Victor Delgado, aka Ladrón de Tumbas, was a household name in Santo Domingo, particularly where he’d grown up in barrio San Carlos; or, so he said. It was difficult to tell when he was embellishing or when he was being evasive, and that drove Jodie up a wall. When they first met, she had to double-check Wikipedia about his birthday, and even that held no certainty. Her grandmother assured her of his age several times, and considering that she was a devout Catholic, it was safe to assume that she was telling the truth.

So, as Mitch glanced at the banner that was being strung up saying Happy 50th Birthday!, it only made the barrage of aggravated texts from Jodie all the more delightful. Apparently, Victor was insisting that it was his 45th birthday, not his 50th, and Mitch wanted more than anything to be in that car to bear witness to Jodie’s suffering.

“Looks good, guys,” he informed the two students, both members of his stable Bad Moon Rising, as they’d worked together to straighten out the banner.

“You’re so official with that clipboard!” said one of them, a petite brunette woman with a pixie cut. She slid down the ladder without any regard to OSHA compliance, then bounded over to Mitch. Her real name was Stacey, but she preferred to be called by her character’s name, Sandy. The clipboard was pried out of Mitch’s hand, and Sandy studied it intensely.

“Thanks? I guess?” Mitch’s nose wrinkled, and his head swung up as the other half of the pair, Louis, approached at a much more casual pace. Louis’ took a quick glance over Sandy’s shoulder, which he tended to do by default since he was practically a giant, then turned his attention to Mitch.

“How long do we have to get the rest done?” his low voice rumbled.

“Judging from the last text, 45 minutes tops.” Booting up his phone, Mitch confirmed the timestamp. “Jodie just left the McDonald’s on the Pike.”

“Cool,” nodded Louis, stepping aside as Sandy shoved the clipboard back at Mitch.

“Well, we’re basically finished, anyway,” she gestured to the warehouse-turned-wrestling school, and at the other students that were finishing their assigned tasks. “So, when do you think you’ll get cleared to wrestle again?”

“Dunno. I have a follow-up at the end of September to see if I healed. So if all goes well, hopefully I can start training after that.”

“Think you’ll be good for Graveyard Smash?” Louis asked.

“I-” Mitch sighed. ‘The Graveyard Smash’ was Grindhouse’s biggest event, which took place the weekend before Halloween. This year, it’d be held at an actual sleepaway camp, and was already close to being sold out. If he had beaten Lagoon Goon instead of getting injured, he would have advanced to the semi-finals, and potentially clinched the number one contender position; that meant a main event title match at Graveyard Smash. Beating back self-flagellation that broke the surface tension and began to bubble, he replied with, “I hope so, man.”

“At the very least, we’ll get the tag titles,” Sandy nudged Louis.

“Still gotta get through Coven,” Louis started to remind her, but she’d already turned heel and wandered away, chatting excitedly with someone that’d walked by. Shrugging, he clasped a meaty hand on Mitch’s good shoulder and squeezed lightly. “Y’know we’re here for you, brotha.”

“Thanks,” Mitch smiled sheepishly, and waited until Louis had taken off before letting go of a breath. There was warmth that’d crept into his cheeks, and he didn’t know how he could be one week removed from a relationship and already be so pathetically touch starved.

Then again, now that he was paying it any mind, even prior to the breakup it’d been a good while since he’d gotten any physical affection from Calvin. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, and ran his hand down his face.