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WINTER 2024 - BATTLEGROUNDS CHICAGO

The lights hit first. Blinding. White-hot beams cutting through the fog machines, scattering over the polished canvas of the ring. The crowd is distant at first, a low hum that grows into a living, breathing thing. Every footstep in the arena echoes against my chest, every cheer rattles my ribs.

I’ve been here before, but never like this. Not really. Not since the night I left. Not since everything fell apart. And yet, here I am, standing in the wings, hands wrapped, muscles primed, heart racing like it’s the first time I ever stepped into a ring.

Callum Knox. Deadlock in the ring. Somewhere out there, he’s pacing the ropes, his hood thrown back, eyes sharp, scanning, measuring. Fire. Reckless, controlled fire, and I’ve been chasing the memory of it for years without knowing I was chasing him.

The trainers threw us together the first day like it was an experiment. Two kids, destined to collide, they said. Stars in motion. I didn’t believe in destiny then. I believed in discipline, in control, in keeping my heart locked tight in a cage I built myself. And yet, he found the cracks in it.

Hotel rooms during long tours. Furtive touches when the lights were low. Confessions whispered in the dark that I never named. Every single one of them, I buried under tape, sweat, and the roar of the crowd. I pretended none of it mattered. I pretended he didn’t.

I let the world watch him rise while I faded. Battlegrounds—the mistake, the botched move, the shoulder, the teammate—I left quietly. Evan was the only one who knew what happened. The only one who knew me when I disappeared. And even with him, I never said how much I still wanted what I couldn’t have.

Now, the hum becomes a roar. Fans screaming my name even before they know it’s me. The announcer’s voice is a distant echo in the back of my skull, blending with the adrenaline that makes my hands shake just slightly. I taste the antiseptic in the air, feel the vibration of the crowd through the steel floor, smell the faint mix of sweat, popcorn, and arena polish.

I step forward. One foot in front of the other. The roar swells, and I let it wash over me. Let it remind me that I am back. That I am not a ghost anymore. That I’ve carried everything in silence long enough.

And somewhere in the ring, he waits. He doesn’t know I’m here. He doesn’t know that I never stopped wanting him, that I’ve rehearsed this moment in my head a thousand times. He doesn’t know the storm I bring.

I draw a breath. Feel it burn down to my lungs, coil in my chest, and let it out.

The first step is always the hardest.

I take it anyway.