Chapter 19
I glance at the cab station, where there are zero cabs.
Fantastic. Of course, there wouldn’t be any cabs the one time I need one.
I’m tired, I’m starving, and I’m in desperate need of a coffee.
I wonder if I can convince whatever cabbie picks me up to stop for one.
I’ll even buy him one. Yes, I could walk back into the airport and get one, but I don’t want an overpriced chain coffee where they burn the beans.
I want an iced coffee, medium ice, with a thin layer of vanilla cold foam, and the best place to get that is at Cream & Sugar, the coffee shop four minutes and thirty-seven seconds from our house.
I discovered it accidentally a few months after I moved into John’s house, not long after Wrestlefest XXX, and now I go almost every day we’re home.
“Looks like you need a ride.” Normally, a random man shouting something like this at me wouldn’t end well…
for him, but the sound of his voice stops me in my tracks.
I must be dreaming because he’s not supposed to be here.
He’s supposed to be in Canada, but the bite from my nails embedded into my palms tells me this isn’t a dream.
My heart skips a beat when I turn on my heel and see him standing there.
Dropping my bags, I sprint straight into his arms, wrapping my arms and legs securely around him.
A deep inhale fills my lungs with the warm scent of him—earthy scents of blue cypress and vetiver—and he chuckles when I tighten my grip.
“I missed you, too, Sweetheart.” John kisses me, and I can’t hold back a hum of sweet satisfaction, feeling his lips on mine.
It’s been two weeks since I last saw him.
Two weeks since I dropped him off at this exact airport to fly north of the border for a guest role on some television show that neither of us watches, but that sounded like fun, regardless.
He wasn’t scheduled to come home until Thursday. What is he doing here?
“What are you doing here?” I ask, pulling back to look in his eyes. His hair is slightly longer than when he left, and there’s scruff on his chin. “I thought you weren’t coming back until—”
“They didn’t need me as long as they thought,” he says with a soft smile.
“I got in a couple of hours ago. Brody mentioned he and Rae were sticking around Salt Lake, so I thought I’d surprise you.
” Instead of answering, I embrace him again, burying myself in the crook of his neck. “I brought coffee.”
My grip immediately loosens, and my feet fall to the pavement, walking toward the Jeep of their own accord. I hear him chuckle behind me before he opens the door, revealing the same iced coffee I’d been dreaming of not two minutes ago. “God, I love you,” I say before taking a long sip.
We’ve been together for over three years, and every day I fall more in love with this man than I was the day before—even days he makes me so mad I could cuss him up one side and down the other. But I don’t…Usually.
“Ready to go home?” John asks. His fingers thread through the belt loops of my jeans, tugging me into him again.
“Only if that means you’ll scratch this itch I’ve had for the last two weeks.”
His brows shoot up, and the twinkle in his eye makes me giggle. “You didn’t even have to ask.”
“What are you doing?” Warm hands fall on my shoulders, and he kisses the top of my head.
We spent all of yesterday wrapped in each other, making up for the time we’d spent apart, but that meant I had work to do when I woke up this morning.
I left him wrapped in the sheets to get some work done in preparation for Wrestlefest next week.
This year, I’ll be facing Lyla Santiago, the former female commentator who recently returned to the company while Scott Harrington was on a short leave of absence.
This will be the first of two big matches between us.
The story is dumb, revolving around me confronting Lyla for saying some not-so-nice things about me on air, but it keeps me on television, and that’s all I care about at the moment.
Was it common for commentators to get involved in a storyline?
No, but they wanted to do something drastic in welcoming her back to the company.
Not long after I joined the corporate faction—The Corporation—three years ago, alongside Chelsea, Colin, Nohea Nokoa, Asher Slade, and later Theo, I won the women’s title for a second time.
What can I say? Going along with their ideas had some perks, including becoming the longest-reigning EWE Women’s Champion.
Two years ago, I surpassed Juliet’s record of two hundred and seventy-three days, and moments before I was set to break the record, Moxie returned to answer my challenge, ready to dethrone me seconds before I could make history.
I retained my title and cemented my name in the history books.
Almost two months later, at the June premiere event, High Voltage, I lost the title to Cali “The Diamond” Kennedy—or Callista Kennedy, daughter of Clarence Kennedy and Holly Graham, two EWE legends.
Since then, it’s been random matches here and there, but no big storylines, so when they presented the one with Lyla, I latched onto it.
“Going over some stuff for next weekend,” I say, craning my neck to look up at my boyfriend. John stares at the screen where I’ve been watching some of Harper’s old matches, since she will be ringside to aid Lyla. “I’m glad you’re here, though, because we need to talk about this weekend.”
“This weekend?”
A week from today marks the fifth year since my debut, but that’s not what we’re meant to be celebrating.
No, this weekend, we’re celebrating John’s decade-long tenure with the company.
He made his official debut on April 4, 2005, against none other than “The Great” Fata, and while John wasn’t exactly a fan favorite in the beginning, I think it’s safe to say that’s no longer true.
He was out of town on the actual anniversary, so the plan is to celebrate when everyone is home, but it’s been like pulling teeth to get him to sit down and talk to me about it.
“Is this about my tenth? Savannah, I told you—”
“John, this is a big deal. It’s your tenth anniversary with the company! Why don’t you want to celebrate that?”
“I don’t need some big, elaborate party or whatever.
I’d be happy with just you, me, and a nice dinner.
” He plants a quick peck on my lips and smiles at me, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
Something is bothering him, and it’s not just this anniversary discussion.
I noticed it yesterday, too. The distant look in his eyes when he thought I wasn’t looking.
The way his smile barely lifted the corners of his lips before he forced it to.
“Hell, we can even make dinner here. I’d be perfectly fine with that, too. ”
“What if we do dinner here and we invite—”
“I don’t want to, Savannah!” The outburst shocks me, and I swallow back the rest of my sentence. John deflates, his shoulders falling with a heavy sigh, and he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t want any of it, Sav. I just…Just let it go.” His eyes meet mine from across the room. “Please.”
“Okay, if that’s really what you want…I’ll let it go,” I say, forcing my jaw to unclench.
I don’t want to make this a bigger fight than it is.
I don’t need to. It’s not my party, it’s not my anniversary, it’s his.
And if he really doesn’t want to do something, then we won’t.
“But if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. ”
John stares at me for a moment longer, and without another word, he exhales and walks out of my office.
I heave the brown paper bag onto the island and pull a wine bottle from the wine cooler John had installed in the island base not long after I moved in. Was it completely necessary? No. Am I a fan, regardless? Yes, yes, I am.
I spent more time than I anticipated working before Rae called to ask if I wanted to meet for some ring time.
She returned from Salt Lake City last night, and I knew she was dying to share all the details.
While I wanted to hear everything, I also knew getting in the ring would be a good way to rid the leftover tension I felt after whatever that was this morning.
Something is bothering John. That much is obvious, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out what.
There’s no way the idea of having a small get-together with our friends elicited that kind of response.
Something else is going on, and I have every intention of figuring out what…
starting with take-out from his favorite restaurant.
The front door opens and closes in the distance.
His footsteps echo through the quiet house as I pop the cork from the bottle.
Filling only the bottom of the glass, I lightly grip the base and move it in slow, circular motions.
The dark ruby liquid swirls, and the legs bleed down until the puddle forms again.
I inhale the aromas of black cherry, vanilla, and oak before taking a small sip.
He shuffles into the kitchen, still dressed in his gym clothes, but doesn’t say anything as I pour a generous amount into two glasses.
Lifting mine to my lips, I stare at him over the rim and wait.