Page 54 of Glorious Ruin
Presley Murran.
I clicked the answer button and held it up between us. “Hello—”
“What the fuck!” Presley’s voice didn’t just come through the speaker, itexplodedout of it. “Do you have any idea what the fuckyou two have done? My office is a goddamn war zone! I’ve got network execs breathing down my throat, sponsors demanding to know why my two biggest stars are holding hands on a North Carolina sidewalk, and the stock prices are fluctuating like a heart monitor!”
Silas cringed next to me as his hand tightened around mine until his knuckles went white. I felt the Deadlock mask slide into place as my eyes narrowed at the wall.
“You both better be on this goddamn line!” Presley shouted again.
“We’re here,” we said in unison, our voices a grim harmony.
“You both better listen and hear me loud and fucking clear,” Presley started, his tone dropping into a dangerous, angry rasp. “You two are not to do a goddamn thing. Do not speak to the press. Do not make any kind of social media statements. I don’t even want to see you post a picture of your fucking breakfast. Nothing. Not a single word until I figure out what the hell to do with you both. You’ve officially killed the biggest storyline in the history of this company, and I’m currently trying to decide if I should sue you for breach of contract, or just let the fans tear you apart.”
I immediately scoffed, every protective instinct in my body rising to the surface. “How is our situation any different than handling any other couple on the roster? Coworkers on the road get together all the damn time. This isn’t exactly a new phenomenon.”
“Goddamn it, Kincaid. I am not discussing your poor life choices over the phone! This isn’t a locker room fling. This is a PR catastrophe. You two are off the road until further notice, effective immediately. Stay at that goddamn house, keep the gates locked, and do not make this clusterfuck any worse than it already is. If I see a single paparazzi photo of you two, I’ll make sure you never set foot in a ring again.”
The line went dead with a sharp, final click. Silas and I both let out a shaky, simultaneous breath, before I was up on my feet with my fingers running through my hair anxiously. Silas sat there staring blankly at the bedroom floor without atrace of emotion on his face. In a normal world, being told to stay home from your job with your fiancé was a dream. In the world of professional wrestling, it was a death sentence. In our world, if a guy wasn't on screen, he wasn’t driving ticket sales. He wasn't getting over with the fans, he wasn't worth the company’s time. Now, the UWF was taking that approach with their newest champion and their top-performing veteran.
“We’re fucked.” Silas let out a short, breathy laugh that broke into a sob.
I didn’t have an answer for him. I just leaned against the wall and watched the sun continue to rise, mocking us with its brightness.
DAY 3 — THE REED LAND, NORTH CAROLINA
Now playing: Chariot - Gavin DeGraw
Thefirstfewdaysof house arrest were a blur of nervous energy and heavy silences. We spent a lot of time just…existing. I’d catch myself staring at him across the kitchen island, wondering if we’d ever be Deadlock and Timeless Silas again, or if those versions of us had died on the sidewalk in Wilmington.
On the second day, we made the trek over to Maverick’s house. I spent most of the visit mentally dissecting the dynamics between Scott, Maverick, and Silas like it was my new job. It was a fascinating and jagged triangle of masculinity.
Maverick was the volcano: loud, intense, and prone to outbursts of protective rage. Scott was the mountain: immovable, stoic, and carrying the weight of the Reed legacy like a physical burden. And Silas? Silas was the bridge between them. He connected both the intensity and family burden, while trying to please two men who expressed love through old-school toughness.
Both of them were enraged, but not at us. They went into full-blown protective-dad mode, hovering around the living room like they were prepping for a cage match.
“Presley is a little bitch,” Maverick rumbled, pacing the length of the hardwood floor while Shannon tried to get him to sit down. “He doesn’t understand the business is built on blood and truth as much as it is on scripts. He’s scared because he can’t control the narrative.”
“We’ve got your backs,” Scott assured us, his hand coming down heavy on Silas’s shoulder. “If they try to freeze you out, they’re going to have to go through us. But, you gotta play the game for a bit, boys. Stay inside. Protect the business. You keep the truth between us until the office figures out how to sell it. Kayfabe may be a bitch, but she’s the one who pays the bills.”
It was a weird kind of comfort. To know they supported us, but still believed in the sanctity of the industry. That they wanted us safe and happy, but also wanted the Reed name to stay untarnished. It made my head spin, trying to navigate their loyalty to family, versus loyalty to the sport.
DAY 6 — THE REED LAND, NORTH CAROLINA
Now playing: All Your'n" - Tyler Childers
Byweek'send,ourisolation was starting to feel less like prison and more like a strange, beautiful fever dream.
I woke up late, the sun streamingthrough the curtains in a way I usually only get to see on our rare Mondays off. The bed beside me was empty, the sheets still carrying the lingering heat of Silas’s body. I reached for my phone, my hand finding a small piece of paperresting on top.
I stared at that word “Husband” and a sudden tightness gripped my throat. My eyes closed for a beat before I tossed the note into my nightstand drawer, promising myself I’d keep it forever.
The house was quiet, save for the low hum of the refrigerator and the distant chirping of birds. Coffee was already made, the carafe still warm.
I’d never actually been in this house alone, and despite everything, the feeling of being a guest still lingered. It was insane, considering Silas had spent months and thousands of dollars renovating this place just for us, for our life together. He’d made it clear that every floorboard and light fixture was just as much mine as his. But the fucked-up kid in me still stood there, waiting for someone to ask for my ID.
I took my mug and an old oversized flannel blanket off the couch and headed for the front porch. The morning was perfect, a crisp chill lingering in the shade, while the air smelled of damp dew and pine needles. Dressed only in a pair of Silas’s plaid pajama pants that were a little too long for me, I sat on the top step of the porch, wrapping the blanket around my shoulders and cupping the warm mug.
Our home sat on a slight hill, overlooking a massive stretch of the yard that eventually bled into a thick wall of woods. The morning haze still clung to the air, a fog that made the whole world feel soft and blurred. My mind drifted along the haze as I recounted how impossible my life felt right now. As much as it hurt to be on a technical house arrest, I could get very used to this. Waking up in his bed, drinking coffee on this porch, watching the fog lift… It was a better life than I thought I deserved.
