A little voice came on the phone
Said daddy when you coming home
He said the first thing that came to his mind
I'm already there
~ I'm already there by Westlife~
The jet rumbled into life with a mighty roar and the crumpled sleeper jolted from his slumber. He raised a weary hand and rubbed the sand from his azure eyes; stretching his mouth wide into a yawn as he did so.
He blinked, dislodging the final traces of sleep and glanced around the commercial flight at his wrestling brethren.
He looked down at his watch, emitted a sigh of frustration as the second hand ticked ever slower through the vast eternity of their flight. Every tick sent a shiver of longing through his fatigued body and every tock pierced his heart with the hope that soon they would land on the sacred soil of San Antonio.
He slumped back into his seat, felt the cushion smack firmly against his frizzed and tangled golden brown bangs as he did so. He ran his fingers along the chair rest, desperately willing the plane to move that little bit faster.
For as soon as the plane hit solid ground he could hold his baby in his arms, inhale the sweet essence of honey and cookie dough. He could kiss her soft and loving lips, could feel her tender touch like a soothing balm - he could be reunited with Rebecca.
Shawn silently admitted it to himself that being on the road wasn't as fun as it used to be. Not by a long shot.
The carefree zeal for getting wasted and causing trouble had been replaced by his deep passion for Christ. He no longer felt excited by the idea of travelling in the car with Hunter, duffel bag strewn casually in the back. The only thing that thrilled him was the thought of returning home to San Antonio, of being able to spend time with his wife and beautiful children.
He closed his eyes and tried to will himself home, imagined what Cameron and Cheyenne were doing in his absence.
He turned in his seat, snuggled against the chair in an effort to make himself comfortable.
He exhaled slowly, felt the annoyance pulsate through him. He was tired. Tired from the late night at the house show in Philly, tired from the broadcast of Raw the evening before that and most of all tired of being beat up for a living and missing his family.
Cam was eight, Cheyenne three.
All it took was one mistimed move; he knew that better than anyone.
And this time it wasn't just a wrestling belt he would be losing.
He chewed at his brittle thumb nail as he cast his mind back to the phone call the night before. Rebecca had let Cam watch Raw even though Shawn had begged her not to in his absence.
Seeing Daddy in a streetfight had probably traumatised him.
He'd got mad at Rebecca when really the rage had been tearing at him from within. He was a fool. A stubborn, idiotic fool who didn't know when to call it quits. He wasn't twenty seven diving around the ring like a bullet from a gun anymore, he was forty two and needed to realise that as time sped up his pace needed to slow down if he wanted to retain any type of comfortable mobility.
He'd already blown his knee twice since returning. Twice in six years. Surely that should set the alarm bells ringing but no he had to be Shawn Michaels and that Shawn didn't listen. That Shawn never listened.
He closed his eyes and sighed.
Shawn Michaels was an idiot.
He remembered Rebecca's stony silence as she passed the phone to their son, the trembling questions that had crackled and spilled down the faulty connection into the Philadelphian motel.
He remembered the guilt that had tore at his heart as he desperately tried to explain that daddy wasn't really hurt, that the blood was all pretend, that of course he hadn't really nearly fainted. Uncle Hunter coming down to the ring had all been part of the pretending to make the audience think daddy was really hurt but he [i]wasn't[/i] cross his heart and hope to die.
He'd lost it when Cheyenne's soft voice had floated down the receiver. Her cheerful chatter had done nothing to lift his spirits but instead had drawn salty tears from poignant piercing blue pools of dismay and distress.
He'd sniffled silently as his young daughter had recounted tales of imaginary games she had played, of the laughter and joy that had filled the house whilst he had been sat alone on some beaten and battered motel mattress. He'd struggled to swallow as his baby asked him repeatedly when he would be home, when they could resume their bedtime rituals of Barbies and story time.
He'd choked the promises out through weighted tears, assured her that he'd be home before she knew it and of course he wouldn't go away again. Yes he did indeed know that Homer and Marge missed him. Sure he missed his dogs too. No of course he didn't miss them as much as he missed her, Cam or Mommy.
The endless lying and forced albeit soothing words had circulated for over an hour until Rebecca had taken the phone and admonished the pair to bed. With goodnight kisses and double doses of ear bashing from his two children Shawn had broke down fully as soon as his wife had resumed the call and once again she was left to dry the tears.
In all the years he'd been with Becks he'd never heard her raise her voice, never seen her lose her cool with him. Even during the rough patches, the drug abuse and the endless stupidity on his part she had never wavered in her support – her firm belief that her husband could change and that Christ could heal.
Last night on the phone she'd berated Shawn for his selfishness and he'd let her. Guilt and shame would let him offer no resistance or rebuttal. You reaped what you sowed and Shawn had been sowing seeds of selfishness for the first thirty seven years of his life. It didn't matter that he'd been born again, that he'd accepted Jesus Christ as his Lord and personal saviour – deep down there was still a tiny part of him that remained rooted in the self-centred and egotistical past of Shawn Hickenbottom.
The part of him that pushed and pushed desperate for a reaction be it negative or positive he didn't care, and as he sat there listening to Rebecca rebuke him he felt himself snap. He felt the love for Shawn Michaels die completely as the cold realisation dawned that this affection for a character he'd created and moulded seventeen years ago was tearing his family from his already fragile clutches. He loved his wife and children with all his heart, it beat to the rhythm of their voices alone, and if he kept running back to be Shawn Michaels he was going to miss his children in a blink of an eye. When he told Rebecca that his wrestling schedule was only temporary her response had chilled him to the bone. He hadn't taken into consideration that just as his schedule was temporary – so were his children's childhoods.
They weren't going to want him forever and it was about time he hung up his cleats and spent the time they wanted him with them. Watching Shawn Michaels fly through the air to the screams of many or tune up the band to shrieks of delight was not the same as watching daddy throw malteasers in the air only to catch them perfectly in his mouth or running away with delighted fear as he threatened to tickle them for refusing to go to bed at the right time.
The phone call had ended with Shawn apologizing profusely, with relentless promises that things would indeed change. He'd cringed as the words tumbled from his mouth, could sense his wife's feeling of déjà vu and felt his heart break.
He startled as the plane hit solid ground, felt his heart swell with panic and excitement as the dust of San Antonio soil blew around the jet.
He grabbed his suitcase from the baggage collector and joined the long throng of people all waiting to be allowed through customs, his azure eyes eagerly scanning the crowd until he saw them.
Rebecca stood, her brunette hair billowing in the wind as she clutched at Cheyenne's tiny hand. The toddler squawked with fury and whacked her brother with her prized monster truck. Shawn choked back a giggle as he watched sibling rivalry at its Hickenbottom finest, felt a surge of pride that his daughter had inherited his fighting streak.
He watched silently for a few minutes, preferring to capture the delicate moments while he could. He loved the way Rebecca's hair shimmered in the sunlight, the way Cameron's nose crinkled slightly when he giggled and the way Cheyenne couldn't stay still for more than two seconds at a time.
Unable to contain his emotions any longer Shawn flung the suitcase from him and ran, ran as fast as he could towards the only reason he'd ever had for living. He scooped Rebecca into his arms, taking her by surprise. He crushed himself against her, swung her around giddily as he inhaled her essence. She smelt as sweet and familiar as he'd dreamed on the plane. She giggled slightly as her husband's mouth eagerly sought hers.
Shawn faltered as he felt the eager thud of small hands on his jacket, glanced down to find Cheyenne wrapped around his legs and Cameron pressed against him, small face buried in his clothing.
"I'm ok" he said softly placing a warm palm on his son's bowed head, "Cam I'm ok really."
He bundled both children into his arms, hugged them tightly to his chest wanting to feel their tender touch whilst he could. He glanced across their heads to where Rebecca stood staring questioningly. He nodded twice and she knew.
She knew for sure that the heartbreak kid hadn't come home to win a wrestling match, but had come home to stay.