Hey Syd, it's me, Ro. I got your number from Trisha when I was at the hospital recently. Anyway, I wanted to see how you were doing. I hope you're doing well and I'll hear from you soon.

She really how his deep rumble could still create a wicked feeling within her. His voice sounded like slow-pouring sweet molasses, melted butter, and a whole other bunch of euphemisms she couldn't think of. The primary description, the one Sydney could remember no matter how she felt about Roman – was that his voice sounded like sex. Unbridled, wicked, slap-my-ass-and-pull-my-hair-big-daddy sex.

It took a long time to scrub the filth otherwise known as Roman off her mind and body. She knew the universe was sending her some sort of message and she finally figured it out – closure. She never completely shut the door on Roman and she needed to before she could foresee any chance at a future with Dean.

Trisha explained in vain why she had to give Roman her number and she couldn't fault the woman. Roman was going to keep coming back and become more drastic than before. Maybe it was a good thing. Maybe this needed to happen.

Now that Roman was back in, Sydney was going to Karate Kid chop his ass back out.

"So what's going to happen now?" Sarah asked.

"I'm going to go to his tattoo shop and end it once and for all." Sydney explained. "That's it."

"You sure going there is a good idea?" Jane asked. "I get he's a celebrity and all, but there are some crooks and criminals who work there."

"You know not everyone who is brown is a criminal," Sarah retorted, "just putting that out there."

"It wasn't a racist comment but a true one. Roman himself admitted some of the guys he employs used to be in the system." Jane smugly added. "I'm looking out for Syd's best interest."

"Sure you are, sugar tits," Sarah snorted and redirected her attention to Sydney. "So when is this going to happen?"

"Now," Sydney packed away her items and stood up, "I need to get this done and out of the way. I'm about to get married and I don't need my ex to keep popping back up. Besides, he can't find me other than my number so I don't have to worry about him showing up at my place. And he knows better than to show up at my parents' house."

Trisha bit her lip. "Um, Sydney…?"

Sydney eyeballed Jane and shook her head. "No, no, no…please don't tell you…" Trisha slightly shrugged her shoulders as a means of apologizing. Sydney slowly sat back down. "Oh my God, I think I'm going to fucking kill you."

He knew behind her tough as nails and bitch in heels exterior, there was a sensitive soul. It was why he tolerated her for as long as he did. Now Dean was running out of excuses. He needed to talk to Renee and gently break the news to her that she was no longer a part of his life.

She wasn't a bad person, despite her reputation. She'd helped more behind the scenes than most people knew or wanted to admit. She led him to a premiere financial adviser, redid his wardrobe, and coached him how to conduct himself on camera. She'd taught him a thing or two in the bedroom and as a result, he'd become a better lover to her and Sydney, as a result. Renee'd saved his ass on more than a few occasions and he would be forever grateful to her.

That was the past. Sydney was his future.

Love was a funny thing. He was content being a ladies' man and racking up as many notches on his belt as he could. Then a chance meeting in Chicago occurred.

He knew when he met Sydney, it was all over. He tried to deny it and said he wasn't in love with her but rather, he was in like. It was bullshit. He loved her the moment he saw her. He loved her laugh, her depreciating sense of humor, her smile. He loved she knew nothing about hockey but was eager to know more. He loved she loved life and most importantly, loved love. She was funny, whimsical, and maybe a tad bit of a bad girl.

She was perfect.

She loved him because who he was. She loved him in spite of who he was. She didn't care about his cars (she complained he owned too many), his house (she wondered aloud if he'd expected her to clean it when he was away; he told her he had a maid service that came over and she asked if the maids were ugly as sin), and was jealous he lived right on the beach (he wanted to go skinny dipping one night and she said she wasn't drunk enough).

As he stared out into the chilly San Francisco sky, Dean debated if he should talk over the phone instead of in person when he returned that night to Los Angeles. He had practice the next day and didn't want the weight of Renee hanging over his head any longer.

He dialed up Renee's number and waited for her to pick up. She was going to think he was the biggest asshole that ever lived on planet Earth; he'd already predicted her reaction. There were going to be a flurry of curse words and she would probably end the conversation wishing him a safe trip to hell. He was going to be prepared to hear the rumors and bashing about his lack of sexual prowess, how awful of a person he was, and then it would be over.

At least he'd hope so.

"I was wondering if I would ever hear from you again," she purred over the phone as she picked up.

"Yeah, well, it took me some time to digest the information you paid a surprise visit to my family." The thought still annoyed him but he managed to keep his cool.

"I apologize for that," Renee was sincere, "I honestly thought you were there and I came by to surprise you! I was in the area and I thought it was a nice thing to drop in and say hello."

"Why were you in Chicago, anyway?"

"I was looking at an art gallery that a friend recommended to me." The lie was perfect.

"I see," Dean bit back a chuckle as he thought about Renee's plan, "how is your artwork coming along, by the way?"

"It's coming just fine!" Renee didn't miss a step. "I actually wanted to talk to you about that."

"Oh?" Dean heard a knock at the door and walked over. "What is it?"

"I need to confess to you – it's not me doing the drawings," she admitted.

No shit? Dean looked through the peephole and saw a familiar face. "Oh?"

"It's someone I've hired to do on my behalf. She's kinda like a ghost-painter of sorts."

Dean opened the door and locked eyes with someone he wondered if he would ever meet. "Renee, now isn't the best time."

"Listen, Dean! I wanted to let you know that I'm doing it totally in fun and I meant no harm."

"Renee, I really need to go. I'll talk to you later." He hung up on her. He stuffed the phone into his jeans pocket and contemplated his next step.

"Are you going to invite me in?" Roman asked.

"With all disrespect let me say this," Dean stepped up to his nemesis, "fuck, no."