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Two weeks later, Brandon was gone, but Tré still had to go to work. He walked down the ramp, his mood so vastly different from the happy hip-hop that played it was laughable. He didn’t let that show on his face however. It’d be a bit of a downer for the audience to see him sobbing over the loss of his best friend. Tré climbed the steel stairs with feet as heavy as though they were encased in cement blocks. He wanted to get this match over and done with so he could get on the road and angrily brood over Brandon’s departure. He fought to keep his disinterest off his face as the ring announcer did his thing.
Once the ref called for the bell, Tré snapped into action. Accidents and injuries happened when guys weren’t focused, so Tré got his head in the game. After a little back and forth, Tré grabbed his smaller opponent up and swung him around. He dropped to one knee, slamming the man back first across his other knee. He completed the move with perfect precision, and he knew it looked good and painful for his opponent.
Unfortunately, Tré was simply going through the motions in the ring. He had zero energy for this match and it showed. Tré had hoped his ennui would come across to the crowd as being bummed he’d lost his partner. But that didn’t happen. The crowd was dead, sitting on their hands for nearly the entirety of this match.
Tré groaned to himself. Cheering and booing were the lifeblood of a wrestler’s career, but silence was a death knell. The ref leaned in, whispering instructions while appearing to check on the wrestler writhing and holding his back.
“Alex is trimming this. Go ahead and bring it home.”
Tré swore under his breath that his boss was cutting his time short. But the match was shitty, there was no point prolonging it. He and his opponent jumped ahead to the finish they’d worked out, with Tré taking the loss. He didn’t get a lick of sympathy from the crowd after he was pinned however. A few pockets of limp applause were all he got as he trudged up the ramp in defeat.
When he hit gorilla, Chance and Alex both gave him the stink eye. Ordinarily Tré would want to talk it over, figure out what went wrong in the match. Tonight, he didn’t bother. He already knew the problem. It was him. He hadn’t had an ounce of passion out there in the ring tonight. The crowd had easily picked up on it and reacted accordingly. They couldn’t give energy back if he wasn’t putting any in.
Making his way to the locker room, Tré avoided people when he could and turned down offers to go out for a meal when he couldn’t. Post-match hunger gnawed at his stomach, but he wasn’t in the mood to hang out with his coworkers while he ate. His plan was to pick up something from the nearest drive-thru and eat it on the road. With that goal in mind, he grabbed his stuff, took a fast shower, dressed in street clothes, and left the building.
In the car, silence bombarded him as soon as he shut the door. It still felt strange to travel alone. He thought about calling Brandon to say hey but immediately decided against it. While he missed his friend, he was still pissed at him for leaving. And he was pissed at himself for letting him go. Tré clenched his hands on the steering wheel in angry frustration.
He should have spoken up. Maybe Brandon would have laughed in his face if he had. Maybe he would have said he didn’t swing that way. Or...maybe history wouldn’t have repeated itself and Brandon would have said he felt the same. Tré groaned, forcing his fingers to loosen their grip on the steering wheel. It didn’t matter. Brandon was gone, and Tré’s chance at telling him that he wanted to be more than tag team partners had left with him.
The next Thursday, Tré walked out of baggage claim in the Cleveland, Ohio, airport. He was headed to the rental counter when someone behind him tugged at the strap of his carryon. Aggravated, Tré swung around, ready to snap at whatever fan was bold enough to grab a hold of him. But Slade stood there, grinning at him.
“Forget the rental car. You’re riding with us.”
Tré re-shouldered his bag. “As much as I appreciate that kind invitation, I’ll stick with my own car.”
Garrett walked up behind Slade. “We’ve got room. No sense for you to ride on your own.”
“You know they’ll charge me a late cancellation fee.”
“No, they won’t. Watch this.”
The three of them went over to the rental counter, where a young customer service agent watched them approach with a smile on their round face. The name tag pinned to the red employee shirt read Casey. Above that was a ‘My Pronouns are They/Them’ button.
Garret leaned folded arms on the counter. “Hello, Casey.”
“Good morning.”
“Listen, my friend here reserved a car, not realizing that we’d all be getting into the airport at the same time. Now, it doesn’t make sense for him to get a rental car when he can ride with me and my travel companion, right?”
“Of course not. I can cancel the reservation for him. Unfortunately, there will be a fifty-dollar cancellation fee.”
Garrett smiled. “You sure you can’t hit a button and make that fee disappear?” he drawled.
Tré fought not to roll his eyes. Garrett had a natural Texas accent, but it was never this thick unless he was on camera or trying to convince someone to do something for him.
“We don’t usually do this,” the clerk said, their face red as fire. “But as a customer courtesy for three of my favorite wrestlers, I can do it just this once.”
“Oh, you know who we are?”
“Yeah, I actually have tickets to the show tonight.” Casey looked down at the computer screen, tapping a few buttons on the keyboard. After a moment, they looked back up. “All finished.” They paused, then asked in a rush, “Is it okay if I take a picture with you guys?”
“Of course. I’ll even do you one better and give you a gift for being so understanding.” They all leaned in, Slade taking the clerk’s phone so he could reach out with his long arm and get all of them in the shot. After Slade handed the cell back, Garrett dug into his bag and took out a Garrett World Champion tee. “As a thank you. I wore that on air a couple of weeks ago.”
The clerk’s eyes went wide and they clutched the shirt to their chest. “Oh my God, thank you!”
The reservation cancelled and no fees charged to Tré’s credit card, their trio left the counter. Tré finally let loose with the eye roll. “All of that so I’d ride with you fools?”
Garrett shrugged. “Why not? Made that kid’s day and we need to talk.”
The walk to the rental car parking lot was short. Garrett had the keys, and the lights of a silver Ford Edge flashed when he hit the unlock button. Everyone slung their luggage into the back. Garrett sat down in the driver’s seat while Tré and Slade childishly scuffled for the front passenger seat.
“You kidnapped me to ride with you. I’m sitting in the front.” He body checked Slade out of the way, then successfully claimed the front seat. Once Slade was settled in the back, Garrett reversed out of the parking space and smoothly navigated the confusing airport traffic. Slade didn’t even wait until they were in the exit lane before he started in on Tré.
“Looks like you’re having some trouble wrestling on your own,” Slade said.
“Isn’t it too early for an intervention? I had one bad match.”
“Bullshit. That match was the worst, but you’ve looked like a rank newbie who doesn’t know how to work the crowd since Brandon left.”
Tré shifted uncomfortably in the front passenger seat, not wanting to acknowledge that truth. “It’s an abrupt change, going from three years in a tag team to being on my own. I’ve been part of a tag team almost the entire time I’ve been wrestling.”
“That’s why you should want to ride with us. We can give you some insights on how to get over with the crowd without relying on a partner and that hot tag energy.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Tré said as he stared out the passenger window.
“Speaking of Brandon.”
“We weren’t.”
Slade continued on like he hadn’t heard Tré. “I saw they’ve got him doing the I’m in the big leagues now schtick.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” Tré said with a shrug.
Slade scoffed. “It’s unoriginal. Everybody and their mama who jumps ship to GWS does it.”
“If it works, why not?”
“Let’s worry about what will work for you. You just got publicly dumped by your boyfriend. You should use that.”
Tré choked on a half-frustrated, half-amused laugh. “He wasn’t my boyfriend.”
“Oh, all tag teams aren’t boyfriend and boyfriend? My bad.”
“Fuck off,” Tré said without any real heat. He was used to Slade’s teasing.
“Anyway, you’ve looked like a chump long enough. You cried and ate your ice cream. Now it’s time to get a new hairdo and get back in the game.”
Tré twisted around to look at Slade lounging in the back seat. “Are you kidding me with this?”
Garrett finally joined the conversation. “Slade is an idiot for the breakup analogy, but it does make sense. Make your comeback and get some new gear. Why are you still running around in Pittsburgh Power Machine trunks?”
“Because I’m the one who is actually from Pittsburgh.”
“Doesn’t matter. That team is dust, so you need a new look to show who you are as an individual.”
They were at the arena by then. Tré’s stomach dipped as the car swooped down the ramp into the underground parking garage before leveling off on the straightaway.
“That’s not the worst idea. It’s always cool to get some new gear.”
Garrett continued after he parked and they got out of the car. “You should do it. And work on a signature move and catch phrase. Something specific for you.”
The three of them walked across the parking lot to the arena, following the posted signs to the locker room once they were let in.
“Do you have a new finisher yet?” Slade asked.
Tré shook his head. “I’ve thought of a few ideas but nothing solid. Since I’ve been on a losing streak, I haven’t had a chance to try anything anyway.”
Garrett dropped his bag in front of an empty locker cubby. He raised his arms over his head, stretching until his back audibly popped. “Maybe you can ask Kenji for finishing move suggestions. He’s smart and has a lot of ideas.”
Slade rolled his eyes and mumbled under his breath. “Here we go.”
Tré started to ask what that was about but Garrett was already talking again.
“Or maybe not since a lot of his stuff is submission holds. Regardless, some new moves, new gear, and a catch phrase should be at the top of your list right now.”
Tré nodded. He’d had the vague idea that he needed to do everything Slade and Garrett had mentioned. But he’d been so wrapped up in switching back and forth between being mad at Brandon and feeling sorry for himself that he hadn’t worked on any of it. Having his friends point out where he was failing and how he could fix it was the wakeup call he needed.
“Thanks for the advice, guys. I appreciate it.”
Garrett smiled. “No problem, man.”
Slade grinned too. “Yeah. I might give you a hard time, but I don’t want to see you struggling when I know you can bring it.”
After putting his gear away and wrapping up his conversation with Slade and Garrett, Tré went to catering. His breakfast was nothing more than a memory, and the mini snack-pack of trail mix provided by the airlines hadn’t done anything but make his stomach angry there wasn’t more food coming. He was devouring a roast beef sandwich when Devin came over.
“Hey, I saw we’re working together tonight.”
“Yep.” It was an odd choice. He and Devin were both faces, and usually two good guys didn’t meet each other in the ring. Good guys wrestled bad guys, which made it easy for the crowd to cheer and boo accordingly.
Devin grabbed the chair next to Tré and spun it around. He sat down with his arms resting on the chair back. “What’s your motivation for this match?”
“My what?”
Devin grinned. “I try not to talk too much about work with Chance or he’ll go into his ‘You’re dating the booker so I can’t discuss things with you and give you an unfair advantage’ speech. Instead, I’ve been talking to Kenji about ring psychology. He says I should have motivation for wrestling every night, not just do some moves, look cool, and win.”
Finishing off his chips, Tré thought back to the advice Slade and Garrett had given him on the ride over. “Well, I guess I’m trying to get back on my feet after losing my partner.”
“Shit, yeah. That works. Let’s take it further.”
“Uh...in the middle of the match when I’m tired and ready for a break, I can reach out for a tag then remember there’s no one there.”
“Oh, that’s amazing! Definitely do that. And I’ll play up feeling bad for you, but I still have to go after the win. The crowd will eat that shit up.” Devin held his hand out. “We’re going to put on an awesome match out there.”
More relaxed and ready to work than he’d been in weeks, Tré accepted the handshake. “Looking forward to it.”
Several hours later, Tré was in the ring with Devin. This was his first time wrestling the Juniors Champion. It was an interesting matchup, his power against Devin’s quick acrobatics. He knocked the kid to the mat again and again, but Devin kept coming back for more. And eventually he started to wear Tré down.
Devin swung up to the top rope, and before Tré could get out of the way, Devin jumped and hit him dead in the chest with a missile drop kick. Tré staggered back from Devin’s lightning fast offense. Slumped with exhaustion, he reached out to the corner for a tag. Then he froze. There was no one there for him. A sympathetic groan rippled through the crowd when Tré hung his head and turned to face Devin.
The young redhead stood in the middle of the ring. His stance relaxed, he took a step back, indicating he was giving Tré a chance to recover. Applause and whistles broke out at the display of good sportsmanship. Their plan was working as they’d intended.
Tré tried to shake it off, but he wasn’t able to make a comeback. He managed to catch Devin out of the air and toss him to the mat in a fall away slam, but that was his only offense. A few moves later, he went down for the last time.
He lay on his back, looking up at the lights as he waited for Devin to carry out his finisher—a moonsault off the top rope, landing in a double foot stomp onto Tré’s torso. Tré braced himself for the impact, his arms crossed over his chest. Devin landed as softly as possible, but it still hurt to have two hundred and fifteen pounds stomping on him. Tré winced, then went lifeless as Devin lay across his chest for the pin.
When it was over, Devin helped him to his feet. Tré stumbled a bit and Devin braced him with a hand on his shoulder. After sucking in a few deep breaths, Tré straightened. Meeting Devin’s gaze, he held his hand out. The young wrestler smiled and accepted his olive branch. They shook hands, then went in for a one-armed hug, patting each other on the back. The crowd cheered at the sign of mutual respect.
Still selling that he was hurt, Tré gave a wave and nod of thanks to the fans before rolling out of the ring. He staggered to the back, while Devin went around getting high fives from the crowd. Behind the curtain, Alex looked up at him from his seat at the command center desk.
“Not bad.”
Tré nodded again. “Thanks.” It wasn’t his best match of all time, but it was by far the best match he’d wrestled since becoming a singles competitor. Hopefully it was a start to digging himself out of the hole he’d fallen into.
“Do you want to keep the red, black, and white color scheme?”
Tré looked at the sketch pad in front of him. He had some time before tonight’s show in Columbus, so he was taking Garrett’s advice and working with Dylan, one of the company designers, on new ring gear. “I do like the red and black. But I think I should do something different.”
“Okay. What about yellow and black? Aren’t those the colors for one of your teams in Pittsburgh?”
“One of? How ’bout all?”
Dylan grinned. “Sorry, I don’t watch much sports ball.”
Tré huffed a surprised laugh. “Sports ball?”
Dylan’s grin widened and he shrugged. “I don’t watch sports, okay? The only reason I like wrestling is because the stories are like soap operas and the outfits are cool.”
“Cool outfits, huh?”
“Yep.” Dylan twirled the pencil between his fingers. “I always thought wrestling gear was cool when I watched growing up. And now I get to design it.”
“You’re doing an amazing job.”
Dylan was one of two in-house designers for FPW. Both of them did excellent work, but Tré had always been drawn to Dylan’s style. That was why he was sitting here now going over ideas with him.
Dylan bent his head, his pencil quickly moving over his sketch pad. Tré stayed quiet and let him work. After a minute, he looked back up and turned the pad around for Tré to see.
“What do you think of this?”
Tré took the time to look over the design. Dylan had changed the style and color of his trunks. He’d drawn two versions, one in yellow with black and white accents, and one in white with black and yellow accents. “I like it. You always make me look good.”
“Thanks. All those years of sewing outfits for my wrestling dolls paid off.”
Tré laughed as he imagined a tiny Dylan sewing miniscule wrestling trunks and ring jackets. He clapped the designer on the shoulder. “Can’t wait to wear it.”
Dylan smiled, a dimple appearing in his cheek. “I should have it ready for you in two weeks.”
Later that night, Tré sat up in his hotel bed. He was alone in the room since he hadn’t bothered to hook up with another travel buddy yet. Riding with Slade and Garrett was as far as he was willing to go right now. He had his laptop balanced on his lap so he could watch the replay of GWS’s live show from Monday past.
Not too long into the program, Brandon came out. He wasn’t in the best spot on the card but it wasn’t bad, especially since he was new on the roster. The crowd seemed into him as he strolled down the ramp, a confident smirk on his mouth. Tré noted that his hair wasn’t free in the loose curls he’d always worn on FPW TV. Now it was brushed straight, slicked back to his nape and twisted into a short braid. He also had new gear, trading out his red tights for a white singlet with a black slashing design that reminded Tré of seagulls. That made sense as they were billing him from South Carolina instead of Pittsburgh as he’d been with FPW. Brandon’s style was different, but he still looked good.
The match started and Brandon immediately went on the offense. He didn’t seem to be stuttering at all in his switch from tag team to singles competitor. Of course, he’d had experience wrestling on his own before Alex had teamed them up for the Pittsburgh Power Machine.
As Tré watched the match, he thought about his conversation with Slade and Garrett. It was time for him to get his shit together. If he didn’t, his career would suffer. Fans didn’t want to see a wrestler they didn’t connect with. And Alex wasn’t going to pay the salary of a man who wasn’t bringing his promotion any money.
The problem lay in the fact that he wasn’t used to being the one who brought the flash and pizazz. He’d always relied on Brandon to be front and center on camera during promos, while he backed his partner up with muscles and a quiet glare. Unfortunately, that wasn’t going to fly on his own. He wouldn’t get over with the crowd if his promos were nothing but silence and flexing.
Brandon’s match ended with a victory for him. Not caring to watch the rest of the show, Tré sighed and closed the laptop. He’d always been part of a team. He’d played basketball from middle school all the way through college. When he didn’t get drafted to the NBA, he’d been unsure what to do with himself. He’d earned a degree in physical therapy, but entering that career field hadn’t appealed to him. He wanted something where he was still physically involved with sports, not on the sidelines taking care of other athletes and their injuries.
He’d been considering overseas basketball leagues when Alex had recruited him to FPW. Tré had never wrestled before, but his natural athletic ability helped him pick it up quick. The only thing he hadn’t been good at was talking on the mic. Being put with an outgoing partner had solved that problem.
Now he was back in the same situation he’d avoided several years ago. He could ask Alex to give him another partner. But that seemed almost like a betrayal to Brandon. Which was ridiculous. Brandon was the one who’d left. Besides, he’d been a professional wrestler for several years now. Maybe he should look at Brandon’s departure as an opportunity to develop an aspect of his career that he’d left underdeveloped for far too long.
