A/N: I didn't forget this story, either! :) Also, this was originally supposed to be a three-part story, but it has been expanded to four parts. One more to go. Enjoy!
Part Three
Winter 2014
"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas…"
Paul inwardly cringed at the grating, off-key voice that screeched the lyrics to what had been, up until that moment, one of his favorite Christmas songs. The shrieking witch – woman, he supposed – continued, each verse worse than the last. Finally he threw down his pen and stood, leaving his office to find the source of what sounded like a wounded animal.
The Performance Center was sparsely decorated for the upcoming holidays. His office had a poinsettia, given to him by Marie to brighten up the room she called a dungeon, and there were a few Santa hats and a string of twinkling lights up in the training area. He had thought about having a tree put up, but it seemed a waste of time and money. The kitchen and lounge upstairs had a small tree the women had bought and decorated together, and someone had hung garland around all the doors along the corridor of offices. That was enough, he supposed, considering everyone would soon be enjoying two weeks of downtime.
Following the sound of the voice, he found himself in the training area. It was late, nearly nine he was sure, and as such the building was almost desolate. But he recognized the figure running the ropes in the center ring. Horrified to learn that such an attractive woman possessed the voice of a banshee, he approached, trying to keep his grimace from showing.
Resting his hands on the apron, he waited until she'd come to a stop before speaking. "How long have you been at this?"
A sweaty Sophia dropped to her knees just inside the ropes. Grabbing the bottle of water next to the ring post, she wiped her arm across her forehead. "What time is it?"
Paul checked his watch. "Ten to nine."
"Four hours. Mr. Regal said I need to work on it until I no longer look as though I were crashing into a brick wall." She took a hearty swig from the bottle and rolled her shoulders.
"He didn't mean for you to wear yourself out in one night." Paul took the water from her and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Out."
"Bossy," she muttered with a snort. But she rolled out of the ring, grabbing the towel hanging over the bottom rope. "Why are you here so late?"
"Paperwork. I don't want to be down here the day after Christmas."
She nodded, using the towel to mop the sweat from her face. "I'm still trying to figure out what I'll be doing for the next two weeks."
"You're not going home for the holidays?"
"Um…" She bent, retrieving her small bag from the floor. "No, I'm not."
"Too far away?" he guessed, surprised to realize he had no idea where her home was. He knew she'd once worked on the West Coast, and overseas, before making her way to Florida.
"Not really." Fishing out her phone, she glanced at the screen briefly before shoving it back into the bag and rummaging. After a few seconds she pulled out a tube of lip balm and, while rolling her shoulders, began to dab it against her lips. Her eyebrows lifted comically when she realized he was looking at her. Pressing her lips together, she slipped the lip balm into the bag. "I don't really have a home to go to."
"I didn't know." More questions rose in his mind but he didn't voice them. It was none of his business. As long as she continued to work hard and improve her body of work, he had no reason to investigate the rest of her life. "Hey, Dusty, Regal, and Matt will be in and out, so if you want to come in, just call one of them and set up a time, okay?"
"I don't want to be a bother." She smiled, draping the towel around her neck. "I'll be fine, promise."
"Have you gotten settled into your apartment?" He'd overheard her mentioning to Dusty a few weeks before that she had finally signed a lease on a place. Paul suddenly wondered if she'd been sleeping in hotel rooms until then.
"I've finally gotten a couch," she answered with a chuckle. "And I've gotten a lot of stuff. I just need to get all the things out of their boxes and where they belong."
"Then you won't be bored over your two week break," he suggested.
"True." She fished out her phone again and tapped the screen rapidly. "Although I'm sure it'll take longer than two weeks to get everything set up. My TV's still in its box." Before he could comment, she boosted herself up to sit on the apron and sent him a smile. "I'll be leaving soon. My ride's on the way."
"What happened to your car?" He distinctly remembered her having a car. He'd seen her get into it the night they'd met.
"I don't know. It was working fine… Okay, the 'check engine' light has been on it since I got it, but it was running fine. Well, except for the rattle whenever I went above forty miles per hour. Still, it was okay. I went to get dinner one night and it was fine. The next morning when I started it, the engine made this weird noise." She puckered her lips and imitated a small explosion. "So it's at the shop being fixed. The guy's waiting on a new… Thingie."
"Ah, a thingie." Paul nodded.
She laughed. "I sound like a stereotypical woman don't I? But I really don't remember what it's called. I just know it's going to be seven hundred to get it, and god only knows how much for the guy to put it in. Plus there are about two dozen other things that need fixing. And I have no idea how long it's going to take, so I've been begging rides for the past week."
"Sounds like you need to just get something newer," he suggested, leaning against the apron. "Or at least, something more reliable."
"I'm going to look into it after New Year's. What with getting into the apartment and having to buy so much… I don't know." She shrugged. "Hopefully my old one can last long enough for me to afford a replacement."
Thinking of the new car that would be delivered to his home in Connecticut the day before Christmas, Paul could only nod. How spoiled he was now, he thought with a small frown. He never had to worry about how he would be able to afford a new vehicle. He even paid his assistant a little extra to keep up with the maintenance schedules on all the cars in his and Stephanie's garage. Cars that were rarely used more than once a week. "Tell you what," he said suddenly, lightly tapping the canvas beneath his hand. "Talk to Dusty."
"About a car?"
"Dusty knows everybody and their brother. He can also out-swindle the devil himself, so he can help you get a decent car at a decent price." She looked ready to argue, so he held up a hand. "You need reliable transportation, Sophia. Especially once you're appearing at live shows."
"I know," she murmured, shoulders rising and falling with a sigh. "I'll call him tomorrow."
"Good girl."
"I've been meaning to tell you…" Sophia paused and glanced at her phone. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For giving me this chance." Her arms extended, hands motioning to the training area. "Two years ago I wouldn't have even dreamed that I'd be here. It's… Well, I'm sure you already know how amazing this place is. I just need you to know how grateful I am for the opportunity."
"You earned it," he promised. Essentially, he'd had little to do with signing her to the company. Regal had discovered her. Regal had gotten her work history and tapes of her work. Regal had all but insist she be signed to the company. "The only thanks I need is you busting your ass to prove to everyone else that you earned this. But no more running the ropes for four hours."
"I didn't literally run the ropes the entire time," she muttered. She turned her face towards him and he saw her cheeks were pink. "I worked on my dropkick."
He looked into the ring and saw the dummy the trainees used to practice moves before they were deemed good enough to work with others. "Alright, let's see it."
Sophia rolled into the ring before all the words left his mouth. He smiled at her exuberance and pulled himself up to stand on the apron. With a smile, she handed her phone to him and, after tossing the towel over the middle rope, moved to pull the dummy into the center of the ring. He watched her back into the furthest corner, ignoring the way her gentle curves bounced as she jogged in place. Instead, he dropped his gaze to her feet, studying their movement while she moved forward. She lifted them, connecting with the dummy's chest. He followed her down, unconsciously shaking his head when she landed on her side. Setting her phone down, he stepped through the ropes and caught her hand to pull her to her feet.
"Your execution is good. But you need to work on your landing." Her hand was soft in his. "Dropping on your elbow is going to destroy the joint."
"I know." She exhaled briskly, sending a lock of her curly hair dancing against her forehead.
"Once you've connected, use your opponent as a springboard to push your body back. The momentum will take them down, and you can go straight down. Flat on your back."
"Again?" she requested.
"Again." He thought he felt her squeeze his hand but she was slipping away before he could be sure. Stepping back to watch her do it again, he couldn't help the smile that pulled on his lips when she executed the move. Despite its heavy base, the dummy tipped over. Sophia landed flat on her back, and Paul released the breath he hadn't realized he was holding when he saw she had tucked her chin down. "Just like that," he encouraged.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. Keep working on it, it'll get better."
"Practice makes perfect. That's what Mr. Regal always says."
"He's right." Paul used his foot to bring the dummy upright, then propped his elbow on its shoulder. "You're good, Sophia. Better than good. But everyone needs extra practice and work when they get here. Don't let it get you down, okay?"
"I won't." She began to lightly slap the dummy's chest. "I just worry, because…" She sighed. "When we're doing training matches, I get so focused on the moves I'm doing that I sometimes forget how to sell the story we're telling. You told us a few weeks ago that every match is a story, and I worry that I won't be able to tell it properly."
"They are stories. But you can think of them as paragraphs in a story, too. Each move is a sentence. A statement that adds to the story you're ultimately going to tell."
"Sami was saying something like that. He said that the moves are all statements, and the pin is the end. It's up to us to make it an exclamation point and not just a period."
"Zayn's a smart guy, so listen to him."
"I will." She smiled up at him, her light green eyes shining. "Thanks again, Paul. For what I said earlier, and for your help just now. I know you're a busy man, and I appreciate you taking the time to give me pointers."
"I'll never be too busy for you," he promised softly. A warning bell went off in the back of his mind when he realized how close she was to him. He could just catch the faint aroma of coconuts, but what gave him pause was her eyes. They were wide open, almost sparkling in the light. And they were brimming with warmth and honesty and…
"Paul?" she murmured.
He froze. Her hand was on his arm, and he could feel the heat of her breath on his lips. Her fingers slid over his bicep, brushed his chest, and he heard her sudden inhalation. "Sophia, I—"
The door leading to the reception area clanged open. As though he'd been slapped, Paul moved away from her, drawing in a calming breath. He looked across the room to see their intruder, brow lifting when he recognized the man loping towards the ring.
"You ready to go, Soph?" Dean Ambrose was grinning. Looking to Paul, he gave a quick nod. "How's it going?"
"Yeah, I'm ready." She was already slipping out of the ring. Turning, she smiled up at Paul. "Thanks again for your help."
"Anytime," he assured, watching her gather her phone, bag, and bottled water. Stepping through the ropes, he hopped down and clapped his hand against Dean's when it was extended. He hadn't realized she and Dean were friends.
More than friends, he thought, not liking the sour taste that filled his mouth when Dean took her bag and threw his arm around her shoulders.
The younger man was smiling. "You hungry?"
"Starving." She was smiling back. "You buying?"
"Don't I always?"
They both looked to Paul expectantly. Surely they weren't inviting him along. "I better get that paperwork finished," he said. "I'll see you in two weeks, Sophia."
"I'll be here. Have a good Christmas."
"Yeah, Merry Christmas," Dean added.
"Merry Christmas," Paul echoed, watching them leave. At the door, Sophia glanced back and sent him another smile, effectively erasing the strange irritation he'd felt since Dean's arrival. Once they were gone, he pushed away from the ring. He made his way back to his office. He hated the silence that had descended. He hated the loneliness that enveloped him as he sat behind his desk and tried to focus on his paperwork.
He hated himself for wanting to kiss Sophia.
Christmas Eve, 2014
"'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house…"
Paul smiled indulgently as Aurora began reading the poem. It had been a tradition since Aurora's first Christmas, when she had been too young to understand the excitement. Looking at her now, so much bigger and so mature, cross-legged in her bed with her younger sisters on either side of her, it was difficult to remember her when she had been so small. When she had needed him and her mother for every little thing. But he remembered. He had a feeling that no matter how big she grew, how mature she became, he would always remember that tiny baby that the nurse had handed over to him.
Vaughan already looked sleepy, and Paul didn't have the heart to chastise her for sucking her thumb. She would grow out of it soon. Murphy had, and now she cringed whenever he brought up her thumb-sucking days. He was half-tempted to dig out some old photos to show her, because being a father meant embarrassing the life out of his daughters, right?
"…Gave a lustre of midday to objects below—"
"What's that mean?" Murphy asked.
Aurora turned her big eyes in Paul's direction. "Daddy," she whispered. "What's 'lustre of midday' mean?"
"It means the snow and the moonlight made it look as bright and shiny as the middle of the day," he answered, keeping his voice soft. Three heads nodded in understanding, and he smiled again. Gone were the days when they just enjoyed the rise and fall of poetry. Gone were the days when he could give a ridiculous answer that they would take as the truth. He grinned, remembering the time he had Aurora and Murphy convinced the sun was made of mustard.
He settled back on the window seat, letting himself enjoy the melodious tone of Aurora's voice as she continued the poem. She had always loved reading, and as she grew older he was sometimes shocked by her reading choices. He couldn't remember his sister reading thick, historic tomes at the age of nine. He couldn't remember himself reading them at all. At least, not until the past year, when he'd decided it was time to take an interest in hers. Had someone told him ten years before that he would have stayed up late to read Jane Austen so he could have something new to discuss with his daughter, he would have said they were crazy. Thinking of the several books he'd purchased – from the list she'd given him, of course – that were waiting downstairs for her to unwrap in the morning, he smiled. Looking to his watch as the poem came to a close, he marveled at the quickness of time. There were still things he needed to do before he could hope to catch a few hours of sleep.
Hopefully, when he went downstairs, Stephanie would have already started on some of it. Surprisingly, she'd been in a bubbly mood all day. Usually Christmastime made her moody. He didn't question it, though. He just hoped it would last through the next day. His main wish for Christmas was that the girls had a magical time filled with excitement and joy.
"But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—" Aurora cleared her throat before attempting a deep, jolly voice. "'Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!'"
"The end!" Vaughan announced, suddenly not looking so sleepy after all. "Again!"
"Oh no," Paul laughed, slipping off the window seat and taking the dog-eared book from Aurora before she could flip back to the beginning. Pushing it onto the bookshelf, he ignored the girls' groans and turned to scoop Vaughan into his arms. "You've heard it three times, that's enough. Now what do you tell your sisters?"
"G'night," she said as she was set on the floor. She scrambled back onto the bed and between her sisters. "I'm sleeping in here."
"No you're not." Aurora somehow managed to hug her youngest sister and nudge her away at the same time.
"Go get in your beds. I'll be there in a minute to tuck you in," Paul told Vaughan and Murphy. Once they'd skipped out, still exuberant, he shook his head and leaned to kiss Aurora's cheek. "Good night, Princess. What are you reading tonight?"
She lifted the book from her bedside table. "I want to read the last part of A Christmas Carol again. I finished it last night."
"Did you like it?" he asked, waiting while she situated herself for a reading session. Tucking the blanket over her legs, he pressed another kiss to her cheek.
"Yeah. Daddy?" She fiddled with the end of the bookmark peeking from between the pages. "Can people change in one night like that?"
"Sometimes." Better to leave her with some hopes than crush her innocence on Christmas Eve.
"Good." She smiled, obviously relieved, and opened the book. "If Scrooge was a mean old man who became the best person in the city, why do we call grumpy people Scrooge? Shouldn't we call good people Scrooge instead?"
"I don't know," he answered honestly. "When you think of Scrooge, what do you think of?"
"Him counting his coins and being mean to his nephew."
"Then there you go. He changed, but everyone still thinks of him as the old miser that cared only about his money." Paul gathered the mugs from the girls' hot chocolate. "Sweet dreams, Princess."
"Love you, Daddy."
After tucking in Murphy, and warning her to not stay up too late reading her copy of A Christmas Carol, and after dealing with a hyper Vaughan that finally fell asleep while he told her of the most boring day he'd ever had, Paul carried the mugs downstairs and placed them in the kitchen sink. Through the large window overlooking the back lawn he could see more snow falling. From the living room came the subdued strains of Christmas songs. He followed the music, surprised to see Stephanie on the couch flipping through an old photo album. Wrapped presents were piled beneath and around the Christmas tree, and he paused in the doorway to take in the sight.
For the moment, all was quiet. Serene, even. The corner where the tree stood was picture perfect. In just a few short hours, it would be a scene of ripped paper, strewn bows, and empty boxes. He would be struggling to keep his eyes open while waiting for his coffee to brew. The phone would start ringing off the hook with calls from family and friends. The TV would be blaring with a holiday-themed cartoon or movie. The girls would be squealing and talking over each other. There would be a late breakfast, eaten in haste, then mad scrambling to shower and dress and get to Stephanie's parents' house for dinner. Where there would be more eating, more squealing and talking over each other, more cartoons and movies, more ripped paper and bows and boxes. Then the slow drive around town to see Christmas lights, during which the girls would fall asleep clutching their favorite gift of the day. Then home, to dirty dishes and a destroyed living room, where he'd pass out from exhaustion.
He couldn't wait.
There was an opened bottle of wine on the coffee table. Two glasses were next to it, one empty and one half-filled. As he made his way into the room Stephanie leaned to retrieve the half-filled glass. She looked to him in surprise, then glanced at the clock on the mantel.
"Are they asleep?"
"Visions of sugarplums are dancing in their heads."
"Like they even know what sugarplums are," she snorted.
"Did you get everything?"
"Yes." Her gaze was on the photo album again, and she sipped her whine while turning the page. "But you can check behind me."
He would, in a minute. Glancing to the photos she was looking at as he moved to sit, he quirked a brow. "Halloween?"
"From nine years ago," she confirmed.
He looked at the photos, barely able to remember the party they had been taken at. He recognized himself in one, but most were of Stephanie with other partygoers. "That was before Aurora."
"Mm-hmm."
She obviously didn't want him bugging her, so he leaned to pour himself a glass of wine, trying to remember life before children. Years of empty days with few responsibilities, when he could blare music and walk around his own home in just his underwear. Or naked, if he wanted. Thinking of the three sometimes-angels sleeping upstairs, he mentally shook his head. He wouldn't trade them for all the music and nudity in the world.
"Look at this one," she said, pushing the album towards him and tapping a photo with her finger. "Chris was hysterical that night."
He caught the corner of the album to steady it, chuckling at the picture of Chris Jericho, dressed like a caveman with a woman thrown over his shoulder. "He's always hysterical."
"Yes."
Paul had another look at the picture before she pulled the album away. Taking a sip of wine, he barely tasted it, having suddenly recognized the backside and legs of the woman on Chris' shoulder. Glancing to Stephanie, he felt the wine turn sour in his throat when he saw the small, pleased smile pulling at her lips. He wanted to ask, but couldn't form the words. It had been so long ago. What did it matter now? Setting his glass down, he got to his feet. "I'm going to go check—"
"Go ahead and ask me, Paul," she interrupted.
"I don't want to know."
"Yes you do." She tipped her glass to finish the contents. "You're dying to know if I fucked him."
He winced at the words, spoken as one would about the weather. "Steph—"
"I did."
Mood souring, Paul dragged a hand over his face. "When?"
"That night." She shrugged one shoulder and turned the page. "He was okay."
"I'll be sure and tell him," Paul muttered. Jericho. One of his closest friends. The person who'd actually been giving him marriage advice. The one who'd always been so concerned that Paul and Stephanie were doing well. And always asked after the girls. Especially Aurora. He never failed to check up on…
Whipping around to face his wife, he opened his mouth to ask the question that was suddenly burning in his mind. But he couldn't. Wondering who she had slept with was one thing, but asking such an accusing question was another thing altogether. And, to his horror, he realized he didn't want the answer. Because he already knew.
"Is something wrong?" she asked sweetly.
"No," he whispered.
"It's not the end of the world."
Yes, it was. The end of his world, as he knew it. And she looked… Smug. She had the audacity to look smug. He supposed holding onto that little secret for nine years had chewed at her – she'd never been one to hold onto secrets for long – but it had no doubt made her feel proud. Proud that she'd slept with his friend. Proud that she had, at least in her mind, done something that made her superior to him.
"It's not like she looks like him." Stephanie closed the album and rose, casually crossing the room to put it in its place on the shelf. As though she hadn't just ripped the rug out from under him. "Maybe a little around the eyes, but his eyes are like yours, so no one will ever know."
"How—" He cut off, unable to stand the hoarseness of his voice. Clearing his throat, he felt the burn of bile starting to rise. She turned to look at him, lifting her chin. He recognized the movement. Her silent way of daring him to say or do something. Refusing to be reduced to her tactics, he shook his head bitterly and left the room.
He went upstairs, where he stood in the doorway of Aurora's room for what felt like hours. He watched her sleep, her hand tucked under the pillow and her lips parted. She was dreaming, he could tell. Occasionally she would make a small noise, and at least twice he saw her foot moving beneath the covers. Even though he couldn't clearly see her face, he knew she was serene. Happy. He always knew her moods. He had ever since she'd been born. And he would for the rest of his life. Creeping into the room, he leaned over and carefully pulled the blankets up over her shoulder. He was rewarded with a sigh as she shifted. Closing the book that lay open on her bedside table, he leaned further and softly kissed her cheek.
"It doesn't matter," he whispered, carefully smoothing a lock of hair away from her face.
She smiled in her sleep.
And he knew it really didn't matter.
