyond the curtains, the chitter chatter of numerous backstage walkie-talkies interspersed with Maverick Wolff’s booming voice traveling through from commentary.
And yet, it’s different today.
“Oof,” Asher says in a greeting. He rests his chin on Caleb’s shoulder, letting Caleb take his weight. “What a year.”
Caleb brushes a kiss to the side of Asher’s mouth. “Sweetheart, it’s barely February.”
Asher arches a brow as if to say, Your point? He pokes Caleb’s cheek and adds, “I almost kissed you over at catering.”
"That would cause quite the scene."
"Me? A PR nightmare? Never."
Caleb snorts and Asher swoops in for another kiss, whining and giving chase when Caleb pulls away too quickly. Caleb laughs and fends him off with fingertips against his lips.
“I beg you to not,” Bate grumbles, coming to a standstill beside the both of them. “You’ve been doing an incredible job with the press, but I cannot keep fielding requests left and right. You’ll make my hair turn white.”
Asher squints. “I think it’s too late for that.”
Bate rolls her eyes at Caleb. “You put up with this clown?”
Caleb curls an arm around Asher’s shoulders. He feels Asher relax and lean into it. “Right?” he says. “I’m a saint.”
Squawking indignantly, Asher slaps Caleb’s arm. “Oi!”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Bate asks, not for the first time.
She’s done a lot of this lately, checking in to ensure that both Asher and Caleb are comfortable with the pressures of being at the forefront of a new era of professional wrestling.
“All eyes will be on you. It’s a lot. You’re allowed privacy if you want it.
That doesn’t make what you’ve already done any less impactful. ”
With a deep inhale, Caleb nods. To his left, Asher shoots Bate a thumbs-up.
“All right then.” Bate ruffles Asher’s hair, then cups the back of Caleb’s head. “Proud of you kiddos.”
Much has happened since their last appearance on Friday Night Fight.
Wrestlers work hard, but the GEW universe, as it turns out, works harder.
Mere seconds after threatening to walk out, Friday Night Fight went dark for a couple weeks, cut off the air by Kennedy Prichard. In response, fans took to social media, with #BOYCOTTGEW and #DOBETTERKENNEDY trending for days across the internet.
Now a self-proclaimed YouTube maestro, Asher’s mother took it upon herself to send them an endless string of videos featuring fans from around the world speaking up about how much Asher and Caleb’s story meant to them, how powerful it felt seeing themselves lovingly portrayed in media, and rallying for change.
Stories featuring generations: kids, parents, grandparents, all rooted in a similar daring hope.
In Caleb’s heart, he’s still just a regular guy, far from any kind of hero, but it’s a welcome change, seeing that he’s capable of leaving a mark, one he’s proud of. There is still hope for him after all.
In response to the backlash, after what felt like a million meetings and press conferences, the company’s board of investors made Kennedy Prichard step down—effective immediately.
In his place is none other than one cowboy hat–wearing Morgana Bate, who proudly bears the title “President of Creative Talent Development.”
Tonight is very much Bate’s night as it is everyone else’s.
Not only is it the first night that Friday Night Fight resumes regularly scheduled broadcasting, but it is also the start of a new era of wrestling with Bate at the helm.
She’s got all eyes on her, skeptics who can’t wait to watch her fail, she has been nothing but steady.
Back straight, shoulders squared, chest out.
Grabbing each challenge by the horns and meeting it with jagged canines behind each pleasant smile.
Changes have already started to roll out.
It will take time, and it’s going to be an uphill battle, but now more than ever, the roster is ready to fight.
Asher’s had an equally busy month with lots of very late nights.
In addition to all the press conferences, interviews, and just generally holding his ground in the eye of a hurricane, he’s been working with Bate on coming up with more inclusive storylines in GEW.
Caleb’s notebooks now regularly go missing and he finds them later filled with page after page of ideas for Creative.
He’s still going to wrestle—in fact, Caleb is beginning to think he’ll have to drag Asher kicking and screaming away from the ring—but now splits his time between working on outreach programs to amplify underrepresented voices.
“So, my beloathed,” Asher says, sidling up to Caleb, “Bate's approved my request for time off next week to spend Lunar New Year with my folks. Can you believe it? I'm gonna see how many pineapple tarts I can fit into my mouth. The record's five so far.” He does a double take. “You’re coming too, right? Ma’s already factored you into her very extensive meal prep.”
Caleb brushes his fingertips under Asher’s chin.
His boyfriend's spent days swimming in red packets, stressing over how much money to give his parents and ultimately settling on a check instead.
It may seem like a small gesture, but Caleb feels Asher's pride like it's his own: hard earned and undeniable. “Only if we spend a day at Disneyland.”
“You’ll regret that when I cry at everything.”
“I’ll never regret anything about you.”
“Gaaaay.”
“I’ve also always wanted to visit the Santa Monica Pier.”
“Ugh, but it’s so crowded,” Asher groans.
“What is this typical tourist behavior? Next you’ll tell me you want a picture under an Ocean Avenue street sign.
” But he smiles and flings his arms around Caleb’s neck.
“I’ll follow you to the edge of the earth.
” Moments later, he pulls back, sweeping Caleb’s fringe aside, then exhales and rolls out his shoulders. “No crown?”
“That gaudy thing?” Caleb shudders. “Gross. Bailey’s auctioning it off for charity.”
He steps in front of a mirror, scrutinizing his new packaging.
Just like everyone else, a lot of thought goes into his gear.
It’s different now—simpler and less pompous.
No more hiding behind extravagance. He’s changed up diamond-emblazoned tights for a simple color block ensemble—one pant leg red and the other a light blue.
Bailey's sewn a couple of diamonds into his knee pads, though, so it isn’t exactly a clean slate, but a fresh start.
“Your belt’s crooked,” Asher says. He comes up behind Caleb, smiles at him in the mirror, wraps his arms around his torso from the back, and straightens the leather around Caleb’s waist.
That’s something different too: a new belt looped around his tights. Not a championship belt but one that is arguably better. One with a buckle not unlike the Lanvin belt he had designed, engraved with the emblem of a dragon inside a crown.
“What would eighteen-year-old Asher say if he knew of this moment?” Caleb asks, leaning back against Asher.
“He’d say, ‘I can’t believe we’re wearing matching couples’ outfits. This is so cringe, I’d rather fling myself into the sun.’”
Turning around in Asher’s arms, bemusement tugs at the corner of Caleb’s mouth because he knows the real answer.
The truth is that they love each other, here and now, but every past version of each other too.
Cradled within both their chests are younger versions of themselves that they don’t have to shield around each other.
Every version, every single reiteration of Caleb loves every version Asher that has come before, and in his heart, Asher will always be safe.
So he smiles. He’s done a lot more of that lately—the simple act of smiling.
He lets his hungry eyes roam over Asher, who is dressed in a similar ensemble as he is, sans the diamonds, plus his signature ruby flame tassels.
He looks stunning. Caleb won’t ever stop feeling lucky that he gets to love Asher like this.
“I hate you.”
“You love me,” Asher shoots back without missing a beat. He looks around, then back at Caleb. “So, how long do I have you for?”
“Here? A couple more years, give or take. Romantically? Forever.”
Asher fake-gags. “Then retirement and social work?”
“That’s the plan. I did consider retiring now, but I’m not quite finished here yet. I’m just getting started on rewriting my story.”
There is a press of warmth at the base of his spine, and Caleb thinks that he should feel trepidation at the uncertainties that lie ahead. But he doesn’t. At this moment, he’s content. Loved forever.
“Do you miss it?” Caleb asks. “The championship belt?”
“I . . .” Cocking his head, Asher worries his lip and thinks for a moment.
“Not really,” he decides. “My entire life has been ‘go go go.’ Now I get to breathe for a second and focus on what I want. I’m learning to put my needs first. I know my worth and what I believe in fighting for.
Plus, this is good. A roster-wide battle royale for the GEW world title.
This way, everyone who’s ever deserved a shot gets their time to shine.
Besides”—his fingers curl into Caleb’s belt loops, tugging him in—“I’m allowing myself to chase a slightly different goal. One that will be just as fun.”
Caleb follows Asher’s gaze over to where Montez and Malik are standing at the opposite side of the room, heads bowed together in their own pre-show ritual. The tag-team championship belts gleam around their waists.
Maybe they’ll successfully capture the tag titles. Maybe Caleb will finally join the ranks of Grand Slam champions. Or maybe they won’t.