A/N: Thank you all for your continued support of this story. I know I don't update half as much as I should, but I'm trying. Hopefully you enjoy the chapter... now's the time where you should start telling me who you'd rather see Stacy end up with, because as of right now, I have no solid plans for the end of this story.

Chapter 7
Stress was tearing him apart. Shane squinted at himself as he stood before the bathroom mirror of his hotel room, his nose wrinkling in disgust at his appearance. Dark circles formed around his weary eyes. His entire body ached. And as he stared harder, shock swept through him... gray hair. He'd noticed them before, but only sparingly. They became more evenly dispersed through his thick, dark hair, and he frowned deeply. He was too young for this. Too young for gray hair.

Then again, maybe he wasn't. Maybe it wasn't age that made him young, but Stacy. Maybe it was being with her that made him feel so young, so complete. Without her, he was just a man, mindlessly trudging through a career and a marriage that seemed to go in endless circles. Just an old man.

He'd aged dramatically since she left. He aged dramatically because she left. Without her, who was there to impress? He saw no reason to take care of his appearance, to get out of bed and comb his hair in the morning. No reason to get out of bed at all.

The worst part of it all was that everyone noticed. Everyone saw the paleness of his complexion, the way his body sagged with exhaustion. He played it off as an illness, telling everyone from his sister to the ring crew that he'd come down with something serious. Maybe something incurable. And everyone believed him. People offered to take him to a hospital, to make him soup... they bought him get-well-soon cards. And it was all for a fucking lie. A rumor he started to keep people off his back. Guilt coursed through him whenever someone sent a concerned look his way. He started to understand Stacy's angst.

He couldn't keep this up much longer. He needed her back. Life without her was completely miserable, and he was just not ready to let her go. His heart ached to talk to her, for just five minutes to explain how much she meant to him. Five minutes to beg her to take him back. So many times over the past week, he came within seconds of jumping out of bed and running to her room. But something always held him back. Maybe it was his brain.

In his mind he knew he could never have her back. The unraveling of their relationship was his own doing, and he knew it. After all the shit he drug her through, he couldn't show up at her door and beg for mercy. Not because he couldn't handle the rejection, or because he couldn't stand to see a door slammed in his face. He took advantage of her for four years. No woman deserved that. Especially not a woman who willingly put up with it.

As he twisted the faucet to the left, Shane sighed heavily. He barely felt the icy water running through his fingers. He splashed the water on to his face, never feeling the chill. He left the bathroom without drying his face, collapsing face down onto the bed. The air deflated from his chest as he realized it was time to let go. Stacy was gone. For good.

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He wondered if she was unaware that he could see everything she was doing. As Chris stood in the mirror buttoning his shirt, he carefully monitored Stacy. She tore his hotel room apart looking for a magazine to read, and the thing was sitting closed on her lap. Her legs were tucked under her as she stared down at the cover. A faraway look was in her eyes. Again.

With a sigh, he finished off the top button and strolled over to her, taking a seat beside him. She didn't budge. He inhaled sharply.

"X-ray vision, right?" he inquired, his eyebrows raising slightly.

Stacy cocked her head to the side, squinting at him curiously.

"What?"

"You're reading that magazine without even opening it. X-ray vision, that's how you do it. I used to have X-ray vision when I was a kid…" he trailed off, a fond twinkle in his eye.

"Chris, you're making no sense," Stacy said, incredibly confused.

His eyes grew serious. "Neither are you," he said pointedly. Again her head tilted to the side. "You burst in here all energetic and desperate for some celeb gossip and now all of a sudden you're sitting here like a damn lump."

Stacy was quick to respond, "I was just thinking about something."

"Really…" he began skeptically. "All you've been doing lately is thinking about 'something,' Stace. So either tell me what the something is or shut the hell up, cause frankly all this bipolar shit just isn't workin' for me."

Stacy almost laughed. Partly because of how un-serious his tone got as the statement progressed, and partly because he expected her to tell him what was wrong. Tell him? She could never tell him. Or anyone, for that matter.

"Don't you worry about me," she told him with a smile. "I can handle myself."

Her smile faded when she saw him frown. His eyes lowered to the floor, and she could see an uneasiness building in him.

Chris felt his heart fall slightly. As time passed, she seemed to become more upset. And what was worse, she seemed to trust him less and less. She wasn't talking to him anymore. She used to tell him everything. He knew something was seriously wrong. Why wouldn't she just tell him?

"Stacy, why don't you talk to me anymore?" he asked her, the softness in his voice surprising her. "I used to have to beg you to shut up, and lately I can barely drag one word answers out of you. I know something's wrong, just talk to me."

She bit her lip, folding her hands together. She wanted to tell him. Every single time she saw him she wanted to throw herself at him and tell him everything. Chris was her best friend, after all. He'd understand.

"It... it's not that easy to talk about," she began, her voice trembling noticeably. As she took a deep breath, Chris placed his hand on her knee.

"I'd rather you choke through an explanation then have you keep lying to me about it," he told her. "I don't like being lied to."

Her stomach dropped through her knees. She'd been lying to him for four years. How could she tell him that? Suddenly she felt very uneasy, and she brushed his hand away. She couldn't tell him. Now wasn't the time.

"It's hard to put it into words without getting a massive headache, Chris," she said truthfully, placing a tired hand over her forehead. "But trust me... when I decide I want to talk about it, you'll be the first person I come to. Like always."

It was hard for him to argue with her. Especially when she flashed him a genuine grin. He sighed, reclining back in retreat. She'd talk when she was ready. Now just wasn't the time.

"Fine," he caved. "But I will not let you mope around on my couch, either." He rose from the couch, extending his hand to her. "Come on, Keibs, we're goin' out."

She didn't want to go. She wanted to lay on the couch and stare at the wall. A part of her missed Shane, and another part of her wanted revenge. Her vengeful side wanted to get out and have a great time because she knew he wouldn't be. Her vengeful side wanted to party.

She smiled again and reached for his hand, "Ya know what, I'd love to."