Blaze of Glory
A/N: So, here's my next chapter. I like to think that you guys enjoy my stories because there's some degree of realism to every chapter. I like to think that you, maybe, connect with the emotions that my characters think and feel. Well, the sad truth, kids, is that sometimes people hurt, and disappoint, the people they love. That's real. So I just want you to keep that in mind while you're reading the chapter so many of you have been begging for: Did Randy and Michelle get it on in Cabo? Read on and find out - and leave me a review, if you feel like it. I love to know what you're thinking. . .
She watched the muscles in his back flex with each animated gesture as he told his friends what was, apparently, an extremely funny story. For a moment, she wondered if she should just march up to the table and make her presence known. But seeing as things had been rocky, since the Cabo incident, she wasn't sure it was a good idea. Sure, he would put on the smile and make small talk, if she caught him before a match at the arena, or in the hotel afterward. But conversation had gone from stimulating, to downright awkward, in only a matter of a few weeks.
She had known, since the moment she made the decision, that things would change between them. He had promised her that it would be fine, that he wanted it as much as she did, but she had known that he would resent it, eventually. Left alone to think about it, to reflect on it, he would resent her for going through with it.
"I can't do it," she cringed, wavering in the doorway of the Boston bar, where Randy was sitting with Batista, Big Show, Cena, Booker T, Taker, and Shelton Benjamin. With RAW and Smackdown in the same city for the Rumble, old friends were taking advantage of the time to catch up and get reacquainted.
Victoria clapped her hand over Trish's left shoulder and held her friend from turning back. "Awe, hell no!" She shook her dark head. "I have listened to you bitch and moan about how shitty things have gotten between you guys for a month. We are not leaving until you talk to him, at least."
Lita nodded in agreement, grasping Trish's left arm for extra security. "It's bad enough that Edge won't talk to me – one of us is gonna get laid before we leave this town."
They were right. She felt slightly guilty that Edge and Lita's relationship couldn't handle the stress of their crusade, but she didn't have to let the same thing happen with Randy. She could make things better. Or infinitely worse. She wasn't sure which, and she prayed, as she moved toward his table, that he wouldn't make a scene or tell her that he was sick of her bull shit. She prayed that he would wait, at least, until they were outside and away from their friends.
Her stomach was doing cartwheels, the way it used to every time he walked into a room. No matter how long she had gone without seeing him, and no matter how weird their relationship had gotten, the deep timber of his voice still caused a flutter in the lowest part of her belly. He still had a way of turning her insides to liquid, even when he didn't know she was there to be liquefied.
She held up a finger to silence his shocked, and amused, friends as she approached and slid her long fingers over his eyes. Leaning over, she rested the full weight of her breasts against his shoulder, and felt his back stiffen. His breath hitched when she moved her mouth so close to his ear, that her lips brushed his skin when she spoke.
"Hey, Stranger," she whispered in a husky tone that caused him to groan, while the rest of the table broke into cheers. "Miss me?"
When she grasped his earlobe between her teeth, his heart felt like it dropped to his toes. His blood didn't quite make it that far. He stood quickly and grabbed her, kissing her before his mind told him that they weren't the old Trish and Randy. There were catcalls and whistles, but he didn't care. Her response was a desperate, urgent tongue in his mouth, which he sucked on hungrily.
"Jesus," a deep voice interrupted their clawing and groping. "Don't you guys have a room or something?"
Randy pulled back, his hands still on Trish's waist, as he glared at Hunter, but Trish held a hand to Randy's chest, while shaking her head at her old friend. "Isn't there some bar fly you can go hit on or something? I got some lost time to make up for here," she reminded him, turning back to give Randy the best pair of bedroom eyes she could muster.
Pulling her into a crushing hug, he whispered into her ear, "Dammit, I wanna fuck you so bad," His eyes drifted down her neck to the little top she was wearing. Its plunging neckline gave him a bird's eye view of everything he couldn't wait to get his hands on.
Her infamous giggle escaped and she kissed him again, only to pull back and withdrew a room key from her pocket. "The hotel's, like, five minutes away. Think you can wait that long?"
He sighed and ran a hand over his hair, one still firmly planted on her shoulder. He knew she was there for two days, and that they would see each other a lot, but he wasn't going to stop touching her, if he could help it. "I don't have a car. I rode with Batista and Cena."
Trish bit her lip and squinted as she thought. "We brought Lita's car," she stated. How the hell had she been so careless? She could plot and plan against Vince to the last possible detail, but now that she needed an escape from a fuckin' bar, she had no vehicle? And why were none of their friends offering up a set of keys. Didn't these people know how long it had been since she'd had a good ride on the Orton Express? "Taxi?"
"You can take my car," a voice offered from behind them.
Trish turned her head and saw three women heading for the back table. Torrie Wilson and a couple of last year's diva search chicks were moving toward them. The tallest, a lean, bronzed blonde, had a set of keys in her hand.
"You sure?" Randy asked, raising an eyebrow as Michelle thrust her keys toward him for a second time.
"Take it," she insisted. Smiling at Trish, she said, "Consider it my contribution to the revolution," she winked.
Trish shot a sarcastic smile back and nodded. "If I didn't have other things on my mind," she cast a look at Randy and stepped closer to him, feeling his hand on her hip, "I would tell you where to stick that contribution."
Michelle looked surprised, and Randy steeled himself for what was about to come. Trish didn't like anyone from the diva search, and she wasn't afraid to tell them that. "Um, I'm trying to make a friendly gesture here," the younger woman defended, looking to Randy for support.
But he just pulled his girlfriend closer to his side. There was no way – not a snowball's chance in hell – that he was going to defend Michelle to Trish. Not when she was so close to him, so ready to let him do whatever he wanted to her. And certainly not when they seemed to be getting along so well, for a change. He averted his gaze, trying not to acknowledge the pain that his new friend wasn't even trying to mask. He tried to tell himself that it was Trish's words, and not his reaction, that had caused that look in her eye.
Trish snatched the keys and put a hand on her hip. "Maybe you wouldn't be so quick to support our cause, if you really understood it, Sweetheart," she smiled and raked her fingernails down Randy's chest, watching the jealousy fire up in the other woman's eyes. "Because if we had launched this whole thing a year ago, you wouldn't have a job."
The look in Michelle's eyes turned to one of angry defiance, but Randy spoke before she could say anything damaging. "Alright, ladies," he spoke, before Michelle had a chance to. "Thanks for the car, Michelle. I will fill up the tank tomorrow. Now if you'll excuse us, we've got a lot of time to make up."
During the entire ride to the hotel, Trish ranted. She went on and on about her "revolution" and about how girls like Michelle had ruined her career. She had even gone so far as to spit on the leather interior of the car that, she claimed, her sacrifices had paid for. By the time he cut the engine in the parking garage, though, she had seemed to cool down a little bit.
Randy unlocked the door to their suite and pushed it open with his shoulder, trying to clear his head of all the muddled confusion her presence seemed to bring as of late. This was the woman he loved, and he had her in a hotel room – alone. Their friends all knew better than to bother them, and he was going to finally have a chance to make up for the cancelled weekends, and the missed phone calls.
With one arm around her thin waist, he hoisted Trish into his arms and felt her lock her ankles around his back. The kiss was heated, tongues battling for position, as he stumbled through the foyer and the living room, finally dropping onto the bed. Trish moved to her knees, straddling his lap, and ran her fingernails up and down his neck.
His large hands kneaded the exposed skin of her lower back and moved to her denim-covered ass, eliciting a deep moan from her chest. He knew that she could feel his instant reaction to her grinding, as they fell back onto the bed and Trish moved her kisses to his neck. Was it tacky to appear on television with a hickey? Because the force with which she was sucking on his skin was sure to leave a friendly reminder of this night for the world to see.
"So," she breathed, as she continued to kiss, lick, and nibble on his ears, chin, and jaw, "I thought . . . that we could . . . come up . . . with a plan. . . for the Rumble. . . And then. . . we could. . . talk about. . ."
Everything he had been feeling seemed to be flushed by her words. Removing his hands from her belt, he rolled his shoulder slightly, as if fighting out of a pinning predicament. "You're kidding?" he asked with a slight laugh.
Trish moved to his side and crossed her legs, a look of surprise on her face. "What?"
"You wanna talk about that now?" he clarified, more hurt than angry when he realized she didn't see his point. "Trish, we've been apart for months. That was the only thing remotely resembling foreplay that we've had since November." His breathing was still erratic as he fought to say the words.
Shaking her head, she shrugged her shoulders. "I just thought we could talk about some business first, and then, when it was all out of the way, we would be free to," she started to explain, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"No," Randy pushed himself off the bed and stood with his hands on his hips. "No 'business first,' Trish," he stated firmly. Her expression was still blank. Throwing up his arms, he sighed. "Don't you think that's maybe our problem? Lately, it's been nothing but 'business first.' That's why we're in this whole situation in the first place."
How had they gone from near-orgasm to a near-fight in less than a minute? Trish didn't know, but she was afraid she was about to find out. "What mess?" she asked, baiting him.
Randy's eyes flashed with anger. "Don't pull that bull shit with me, Trish. Don't act like we can just ignore it and make it go away."
Pouting, she pulled herself up on her knees and then leaned over on the bed, crawling toward him with a cat-like grace. "Come on, Randy. We only get a couple of nights together," she purred.
If she asked him to forget it one more time, Randy knew that he would. She was edible, in the middle of that huge mattress with those eyes that just begged to be fucked upside down and inside out. He wasn't the guy to share his feelings, normally, but the situation with Trish had grown significantly worse since his weekend in Cabo, and he was tired of it. He was tired of having a girlfriend in name only. And he wasn't leaving Boston with everything up in the air.
"Fine," Trish finally snapped, standing and holding her arms out. "You wanna talk – let's talk. Let's talk about how the one thing that is most important in my life right now drives you crazy. How about that? How about we talk about how jealous you are that I'm getting all of this attention lately? Or, maybe we could just talk about your new girlfriend for awhile. How's that sound?" Trish watched the anger on his face, but she couldn't stop herself. She had seen the way Michelle looked at him, and the helpless eyes he had given her in return. "Oh, did I strike a nerve?"
Randy's shoulders stiffened. "What the fuck are you even talking about?" he asked, exasperation in his tone, unsure of which accusation to field first. "My new girlfriend?" Shaking his head, he rolled his eyes. "Michelle's my friend, yeah. But you know there's nothing else going on there."
She didn't know. And the look in his eyes said that he was lying through his perfect teeth. "Bull shit," she called him on it. "I saw you guys looking at each other tonight. I know that look she was giving you, the look like she would do anything you asked her to do, just because you asked her to do it." She watched his eyes and shook her head. "Don't tell me that girl is not ass backwards in love with you. I know those looks she was giving you."
"Because they're the ones you used to give me?" he challenged before he could stop himself. She looked slightly taken aback, but Randy didn't care. The cork was off the bottle now, and all the built up pressure had to go somewhere. "Do you really have to ask why I would like having her around, Trish? Why I would like having someone around who actually thinks I'm worth her time?"
His words stung, but the new Trish wasn't about to tear up. She was a fighter now, and she would go down swinging, even if she took him with her. "You knew that, when I decided to this, it was going to take a lot of my time. You said that you understood that, and that you supported me. You said that you just wanted me to have the fire," she accused, a finger pointing in his general direction, though they stood on opposite sides of the bed.
"You can't possibly think that I don't support you!" He was getting angry, and containing it was no longer an option. He didn't care what he said in that room at that moment. He had been hurt, and he didn't like showing that kind of vulnerability. "Everything you have asked of me, Trish, I have done for you. Every time you have called and asked me to do something for your stupid cause, I have done it."
"Stupid?" Trish's voice rose about three octaves. "Now you think it's stupid?" He seemed to retract slightly, but Trish was not about to let him out so easily. "No, come on, Randy. I mean, obviously you have no problem sneaking around with the enemy behind my back. Why don't you just tell me how you really feel?"
"First of all," he raised a finger, defiance pushing past all of the hurt, "I am not sneaking around with anyone. Second of all, do not ever – EVER – accuse me of not supporting you. You wanna know the truth?" She nodded her head. "Professionally? I could care less what happens to the Women's division. It doesn't have anything to do with me, Trish. My career is fine, with or without that particular piece of the puzzle." He watched the fury raising in her eyes. "But if you think, for a second, that I don't care about what you're doing, you're dead wrong.
"I don't give a fuck about your cause, Trish, but I love you. It doesn't matter to me if your passionate about beating Vince, or stopping world hunger, or killing fucking baby animals. It doesn't matter what the cause your fighting for, Trish. I'm right here behind you, because you matter to me." He stopped and sighed heavily. "I just wish that you felt the same way."
It took a moment for his words to sink in, to let them wash over her, after his drastic change in tone. Triple H had said the same thing to her – it wasn't his fight, and he didn't care what happened in the end. She had confused Randy's lackadaisical attitude toward her fight, with an apathy toward her. But the fire in his eyes said that he was just as much in love with her as the day he had left her side and headed for Smackdown.
As she sat on the bed, staring at him carefully, his last statement rang in her head. "You don't think I support you?" she asked weakly, suddenly feeling drained.
Shaking his head, he looked at the floor. The words had the potential to hurt her, he knew. But he had come this far – why stop? "I know you're life, and everything going on in it, are important to you right now, Trish. But I'm still over here, fighting my fight, ya know? I watch you every week, and I can't wait to call and tell you how great you were." Leaning against the wall, he met her gaze with a saddened one of his own. "Did you even know that I was a tag team champion? Because you didn't call – you never mentioned it." His tone held no accusation, only pain and hurt. "I held that belt for over a month, Trish, and you never said a word about it."
"Randy, I," she started, but then bit her lip again. She had found out, through John, that Randy had won the belt. She had been training with Rob the night it had aired on television, and had only thought of dropping into a hot bath when she got back to her room that night. She had forgotten all about his championship by the next day. And he never brought it up.
His words broke through her mind once again. "I'm not in the Royal Rumble this weekend, Trish," he said, pushing off the wall with his hands in his pockets.
Her head snapped up in shock, her eyes searching his face. "But I watched your qualifying match. You beat Mercury. We talked about working together. . ." she started.
A slight chuckle of resignation escaped his throat. "I won a Number One Contender's match on Thursday's show. I beat Christian. I'm facing Batista for the World title," he sighed, dropping his head to his chest and then looking back at her to realize that she had no idea. Just looking into her guilt-filled eyes made his heart hurt. "Trish, I wanna support what's important to you, but you gotta take a step back and think about what's important to me, too."
He was right. He was absolutely right. In her haste to make sure Vince knew she was serious, she had turned her back on everything else. Her revolution had become the most important thing in the world to her – leaving Randy to fall in somewhere toward the back of the line. And he had done it without complaining. At least, he hadn't complained to her.
Watching her gather her courage, Randy waited for the question. He had already decided he was going to answer it, whether she asked or not. "Have you told Michelle all of this?"
He nodded, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. "Yeah. In Cabo, I was so pissed at you. I convinced myself that you didn't really give a damn about me, or our plans."
She wanted to interrupt him, to assure him that it wasn't true, but she couldn't make the words come out. She couldn't take her eyes off of the raw emotion on his face. Her Randy didn't break down, ever. It was surreal, and it was honest. All she could do was listen to the mess she had made of their relationship.
Sinking to the end of the bed, Randy finally met her eyes. "She was just easy to talk to, ya know? I mean, I wanted to vent, and she let me. She told me I was right – like you used to do when I would vent about Hunter?" She smiled slightly as he reached for her hand. It was warm, and pleading for forgiveness. "I kissed her," he admitted, averting his eyes again. "I tried to pretend that it was no big deal – that you wouldn't even care anymore if you found out.
"But she wasn't you, Trish. She was beautiful, and she was attentive, and she kept telling me how great I was, and how anyone who didn't realize that was crazy, and I wanted to want her." When he looked up, he was furiously blinking a few tears away. She could tell that he was no happier with them than he was with the memory that had brought them. "I love you, Trish. And I wanna marry you, and have a huge house and lots of kids with you."
She squeezed his fingers and crawled on her knees to his side, leaning her forehead against his when he turned. "I want that, too," she whispered.
With a tender palm on her cheek, he caught a stray tear with his thumb and then pulled back. "But I'm not gonna ask you to put me before this fight. I'm not your first priority right now." He ran his finger over her bottom lip, his heart breaking with each word that he said. "And until I am? I'm not gonna propose. I can't have half of you."
She nodded and smiled when he did, but something wasn't setting right in her gut. "Randy, what does that mean for us now? I mean, are we still together?"
He gave her a genuine laugh and pulled her into his lap. "What? Are you kidding? Did you not just hear me say that I can't have sex with anyone who isn't you? You think I'm gonna go another month without it?" He raised an eyebrow as he linked his fingers together around her waist. "Have you met me?" She smacked his shoulder, and his expression went serious. "I love you, Trish. As much as you piss me off, I'm not gonna stop."
"Don't," she pleaded, taking his bottom lip between hers and running her tongue over the soft flesh. "I love you, too," she breathed when she finally pulled back.
Blinking back tears, she lifted her shirt over her head and pushed him back on the bed, fully focused on the man beneath her for the first time in over a month. She could worry about fighting Vince to the death tomorrow. For now, she had faithful, sex-deprived boyfriend on her hands, and she all she wanted was to surrender.