She could see it. Feel it. Knew it. The signs were all there. Things that they'd gone through before. Gotten through before, fine, but had been forced to live through in order for that to be true. And they were different people then. That's what they'd always decided. Why that hapepned then. They were younger and power hungry and that was just that. They were using one another and it was what led to their divorce the first go around. They weren't doing that anymore. They weren't built on that anymore. Their relationship was true and right and perfect.
Except...recently…
It wasn't long ago that she'd given birth for the third time and that had been it's who other mess and yes, it was plainly obvious that he was more than enthralled with having another little one, but it was around that time that things changed again up at work. He'd been injured, originally, which meant away from the ring, but her father had recently taken an interest in her husband's abilities behind the scenes.
While that gave Hunter something to do, which was a good thing, it had also brought some new tangles into their already lengthy relationship. The business side of things had become her thing. Her domain. He focused on himself and only himself as far as things in the ring went. It wasn't that way anymore. For now.
And it was a bit frightening, really, to see how well her father was taking to him and his opinions. Her brother, even, who she and Hunter had been having a rather good, yet delicate, relationship with recently, wasn't a fan of this turn of events. Though Shane found a jealousy in the attention and acceptance than Vince found for Hunter's apparently valued perspective, Steph felt something else.
They were distancing from one another again.
It was much the same following his first quad injury, all the way back in the early days of their original marriage. They'd always fought, together, to hold onto power, but when one got a bit more than the other, when they found their interests and opinions in what to do with that power separating, well, it didn't do much for their relationship.
So she made a rule that, when they were at home, short of a serious emergency, they were not to speak on work.
"Home," she told him one morning as he pretended to wrestle with their older two girls and she nursed their youngest, "is for home. Work is for work. Okay?"
"Of course, baby," he agreed as he allowed himself to be pinned to the floor, down for the count, always, for his girls.
But that was easier said than done. Because everything was an emergency up at work. Everything. She knew that. Life was lived around a cellphone or a computer and even if you were physically there, mentally, you were always lost in work.
She watched it destroy her parents marriage. At least internally. And seen Shane, having rejected this ideal, fall out of favor slowly, yet surely with their father. The business had to be the first priority. Always. Over everything else. Over yourself. Your spouse. Your children.
"You don't think I'dda seen ya ravaged in a ring? To make sure this company stayed on top?" Vince griped and Steph was mostly upset, honestly, that he didn't remember that he had actually allowed and perpetrated this only slightly over a decade ago.
"I don't want you fucking things up with Hunter, either," he'd added with a frown, even glaring at her a bit. She and her father had been in cahoots as of late for the most part, but clearly, he had no problem severing their ties once more. That's how valuable Hunter was to him currently.
She felt that. Honest, she did. She too had long felt like Hunter was the cure to any and all their ailments in the rocky world of professional wrestling. The idea of her father being the one to capitalize off this though was a bit unsettling. Not to mention seeing how quickly Hunter immersed himself in this new world. The cut throat life in the ring prepared him, fine, but the ease at which he spoke to suits and, honestly, became one himself was amazing. He had an eye, an ear, and a mind for this side of the business, maybe even more than he had all those years being a talent.
Stephanie was happy with this. Honestly, she was. She was ecstatic, even. The success of the business, after all, was to her betterment. But…
Sigh.
As much as she enjoyed watching her husband reach his true potential, and a sicker part of her loved watching her brother get undercut, a larger part of her saw the writing on the wall. The wrestling business was never known for supporting lasting marriages, it had even caused the dissolution of their first, the business side of things, especially when spent around her father of all people.
He'd never been too discreet and, honestly, Vince would probably find fault in her, should she ever catch her husband in the situations Linda had frequently found the man. It was the way of the business, he'd say, or probably even inform her that it was part of life. The natural progression of a marriage. It was her job to shut up and pretend not to be bothered by it.
Or find her own, actually discreet, forms of pleasure.
Of course, she felt too as if part of her fears were simply staked in the fact they'd just had their third child. Not that the children themselves were causing the issues (well, the stress they brought on their own didn't help), but moreover she wasn't...herself again yet.
Her emotions still felt a bit more on edge than usual, she was home more, with the girls, which gave her longer to focus on such thoughts, and her body wasn't exactly where she might want it, just yet. Not even close. And he wasn't gone, on the road, right now, but rather home, which was good, maybe, fine, but it gave them more time to be at home around one another, which could breed little forms of contempt.
Still, as these thoughts kept her up every once in awhile, she tried hard to keep a balance on things. They still had dinner together most nights, him getting home usually after the kids had already been put to bed. One night, in particular, she tried many times throughout the meal to start a conversation with him about anything, literally anything, than work, but he just kept glancing at his phone.
He seemed attached to it.
"Don't you think that's cute? Hunter? That she did that? I wish you'd been home to see it."
"Uh-huh," he agreed as he hardly glanced up at her. And it wasn't that he didn't care to hear a story about one of his daughters. It was just that he was so much in the zone and Steph just wouldn't shut the fuck up the whole night.
She bet that's what he wanted.
For her to shut the fuck up.
It sounded like something Hunter would think.
That she was being annoying. Or her story was annoying. Or that he just didn't want to talk to her. She bet it was that one. Because it wasn't like he was telling her about whatever he was so engrossed in on his phone either. Of course, she hadn't asked, fine, but that was hardly the point. No. The point was that he hadn't mentioned it. Even thought to key her in on what he was doing. When she'd asked him how work was that day, he'd only sighed some, muttered a bunch, then asked her the question in return. Now they were sitting down to dinner, she was trying to respond, and he was hardly listening.
Or not even listening at all.
It was true enough, anyways. Hunter was lost, in those first few months, in his own world. Everything felt like it was opening up for him and he was finding that being aligned with Vince McMahon was far preferable to being a constant thorn in his side. He'd always had these thoughts of grandeur and assumed that, to accomplish them, he had to have a pretty belt wrapped around his waist, but that was turning out to be far from the truth. Conquering the company didn't mean sitting in the public eye, constantly throwing wrenches in the plans of those who attempted to overthrow their king. No.
Because a king was the one viewed as in charge, was the one that appeared to make all of the moves, but rarely was a king without some sort of a chain. A leash. A council who, whether he realized it or not, controlled him. Fuck, the woman in his bed controlled him. His. Stephanie. No. No matter how high he sat on the ladder of superstar, he would never ascend to his highest height while toying around in the ring with the boys. No. He had to become a man. And men didn't parade around, arguing over gold belts. Men counted the gold behind the scenes. Men controlled which little boys got their time in the sun. And fine, he'd been good at forcing himself in there, back in the day, but he was getting older. He had to start thinking about long term.
Wrestling, WWE, it was a company, truly, at it's root. And you can't overthrow a boss the same way you could one up him on his show. Because no matter how much you embarrass him, how insane you drive him, how many times you fuck his daughter, he was still the boss. He might mentally check out after awhile, sometimes, and you get to run rampant backstage, but you were never truly in control.
No.
If he wanted what Vince had, if he wanted more than Vince had, then there was only one way to go about it.
Assuming his role in the company, his true role, the role he'd unknowingly been wishing for all along, that he'd rightfully belong in from the start, was exhilarating to Hunter. It was only the beginning, fine, and he was still finding his footing, he was still working on his plan of attack, but eventually, it would all come together. Years, it would take, he knew, before he was finally ready, before he convinced the old man and those around him, Vince's council, that he was ready, but he'd get there.
He thought that Stephanie understood this. He was nearly certain she did. He used to write all the time, when they first were together, in journals. Long, drawn out, convoluted plans he hoped to enact eventually that involved everyone, everyone, in the company. And he'd read over them, nearly constantly, perhaps with a bit of paranoia, as he considered who was sacrificial to him and who felt the same towards him. What alliances were worthwhile and which had served their purpose.
Stephanie tried to be into it with him, back in those days, and he still did it now. Wrote. About work. He would make long lists and concepts and read them back to her sometimes. He had visions of expansion, of dominance. He felt like fucking Nostradamus or some shit, but fuck, he could just tell. They'd crushed everyone, fucking everyone, back in the day, but now? Now that they felt alone and safe? Like they were untouchable? That was when they would have their chance to truly grow.
Imagine if they could just get rid of everybody fucking else. Imagine. It would have to be different, of course, than when they were going up against juggernauts, before. No. Now they were the powerful overlord who had to stifle any and other avenue. They were the mecca now, fine, but if there was just some way to draw the smaller audiences to them… To take the smaller audiences, even, under the wing…
It was becoming harder, in some ways, to sniff out adequate talent to add the roster, and they bred it still, fine, in some ways, but they could do better.
They had to do better.
FCW just wasn't turning out right and he'd been speaking to Vince, a lot, recently about bigger things. A few more things fall into place here, a few there, and then…
And then…
It was a short term goal, honestly, but if it paid off…
That was the problem, honestly, when he wrote his thoughts out. He always trailed off. Because he knew where they went, at the time, but sometimes, it was hard to consider the bigger picture when he removed himself a few steps.
Maybe he just didn't finish them, couldn't finish them, because if he did, if he accurately stated what he was thinking about, if he fully formed the thought, but then fell short of it…
Because he wasn't a failure. Hunter wasn't. Ever. Because if he did 'fail' at something, he would only decide it wasn't something he wanted after all. Or it would be something that he wasn't interested in anymore. Yeah, fine, he might not have the title belt currently, but hey, did anyone consider that maybe he just didn't want it? Anyone consider that? Huh? Yeah, sure, he might not be main evening as often anymore, but it was actually because he wanted to take time off, sometimes, and fuck you for questioning him. Fine, his Mania record was shit, but that was for posers. Chumps. Winning there. Lame as fuck. Casuals fucking cared about that shit. It was no World Series. It was no Superbowl. Try being the only relevant superstar in the down season. Try dragging in viewers then.
That was talent.
He was talent. Talented. And he knew this. He exuded it.
He was also conceited, selfish, and perhaps a bit deluded, but who fucking wasn't?
If it all fell apart tomorrow, if him and the old geezer had a falling out, fuck, if he never stepped foot in the office again, if he was never involved in the ring again, who gave a shit? He'd just claim to have never needed it and never wanted it and look, he had a fucking hot wife, three great kids, and a shit tone of money.
Who would say that wasn't success?
Anyone who heard about the full scope of his hopes and dreams. Himself, if he ever fully realized them.
It was just all so draining, mentally, in a way he rarely felt. Life on the road was hard, fine, and any time he'd had a serious injury recovery was tough, yeah, but this shit? Being on the side of shit where it's not just you relying on your own success, but having the entire weight of a company breathing down your neck?
That was rough.
That was a true testament to greatness.
Somewhere between thoughts of that, glancing over a text, and grunting along with whatever his wife was telling him, Hunter must have lost her. His wife. Or at least what she was telling him. Because she'd gone from some sort of story about their daughter to being very upset if her tone of voice said anything.
"You're not even listening to me."
"Am too," he said though all he heard was that. The tail end of whatever it was that she was on about. "Steph."
"Then what was I talking about?"
"About how the baby-"
"That was five minutes ago, Hunter." And she was glaring at him darkly while he only sat there, feeling quite dumb, because he didn't know where all of this was coming from. At all. "We're drifting apart and you don't even care."
"What are you-"
But his phone started ringing and it was Vince, but before he could even say anything, she was shoving up because one of the kids was whining and just...just fuck it.
Just fuck it.
They went to bed that night at separate times and he didn't even try waking her when he crawled into it. He figured it was for the best if he didn't.
Stephanie felt livid, at first, even the next day, but it morphed slowly into something else. She wasn't mad at him. She couldn't be. He was doing what he always did. Throwing himself into work. And she knew, at least somewhat, that she was just stressing about being home with the kids so much and him being around her father, her own fucking father, and it was just a bad time, for things to be so...so...busy.
That was all.
It slowly melted down from anger to just acceptance. The pitiful kind of acceptance you get when you know that it doesn't matter what you do or say, something's happening anyways. The power was going to come between them. She knew it would. It was destined to. Always.
He wondered if Vince gave him the option, her or power, which he'd choose.
She had a sinking feeling that it would eventually come to this. She wasn't sure why.
She didn't' want to wait up for dinner that night and, after putting the girls to bed, went off to it herself, early, at six in the evening, because she didn't want to see Hunter or talk to him or even think about him.
"Stephanie."
This option was taken from her when he shook her awake sometime later.
"Baby." And he was insistent. "Meet me downstairs."
She didn't want to. But he disappeared before she had a chance to say this and, well, she was thirsty, anyways.
It was nothing spectacular, of course. He'd been at work all day. But he had gotten her favorite takeout and had the table all set and, well, she hadn't eaten yet.
"Sit down." He was waiting for her, so that he could could pull out her chair at the table for her and it was so stupid and corny and dumb. "Do you want a glass of wine?"
"Hunter," she started to complain as, reluctantly, she went to accept her seat, but as he pushed it in for her, he only leaned down to press a kiss to her head. "I don't-"
"I need your help with something."
And instead of taking his seat across from her, he pulled a chair over, beside hers, and shoved the plate of food out of the way slightly as he came to set a journal down in front of them. "I want you to listen to some shit with me. I've been thinking a lot about… Can you just help me? I need you."
She didn't say anything for a moment as he only went to actually get her that glass of wine. It was as his back was to her that slowly, as she didn't even open the journal, she spoke.
"Hunter," she began and he only glanced over his shoulder at her. "Recently, I just feel like-"
"I know, Steph. Work has been-"
"It's more than that." She sat up taller as he came back over to her with the glass and forced herself to meet his eyes. "You're so caught up in this, in all of this...in Vince, and I'm just feeling really..."
"Really what, baby?" He sat so close to her, when he took his chair, that their knees bumped. "Tell me."
She shook her head some because she really hadn't been expecting to have this conversation. Not that night. "It's just… I just had a baby and then you're always gone and I'm not even working, right now, really, and it just feels really claustrophobic, like I'm suffocating, and I just wish that I didn't feel this way, but I do. I don't ever want us to be separated by something. Ever. And I just feel like this will. That it'll divide us. And I want you to do it, you know? Work int eh company? You're so right for it. But I just worry sometimes that...that… I just don't ever want to lose you again, Hunter."
He was silent for a moment before asking simply, "Where would I go?"
"It's not funny."
"I'm not joking." He bowed his head then, so he was the one meeting her eyes then. "I'm not blocking you out on purpose recently. You know that. I've just been planning shit out is all, baby. Stephie. I know this was all such shit timing, but you'll be back at work soon. What do you need here? I'll get it for you. You want another nanny? More help? I'll buy out a fucking daycare, if that's what you want."
"You know it's not that."
"Then what?" And he gave her a bit of a wry smile. "I'm just focused on work right now, baby. That's why I'm so tired when I get home. That's it, huh? You can't live without me?"
"Shut up."
"And you're tired too." He sighed some, shrugging his shoulders. "I guess, if I have to, to keep you happy, I could come home and fuck ya senseless, but-"
"I said to shut up."
"You look great, babe." He reached out that time, just to touch her cheek. When she turned away, his hand hung there for a moment before he slowly dropped it down to his lap. "You're more worried about me fucking around on ya, now that I'm literally going into the office everyday, than when I was out on the streets? Roaming around? Far from home?"
She huffed because he was twisting things (and yet getting right to the heart of them). "I didn't have three babies then."
"That is it? You're, what? Insecure? Stephie." And that time, he didn't touch her cheek, but rather raise his hand up to gently pat her on the top of the head. "Whose babies did you have, huh? Mine. You know how hot that is? This is the peak amount I've ever been attracted to ya."
"You're such a liar."
"I am," he agreed. "About a lot of things. I'm a pretty shit person, in fact. It's what makes me so great at this whole office thing. I thought Orton was a fucking hard ass. The guys in that office? Cut throat. How do you do it? Go into that fucking tower. Shit heads. All of 'em." Then he sighed. "But I don't lie to you. You know that. You, the girls, you're extensions of me. I'd live in a box before I hurt you again, Steph. Give it all up. Every ounce of it. I wouldn't even want it, none of it, without you."
"Shut up."
"You shut up." And that time, the pat on the head felt a bit rougher. "Who the fuck do you think I'm building this empire for, Stephanie? Huh? Why do you think I do this? For my own benefit? I reached my cap, my peak, my pinnacle, years ago. I held every title I wanted, slaughtered every guy I wanted, did every damn thing I wanted to. If it wasn't for you, fuck, after I blew my quad that second time, I'dda rode off into the sunset. Fuck everybody else.
"I'm not here for me, Stephanie. I'm not here putting on a suit, tying up my hair, and making nice with fucking asshats who don't know shit about shit for me. No. I'm doing this for us. For you and me. For our kids. I'm setting us up. I'm making our name. I've done everything in this company that single me could have dreamed up. This is the married, fatherly portion of things I'm doing now. This is the family side of things. I want my family to eclipse every fucking thing that's every happened up to this point. In fifty, a hundred years, no one will give a fuck about the McMahons. It's our legacy that will eclipse it. The Helmsleys will own this damn company. It'll be mine until it's my kids . And we'll make it bigger and better than anything your fucking father and brother ever dreamed about."
That time, he caught her chin in his fingers and drew it towards him, so that they could look at one another, full on, and see nothing, but the other.
"Everything I've done since the day we got back together, Stephanie, has been for us. Our future. Our kids future. I'd stab that company in the fucking heart, gut it like a pig, if I thought that you and I had a chance at something better. But we don't. This is our shot. This is our glory. I've always told you, baby, if you just stick with me, if you just trust me, just believe in me, I'll get us there. Me and you. I'm nothing without you. Did you forget that?"
She teared up a bit and she hadn't even had the glass of wine yet. Still, she only shook her head before leaning up to press a quick kiss against his lips. And he smiled, actually smiled, just for her, always, before sitting back some.
There.
All better.
"I know," he began again after a beat passed and he at least let her look over her food, "that we're not supposed to talk about work, but babe, I need you to go over some stuff with me before I bring it to-"
"Yeah." And she hardly even thought as, instead of for her food or drink, she reached to open up the journal. "Of course."