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It was time. Brandon pulled his phone from his pocket. He opened up the text screen and scrolled down to the message he’d received from Tré a few days ago. “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.” His stomach had done a happy little somersault when he’d read the message from his former partner. He’d wanted to cry with proof in front of him that his friend hadn’t abandoned him. Stupid, since he’d been the one to leave. Still, those four little sentences made him happier than anything else had in the month since he’d arrived at GWS.
Brandon had wanted to call Tré back right away but decided to hold off. Thursday night meant Tré would be busy. And since FPW was in Pittsburgh he was probably spending time with his family. And Tré needed his rest to get up in the morning for travel to their next city. And, and, and. Brandon laughed at his excuses. Really, he’d needed time to prepare to talk to Tré. And now he was ready. He was still on Tré’s text screen, so he thumbed the phone icon to call him.
“Hello?”
“Hey, big man. I got your text the other day. I wanted to say thanks.”
“You’re welcome. But I spoke the truth. You look right at home in a GWS ring.”
Brandon laughed. “I don’t know about at home, but I’m doing all right.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“Don’t forget you owe me a drink the first time we’re in the same city.”
“How’d it get from we’ll have a drink to I owe you a drink?”
Brandon smiled to himself at the teasing note in Tré’s voice. They were still friends. They could still talk and joke with each other. “I haven’t worked that part out yet.”
“Of course, you haven’t,” Tré said with a laugh.
They talked for a few minutes longer, before they both had to go and said goodbye. Brandon put his phone in his shorts pocket after his brief conversation with his former partner. He was glad they’d talked. The month-long silence between them was strange after so much time spent together. He’d wanted to call before now, but knowing Tré was hurt at him leaving, he’d decided to give him space to be the one to do it.
Well, that was partially true. The biggest part of his cellular silence had been because he didn’t want to call Tré and be rejected. A dozen times he’d picked up the phone to call his friend, only to put it away before following through. He didn’t do well reaching out to people. It made him freeze up. Now that Tré had made first contact, Brandon felt comfortable enough to continue it.
After their talk, Brandon sat in the back of the arena, idly watching the hustle and bustle around him as he waited for his spot on the card to come up. The general routine here at Grand Wrestling Syndicate was the same as Frontier Pro. Roll into town, wait around while the road crew set everything up, film promos, wrestle, move to the next town. But there were differences. The atmosphere was much more businesslike. There were weekly roster-wide meetings where they were all given a breakdown of how their matches had been received by the crowd and each individual received a ranking on a scale of one to five by the agents. The public feedback made for a tense environment, but it did push the talent to work harder.
At FPW, the boys sat around backstage, watching each other’s matches. They did the same here, but the vibe was different. If anyone had a major botch, an overall bad match, or didn’t get over with the crowd, the mood shifted. People didn’t give advice so much as rip apart every mistake and brag that they’d do better. The first time Brandon had observed it, it reminded him of sharks circling a lone, wounded porpoise. And when there was blood in the water, a feeding frenzy of wrestlers jockeying to gain a more prominent spot on the card followed.
Brandon wasn’t bothered by the cutthroat atmosphere. He figured all he could do was perform to his best ability, stay out of the cliques and backbiting, and learn from any criticisms the agents gave him. Glancing up at the big digital clock, he saw there were ten minutes to go. He stood, shucking the shorts and hoodie he’d thrown on to keep warm in the icily air-conditioned arena.
Rico, his opponent for the night walked past. Brandon called out to him. “Hey, Rico. You want to go over some spots for our match tonight?”
“No.”
Brandon blinked, not expecting that abrupt refusal. “What do you mean, no? We don’t have to have a thirty-page move set, but we should still plan some things out ahead of time.”
“I mean I know what I’m doing and I’m the heel. I’ll call it in the ring. All you have to do is keep up.”
Rico left after that arrogant announcement, leaving Brandon there with a jaw tight from anger. “Fucker,” he cursed under his breath. His anger faded a little as he noticed Rongo approaching. It was nice to see a familiar face, although it was strange to see Rongo in his upgraded style. Gone were the FPW T-shirts and track pants he’d worn as Alex’s booker over at FPW. Now, he wore Grand Wrestling Syndicate collared shirts neatly tucked into dark business slacks.
“Boys making you feel welcome?” Rongo asked as he stopped in front of Brandon.
Brandon snorted. “Not exactly.”
Rongo smiled sympathetically and clapped Brandon on the shoulder. “They’ll warm up to you soon. Have you talked to your partner lately?”
“Yeah, I just got off the phone with him.”
“That’s great you’re keeping in touch. Did he mention anything about the plans they have for him?”
Brandon’s brows drew together in a frown. “No. Why?”
Rongo laughed. “Don’t get all suspicious on me. I’m simply trying to stay up on what the competition is doing. That’s part of my job.”
Brandon’s first reaction was to say that FPW wasn’t their competition. Except, now that they were working for GWS, Frontier Pro was their competition. Still, he wasn’t going to share any of their booking plans. Besides, it’s not like he knew what they had going on over there. He said as much to Rongo.
“That’s commendable,” Rongo said with a nod. “Just remember that you’ve got a new set of loyalties now. And if you want to get ahead in this company, a little expression of that loyalty would be appreciated.”
Brandon fought to keep his disgust at that piece of advice off his face. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said stiffly.
Rongo nodded and left. He went toward the temporary office for the night, while Brandon went over to the curtain in preparation for going out.
When his music hit, Brandon easily slipped into his new elite athlete persona. The gimmick was a good one and he liked it. He continued doing most of the same moves he always did, with a slight shift to a cockier attitude. His new entrance music was cool too. Still hip-hop, but with a heavier bass line and less of a party vibe than the song he’d shared with Tré. Brandon got a nice pop from the crowd as he went down the ramp and into the ring, which he appreciated.
Rico came out next. His hard, no-nonsense, brawler gimmick was paired with music that sounded like it belonged on an eighties street fight movie soundtrack. He stepped into the ring, glaring at Brandon as he wiped the sweat off his bald head with the towel he carried.
Brandon grinned and shrugged, unbothered as he leaned back in the corner, elbows braced on the top rope. The ref called for the bell and Brandon straightened, loosely shaking out his arms. Then he strolled to the middle of the ring to start the match.
Rico got the upper hand first with a cheap shot. Brandon fought back with a kick-knee strike combination he’d started using after his move to GWS. But he listened to the calls Rico made in the ring. Halfway through the match, Brandon stumbled as directed, and ended up caught in an abdominal stretch by the brawler.
Rico stood behind Brandon, his left leg hooked over Brandon’s left, while he grabbed Brandon’s right leg, pulling it behind him. When he took hold of Brandon’s right arm, Brandon winced for real. Rico put a lot of torque on it, and Brandon’s muscles stretched uncomfortably tight from his armpit down to his lower back. They stayed in the clinch for a good thirty seconds. When Brandon refused to submit, Rico released his limbs to drive an elbow into his stomach. Again, the blow was harder than it needed to be.
Brandon cursed and dropped to the mat. He’d never worked with Rico before so maybe the man was always this stiff, but he couldn’t help but get a malicious vibe off the older wrestler. He wondered if he’d offended the man in some way and he was taking it out on him in the ring. With Brandon on the mat, the brawler dropped down too, aiming for a ground and pound. But quick as a snake, Brandon shot backward out of his reach.
Back on his feet, he caught Rico with a snap kick across the back of his head. While he swayed on his knees, Brandon ran across the ring, bouncing off the ropes to bump up his speed as he hurtled back up behind Rico. He grabbed the brawler around the head and front flipped over him. At the same time, he pulled Rico down with him, driving his face into the mat for a knockout blow. Rico went limp and Brandon hurriedly pushed him onto to his back to get the winning pin.
Once the bell rang, Brandon hopped to his feet. He grinned into the camera, miming brushing dirt off his shoulders like the victory was no big deal. Then he smoothly slid out of the ring and strolled back up the ramp.
Backstage, Brandon grabbed a towel and wiped his face. He called out to Rico when he came through the curtain behind him. “Hey. I owe you some receipts I don’t know about?”
“What?”
“You were a little stiff in that match.”
Rico’s upper lip curled in a sneer as he barked a rough laugh. “That’s how we do it here. If you don’t like it, go back to FPW. I heard your old boss gave you guys warm cookies and a rub down after every match over there.”
Brandon’s spine stiffened at the insult. “Nobody at FPW is soft. We work just as hard as anybody in this industry.”
“We? You’re GWS now. I wouldn’t keep associating myself with that low-budget promotion if I were you. Either you’re all-in with Grand or you can get the fuck out.”
He strolled off, once again leaving Brandon standing there in anger.
***
Tré lay on his back in the hotel room, watching late night talk show TV. The light was already off, and he wasn’t really paying attention to the actor’s attempt to be charming as he promoted his new movie. When his phone rang, he almost let it roll to voice mail. Until he glanced at the screen and saw Brandon’s number. Surprised Brandon was calling him again, he took the phone off the charger and answered. “Hey, B. What’s up?”
“Not much. It’s not too late to call is it?”
“No, I’m just watching TV. You sound like something is bothering you.”
Brandon laughed but Tré frowned at the low, slightly sad tone of it.
“You know me too well.”
“What’s going on?”
“Had a match tonight with Rico and he worked a little stiff.”
Instantly concerned, Tré grabbed the remote and turned off the TV. “How stiff?”
“Nothing too bad. Enough for me to know it was on purpose.”
“He say anything afterward?”
“Yeah. That they’re tougher at GWS and I need to toughen up since everybody at FPW is soft.”
“He’s testing you.”
Brandon sighed. “Yeah. And I know what you’re going to say. I wanted this so I can’t complain.”
“I wasn’t going to say that at all. You’re a fucking vet, and I don’t doubt you’ve shown everybody respect since you got there. No reason for that shithead to treat you like that.” He paused to let his words sink in. “What are you going to do?”
“I’ll ride it out. Like you said, I’m not a rank newbie, so I can handle myself. I’m sure if I don’t sink to his level, he’ll get bored and move on. Anyway, enough about me and my non-problem. What’s going on with you? I saw you had a couple of rough matches, but you looked like you’ve bounced back already.”
“Yeah, I figured it was either get myself together or get myself fired.”
“Alex is not going to release you while you’re adjusting. He knows he’s got a good thing with you. If anything, he probably worries you might ask to be released.”
“Why would I do that?”
“You’ve got a degree. You don’t have to put up with wrecking your body in the ring night after night.”
“When I have to progress from an ice bath to a cryopod for recovery, I’ll know it’s time to hang up the boots. Until then, I’ll be okay.” Tré joked with his response, but he couldn’t help but wonder if his leaving was something Brandon had thought of before. He didn’t get a chance to ask him about it, however, because Brandon’s next statement threw him for a loop.
“I miss you, man.”
Blood rushed in Tré’s ears at that declaration. He so badly wanted Brandon to mean that on a level deeper than friendship and tag partners. A little of that longing slipped into his voice when he answered, “I miss you, too.” Thankful that no one could see him, Tré squeezed his eyes shut tight in embarrassment. Friends. That was all they were. And friends didn’t make a casual late-night phone call weird by getting deep and emotional. He cleared his throat, continuing on in a lighter tone. “I have to actually do promos now that you’re gone.” There was a beat of silence before Brandon laughed.
“Are you going to ask Chance to put you in promo class?”
His embarrassment faded as their conversation moved into territory he was comfortable with. “Nah. I think I’ll be okay. I’ll watch the Hard Times promo on repeat.”
Brandon laughed again. “Best way to learn is from the master.”
“No doubt.”
“We’ll both be all right. You’ll get better at promos and I’ll win those fuckers over with my amazing in-ring talent.”
“I might have a few moves I can break out too.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, then. Bring it, big man.”
Tré could hear the smile in Brandon’s voice, and just like before their split, he couldn’t help but respond with a smile of his own. He’d missed his old partner’s teasing. “You know I will.”
Tré ended the call and put the phone back on the charger. When he lay down to go to sleep, the smile was still on his face.
***
The next day, Brandon was in a much better mood for the Sunday night GWS TV taping. Talking things out with his old partner had helped. He was the new man on the job, coming in from a rival company. Of course some of the roster was going to give him shit to see what he was made of. All he had to do was stay solid, work the way he knew how to work, and eventually they’d move on. He could handle that no problem.
And of course, just because Rico felt the need to have a pissing contest with him during a match didn’t mean everyone at GWS would do the same. Right now, he was working with Liam Hux, one of their cruiserweights. They were having a good match with a lot of give and take, each of them having moments to shine. When it came time to go on heavy offense so he could work up to his win, Brandon decided to pull out a new trick.
He took a step back, coming around with a roundhouse kick to his opponent’s jaw. Liam’s eyes rolled back in his head and he fell to his back on the mat. Brandon looked side to side. Then he did a back flip into a back tuck, landing with his knees driving into Liam’s stomach. He rolled through the move until he was back on feet, then crossed his arms over his chest like he was posing for a picture. Camera phones flashed, and Brandon turned from side to side, making sure everyone got their shot. By the time he was done showboating, Liam had made it to his knees. Brandon attacked again before he could get all the way to his feet.
Running toward Liam’s back, Brandon grabbed him around the head and flipped over him for his finisher. His momentum brought Liam down too, smashing his face into the mat. Cocky and arrogant, Brandon smugly used his shoulder to roll Liam over onto his back. He lay there draped across him while the ref counted.
After getting the pin, Brandon popped up to his feet and winked into the camera. “That was for you!” he shouted over the sound of his music blasting and the audience cheering. As far as the GWS fans were concerned, that comment could have been meant for anybody. But it was one hundred percent meant for Tré. Brandon knew his friend would watch later on and realize it. He strolled up the ramp, excited to see what Tré would do to try and one-up him.
***
Tré had barely closed his hotel room door behind him when his phone rang. Hoping it was Brandon, he dropped his bag and rushed to take his phone from his back pocket. He smiled when he saw his friend’s name on the screen, thumbing the green dot to answer. “Hey, B.”
“What’s up?”
“Walking into my hotel room.”
“I always seem to call you when you’re in the middle of something.”
“I’m a busy man,” Tré joked.
“Want me to call you back?”
“Nah. I want you to tell me about that move you pulled off tonight.”
“You liked that, huh?”
“I didn’t say I liked it. I said tell me about it.”
Brandon laughed, the sound husky and warm in Tré’s ear. “You liked it.”
If Tré were sixteen and giddy, talking to a boy he was crushing on, he might have come back with, I like you. However, since he was grown and talking to a straight friend, he settled for friendly teasing. “I might have had an appreciation for it. Strictly from a professional standpoint of course.”
“Of course.”
Brandon started explaining how he’d come up with the move. As they talked, Tré undressed. It felt weirdly intimate to take his clothes off while on the phone with Brandon. Which was odd because he’d undressed in front of him plenty of times. Hell, Brandon had seen him naked more than anybody else on the planet. They’d always been cool and casual about it. But now, with Brandon on the phone instead of across the room, his skin tingled with the sense that he was undressing with a purpose in mind other than sleep. Tré pushed that ridiculous feeling away. He stripped down to his briefs, then clicked off the light and got in bed.
Brandon let out a long sigh. “Man, I’m glad I can finally stretch out and relax. Thank God this bed is comfortable.”
Tré shifted, getting settled. “My bed for the night is all right. Nothing compares to my dreamy foam mattress at home. It’s the best bed.”
“What?” Brandon gasped as though he were shocked. “No way your bed is the best. My pillow top is where it’s at.”
Tré smiled in the darkness. “Are we really having a competition over whose bed is the most comfortable? I think we might be taking this one-upmanship too far.”
“True, true,” Brandon said with a quiet chuckle. “Besides, there wouldn’t really be a way for us to judge it and declare a winner.”
Actually, Tré could think of one way. Him in Brandon’s bed for a night of deep, delicious, sweaty sex, followed by Brandon in his bed for round two. An image of them naked and entwined flashed in his head, and a rush of aroused heat swept over his skin. Tré silently swore to himself before abruptly changing the subject.
“Have you had any more trouble with Rico?”
“No. I haven’t had to wrestle him again, and we haven’t talked backstage. I asked around and the response I got is dude is a dick. He acts that way with nearly everybody and thinks his attitude makes him a tough guy.”
“Well, I guess it’s a good thing it wasn’t personal.”
“It’s too bad. I was just starting to feel special.”
Tré laughed at Brandon’s sarcasm. Their conversation continued, moving from subject to subject with the natural rhythm they’d had for years. But as they talked, that odd feeling that Tré experienced as he was undressing returned. He was in bed, in the dark, talking to a guy he liked. He hadn’t done that since high school when he’d met a guy at summer basketball camp. Those late-night conversations were his first sexual experiences with another person. And he needed to stop thinking about that right the hell now because a mutual jerk off session with his ex-partner wasn’t going to happen.
When their conversation started to slow, the pauses between responses growing longer, Tré sleepily looked at the clock. They’d been on the phone for over an hour. He heard Brandon shifting around before he let out the softest little moan.
“Mmmmm...”
Tré bit his lip at the sound, holding back an answering moan. Hearing that right in his ear... It was intimate, the way Tré imagined Brandon would sound during sex. Tré hurriedly cleared his throat, not wanting the arousal that was starting to pulse in his cock to come across when he spoke. “I guess you’re tired.”
“Yeah. You sound sleepy too.”
From that remark, Tré figured he’d been only somewhat successful in hiding the huskiness in his voice. It was damn lucky Brandon mistook the tone for tiredness rather than arousal.
“I guess we should get off.”
Tré bit his lip again. He’d love to get off with Brandon. Too bad that wasn’t what the other man meant. And why the hell was his mind in the gutter tonight? He needed to chill on the sexual thoughts for his friend.
“Yeah. I guess we should.”
“Okay, I’ll talk to you soon.”
Tré said goodnight and ended the call. He fumbled in the dark to plug the charger back into his phone before flopping back onto his pillow. Jesus. That conversation had him more riled up than anything he could recall in recent memory. His cock was hard and throbbing, and his stomach lifted lightly when he replayed the sound of Brandon’s moan in his mind.
Tré pushed a hand into his briefs, sliding his palm up the length of his shaft. He wanted to grip and stroke while he imagined all the things he would do to make Brandon moan like that for him. But he couldn’t do it. His friend deserved his respect, and that didn’t include being used for jerk off fodder. Besides, getting himself off to thoughts of Brandon’s soft voice and little moans wouldn’t do anything to help Tré stop obsessing over him. With a frustrated groan, he pulled his hand back out of his underwear and shut his eyes tight, determined to get to sleep.
