A/N: Waaaayyyy later than I originally intended, but here is the final part of this little prequel. I hope it has answered some questions, although it's probably raised more as well. Thank you all for your reviews and support!

Part Four

Spring 2015

Paul had just settle in with a beer and a stack of contract negotiations when there was a knock at the door. With a sigh, he set down the beer and pushed the papers onto the coffee table. Hadn't Dusty mentioned dropping by to go over the plans for the upcoming European tour? There were only a few more weeks before they headed out. Paul was looking forward to the visit. He and Dusty always communicated better away from the office.

But when he opened the door, it wasn't Dusty.

"Chris," he greeted, voice flat.

"How's it going?" Chris grinned and gestured to the bag of takeout he was holding. "I figured I'd drop by and we'd hang out."

"Not interested." Paul moved to close the door and felt his anger flare when Chris pushed his foot out to keep it from slamming in his face.

"What the fuck is up with you?" he demanded. His usually cheerful face was drawn in irritation. "You've had a stick up your ass about something since Christmas."

Paul stepped back, letting Chris enter and kick the door shut. How could he not know? He was honestly surprised that Stephanie hadn't rushed to tell the man that Paul had learned the truth. Did Chris even know? Taking in a deep breath, he counted to five before answering. "I didn't have the best Christmas."

"Did you and Steph have a fight?"

"Not exactly."

"Kids didn't like what they got? I know Aurora told me she loved the stuff Santa gave her."

The muscle in Paul's jaw twitched. "When did you talk to Aurora?"

Chris looked up from spreading the food out on the coffee table. To Paul's further irritation, he scooped up the sheaf of papers and tossed them onto the couch. "I talk to her a couple times a week. Steph likes to keep in touch."

Before he could stop himself, he swung out. His fist connected with Chris' chin. Shocked at his behavior, he was about to apologize when the punch was reciprocated. Jaw on fire, he saw red and launched forward.

Later, lying in the rubble of the broken coffee table, surrounded by the remains of what had been the meal that Chris had brought, he hissed in pain. There was food everywhere. Papers too, he realized. Sitting up, he winced, braced one palm against his ribcage. His knuckles were stinging, and he wasn't sure whose blood it was smeared on his fingers. He got to his feet gingerly, glaring at the prone Chris, and kicked away an empty Styrofoam container. The room reeked of Chinese food.

"Get out," he panted when Chris began to stir.

"Paul—"

"I said get out," he shouted. "I'm done with you."

"Just because I fucked your wife ten years ago? Shit, man, I thought you knew long before now." Chris plucked bits of rice from his chest.

Paul ignored the question and waited at the door. He felt…nothing. Not anger. Not self-pity. If anything, he felt a little disgust for the man he'd once considered a close friend. Gently closing the door once Chris had limped out, he stared at the destruction of his living room and groaned. Just as he was moving to start cleaning there was another knock at the door. Irritation flared again and he wrenched the door open. "Look, I fucking told you—"

"You fuckin' told me what?"

"Ah, hell," Paul muttered, seeing that it was Dusty Rhodes. "Sorry. Come on in."

"What the ever-loving hell have you done in here?" Dusty asked, surveying the living room with a look of revulsion. "Looks like a bunch of hogs just tore through."

"Not a bunch." Paul tentatively licked his bottom lip. He tasted blood and sighed. "Just two."

"What did that Jericho boy do now?" Dusty sidestepped the main area of carnage and hovered in the doorway leading to the kitchen. "I saw him getting in his car when I pulled up."

"I don't want to talk about it." His beer had been spilled during the brawl, and he saw the empty bottle had rolled into the corner. He had no idea where to start cleaning. Sighing, he headed into the kitchen and took two fresh beers out of the fridge. Once he'd handed one to Dusty, he peeled off his shirt and cleaned up as best he could in the small sink.

"You know what you need to do," Dusty said after they'd sat at the table for several quiet moments of drinking.

"Yeah," Paul grunted. "Beg the lady that cleans for me once a week to come in the morning."

"That too…" Dusty leaned back in his chair and sighed. "You need to take a little break."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "And just how am I supposed to do that?"

"Well…" The older man cleared his throat and took another swig of his beer. "I've had an idea that I wanted to go over with you…"

The air was cleaner out here. That was always his first thought upon arriving at Shawn's ranch. On the drive from the airport Paul had felt the stress of recent months melting away. It could have been the location – the middle of nowhere – but he knew it had more to do with the company than anything else. Shawn had the ability to get him to relax without even having to try.

Shawn's truck bounced over the terrain. He'd gone off road as soon as they'd reached his property. Paul braced himself. The bouncing and the wind coming through the windows made conversation impossible. Not that he minded. Sometimes, with Shawn, words weren't necessary. It sounded corny, even to him, but the statement was true.

He turned to look out the back window and saw the two vans carrying the NXT roster traveling the path leading to the sprawling ranch house. Shawn turned, and he lost sight of them. As he turned frontward again, the truck skidded to a stop.

Shawn cut the engine and tipped his hat back. "Want to talk about it?"

Paul stared out at the panoramic view of ranchland. There were clearings and forest. Inconspicuous sheds and other outbuildings. He could smell grass and wood and hay and animals. Birds twittered, insects buzzed. The truck's engine clicked as it cooled. It was a soundtrack of peace. He felt the last of the stress fade and sighed. "Sure."

And he did. The words poured from him, a steady stream of his worries and his angers. Things he'd thought he would never tell another soul rolled off his tongue with no hesitation. Stephanie's affairs. Aurora's real father. And more. Even the thoughts he hadn't admitted to himself. Shawn listened, asked no questions, nodding slowly.

"Well," he said once Paul had finished. He rubbed his chin and glanced over, expression sympathetic. "It sounds like you know what you need to do."

Too bad it wasn't that easy. Paul nodded just the same. The worries were still there but they weren't as prominent as they had been. After a few moments of companionable silence, Shawn started up the truck and sent it careening towards the house.

Dusty's idea had been genius. A field trip to Shawn's ranch was just what they needed. It took them away from the rigidity of the Performance Center, and gave them all an opportunity to relax. There would still be training, but Dusty had arranged what he called life training. They would all get the chance to talk one on one with Shawn about balancing life and career and keeping their feet on the ground. The ranch had countless trails for them to hike and run, and the guest house boasted an excellent gym that would be at their disposal. The trip was only for three and a half day, but two hours after they arrived Paul could see just how genius the idea had been.

A crowd of them were in the huge kitchen, cooking enough food for an army. Someone had put music on, and when Paul walked through to get himself some water, he saw Sasha, Bayley, Sophia, and Becky dancing. The atmosphere was one of fun, and he found himself chuckling. Out on the patio, a crowd had taken over the barbecue. With Shawn's help and input, they were filling the air with the delectable aromas of roasting meat.

They ate outside. The conversations were jovial, with Dusty and Shawn holding court by entertaining all with tales of good times. Paul laughed the hardest when they began mimicking him in his early days.

Shawn took a group to explore a trail after dinner. The rest helped clean up and, one by one, wandered off to their rooms or to a quiet place. Paul headed to the gym. He was about to tuck earphones into his ears when he realized he wasn't the only one who'd wanted a workout.

Sophia was stretching in front of a mirror. Her hair was gathered into a pile of curls on top of her head. Momentarily transfixed, Paul watched the graceful movements of her arms and legs. Listened to her deep, even breaths. He wondered what music was playing through her earphones. He wondered what she was thinking.

He wondered if she was happy.

She raised her head, eyes meeting his in the mirror. Her lips tilted into a warm smile, and she lifted onto her toes and turned to face him. "This place is amazing. How Mr. Michaels can ever bear to leave it is beyond me."

"He doesn't, often," Paul chuckled. "And when he does, he bitches nonstop until he's back home."

"I'm going to tell him you said that," she teased. "Did you want to work out? Because I can go—"

"You're fine," he insisted, waving one hand. "There's enough room for both of us."

He awoke before dawn. The strange bed in a strange room befuddled him for a moment, but he soon cleared the sleep from his brain. The house was as silent as a tomb as he descended the stairs. One of Shawn's spoiled and faithful dog always took up the bottom step, but when he reached it, he saw the dog wasn't in his usual spot. He passed through the immense great room, which held a few hints of the impromptu board game party the night before. Hearing a soft voice coming from the kitchen, he rounded the corner and stopped.

Sophia.

She was seated cross-legged on the floor, Shawn's dog sprawled over her lap. "I know," she was crooning, rubbing the hound's belly vigorously. "Big man is starving, isn't he? But I don't know if your Pop lets you have treats. For all I know you're only allowed grass-fed organic beef prepared by Tuscan virgins. And your Pop could kick my ass without breaking a sweat, so… As cute as you are, I'm going to have to say no."

"You think he got so fat eating only organic beef?" Paul asked with a grin as he entered the kitchen. "Shawn won't be mad if you slip him a treat or two."

"Hear that? We'll listen to my boss because, well…" Sophia looked at Paul. "Just look at him."

"Oh, come on." Paul moved to start a pot of coffee, and saw the carafe was already starting to fill. "I'm just a teddy bear, Sophia."

"Yeah, because teddy bears regularly do bicep curls with 60 pounds," she scoffed. Easing the dog off her lap, she got to her feet. "Where are his treats?"

"Fridge. Container of cooked bacon."

"Oh, you are spoiled," she lamented to the dog, who watched her with adoration as she went to the fridge.

"How do you like your coffee?" Paul asked, reaching for two mugs.

"Sugar and cream. Lots of cream."

He fixed their coffee while she spoiled the dog further. It occurred to him that she was dressed to go outside, and asked if she was heading out.

"I heard the trail behind the guest house goes through the stomping grounds of a herd of bunnies." She slipped another slice of bacon to the dog and stowed the container in the fridge. "And I figure that the sunrise here should be epic. So I thought I'd explore before breakfast."

With unspoken agreement they ventured outside. Paul led her down a walkway that went to the eastern deck, which he knew from past experience offered the best sunrise view. They stood at the railing, the world coming to life around them the only noise. The sky began to lighten at the horizon. He watched her sip her coffee. Watched her close her eyes and breathe in the predawn air. When the first ray of the rising sun cast a glow in her fiery hair, he felt his breath disappear.

"Isn't it beautiful?" she whispered.

"Breathtaking." He barely glanced at the view. Instead, he continued watching her. There was awe in her expression, a peaceful reverence in the way she placed her hands on the rail. He couldn't think of many people that would be overwhelmed by the view of the sunrise over the countryside. But he'd come to learn that Sophia was unlike anyone he had ever known. With her wild hair and her optimistic attitude. Her positivity and determination.

Her beauty…

"You're not even looking," she chided. Turning her face to him, she pinched her lips together. Then her hands were reaching toward him. Cool palms cupped his cheeks, and he didn't resist when she guided his head to the side so he could see the view. "You really need to remember to stop and smell the roses, Paul."

But all he could smell was her. Coffee and sunshine and fruity shampoo. She smelled better than any rose on earth.

And he knew he was a goner.

Late Spring 2015

It didn't need a special visit at her home, but he couldn't think of a reason to stay away. Every red light was an opportunity to change his mind. There was an empty parking space directly across the street from her building, though, and he took it as a sign, however minuscule, that he was doing the right thing. Sitting in his car for a bit longer, listening to the gentle clicks of the engine as it cooled down, he tried to come up with a reason why he should let it go until the next day.

Finally, after nearly an hour had passed, he took the key from the ignition and opened the door. He hesitated, then slipped off his ring and tucked it into the center console. Once he stood on the street he closed the door and locked the car, looking up to the random pattern of lighted windows of the upper floors as he crossed the street.

There was not even a semblance of security in the lobby. The outer door opened, and the bank of mailboxes were labeled by apartment number. An 'out of order' sign hung lopsided on the elevator door and he took the stairs to the third floor. At least the stairs and hallways were clean, though the odor of stale cigarette smoke lingered in the air.

Indecision stopped him yet again at her door. There was no sound coming from her apartment, making him think she might be out for the night. Or asleep. From the apartment across the hall he could hear the muffled voices and canned laughter of a sitcom. Standing there, staring at the numbers attached to the door, he sighed. What was he doing? She wouldn't expect to see him. She might not even want to see him. He was about to turn to leave when he heard it.

A gentle thump. That was all he heard, for he was sure he imagined the little sigh that followed.

He didn't realize he was knocking until he felt his knuckles tapping against the door. His senses heightened, he could hear her moving.

"Good God," he heard her mutter, and knew she'd seen him through the peephole.

The chain rattled, the lock clicked, the knob gave a little squeak. Then the door swung open and there she was. Her hair was wild, and there was a splash of what looked like spaghetti sauce on her chest. It drew his attention to the faded t-shirt that was dotted with several small holes, and his gaze naturally dropped to take in the pair of pink flannel shorts that hung low on her hips. Her feet were bare. Her toenails were painted red. Dragging his gaze back up, he took in all the little details. She looked comfortable. She looked a bit unkempt.

She was more beautiful than he'd remembered.

"Paul," she blurted. She shook her head to toss her unruly hair back, and when her eyes met his he saw a flash of worry.

"Sophia. I just…" He shrugged one shoulder, not knowing how to finish the statement. Feeling awkward, as though he had reverted back to his teenaged years, he rubbed the back of his neck.

Then her lips curved into an inviting smile and all his anxiety slipped away. "Come on in," she said softly, stepping back.

Just as he crossed the threshold their eyes met again. And he felt like he was coming home.

~fin