Page 67 of Glorious Ruin
Silas froze for a split second, his breath catching as his eyes locked onto mine. “Cal?”
“Shut up,husband,” I said, tightening my grip. “Look around. Nobody cares.”
Looking around, he saw I was right. There was a businessman rushing to his gate, a mother struggling with a stroller, and a group of college kids laughing over a laptop. A few people did double-takes, hushed questions asking “Is that Deadlock?”, but the world kept turning, the sky didn’t fall, and the ground didn’t open up. Silas finally let out a long, shattering breath, his fingers moving to interlock with mine as he leaned into my shoulder.
The hotel in downtown Minneapolis was a glass-and-steel monolith that felt entirely too cold for the mood we were in.
Silas walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window of our suite to look out at the city lights. His shoulders were tense, and a weighted silence filled the room. I walked up behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist, resting my chin on his shoulder. Our reflection flickered in the glass. No cameras, no ringside drama. Just the two of us, together.
“Talk to me, Si,” I murmured.
“I’m just thinking about tomorrow,” he said in a small voice. “About the locker room. Presley. Rico.”
I turned him in my arms, forcing him to look at me. Taking his left hand, I pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the knuckle above his ring, the cool metal a biting contrast to his warm skin.
“Everything is going to be alright,” I promised, locking our gazes. “It’s going to work out however it needs to. We survived seven years of personal hell to get to this. To be able to stand here together in the same room while on the road. A few assholes in suits won’t break us.”
Silas shook his head with a furrowed brow. “I don’t care what happens to me. They can fire me, I’ll just go back to the woods and raise chickens. The job isn’t what matters to me.” He paused, gripping onto my shirt tightly. “But you…I don’t want to see you get fucked over because you chose to be with me. You’ve worked so hard. Without so much as a last name to protect you. Every inch of your career, you earned.”
I pulled him closer. “I don’t care about all that either, Si. I’d give it up tomorrow to stay in this room with you. Hell, I’d work in a warehouse if it meant I got to come home to you every night. Nobody is going to takeusaway from me, because that’s the only gold I give a shit about anymore.”
Silas rested his forehead against mine. “Husband.”
“Husband.”
I felt Silas’s hand tremble in mine as we walked toward the arena , but I didn’t let go. With a tight grip, and our fingers laced, I led him toward the talent entrance for the Minneapolis Target Center.
We walked through the doors, our boots thudding against the concrete floor. My heart hammered against my ribs as my eyes continually scanned the hallway. We walked past several production assistants and a few lower-card guys. Nobody said anything. Some people nodded, and a few looked at our joined hands and quickly glanced away.
When we reached the locker room door, Silas took a deep breath before pushing it open.
The room was the usual pre-show chaos. Guys were taping their wrists, reviewing scripts, and arguing over the catering. When we walked in, the room didn’t go silent as we expected. Instead, several people looked at us and smiled.
“Welcome back, guys!” someone called from the back corner.
“Congratulations!” someone else yelled.
Just as the praise began to die down, a blur of blond hair came flying at us. Evan Wilder, wearing nothing but a towel and a lopsided grin, jumped on us and wrapped his arms around our necks.
“The legends have returned!” he roared, his hair dripping against my shoulder. “Look at you two, you married men! I’m so proud of you, you big loveable idiots. My Instagram feed has never looked better.”
“Get off, Evan. You’re wet,” I laughed, though I hugged him back.
In the midst of our greeting, a figure approached from the other side of the room. It was Cameron Cruise. A pillar of the UWF, a man who had been a world champion back in his prime and the keeper of the locker room.
Evan noticed too, and his posture shifted into something defensive. His loyalty to Silas and me was solid, unwavering, and I appreciated that about him.
“Gentlemen,” Cruise said with a serious expression.
Silas stiffened. “Hey.” Cruise looked at his boots for a second before raising his head again. “Listen, I really wanted to chat with you both. I saw everything as it happened through the news. Heard the shit being whispered back here, too. I just wanted to say, I’m sorry you guys didn’t get to choose when the world found out. That’s a raw deal. But more importantly, I wanted to apologize for the shit I said at the airport after Heatwave.
“Please know…had I known you guys were together, I would have never said what I did. Like, ever. It was rude, disrespectful, and beneath me. You guys didn’t deserve that, and I’m sorry it happened.”
Evan let out a long, audible breath, and his shoulders dropped, the defensive tension melting away.
I stepped forward, extending my hand. “Thank you for that, really. We promise we didn’t take it any kind of way. You couldn’t have known. There’s no hard feelings, man.”
Cameron took my hand with a firm grip. He nodded, looking at Silas and then back at me. With a glance around the locker room, he added, “And just so you guys know, nobody in here gives a fuck. You two aren’t the first couple the men’s locker room has seen, and you certainly won’t be the last. Everyone respects you both as performers and as men. We’re just glad to see you back where you belong.”
