Chapter Fourteen

"Hey, Deadman, we need to talk."

Mark looked up from where he was standing at the catering table. He was stirring a cup of coffee. His entire body sank in irritation as his gaze rested on Paul Heyman, who was waddling towards him. "What do you want? You here to ask me to go easy on your boy at Unforgiven?" he asked with a smirk as he sipped from the paper cup. Paul shook his head.

"No. Far from it. Just like he demolished Rock at SummerSlam, Brock is going to take you out at Unforgiven," Paul assured him. "I don't ask him to go easy on anybody. It's not like he would listen to such a request anyway. No, what I am here to ask, is that you give him back his girlfriend."

"Come again?" Mark cocked an eyebrow in disbelief.

"You heard me. Don't even try to bullshit me - I know the little bitch ran off with you. I don't know what you said to get in her head, but you've got her causing more problems for Brock than she already does."

"Okay...so let me get this straight - Celeste is nothing but a troublemaker, and she's such a bitch...why do you guys want her back so bad?"

"Because Brock is still convinced that he's in love with her," Paul told him with a roll of his eyes and a grimace on his face. "Such idealism he still has. You know how it goes, the whole college sweethearts thing. I'll make you a deal: if you bring Celeste back at Unforgiven, maybe I'll ask Brock to go easy on you. Out of the kindness of my heart." Mark snorted, amused. He finished his coffee and tossed the cup into a nearby trashcan.

"You're assuming I have her, Paul," he replied. "Celeste is a free woman. She does whatever she wants. It's not like I keep her handcuffed." Paul's eyes almost bugged out of his head. "You're barking up the wrong tree, Paul." With that, Mark disappeared down the hallway, leaving Paul staring after him, fuming.

"You do have her, though, don't you?"

Mark turned to see Stephanie standing behind him, dressed in a hot pink mini skirt and a black T-shirt. Her long brown hair hung around her face limply. "That's not even the point here, Stephanie. She's a free woman. If she wanted to go back to those two, she would have done it by now." Stephanie shot him a look. "Don't look at me like that, Steph. I'm not holding her hostage. She's free to go when she feels like it."

"You seriously had better hope that you know what you're doing," Stephanie told him with a shake of her head. "Unforgiven is in three days, and Brock wants to tear you limb from limb because he's not a total idiot. He knows that you've got Celeste in hiding somewhere, and we both know that Paul probably just went back to Brock's locker room to fill his head with all sorts of lies and paranoia to give him more reason to rip you in two Sunday." Mark nodded. "So what do you plan on doing about this situation, Mark?"

"I'm gonna handle my business, is what I'm going to do," he answered. "I'm chasing the title. That's what this is about. He's making this about Celeste, and he's not thinking about the gold around his waist." He shook his head in disgust. "Her face is still bruised, Stephanie. She's having nightmares, and she's battered and bruised and she was calling for me to help her. What was I supposed to do? What am I supposed to do? Just hand her back to the guys that did it to her? Fuck that!" They had walked into Stephanie's office. He began to pace back and forth in irritation.

He looked at Stephanie. She was smirking. He stopped pacing. "I know that look, Stephanie. What?"

"Nothing. It just sounds like you're making this about Celeste, too," she informed him. Mark sighed. He opened his mouth to tell her she was wrong, but he clamped it shut. She was right. There was no sense in fighting it. "Just assure me you know what you're doing, Mark."

"I can't do that. I don't have a fucking clue what I'm doing," he said, "But I do know there's more at stake here than that belt."

"Well, as long as you know that," Stephanie replied, sitting down behind her desk and putting her feet up on the oak surface. "How is she doing?"

"She's all right, I guess. Scared out of her wits. She's been having nightmares that he's tracked her down. I had to wake her up the other night, she was so hysterical." He shook his head. "I know it's hard for her to break up with him after six years and everything, but let's be serious - he brought all of this on himself the second he put his hands on her." He looked at the clock on her wall. "I'm going to head back to the hotel if you don't need me for anything else. I have to be in LA tomorrow night. I'll see you Sunday, Steph."

"See you, Sunday, Mark. Take it easy and give my best to Celeste." Mark nodded and left the office. Stephanie shook her head. He had dove headfirst into a bad situation, and she knew it was going to get a lot uglier before it got better.

Celeste leaned against the kitchen counter. She was dressed casually in a pair of dark blue jeans and a white sweater. Her caramel hair was tied back in a high ponytail. Her lips were pursed into a thin line and her eyes were narrowed in concentration as she listened to the phone on the other end of the line ring. She impatiently drummed her fingernails against the counter. Finally, a voice came through. "Hello?"

"Mom?"

"Celeste. Thank God. Where are you? Brock has been calling us non-stop, honey. He's been threatening to come out here. He refuses to believe that you aren't here. Where are you? What's going on? Is this really nothing you can't work out with him?" Celeste sighed, closing her eyes and rubbing her forehead.

"No, Mom. It really isn't. Things have gotten really bad between Brock and I, and this is really for the best, Mom."

"Well, where are you? He's worried to death about you. We're all worried about you."

"I can't tell you where I am, Mom. But I'm safe, all right?"

"Celeste, you have to tell me more than that!"

"No, I don't right now, Mom. It's not really safe for any of us right now. I really can't say anything."

"Celeste, don't you think you're over-reacting?"

"Mom!" Celeste's sharp tone shut her mother up. "Look, I hate to do this, but I have to go. Just let everyone know that I'm okay. I'll be back home when everything blows over."

"When everything blows..."

"Bye, Mom. I love you." She hung up the phone and put a hand to her forehead. Her mother loved Brock like he was her second son. Celeste was pretty sure that her mother would never see Celeste's side, even if she knew that Brock had roughed her up a few times. Celeste's mother always said that she was meant to be with Brock. Things had become so screwed up that she knew he wasn't in her future plans anymore, as much as it hurt. It was hard for her to see a future at the moment. She was in hiding. She was glad that she had friends in Mark and Trish to help her through the transition and keep her safe.

She thought about the tough position she was putting Mark in. He didn't seem to mind. But she knew that Brock was fully aware of where she was, and the brutality he would inflict on Mark to find out scared her to death. She owed Mark so much, but he wasn't asking for a thing in return. It didn't feel right to her. She looked at the fridge; pictures of Mark with his dogs, pictures of Mark with his friends. She wished that she had that kind of a life.

Celeste missed Brock. She missed the way things used to be, before he had changed. As easy as it would have been for her to point the finger, Celeste knew that all the blame didn't lie on Paul's shoulder. Neither could Brock's stardom in WWE. There was something already within Brock. She'd seen brief glimpses of this behavior in college, just not to the extent it had become. She shook her head. She couldn't think about it anymore. It was just too painful.

The phone rang. She answered it. "Hello?"

"Hey, Celeste. I just left the arena, and I thought I'd call and check up on you. How are things around the house?"

"Fine," she answered. He caught the despondent tone of her voice.

"What's the matter, Celeste?"

"Nothing you would want to hear about, Mark. I'm fine, really."

"Are you sure?" His tone told Celeste that he was reluctant to drop the subject.

"I promise you I'm fine. Are you ready for Unforgiven?"

"Yeah, I'm not too worried about it. Enough about work. What did you do today?"

"Not a whole lot," she confessed. "I curled up with Zeus and watched a movie."

"Which one?"

"I don't know what it was called," she confessed. "It was on Turner Classics."

"You're into the oldies, are you?" he asked with a chuckle. She smiled.

"Yeah. I think the one I watched today came out the year you were born. How old were you when they started making movies in color?"

"Oh, you brat," he laughed. "Jesus Christ, you make it sound like I'm ancient."

"You are, though."

"You're not that far behind," he reminded her. They shared a laugh. "Look, hon, I won't keep you too long. I'm pretty tired, and I got to get packed for LA tomorrow. If you need anything, give me a call, all right?"

"All right, Mark. I will."

"You get yourself some rest."

"I will. You get some rest, too. You're going to have a hell of a fight on Sunday."

"Don't I know it. Goodnight, Celeste."

"Goodnight, Mark." She hung up the phone and sighed, staring at Mark's picture. Why did she feel like she was leading him down the path of destruction?