A/N: Happy Friday! Thanks to all for the reviews and everything. I apologize for the lack of a one-shot this week. Real life got a little bit too crazy for me to focus on anything but this chapter. The one-shot will be up soon, perhaps Monday. (No promises!) Also, I rarely chat about the current things going on in WWE but HOLY CRAP HOW ABOUT LAST WEEK'S RAW? I'm already hyped for WrestleMania!
Hope you all enjoy! :)
Chapter Seven
"You sure you're okay now?" Dean asked, stepping out of the bathroom, toothbrush in hand.
From her position in the center of the bed, Sophia curved her lips into a reassuring smile. "Yeah. I'm sure."
"Then why aren't you with lover-lips?"
She bit her lip, hesitating while he stepped back into the bathroom and began to vigorously brush his teeth. Wondering how she could get out of trying to explain to Dean that her "lover-lips" couldn't possibly understand what had happened the night before, she unlocked her phone and read the last few messages from Paul.
Vince and Steph arrived. Can't get away. Will talk tomorrow.
If you need me, I'll get away somehow.
I'm sorry.
The last message had been repeated twice; first when she had been asking Roman if she could hitch a ride with he and Dean to Seattle, the second when she had just finished checking into the hotel. She'd replied each time, reassuring him that she understood, which she did. That she would be alright, which she hoped. That she would dream of him, which she was certain of. Now, though, she found herself wishing she'd begged him to get away long enough to hold her for a few minutes. Long enough for a kiss.
Long enough to soothe the ache that had manifested in her arms for him.
"Well?" Dean demanded, slapping the wall next to the door. She jumped in surprise and he raised his eyebrows comically high. "How come you're not with him?"
"We don't have to be up each other's ass all day and night," she defended.
"Yeah, but—" He cut off, ducked back into the bathroom, and she heard him spit into the skin. He came back immediately, wiping the foam of toothpaste from his chin. "You had a bad night. He should be with you."
"Dean—"
"He does know you had a bad night, doesn't he?"
"Yes, but—"
"Was he with you?"
Groaning, she slumped back and flopped an arm over her eyes. "Dean, I swear to God! I wanted to be with you."
"Me?" His voice was muffled, and a second later she heard him gargling in the bathroom.
She waited until she heard the light switch click, signaling that he was done in the bathroom for the night. "Yes, you."
"…Why?"
She felt the mattress dip, then he was yanking on the blanket and sheet beneath her. Grunting at his less-than-gentle handling, she rolled off the bed and unbuttoned her jeans. She had no second thoughts as she wiggled out of them and kicked them aside, nor did she think twice about snatching up the t-shirt he'd removed before taking his shower. Removing her own shirt, she kept her back to the bed while unclasping her bra and then slipped Dean's shirt on, sighing at the scent of him.
It was different from Paul. She knew they wore the same cologne – when Dean wore cologne, of course – but she supposed their body chemistries contrasted. Plus, Dean always had the faint lingering odor of cigarettes. She hated the smell, and even now wrinkled her nose as she caught a hint of it, but kept the shirt on. It wasn't overly offensive, nowhere near as bad as it had when they'd first met. Besides, he'd showered and had just brushed his teeth so the smell would be faint. She could deal.
She ducked into the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face. When she returned to the bed, Dean was sitting up reading. Taking note of the book's title, she crawled into bed next to him, propped herself against the pillows, and reached for her phone. No new messages. She set it aside, asked Dean to double-check his alarm for the morning, and leaned to retrieve the book she'd tucked into her purse. Once settled, with only the sound of the occasional turning of a page, she felt herself relax completely.
"This is nice," she murmured after a few moments. The novel she'd grabbed in the airport wasn't grabbing her attention, but she decided to stick with it.
"Mm-hmm." Dean tucked a finger between the pages of his book and looked to her. "Not much time for reading when lover-lips is staying, huh?"
"We stayed in the other night and read," she said, a smile pulling at her lips when she recalled the hours spent sprawled on the couch with Paul. "And stop calling him lover-lips!"
"What should I call him, then? You won't tell me his name." Dean made a show of reopening his book. "For instance, take this book I'm reading here."
"The newest Captain Underpants?" she guessed.
"No, it's – Fuck you," he grunted. "Anyway, as I was saying, the author—"
"Dr. Seuss?"
"Y'know, I never liked his books. The style was just creepy and weird. When I was a kid I liked the stories and rhymes. And I get that the illustrations were supposed to be fun and whimsical, but they weren't to me. They looked like something out of a nightmare."
Sophia blinked in surprise. "Really? Dr. Seuss gave you the creeps?"
"Just the illustrations," he reminded. "Even now, they're like visions on a bad acid trip or something. I can't explain it."
"No, I get it," she assured. "I was like that about the Berenstain Bears."
Dean tilted his head. His brow furrowed in confusion. "Really, Soph? That sweet little bear family freaked you out?"
"Yeah. They weren't creepy, and the illustrations were pretty good. But the family? I couldn't connect to them. They were like Leave it to Beaver in a way. Too perfect. Oh yeah they had their fights and whatever but it was all worked out calmly." She shrugged. "I didn't know how to associate with that."
"I know," he sighed. "But you didn't even like them for escape?"
"Nah. Sister with her annoying hair bow and Mama with her tired old blue dress. And Papa was always stupid. And don't even start on Brother, who was just there. Plus they had Brother and Sister sharing a room. Creepy much?"
"I've seen creepier."
"So have I." Her voice was flat and she couldn't help it. She didn't even try to, and pushed her boring book away. Drawing in a deep breath, she released it in a loud rush. "Why do you think I'm still so fucked up when it storms?"
"I'm no psychiatrist, but I think it's because it was storming that night."
She stared at the ceiling, aware of him moving beside her as he put his book away and settled back. "It was storming both nights."
"I didn't know that." His arm came around her. He didn't pull or guide or even nudge, but she slid closer to him until her head was tucked on his bare shoulder.
"He asked me this morning why I screamed 'no' to going into the kitchen." She'd deflected the question, as she had his subsequent questions, by thinking of things she needed to do before leaving. Closing her eyes, she saw the worry and confusion on his face.
"Did you tell him?"
She shook her head. "He wouldn't understand."
"How do you know?" Dean asked quietly.
"I just know. He doesn't come from... That. And..." Sighing, she shifted around so she could look at his face. "What if I tell him about it and he sees me differently? What if he treats me differently? What if he gets weirded out and doesn't want to see me anymore?"
"If he's smart that shit won't matter. Yeah, he might be a little weird at first but he should come to realize that all the shit that happened made you who you are now." Dean's finger found a curl and began to toy with it. "Guys like to be protective, right? At least, the right guys do. It's just in our nature. So yeah, he may be a little different for a while. That's why you need to talk to him about it, explain that it doesn't define you. It helped you become the amazingly spirited woman you are right now, but you don't center your life around two fucking assholes who thought they owned you."
"Oh Dean," she sighed, touched by his speech. Then, chewing on her lip, she twisted her fingers in the hem of the shirt she wore. "Sometimes I feel like they still own me."
"Soph... Why?"
"Because," she answered. "Because every time it storms at night they win again. Every time I think I'm truly safe they come to me and ruin my dreams. And they remind me that I'm broken and fucked up and it scares me. I can't tell the man I love about them because it might scare him away."
"They haven't fucking—You love him?"
She was sure she imagined the pain in his voice. He was tired, of course his voice would sound pained. If she didn't know better she would think he was just trying to get her to go to sleep so she'd leave him alone. But he was sitting up. He tugged on the curl wound around his finger and she smiled. "Yeah," she answered finally, letting her thoughts move to Paul. Enjoying the warmth the thoughts brought to her, she smiled wider. "I love him."
"Oh." He cleared his throat, hand dropping to her shoulder. It gave a quick squeeze. "Anyway, they haven't fucking won. They never will. 'Cause I know you won't let them."
"Dean—"
"And... If he loves you, nothing will scare him away," Dean promised, callused palm grazing her neck before cupping her cheek.
"You think so?"
"I know so. Trust me, Soph. If it's not him, somewhere there's a guy who'd give up everything to be with you. A guy who won't judge your past and will love you no matter what." His voice was soft but the feeling behind his words brought tears to her eyes. "Don't cry, babes. You know it's true."
"How?" she whispered, closing her eyes briefly. His thumb brushed away a tear before it could fall, and then his lips where on her forehead in a soothing caress.
"How? Do you not know how fucking lovable you are?" he whispered against her forehead before pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Any guy would be a fool not to love you."
"You make it sound like—" Sophia paused when his lips hovered near hers. She could feel the heat of his breath on her lips, could smell the minty mouthwash he'd used. She opened her eyes, instinctively tracing her lips with her tongue as she caught the intensity of his blue eyes. "...Dean?
"Soph. I—" His lips were closer, and she could almost feel them on hers. His eyes slid closed, his hand slid into her hair.
The screeching of her phone filled the room. Within an instant Dean had ripped away from her as though he'd been burned and before she could draw in a shaky breath he was off the bed and across the room, one hand dragging anxiously through his hair. She thought she heard him mutter something but he'd walked into the bathroom. Shaken by his swift change in attitude, she crawled over to retrieve her phone.
Can you talk?
Chewing on her bottom lip, she looked up when the bathroom door slammed shut. She flinched at the sound and tentatively called Dean's name.
It was a few moments before he reappeared, wearing the jeans he'd taken off before his shower. He looked around the room, finally yanking a shirt from his open suitcase and pulling it on. She almost pointed out that it was backwards but he made a sound of disgust and righted it, yanking his hoodie off the foot of the bed. Back to her, he sat on the edge of the bed to put on his shoes.
"Dean?"
"I just remembered that Ro wanted to grab a couple drinks tonight. You don't mind, right?"
"Of course not." She wasn't about to ask to go along, either. A blind person could have seen that he didn't want to be with her at the moment. Wondering what she'd done, she looked down when her phone beeped again. She answered Paul's question in the affirmative, balanced her phone on her knee. "You—"
"I'll go." As though he had just made the decision. Her phone began to ring, the ringtone she'd set for Paul – an old Frank Sinatra song – and she saw Dean's shoulders tense. In seconds he was on his feet, phone in hand and grabbing the key off the nightstand. "I'll leave you to your call."
"Okay." Her phone continued to ring. She watched him cross to the door, waiting for his usual parting words.
But he said nothing else, merely muttered a quick goodbye while staring at his phone's screen.
Finally tapping to accept the call, Sophia lifted the phone to her ear and watched Dean wrench the door open. "Hey, babe..." Her focus shifted to Paul and she felt herself relax as his deep voice apologized again. "I'm sorry too..."
Paul's next words were lost in the sound of the door snapping shut behind Dean.
In the back of his mind, he couldn't help but wonder what the hell he was doing. The girl was cute, sure. Her figure was cute, too – soft in all the right places. Her tits were a little on the small side for his taste but a man couldn't have everything. But her voice was soft and held a bit of a Southern twang.
Because she was originally from Nashville. Or Memphis? Maybe Oklahoma. Wherever she was from, she'd lived in Portland for almost ten years now but still considered herself a country girl.
Not that any of that mattered. If she kept leaning in and giving him that saucy smile he'd soon have a prime candidate to take upstairs to his room. Where he could fuck his stress away.
But maybe he was being too hasty, he thought, lips poised at the rim of his next glass of Jack. Roman had yet to show up despite several texts. Probably making sure that hair number three hundred and seventy-two was in its proper place before coming down. Once he did get down to the bar, Dean knew he'd just throw a couple back, dole out a handful of panty-dropping smiles, then saunter back upstairs with the best looking chick in the room on his arm.
If he didn't love him so much he'd hate the bastard for his luck.
Eyes focusing on the women other than the country girl – what was her name? Tammy? Tanya? – he sipped at his whiskey. He noted her scooting closer, pretended not to notice when her hand fell to his thigh possessively, and his gaze landed on a couple across the bar. Tammy-Tanya was blathering on about her years as a beauty pageant zombie. He briefly considered her wearing nothing but a tiara and one of those sash things, but the thoughts fell away as he looked to the couple again.
The woman looked sad. She had her head bent and was picking at the label on her bottle of beer. The man with her was going on about something, his face a fixed scowl as he shouted at the waitress to bring him another fucking drink.
Asshole, Dean decided, tossing back the rest of his drink. Tammy-Tanya scooted even closer, until her tits were pushing against his arm. A lost cause now, he thought sourly, thinking of Sophia. He had no doubt she was still in his room, still in his t-shirt, still in his bed. Phone call from lover-lips or not, she wouldn't leave without telling him so. And his phone remained devoid of messages from her.
She was probably too busy phone-sexing it up with him.
"Another," he muttered to the bartender when the man neared. Pushing his glass over, he looked on dispassionately while it was refilled, vaguely aware of Tammy-Tanya stroking his thigh.
"Don't you want to get out of here?" she asked hopefully.
Oh, right. Mentally cursing the way his cock stirred to life, he motioned for the bartender to leave the bottle. Maybe he'd get a case of whiskey dick and be able to push her off with promises of meeting up next time he was in town. At least that way he'd be able to get away without telling her about the woman in his room.
Because that would lead to questions. Questions he didn't want to answer; questions he didn't have the answers to.
"In a minute," he murmured. Sure, it was stalling, but he had a drink to enjoy. And he had a friend coming down to chat with, if the Samoan bastard ever decided to make an appearance. Covering Tammy-Tanya's hand with his, he nudged it closer to his knee, eyes moving back to the couple when a glass clattering against the table sounded like a gunshot.
At least, to him it did. Nobody else seemed to notice it. The sound had rankled his nerves, though, and before he could talk himself out of it he turned on his stool and glared at the asshole.
"Hey, jackass, y'mind keeping it down?" he called, eyes narrowing when he saw the woman was the one mopping up the mess. "Some of us are trying to relax, alright?"
"Fuck off." The asshole rolled his eyes and muttered something to the woman, who nodded shakily while dealing with a handful of damp napkins. But Dean saw her flinch when the guy jerked a hand up to signal for the waitress. He knew that flinch; had witnessed it himself countless times over the past few years. She was talking softly, so softly Dean couldn't catch any of the words, but he knew in his heart what they were.
Please don't make a scene. Just get another drink and finish it so we can go back to our room.
"Would you watch what you're doing? You're pushing it into my lap!" His chair scraped back and he stood, indicating a miniscule spot on his pants. He snatched a dry napkin up and began to wipe at the spot. "Can't you do one thing right?" Scoffing, he bumped into the table, which sent the beer bottle toppling in her direction. Her cry of dismay filled the bar.
"Hey," Dean called, pushing Tammy-Tanya's hand away and sliding off his stool. Nobody else seemed willing to stand up to the jackass. Probably because it was close to closing time and everyone there was either trying to get wasted or trying to get a piece of ass for the night. Crossing to the small table, where the woman was fighting tears as she tried to mop up beer with sodden napkins, he met the man's irritated gaze. "You shouldn't pick on her, man."
"Look, buddy, just go back to your hooker at the bar and mind your own damned business."
"Tim—"
"Shut up."
Dean's fingers twitched at his side. "Tim, man, I'm not your buddy." He turned his gaze to the woman. "Is this asshole your husband?"
She shook her head.
"Boyfriend?"
She nodded.
Dean gave her his most dazzling smile. "Sweetheart, you can do so much better." He swiveled back to Tim. "You. You think it's fun to pick on a woman, huh?"
"It's not my fault she's clumsy and stupid."
"Oh, she's clumsy and stupid." Dean threw up his hands and nodded as though he'd heard the greatest bit of wisdom in the world. "And you're obviously intelligent and sure-footed, right?"
"Exactly. Now will you go?"
"Why? Do you need to teach her a lesson?" he asked, dropping his voice. "Do you need to show her why it's not a good idea for her to make a fool of you in public?"
Tim's beady eyes narrowed. "Anna, we're leaving."
"Aww, Tim, we were just getting to know each other," Dean lamented.
"No, we weren't."
"Sure we were! See, I know you're an asshole that likes to pick apart a woman's psyche. It's the only way you can get a woman as attractive as Anna here. She probably has low self-esteem for some reason – no offense, ma'am – and you latched onto that like a newborn puppy onto its mama's tit. See? I know a lot about you." Dean paused when the waitress appeared, and eyed the drink on her small tray. He plucked it up, drained it in one gulp, then slapped the glass back onto the tray. "Thanks, doll, you can put that on my tab. Now, Tim, back to us knowing each other. Well, let's make it even. My name's Dean. I don't currently have a girlfriend. Long story there, we'll have to get together again to go over that. Anyway, I consider myself an okay guy, but I know an asshole when I see an asshole, which probably makes me an asshole myself. But you know what?"
Tim sighed. "What?"
"I draw the line at bullying women. Especially sweet girls like Anna here. Now, on behalf of all the sweet girls you've been an asshole to, I'd like to give you a gift."
Before Tim could open his mouth to reply, Dean swung his fist. It connected, and was immediately reciprocated. Grunting when Tim's fist landed on his jaw, he geared himself up for a good fight. Only to holler in confusion when he was dragged backwards.
"Christ, man, calm down!" Roman growled when Dean struggled to break free of his grasp.
"Oh now you show up?!" Dean complained, reaching to rub at his aching jaw. A few feet away Tim was holding a hand over his eye, and two men were standing close. In case he decided to start the fight up again, Dean figured, groaning when he tasted his own blood.
"What the—" Roman cut off when the bartender stepped in front of them. The man looked stressed but not too upset about the altercation.
"Gentleman," he began, and Dean snorted. Clearing his throat, the bartender forged on. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
"What about them?" Dean demanded, pointing towards Tim. Leaning to one side so he could see around the bartender, he widened his eyes in surprise when he saw that Tammy-Tanya had pulled Anna to the side and they were whispering rapidly.
"He won't press charges, and he'll be leaving as soon as he's settled his tab." The bartender glanced over his shoulder then looked back to Dean and Roman. "Just between us, I think he'll be leaving alone. And there's the matter of your tab, sir."
Dean nodded, more irritated now than he had been a few moments before. He retrieved his wallet, passed over a few bills. Scowling when he saw Tammy-Tanya guiding Anna out of the bar, he looked to Roman and grunted, "Let's go."
"What the hell brought that on?" Roman sighed when they were outside in the chilly air.
Dean hunched his shoulders, cupping one hand around his lighter so he could make a flame. Waiting until he'd lit his cigarette and taken several drags, he rubbed at his jaw again. "He was being an asshole."
"And you were upset that he'd taken over your title?" Roman asked, stepping to one side to avoid the plume of cigarette smoke.
"Ah, fuck," Dean muttered. He'd have to shower again. There was no way Sophia would sleep in the same bed as him if he reeked of cigarettes. Taking one more deep drag, he dropped the cigarette to the ground and stamped on it. "Now I gotta shower again."
"Okay?"
"Soph. She's crashing in my room tonight and you know how she hates a fucking cig—"
"She was heading down the hall when I left my room to come meet you," Roman interrupted.
"Huh?"
"She said something about getting back to her room. I carried her bags for her," Roman added.
"Huh. She didn't..." Dean's voice trailed as he felt his pockets to find his phone. Pulling it out, he saw a missed call from Sophia and a text saying she was going to be alright and had gone to her own room. Frowning, he shoved the phone back into his pocket. "Goddamnit!"
"Now what?"
"I went for whiskey dick for nothing! I had Tammy-Tanya-whatever her fucking name was primed to go up with me and remembered Sophia was there. Shit," he raged, kicking the nearby trashcan.
"Dean, what the fuck is going on with you tonight?"
"I had to stop 'em from hurting her," Dean mumbled, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and glaring at the ground.
"The guy in the bar? I think you succeeded. She left with that other woman—"
"I know." Dean closed his eyes. Trust Roman to not understand. Leaning against the outer wall of the hotel, he sighed.
"You can't save them all you know," Roman pointed out gently.
"No shit."
"And never forget you saved Sophie."
Dean nodded, not wanting to get into that discussion. He hadn't saved her. Not really. By the time he'd stumbled into her life she'd already been fucked over a few times. Thinking on Roman's words, he felt something in the back of his mind start to whir. Since when did Roman call her Sophie? He opened his mouth to ask, but Roman was gently clapping his shoulder.
"Let's get back inside, alright?"
Sophie. Roman called her Sophie. And Sophia was worried because her lover-lips might not understand her background. Letting Roman lead him inside and to the elevator, he felt the beginnings of a headache as his whiskey softened brain began to piece things together. Roman had experienced a pretty solid, well-to-do childhood. He probably wouldn't understand the abuse and neglect and other nightmares that Sophia had suffered. At least, not at first.
"Hey," he announced once they were on the elevator. "Are you seeing anyone?"
"Not officially," Roman replied. "Why?"
"What's that mean? Not officially. Either you are or you're not."
"It means there's someone I've seen a few times and spent some time with, but you know." Roman shrugged, eyes on the ceiling. "It's not serious yet."
"But you want it to be."
"Yeah." Roman gave another little shrug, but he was smiling now.
It was just like the smile on Sophia's face when she'd said she was in love with lover-lips.
Could it be Roman? He hadn't gotten a very good look at the guy before Sophia had jerked the webcam down. And the voice had been a little muffled. He supposed it could be... Something in the back of his brain wiggled and annoyed but wouldn't push itself out, so he looked to his friend critically. He supposed the dude was alright. He was quiet. Respectful of women. Polite.
But he already knew about her past. At least, most of it. So why would he be bothered about it? Maybe her panic attack had been one of her worst. He'd never been around during one of those. Dean shivered just remembering those nights, when Sophia had been catatonic while the demons in her mind took over. If Roman witnessed that, it stood to reason that he would be a little freaked out.
Then why the secrecy? Didn't they know he'd be happy that two of his best friends had found love with each other? He'd be over the moon for Sophia, because it would mean the protection and extended love of the monstrous Anoa'i family. They'd welcomed him with open arms, and there was no doubt that they would trip over each other to make Sophia feel comfortable and welcome in their collective arms. Yeah, she deserved that, and so much more.
And yeah, he guessed Roman deserved all the sweetness and light and shirt-stealing and late-night cuddling that Sophia had to offer, too.
By the time he stepped off the elevator, he was practically grinning. For some reason the idea of her being with Roman didn't make his chest ache so much as it did when he thought of her with any of the other guys. Already mentally planning how he could slip into the godfather position of their future children, he gave his friend a sappy hug and sauntered towards his room.
It was colder without her in the room. Although he didn't have to, he took a quick shower to wash the cigarette smell and the Tammy-Tanya grime away then crawled into bed. He sent Sophia a good-night text, hoping the winking emoji wasn't too stupid. Settling back, he smiled up at the ceiling. He was happy. His best friends were starting up something good, and he would totally be able to take credit for it.
He was happy.
Alone, but happy.
Horny and lonely and bored. But happy.
