A/N: Sorry for the delay in updates, as always. I'm trying my hardest to get stuff out regularly. But thank you for your support of this story, I really appreciate it! Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Chapter 9
"We've been doing this way too long," Stacy commented as she and Chris were seated at a booth lodged in the corner of a small diner. "We're just way too fuckin' predictable," she added in response to Chris's blank stare.

Chris scoffed at her remark. "Predictable?" he repeated as though she spoke in a foreign language. "I fly by the seat of my pants. I'm the king of spontaneity, baby."

Brown eyes narrowed at him as Stacy shook her head. Chris was about as spontaneous as their planned monthly breakfast.

"Let me guess, Mr. Unpredictable will be ordering scrambled eggs and wheat toast, like always," she said, eyeing him pointedly.

Chris reclined in his seat, arms crossing in front of him. "Just for that, I'm ordering an omelette," he said proudly. Stacy's I-don't-believe-you gaze held strong. Soon after, he muttered, "...Or maybe white toast."

They fell into conversation and soon found stacked plates in front of him - Chris's containing eggs and wheat toast, of course. In the midst of their discussion on who would win a fight between Vince McMahon and Eric Bischoff, the empty side of Stacy's seat was suddenly hit with a thud. Dave collapsed in the booth beside her, a pout on his face.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Chris asked.

"I knew you guys were doin' the breakfast club shit so I figured you'd be here," Dave replied nonchalantly, nodding hello to Stacy, whose eyes lit up at his statement.

"See? You are so damn predictable!" she cried, grinning widely. "Anyway, Dave," she continued, facing him. "Now that you're here, settle a debate for us. Who'd win in a fight: Vince, or Bischoff?"

Dave seriously considered the question, half-consciously wondering if these were really topics of discussion for the pair.

"Vince, hands down," he concluded with a nod. "He's got those jacked arms."

Chris ignored Stacy's satisfied smile, scowling at Dave. "What the fuck are you here for anyway?"

"Steph's mad at me because I forgot to remind her to book her flight to Milwaukee," he explained. "She wouldn't eat with me. And I'm hungry."

Dave eyed both plates, reaching immediately for Chris's toast. His hand was swiftly slapped away. He laughed it off and turned to Stacy, who offered him the rest of her bacon. He gratefully accepted.

"You're good to have around, Keibs. You gotta start spendin' more time with us," he told her with a smile.

Stacy returned his grin. For the first time in four years, she didn't have to lie. There was no need to make excuses for not hanging out with her friends so that she could spend time with a secret boyfriend. No more sneaking around in fear of being caught.

"Yeah," she said happily. "Hopefully we can hang out a lot more often now. Ya know, now that I'm feeling better." Okay, one more lie. It couldn't hurt.

"You'll save me a lot of nights on the couch." Dave's comment was accompanied by a laugh, but Stacy got the feeling he wasn't kidding. "Steph gets sick of dealing with me and Chris at once. Havin' you with us might lower her stress levels or something."

"She's been extra McMahon-ish the past few days," Chris re-entered the conversation, shoveling in a bite of food. "WHat's her deal?"

Dave shrugged, "The usual work problems, I guess." He paused, but then something else came to his mind. "Oh, and somethin' with Shane. She's upset 'cause he took an emergency vacation and wouldn't tell her what it was all about."

Stacy's stomach dropped - and so did her fork, landing with a loud clink on the table. Two pairs of eyes shifted towards her, and her jaw hung open. Her gaze dropped to her plate, but she still felt them staring holes into her. The guilt that she had been temporarily relieved of came rushing back, churning in her stomach.

"You okay?" Chris asked, concern flooding his eyes.

Taking a slow, deep breath, Stacy nodded. "Yeah, I just... I think I had a bad piece of bacon or something..." she said, watching as Dave made a face and pushed the plate away.

Okay, two lies. Two lies in one morning.

Her heart sank as she began to realize that things hadn't really changed at all...

After spending a few days at his Manhattan home, the uneasiness in Shane's stomach was finally beginning to settle. He was not in the least bit over Stacy, nor did he feel good about the demise of their relationship. But he was getting to a point where he could look at his wife without an overbearing sense of guilt.

He relaxed into the recliner in his living room, tilting his head towards the television. This was exactly what he needed to give his mind a rest. A few weeks of relaxation and some serious ESPN time.

"Shane?" he could hear Marissa calling him from the next room. His head turned and he saw her approaching, an open beer in her hand. She approached him slowly, offering the drink over to him. He accepted it with a smile, taking a long, slow sip. He watched as she took a seat on the couch beside him and then turned his attention back to the TV. After only a few seconds, it became clear that her attention was not focused on the Yankees game.

Shifting in his seat, he turned to face her. "What's up?" he asked, eyeing her carefully.

Marissa wrinkled her forehead, struggling to find the right words to kick-start the conversation. After debating, she finally settled on a simple, "Is everything okay?"

Shane frowned. He expected the question from her. It was highly rare of him to take a planned vacation, let alone a spur of the moment one. He knew she'd have concerns. But after a few days passed with the topic untouched, he thought he was in the clear.

"Everything's fine," he replied casually, though doing so ripped his insides apart. She didn't look convinced. He sighed, continuing further, "Look, I know it's not like me to just not go to work for two weeks, but I needed a break. It's getting too hectic there, and I just wanted to step aside for a little. It's nothin' major."

Marissa shook her head. She knew he was lying. "Shane, I talked to Stephanie," she told him. His eyes widened slightly, and it didn't go unnoticed. "If you were just burnt out from work, she wouldn't call and tell me how worried she was about you." His gaze dropped as he found himself at a loss for words. "If something's going on, I want you to tell me. That's what I'm here for."

As he looked as his beautiful, naive wife, his heart fell. It was so much easier to live with himself when he only saw her every other weekend. Looking her in the eye and lying to her was unbearable.

"Marissa, I..." he began, unsure of where his statement was headed. His heart screamed at him to tell her about Stacy. Just because the affair is over doesn't take away from the fact that she has a right to know. "It's just that I..." If you tell her now, you'll break her heart and lose everything you own, he scolded himself. It's over. Leave it in the past. "I'm just tired and worn out and sick of working with my dad. I need to get away from him for a little, that's all."

Marissa stared at him skeptically. She knew he was lying, but for the moment, she accepted his answer. Rising from her seat, she headed towards the kitchen, a terribly uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.