Chapter 11:

Meeting Randy

Randy Orton pulled his red convertible rental car into John Cena's driveway and frowned when he saw the tiny Hyundai parked in his driveway. The front door to his home was wide open. John's cars were all lined up, not a single muscle car missing from the lineup. He knew John wasn't home, that he was in rehab getting his life back in order. Turning off the car, abruptly silencing the Metallica, Randy got out of the car and slammed the door. He walked briskly to the front door, moving quick up the front steps and crossing the threshold in the blink of an eye. The mixed smells of fresh air and stale alcohol hit him instantly.

He found her standing in the living room, taking decorations off the dusty Christmas tree. There were two boxes beside her. One contained wrapped presents. The other box was marked "CHRISTMAS" and she was placing the ornaments into it. There was a stack of newspaper on an end table to wrap the glass ornaments inside.

Isabella had her back to Randy. She had her headphones in her ears. Oblivious to his presence, she worked diligently. She was unsure whether or not she should unwrap the presents, but she just decided to take them to a shelter. She believed that there were people who could use whatever was in the boxes more than a thrift store who would charge money for the items. Even though she had opted to leave the boxes wrapped, she was conflicted.

Turning, she saw Randy standing in the arch. With a startled shriek, she jumped, dropping a plastic ornament. It bounced off the floor and came to a stop on the carpet. She pulled her headphones down around her neck. Right away Randy could notice the similarities to John's long-departed Lisa. Sure, her hair was a shade or two darker, her lips a little thinner and her nose more narrow, but Randy thought she was a dead ringer. He wondered if John was that desperate. He wondered if she was letting him live out some kind of sick fantasy. He noted she was dressed in a pair of plain black slacks and a white button down shirt. A green Starbucks apron was slung over the back of the couch. He noticed the silver charm bracelet on her left wrist. His eyes narrowed.

"Just how in the hell did you get in here?" he demanded. Isabella studied him. He was tall, very tall. Taller than John. His arms were covered in sleeve tattoos that disappeared beneath the old Pantera T-shirt he was wearing. His hair was close cropped and brown, his face weathered and exhausted. There was a cold, intimidating aura that resonated from him that made her feel a pang of fear. She was trying to make sure his gaze didn't make her wither, but she wasn't sure she was succeeding in maintaining her composure. He stared at her, at the dusty old Christmas tree, his face a mixture of disdain, fascination and disappointment.

"You scared me half to death," Isabella told him firmly. He stepped into the living room, approaching her.

"Answer me - how the hell did you get in here?" he barked. "You'd better answer me or I'll call the police!"

"Take it easy," she told him gently, her hands up, "I'm a friend of John's. He asked me to take care of a few things around his house while he's rehabbing in Arizona."

"Bullshit. You aren't a friend of John's. I've never heard him talk about you," Randy shot back. Isabella felt a pang. Her eyes widened. She'd already come to the conclusion that she disliked this man, and every word that followed the last made her dislike him a little more. Isabella knew that things were only going to get worse from here on out. She just hoped he didn't try anything with her. "I would have heard him talk about you."

"You don't even know my name," she charged. He shrugged.

"Enlighten me then, princess."

"Bella." She knew that John only ever referred to her as Bella. Randy snorted.

"Nope. Not a word," he told her smugly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Well, I haven't heard him speak a word about you, either." The smirk abruptly left Randy's face.

"Please," he scoffed. "I'm his best friend. Randy Orton? The Legend Killer?"

"Never heard of you," she told him coolly.

"I don't believe that for a second." He shook his head. "What am I saying? I'm getting sidetracked here. You need to leave."

"I'm not going anywhere until this tree is down and the presents are at the shelter. It's what John asked me to do, and I intend on keeping my promise," she told him firmly. There was an edge of fear in her voice that they were both very much aware of. She didn't know Randy or what he was capable of, but judging by his size, she knew he could hurt someone if he wanted to. She wondered if John knew that Randy was here and she wondered if he knew what he was saying to her.

"I'll take care of it. But you need to leave and never come back here."

Isabella blinked. The gall of this man. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he snapped at her, his voice rising. "You need to stay away from John. You are doing more harm than good being around him."

"Are you kidding me?" she snorted. "I certainly didn't see you dragging him out of the Cheetah Club at two in the morning. And I know I certainly didn't see you picking him up from the police station after he decided to drive drunk! I've done more harm than good? Well, excuse me, Mr. Orton, but where in the world have you been?"

"I have a wife and daughter. I have a life to live," he fired back. There was an angry beat as the two of them locked eyes. He walked over to the fireplace and grabbed a photograph off the mantle. He thrust the photo in her face. She stepped back, surprised. "You look just like her! Look at it!" He put the frame in her hands. She studied the photograph, but she couldn't see the resemblance. She wondered if it was a mental block, if she had created a wall to deny it, but she really couldn't see it. John had. She still remembered him that night in the Cheetah Club, telling her that he could feel her presence everywhere within the house, just not with him. She felt her heart crack. She wondered if he could feel her presence because he saw something in her, but she shrugged it off. But Randy wasn't letting her off the hook. "Do you not realize that John is only keeping you around because you look just like her? You're no good for him and you need to back off."

"That's not true. We're friends," she told him, her tone quiet.

"Would you look at the goddamn picture?" he snarled. "You look just like her! Look at it!" He ripped the photograph out of her hands after she studied it again, looking up with him with the confusion in her eyes that only succeeded in making him angrier. "You need a fucking pair of glasses." He put the picture back on the mantle. "I mean it - you need to get out of here and never come back. Forget he ever existed. If you cared at all about John, you'd realize just how unhealthy it is for him to have you around. He's going to be better off without you in the long run, trust me. If you cared for him at all, you'd back off now."

"You don't..."

"What? I don't know you? I don't know John?" he asked her, his tone taunting. He gave her a once over and snorted. "You fucking him?"

"Excuse me?" Isabella was offended, disgusted and angry at the insinuation. "Not that it's any of your business, Mr. Orton, but no, I am not." She shook her head. "How dare you? I know that you may not know me or have any idea about who I am, but I am not that kind of girl!"

"I'm sure." His tone was mocking. She balled her hands into fists and resisted the urge to swing at his jaw. "Listen, Bella, I'm being serious here - if you care about him as much as you claim to, then you'll go away and stay away. You have no idea just how much damage you're causing just by hanging around him."

"And if I don't?"

"If you don't, then I'm going to get involved. He doesn't need you around, Bella. All you do is constantly remind him of what happened to Lisa. He's going to be a different man when he gets back from rehab, but he's still going to be damaged. You're a curse, to be blunt. For that reason alone, you need to stay away from him."

"How could you be such a cold-hearted bastard?" she asked. She felt attacked. Tears burned behind her eyes, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. She wondered how someone like John could be friends with someone so mean-spirited and nasty.

"Because John is my best friend. I've failed him a lot in the past couple years, but I plan to protect him from hereon out better than I have been. I'm going to do what's best for him. You're not in that picture. While John is away, I plan on staying here and taking care of his affairs. So, if you have his keys, I want you to hand them over. Now," he barked when she didn't move fast enough for him. She reached into her pocket and grabbed the keys. He ripped them out of her hands. "Now, get out. You're trespassing and I could have you arrested." She didn't move right away. He grabbed her roughly. She cried out. "Don't test me, lady. And once you leave, you're gone. I don't ever want to hear about you contacting John. If I find out that you're there, casting constant reminders of what he used to have, throwing it in his face by your mere presence, I will make your life a living hell. Do you understand?"

She shook out of his grasp, grabbing her apron and her purse and leaving. He slammed the front door behind her. Isabella was shaking as she got in the car. It took her three tries to get the key in the ignition because her hands were shaking so bad. She dropped the keys on the second try. Slamming her hands against the steering wheel, she took a few breaths to steady herself. The door opened. He was shouting at her, but she was so distracted that she didn't hear a word he said. She gathered her key and managed to get it in the ignition, peeling out of the driveway like a bat out of hell.

When she was off the property and out of his view, she parked on the side of the road. The tears began to flow. Isabella rested her head against the steering wheel and cried until her well of tears ran dry.