005

He'd bought the gym just so he could ensure silence— throwing money at problems had always been the best solution, at least since the days he'd been raking it in hand-over-fist. The club in Reno had finally sold and they were almost through finalizing the sale on a house in Coral Gables that he'd fallen in love with on first sight. The fact that they were in Florida didn't bother him anymore and that was the most telling thing in his life right now. There was no paranoia, no nightmares, no cold sweats or twitchy nic fits in the middle of the night. His teen years had fallen away and maybe it was just that the brain cells carrying those memories had finally died off after all this time? No, for once he actually felt calm. He actually felt firmly in control.

The wind in the palms beyond the window was comforting, the sound imagined because all he could hear was the rush of air-conditioning and blood pounding in his head. Watching them sway though, it made every rep possible, even though the sweat was pouring off his nearly-naked torso in sheets, actually pattering on the floor around him.

Breathe in. Steel and hold. Breathe out and push. Hold. Hold. Ignore the shaking. Hold. And release.

Lyv watched him from across the room, chewing on the edge of her thumbnail as he forced his legs straight despite the weight he was working against. She saw the furrow between his brows, the pinched crow's feet at the corners of his eyes, and the turned down corners of his mouth— he was in pain and there wasn't a damned thing she could do about it. She shifted her weight, opening her mouth to speak but he cut her off as though he somehow sensed both her presence and what she was about to say.

"I'm fine."

Her mouth closed with an audible snap as she looked away from him. Those two words had sent her spiralling back in time and now she felt like she was walking on eggshells. Shivering, she pulled the cardigan she wore tight around her, wishing she'd worn something more than just one of her bikinis and a pair of cut-offs. The place was as cold as a meat locker and she knew that was her husband's doing. He usually threw the windows open in the dead of winter while he was working out— he could go longer if he didn't get overheated. "I wasn't—"

"Yeah, you were," a soft groan served as punctuation as he let the footplates come back to their resting position. "It's just bruised, okay? Nothing torn—" liar, the voice in his head rebuked, "—I'll wear the brace against Donovan. There won't be any more ladders or chairs or... whatever. I hope. I'm gambling on something a little less BASIC for a stipulation. Maybe a suplex contest? I dunno. I'm hoping Spyder isn't going out of his way to kill his top prospect—"

"Did he call you that?" She sounded awed at the thought.

"Not in as many words, no. But whatever comes down the pipe, it'll be alright."

Will it? Kirsta might not have pulled out the win, but she definitely made the rest of your career into an uphill climb.

"You really think so?"

"I do, yeah. Remember the Terrordome against Spiral?"

Lyv nodded and took a few faltering, cautious steps in his direction. "I do, yeah. I remember your foot was almost torn off—"

"Sixty-seven stitches in that ankle. A pint of blood pumped back into my arm and I got back into the ring two weeks later like a motherfuckin' boss. I got by, Lyv; that's what I'm trying to tell you. This isn't even a—"

"I swear to God, if you say it's not even a scratch, I'm going to kick the shit out of you," she snapped, feeling her mood shift so suddenly it left her reeling. "Are you going to stand there, missing both arms and tell me it's just a flesh wound, too?"

"Well, that's the last time I watch Monty Python with you," he tried for a smile but she physically swatted it away, waving her hand.

"That match was nine years ago, Jax. I think sometimes you forget the little things like that. For you, it was just yesterday because it's all linked together in your head, right? You always tell me how it's this rich tapestry and you keep seeing the patterns repeating but nine years is a really long time, especially when you've been putting your body on the line almost every week since then." The words came out in a breathless rush, as though she was afraid he'd cut her off before she finally got to say her piece. "That's a lot of matches, you know? A lot of time and sweat and energy and you're not getting any younger—"

"Four hundred and thirty-two, if I had one every week— all the ones I doubled up on with back-to-backs in Frontier and SVW and FTW and MWA all at the same time, yeah. Probably at least that many, even with the five months or so I took off." Once she put it out there, he had to do the math. He had to know the actual numbers and they were dizzying. "The past is close enough to touch, Lyv— I feel better than I did when I was defending MWA's top gold—"

"Until you lost it because you were wrestling with a fractured collarbone, thanks to that double booking with FTW that you just had to take against that asshole Matt Ford," she was quick to remind him and he sighed, shaking his head.

"Lyv, that's not the same. That guy was a dickhead and he needed to be taken down a peg. You know that. Hell, after the shit he did to your brother, you were all but begging me to go back and finish the job."

"Don't change the subject," that motherly rebuke crept into her tone as she wagged a finger at him. "Don't brush this off, either. You have a history of wrestling hurt and when you do, bad things happen. I just don't want to see that again, okay? If you're hurt, tell me. If you don't think you're good to compete, tell Spyder. Just don't go out there because you think you have something to prove to me or to them or to Kirsta fucking Lewis. I don't give a shit if Donovan earned this. He can take a flying leap if it's going to jeopardize your health. Don't lie to me, baby. You tell the rest of them whatever you need to, but be straight with me."

"It's just bruised from the ladder," he said it again, his voice softer than before as he bowed his head. Scrubbing at his sweaty face with his hands, he lay back on the bench and closed his eyes. "It'll hold my weight— that's all I need it to do. I'm not gonna be scaling anything because I'm not fucking reckless—"

"I never said—"

"Let me finish," he muttered. "This is maintenance, you understand? That's what I'm doing, Lyv. I'm making sure it's good enough for that and it is. I just benched a hundred over my weight and it held—" barely. "So if you're gonna just keep harping, looking for some flaw that's not there, fuck off. Go back to the hotel. I'll see you in a couple hours."

The silence drew out and she watched him laying there, watching his chest rising and falling each time he took a breath. Swallowing hard, she put a smile on her face and cleared her throat. The words actually came out playfully, the hint of a cheeky grin lurking in her tone. "Mr. Champion, do you have a minute to spare for your biggest fan?"

He lifted his head at the sound, a smile appearing on his ashen features. "For you, beautiful?" He knew where she was going with this, and the distraction was more than welcome. A part of him desperately needed this validation above everything else. Even if he was halfway broken, she still wanted— still worshipped— him. "I've got all the time in the world for one as pretty as you. Always."

"Y'know, I never did give you that reward I promised, did I?" She pretended to consider that, studying him as though trying to make sure he was up for this.

He sat up slowly, taking his time to make sure he didn't keel over. He felt a little lightheaded, but it faded as he took a deep breath. His eyes were so blue they looked black as they bored into hers, a slow and lascivious smirk spreading over his lips— pure Jackson. "C'mere, mama," he murmured, holding out his arms, "gimme some sugar."