Chapter 14:

He Arrives

The sun was a grim mixture of grey and blue when John pulled his classic red Corvette into the parking lot of the Comfort Inn. It was a white stucco building that looked clean. It was a ground level hotel, stretching out for as far as his eyes could see. The parking lot was wide and empty. Although he was sure the garden looked beautiful in the summertime, it was now frozen and decayed. At the mouth of the building was a glass door with a gold painted sign above it that read "LOBBY" in capital letters. The glowing orange sign on the edge of the parking lot revealed that there were vacancies.

John killed the ignition and sighed, taking off his Red Sox cap and scratching his head before replacing the hat atop his cranium. In the passenger's seat of the car were two grocery bags of food he picked up from the grocery store. He wasn't sure if she had eaten anything or if she even had a desire to eat, but he wanted to be thoughtful. He bought everything he could think of, healthy food and junk food, depending on her mood. Over the phone, he could tell she was sober, something that relieved him. The entire drive, he felt nothing but pain and worry for his friend. It struck him how quickly the roles had been reversed. It was his turn to do for her what she had done for him, and he was more than eager to return the favor.

He had been worried she would drink herself into a stupor. He wasn't sure why he would think such a thing; in all the time he had had known her, he couldn't recall a single time where she had a drink. He wasn't sure if it was because she was being sensitive to his battle, or if she was straight-edge. John couldn't fathom the pain she felt, and he knew that her brother's position was going to make matters more complicated. He knew that her family was facing months, maybe even years, of hearings and congressional gridlock and bickering that would go nowhere. Her faith in the system was going to become shaky, he knew. Anger, bitterness and depression were going to be the dominating emotions for the foreseeable future, but he was willing to weather the storm in the way that she had.

Even though Randy had apologized to him about the way he had treated Isabella, John still felt residual anger at him. Randy had always been the type to act first and think later, but they both knew he had crossed the line. John thought Randy owed Isabella an apology, but he wasn't sure if or how it was going to happen. He honestly couldn't think of another time where their paths would cross. John knew Randy had meant well; his heart was in the right place, but his brain was in another universe. Typical Randy Orton.

Isabella was in room eight. He grabbed the bags and got out of the car, locking the doors behind him. He made a beeline to the door. A couple hours back, when he had stopped for gas, he saw that Ruby had sent him a text message. She wanted to know if he had found her. He confirmed that he had, but she hadn't replied. He didn't know what to make of Ruby. Her lack of compassion for her roommate's grief was very off-putting to him. John had already come to the conclusion that it wasn't his place to say anything, but he wasn't going to let Ruby walk all over Isabella when they got back.

He stopped in front of the dark wood door with a gold '8' nailed to it. He could hear some shuffling on the other side after he knocked. Then there was the sound of the latch being turned. The door swung open. He came face to face with a sniffling Isabella, dressed in a big black T-shirt and pink shorts that were adorned with white hearts. The first thing he noticed was how wan and disheveled she looked. Her once lively face was now stamped with the unmistakable stain of exhaustion and despair. The sparkle in her eyes were long gone, replaced with red rims and swollen. No amount of makeup could hide the devastation.

She stared blankly at him from the other side of the door, unmoving. It put John on edge. He wondered if she could see him; it felt like she was staring right through him. Then, her face crumpled. John dropped the bags and opened his arms. She ran into them, holding onto him tightly. She held onto the plaid over-shirt he wore and broke down completely, sobbing from a well of tears she had long thought to be dried up. He held onto her at the waist, his blue eyes staring up at the ceiling. He didn't say a word as she cried, heartbreaking wails that drove nails into his heart. She held onto his shirt as though he were a life preserver she had found in her sea of grief. She cried for what felt like forever. John waited until the sobs had dulled to soft whimpers. He stroked her matted sandy hair.

"I'm so sorry, Bella," he said softly.

After a few more minutes, she pulled back. She had left big circular spots on the grey T-shirt he wore underneath his plaid shirt. She wiped her eyes and struggled to catch her breath. She walked back into the room. John picked up the bags and walked inside, kicking the door shut behind him. It was a clean room, with grey carpet, white walls and blue blankets. Isabella sat on the edge of the bed she was using. John put the bags down on the counter that contained a sink and a coffeemaker. He walked over to the bed and sat down beside her. After a moment, she leaned her head against his shoulder. They sat in silence for a long time. John had no idea how long the silence stretched on for, but it felt eternal. He wished he knew the right thing to say in the situation, but he didn't have the faintest clue.

"I remember when Trey told us he was going to leave the country," she started, sniffling. "I begged him not to go. I was so scared. I'm not stupid. I watch CNN. I see all the news. But Trey...he was always so stubborn. Once he made up his mind there was just no changing it. He was always like that. Mom always said she got most of her grey hair from Trey. She was worried, but she knew he was set on this. He was such an idealist. He just wanted to make a difference. He wanted to believe the world could be a better place..."

"Bella, I..."

"All the news channels have already jumped on this. The talking heads and the politicians want hearings about what happened. It's not going to do a lick of good, though. It never does." She sighed and then hiccuped. "CNN has been harassing my parents. Fox News and MSNBC showed up on my doorstep, barking questions at me. They followed me like a second shadow, begging for a word. I just...I had to get away. My phone was always ringing. Ruby...she doesn't get it. I just can't handle it right now. I had no time to myself. I just needed to be alone."

"I know the feeling," he assured her. "I get it."

"It's not fair, John. Trey should have been able to get married and have kids. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be," she told him, her voice cracking. It struck John just how familiar the words sounded coming out of her mouth. He was pretty sure he had used the same words when Lisa had died. Isabella stared down at her hands. "Every time I think I need to cry, I can't. Every time I think I'm fine, I cry. I feel like my entire universe has been shifted, like I'm upside down. I hate it."

"Bell..."

"It's fine. You don't have to say anything. It just means a lot that you're here. It's just..." She exhaled, running a hand through her hair, pushing a strand of hair out of her face. "Nobody is going to be able to say anything that makes me feel better. I get it. It's just...I'm...I'm just so angry. I feel like I could scream. This whole thing is...it's bullshit." Isabella shook her head. "I get angry, and then I get sad, and it's so extreme that I can't function like a normal person. I can't let my family see me like this. I'm a mess."

"You're no mess." He looked over at the dusty TV on the dresser. "There really isn't a wrong way to grieve, Bella."

They fell silent again. Isabella wanted to change the subject, but she didn't know what to say or talk about. She felt so far removed from the real world. Isabella was happy to have John close by, but she didn't want to make him wallow with her, especially since he had just emerged from his grief-laden quicksand.

"Your friend is a real jerk, you know."

John snickered. "What, you mean Randy?" She nodded. "Oh, yeah. I know. Don't think I didn't let him know it, either." She managed a smirk. John knew that she was looking to get her mind off things. "He really thought he was doing the right thing. The heart was in the right place, Bella. But he's never been the sharpest tool in the shed."

"He threatened to have me arrested."

"I've threatened to have you arrested," John reminded her.

The two of them smiled. Isabella managed a short laugh. "I guess you're right about that." John put his arm around her shoulders and drew her close. He tightened the grip, a reassuring squeeze. She looked up at him, into blue eyes that were more alive than she had ever seen. "Why are you here?" she asked softly. "You just got out of rehab. You're dealing with your own stuff. You're getting ready to go back to your old life..."

"Not another word. Bella, you're my friend," he told her, genuinely shocked at her assumption that he would shut her out once he got himself straight. He didn't know the exact words Randy had told her, but John had his suspicions that her attitude was shaped by the things he had said. "You put up with way more than any human being should have with my bullshit and you never walked away. I probably would have walked away from me; I was a real prick at the best of times and a downright dick at the worst." He laughed when she nodded. "The best way I can make it up to you is to be there when you need me. It's what friends do."

"Well, I know it might not seem like it now, but I appreciate it." She shook her head. John removed his arm. "I probably shouldn't have run away. God, what was I thinking?"

"You were thinking that you needed time to yourself," he told her. She shook her head.

"Everyone needs me. Rube's right; I'm being selfish..."

"Oh, don't even go there. You want to grieve in private, that's your business, and fuck anyone who doesn't get it. Ruby included." He shook his head. She stared at him, mouth hanging open. "This is a real fucked up situation for you and your family, and I can't even imagine to begin how you're feeling. So you do you. When you're ready to go back, then do that. But you take care of yourself." She nodded. It was easier said than done, however, and they both knew it.

"When do you go back on the road?"

"Next week. There's a show coming to Miami. Why don't you come out? I know the whole wrestling thing isn't your scene, but it'd mean a lot to me to see you in the stands. And you could probably use a night out. Then after we could probably go get a coffee or something, if you're up for it," he added quickly. She looked at him, a sad smile crossing her beautiful features. She wondered if there was ever going to be a day where they were both happy at the same time.

"I guess I could go. What day is it in Miami?"

"Friday."

"I work a morning shift that day. I guess I could swing it." The concept of it fascinated Isabella. She had never been to a wrestling show before. She didn't know much about wrestling; it was something her family had never been into. But Isabella knew that it was important to John, and she wanted to support her friend.

In that moment, the thought crossed her mind that he could have easily left her in the dust once he got out of rehab. Gone back to his high-profile life as a WWE Superstar and she'd go back to her job, seeing him every now and then when he stopped in for a coffee. But he hadn't left her behind. He'd tracked her down. She had always thought that he didn't like her very much, but she knew differently now. Giving him her number had forged a bond that she was thankful to have. There were no words to describe how she felt knowing that he wanted her in his life and he valued their friendship. It warmed her heart to know that in her darkest hours, in her time of grief, John was standing in the middle of the chaos as a friend when she needed him. He hadn't let her down.

She began to cry again.

"Hey – hey, it's okay," John soothed, rubbing her back. She was hunched over, her head in her hands. John stood and turned on the bedside lamp. It was becoming darker in the room. He wasn't surprised that the lamp didn't illuminate the room much. He took his place beside Isabella.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she apologized profusely. "I shouldn't be like this."

"Are you kidding?" John snorted. "I'd be more concerned if you weren't."

He stood and disappeared into the bathroom. John emerged with a Kleenex box in his hand and handed it to Isabella. She took several and blew her nose. "How long has it been since you've eaten, Bella?"

"I don't even know," she confessed. "I haven't really gotten out of bed, to be honest."

"Are you hungry?"

"I guess a little," she said after a moment's thought. John went to the table and grabbed the bags. Isabella readjusted herself so she was sitting cross-legged on the bed. He put the bags down in the middle of the bed and Isabella peeked into the bags. She looked up at him, genuinely touched and surprised. "John, you didn't have to do this."

"I'm worried about you. I'm here to make sure you don't end up like me," he told her. She stifled a noise that John construed as laughter and he flashed her a comforting smile. Isabella began pulling things out of the bag. Trail mixes, chocolate, potato chips, soda, a pre-made lasagna that just needed to be heated.

"I don't have a microwave," she said. "This is kind of a sleeper room."

"Maybe front desk will have one. I'll give them a call." John went to the desk and picked up the phone. Isabella picked up a Hershey's almond bar and began to pick at it. Within minutes of John hanging up the phone, someone from front desk arrived with a white microwave. He began to prepare dinner, pulling back the plastic at the corners of the pre-made lasagna. Isabella watched him from the bed, picking at her candy bar. She didn't know how she would ever make it up to him for coming all the way out of state to find her. Isabella was thankful that he hadn't turned his back on her.