John was watching the tail end of a baseball game when he looked up and saw Isabella in the arch between the hallway and the living room. Her arms were crossed over her chest, as if she were shielding herself away from cold weather. It felt like the room had dropped a couple degrees.

The first thing John noticed about her was that she looked exhausted. He knew that sleeping had been troublesome for her since her brother's death, but it was the first time he really noticed how rundown she looked. There was a dullness in her eyes that was becoming alarming to him. The spark of life he had become so accustomed to seeing was disappearing fast. He had no idea how to bring it back. If he were to have asked her, Isabella probably would have told him she had no idea how to fix it, either. But sleep probably would have been a good start.

"I didn't think you were going to come over," he told her.

"I like to try and keep my word," she told him pointedly. John sucked in a breath; it was a shot, and he knew it. He was surprised she was still angry at him, but he knew women could hold grudges. He'd experienced it many times before. He motioned for her to step further into the living room and have a seat, but Isabella refused to step further into the room. She just stood in the arch with her arms crossed over her chest, waiting to hear his latest excuse. As much as it was the drinking, she was angry that he would guilt trip her about drinking after he got out of rehab. Had he learned nothing? How could he have put her in such a position where she would have to act as an enabler?

"Bella..."

"You wanted to talk? Talk," she told him tersely. He clamped his mouth shut and tried to think of something else to say. He knew he had no excuse; once again, he had been a dick. She didn't deserve it; she had done nothing but look out for him. John knew as long as he lived, he would always vividly remember the shame and the embarrassment he felt the morning after she had been forced to retrieve him from the bar at two in the morning. He wanted to avoid it, but he had just wanted to be normal, to have fun the way he used to with his colleagues.

"Bella...I'm sorry," he offered lamely. She shrugged, an action that upset him.

"It's your life. You've made that perfectly clear."

"Don't be like this," he pleaded.

"Don't be like what? You want me to be there for you and look out for you, but you don't want it the second I tell you you shouldn't be doing something. You can't have it both ways here." She shook her head. John could see she was exasperated. She let her arms fall to her sides. "You haven't been out of rehab long, John, and I'm sure if you would have told any of your case workers or the employees what you planned to do once you got out, I doubt they would be fine with it."

He nodded. "You're right."

"I know I am."

"You wouldn't believe the earful I got from Randy. I swear to God, he sounded just like you," he cracked. Isabella couldn't help but crack a smile. For as badly as they had gotten off on the wrong foot, Isabella had to admit that she kind of liked Randy and his no-bullshit attitude.

"Everyone knows what you've been through, John. People should be helping you along, not making you fall back," she told him, her tone firm and matter-of-fact. She saw something flash in his eyes, something that told her that he was definitely more than friendly with Nikki Bella. They both knew that she was referring to Nikki, who had been buying drink after drink for him until the club was spinning and they were falling all over the dance floor.

"She didn't mean anything by it," he assured her. She snorted, another sound that irritated him.

"Like I said, it's your life. What I feel is obviously irrelevant here," she shot back.

"Oh, for fuck sakes. Don't be like that," he said with a roll of his eyes. "Bella, you're one of my best friends, can't it just stay that way? Jesus, I don't need you to be my mother."

The comment stung her. She shook her head in disgust. "Good. Because right now I don't want to be either."

With that, she turned on her heels and stormed out his view. John's head rested back against the couch. This was not the way he envisioned it at all. He didn't know why he had to constantly justify his actions to Isabella, but he knew she was trying to be what everyone else had failed to be for him. He had seen this as a chance to make up, call a truce and go back to the way things were, but it was clear she was still angry and he wasn't as articulate as he'd hoped.

"Fuck!"

John got off the couch and bolted down the hallway. As he made it to the doorway, she was already pulling out of his driveway. His shoulders slumped as he watched her car drive off into the night. "Goddamn it," he murmured under his breath. "That didn't go the way I hoped at all."

He went to his phone and opened up the text messaging service. Bella, I'm really sorry. That's not what I meant at all. Call me. Please. He snapped the phone shut and dropped it on the couch. She wasn't going to call. He was going to have to wait this out, and there was no telling how long that was going to take. He had hurt her. He could see it. All she wanted was for him to see her side of the argument, understand her concerns. He didn't understand why he had to be so persistently stubborn.

He dropped himself down on the couch and tried to go back to the game, but he had lost all concentration. Every couple minutes he was looking over at his phone. For a long time, it was silent. When it rang, he practically fell over himself to get it. But it was only Nikki. She wanted to go out. Even though he wasn't in the mood, John agreed. He had to do something. He got up to get ready for a night out, but he still couldn't stop compulsively checking his phone for anything from Bella.