ONE

...::~ONE~::...

Grace sat up in bed, moving carefully so that she didn't wake up her boyfriend...wow, what a thought that was for her. Her expression was so soft, softer than it ever usually was as she turned so she could look at him sleep. They'd ended up in bed of course, and it was as shattering and brilliant for her as it always was, but that last time when he'd made eye contact with her right before... she blushed, thinking about it but there'd been something in his eyes that was almost like hope. That was the word she wanted, wasn't it? It tasted right at least, when she quietly sounded it out. She carefully moved her hand to brush his bangs away from his face, too dark really to see the silver separate from the brunette but her mind provided the details. He was so handsome, so striking to her, that her fingers trembled as she drew her hand back. How could it be, that she had a man like this with all his experience leaving her little love poems on Twitter, giving her those hot looks he did? Her breath caught in her throat as she bit her lip, because it had occurred to her that he really did. Those little poems, they were hints. Weren't they? Old Brucey fancies you. Her voice was a bare whisper then. "Not old, just weathered. I want to believe you're mine. Please don't make me wrong."

She carefully laid back down, snuggling in against him and closing her eyes and trying with all her heart to wish it true. His eyes opened a slit, his heart breaking because he'd heard every word she'd said.

Vegas || 01-31-2016

Bruce McLeod leaned on the railing, looking down on the training center's gym below – he didn't have to be here. As long as he showed up for booked appearances, he didn't have to participate in any of the weekly skills workshops. The smile on his face was almost foreign, just a twinge of unfamiliar pain in his cheeks as he watched Grace's strong form. Most of the hopefuls hadn't really paid him much attention and that was precisely the way he liked it. He'd make sure to slip out before Grace noticed him here – the last thing he wanted was her to peg him as some sort of stalker-type, watching her every hour of the day.

His right hand dropped to his pocket, closing around the duplicate key inside, running his thumb over the jagged teeth that were still sharp, and the cuts fresh. It was a small gesture, really. Giving her a key to the tiny flat he'd called home for the last year wasn't in the same realm as jewelry or chocolates or stuffed animals but to him it meant everything – it meant trust. The rest of the world had him pegged as a player, as a flirt and a womanizer. Labels from the rest of them didn't matter.

"Been a while," the voice from his left startled him from his reverie, the smile dropping from his lips as he turned to see Larry Gowan standing there.

"Aye," Bruce replied, one eyebrow lifting behind the purple-tinted lenses of the glasses he wore. "Louisville... may she rest in peace." He made the sign of the cross against his chest before glancing back down at the other wrestlers going through their paces. "How's the..."

Larry joined him at the railing, letting out a sigh. "Not good. Between us... I'm trying like hell to be as optimistic as George and Chauncy are but..." he shook his head. "It's been hard. Very, very hard and it's going to take an awful lot of work to get back into ring shape. But you're not here to listen to my sob stories, I'm sure. So, you going to stay in Fear and Loathing or use that as a springboard to the main roster?"

"Nae," Bruce shook his head, "here's fine. Need someone with chops tae keep knob-jockeys like Chas in line."

"I'd pick at that a little harder," Larry's gaze followed Bruce's down to rest on Grace for a moment, "but I think I already know. So, you and Grace, eh?"

"From day one," Bruce replied, "cannae keep me eyes off her – she's somethin' else."

"She's a little rough around the edges, but she's definitely got the skills. I think with a little work on her people skills and she'll be a force to be reckoned with."

Bruce scoffed, "nothin' wrong with 'er there. She's jus' fine, Larry. Wouldnae change a single aspect."

Gowan held up his hands, "whoa, relax. I don't mean anything by it, really. She just needs to get more comfortable in her own skin. It's that lack of confidence that's killing her out there. She's got the talent to hang with any of the ladies on the main roster, easily. I mean, you saw how she handled herself in the Jackpot rumble."

"Aye," Bruce nodded, back to fingering that key in his pocket like it was a worry-stone. "Yeh leave that one tae me, hmm?"

"Don't build her up if you're only going to-"

Bruce turned his head so quickly that Larry almost took a step back at the sight of the dark anger on his face. "Don't sully what'm feelin' with yer shyte, laddie. I'd never harm a hair on 'er head, let alone break a heart."

"Does she know that?" Larry's voice was soft.

Bruce was quiet for so long that Gowan let it slide, walking away to leave the scarred Scot in silence. "Nae," he finally said to himself, "an' she never will."