Chapter 8:

Face From The Past

Isabella opened the glass door and walked into the dimly lit police station. It was a cold, sterile environment that chilled her to the bone, colder than the air outside. It was the last place she thought she would ever be on a Christmas Eve. Trying to rub the coldness out of her arms, she approached the desk that was separated by bullet proof glass. A stout, older woman sat behind the desk. The woman's name plate read Rose McGovern. There was a tense aura that radiated from her. Isabella thought she belonged on an episode of Mad Men, from the way her grayish blue hair was piled high on her head to the cardigan ensemble she wore. She looked up at Isabella as she approached with gunmetal eyes that conveyed no warmth.

"Can I help you?" she rasped. Isabella nodded.

"I'm here to pick up John Cena."

Rose nodded and shifted in her chair to face the computer on her desk. Isabella heard the keys clacking, but her eyes were darting around everywhere, taking in every nook and cranny of her environment. Police stations always made her feel out of place and nervous, like she had been the one to commit a crime. She shook her head and fought the urge to sigh, lest the woman behind the desk took it as a sign of impatience. The reality was it was a crushing feeling of guilt that sat on her stomach like a lead balloon. She had begged John not to go out, to drive drunk. She had been willing to take him anywhere he wanted to go, but it was to no avail. Isabella was disappointed in herself for leaving him; she had her suspicions that he was going to do it anyway.

Isabella was startled out of her thoughts when the door to the left of Rose's area opened. A young man emerged. He was around six feet tall, with dark brown hair and eyes the color of grass. His shoulders were broad, his body lean. His jaw was well shaped with a perfect nose and full, sensual lips. Isabella took a moment to steady herself. "Hello," he greeted.

"Hi," she replied, a nervous edge making her voice squeaky.

"Are you the one here to pick up John Cena?" He asked. She nodded. "Come with me..."

Isabella approached, following him through the door that needed to be unlocked with a code. They walked down the long corridor to the back, where the holding cells were located. "I really am sorry to disturb you on Christmas Eve like this, Miss..."

"Just call me Isabella."

"Isabella. Thank you for coming down here. He refused to give us any sort of contact information. We arraigned him this morning when he sobered up and then after some arguing he finally gave us your number."

"He didn't hurt anybody, did he?"

"Nobody was hurt," he confirmed, much to her relief. "My partner and I spotted him driving erratically. We had no issues pulling him over or even arresting him, which was a surprise, considering how belligerent he was." He stopped in his tracks and exhaled. Isabella saw his name tag. It read Cartier. "This whole thing is a real shame, Ma'am. My eight year-old nephew just loves him. He's still waiting for him to come back. I just don't understand." Isabella nodded sympathetically.

"It's very sad," she agreed. They continued to walk. Isabella felt guilty for leaving John alone. They stopped in front of a door and he unlocked it. John stood. The fire and the anger that had been in his eyes the day before was gone, replaced by helplessness. Isabella was taken aback by how lost they looked, but it did nothing to dull the red-hot anger in her eyes.

"Come on," she said to him tightly. "I'll take you home." John nodded. She turned to the officer. "Thank you..."

"Just call me Grant," he said with a smile.

"Thank you, Grant. Have a merry Christmas and a happy New Year," she told him. Reaching out, Isabella grabbed John roughly by the wrist and hauled him out of the drunk tank. The fury that burned in her veins threatened to incinerate her. John followed her solemnly. He didn't dare try to speak with her until they walked out of the police station and into the frigid parking lot.

"Bella..."

"You don't get to speak right now," she told him. She let go of him and wheeled on him. Startled, John took a step back, arms raised in surrender. "Do you just not care about anybody but yourself? Or are you just an idiot? You could have killed somebody, you know that? You could have killed yourself? God...you seem like such a smart guy, but then you go and do stupid stuff like this!"

"Bella, I'm sorry."

"Just get in the car, John." She unlocked the doors. He sighed, his shoulders curving in despair. John slid into the passenger's seat. Isabella started the car and they drove away from the station in silence. John stared out the window at the white trees. Cheesy Christmas carols played softly on the radio. He shook his head.

"I need help."

The words struck them both like a thunderbolt inside the car. There was a surge of relief within Isabella to hear John finally acknowledge it. The words tasted bitter in John's mouth and sounded foreign to his ears.

"You need more help than I can possibly give you," she agreed.

"I, uh, I know I haven't said it, but I really do appreciate everything you've done for me, Bella. Even if it doesn't seem like it," he told her. He rested his head back against the passenger's seat and clapped his hands over his face. "I suppose this is what rock bottom feels like. It's not pretty." He groaned. Isabella's anger had dissipated into sympathy. Sure, he had money saved, but he had no job, nothing to do with his time. She had no idea where his family was during this whole situation and now he was facing some legal ramifications for doing something stupid. But it appeared to be a corner he needed to turn, her mind kept telling herself.

"It's what friends do. Besides, I want to see you piece yourself back together. You deserve to be happy."

"I don't know about any of that. I'm irreparable."

"I don't buy that, and I don't think anyone with a working brain does, either. You just need help."

Turning into the driveway, the two of them spotted the long black limousine sitting in his driveway. John groaned. "Shit."

"Who is it?" she asked, coming to a stop beside the vehicle.

"I don't know. Might be Vince, my old boss. Just when I thought this day couldn't get any worse..."

"Did you want me to come in with you?" she asked. He shook his head.

"Nah, it's fine. Go be with your family."

"The offer's still open," she told him softly. He nodded and thanked her. He got out of the car and shut the door behind him. Isabella drove away. John took a moment to steady himself before walking up the front steps. He stopped when the back door of the limousine opened and Vince McMahon stepped out, dressed like he was about to go hiking in the Swiss Alps.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Vince started, moving towards the front steps. "I heard you've been going off the deep end, but Jesus."

"Don't start, Vince. I feel bad enough," John told him with a roll of his eyes. He unlocked the front door and stepped over the threshold, sliding his shoes off in front of the shoe rack. Vince followed closely behind him, unzipping his grey and red parka.

"We offered you counselling, John. We offered you all the time off you needed. We offered you everything you could have possibly wanted because we knew you needed the help. Why didn't you take it? Why did I have to wake up this morning to texts from my children about your mug shot and arrest making TMZ?" John groaned. He hadn't thought of that happening. One more ball of shame to add to the pile. Vince slid off his boots and followed. "All I'm saying is that it didn't have to be like this, John. Why did it have to be like this?"

"Vince..." John wheeled on his boss. Vince was waiting for an answer that John didn't have, and they both knew he didn't have an answer to give. John sighed, clamping his mouth shut for a few moments as he struggled with the jumbled thoughts inside of his head. "You want a coffee?"

"Sure. I got about an hour to talk you back to your senses before I have to get to the airport," Vince told him. They walked into the kitchen. John set about making coffee as Vince sat down at the kitchen table. They were silent for a long time. "She never would have wanted you to fall apart like this, John."

John shook his head. "I don't want to hear this, Vince."

"I think you need to hear this, John. You've wallowed long enough. What you've been doing has been selfish to everybody you know. Do you have any idea how guilty Randy has been feeling for the past few years now?"

"Well, where the hell has he been?" John spat bitterly.

"You pushed him out!" Vince reminded him incredulously. "You pushed everyone out."

"Vince..."

"I've tried to be patient with you, John, but after this...I'm not going to sit back and do nothing while you kill yourself slowly. I mean, Jesus Christ, you look like you've aged ten years and you've only been gone for two. I'm no doctor, but that's not healthy."

"Don't do this, Vince. Okay? I had a bad night."

"John, I'm offering you help."

"With what, rehab? I don't need rehab," John snorted indignantly.

"The fact that this house smells like a brewery tells me otherwise," Vince informed him. He went silent for a moment, steadying his tone. Years of dealing with people battling different addictions made Vince aware that he needed to tread lightly. "Take it, John. Take the help. What's the worst that could happen?"

John thought about it. There really wasn't anything bad that could have come out of the situation. He knew Isabella was right; she could give him support, but she couldn't give him the help and the time that he really needed. He poured two cups of coffee and walked over to the table, handing Vince a cup. Vince thanked him and took a sip.

"Fine, Vince. I'll do it."

"Good. Glad to hear that. And when you're ready to come back, we'll all be waiting with open arms," Vince assured him. He reached over and slapped John on the arm. "Well, that went smoother than I thought it would. Quite frankly, I was sure we were going to come to blows on the matter."

"I guess you caught me at a good time. I had a lot of time to think last night."

"Good. After you're done your coffee, pack up. I'll take you to the airport."

"Now?"

"Well, what else do you have left to do here?" Vince asked. John sat back. He rubbed the back of his head with a hand.

"I, uh, had some Christmas plans tonight."

"Do they have anything to do with the girl you drove up here with?" Vince asked. John nodded.

"It's not what you think."

"I don't really care what it is, John. If you want to do your Christmas plans, then that's fine. But I want you to call me tomorrow night and tell me where you're intending to go." Vince reached inside the breast pocket of his black polo shirt and handed John a folded up piece of paper. "These are places to choose from. If I find out that you didn't make it to any of these places, Shane and I will come find you and drag you there ourselves."

"I don't doubt that, but that won't be necessary," John assured him.

"I hope not." Vince peered through the arch, at the Christmas shrine. John was thankful it was Christmas eve, just because he was too embarrassed to let anybody know that it had been up for two years. "Do you ever intend on coming back?"

John nodded. "I miss it."

"Good to hear. We miss you, too," Vince told him. They fell silent, sipping their coffee. Vince cleared his throat. "So why don't we do this: why don't you go for a month to start? If you need longer, you need longer, obviously your health comes first. But if you're good and back in order and sound of mind and all of that, then take another week or two off. We'll be here in about seven-eight weeks for Raw. If you're up for it, you can come back then."

"I think that sounds like a good plan. I should probably start getting busy and doing things again." John thought about the timeline. "It should give me time to get back into fighting shape. Jesus, I've let myself fall apart..."

"No sense in dwelling on it, John. You just need to keep looking forward." He nodded. "I feel like this is going too smoothly."

"Like I said, Vince, you caught me on the right day," John told him. "I had a lot of time to think last night in the drunk-tank."

Vince put his cup down on the table top and stood. "I hate to do this, but I need to get going so I can catch my plane. We're doing dinner at Stephanie's tonight." He walked around the table to John, who stood as a show of respect. Vince hugged him, catching John by surprise. He hugged Vince back. "Get yourself better, and don't worry. The door is always open for you." John nodded, thankful to hear the words spoken. He watched in silence as Vince let himself out.