The alarm clock sounded. 1:00 p.m.

Daveny Lunde heard the distinct sound of the beeping. Most people in that position would pull the covers over their head and cling to the last few remnants of sleep. Not Daveny. The alarm clock was the soundtrack to her young life. It always signaled more than just the beginning of a new day.

She lifted her head, brunette hair that stopped about an inch above her shoulders was matted and in desperate need of a washing. That was what usually happened when you partied for 48 hours straight. The winter blanket shifted when she moved, causing her tee shirt to rise up her flat stomach. It exposed the tattoo on her side, along with the full arm left sleeve and the colorful half one that adorned her right one. Her eyes focused as she took a look at the strong male frame lying next to her. She was actually surprised to see him there. Surprised but happy. His back was to her and he slept like a log, snoring heavily.

Short strawberry blonde hair, way more strawberry than blond, quite ginger, depending on who you were asking. The front had started to grow out into a hellacious set of man bangs but as far as he was concerned, he had the coolest hair in the world. He had blue eyes that would have been beautiful had they not been so beady and dangerous looking. He had perfect teeth that he often showcased with a sarcastic smirk or goofy laugh. His body was constantly changing but for the moment, it was perfect. Six foot, four inches and 225 pounds of nothing but toned, tanned muscle. He was in the best shape of his life. Freshly recovered from the bloated face and gut that was the result of one too many drinks and about a hundred too many pills.

Daveny crawled over to him. Her fingertips traced the line from the nape of his neck to the top of his tailbone. His breathing remained labored and in some scary instances it seemed to stop altogether. She let her lips replace where her fingers had been. She loved the taste of him on her lips and tongue. He was a turn on like no other. Moaning softly, she nipped at his shoulder.

"Why are you hovering over me?" came the mid-western laced accent, heavy with sleep, mumbled by a messy stash of covers and pillows.

Daveny rolled her eyes.

"Good morning to you, too. Or should I say afternoon."

"Whatever."

He wasn't budging.

"Jon…" she called his name, in almost a pleading manner for his attention.

"Daveny…" he called out her name, voice still muffled but nevertheless sarcastic and mocking.

"Wake up, baby."

"Why?"

He groaned and cursed to himself. It was no use. Sleep was no more. She was relentless.

"What are you doing?" she asked with a satisfied smile as she leaned over and placed a peck on his lips.

"Being bothered by you."

"It is time to get up," she tickled the underside of his slightly rippled stomach.

"Fuck me," he struggled to sit up. "What time is it? What fucking day is it?"

"Sunday," she yawned.

He stretched his long arms and reached over for the half drank Yeungling, that was still warm and waiting on the nearby nightstand.

"Goddamned, it's bright in here," he made a face as he took a swig.

Daveny stared at him.

"Babe…"

"What?"

"Jon."

"What are you looking at?"

"Hold me."

"I'm not holding you."

"Why not?"

"Why not? Because it's fucking hot in here, that's why."

Daveny shot him a mean look.

"It's like 50 degrees outside."

"I'm from Cincinatti. That's hot."

"Well welcome to Florida, asshole," she threw a pillow at him that he caught.

He gave her that shit eating grin and instantly she was putty in his hands.

"Relax, I'm just fucking with you. Come here."

Daveny never made him beg. He wrapped an arm around her and he looked into her eyes. He gave her a nod…the nod before tilting her chin up and kissing her. His tongue was cold and wet. He tasted of stale beer and probably the Doritos he had snacked on the night before but she didn't care. They had been doing this a long time. That cutesy new couple honeymoon stage, way short lived for them, if existent at all, had long passed. Nevertheless she studied his face. He wasn't cute. He wasn't beautiful. He was hot. He was ruggedly handsome. He was sexy, if you were into the bad boy kind of thing. And everything about him was bad. Even those blue eyes. Especially those eyes. They were dangerous looking. Once she and Jon walking to some place in the suburbs minding their own business, had approached an elderly lady who was so horrified by his size and precarious looks and Daveny's plethora of tattoos, that she just handed over her purse because she just knew the two were going to rob her. For shits and giggles, they actually took it.

Daveny ran her slender finger over his forehead, his nose, his lips. She had memorized every line, every curve.

"So fucking sexy…" she whispered.

"Why you being weird? Why are you acting weird first thing in the morning? Who does that?"

"It's not first thing in the morning, I already told you. I want you to hold me."

"I am holding you."

"I want you to cuddle me."

"What if I don't want to cuddle you?"

"Who gives a fuck what you want? Cuddle, goddammit!"

He rolled over onto his side.

"Go away."

"No."

"Leave me alone, Jenny", he tried his best Forrest Gump voice.

Jon had a wacky and albeit sick sense of humor but a lot of the time, he was actually funny. He was a master at impersonation. Most of the time, Daveny thought it was cute unless when they were making out and he wouldn't stop doing his Dusty Rhodes voice. That one got on her fucking nerves.

She looked around at the messy bedroom. They lived in an apartment in Tampa. Daveny had longed for something nicer, with perhaps a bay view but Jon had quickly vetoed that idea. No way was he gonna pay all that money just to look at some motherfucking water, as he had so nicely put it. The place they ended up getting wasn't bad. It was definitely an upgrade from their last gig. That had damned near been the projects. But Jon had grown up in that life and said it wasn't that bad. He found it amusing that some little rich bitch had the nerve to call anything "ghetto". She didn't know shit about the ghetto. But she had carried on so much that for the sake off his own sanity, he had given in and moved. Out of the "ghetto" but not to the waterfront. Jon called it a compromise. Daveny called it bullshit.

It wasn't like they were poor or anything. But they weren't rich either. Not even well off but he made enough from wrestling to keep food on the table and a decent roof over their heads. It was still developmental wrestling. He only worked for the Cream of the Crop promotions but Indys were Indys. And that meant that Daveny did not have the luxury of sitting home on her ass all day getting massages and manicures. She didn't have a lot of marketable employment skills. She was a college dropout. She was covered in tattoos and weird piercings. But she had a smoking hot body. It was either dance or bar tend/wait tables. The latter seemed to be the most appealing option.

Jon took some territorial male pride that his girl didn't have to strip. Hell, he knew some dudes that weren't making shit. Strippers, especially hot ones, pulled in good cash. Some of those guys depended on their girls' income. Not him. Of course Daveny was stripping when he met her. That was how they met in fact. In a seedy strip club in Peoria, Illinois. She was bad ass and apart of him liked that. A part of him got off on knowing that all the guys wanted to fuck his girl but they could never have her. Ever. Daveny wasn't having it. She was loyal, ride or die. And even if she wasn't, he would kill a motherfucker with his bare hands for just looking at her wrong or too long.

The other part of him was fiercely jealous and protective. His girl was too good to shake her ass, tits, and pussy in front of drunken losers. That was for him only. It was a bit of a contradiction. Sometimes he was a walking contradiction in life. He liked skanks and well…at times, Daveny could be considered a bit of a skank. Banging skanks was a coping mechanism for him. It was comfortable, familiar. It was a constant reminder of the hard knock life he was so accustomed to. But the skanks weren't enough to keep him. They didn't hold his heart. And Daveny definitely held his heart. Beneath it all…the potty mouth, the pretty face, the tats and the "don't fuck with me" exterior…she was a sweet, wounded, vulnerable, extremely kind little girl. He loved that about her.

The biggest part of the contradiction was his view on loyalty. He was a man who had been betrayed his whole life. He trusted no one…not even his own mother. But in his adult life, he had found friends, formed solid bonds with a few people he could trust. Daveny was one of them. He would kill for her. He would give his own life to protect her. He would never leave her. But he wouldn't stop sleeping around with other women either. It just wasn't in him and one thing had nothing to do with the other, as far as he was concerned. Those other women were just physical gratification, ego boosts, fun, part of the Indy wrestling rite of passage. It had nothing to do with Daveny and everything to do with him. And no matter if it was her, a crack whore from his past, a hooker, or some ring rat, no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't fuck the past away. And tried he did.

But if you thought Jon Good was crazy, you should have met his alter egos, Mox and Dean Ambrose. The characters of Jon were actual extensions of Jon as a man. Both were wild with a thirst for violence and fun that all seemed to comfortably combine. He had been born in Ohio and had lived a tough life filled with drugs, neglect and more hardships that any innocent child should ever have to see. Wrestling became his escape as a teenager. He got his start in Heartland Wrestling Association and his career had taken off from there. The last stop on the train was TNA or WWE. It didn't get any better than that. And being picked up by FCW/NXT, it meant that he was well on his way. All he had to do was keep drawing the crowds, keep tearing up the mic, keep wrestling his ass off. Hell, that was the easy part. He could do that in his sleep. The hard part was staying out of trouble, laying off the alcohol, staying clean off drugs or at least being crafty enough to pass the piss tests.

He was known for his skilled technique, his penchant for over the top gore, and mostly for his mic skills. Jon Good/Jon Moxley/Dean Ambrose could talk with the best of them. Some of his best promos had been based on his own life experiences. He was an open book, not ashamed of it but one could tell that some aspects still deeply affected him. He buried certain memories but all of it had made him the man, even the success that he was.

Not to take away from his talent but sometimes in the world of politics, it did not matter how good you were but it was all about who you knew. Surprisingly, Jon had a very deep WWE connection. Unbeknown to him when they first hooked up, Daveny was the daughter of wrestling royalty. Her father was still very active with Vince McMahon. But his relationship with his only daughter was strained, at best. Her choice of a boyfriend only further complicated matters. Martin "Arn Anderson" Lunde didn't give a hoot in hell how good Dean Ambrose was. As far as he was concerned, Jon Good wasn't worth the gum stuck to a side of a shoe and that he was a detriment to his delinquent child's already troubled life.

"You want me to make you something to eat?" she offered. "I got work at 4."

"Don't bother. I feel like shit. Probably gonna smoke a bowl later and go back to sleep. I'll eat some Ramen or something. My head is killing me, fucking pounding."

"Alright."

Jon frowned.

"Why do you look all sad all of a sudden?"

She shrugged.

"I'm good. Just tired. I'll be home late. Are you gonna be here when I get back tonight?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"I guess so."

"Whatever, Jon."

"Don't nag me."

It was no use anyway.

"I love you," she said softly as she played with his hair.

"You too."

"Babe?"

"Hmmm?"

"Can I ask you something weird?"

"What?"

"Do you ever get the feeling, like, I don't know, like I'm not here?"

He raised his head.

"You mean like when I'm passed out?"

Daveny sighed.

"No, Jon. Never mind."

"Come on. The fuck kind of question is that?"

"It's…never mind."

"Come here," he licked his lips.

"Why?"

"Because if you are here now, I would totally like to have sexual intercourse with you," he managed to keep a straight face.

"You're a dick."

"Yes, I do have one of those. And it is super hard right now despite the fact that my chick is a complete space cadet."

She couldn't help but laugh as he pulled her close and they kissed.

"I love you, Jon."

"You too."

"No," she grabbed his face. "Say it. Say the words. Not just 'you too'. You know I hate that shit. I want to hear you say it."

He grabbed her and rolled them both so that he was on top.

"I love you. I love Daveny Lunde."

There was something about the way he called her name.

"Say it again," she whispered.

He knew exactly what she wanted to hear.

"Daveny," he repeated in a softer tone.

He held her close and she lost herself in his embrace. They fit together so perfectly in every way. There was nothing more perfect. When she was with him, all that mattered was each other, the cocoon of an existence that they had safely created where nothing and no one could hurt them. It was her life, their life. The Dean life.