Hey all. Thanks for reading/reviewing! Especially reviewing LOL. So, in this chapter, there's some obvious fast-forwarding. I didn't pin an exact date or anything, but let's say this is probably the end of June - one month after the injury and you all enjoy, let me know!


"Shit," I curse as the bowl falls from my hand and to the floor shattering into several large pieces and many small ones. I prop the crutch in my right hand against the wall and reach out for the broom and dustpan set. It was a great idea to buy this particular set because it's tall and no one has to hunch over to sweep stuff into the pan.

Stephanie walks into the kitchen and lingers in the doorway. "Hunter, what-" she surveys the scene before her and rushes over to me. "Here, I'll do that."

"No," I snap out at her, feeling like an asshole when her eyes widen and get that sad look that tends to turn my insides to mush. "I want to do it." While I lowered my voice considerably, my tone was still ice cold. She presses her lips into a tight line and nods at me before going back to the living room.

Carefully, I grip the dustpan handle in the same hand that's holding the other crutch, while sweeping the shards of the broken bowl in. I'm pretty pleased with myself when I sweep the last piece in. Until I realize that there's no way I can empty the dustpan contents into the trashcan. It's impossible for me to push the lever that'll hold the trashcan open, balance myself on my good leg, while lifting and emptying the dustpan. I might be stubborn but I'm not crazy. And if I fall over, I'm going to be embarrassed and probably in pain. It's not worth the risk.

"Steph?" I call out. I hear her get up from the leather couch and a few seconds later she appears in the kitchen doorway.

Blue eyes trail from me, to the items in my hand, to the trashcan. She arches her eyebrow in my direction. She only does that when she's pissed, is being sarcastic or crafty or finds something ironic. I wonder which one it is. A slow smirk spreads across her lips. "Yes?"

Ah, so sarcasm and irony it is. I can do that too. "Some help would be nice." I wiggle the dustpan impatiently for emphasis.

"Oh?" She places her left hand on her hip and places her right hand on the kitchen counter, leaning against it with the most uninterested look she can manage. "Funny. Two minutes ago I wanted to help and you were having none of it."

I should tell her how hard this is for me. I should let her know that I view any physical task I'm able to complete as a huge accomplishment. That if I can do something by myself, I want to. I have to. It means so much to me to be able to do the littlest things. And I don't want to burden her more than absolutely necessary.

I want to...earn my keep around her. I don't want her to see me as weak and helpless. Each physical accomplishment makes me less so. She's a strong woman, but whenever she was unable to do something it didn't crush her totally. She'd just bat her eyelashes, smile sweetly and get me to do it for her. I know a part of her enjoyed that. But I can't do that for her right now and it burns me up so much that sometimes I can't stand it. And I know I'm being unfair, by snapping at her whenever she tries to help me. But damn it, I don't care if it takes me triple the time it would take her to do something - if I can manage to get it done, I will.

Because she'd enjoyed getting me to do things for her, she won't understand any of that. She can't; not when we have opposing views on having the help of our significant other. The futility of trying to make her understand frustrates me, so I snap again. "Are you going to fucking help me or not?"

Her eyes narrow and darken, the slightest bit. I know she wants to curse me out and leave me to fend for myself. But, she's too nice for that. She's also too much of a neat freak to leave the mess. "Well since you asked so nicely," she throws her left arm up in the air in defeat and crosses over to my side of the kitchen. She gives me what I would call a death glare and snatches the dustpan handle from me. "Asshole," she mutters under her breath, before turning away from me.

I stand there and watch her dump the remains of the bowl into the trashcan effortlessly. I try not to seethe with bitterness when she opens the cabinet and pulls down another bowl for me. She adds cereal, milk and a spoon to the bowl in less than a minute. Part of me resents her speediness. The other part loves that she knows me so well. Wordlessly, she sits the bowl on the kitchen table and pulls a chair out for me.

"Thanks," I mumble, hobbling over to my snack. She continues to stand, watching me as I get situated at the table.

With a loud sigh, she sits down across from me. I don't look up at her, I just eat my cereal.

"I know this is difficult for you, Hunter."

Rudely, I snort. Difficult is just the tip of the iceberg for how I feel.

Stephanie ignores my sound effects and continues. "You have to ask me for help when you need it. You're supposed to be taking it easy so you can get into rehab that much quicker. So let me do the small stuff."

Nothing is small to me anymore. Every single thing that I can or can't do seems monumental these days. Can't she see that? I look up at her and my annoyance disappears. I've hurt her. It's written all over her face. It's written in her body language; she runs a hand through her hair and breaks our eye contact by looking off to the side. Now she's biting down on her bottom lip. For the love of God, she's about to cry. And I'm too slow on the crutches to escape the kitchen before she starts.

I swallow the lump in my throat and place down my spoon to take her hand and squeeze it briefly. I don't apologize, because my feelings haven't changed. I don't want her damn help unless it's absolutely necessary. If I say sorry, she might take that as an invitation to try to help more often. And all that will do is piss me off again. "Ok, I'll try." I release her hand and go back to eating my cereal.

We sit across from each other in almost total silence. The only sounds are my eating and the low hum of the refrigerator. At least a full two minutes have passed.

I focus on what's in my bowl. I refuse to meet her gaze, I don't want to watch her struggle with her emotions. I don't want to feel sorry for her. Not when I'm too busy feeling sorry for myself.

"We need to talk."

I freeze. Conversations that start with those four words almost never turn out well. Maybe she's had enough of me rejecting her attempts to make my life easier. Maybe she's had enough of me distancing myself and getting unnecessarily frustrated and angry with her. The gap between us has just grown wider and wider since Vince's visit last month. I know she hasn't spoken to him since then. She was upset that her father continued to endorse the guy who had talked trash about her injured husband. "About?"

She waits a beat. "ECW."

I'm too stunned to speak at first. When we left the WWF, Shane's WCW was causing havoc. And I've heard whispers that ECW is having financial trouble. I polish off the rest of my cereal and give her my full attention. I cross my arms in front of me and lean them onto the table. "Shoot."

Stephanie mirrors my posture. "What do you think about buying them out and merging with WCW?"

"Why would we do that?"

A maniacal gleam appears in her eyes and her smile is so huge that the dimples in her cheeks make an appearance. "If those two companies aligned, we could take out the WWF." She punches her hand excitedly. "We could run my father right out of business."

I shrug at her. "Steph, it's your money. Do what you want with it."

She shakes her head and looks mildly insulted. "We're married. It's our money. And there is a possibility this will fail, obviously. If that happens I'll be out of a job and we'll be out of millions of dollars. So I want your opinion."

I don't care. I really, seriously don't care about this right now. First of all, I can't be there to help kick the WWF's...or more so Vince's ass. Second of all, if this plan fails, our financial security is directly linked with me not only recovering, but returning to the ring exactly as I was before the injury. Third of all, we've been living in Birmingham ever since I was released from the hospital. My rehab is going to be here, 7 days a week. If I let her do this, she'll have to return to traveling extensively. We'll hardly ever see each other.

But, I can't deny her this. I'm not allowing her to do me any good here and I know that it's hurting her. I also know that soon she'll get antsy and restless. I can't be selfish enough to tell her to stay here for the next 7 months, with the conditions that she's willing to sit still on the couch quietly and be physically useless.

I clear my throat and jab my index finger on the table so that she understands how serious I am. That I will not budge on this requirement."We're keeping our liquid cash, Steph. If this fails, we'll need it."

Intrigued, her eyebrows raise. "How will we finance the purchase, then?"

"Sell our WWF stocks," is my cool reply.

"But," she begins, before I cut her off.

"Stocks rise and fall daily," I point out. "Right now, they're worth a hell of a lot so selling is a good idea. Sell them directly to someone who hates Vince and they'll pay more than the market price most likely. If this is successful, you, Shane and I will have control of the WWF anyway. If you fail, it's not like your father or mother will allow you any input anyway. They'll fire you immediately. But, the old man doesn't have to know that I know about this. That way, when I return we'll still have that income. And while I'm recovering we'll still have some money."

"That's not a bad point. And it's funny that you suggest we sell to someone who hates my father. Shane sold his stocks to Ric Flair."

I feel my eyes widen with surprise. Wow, so the Nature Boy owns a piece of WWF. "Well, there's your buyer," I tell her.

Stephanie smiles and nods at me. Letting her sell our stocks is quite possibly the single worst idea I have ever had. But, I guess it is our best chance to drive the old man out of business. And if I'm honest with myself, I'm glad that she's so pissed off at him that she wants to do this. It means she won't be listening to his advice on leaving me high and dry.