A/N: Hey guys! Look at me, making it to chapter 12. I just want to say thank you again to all the readers, especially those who have taken the time out to review. I love you in the same pained way our star-crossed lovers do, but don't realize yet. Anyway I also want to say thanks for recognizing all the developments or swerves, as ChelleLew liked to put it, in the last chapter. I really wanted to go for the big crash and burn after the treat I gave you in chapter 10. We'll see if the crashing and burning continues on... Will Jesse tell Randy about the kiss? Will Randy remember the kiss? What happens to sweet Roman? And will we ever know what exactly happened with the OG Mrs. Orton? Please read, review, and enjoy!


Puffs of smoke passed through her beet-red lips with every ragged breath. The cold winter air rattled through the marrow of her bones as she stepped out onto the sidewalk. Across the street, she saw the coffee shop and its flashing green sign. His back was turned, almost pressed against the frosted windowpane. His dark curls tied up into a loose ponytail at the nape of his neck.

Jesse wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Flaring her nostrils and squaring her shoulders, she crossed the street to meet her man.

Simultaneously, several floors up the modern glass structure, Randy was pacing anxiously across his apartment. Blood was coursing from his knuckles but it was the last thing on his mind. After he had realized what he'd done and apologized, she was startled. Frozen in place by the impact of his fist to the wall, Jesse felt trapped. He took a step back from her and watched as some trace of a realization flashed in her eyes. And then she was gone.

She bolted out of there before he could stop her, not that he tried. He didn't even want to risk touching her lest she pull away in fear. Fuck, he cursed inwardly. His mind was running to a destination of which he was not yet acquainted. He couldn't even begin to chew over the dangerous fact that he wanted to kiss her. Where had that come from?

He needed to repair things with Jesse. Fixing - god, he always felt like he was shattering the fragile pieces that held them together. Mending - he was always trying to glue things back together until it was secure like the ivy crawling up his childhood home. He needed to figure out why he had snapped, then he would beg – no, grovel – for her mercy.

He ceased his mental race. He didn't need to think about it much longer. Randy knew exactly what pushed him over the edge. It was the mention of his father, the unsought comparison, and the revelation that he had come by, uninvited, to mess with her head. Robert was a master manipulator who lied and fabricated stories to save himself from tarnishing his unblemished reputation. Jesse was aware of this fact, yet she still accused Randy of possessing the same qualities as his father.

Bitterness was rising up his throat. He clenched his fists and was ready to hurl them to the wall for another repeat in his tales of self-destruction, when he stopped, breathed, and composed himself.

Randy pulled his phone out of his pocket. He found numerous notifications, missed calls, and messages. Ignoring the alerts at the top bar of his screen, he sifted through the phonebook to find his father's number.

"I knew to expect a call from you." His voice was dark with a hint of devilry.

"Why did you come here?" He had no time to sit around and play mind games with his father. Just cut to the chase and get to the truth, for once.

"I learned about your little girlfriend and what she did at the Bellas' party. I thought I'd pay her a visit."

"The party?" Randy asked, perturbed.

Robert laughed frenziedly at the other line. "Where have you been, son? Everyone is talking about how your girlfriend slapped Dolph Ziggler across the face."

Randy froze, unable to form a response. Jesse had never mentioned that. She said she was in and out, and nothing interesting had happened. What would make her want to slap Dolph in the face? Honestly, he could think of a million reasons why a woman would want to hit that revolting pig, but Jesse wouldn't employ violence unless…

Shit.

He swore if he ever got his hands on Ziggler, he would never see the light of day, much less be able to put his grimy claws on a woman again.

"Check your Chicago Social," he referred to the weekly society paper that had been the holy scripture for the city's elite. "It's in this morning's gossip column. There's a lot of theories on why your little girlfriend put on that show last night."

"She's not my girlfriend."

"Funny," Robert wisecracked, "she denied it as well. But I find it hard to believe that you, of all people, would have a woman live in your house without the benefit of screwing her."

Randy pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. "Don't talk about her like that."

"The more you talk about Ms. Sullivan, the more I believe this girl isn't just some charity case of yours."

"Go to hell."

"I'll take you with me, son," he laughed, "It'll be like our father-son outings all over again. When was the last time you and I played a round of golf?"

Randy ground his teeth. "Why did you have to talk to her about mom?" he swallowed hard. "Why couldn't you just leave it at your bad blood with the Zigglers?"

There was a long pause on the other line before his father finally spoke. "I saw the way she looked at me. Fear, worry – I see that when other people are in the same room as me and I can't blame them. Men in power have that effect. But she looked at me with the same indignation I see when I look at you, son."

"She knows."

"She knows nothing!" Robert barked.

"I told her everything as it happened –"

"You had no idea what was going on around you. You were sheltered and oblivious!"

He pounded his fist on the counter, scrutinizing the dry blood stains on the back of his hand. "I didn't imagine you screaming at mom, throwing furniture across the room, or provoking her to put herself out of her misery. I'm not a liar. I was not oblivious to that."

Robert locked his jaw and pressed his fingers to his temples. The wave of a migraine coursed through his skull. The last thing he wanted was to have this conversation with his son. Randy was right. All those things happened, and, yes, he should have been more mindful, more careful. But he was only human. He could only be pushed to the brink so far before he snapped.

He was not the one who was mentally ill, but at that point, he didn't even know what normal and stable meant anymore.

"Let's drop this."

Randy scoffed, a menacing snicker forcing out of his lips, "of course."

"I miss and love her just as much as you do-"

He laughed so hard he was almost in tears, "Don't even start. How dare you lie and pretend that you cared about her. All you ever did was push her when she was already down. You knew she was sick and you just got that doctor to shove pills down her throat. She wanted to talk to someone. I heard her! I heard her cry and beg to talk to a psychiatrist! She wanted to go to an institution to get better and you said 'no'!" Randy was breathing so hard now that his chest hurt and his lungs felt like they were about to burst under the pressure of his ribcage.

"Look, I don't know why you refused to get her the help she needed. I know you'll never tell me because you never want to talk about it. But don't come into my house and tell my girl-" he stopped himself, catching the mistake before it was released. "Don't come here and tell Jesse that I've been making all this shit up like I have some warped memory of the past. I remember clearly the things you said to her, and I know what I saw."

Robert was tongue-tied on the other line. None of this was fair to his son. But he was a man caught in the crossfires. Did he tell his son the truth and gain a sliver of trust and love back? Even if he did tell him everything, it would never repair the relationship they had. Or did Robert continue this lie and façade, so his son could continue to revere the mother he lost yet so dearly loved? Randy needed to remain in the dark. He need not know that both his parents were monsters.

"I have to go."

It was like déjà vu. Randy found himself hearing those words again, not getting the answers he needed. Succumbing to frustration, he hung up the phone and sank down on the floor. Burying his face in his hands, Randy wondered if he'd ever wake up from this nightmare.


Roman brushed his lips on her forehead. As soon as Jesse arrived at the coffee shop, he took notice of her tear-stained face. He asked her what was wrong and she nearly broke down in front of him. Not wanting the unnecessary stares from the other patrons, he led her out to his car parked at the curb. He drove her to his apartment, a decently-sized building in a quieter part of town.

The two were seated at the couch; Jesse sniffling into Roman's chest. She hadn't said anything specific except that she and Randy had gotten into a fight. He wished he'd tell her why so he'd have an excuse to go over there and give rich boy a piece of his mind, but he knew she was also trying to protect him. Even when she was hurt and angry with Randy, Jesse still tried to defend him.

It disturbed him that their friendship was that entrenched with loyalty that she wouldn't speak ill of him. If he wasn't jealous of her friendship with Randy before, he was starting to feel it now. But Roman didn't want to push it; not when she was already feeling so low. All he could do was be there to console her.

"Can I stay here tonight?" she sobbed into the rigid muscles on his torso.

Roman nodded, tucking her amber curls behind her ears. She smiled weakly before she pressed her lips chastely on his. He laced his fingers in her hair and pulled her against him, "don't cry, baby girl."

Her lip trembled as he pecked it softly, trailing a ripple of kisses on her cheeks, down her jaw, and on the spot where her neck meets her shoulder blades.

"I can't promise I'll behave tonight," Roman admitted.

"I don't want you to," she said before she crashed her lips into his. Their mouths connected in an impassioned duel of licks and bites. Jesse pushed herself on top of him, straddling him on the sofa, that was supposedly a hand-me-down from his grandmother. She flicked her tongue against his and latched her arms around his neck. The whizz of the kettle on the stove punctuated her focus and she was caught off guard when Roman nibbled lightly on her bottom lip.

Applying a deeper pressure, she craved that need, that longing. She ran her fingers down his hair, pulling on the elastic that held those dark locks. A chill ran up her spine and she shivered. She didn't know if it was from kissing him or the fact that it was freezing in his apartment.

"Sorry, this building's heater is in need of repair," he said between kisses, "I already asked my landlord to get it sorted but," another kiss, "he said it's not happening unless he jacks up the rent."

Suddenly, everything around her was brought into the spotlight. The scratchy couch from grandma, the piping kettle on the stove, the unbearable temperature in the room. Jesse shrugged, her arms still around Roman's neck. A small smile curled on her lip. "How about we just cuddle up in your room. You do have blankets, right?"


The following day when Jesse returned, the loft was forsaken. There was no note and no message left on her phone. She debated whether or not to give Randy a call to see if he was all right, but decided against it. Wounds were still too fresh between them. Too fresh that she had turned down sex with Roman yet again, because she still hadn't come to terms about the kiss on New Year's Eve.

She knew she had to tell him, but she hated the idea of hurting him so much more. It was selfish of her. If she told him, she'd lose him and she couldn't exactly run to Randy for comfort. Jesse figured that as long as Randy didn't know about it, there was no rhyme or reason why Roman had to know. At least, he didn't have to be privy to it right this moment. Maybe one day, at a drinking game, when they were both confident in their relationship.

Jesse shrugged and headed to her bedroom. She closed her eyes then blinked hard when she saw Randy's suit jacket on her bed. Taking a hanger from her closet, she hung it up amongst her heavy winter coats. She'd try to sneak it into his room when consigned memories of New Year's into oblivion.

When Randy didn't return the next day, Jesse started to worry. She knew, according to her schedule that he didn't have any meetings in Los Angeles or New York at least until February. She knew it was probably more sensible to call him, but she couldn't bear to hear his voice. Not yet.

So Jesse called his office and his assistant, Paige, answered the phone in her signature English cadence.

"Hey, Paige," she began, "It's Jesse."

"Oh, hey Jesse! You just missed Randy."

"Randy's in Chicago?"

Paige paused, wondering if she had accidentally revealed something that her boss was trying to keep from his roommate. "Yes, he's out to lunch with a client, but he'll be back by two. Can I leave a message for him?"

"No," she began, "I… just wanted to know he's doing okay."

"Sure," Paige trailed off, "well, is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No," she replied, "thanks a lot, Paige."

"You're welcome," she said before they both ended the call. So Randy was in the city; he just wasn't coming home. Clearly, he was avoiding her just as she was avoiding him. Jesse got out of her sweats and headed to the shower. It was the last day of Christmas break before she had to get back to school. Hitting the library would help keep her mind off everything.


After hours poring over her neuroscience and microbiology textbooks, Jesse hit the campus gym to swim some laps. Even after all these years, swimming was the only thing that relaxed her like no other. It was the tranquility that gave her the concentration, and it was the exercise and fluidity that made her feel like she could conquer whatever obstacle was in her way.

When she turned the key to the loft and stepped inside, she thought she had seen a ghost. Jesse pulled on an umbrella by the door and stalked towards the reflection walking down the hall towards her. She was about to swing the umbrella when a black, petite woman screamed at the top of her lungs. Her hands convulsed and her eyes widened as she screamed in response to Jesse's yelp of surprise.

"Who are you?"

The woman shook the chills out of her body before she acknowledged the much younger woman. "I'm Miranda Simone," she held her hand out, "Randal's nanny and housekeeper."

"You're Miranda?" Jesse smiled. She had heard bits and pieces of her from Randy's stories. They were always complimentary, and always about how the high-spirited, wise woman put him in his place. Right from the get-go, she knew they'd get along.

"Jesse Sullivan," she said, shaking Miranda's hand.

"Mhm, I know who you are," she replied with a sparkle in her chocolate eyes, "Heard all about you. I have to say, Randy was being too modest when he was describing you. You're a very pretty girl."

Her cheeks flushed at the compliment, "thank you." It was then that she saw Miranda carrying several garment bags in her hands and walking towards a set of luggage. "What's all this?"

"Randal asked me to pick up his clothes and bring it over to the hotel."

"Hotel?"

Miranda shook her head, "You have no idea do you, honey? He's booked himself a room at the Peninsula Hotel, something about giving you space. Now, I don't have a clue what you two kids argued about, but you both need to sort it out. I could not deal with his gloom and doom when he was a boy, and I certainly cannot deal with it now that he's 26 years-old."

Jesse chewed on her lip and nodded her head, "You're right."

"I'd pick something nice to wear and wear a little lip gloss if I were you."

"Huh?"

"Are you coming with me or not? Driver's downstairs waiting to bring me back to the hotel."

Jesse nodded before she headed to her room and quickly changed into her favorite pair of jeans, a gray sweater, and her biker jacket. She didn't have enough time for makeup but she took heed of Miranda's advice, and slapped on some sheer pink lip gloss.

During the ride to the hotel, Miranda talked about taking care of Randy as a child. She never mentioned his parents, which was odd under any circumstances but Jesse understood. Turned out that Randy had always been a sweet and curious boy. He wanted to learn about everything, try new things, and be part of all the conversations and activities that involved adults. Since he was constantly surrounded by grown-ups, being that he was an only child, he was somewhat thrust into manhood earlier than most boys his age.

In spite of being exposed to adulthood at such a tender age, his upbringing had unsurprisingly turned him somewhat overindulged and arrogant. His parents and grandparents spoiled him with attention and material gifts. His charm and sociable personality had earned him many friends and admirers. It was Miranda, who knocked him down a peg or two and reminded him that he, too, was human. Funny, she thought. It was like she and Miranda were working as a team to bring out that benevolence and humility from him, without actually having met.

When they arrived at his temporary home, Jesse was blown away at the sheer size and magnificence of the presidential suite. She never knew hotel rooms could be this glamorous. 4,000 square feet with a wraparound terrace that overlooked the city. Champagne laid in buckets of ice, wedged between plates of fruit and a vase of fresh flowers. She stood in amazement as the bellboys carried Randy's bag into the suite in a style so trained and refined.

Miranda headed toward the bedroom doors. She knocked twice, before Randy's head peaked out. He didn't notice her; and neither did she.

"What's up?" he grinned, cheeky and mischievous.

"I have everything you asked for and I brought in some extra pairs of socks because I know you have a habit of losing them." Miranda paused and tried to read the impatient expression on his face. And why was he talking to her with his torso sticking halfway out of the room? "I know you didn't ask me to bring this one with me, but I couldn't leave the poor thing behind."

Randy furrowed his brows before he looked past Miranda. His eyes laved in bewilderment when he saw Jesse standing on the opposite end of the suite. She was chewing that damn lip again. And there it was, that strange urge to kiss her resurfacing from the depths of his brain. Jesse turned her head and her eyes met his. A small smile fell upon her face, but goddamn, if he only knew, she wanted to cry.

She still didn't know how to feel about what happened the last two times she saw him. This wouldn't have happened if she didn't feel obligated to Miranda. Damn that wise woman and her persuasive ways.

Randy carelessly stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him. He had sheets loosely wrapped around his hip and scratches trailing down his chest and abs. Miranda shook her head in disapproval. Jesse walled off and shut down.

Shit.

"Jesse," he began but she quickly cut him off.

"This was a mistake. Don't let me interrupt you."

"We'll take you home," Miranda offered.

"No, that's fine. It's only a few blocks away. I'll walk," Jesse replied, "but thank you. It was lovely meeting you, Miranda."

And then she was gone.

"You are something else, Randal Keith Orton," Miranda wagged her finger at him. "I bring this lovely girl back here so you two can talk it out like adults, and you ruin it all by sleeping with some hussy!"

"Two hussies," he corrected, earning a swift slap to the head.

"You need to think about this long and hard."

"It's not like I cheated on her," he replied in self-defense.

"You might as well have," Miranda sighed. "Did you see the way she looked at you before and after she realized what you'd done?"

Randy shook his head, refusing to believe that Miranda was right. But who was he kidding? She was the wisest person he knew when it came to these matters. "No, it can't be… she has a boyfriend."

"Only because you have your pretty, little head too far up your ass to go after her."

"That ship has sailed, hit an iceberg, and sunk down to the bottom of the Atlantic" he replied with an air of finality. When they ended things before he left for college, it took him months - perhaps, years - to finally accept that she was out of his life. "She deserves-"

"Better?" Miranda seethed, "was that what you were going to say? That Jesse deserves someone better, kinder, more emotionally ready? Of course, she does. But you are those things if you allow yourself to be. Stop standing in your own way, or so help me, I will kick you in the ass until you get there."

"Miranda," he began but she was quick to cut him off.

"Do not let this girl walk away from you again. I'm far too old to be tending a boy with a broken heart."