Chapter Fifteen (Ownership) [final UNCENSORED piece]

The ride back to the hotel was quiet and he was glad that he'd insisted on booking the room instead of crashing in the guest room at Alex Kelly's house. Especially now. Especially since he'd just walked – barely – out of the DuBurns Arena with her belt as well as Stryker's. It still hadn't sunk in. He'd gone from nothing, from not even expecting this shot to pulling off the sort of dark horse upset that belonged back in 2007. He could feel the weight of Missy's gaze on him as he leaned against the mirrored wall in the elevator, his breath leaving a little cloud of condensation when he sighed. They had a flight back to Miami booked for the morning and he doubted he'd even be close to mobile enough to make it through the airport, let alone endure that long of a flight trying to sit still.

Missy was concentrating on her breathing, as if she were going on a run and needed to pace her oxygen intake. She kept looking at Jax, she couldn't help doing it because he was so goddamn fine to her... but she'd had a little moment, her reaction startling the hell out of her, she wanted to do something about that. She wanted to express herself, to use that adrenaline charge somehow, but...she looked up. Remember, security cameras and this isn't anyone's business but ours. His sigh drew her gaze again and she raked him from head to toe with her dark gaze, and she felt her heart slowly start to settle back in her chest, figuratively, from the spot in her throat it had jumped to when she'd watched the end of that match.

Jackson kept his eyes on the numbers, watching them slide by on the display slower than molasses because it was getting harder and harder to stay upright. He'd have to change the flight. There was no way around that and – the soft chime and shudder broke past that sort of reverie of his. He glanced at Missy as the door started to slide open, dragging in a deep breath.

She didn't hesitate, stepping in close to his side and murmuring. "Come on, Boss. Put your arm around my shoulder, it'll look sexy." Missy felt that strange mix of emotion rising in her again. "I know, I know. I'm so short, you're tall... well you know what they say about short girls." Her arm slipped around his waist and she felt an almost full body shiver come over her, hot and cold all at once. He could have...shhh. Just wait.

"I'm okay," it meant to come off strong and firm but when he shifted his weight to take that first step, it turned into a pained groan. He leaned on her harder than he should have, trying like hell to make it look like he was halfway broken, thinking of shitty footage of Beyoncé's sister kicking the shit out of Jay-Z and how much something like that would be worth now. It was enough of a distraction to get him out before the doors closed, to propel him down that hideous carpet to the door and by then he was soaked in sweat.

The breath Missy exhaled was shaky as she did her best to hold on and keep him up all while fishing the key card out of her purse to open the door and praying that she didn't drop it. She didn't like that he likely could hear that change in her breathing, or how he'd broken out in a sweat from just that short walk, let alone that groan...how bad was her man hurting? At least she was able to finally get the key card into her left hand, she'd have dropped it for sure with her right and those damn shaking fingers. "Almost, Boss..." she felt her tone soften a little, even as her eyes narrowed to try and keep up her 'mad'.

"Just a few more... almost there." He murmured, teeth clenching on the heels of that as they finally made it across the threshold, the duffel bag that contained his ring gear and the two heavy-as-fuck belts dropping to the floor from his shoulder.

As soon as they were clear Missy kicked back with her foot to shut the door, startling a little at the thump of the duffel hitting the floor. A breath let out she wasn't aware she'd been holding and she tried to steer him toward the bed. "Boss." Too soft, then a little firmer. "Jax." She needed him to look at her, she wasn't sure what was going to happen but it was going to happen soon.

The bed. He sat down hard, air rushing from his lungs with a grunt even as his eyes met hers. "Miss." The shortened version of her name came out softly, his gaze reflecting nothing but pain and an almost sort of guilt and the fact that he maintained eye contact despite that was something. "What?"

"Oh Boss." Softer than she wanted, and she felt her lower lip jut out in a childish pout, she knew damn well it was too which made it worse. He'd almost melted her right out of that mad with the way he'd said his little pet name for her, that was a fact. Then she took a deep breath, feeling that hot and cold rush again as her mind supplied that image of him jumping off that cage toward the floor. Before she'd even realized it her arm moved and she whapped him hard on his shoulder. Well, it was her right hand to be fair so 'hard' was relative but the intent was there, and she was trying hard as hell to disguise that she was shaking all over, but it wasn't out of fear of Jax, but just... "God-fucking-dammit-to-hell you scared the fuck out of me! Your knee, and..." She threw both hands up in the air and pretended her dark eyes weren't suddenly shining with unshed tears. "And I'm ... I'm so fucking proud of you and mad and...FUCK."

"Scared the fuck outta you?" He chuckled softly under his breath, shaking his head. "How do you think I felt when I let go? Sure... there was the rush but the second I made that choice, I was thinking 'oh shit'. Knew I couldn't stick the landing on the floor routine." The snark was there, the armor against the fear firmly in place – she'd see right through it.

"Oh my God I should bite you." She blurted it out, feeling a couple of those tears she was pretending weren't there spill over onto her cheeks, but there was a laugh in her tone that surprised her. Before she could think twice she just bent a little at the waist, her hands resting on his shoulders as she found his lips for a kiss, and when she broke it she nibbled his lower lip. "You... Jesus Christ, Jax."

"Hey..." his hands found her waist, his fingers hot against her skin as they slipped under the hem of her shirt. "I knew it was gonna hold. My luck... changed when you showed up."

Missy bit her lip the second she felt his hands on her, lifting her left hand to swipe those tears off her face even while she was still pretending they weren't there. Damn, the things he made her feel! "Well... it was about time I think." A slight pause as she felt her expression change, her letting him know without words how she felt about what he was doing. "It's only fair, Boss. You get some good luck, I get some great..." That curl of her lips at the corners in a sly little smirk, she hadn't been one bit shy about sharing tales of his prowess. "It's kind of, not funny? But it's just right." Her voice softened more than she'd ever admit it could. "I really am so fucking proud of you, Jax. You really did it, and I can't put all this into words. But I promise you, after we get you rested up and feeling better...?" A hot spark came up in her dark eyes. "I'll show you."

"Sounds like incentive, right there." He smirked, tugging at her shirt to pull her in closer. "Maybe... gimme a little teaser? What's 'proud Missy' feel like, hmm?"

"Oooh." She felt her own little answering smirk come to her lips as she let him reel her in. "Oh I think I can do that. I think I can make you forget about your middle name without you having to do a thing...that's what proud Missy feels like."



Chris Madison beat me once upon a time, yeah. It was last year and I only know that because I could look it up here. June. I don't remember when I had that beer, when I was putting out my cigarettes in it. I'm being honest, Deuce. It wasn't a significant moment in my life. I was fixated on Madison, on righting some ancient wrong.

So the beer was in June. In some dive bar. Might have been before that... maybe it was late May? I vaguely remember writing something on the bar with the condensation, some clever little message. I remember being angry because it was always simmering there under the surface and tapping into it was as easy as breaking the seal for that first piss you throw when you've been drinking the entire day away. I remember the tender – strawberry blonde, great rack. I remember that only because Lyv asked me later if I'd thought she was pretty since I'd spent so much time talking to her. The old trick question and goddamned, she was so fucking needy, so fucking jealous. My exes – couldn't joke with them on Twitter. #FoxyFriday or #FujikoFriday or whatever the random photowhore tag of the week happened to be... had to avoid that like the plague because otherwise, she'd be shoving her cell phone in my face, asking me why I'd put gold stars on a few choice photos. I was married, not castrated. I know, it's just par for the course for guys like us to make the worst possible choices in women. I get it, man, I do. Mystic made you feel alive. Lyv made me feel important with all that hero worship bullshit and in hindsight, I should have realized what was going to come of that when the novelty wore off right around the time I decided not to go back to a company with a prime time television slot, opting instead of move us to Miami.

Water under the bridge.

The gold stars are red hearts now, 'favorites' softened to 'likes' and the world kept spinning even when I came home to an empty house. Little over a year after Madison beat me, like this magical transference took that long to catch up with me, for that loss to circle back around and here you are, whining about how you haven't won a match in a year like I'm on some untouchable streak? Grinder. Deuce. Don't even know what I'm supposed to call you now but I'm getting the feeling that 'family' is probably about to slide off the other side of the table. It is what it is. Lemme level with you, kid. Instead of the usual posturing, the usual James Dean cool guy act, the usual spastic monkey man flailing and key mashing – Baltimore was a lifeline. You don't fucking talk about that like you know me, like you know the first goddamned thing about what happened when I woke up in the middle of an empty room after a week-long bender only to find out I had no messages waiting. No bookings looming.

Fucking nothing at all but 5,834 square feet of emptiness and ol' Spyder Man vanished and the doors stayed locked but I'm not complaining... fuck no. Not complaining at all because you've got sole ownership there and I'd never dream of stepping on your toes, despite the fact that you just got right up in my face and started flinging feces like the spastic screeching juvenile monkey the rest of the world sees you as.

You're too young for this bullshit, kid.

This bitterness. Holding all this rage inside you – it's not the answer. Coming at me with your fists raised, hoping I'm going to react to the cheap shots and put you out of your misery. I know that's what you want. Thumb wrestling. Sure. That's what this'll be, just like that Tequila Match was just beer pong gone wrong. Except it wasn't a drinking game and that cunt tried her damndest to put me on the shelf permanently. We're not gonna have some cute little moment here where we kick the shit out of each other, have a nice cry, hug it out and everything's back to roses and puppies and rainbows. If you want that, go bark up someone else's tree. I don't do freebies, Deuce.

You want me to tear you apart? You want me to eat your goddamned soul – what little shred you have left that you didn't sell to that bottom-feeding slut? Not gonna happen because it's not 2007. It's not even 2014 and the Brad Jackson you remember sitting at that bar, running his mouth about a guy we've both beaten before doesn't exist anymore. Maybe he never really did outside of those smoke-filled rooms, after hours, when the people who actually fucking mattered in this world were doing something meaningful instead of running their mouths and drinking the blues away. All of that shit's completely subjective.

Maybe I'm the same person I was eight years ago. Maybe I'm not.

Maybe it's just the scenery that's changed.

Maybe it's just that the older I get, the less I give a fuck about the world outside my little perfect circle – the chosen few. You used to be on that list, kid. Might do you some good to remember that, might help to recall that one of those egghead fucks who wrote the definitions of crazy people slapped a label on what I do and I've been raging against that ever since. Spend more than an hour watching me when cameras aren't rolling, and you'll understand what that means. Decades of being a loner have left me next to useless and my conversation skills are shit.

Here's the truth you were digging for, kid, and I want you to take it in as deep as you can and hold it there. Welcome to real life.

The glass isn't half full.

It isn't half empty, either.

It was never yours.

–– Jax