"Forty-eight, forty-nine . . ." A sigh followed. "Fifty." The counting stopped but the push-ups continued. And he went on even when he heard somebody opening the door. "Fifty-eight, fifty-nine –" Before being able to say the number, the person who just entered the room opened his mouth and ruined the perfect, undisturbed atmosphere, ideal for a pre-match workout.

"I said it was impossible."

Dean continued with his push-ups, but he lost count thanks to the person taking his mind off counting. "Where was I?"

"Twenty-five."

Dean knew that was far from reality, but still, he did not remember precisely. "One, two . . ."

"You feel better now?"

He could not go on for longer than five push-ups. However, it wasn't his body that would be reaching its limit, it was the person who wouldn't keep his mouth shut. A tall man with muscular body, dark eyes, long, black, and wet hair.

Dean grabbed a towel nearby and wiped the sweat off his face. "Don't start."

"I wouldn't. But I want to remind you that your plan is not working."

"You already said it was stupid. I heard you the first time. Besides," he continued, now deciding to go back to physical exercise. A series of quick high jumps interrupted his speech. When he went for planking, despite knowing it would exhaust him more, he started speaking again, continuing where he left off. "You're not helping. How am I supposed to succeed when you keep bringing it up?"

Roman defended himself, "I tried to help. I did everything what was in my power to get you out of it, but you're so obsessed . . ." His voice was louder at the end.

As was expected of him, Dean protested, "No, I'm not."

"How could you think you could succeed?"

For better focus and increased ability to speak, Dean stopped exercising and simply stood by the wall, resting. "First of all, none of you is supposed to dig into it. How come that all of a sudden people are so fucking interested in my personal life?"

Roman chuckled. "They always were; you just didn't notice."

Dean was not going to argue with Roman on that matter. "Well, it's my life; I'm the one living it, so fuck off." Now he addressed all people in general, and for that reason Roman did not get offended. "I do what I want." Seeing the disapproval on his friend's face, he reconsidered that statement. "I do what I consider right."

"Stubborn as always." Roman was gonna let it go, but instinct failed him. "Right now you're not achieving anything." And since he reopened the topic, he realized he might as well just fully examine the subject and whole Dean's strategy. But just to let Dean breathe at least a little, he sat down, changing his focus to the clock on the wall. "You could have just left it the way it was. What's different now, really?" Although formerly a rhetorical question, Roman himself was the one to offer an answer. "You hate each other. That's all. . . . I mean, she hates you. You keep being too stubborn and proud to let love rule your life, huh? It's such a stupid thing . . . love," Roman said with sarcasm, making fun of Dean while giving him a lesson. "You're Dean Ambrose, you make your own decisions; you don't need love to tell you what to do." He looked at him now, however, Dean turned away from him so he couldn't see. "Maybe you've never been in love. You fought that emotion away too hard and never really surrendered to it. Because if you really were in love with her, you would never do it."

Dean turned to him now. "Would you shut up already?"

"I'm just telling you how it is."

"You don't know how it is," Dean countered.

"You've told me, remember? Maybe you can play this card with those who still think you did it for no reason, like Renee, or those who think you did it because there's somebody else, like Seth does."

"Maybe what I told you was a lie," Dean suggested in hope to make Roman at least consider that option.

"It'll backfire on you. I'm just sayin'. . . . Those are things you can't control."

"Then it's permanent, I guess," Dean just said, casually, knowing it would finally shut Roman's mouth.

As Roman kept watching him, Dean went back to his business. No more exercising, though. He grabbed his phone and checked the messages and emails. He ignored all that were not convenient for him. He smiled at a funny picture that someone sent him, but that was about it. The phone went back into the pocket of his jacket. The silence annoyed him so he started whistling some melody. It was fast, cheerful, but he couldn't really tell what song it was.

Now more enthusiastic, he turned to Roman and laughed. "There's more, isn't there?" he asked. His voice did not suggest that he would be tired of all the conversations that saw him as the guilty one anyway. At times, when he crossed a certain point, he was even able to enjoy it. Take it in and let it out, all within a second.

"You should talk to him."

"Talk about what?" Dean teased Roman.

"You know."

"There's no point in it." Dean kept the smile on his face; that joke that he heard yesterday and popped into his head now helped too.

"You're not happy with the situation –"

"I'm not pissed at him. He didn't do anything wrong, really."

"Yet you avoid him."

"No."

"Yes," Roman insisted. He could come up with many examples to support his argument if that were necessary.

"Well, thanks for . . . sharing your opinion, but everything's fine."

"Should I tell you why that's a lie?"

"Look, Rome, this is a transition period. You'll see that everything'll go back to normal," Dean told him with confidence.

"When?"

Dean chuckled. He didn't know the exact date but he had a rough idea. "When unstable becomes stable."

Dean didn't get a chance to fully enjoy Roman's disapproval because in that moment the door flew wide open and one of their coworkers let himself in. Adam Rose cheerfully came in and the conversation between the two guys died immediately.

The newcomer looked at Ambrose and posed him a question. "Guess who just got roses?"

To answer in the way Dean thought Rose wanted him to, he said, "Me?"

Adam Rose shook his head, pretending to be sad for him. "No." Before Dean would lose interest, he revealed the correct answer. "Miss . . . Your Ex."

Dean looked at Roman, not the guy who revealed that information to him. Only when he was ready to ask a follow-up question, he turned back to Rose. "From who?" The anger was building up, but for now, only Roman noticed it.

"A pretty pretty guy," Rose sang, smiling.

Now Dean stepped up his attitude, not giving a damn about being friendly or professional. Jealousy guided his action when he grabbed Adam Rose by his shirt and showed him his pissed face. "Name," he demanded.

Rose apologetically shrugged his shoulders and faked a frown. "Sorry. I don't know his name." Then he smiled again. "But he's a pretty pretty guy," he added in a musical voice.

"No, he's not."

Now Roman joined the discussion. "So you know who it is?" he turned to Dean with a question. He acted nicely, casually now, but he would certainly question Dean about his overreaction, illogical jealousy because of someone he was no longer romantically involved with.

"He's a hundred times worse looking than me," Dean said. "And he's a nobody."

"You're wrong," opposed Rose. "He's a pr–"

As Rose was getting into singing again, Dean tightened his grip on him. "Say it one more time, and I'll make you cry."

Roman just stood by, witnessing his friend's evidence of failure to handle his jealousy, not doing anything about. As long as there was no blood. . . .

"He's a big fish." Dean laughed. Hardly, he thought. But there was Rose to prove him wrong again. "He's a hockey player."

Dean's assumption was wrong the whole time. It was not Greg that got Renee the flowers.

"What hockey player?" Roman was the first to ask; but even if didn't, Dean would probably pose the same, or similar, question.

"The one Renee's going out with."

Roman directed his next question at Dean. "She's going out with a hockey player?" Only after the sentence had been pronounced, Roman realized that he was supposed to take Dean's mind off this topic, and not to add fuel to the fire. "Anyway, Adam, thanks for sharing that information with us, but you better leave now before someone gets hurt." He truly meant, before you get hurt. And judging by Dean's face, the bomb was ticking.

Acting as a commander, he got Rose out. Now he just needed to calm Dean. Or . . . use the evidence to his advantage. "How exactly do you not care? It's all the same," Roman said. "She's still in your mind."

"No, she's not," Dean tried to persuade him. However, all his trying went to waste when he stayed on that subject matter. "Another guy?" He sighed, irritated.

"You're not supposed to care," Roman reminded him.

"I don't care. . . . But what she's doing –"

"Is her business, not yours," Roman finished the sentence the way he thought appropriate.

"Why is she doing it?"

Roman changed strategy. "You know, new month, new guy." He regretted those words after Dean looked at him, and Roman saw an emotion that would easily get Dean in prison if he followed the instinct. Roman attempted to undo what he did. "Ok, sorry." It was true, though. But nobody needed to point it out. "What I'm saying is, you didn't want her to occupy your mind. Now she is. When she walks by, she's all you're thinking about. When someone mentions her, well, there she is again. You can't stop thinking about her." He reminded him one thing. "I'm not blaming you. I'm pointing out the holes in your plan. Your strategy sucks. So here's my idea. Go talk to Seth, resolve the issues you two have, and then go ask Renee to take you back." There was a sign that Dean would agree with that idea, but he would most certainly object regardless. Therefore, Roman said, "Or you know, keep all the things to yourself, bury the problems deep inside, and keep distancing yourself from people you care about. But in that case, do it right." He explained, "No anger when you hear she's going out with someone. Well, guess what? You left her and she's not obliged to stay single for the rest of her life . . . or even until you decide you want her back."

Dean hated Roman. Mostly for the fact that he was right. Probably. Well, one thing was sure: he was indeed jealous. Not only that. Now he was even angry at Renee. Why was she doing it? Jump from one relationship into another. . . . And then another? "I need to talk to her," Dean suddenly said.

"No. Have you not got what I just said? Or . . ." He realized that maybe Dean decided to take his advice. He just couldn't tell what direction Dean's thinking was taking. "What do you wanna do?"

"Talk to her."

"About what?" Roman remained suspicious.

Dean stood still. Even though Roman was not standing in the way, blocking his attempt to leave – as he originally wanted – Dean did not make a single step toward the exit. He was wondering . . . what was it that he wanted to talk to her about? Actually the topic of the conversation was not his only, not even the main, concern. What was the objective? What would he gain? That question was not to suggest that he needed to get something out of it, rather how it would help anything? Would it? Probably not . . . not at this stage at least. Therefore Dean remained in the room. With Roman observing his movements and facial expressions. That guy had to be wondering what was going on Dean's mind. Well, he wasn't acquainted with the process, but he got to see the result. Nothing changed.

"I'm not going to talk to her."

"Can I know why?"

Dean chuckled. He got the impression that Roman would gladly accept his thorough report of everything that he's been doing. And the reasoning; that was the most important part. Why did you do it? Why didn't you do it? That seemed funny to be Dean. But in the end, it was Dean's fault. He was the one who involved Roman in this, therefore he was the only one to blame. Finally, Dean awarded Roman with that reason. "It's not part of the plan."

"So you let her be happy with someone else?"

"A bunch of roses does not mean she's happy."

"Okay. But you're –" Roman had difficulty finding words that would reflect his opinion.

"Yeah?"

Roman stayed quiet for another minute, wondering what to say, how to say it the way that would not offend Dean or something. Then he said, "Nothing."

Dean was not one of those who would demand to know what the other person had to say. He simply let it leave his mind, switching his focus on what he had to say. That wasn't much. Just to conclude the topic and move on, pay attention to his preferred activities again. "It doesn't matter what she's doing anyway," he said. While pronouncing those words, he had in mind that there would be a reaction from his friend. That mattered to him little, though. His eyes were already looking at the floor, his brain coming up with ways Dean could get use of it. There was still some time before he needs to leave to entertain the crowd; he could use this spare time to his advantage. Exercise a little more. The floor was attracting him and gravity at that point became crucial because his consciousness was so much weaker. The body dropped on the floor, doing a couple more push-ups.

His mind already left the topic and did not find it strange that Roman didn't continue in the conversation. The room was quiet, except for Dean's breathing. But Roman was still there, watching Dean, probably wondering how he could be suddenly so calm. Just a minute ago he was set on talking to his ex-girlfriend to explore why she was so keen on some hockey player when she was dating a WWE cameraman just a week ago, and now he was doing push-ups. To be fair, Roman himself was curious to find out why Renee was changing her partners so rapidly. Before she started dating Dean, meaningless affairs were hardly a norm.

While Roman continued standing there, bewildered, Dean was warming up. Actually it was more than that. He already spent a considerable amount of time exercising, pushing himself to the limit even though he needed to spare some energy for the action in and around the ring. However, his body did not seem to care and brain failed to offer logic or control what was happening.

There could be heard voices from the outside. Possibly some other wrestlers were coming into the locker room. They were getting closer, but perhaps a conversation made them stay outside a little longer. Those talking voices were familiar, as well as the laughter. Among others, there was Seth Rollins, too. That made Roman raise that issue once again.

"Seth has no idea."

Dean got up and made a few high jumps. After five of them, he stopped and stood still. Now he looked at Roman. Even though he might have appeared to be about to say something, he didn't. His ears were focusing on the noise in front of the room. A group of people, talking. Yes, there was Seth among them. But Dean was able to identify another person. Triple H. Now they were all laughing. Then, just a couple of seconds later, several wrestlers walked into the room. There was Seth, there was John Cena, there was Randy Orton, and there was Bray Wyatt. Dean briefly looked at them as they one by one walked through the door. He looked around as well to see if he didn't have his stuff laying around. There was just a towel thrown over the bench, but he didn't care about that much. Switching his attention to the newcomers again, who were still continuing in their previous hilarious conversation, he got an eye contact with Mr. Money in the Bank, even though it wasn't intentional. Seth, now being the one talking, looked at him casually whilst Dean's eyes looked unfriendly and unapproachable. Clearly, it was a disappointment that he failed to avoid the eye contact. Nevertheless, Seth did not focus on him, and certainly he wouldn't analyze why Dean showed no positive reception of seeing him. Moreover, either it was by their busyness or carelessness, but Dean's coworkers, except for one who was standing by the wall, paying too much attention to him, didn't notice Dean's attempt to flee the cave as soon as it had been invaded. Dean walked past the guys and wouldn't stop until he reached the door. No hello, no goodbye. . . . And the conversation went on.

He felt so relieved once he was out of there. It wasn't just Seth . . . all those people . . . or at least most of them. He already regretted he told Roman the truth. Back then, it seemed like a good idea to get that weight off his shoulders, to have somebody he could talk to. Back then it wasn't as bad. Now Roman . . . how come he didn't figure it out yet? Or did he, and thought it'd be easier to not bring it up?

His legs led him far. Somewhere quiet, but that place did not exist in this arena. So he looked for the loudest place instead. But unless he wanted to step foot in plain sight where all the WWE Universe could see him, he had to remain secluded from it. Well, he wasn't completely alone because not that far from him there were a couple of WWE personnel. As a matter of fact, he could see Renee there too. Drinking something, talking to someone. There were no roses that he could see, but of course if they really existed she would not carry them with her the whole night.

She couldn't see him. The way she stood did not make it possible, and he preferred it that way. Those two had nothing to say to each other. Although he felt a giant hole inside of him, he wouldn't try to fill it. It was so painful to watch her, knowing she did not belong to him anymore, that other guys were taking his spot, but he watched anyway. This did not break his oath. It wasn't against the rules that he set. It was okay to look as long as nothing happens. And as long as when he walks away he will no longer be thinking about her.

"Hey, Dean."

He stopped watching her when he heard a voice calling him. "Hey, Bryan. What's up?" This wasn't one of the times that he'd refuse to talk to people. He was alright enough to care. Maybe it was even surprising how nice he appeared at the moment.

This would not be a work conversation. Daniel Bryan just casually called him, noticing Dean was not busy, and standing alone. Also, he noticed that he's been watching Renee Young.

"I've heard that it didn't work out. I'm sorry . . . it . . . sucks."

"Don't worry about it," Dean said. "It's not the end of the world."

"What happened?" It was evident that Daniel Bryan realized the inappropriateness of the question right after saying it. "Sorry."

"It wasn't for me; that's all." It wasn't. There was so much more to it, and, in fact, Dean wished to talk to somebody about it, but he just knew Daniel Bryan would not be that person. Maybe there were some issues he could understand, even help Dean with, but what Dean really wanted was one person that he could tell it all. . . . .

He stopped focusing on former world champion. His consciousness was so weak. . . . Her slender fingers embracing the cup, a smile on her face . . . the conversation she was part of must have been entertaining as hell . . . his eyes were set on her again. He couldn't help it. There were other non-wrestling company workers. Then Dean noticed Stephanie approaching the group, and from that moment on, Renee's smile was gone. Moreover, clearly because of loss of interest in what was happening around her, she noticed him. And even that neutral expression now turned into a frown. She looked at him disapprovingly, but in the next second she was again focusing on the speaker of the group.

"So," Bryan again brought Dean's attention to him. "You've got plans for this week?"

"Yeah . . . work, gym, work, gym, sleep, some more gym."

"It'll also be Big Show's birthday soon. There'll probably be some kind of celebration. . . ."

"Uhm . . . I think I'll skip that."

Dean was so little interested in talking to Bryan that his eyes were incessantly looking for some distraction. Entertainment, perhaps. . . . They caught Renee again. She was leaving. And on her way out of there she not even once looked at Dean, not even glanced.

She could be the one Dean could talk to . . . if they weren't enemies now. Since they stopped being lovers, they stopped being friends too. He could talk to pre-Dean Renee, not the post-Dean one. A second after he'd open his mouth she'd turn around and leave.

Then there was Roman who already knew almost everything. But he was too dominant to know more without forcing Dean into taking the kind of action he considered appropriate. Besides, telling Roman the rest would mean getting him into strange position due to recent developments.

In the old times, he was able to talk to Seth. Seth that would offer his opinion, some advice perhaps, but this time it wouldn't work. He was part of the problem, and so were the other two.

He needed to talk to someone impartial. Open-minded, preferably. Not a psychologist, though. It wasn't that bad. At least not yet. But he was getting low on people to whom he could talk. Openly. Frankly, who was there? All his friends were becoming less than friends, coworkers, acquaintances. The ones he was able to tell every secret . . . those did not exist in the company anymore. All were becoming enemies. Why? He knew; he had his reasons. Hypocritical maybe . . . but they mattered to him. And he wished he could open up to someone . . . get everything off his chest at once. Not tell one this, tell another one that. He had issues. He was trying to handle it, but he could not keep burying it anymore.

The break-up had a lot to do with it. At first he thought, soon after it happened, that it was a huge mistake. An error that he was not supposed to make. He reasoned it to himself . . . he posed himself a question. If he weren't going to marry her, would he break up with her? No. He realized he probably wouldn't. It all happened under the pressure of engagement. In that moment, he saw only two options: a) propose to Renee and get married; b) break up with her. Only a few days later he realized that there was actually a third option – keep the things as they were . . . don't propose but don't end the relationship either. Well, it was too late when he fully grasped the problem and its sudden, perhaps abrupt, solution. Moreover, that was at the beginning of January. Now it was February and things happened that made him satisfied with the way he tried to solve the problem. More and more he began to see that solitude was the answer to everything. But now that he was alone, and maybe making a progress . . . it wasn't what he imagined. Sure, it would take time for anything to change. But that did not matter; it wasn't a major concern. It wasn't certainly as important as the fact that he still wasn't happy. By the end of December and the first day of 2015, the level of happiness was so high he wouldn't even believe it. It was because of her; he knew that. Renee and their relationship were things that lit up his world. Those were the things that worked. . . . Then, on the other hand, there was the stagnation.

He should talk about it. He wanted to. But the less the people that knew, the better. Especially around here.

He ran off, away from the public, but soon entering another "public place" with enough people to call them a crowd. The men's locker room was occupied by more or less the same people as when he left it. Roman was gone. The group that made him go to look for another sanctuary was still there, now laughing over something funny that Seth Rollins said. Now that Dean entered, Seth stopped laughing and looked at his on-screen nemesis. There was a rather serious expression that however lasted only shortly, about the same time as the whole attention that Dean received from him. There were no hard feelings, though; Dean paid him even less attention. He just went for the locker that guarded his stuff and opened it to take out his phone. Then he loudly closed the locker and left again.

A wall neighboring the locker room provided enough privacy for him. The corridor was empty and quiet enough for him to focus. He glared at the phone, but gave himself little time to think about what he was about to do. With urgency, he looked up the person he wanted to call and did so. All within about three to four seconds.

It was ringing. Then the person answered. "Hello?"

"Cassie?"

She was there, but she didn't say a word. All Dean heard was her breathing.

"I need to talk to you." When she still wouldn't respond, he added, "I need your advice." But that was about it. Two more heavy breaths later she hung up.

That wouldn't stop him . . . although he found her reaction strange. He called again. It rang . . . and rang . . . and rang . . . and then she declined the call. Okay, so she didn't want to talk to him. He did not think that would happen.

There were no more attempts, for if she wanted to talk to him, she already would've. Or she would call him back and apologize for hanging up on him. . . . Well, he accepted reality and that suspicious sign of hostility on her part.

His brain came up with an idea. The phone would remain in his hand for a little while. This person picked up immediately. "Hi, Levi. It's Dean."

"Hey." At least her brother was actually glad to hear him. "How are you?"

"Uhm . . ." Why didn't that usual impulse to say good come this time?

"What's going on?"

Now Dean was the quiet one. There was too much going on to summarize it in one sentence. But he gave it a shot. "I broke up with Renee, my career is at a stalemate, I am jealous of my friends, I don't have anyone to talk to about it, and your sister just hung up on me."

"Well, that's. . . ." Clearly, the guy's breath has been taken away. "That's too much to discuss over the phone."

"Yeah, I know. I thought that maybe . . . I could talk to Cassie." He took a deep breath. "Do you know if she's in Denver?" he asked.

"Yeah, why?"

"Because I'm in Denver." A short pause, and Dean continued. "Could you give me her address?"

"Uh, yeah, sure. You remember the old –"

Dean couldn't hear more because someone violently took his phone away from him. He angrily turned to that person. Roman. "What the –" Dean shouted at him. By then, Roman had already ended the call. "What are doing?"

"Saving you from making a mistake."

"You asshole! Give me my phone!" Dean fought for it, but he stood no chance. "Give it back to me!" he cried.

"No."

"Give . . . it . . . back," he said more vigorously now while holding his hand in front of him so that Roman could put there the stolen object.

"I . . . really don't think so." He was playing with him, and it really angered Dean.

However, Roman would not have the phone in his possession for much longer. It disappeared; he didn't even know how. He was holding it, and suddenly it was gone. The mistake that he made was focusing on Dean too much. He failed to notice that there was a person behind him.

"I don't know what kind of game we're playing here, but I think I win," said Paige cheerfully.

"We're not playing a game," Roman told her, a bit irritated and also annoyed that he lost to a girl. "Give it back to me."

"No," Dean shouted. "No, Paige, give it to me."

"Hmm . . . that's a really tough decision, I gotta say."

"It's not. It's mine," Dean reminded her. "It fucking belongs to me!"

"See? I don't know if I can believe you."

"What the hell?!" Dean was losing temper. He was really not in mood for being teased.

On the other hand, his friend took it more humorously. Roman advised her, "Don't give it to him. Keep it if you like, just do not give it to him."

They couldn't tell if it was for real, but she really seemed to be considering keeping Dean's property. "Do you have some games here?" Indeed, she was checking his phone and looking for some apps that she could waste time with.

"This is not funny," shouted Dean. "I'm in the middle of something."

When seeing hesitation on Paige's part, Roman said, "No, he's not. He's just overreacting. . . . Hates when he loses control," he explained, and it clearly sufficed for Paige to continue playing with Dean's phone.

Then it started vibrating. "Someone's calling you," she announced to the owner of the phone.

Dean's hand reflexively reached for the phone, but he still kept failing at getting it back.

"Some Levi . . ." She looked at Dean, pretending to be willing to stop teasing him. "You want it?"

"Yeah," he said angrily.

She acted confused, not knowing what to do know, but there was something in Roman's eyes that assured her that if she took it too far by any chance, she could expect Roman's protection. Therefore she said, "Should I give it back to you or should I just answer it?" And the teasing continued. "I think I'll get it." And she did. "Hey. . . . No, Dean's not here. This is Paige. . . . Yeah," she said as a wide smile was forming on her face, "That's me. . . . Ooh, thanks. . . . No, he's . . . . yeah, sure." She put her hand over the mic and turned to Dean. "She lives where she used to live with Josh," she delivered the message. Then she returned to the conversation. "Yep. . . . so . . . really?" She continued being all enthusiastic, really enjoying the dialogue she was having. "I know! So amazing." Again, she turned to the guys, and told them while pointing with her finger at the other end of the corridor, "I'll take this somewhere quiet if you don't mind." She was smiling, and Roman, too, was in good mood. Laughing over the situation he created. Dean, on the other hand, looked like about to kill someone. It was a good thing Paige was a girl because if it were Roman who did this to him, there would already be a fight happening there.

Anyhow, Dean calmed down soon after Paige left – along with his phone – because he realized he actually obtained the information he wanted. Roman, too, knew this, yet it added to his preoccupation.

"You're not meeting her," Roman said.

At the beginning, Dean's strategy was to ignore him. While he cooled over the matter of the joke that the two fellow wrestlers played on him, he was still mad at Roman because of his actions. He stole his phone, ended the call, refused to return it back to him, and supported Paige in the teasing game. That was so childish. And how dared he? What gives him the right to act like that? Anyway, soon Dean reconsidered the ignoring Roman strategy, and started talking. "I can do whatever I want."

"So what is it that you want? No, tell me, honestly, what are your intentions?"

"I wanna talk to her. That's all." Dean sighed. "Look," he said, now without anger in his voice, "I'm not looking for any romantic involvement. Neither with Cassie, nor with Renee, nor with anyone else. I'm really just looking for someone I can openly talk to."

"You can talk to me."

"Uh-huh," he quietly replied.

"What's the problem? You've already told me about your issues with Seth and the reasons for breaking up with Renee."

"Yeah . . . I did," Dean confirmed.

"So? Is there more?"

Dean did not say anything this time. Roman had to search for answers without Dean's help. His need to take all the factors into consideration created a moment of silence. During this, Dean watched Roman and wondered whether he'd figure it out.

"It's not just Seth. . . ." he correctly assumed. He knew he was right because Dean said nothing that would counter it. Also, when Roman thought about it, it made sense. "Do you feel that way toward me, too?" Silence provided an answer this time as well. And knowing this, Roman felt exactly the way Dean thought he would. Confused, cornered . . . even guilty. . . . Really uncomfortable. Yes, this was precisely the reason why Dean was looking for somebody else he could share his worries with. Someone impartial . . . like Cassie.

Dean looked away. Maybe it would be a good idea to say something, but first he wanted Roman to have a chance to really think about it. It even pleased Dean to see that suffering expression on Roman's face. He had to be wondering what to do. Being convinced that it was his duty to do something because he was part of the problem. The problem that brought about the end of Dean and Renee's relationship.

"I don't know . . . what to say." Roman really felt uneasy.

The situation lowered Dean's tension. He was getting more and more relaxed. There was gum in his pocket that he took out and started chewing. Casually. Feeling that everything was under his control again.

"I wish I could help. . . ."

Dean smiled. "Still think I should tell Seth?" he asked. The answer would be negative; that was for sure.

"Maybe it'd be better if you talked to Triple H . . . or Stephanie," suggested Roman.

"Pff . . . that wouldn't help anything. Look, it's alright. I'm working on it."

"You can't spend all your free time in the gym. You need to rest, too."

"I need to get in shape."

"You are in shape," Roman firmly opposed.

"Well . . . clearly not enough. . . . I gotta do something. I don't mind working out more. If that's what'll get me in the championship picture –"

"This is nonsense, Dean. You'll hurt yourself or you'll exhaust yourself so much that you'll collapse in the ring."

"Please."

"I'm serious."

But Dean insisted, "I'll do whatever is in my power. . . ."

"You don't need to risk your life to become a champion."

The conversation stopped for a minute because a group of divas walked by. In the meantime, Dean and Roman just stood there, smiling, pretending that they were casually hanging out, relaxing before the match.

Then the tension returned. They again initiated a lasting eye contact. Roman looked really dominant, and it made Dean more aggressive in his fight for truth.

"It's the only thing I can do. . . . Remember when we were in The Shield? How people used to worry that after we split Seth would be left out? Look at him now. He had an amazing match at the Royal Rumble. And you . . . you won the Royal Rumble match. You're gonna headline WrestleMania. Seth already had a shot at the WWE World Heavyweight Championship. And he's still the Money in the Bank briefcase holder. You will have your chance to prove to people that you're worthy of being a champion. But what about me? I give my best inside and outside of the ring . . . every night. People love me. I have great matches. Still, I'm not even getting a shot at the championship. I'm just here, working my ass off . . . and it's not enough."

"Dean," Roman tried to interrupt.

"No, you have nothing relevant to say," Dean attacked. "You can't tell me it's not true because it is. You know that. Maybe I'm the most popular of us three, but where does that get me? There were others who were hot, cheered by the fans every time their theme started to play . . . they never got the chance they deserved. The creative screwed it up. . . . I won't allow anyone to fuck up my career. I won't be forgotten."

"You don't see it objectively. You'll get your chance," Roman tried to make him believe.

"I'll create my chance. I'll work hard. Even harder than until now. I'll get stronger . . . better. I'll make them see that I'm a championship material. I'll show that I can make it as a champion. . . . Even the face of the company."

"Dean . . . you're not in not your late 30s! You still have plenty of time."

"So do you. So does Seth. Don't tell me it's because of my age when you have nothing to support it with."

"You will get your chance. Soon. In fact, your break-up with Renee won't make any difference. You would have become a champ even with her. . . . There are plenty of guys around here who are in a relationship and they're still at the top. . . . I'm married."

"I can't afford to have any distractions. From now on, my mind is set only on wrestling. Yes, maybe your dating status does not affect how they value you here, but that's only once they see potential in you. When I make them see I'm worthy of being a champion, I'll –"

Roman interrupted him. "You'll get back together with Renee? Is that what you're saying? 'Cause that's not how it works, Dean. She won't wait for you. Moreover, you broke her heart. You really think she'll take you back?"

Dean did not hesitate to answer in most honest way. "Right now, I don't give a damn about my dating future."

"It's crazy, that's all I'm saying."

"Fine. I still love her," he admitted although there was no direct pressure on him. "She means a lot to me even though we broke up. I hate that I hurt her . . . but I had to do it. . . . I'm really sorry, but at this time Renee would be only a burden. I would spend less and less time with her and soon enough she would notice that something's wrong. Maybe she herself would be the one to end it when she notices I'm not fully committed to the relationship. Yes," he said, "I think there's a higher chance of us getting back together when the relationship did not end because something went wrong. I have good memories of that time and I hope she has too. But right now my career is my priority. And I have to fight to achieve what I want. . . . Look, I don't have the athletic skills that Seth has. I'm not like that Triple H's 'son that he never had' either. And . . . yeah, maybe my relationship with Renee would be beneficial to me and my career . . . if she were The Rock." Dean did not even feel sorry for this confession.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I don't get anything without having to fight for it. I don't come from a wrestling family."

"You think if I weren't Rock's cousin I would have never won the Royal Rumble?" Roman asked, tension rising.

Now Dean realized he took it too far. "No," he said apologetically. He left his true sentiments to himself. "Sorry, I did not mean to say those things." He had to try harder to make Roman forgive him. "You deserved that victory. You deserve to become a champion. So does Seth. He does a great job. I just . . . I don't want to become a failure of The Shield." Dean bit his upper lip. This conversation was getting a bit too personal. If ever he wanted to discuss it, it wasn't with Roman. Besides, having his mind set on serious issues right before the start of the Raw was wrong. He needed to clear his mind, let everything go. "Anyway," Dean attempted to make Roman as well forget about what they just talked about. "I should find Paige and see if she gives me my phone back."

Roman pulled himself together and swallowed his recently hurt pride. "Uhm . . . I'll get it back –"

"Nah, that's fine."

They shared one last awkward eye contact before Dean turned around and started walking away, effectively leaving Roman alone with thoughts of how his friend really felt about his success.

To make himself stop feeling guilty and strange because of his revelation, Dean occupied his mouth and mind with whistling. A melody of his theme song helped him cheer up. When he was done with that, he switched to Seth's theme and started humming it. Just because he liked the beginning. He shook his head from side to side at the first tones. That brought a smile to his face. When only few steps separated him from the women's locker room, he realized he was singing AJ's Lets Light It Up theme song. . . . At least nobody heard him.

He knocked on the door. It was Nikki Bella who opened, but he didn't need to explain anything as he noticed Paige standing in the distance. Dean slightly pushed Nikki aside and walked inside. "I'm not looking," he claimed, and put his hands up in defensive gesture.

While ignoring the rest of the occupants of the room, he was smiling at the thief. "You know why I'm here," he told her, not appearing to be mad at all. Rather amused. Amused and cocky.

"Yeah, I do," she said. She immediately went to get his phone and handed it over to him. "Sorry."

Dean grabbed the phone and checked what she did with it. "Why are you set as my wallpaper?"

She smiled innocently and everybody in there laughed.

Then he noticed something even more interesting. "You've talked to Levi for seven minutes?!" He looked at her and demanded an explanation.

"We didn't talk about you."

"I hope so. But seriously, seven minutes?"

"It'd be rude to end the call. . . . And he seems like a nice guy."

"Geez," Dean exclaimed, ". . . women . . ."

"Excuse me?"

Now he realized he offended the whole locker room. He was standing in about the middle, and all eyes were on him, looking with hostility and anger. "Nothing . . . I said nothing," he tried to get out of trouble.

"You have no powers here, Dean," Paige told him.

He didn't remember the last time he felt so exposed to danger. But he was amused by it. "Really? What are you gonna do?" He looked around at the forming circle around him, and he enjoyed every one of those disdainful looks.

"Kick your ass," he heard Brie calling behind his back.

"You wouldn't dare."

He turned around to face the door and attempted to leave the wicked circle. He would not have it that easy, though, because the Divas were not afraid of him.

"Really?" He laughed. He stood in front of Brie and tried to intimidate her with his height. She did look a bit worried, but she got support from the other members of the newly-established clan. Still, it didn't suffice. Not when he's been watching her with those eyes that always get what they want. He looked intimidating indeed. Frightening, backed up with his confidence. And then he said, "Boo." He said it really loudly, and a sudden movement of his hands invading Brie Bella's personal space augmented the result. Dean totally scared her.

Dean chuckled as he successfully escaped. "Amateurs," he uttered.

Paige, however, ran after him and caught him before he could leave the room. She stepped in front of him.

"So we're not done yet?" he asked.

"No. Apologize."

"For what exactly?"

"For basically saying that women spend an awful lot of time talking."

"It's true. Now if you excuse me . . ." He tried to get past her, but he failed as she refused to move one inch. "A little fight in you . . . I like that." He laughed. "But should I remind you that you were the one who stole my phone?"

"I apologized for that. Now you apologize for stereotyping women."

He looked away, smiling, with his tongue playing outside. Then he looked at her again. "No." His actions became more aggressive although his face remained kind. Dean pushed Paige aside – and this time he succeeded – but the door was another issue. She was blocking it, and he was having too much fun and pride to resort to his male strength. Instead, he called out, "I can stay here forever." The grin was suggesting that the girls would not want to see what he'd do there. Going through their stuff . . . discovering secrets . . . taking away their freedom to do in the locker room whatever they wanted. He was confidently staring at Paige who took charge of the command. "Hell, I even like it here. I mean, what's not to like about being the only man in the room full of women . . . with not much clothes on." He would continue joking, but then he remembered he was at work and somebody could call it a sexual harassment in the workplace. But he already made his point pretty clear. The Divas did not want him there a second longer. Paige opened the door. Dean laughed, looked around to see those who he just defeated, and coughed for effect while saying, "Amateurs." Then he laughed once more and finally left.

His next steps led into the men's locker room. He found it vacated. It brought a feeling of relaxation, freedom even. Initially, his plan was to put his phone back to its previous place in the locker. But now that he got the opportunity to be alone – even for a short period of time – and holding that phone in his hand, he wondered whether he shouldn't finish what he started. But there were no missed called or messages. And she knew it was him who called. If she were busy, she would let him know. Now all that was clear to him was that she had no interest in talking to him. Yeah, he knew where he could find her – and he considered going there – but he was almost certain he would do nothing about it. Besides, now Roman knew the whole truth. Even though he was a guy Dean did not want to talk to about his issues, he already has. And he realized that it wasn't just Roman that he had no interest in talking to.

His problems were his problems. He would figure it out. Actually, he believed he already was working on it. From now on, it would get better. He would prove to everybody that he was a championship material, he would become a champion . . . and then, perhaps, things could get back to when they were at the end of 2014. It required a lot of passion, commitment, but also luck. The championship belt was not the only prize that he wanted. He was reaching for more . . . so much more. . . . An image popped into his head. That New Year's morning, quiet New York, him lying on the bed, watching her as her eyes opened. Her apologies for the ruined night, his satisfaction. The love in her eyes, the love in his heart. . . . And another. Christmas morning when he missed her so much. And then when she appeared standing behind him, surprising him, widening the corners of his mouth, creating a loving smile. . . . His birthday party. The naughty angel. He could still taste the cake filling that he licked off her body . . . and off her tongue . . .

Suddenly the images were scattered. He remembered how someone got her roses today. It was true that she wasn't his girlfriend anymore, yet he still felt cheated on in some way. But he wasn't angry at her. He just knew that something has to be done about it. And he would do something about it . . . eventually. When he brings his plan to a successful end, he'll get her back. Even if he had to fight for it more than for that championship. The feelings that he felt toward her would not allow him to let her go. One day, they'll be together again. . . .