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Brandon walked across the parking lot to the Chicago arena, side by side with Tré as usual. It was Thursday, a live TV taping night, and the start of a traveling loop of shows around Chicago and the surrounding cities. Neither of them spoke. In fact, they’d barely spoken on their ride in from the airport. The air was hard and tense between them, their former easy camaraderie fractured into stilted conversations and uncomfortable silences. Tonight was Brandon’s last match with Frontier Pro.
The security staff at the back door checked their name on the list before he let them in. Jumpy with anxiousness from wondering what was going to happen that night, Brandon focused on the sound of Tré’s rolling luggage to control his nerves. The wheels whirred over smooth, polished concrete, zipped over the roughness of a speed bump, whirred again, then went nearly silent on the carpet when they entered the locker room.
Brandon chose the spot next to Tré out of habit. Unzipping his bag, his stomach tightened. This was the last time they’d dress out together. He wanted to say something to acknowledge it but couldn’t find the words. Besides, it probably wouldn’t matter what he said. Tré had barely spoken to him since they’d met up at the airport. Brandon kept quiet, changing silently while surrounded by the noise and chatter of their fellow wrestlers preparing for the night ahead. He’d shrugged into his sleeveless PPM hoodie when the door swung open and Chance came in.
“I’ve got the plan for your split tonight.”
“You guys cut it close,” Tré said as he laced up his boots.
“We wanted to wait and make sure this is what Brandon wanted.”
Brandon kept his head down when he answered. “Yeah. I’m sure,” he mumbled.
“Okay, then. We’re going to have you turn on Tré tonight and say you’re leaving FPW.”
Brandon snapped his head up. “That’s a little on the nose, isn’t it?”
Chance shrugged. “We want sympathy for Tré since he’s the one who’ll still be here tomorrow. Have to get the crowd behind him.”
Brandon clenched his jaw in frustration, but was forced to agree. “Makes sense.”
“You’ll cut a promo backstage after you ditch him then that’ll be it.”
“Sounds good.”
“That work for you, Tré?”
“Yep.”
Chance stood there, silently watching them for a few seconds longer before he abruptly turned and left the locker room.
Brandon fiddled with his knee pad, pulling it down, then up, then back to the original position. “Anything you want to say?” he asked his soon to be former partner.
Tré stood, his eyes down as he wrapped his wrist with athletic tape. “Nope.”
Brandon rose as well. “So, you’re going to hate me and not speak to me then?”
Tré finally looked at him. “I don’t hate you, Brandon. You know better than that. But you can’t expect me to go about my day and act like everything is all hunky dory after you decide to break up our tag team and leave the company without talking to me about it. I thought we were closer than that, but I guess not.”
Brandon shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “We are. I’m closer to you than anybody, you know that. But I just...” Brandon’s tongue locked behind his teeth. How pathetic would he look admitting he was leaving because of unrequited love? It sounded like a tragic soap opera plot. Or something cooked up in the Frontier Pro’s creative room.
“You’re a rolling stone. Yeah. Got it.” Tré turned and stormed out through the swinging locker room door.
Brandon started to follow after him. But there was no sense in them being around each other right now. Although he hated to miss even a minute of their hours left together, he decided to hang back in the locker room until it was time for their final match as the Pittsburgh Power Machine.
Several hours later, Brandon finally left the locker room. Behind the curtain, he stood across from his partner, waiting for their opponents to get through their entrance so they could go out. Tré didn’t speak or even look at him. He stood there silent. Completely still, except for the muscle repeatedly flexing in his jaw. Brandon started to say something to his best friend, but their music hit. With a sigh, Brandon shut his mouth and went through the curtain with Tré for the last time.
So many lasts tonight. Last time entering an arena with Tré. Last time dressing out with Tré. And now, last time walking down the ramp to wrestle with Tré. Brandon looked out over the crowd, trying to soak it all in. He’d still be in front of an audience once he moved to GWS. But there’d be no more gray ring aprons with the gold and green Frontier Pro Wrestling logo. No more black tape covered ropes. And of course, no more Tré by his side. It would be the same but very different.
The time keeper rang the bell. As usual, Brandon started the match. He wrestled well, not giving anything away to the crowd what was coming. He even smiled and patted Tré on the shoulder as they tagged and switched places. As Tré wrestled, Brandon stood in the corner, cheering his partner on, encouraging him to fight back against the beat down he was taking.
Tré made it over to the corner, ready to tag Brandon back in. But as soon as Tré tried to slap his palm, Brandon yanked his hand away and jumped down from the apron to the floor. Tré fell against the turnbuckle, staring at him in disbelief.
“What are you doing?”
Brandon shrugged, a cruel smirk on his mouth. The crowd went silent as they looked back and forth between the two members of the Pittsburgh Power Machine, wondering what was going on. It wasn’t until he turned his back on Tré, strolling up the ramp and leaving him there to get his ass handed to him in what was now a two-on-one match that the booing started.
Backstage, one of their reporters and a cameraman ran up to him. The reporter shoved a microphone in his face.
“Brandon, you left your tag team partner on his own in the ring. What does that mean?”
Brandon snatched the mic from her and turned to glare directly into the camera. “It means that the Pittsburgh Power Machine is over. Dead. I’m the one always taking all the risks and getting the pin. If I’m doing all that work on my own, I might as well be on my own. So, I’ll say it again. The Pittsburgh Power Machine is dead.” Hearing himself say those words made the breath catch in his throat, and his belly clenched with regret. He covered for his momentary silence by letting his lip curl in disdain. “And I’m leaving this company in my dust.” He tossed the mic back to her and strolled off camera.
Since the short promo was live, he didn’t have to worry about any requests for retakes. Deciding not to wait for the match to end and Tré to come backstage, he went straight to the locker room. He needed a few minutes to himself. Brandon stiff-armed the swinging door open, flinching when it slammed into the wall harder than he’d intended. A couple of guys looked up at his noisy entrance, but Brandon didn’t acknowledge them.
Struggling to keep his face clear of the roiling regret and uncertainty swirling in his chest, he went into one of the bathroom stalls, shut the door, and leaned back against it. Hidden from sight, Brandon squeezed his eyes shut, his throat working as he held back the urge to scream or cry or...hell, he didn’t know what he wanted to do. Maybe punch something. But metal and cinder block surrounded him, and broken knuckles weren’t his thing. He choked that urge back, settling for sinking his teeth into his bottom lip while sucking in deep breaths through his nose.
That was it. He’d worked his last match and promo for FPW, and now he was leaving. Leaving his friends, coworkers...and Tré.
Brandon pushed his hands into his hair. He didn’t even know if this was what he wanted. There’d been truth to what he’d said. He was a rolling stone. He’d always been on the move, never truly a part of anything, not even the wonderful family that had taken him in and raised him. His inability to settle down and connect with people had never bothered him before. He’d just accepted that part of his personality. Until Tré.
Tré made him want to have a lasting connection for the first time in his life. But he didn’t know how to ask for it. Didn’t even know if he was capable of it. And even though he suspected his partner was at least attracted to him, he didn’t know if the feelings went deeper than that. He’d tried to let Tré know his interest with his teasing, but Tré only ever responded by brushing him off.
And his power play, his ace in the hole: telling Tré that he was thinking of leaving, hadn’t garnered him anything more than upset over ending their tag team. With that evidence staring him in the face, he’d come to the conclusion that Tré didn’t feel the same way about him. He could have outright asked Tré if he had feelings for him. But rather than risk rejection, he decided to bow out of the situation entirely.
Besides, what would a man like Tré, who came from a successful family, knew who he was, and had a college degree and skills outside of wrestling want with a man like him? Brandon was an orphan. He’d finished high school with mediocre grades and lived out of the back of his car before he’d signed with Frontier Pro. Tré deserved to be with a man on his level, not a tumbleweed carny who’d never said I love you to anyone in his life.
After reminding himself of all the reasons it would never happen with Tré, Brandon took one last deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and forced the angst off his face. Opening the door, he left the stall with renewed belief that he’d made the right decision in signing with Grand Wrestling Syndicate. Leaving was the right thing to do.
***
Tré drove up to the Chicago airport drop off area. It was an off-travel time, so he was able to pull into a curbside parking spot without having to wait in line first. The whine of airplane engines and the echo of flight announcements over the PA system was oddly unsettling, skittering jaggedly over his skin. Tré was in airports every week, but this would be the first time he’d ever had to do the sad goodbye drop off. It was a vastly different mood from the usual annoyed rush to make a flight on time.
“Thanks for giving me a ride,” Brandon quietly said from the passenger seat.
“No problem.”
Brandon had a flight home before joining GWS on the road the following week, while Tré was about to drive to the next town for another FPW show. He put the car in park, but kept staring ahead out the windshield, silent and tense.
Brandon sighed. “Tré, get out of the damn car so I can give you a hug goodbye.”
Tré huffed a laugh, a little of the stiffness easing from his shoulders. Leaving the engine running, he popped the trunk open before he got out and walked around to meet Brandon at the back of the car. He looked at his partner. Former partner. After three years, they were going their separate ways. Tré couldn’t keep up the cold anger any longer. He hated that his best friend was leaving him, but he didn’t want them to part with anger between them. Brandon meant too much to him for that.
“I’m going to miss you.”
Brandon’s lips curled in a lopsided smile. “I’ll miss you, too.”
Tré stepped forward and pulled his partner into his arms for a hug. Brandon’s arms went around him and the soft cloud of his hair pressed against Tré’s cheek. He breathed in, inhaling the scent of coconut oil that he always associated with his friend. “Call me anytime. And I expect to see you whenever we’re in the same town.”
“You know it.”
“You’re going to kill it over there.”
“Thanks, Tré.”
The exhaust from the tail pipe was hot and uncomfortable on his leg, but Tré didn’t want to let his friend go. He had to force himself to drop his arms and step back. Not wanting to be an asshole and make Brandon feel bad for pursuing his own career interests, Tré fixed his mouth into a smile, determined to give Brandon a good send off. The move was made, and there was nothing he could do about it now. “We had some good times,” he said.
“Yeah, we did.” He adjusted the strap to his backpack, then held his hand out.
Tré reached out too, and they went through their team handshake one last time. When it came time to release for the snap, they both held on, their hands lingering together for a long moment. Tré gazed into Brandon’s dark eyes. It was on the tip of Tré’s tongue to ask Brandon to forget about GWS and stay with him. But a car pulled into the space behind them, and the subsequent opening and slamming of car doors jolted them into finally releasing each other. They lowered their hands, and without another word, Brandon turned and went into the airport.
Tré watched him go until he was swallowed up by the crowd of travelers inside. Once he was out of sight, it hit Tré that he’d let the man he loved walk out of his life without even putting up a fight.
