Fighting to Let You Go

A/N: This is a re-post, as my previous chapter decided not to italicize. Enjoy! Oh, andI own no one.

A loud rock beat permeated through the Matt Hardy's SUV, as he and Lita sang loudly with the song. Adam sat in the back seat, barely humming the tune as Trish leaned against his shoulder and watched the passing traffic on the Florida highway.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" Adam whispered, tilting his head toward his girlfriend to be heard over the music. "Because we don't have to go. We could just ask Matt to drop us off. I'm sure he. . ."

He was interrupted as Trish wrapped one thin hand around his bicep, and rested the other against his thigh. "Adam. I am fine." She squeezed his thigh for re-assurance. "Relax."

With a nod, he kissed the top of her head as Matt pulled the car into the back lot where TNA would be taping for the evening. It wasn't her choice to be here. But after finishing a house show outside of Orlando, when the rest of her traveling companions decided they were close enough to visit their old friends, Jeff and Jay, she really didn't have any say in the matter.

Not that she would have argued. Truth be told, a part of her believed that it was finally time. After nearly two years of pushing him into the farthest corners of her mind, it was time she develop the ability to, at the very least, say "hello" to the man she had once laid talking to for hours in one setting. Besides, she had Adam now.

As they tumbled out of the vehicle, she grasped his hand again. "Hey," she whispered, leaning up to kiss the tip of his chin. Adam smiled down at her, though the grin didn't quite reach his eyes. "I love you," she mouthed before pulling on his lower lip with her teeth.

Adam kissed her briefly, until Matt's question interrupted their impromptu PDA. "Did you tell Jay we were coming?"

Pulling away, Adam nodded and dragged Trish up to where Matt and Lita were now standing. "Yeah. It's gonna be great to see him again."

The house was far from run-down, but it was no palace, either. The love, however, that Trish felt the moment she stepped into the living room, made it worth more than any home she had ever contemplated owning.

"I didn't tell him we were coming," Jeff winked as he followed the sounds of lilting banjo music to the back porch. He turned back again, a child-like grin on his face. "He's gonna have a heart attack."

Biting her lip, she took a step back. "Well, Jeff, maybe that's not good. I mean, a man his age probably shouldn't be shocked into a heart attack," she whispered. It wasn't that she didn't want to meet his father, but after some of the stories Jeff had told her, Trish was afraid the retired tobacco farmer might make her cry.

"Eh, the old man can handle watching his dumb ass son fly off a ladder into a table," Mr. Hardy's gruff voice sounded as the music stopped and the rocking chair he was seated in creaked. Turning, his weathered face cracked with a bright smile. "You might wanna get a new transmission on that truck before you try to sneak up on someone, Son," he laughed.

Jeff just shrugged and shook his father's hand while Trish stood back, blushing. Calling his father an old man was not the best first impression she could have made. She began to pray that the rickety porch they were standing on would just collapse, providing at least some distraction from her foolish statement.

"Where's your manners, boy?" Jeff's father asked as he smiled over at Trish. It was a grandfatherly smile, one entirely too old for the man who possessed it. He was no older than her parents, but decades of work in the North Carolina sun had worn on him, and he his leathery skin felt calloused and hard against her bare shoulders.

Jeff stood back and watched as his father examined Trish, more proud than he had ever been of anything. Sure, the tag titles were cool. Even winning an Intercontinental Championship was cool. But she was the first girl he'd brought over since high school – the first woman he had ever introduced to the man he both respected, and slightly feared – and the look of approval on his father's face meant the world to him.

"Dad, this is Trish Stratus," Jeff answered with a boastful grin.

Shaking his head again, Mr. Hardy pulled Trish into a tight hug. "You know my son is crazy, right?" Trish giggled and returned the embrace. "But he's a right fine young man." As he released her shoulders and stepped back to look over the happy couple, the older man shook his head again. "Of course, not nearly fine enough for the likes of you, Trish."

"Trish!"

She was shaken from the first vibrant Jeff memory in months by the sounds of Adam calling her name at the door. "Sorry," she mumbled, taking his hand again. "What was the question?"

Adam's skeptical look returned as he held the back door open for her. "There wasn't one," he said.

With a slight blush and a nervous giggle, Trish shrugged. "Oh. Um, sorry," she sighed and brushed past him as she led him into the backstage area of the smaller promotion. If she could open her eyes wide enough, pretend she was happy enough to be there, maybe he wouldn't ask many more questions. Maybe she could stop herself from the onslaught of Jeff thoughts that had seemingly taken her over.

They had only been there for five minutes when Matt started seeing people he recognized. When Jay popped up a few minutes earlier, Trish knew that no one would notice her escape. Tugging on Adam's hand, she mumbled something about finding a bathroom and set off in search of a place to collect her thoughts.

It didn't matter that she hadn't seen him yet. His essence was here. His aura was around, and she could feel it. Great, she thought as she rounded the corner in the direction of the restrooms, I'm even starting to think like him again.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of searching, she located the bathroom. But a deep, Southern drawl interrupted her determined stride toward the door. "Hey, do I know you?"

Turning on her heel, she smiled at the dark-haired man standing about fifteen feet away. "Um, I don't know," she gave her standard answer. It was presumptuous to believe that people knew her because of her job. But it was also rude to insist that they didn't know her and run away.

"You're Trish Stratus, right?" the young man asked, snapping his fingers. She nodded hesitantly. They weren't backstage at the WWE anymore. And she still wasn't one hundred percent convinced that her little group of "outsiders" would be welcome here. "Oh man," he laughed.

Finally, Trish found her voice, and turned her body the rest of the way toward him. Taking a slight step forward, she plastered her "Stratusfaction" smile on and determined to give him an autograph and then get back to her moping. "Are you a fan?" she asked.

He shook his head and wiped his hand on his black warm up pants. "I'm AJ Styles," he introduced, offering the hand for her to shake.

The light of realization seemed to flicker on in Trish's head. "Oh," she sighed. "I love watching you in the ring, man."

He seemed to sense her posture change as he allowed his own shoulders to relax. Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned back slightly on his heels and smiled. "I also happen to appreciate your talent in the ring as well, Trish."

She smirked – it wasn't intentional. But a line like that was always followed by some sort of "but." With a shrug, she mimicked his stance. "You appreciate my other assets more, though, right?" She gave him a look that dared him to deny it.

But the Georgia native only seemed to grow more flustered. "No, no, no, no, no," he insisted, shaking his head vehemently. "I mean, I enjoy your other," he stopped and took a deep breath. "Damn."

Taking another step forward, Trish felt a slight sense of pity for the man. "It's fine," she assured him, placing a soft hand on his arm. He really was kind of cute when he blushed and smiled like that. She found it somewhat hard to believe that this guy was the same guy who oozed sexuality and arrogant confidence on her television weekly.

As he recovered from the humiliation, he swept his eyes over her flawless face. "You really do have the eyes," he stated, almost to himself.

He might have made more sense to her if he was speaking Japanese. As it was, Trish gave him a confused look and raised her eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

Shaking his head again, AJ took a drink from the water bottle in his hand. "Jeff always says you have eyes a man could lose his soul in," he stated simply, as if she should have known that's what Jeff always said.

But she didn't know. She had no idea. For a few unguarded moments, Jeff's very name had eluded her. She could honestly say that she hadn't thought about him for the duration of her uncomfortable encounter with this adorably shy guy they called the Phenomenal One.

"Hey, Styles," a voice sounded, and not for the first time in her life, Trish wondered if thinking his name summoned him into existence. "They wanna see you," Jeff stopped cold as his eyes rested on her almost immediately upon turning the corner. "Up front," he trailed the ending of his message, as though all of his breath had escaped.

AJ just nodded, glad to not be the stammering idiot for a change. Extending a firm handshake to Trish, he nodded and smiled comfortably. "It was nice to meet you Trish," he winked.

When they were alone, Trish drank in all that was Jeff Hardy. His hair was blue tonight – his shirt and pants both black. His eyes still twinkled like a kid on Christmas morning. And his gaze still bore into her with a painful intensity that made her want to look away, but demanded that she didn't.

Finally, he cleared his throat and seemed to remember that he should probably say something. "Hey Trish."

In one moment, with one stare, and the sound of her name rolling off his lips one more time, she found that every defense she had built against him for almost two years came crashing at her feet, leaving her to stand in a pile agonizing vulnerability.

"Hey Jeff."