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The next week was the last week of August, and Frontier Pro was scheduled for Pittsburgh, Tré’s hometown, and where he resided. It was nice, especially since tonight’s show was the start of the weekend loop. That meant his travel was cut in half, and he got to skip the hassle of the airport. All he had to do was drive downtown tonight for the live taping, then drive to the surrounding cities for the house shows before he returned home.
Tré retrieved his luggage from the corner of his bedroom and tossed it onto the bed. He didn’t have to fly, but he still had to pack his gear for the four nights of live events. His black wrestling boots went in first. Then he dumped all of his trunks on the bed while he decided which pairs to take.
As he looked them over, he knew he’d made the right decision in doing as Slade and Garrett had suggested and commissioning new gear. It was a shame he didn’t have it to wear tonight in Pittsburgh, but Dylan needed time to work. For this loop, he settled for the black tights with PPM monogrammed in small red letters on the front, and the red ones with black patent inserts on the sides. At least these two pairs downplayed the Pittsburgh Power Machine name. He also threw in a plain black hoodie to wear rather than one of the custom ones he’d worn as Brandon’s partner. Until he had new gear, this was the most he could do to distance himself from his defunct tag team.
His toiletries, athletic tape, and sports cream were always in a dedicated small bag of their own, and he tossed that in his luggage after a quick check to make sure everything was stocked. Since he was usually spotted at least once by fans who asked him for pictures in the hotel or at gas stations, he packed a couple of nice shirts and jeans to travel in.
Once he was finished, he turned out the lights, set the alarm, and locked the apartment. In the elevator, Tré watched the old fashioned manual floor indicator tic down to P for parking. It was a charming touch, one of many the developers had used when building this luxury high-rise. The elevator came to a smooth stop, and Tré stepped out into the cool, exhaust-tinged air of the parking garage.
His black Dodge Challenger was in its reserved spot, and Tré hit the button on the key to pop the trunk as he walked up to it. As always, his luggage went there rather than the backseat so that it wouldn’t attract thieves in the parking lots of arenas and gas stations. Tré slammed the trunk and got into the car, settling into the leather seat. When he turned the key, the engine leaped to life with a deep rumble, as though the car was excited to hit the highway. Tré turned on the radio, shifted into drive, and pulled out of his parking space.
He’d just made the turn onto the street outside of the underground garage when his Bluetooth system chimed, interrupting the song he’d started. Incoming call from Mom. Tré pressed the in-steering-wheel button to answer the call. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, honey. We’re looking forward to seeing you at the arena tonight. Your dad is wearing that shirt you gave him even though it’s too small. He thinks it makes his muscles look good.”
“I never said that!” Tré’s dad called out in the background.
“You didn’t have to. I saw you posing in the mirror.”
Tré grinned at his dad’s indistinct but clearly embarrassed grumbling. His parents were college sweethearts, both former basketball players. They’d met while playing for the men’s and women’s basketball programs at Pennsylvania University and married after graduating. They were fantastic parents and he’d always had their support. First as a kid, when they’d driven him to countless hours of basketball practice, paid for camps, and made sure he kept up with his academics. College signing day had been a bit of a disappointment for them, as he’d gone across the state to Philadelphia City College rather than their alma matter. The next day, however, they’d gone out and bought an insane amount of Philly College tees, sweatshirts, and foam fingers.
They’d shown him the same support when he’d decided to become a wrestler rather than moving to Canada or Europe to play basketball. His dad had admitted that he’d always been a fan of professional wrestling and was excited to have a reason to watch it on a regular basis. His mom had been surprised and clueless about professional wrestling. But she’d immediately set out to learn everything about it.
Within a month, she knew all the different types of suplexes, the difference between a face, a heel, and a tweener, and once, had him put her in the Figure Four leg lock so she could see what it was like. Tré suspected her relief that he wasn’t moving overseas played a big part in her enthusiasm for his career. He was on the road a lot, but he lived close to home and could easily come over for dinner on a regular basis.
“Tell Dad I’m sure he’ll look good. He’ll probably have his own fan club.”
“I’m not telling him any such thing. His head is already big enough,” she teased. “I’ll let you go because I can tell you’re driving. I just wanted to confirm that we’ll be there.”
“Thanks, Mom. I’ll see you tonight.”
Tré disconnected the call after saying goodbye. His parents made it out to every event when FPW was in town. Tré always got extra tickets so they could distribute them to any friends or colleagues they wanted to invite. His father was an emergency room doctor. Last year, he’d taken the extra pair of tickets Tré had given him, and put them up as a prize for the emergency room nurses and staff. A nurse won the giveaway and planned to bring his daughter. When Tré heard, he’d ponied up another ticket so his spouse could come too. But those weren’t the only people who received tickets from him.
Tré sponsored a pee-wee basketball team. All the kids on the team received a ticket, as long as they’d excelled in some way: academics, athletics, or community service. Tré was lucky and privileged in his family and the opportunities he’d had in life, so he made sure to give back where he could. And he always got a kick out of seeing how excited the kids were to see him in the ring. Tré smiled as he took the exit that lead to the arena. His parents would be there, his pee-wee kids would be there, and he’d be wrestling in front of his hometown crowd. He was looking forward to tonight.
Tré made good time to the arena. When he arrived, he started to make his way to the locker room.
“Yo, Tré!”
Tré turned to see one of the road crew flagging him down. “What’s up?”
“Dylan is looking for you. He said don’t do anything before you come and see him.”
“Thanks, man.” Tré changed direction and followed the signs to the seamstress area instead of going to the locker room to drop off his bag. Dylan sat on a stool, sewing trim onto one of the women’s costumes. He hopped up when Tré called his name.
“Hey, you’re here! I have a surprise for you.” Dylan reached into a canvas tote bag and pulled out a thick bundle of clothes. “I know I said it would be two weeks before I’d be done, but when I realized we were going to be in Pittsburgh this week, I put everything else on the backburner so I could make your new gear.” Dylan handed Tré a pair of tights and set the rest of the gear on his work table.
Tré took the tights and held them up. The fabric shimmered and sparkled under the fluorescent lights. “They’re gold.”
“Yes. Just like your Pittsburgh sports teams. Black and gold.”
“Actually, it’s black and yell—” Tré stopped and looked at Dylan’s upturned face. He looked so earnest, his eyes wide as he waited to hear what Tré thought of the new gear he’d made for him. Dylan blinked, and Tré suspected he was being worked. Regardless of whether he was or not, he couldn’t disappoint that ridiculously hopeful face or be ungrateful for the rush work Dylan had put in. “Yep,” he agreed. “Black and gold. I’ll...go and try them on.”
He went behind the small curtained area that was always set up by the seamstress and shoved his jeans down. He stepped into the gold shorts, pulling the tight fabric up to settle on his hips. Once he had them on, he went back through the curtain. Dylan pushed him in front of the standing mirror, all business as he checked the fit.
“They look good. I put the black patent leather trim on the edges to match your boots. See?”
While Tré hadn’t woken up that morning expecting to have his ass wrapped in metallic gold spandex, he had to admit the new tights looked nice. Unlike his old trunks which were cut like briefs, these were square-cut boy shorts. The majority of the shorts were gold, with the waistband and leg holes trimmed in black patent leather.
“And your new jacket.”
Tré took the ring jacket Dylan held out to him. It was a black satin varsity-style jacket, with black and gold ribbed wrists and collar. His initials were monogrammed in gold over the left breast, and when he turned it over, he saw Dylan had stitched an outline of the Pittsburgh skyline, including the Three Sisters. Tré was floored. “Wow. This is amazing.”
Dylan grinned. “Try it on.”
Tré shrugged into the jacket then checked himself out in the mirror. He was still iffy on the shiny boy shorts, but together, the black and gold outfit was pretty sweet. He had to give the designer his props. “This is a badass look, Dylan. Thank you.”
“I’m so glad you like it!” Dylan turned to his work station and gathered up the remaining bundle of clothes. “Here’s your other set.” He handed over white trunks with gold trim and another satin varsity jacket, this one in quilted gold satin with black and white cuffs and collar.
“You’re a genius, Dylan. I can’t believe you did all this in less than a week. Thank you so much for making sure I’d have new gear for tonight.”
His face flushed pink with pleased happiness, Dylan waved Tré off to the dressing area to change back into his jeans.
Nervous about his new look, Tré waited until the last possible moment before he got dressed for TV. He stepped into the gold shorts again. When he had them on, he checked himself out in the mirror. He didn’t know how or why, but the square cut shorts made his butt appear to stick out way more than it had in his old tights.
Tré shrugged. He worked wearing spandex, and the point was to show off his body to its best advantage. Sitting on the bench in front of his locker, Tré pulled on his boots. Once they were laced and his new jacket was on, he left the locker room. A few shouts of “Lookin’ good!” followed him on his way to the viewing area to wait for his match. Garrett was there, sitting next to Yasmina, the women’s champion. Tré went over and stopped in front of his friends.
“As prescribed, new gear.”
Yasmina held a finger up, indicating he should turn. “Give us a spin.”
Tré rolled his eyes, but held his arms out and turned in a slow circle. “What do you think?”
Garrett nodded in approval. “Nice.”
Yasmina was a little more effusive. “You look great. The ladies will love the look for sure.” She called out to Devin, who sat on a trunk used to transport stage gear, swinging his legs back and forth as he ate orange slices. “Devin, what do you think?”
The redhead looked Tré over. “The dude bros will think you look cool. But the more discerning men like me will think you look hot.” He playfully winked at Tré.
Tré grinned at Devin’s teasing. “I was a little unsure about the gold. But with that stamp of approval, I guess they’re a go.”
Tré sat down and chilled with his friends until fifteen minutes before his segment. When it was time, he went to gorilla, and did a few squat thrusts as he waited for his cue. The familiar beat of the Pittsburgh Power Machine entrance song hit and the crowd erupted into cheers. The FPW composer had revamped it enough to give it a new edge. Tré went through the curtain and walked down the ramp to an enthusiastic greeting from his city, bright yellow spotlights flashing along with the music.
When he reached the ring, Tré climbed onto the second rope to wave to the fans. He jumped down to the mat, catching Hiroshi’s kayfabe sarcastic applause. Tré ignored the other wrestler. He unbuttoned his new jacket, shrugged out of it, and dropped it over the side of the ropes to the floor.
As he lightly bounced from foot to foot, he heard a whistle in the audience. Tré inwardly grinned. That was at least one person who liked the new tights. Then remembering that he needed to connect with the audience more, he turned in the general direction the whistle had come from and winked at the crowd. That of course spawned more whistles, which made him laugh.
The ring announcer tilted the mic toward him. Tré didn’t have anything to say, so he shook his head no to the silent question. The announcer shrugged slightly and went down the steel steps back to his seat. The bell rang and the match was on.
Tré and Hiroshi had decided earlier that it would serve their respective wrestling styles to put on a clinic. Nothing flashy, just good solid wrestling from them both, designed to show off their technical skills. Tré had thought the audience would be into it. But a few minutes into the match, he couldn’t help but notice the crowd growing increasingly quiet. Tré grabbed his opponent by the wrist, flinging him across the ring in an Irish Whip. When Hiroshi bounced off the ropes and came back toward him, Tré caught him up in a headlock. Hiroshi flailed as Tré increased the pressure, forcing him down onto one knee.
Tré kept up the hold, while the ref squatted in front of Hiroshi to see if he would pass out or signal that he wanted to submit. And that was when it happened. He heard a voice in the crowd.
“Boring. Boring. Boring.”
It didn’t take long for the chant to be picked up by others.
For a second, Tré paused and looked out at the audience. He was getting a boring chant, mixed with a few boos, in his own hometown. It was humiliating. To make matters worse, he could see his basketball kids sitting two rows back. They looked around at the crowd in distress, too young to understand why he was getting booed. He was a good guy in the ring, so as far as they knew, he should be cheered at all times.
“Don’t sweat it, man,” Hiroshi whispered.
But Tré couldn’t help but sweat it. If he couldn’t get over with the crowd by the simple virtue of being the hometown boy, he was doomed. He might as well hang up his boots and dust off that degree. Tré clenched his jaw with resolve. No. He wasn’t going out like this. He wasn’t going to let his career get tossed out the window because his partner wanted to move on. He could do this on his own. He would do this on his own.
Lightning quick, he went over in his head what was wrong with the match. Tré realized he wasn’t putting on a clinic. He was just wrestling—going from move to move without any sense that there was anything at stake for either of them. The audience didn’t want to see him, with his power, speed, and athleticism, holding his opponent in boring rest holds. They wanted to see him take charge and kick ass.
Tré lowered his head, hiding his face enough to whisper to Hiroshi. “We’re changing this up. Break free and work me to the corner.”
Hiroshi immediately responded by driving his elbow into Tré’s stomach. Tré flinched but didn’t release the hold. The next elbow strike had more force. Tré let go of the headlock, bending over slightly to protect his abdomen from more blows. Hiroshi spun around and went after the vulnerable area with jab after jab. Tré staggered to the corner, Hiroshi following and still striking the targeted area.
When there was no more room to retreat, Tré fell against the ropes. The ref jumped in between them, shouting for Hiroshi to back off. He did, but only after one last cheap shot. Tré leaned on the turnbuckle for a few moments, his head down, palm pressed to his injured torso. The boos and boring chants had petered out, but the crowd wasn’t with him yet.
Tré visibly drew in a deep breath before slowly straightening to his full height. He lowered his hand from his stomach and morphed his expression into something harder. Determined. He wasn’t there to play games, and he wasn’t going to lose. Hiroshi noticed and apprehensively stepped back a few paces. Tré let out a roar and ran straight at him.
He hit Hiroshi with a forearm smash to the jaw, then spun him around and grabbed him in a bear hug. With another roar, Tré picked Hiroshi up, and threw him over his head in a picture-perfect German suplex. The crowd cheered as Hiroshi landed hard, the force of his fall making the ring bounce. The momentum and follow through of the throw meant Tré fell to his back as well. He jumped up and gave his opponent just enough time to make it to his feet before he went after him again.
Tré pulled out some of the moves he would normally have used only after a hot tag from Brandon. From now on, he was his own damn hot tag. Hiroshi tried to get some offense in, but Tré blocked him. He picked him up again, spinning him around and body slamming him to the mat. The other wrestler rolled around, his face scrunched up in pain, while Tré grabbed the top rope facing the hard camera and yelled out to the audience.
“Not tonight,” he shouted. “Not in my house!” The crowd was definitely behind him now, cheering and clapping, giving back the energy he was putting into the match.
Hiroshi recovered, and they faced off from either side of the ring. Tré lowered himself into a slight crouch, one foot braced behind him, waiting, eyeing the man as though he were a defender blocking Tré’s way to the basket. Hiroshi took a step forward and Tré charged. He raised his right arm, slamming it into Hiroshi’s chest with such force the clothesline took the man off his feet. He flipped around in midair before crashing to the mat. The crowd loved it, jumping to their feet and chanting Tré’s name.
With victory close, Tré didn’t waste any time. He dropped down, pressing both hands to Hiroshi’s heaving torso. The ref ran over and slid to the mat to count the pin. Braced on Hiroshi’s chest, Tré grinned and did pushups in time with the ref’s count. “One! Two! Three!”
When the ref raised his hand in the air for the win, Tré’s elation was one hundred percent genuine. He’d turned a dead crowd and a boring chant around in his favor, without the assistance of a tag partner. Tré rolled out of the ring, slapping fans’ palms for high fives as he’d always done as part of the Pittsburgh Power Machine. At the top of the ramp, he pumped his fist in the air, getting one last burst of applause before he finally disappeared behind the curtain.
In gorilla, Chance pulled his headphone off one ear. “That looked good.”
“Thanks.” Tré grabbed a towel and moped the sweat off his face before continuing. “Never thought I’d have to work that hard to get over in my own hometown, but it was worth it.”
“That’s good to hear. You’re ready to bring it?”
Tré nodded. “I’m ready.”
“Good.” Chance put his headphone back on, returning his attention to the monitor in front of him.
Tré turned to Hiroshi, who’d made it backstage before him. “Thanks, man,” he said as he held his hand out. “That match was hot fire, and I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Hiroshi accepted the handshake. “No problem. Happy to help make you look good out there.”
Tré smiled his thanks again, before heading back to the locker room. Along the way, he accepted congratulatory high fives and smiled at shouts of Nice job! from his co-workers. Tré gathered his things for a shower, but decided there was something he needed to take care of before getting cleaned up. He reached in his bag for his phone and brought up the text screen.
“Hey, B. Wanted to tell you I caught your match the other night. Thought you looked great. I knew you’d be amazing over there.” After hitting send on the message to Brandon, he tossed the phone back in his bag. Peace settled over him now that he had that text out of the way. It should have been done before tonight, but he’d been angry and hurt at his partner’s defection. Now that he had his head on straight, he could move past that lingering bitterness, and truly get his solo career on track.
After showering and changing into street clothes, Tré hung around backstage until the show was over. Once the crowd was gone, he walked from the back to the arena proper. His little group of fans had been allowed to stay while the crew broke down the ring, and they were out there waiting for him. They cheered and called his name as he went up to them.
“Tré!”
“Yay!”
“You won!”
Smiling, Tré gave his parents a quick greeting before he turned to his pee-wee kids. “You all enjoy the show tonight?”
“Yes!”
“You were so cool.”
One serious-faced little boy crossed his thin arms over his chest. “If I don’t get a basketball scholarship, I’m going to be a wrestler.”
Tré grinned at the kid. “There’s plenty of other options out there besides b-ball and wrestling, Eddie.”
The boy rolled his eyes. “You always say that.”
“Because I always speak the truth. If basketball and wrestling are your goals, then work hard at them both. But also take some time to get a little Plan C training in. The more prepared you are for life, the better you’ll be able to handle it.” He looked out over the group of kids. “All of you understand that?” A chorus of high-pitched voices answered him.
“Yeah!”
Tré gave Eddie a gentle, playful nudge. When he uncrossed his arms, Tré held his hand out for them to do the secret handshake he shared with no one besides the members of their team. By the end of the complicated pattern of snaps, claps, and grips, Eddie was smiling, just as Tré had intended.
A little girl with her hair in two giant puffs spoke up. “Tré, why were people booing you?”
Leaning down, Tré braced his elbows on the barrier so he could get closer to her level. He tried to explain what happened in the match in a way that would keep the magic of kayfabe alive for her. “Sometimes a crowd doesn’t like the moves I use to take out the bad guy and they get grumpy. And since I like making people happy, I think of cooler, better moves to help me win. Then the fans are happy and cheering again.”
Her face scrunched up in a frown. “You mean they get to tell you what to do?”
Tré wanted to laugh at her unerring breakdown of the relationship between wrestlers and a live crowd. “Sort of. But you like the moves I used, right?”
“Yeah! The clothesline is my favorite because you made him twirl all the way around in the air.”
Her giggles made Tré smile. He reached out for a high five, and she slapped his palm with her little hand.
After giving each kid a few moments of individual attention, Tré straightened again. They’d lingered long enough and it was a school night. Their parents and team chaperones started leading them away after leaning over the barrier to shake his hand.
“Thank you, Tré!”
“Bye!”
Tré waved at them all until they filed out, then turned to his parents. Both of them were smiling and proudly wore T-shirts with his likeness printed on the front. They were a tall, good-looking couple. His father’s smoothly shaved head gleamed under the arena lights, and his beard was still dark with only a few sprinkles of gray. His mom’s black hair was styled in a professional pixie cut that was easy to manage in her busy life as a bank branch manager and youth basketball couch. Tré was nearly an exact replica of his father in his facial features, build and height, although he had his mother’s darker skin tone.
“Did you guys enjoy the show?”
His mom leaned over the barrier to give him another hug as she answered. “Of course. You look different out there on your own. But you’re doing a great job.”
“You had me nervous for a minute when the crowd gave you that boring chant. But you turned them around. I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“No word from Brandon?”
“I texted him after my match. I’m sure I’ll hear back soon.” Tré kept his voice light and casual when he answered his mother. She’d been the first one to deduce that he had feelings for his tag partner. His mom had already been fond of Brandon, but once she’d made that connection, she’d made it even more of a point to include him in their family gatherings and events. On more than one occasion, she’d encouraged Tré to let his partner know his true feelings, while reassuring him that it wouldn’t be a repeat of his high school experience.
“I hope you two aren’t separated for long.”
Tré smiled a little sadly. “Brandon signed a three-year contract, Mom. He’s going to be gone for a while. And even if he does return, it’s unlikely we’ll be tag partners again after three years doing our own thing.”
Tré’s father cut in. “Leave the boy alone, Angie,” he said gently.
His mom sighed. “I know. I just worry about you both.”
“It’s appreciated.” Tré squeezed the hand she held out to him. “I’d better go. I’ve got a two-hour drive to Johnstown early in the morning.”
Before he could leave, his parents gave him another round of hugs, accompanied by I love yous and warnings to be careful on the road. Then they separated, and Tré went to the back to grab his gear and return home.
