Lexi Hart stared at the white stick. Her mind reeling to process and accept the news. It couldn't possibly be accurate. As much as she wanted to believe, it simply couldn't be right.
The moment she'd woke in the intensive care unit those three long years ago, she'd struggled to accept her fate. From that point forward, she'd hadn't taken precautions. Never thought she needed to. In a strange way, having the possibility removed had allowed for a freedom that others didn't necessarily have. Maybe it was her way of rebelling against the pain, but the way she saw it, after ripping her heart out, the world owed her that much.
Now there appeared to be a slim chance that fate had decided to reveal a secret it had been hiding for three long years. She couldn't quite bring herself to even allow an inkling of hope to exist. Not until she was sure of the truth. Even then, could she risk allowing joy to exist? The last time she had, everything she'd wanted had been cruelly ripped away.
Tears welled and she sucked in a ragged breath, as memories came flooding back and with them, the incredible almost blinding pain. It wasn't the loss that hurt the most, though she had to admit, it still stung. No, it was the knowledge that never was a very, very long time to have her hopes dashed. She'd somehow managed to navigate that pain the first time. How could she possibly survive if it happened again? Her fingers curled around the small white stick as she closed her eyes. It wouldn't happen again, at least not the part where Roman was concerned.
If there was one thing in her life she was completely sure of, it was Roman's love. As big and strong, tough and surly as he appeared to those around him, she only saw the teddy bear hidden within. It was his gentle touch. A soft hand to the small of her back. His heated stare from across the room. The way she could feel him watching her even when she couldn't see him. From the moment they'd first touched, she'd felt the spark between them. That spark had slowly smoldered then burst into a flame fueled daily by their passion.
In those quiet moments, when they were naked and alone, he all but worshiped her. Sometimes his tenderness brought tears to her eyes. Then there was the Dom in him. The insufferable, unyielding, demanding, over protective oaf that commanded her body and heart in a way no one ever had before. There were times when his being a Dom grated on her nerves. Yet she only had to be reminded that he acted that way because he cared and she'd turn into a submissive puddle of need, ready to fulfill his every desire.
When he made love to her, whether it was in a moment of animalistic lust, or a slow and satisfying slide of bodies, he gave her all of himself. Oh sure, he said the words and she knew he meant them, but it was his actions that really spoke volumes of his love for her.
No, he would would never cheat and he certainly wouldn't leave. Her brow knit as she frowned. But how would he react to the news?
Damn it!
She nearly growled at herself for allowing such a positive thought to surface. She opened her eyes and tossed the test onto the counter. There wasn't any news to share because the test was wrong. It had to be wrong.
What if the doctors had been wrong?
The question popped into her mind and jumped up and down, wildly waving its arms. Dare she consider the possibility? Back then, she'd been young, naive, and heartbroken beyond belief. She'd accepted the diagnosis at face value and never once considered the alternative.
So what if?
What if what? She chastised herself for once again entertaining the thought, as she moved to start the taps, then stripped and stepped into the shower. So what if she'd been moody over the past few weeks? Her mood swings had everything to do with the lousy script she'd been given. For months, creative had been hinting at the inevitable demise of The Shield. Every time the guys cut a promo where they had to show their tensions rising, her stomach had taken a nose dive. Yes, she knew it was scripted and they'd all remain friends long after the end of The Shield, but seeing something she loved slowly begin to implode had done funny things to her. It left her feeling ill and out of sorts. Especially lately with the rising tension between Dean and Roman.
While they were the best of friends off camera and she knew they'd remain that way, knowing that at some point in the future they'd face off in the ring made her want to vomit. She'd heard about their nearly historic battles down in NXT and couldn't stomach the idea of seeing those battles revisited. She thought about Hunter and Shawn. They were best friends. Had been for years, and some of their in-ring battles were the bloodiest she'd ever seen. She really didn't want that for Roman, Seth, and Dean.
Even as she stood beneath the spray, Lexi pressed a hand to her stomach and pushed down the sudden need to purge. She'd been doing too much of that lately and Roman was beginning to grow concerned.
What she needed to do was get a grip. She'd given her life to the WWE and knew how the system worked. Friendships were one thing, but nothing got in the way of a good storyline. She should have known that as proof of her own kidnapping storyline and the lengths to which management went to keep it going. As much as she didn't like it, pitting Roman and Seth and in turn, her and Amber all against Dean would make for good television.
She certainly wasn't opposed to a face turn. Hell, her and Amber both worked better as faces anyway, but knowing she'd have to turn her back on Dean, even if it was only for the cameras, didn't set well.
Not wanting to dawdle and further her upset stomach by staying in the heat too long, she quickly finished her shower, turned off the taps, grabbed a towel and stepped onto the bathmat.
Her attention drifted back to the test. It sat on the corner of counter, silently mocking her. A sudden flood of anger ripped through her. How could life be so cruel as to tease her with the possibility of something she knew she couldn't have? She grabbed the little white stick, raised a hand and started to toss it into the trash. Then stopped.
What if the doctors were wrong? Refusing to be dismissed so easily, the question swirled in her head a second time. She lowered her hand and stared at the two blue lines. If she threw it away the question would remain. It already had. She had thrown the first test away a month ago, yet the suspicion continued to live in the recesses of her mind and had grown more probable during that time. No. Throwing it away wouldn't assuage the question.
Of course, if she asked the question, Dr. Amman would give her the answer and his would be the final word on the matter. What if she didn't like what he had to say? At least this way the possibility lived.
But what good did it do her to live with the possibility, if indeed the doctors were right and the reality she'd always wanted could never be? Especially, when she insisted in telling herself that reality couldn't exist anyway?
Conflicted and frustrated, she dressed, then tucked the test into her bag, grabbed her hotel key off the table and headed for the arena. As much as it might hurt her, it was time to face the truth.
