Woah! It's been a minute since my last update. Sorry my loves! I have been enjoying my summer and all things post-pandemic. I hope you guys are doing the same. Thank you so much for your awesome responses to Accession. That one had been hanging out on my laptop for awhile. I wasn't sure if I'd ever upload it, but I am now quite happy that I did. PlayTheGame, you definitely deserve credit for encouraging me to share it with the world.
TripSteph03, cheryl24, HHHungry, PlayTheGame, Pandryn, Spmess, NurseB2012, and scoffie05 TYSM for all your continued reviews! I straight up love you all. stangirl, you're awesome! I'm grateful that you discovered Lovely and then gave me a play-by-play of your experience via reviews.
Enjoy!
June 2004
"A Long Way"
Almost two years had elapsed since their divorce when Bad Blood rolled around. Hunter found himself, once again, preparing to battle his former best friend. This time, the platform would be Hell in a Cell. Stephanie was continuing her quiet life as an executive for WWE Headquarters.
Their paths were drastically different. But both of them had moved forward from their mourning of the marriage. One could not describe it as having 'moved on.' They were simply better. Not good and certainly not great.
Better.
Her, especially. Him, only just so. Time was starting to take effect. The ache of longing was dulling. It was no longer just beneath the surface. The marriage and feelings, the love and hate, were buried.
It was only occasionally when Stephanie would stop working on her laptop while watching Raw. He would compete and she would stare transfixed at the screen. She would wince when he was hit, and smirk when he did something she predicted. If he won, her eyes lasered in on his face, hoping to see him smile. He didn't often, but once, his face lit up as the referee raised his hand, and Stephanie felt herself smile back at the television. She felt foolish afterwards.
He hardly ever came up when speaking with Wendy. Always when she attended an unofficial session.
"What do you miss most about him?"
"Everything," she shrugged.
"Be more specific."
Stephanie glanced out the window at her favorite tree, trying to find the right words to describe all the ways she missed her marriage.
"We talked all the time. About everything. We would have conversations that lasted hours. He knew everything about me. He's the only person I never held back from. He never judged, just listened. And he told me things too. I don't think I've ever met someone so interesting. He was just -"
Wendy waited for her friend to find the right words.
"I know it looked bad. And what people saw was bad. But at home, things were different. Before his quad, we were perfect. I've never felt so…" She struggled again to find the word.
"Understood?"
Stephanie looked up with a bit of a grimace.
"Loved."
Wendy shifted in her seat, allowing the heavy atmosphere to settle.
"We often look back and remember things better than they actually were."
Stephanie nodded and quietly said, "I know."
"What did-"
"I remember everything. I've always been like that. It's useful, but it feels like a curse now. I can tell you what he was wearing the night we got married, the day of our first Valentine's Day, or any other significant event. Right now," she lifted her hand and flexed it. "I can feel his hand in mine. Exactly how it used to be. There's two birthmarks, tiny, like freckles, on the top of his left hand. He doesn't have a mark on him, anywhere else. He never leaves a scrap of food on his plate, no matter how recently he just ate. He refuses to believe a tomato is a fruit, despite all scientific evidence. It's absurd. He -"
Stephanie looked up to see a sad, pitying grin on her therapist's face. She turned pink and folded her hands in her lap.
"You loved him."
The brunette looked again to the window.
"Then why did I treat him so badly?"
It was a loud question. Wendy made sure to answer carefully.
"From what I've heard of your bad times together, it sounds like he treated you badly too."
Stephanie shrugged, "I know."
"I know it's a cliche, but hurt people hurt people, Steph. You come from a rather toxic family. Your upbringing was based on survival, not love, the closer you approached adulthood. It's normal, and expected, that your first relationship outside of your family would be a troubled one. You didn't know who you were yet. You didn't know what you wanted or what you needed. All you knew was that this man loved you. And that was enough."
She paused, assessing how her patient was taking this. Stephanie could be difficult to read.
"I know it's not what you want to hear. But I promise you, Stephanie, not every relationship will feel this way. You know yourself now. You've grown. You're here for fuck's sake. You will know how to successfully navigate a relationship with the next man you fall in love with."
The therapist eyed her patient carefully. She knew Stephanie had been seeing someone. They discussed him over lunch from time to time. Never here, in her office.
A moment later, Wendy, for the first time, then saw what separated the McMahons from the rest of humans. Stephanie did not move anything but her eyes. They rose to meet Wendy's and the woman was taken back by the furiousness within them.
It was clear that the heiress had no plans to fall in love ever again.
Shortly after WrestleMania XX, Hunter had made some calls and gotten an updated list of all the McMahons' cell phone numbers. He'd felt embarrassed asking for just hers. At first, the handwritten list lived in his wallet. There was something comforting in seeing her name written out in his own penmanship. Then, one night the urge got to be too strong, and he added her new number into his phone. Unknowingly, he then partook in an activity that his ex-wife had done in the early days of their divorce; drinking and texting, but never hitting send.
Steph.
Almost everyone else was saved in the phone as their complete title. Ric Flair. Eric Bischoff. Vince McMahon. Shawn Michaels. Even his whores had last names – designated by their city of origin. Samantha Boston. Christine Atlanta. Janelle Miami.
Not her. She was just Steph. Like Mom, Dad, and Lynn, she was Steph.
His slightly blurred vision had focused on the short name.
Steph.
His Steph. His love, his wife, his world.
He shook his head and gulped down some more alcohol, hoping he'd pass out. Almost praying he would. But he didn't. He couldn't. He had built up quite a tolerance over the past few years.
He tossed the phone beside him, but kept it open to her name. it wouldn't hurt to look at it, to know she was out there and real.
His mind spun. He drank some more. He stared at the ceiling.
Then, he typed slowly, careful not to hit send. But always eyeing the four letter word before deleting his text. Maybe he should? Maybe he should just be open and tell her everything.
Come over. Please.
This is stupid.
I'm sorry.
Come back.
I shouldn't be texting you.
I'm sorry.
I just can't stop.
Please, baby.
Do you still love me?
I don't care about anything anymore. Just come home.
Please, Steph.
This is all my fault.
I love you.
He deleted every single one. With the phone on his chest, he wondered if he would ever send them. But the following morning, he knew that he couldn't allow himself to do that.
On the night before Bad Blood, it had been months since they'd last seen each other. A year since they'd had a conversation. Stephanie was looking forward to the event. It would be the first pay-per-view she attended as a fan since her childhood.
She was bringing a date. Gregory Bouchard could not exactly be defined as her boyfriend or partner. She was a bit dodgy in making any commitments to him. But they enjoyed each other's company, and Stephanie was doing her absolute best to steady her romantic interests in the same fashion as she'd done with her life.
It had been him this time who invited her to the event. He was visiting Edmonton that weekend due to a family affair and knew she'd need little convincing to attend the pay-per-view. The family gathering on the other hand, had been quickly evaded. Stephanie explained her elaborate schedule for Saturday morning, but agreed to meet him in the evening.
All in all, it was wonderful. Greg picked her up from the airport and they enjoyed a fantastic dinner at one of the city's top restaurants. For the first time, he asked about her family and the business. He had heard the horror stories. She complimented his intestinal fortitude and gave him a quick, heavily edited version of her family history. He laughed when appropriate and didn't make any overly private inquiries. She found herself blushing more than once.
Afterwards, they walked to her hotel and had drinks. They flirted more heavily, but he didn't push. He let her set the tone. A perfect gentleman. She felt herself initiating their affections for once, sitting closer and batting her eyelashes.
But then Triple H walked in and her heart dropped to her stomach.
How was this even possible? She'd purposely chosen a different hotel than the usual one the WWE personnel booked.
To make matters worse, the bar was small and only half full. It took hardly a minute for him to see her. She watched his surprised expression turn to one of annoyance, and she lowered her eyes in embarrassment. Self-consciousness wracked her body. She didn't understand why. Stephanie didn't see Hunter's reaction to noticing the other person at her high-top table. She didn't see his look of confusion and shock turn to hurt. They all flashed across his face.
Her date barely registered her change in demeanor. She was discrete in casting glances towards her ex-husband. Ric Flair joined him a few minutes later. And then another few minutes saw what appeared to be two twenty-year-olds approach them. His hands danced against their thighs, he palmed the brunette's ass openly. She felt sick.
She saw him whisper something to Ric before burying his face in the red head's neck. The older man looked across the bar, to her and offered a small, sad smile. She remembered his demeanor the night of Armageddon two years prior, when Hunter had sent for her and then flipped out on her. Turning to her date, she tried to ignore the spectacle her ex-husband was making; most likely because of her. He enjoyed hurting her, she knew that. He could smell weakness almost as good as her father.
Hunter, on the other hand, was in an all out panic. He'd wanted some female company for the evening. Ric was always exceptionally useful in procuring willing young ladies on short notice so Hunter had called upon his mentor to organize a little rendezvous. The following night, he knew, he'd be in no position to unwind. Inside a caged hell with his former best friend was definitely going to leave him bruised and battered.
And then he'd seen her. And it was clear that he was already bruised and battered. He ignored this, of course, and did his best to ignore her, and him. He carried on with his night and told himself that he'd use the momentary hiccup to further heighten the fun of the night's planned activities. He was single and free and on top of the world.
And he couldn't let her see. See the absolute anguish he was in.
So he'd brought them both upstairs, the easy women that had met him at the hotel bar. But it did not go as planned.
The redhead had leaned back against the bed's headboard. Her legs were wide open, presenting a show for him. She was rubbing herself slowly, her eyes locked on him. Hunter looked down.
Brown curls spilled from his closed fist. His grip tight against the chestnut strands as the woman on the ground before him pulled more and more of his dick into her mouth. A memory flashed across his mind. The night of WrestleMania 2000, his wife on her knees, pleasuring him. His hands in her hair, encouraging her.
He shook his head. No. He refused to think of that. Not now. Not during this. Not during anything. He didn't think of her anymore. He hated her. She betrayed him. The woman blowing him was starting to deep throat him. She looked to him for praise. Her eyes were brown. Another flash. Blue eyes looking up at him. A sexy smirk on her face. She knew how much he liked to see her eyes.
He shook his head again and barked, "Keep going."
Looking to the redhead again, he watched as she inserted two fingers into herself. She moaned loudly, overselling it. He concentrated on his nether regions. It felt good. It should have felt amazing. But he was distracted. Hunter tipped his head back to face the ceiling and closed his eyes.
A vision then. Not a memory but an illusion. A nightmare; of his ex-wife downstairs, in the lobby, with the suited man. Of them leaving the bar and heading upstairs to a room just like this. He screwed his eyes more tightly shut, shaking his head for a third time. But the image wouldn't leave. Stephanie in that blue dress, on her knees with the unknown man's cock down her throat.
The thought repulsed him.
Yanking the woman's head back by her hair, his dick sprung from her mouth. A string of saliva kept them connected. The redhead stopped her movements. Hunter rubbed his hands over his face in frustration. The vision kept replaying in his head. His stomach turned.
"You guys gotta leave."
"What?!" They exclaimed together.
"Sorry, not tonight."
From the floor, "are you serious?"
And, "we haven't even started yet," from the bed.
"I need you both to get out. Go on, scram," he said it gently.
He was trying to not be too intimidating but was loosing his patience. He'd pulled his briefs and pants back up his legs, tucking his hard-on into the waistband.
The women exchanged incredulous words, but they offered no formal protests to him. Which was preferred. They quickly put on their clothes and he turned away from them to button up his shirt. He didn't watch them leave but listened to the door slam shut behind them. He looked around the room frantically for the room key as he tucked in his shirt.
Hunter was going downstairs. He had to see if they were still there. Had to see if she'd taken that man up to her room. He didn't know what he would do if they were there. He didn't know what he would do if they weren't. He had no plan. Grabbing the room key card from the dresser, his strides were quick and forceful as he left the room and made his way down the hall to the elevators.
Slamming the lobby button with his thumb repeatedly, he tried to calm his breathing. And think, for Christ's sake. What was he doing? But the image in his mind had turned to motion. The man was gripping her hair, her eyes were fluttering open. No! Stop it. She's not yours anymore.
But the elevator doors opened and he stalked towards the bar anyway. His jaw clenched tight against his thoughts. Stephanie McMahon no longer belonged to him. She hadn't in almost two years. It shouldn't bother him. Their marriage was over. She ruined it. She was selfish and spoiled and not worthy. But his eyes scanned the nearly empty bar, desperate to see her. She was gone.
His primary emotion, for the majority of his life, was anger. This was certainly true lately. He should have felt that fury now. He relied on that deep anger to get him through everything. But Hunter didn't feel mad. He felt anxious. He looked throughout the room wildly, knowing she wasn't there but double and triple checking anyways. Panic shot through him. For no reason. He had no reason to look for her.
And either way, it was pointless. She was gone.
The panic evaporated. He shook his head. He felt like a fool. A dull ache settled in his stomach. He approached the bar and dropped heavily into one it's stools. The bartender raised his eyebrows. The look on the wrestler's face must have kept him from asking. Hunter pointed to a bottle of Jack Daniels.
"On the rocks."
Without a word, the drink was poured for him and left by his arm that rested on the bar. Three older women sat a few stools down and cackled manically. The bartender served them drinks, a few jokes, and some tip worthy smiles. Only periodically did he look towards Hunter and refill his glass.
Hunter stared into his drink and watched the horror film in his mind. Stephanie kissing the stranger. And moaning for him. Stephanie wrapped around him, whispering in his ear. The man peeling off the blue dress. The blue dress on the floor, beside her when she kneeled. Stephanie on her back, naked, pristine white hotel sheets beneath her.
The whiskey burned his esophagus but did nothing to quell the knot in his stomach. For an hour he brooded; disappointed in himself. He hadn't thought of her in awhile. Not like this. It had been easier since she left SmackDown. He considered seeing her in the hospital, the night her father beat her, to have been a bad dream. The championship, ring rats, Ric, and Evolution kept him distracted. But the memory of her was less beautiful than the real thing. It had struck him dumb seeing her across the bar just a few hours ago.
He needed to move on. They would never reconcile. He wouldn't allow himself to ever take her back. He couldn't trust her again. Hunter mentally repeated the mantra. He needed to try to move on. For once, he was honest with himself in recognizing that years of distractions didn't constitute moving on or healing. He should date. Ring rats were empty holes and he felt no satisfaction once the carnal pleasure was over. And he wasn't getting any younger. He still wanted children.
His eyes stung. He squeezed them shut against a new image. Blue eyed babies with chocolate curls. So pure and innocent. The exact opposite of what he'd pictured, remembered earlier. Her eyes looking up at him, her hair in his hands. The woman he wanted to bare his children.
The woman he had wanted to bare his children. Hunter didn't want that anymore. He didn't want her. His actions that night were a relapse of judgment. A slip into his old ways. Nothing more. Stephanie could be conceiving a little brat right now for all he cared.
His eyes shot open. He stared straight ahead at nothing. He hadn't thought of that before. He had tried to picture his new future family since their divorce, but never hers. He hadn't thought of her pregnant since he thought she actually was. He hadn't pictured her big-bellied or cradling an infant. He did now and a lump in his throat strangled him. He took a sharp breath. It wouldn't be his. Her baby, the one that didn't exist anywhere but in his mind, wouldn't be his.
He swallowed the knot in his throat, gulping audibly. He had to move on.
Releasing the glass in his hand before he shattered it, Hunter instructed the bartender to bill his drinks to Room 624. Hands in his pockets and jaw clenched, he returned to the elevator and allowed his emotional duress to make an alchemical change. He converted his pain to anger and steered it towards his match the following night. He would be battling his former best friend. Another loved one, gone from his life but not the world.
The elevator dinged when it reached its destination. There was a decorative mirror in the hallway of the sixth floor. He avoided his reflection as he walked back to his room. He had to move on. From Stephanie, from Shawn, from the person he'd become. Maybe Monday he could start. Tomorrow he needed to be the better fighter
. And she might be at the arena. Even he wasn't delusional enough to think he could start the healing process during all of that.
Unknowingly, Hunter walked by his ex-wife's hotel room. They were on the same floor.
He made it to his room, stripped to his boxer-briefs, and flopped onto the bed. He tossed and turned. He stood up and paced. He looked out the window at the Canadian skyline. He pulled his hair up into a bun. He brushed his teeth. He paced some more.
He sat on the bed and stared at his cell phone.
You're not seriously considering this, are you? After all that shit downstairs?
His mind refused to be silent. His thoughts bounced from deprecating to encouraging by the millisecond. Months of drunken texts, deleted, and now he was actually considering the unthinkable.
He reached for the phone, scrolled to her nickname, and pushed the call button in one breath.
And then his heart began to pound like it was fighting to burst from his chest.
It rang and rang.
Hang up! Hang up! She doesn't have your number. She'll never know.
But he couldn't. He was frozen, the phone pressed to his ear as he sat on the bed, hunched and suddenly sweating.
Down the hall, Stephanie stirred in her sleep.
"Hello," she answered groggily, blinking rapidly to try and shake herself awake. The other line was silent. "Hello," she repeated.
"Hey."
The deep voice was low. She was too sleepy to recognize it.
"Who's this?"
A heartbeat of pain.
"It's Hunter," he grumbled.
Her eyes opened fully and she quickly shifted into a sitting position, eyeing the sleeping man beside her. Greg was in a deep slumber. He hadn't even twitched.
"Hunter," she breathed.
Hunter's pounding heart stopped. He sighed in relief.
"Are you okay," she asked.
"Yes."
"Oh. Um," she stammered, confused.
"Where are you," he asked.
"I'm in bed."
"Alone," he cringed just asking.
Her pause spoke volumes before she did. He shook his head, trying to get ahold of himself.
"No, Hunter," she whispered after a moment. "Are you?"
"Yes."
"Oh," another pause. "Why?"
He gulped and shook his head again. His eyes were still closed.
"I couldn't tonight. Seeing you…" He looked up and out the window, completely floored by his tongue's sudden inability to lie.
Stephanie's mouth parted in shock. Her insides turned and twisted.
"Who is he?"
She looked again at Greg's sleeping form.
"Hunter -"
"Just tell me, Steph."
"He's -" She caught herself, and sighed. She was under no obligation to answer. "Why, Hunter? Why do you care?"
"I -"
"You hate me."
"No, Steph. I -"
"Yes -" She stopped herself from getting too loud. Her voice rose above a whisper. "Yes, you do. And I don't owe you any explanation as to who he is to me."
"So it's a relationship."
"It doesn't matter."
Her tone was clear and annoyed. He rose from the bed and walked to the window. Seconds ticked by. She said nothing. He fought the urge to ask again who the man was. He wanted to demand it. But he had no right and that's what was killing him.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
More seconds passed. He cleared his throat, nervous that she'd fallen asleep or simply hung up. He checked the small screen, the call was still live.
"Steph?"
"I'm here."
"Jesus," he said, shaking his head. "I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. I -"
"Why are you sorry?"
"I'm sorry for asking," he clarified. "I just wanted to know."
"Why?"
"I don't fucking know, Steph," he said, rubbing his face and moving back to the bed.
"Who were the girls?"
"What is this? Twenty questions?"
"You're the one who started it."
Her instant retort made him grin.
"Sorry," he repeated.
"Why did you call me, Hunter?"
It hurt him to hear the slight annoyance in her quiet voice.
"I don't know."
"Okay, well -"
"Are you backstage tomorrow?"
She was getting whiplash. But he just wanted her to stay on the line.
"No. I'll be in the crowd."
"With him?"
Her eye roll was obvious.
"Yes, Hunter, with him. My boyfriend."
The word was odd, and she hated the way she said it. Hated the word in general really. Her thoughts were too loud to hear his heart break on the other line.
"Does he make you happy?"
Stephanie grimaced.
"Stop it," she whispered. "I can't talk about this with you. You know that."
"I don't," he said, letting the sadness he felt be heard.
Stephanie sighed, equally exhausted and exasperated. She looked at Greg again and simultaneously wished he both wake-up or disappear.
"Where are you," she asked.
"In my room." he answered, confused.
"Okay, good. If you're safe, then I think I should go."
Hunter looked around his hotel room, trying to find something to say. She was right, of course, but he wanted to hear her voice a little longer.
Beg her, you fucking idiot.
"Steph, I -"
Come here.
"I -"
He wanted to. God, he wanted to. But then -
"Stephanie?"
Her body jerked in horror. Greg had woken up and was rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
She looked at him guiltily.
"Everything alright, babe?"
"Yes. It's just work."
"At this hour?"
Hearing the conversation made bile rise in Hunter's stomach. He'd nearly fainted when the deep voice had interrupted his failed attempt to speak honestly with his ex-wife. She was in bed. She had to be. The man's voice was so close. Babe. The good-looking man in a suit that he'd seen downstairs was sleeping besides Stephanie and calling her babe. She was probably nude. They were talking, but he didn't hear a thing. He was pondering whether the man had reached out a hand to touch her. How couldn't he? Her skin was so soft.
"It's late," Stephanie said into the phone. "I should go."
"Yeah," he said quietly.
"Good luck tomorrow."
"Thank you."
She hung up after a silent moment.
Hunter hung his head. Her voice had been a lifeline. Now, he was again empty. Everything was different. Everything had changed. She was lying in bed with another man. They were divorced. He was battling Shawn tomorrow.
Would he ever get better? Would the pain ever stop?
He sent her a text before resigning himself for a sleepless night.
If you ever need me, this is my new number. Text whenever. Or call. I'm here.