Excellent Execution

The music, the distant hum of conversation, the soft clink of glassware and low laughter drifting in from the ballroom...it all fades into something indistinct, like sound heard through water. What remains is this...space between them, the quiet gravity of his attention, and the weight of words she hadn’t expected to ever hear spoken to her with such sincerity.

I think your eyes are beautiful...

It doesn’t strike her all at once.

It settles.

Slowly. Deeply. Like warmth spreading through something long untouched.

Her lips part, but no words come immediately. Her breath catches, not sharply, not in fear, but in that fragile, uncertain way that happens when something genuine reaches a place that has been guarded for far too long. Her fingers, resting near the base of her glass, curl inward slightly as if trying to anchor herself in something real, something tangible, while everything inside her shifts in quiet, unfamiliar ways.

No one had ever said it like that.

Not as an observation.

Not as something they believed.

Her gaze lifts to meet his again, softer now...less cautious, though not unguarded. There’s a vulnerability there she doesn’t bother hiding this time. Not from him.

“You…” she begins, her voice a whisper, touched with something warmer, something akin to shyness. She exhales softly, a small, breathless laugh following as she searches for steadier footing. “You don’t seem to realize how RARE it is to be spoken to like that.”

Her hand moves before she fully thinks it through.

It’s subtle. Hesitant. But intentional.

Her fingers brush lightly against the back of his hand where it rests near hers on the table...barely there, the faintest point of contact. Testing. Not just him, but herself. The warmth that spreads through her is surprising; not because she expected cold, but because of how natural it feels.

...She doesn’t pull away immediately. Instead, her thumb shifts just slightly, grazing the edge of his knuckles before she finally lets her hand retreat...though not too far. Not back to where it had been before. It lingers closer now, as if the distance between them no longer needs to be quite so carefully measured.

“Thank you,” she says sincerely, her gemstone eyes sparkling in the soft lighting and shimmering with unshed emotion. “Not just for saying it… but for meaning it.”

Her eyes remain on his, searching but not for danger. Not for warning signs or reasons to withdraw. She’s looking for truth. And finding it.

“And I’m sorry,” she continues after a moment, her expression softening further, touched now with a quiet ache that isn’t pity, but something far more respectful. “For what you went through. For how you had to live…like that.”

Her brows knit faintly, not in discomfort, but in understanding.

“No one should have to be afraid of their own...state-of-being,” she murmurs. “No one should have to feel like they are the monster in the dark that Elders warn children about. You could have chosen to be...bitter about your existence...”

Her gaze flickers briefly to his hand, the one she had just touched, before returning to his face, something thoughtful settling behind her eyes.

“And yet…” she continues softly, “you still chose to be gentle.”

There’s admiration in that. Quiet, but unmistakable.

The rising noise from inside the ballroom begins to press more insistently against the edges of the moment: raised voices now, something heavier breaking, the tone shifting from celebration to tension. Still, Niccola doesn’t move right away. Not yet. Not while something important is still unfolding here, in their quieter space.

When he speaks again...when he asks, almost carefully, about seeing her again, it catches her off guard in a different way.

Not sharply.

But deeply.

There’s a flicker of something in her expression...surprise, yes, but also something akin to innocence. Something hopeful that she doesn’t quite know what to do with.

“You’d really want that?” she asks, though her voice carries less doubt than the question suggests. It’s not disbelief in him. It’s uncertainty in whether she’s allowed to step into something like that so easily. Her shoulders ease just slightly, tension she hadn’t realized she was holding beginning to loosen.

“I’d like that,” she admits. A genuine smile forming, this one steadier than before, less fleeting. “I could…play for you. Properly, I mean. Not just fragments or unfinished pieces.”

A faint, self-conscious laugh escapes her.

“Though I should warn you,” she adds, her tone softening with a hint of warmth. “My compositions aren’t exactly refined. They’re…emotional. A little chaotic, sometimes.”

Her head tilts just slightly as she studies him, curiosity returning, threading through the growing comfort between them.

“And I want to see your drawings,” she continues. “Truly. Cartoony doesn’t make them any less meaningful.” A small pause. “If anything, it probably makes them more honest.”

Another crash from inside, louder this time, finally pulls her attention toward the doors. Her brows knit, concern flickering across her expression as she starts to stand up from the table.

“That doesn’t sou-”

The sentence never finishes.

The doors explode inward with a violent crack, the wood splintering under sudden force as a body is hurled through them. Glass shatters in a sharp, ringing cascade, fragments scattering outward across the balcony like thrown light. The impact reverberates through the space, abrupt and jarring, shattering the quiet that had settled so carefully around them.

The Irishwoman flinches instinctively but she’s not fast enough to avoid it entirely.

A shard of glass catches along her forearm as she raises it in reflex; a quick, slicing sting that draws a startled gasp from her lips. The pain isn’t deep, more sharp than severe, but sudden enough to disrupt her balance as she steps back...

...and in that same motion, her other hand reaches out and finds Bret.

Not grasping wildly.

But holding.

Her fingers curl into the fabric at his sleeve, anchoring herself against the disorientation of the moment. Grounding.

“I...” Her breath comes a little quicker now, more from surprise than fear. “I’m o-okay...are y-you alright!?”

The words come quickly, almost instinctively, even as her gaze flickers down to her arm. A thin line of dripping scarlet along her skin, bright against the soft caramel tones there. It’s not too deep. Not fatal. But it’s real.

Her grip tightens slightly for just a second longer before she seems to realize...and her fingers loosen, though they don’t fully withdraw. Instead, they shift, resting more gently against his arm now, as if asking permission to remain rather than taking it outright.

Her eyes lift back to his, searching...not for reassurance exactly, but connection. For steadiness.

There’s fear there, yes...but not of him. Not even close.

“I suppose…” she says softly, a faint, breathless attempt at humor slipping through despite the tension, “that would be your friend.”

Another crash echoes from inside, followed by raised voices...sharper now, more chaotic. The world is rushing back in around them, demanding attention, pulling them out of the fragile stillness they had just begun to build.

But even now...she doesn’t pull away completely.

Her thumb shifts, almost unconsciously, brushing lightly against the fabric of his sleeve. Still there. Still choosing. Her breathing begins to steady, though her pulse remains a quiet drum beneath her skin.

“I didn’t think the evening would end quite like this,” she admits, glancing briefly toward the wreckage before returning her focus to him. There’s something steadier in her expression now...something that hasn’t been shaken loose by the chaos.

If anything… it’s clearer.

“And yes,” she adds, her voice gentler now, but more certain than before. “I would like it… if you walked me out.”

A small pause follows; not awkward, not uncertain. Just enough to let the moment breathe again, even in the midst of everything unraveling around them.

Her hand finally shifts, not away, but downward, her fingers brushing lightly against his hand this time, more deliberate than before. Softer. Warmer. A choice.

“I think,” she continues quietly, her gaze holding his, “I’d feel safer that way.”

Another beat passes, quieter than it should be, given everything happening around them. Then, softer still...

“And I’m really glad,” she adds, almost like a confession meant only for him, “that you didn’t keep your distance tonight.”

Her fingers linger for just a second longer before easing back, though the space between them no longer feels nearly as wide as it once had.

Whatever had begun here...quiet, tentative, fragile...hadn’t shattered with the glass.

If anything…

Unharmed, with only debris bits sprinkled about his curls to signal that any damage had been done, his flesh perfectly scatheless, delightful quietness was burdened by more than just aggrieved, discontented bickering. Pooled from beyond the ballroom, a dancefloor drenched in crumpled tablecloth and mounds of hair, so very loud that Bret couldn't keep from wincing. Eyes shut tight, nose scrunched, ears thundered against with an intensity that would've driven him to madness. A grab arrived at his arm, darkened blue cotton, carefulness that he'd become so accustomed to in little time. Niccola come to him, chose him, controlled but in need of comfort. From the point of sharpened glass, a small trail ran down her arm and painted it red. A river that could be akin to crimson. A trace that compared to the virtuous who blushed, remarkable and pronounced. Gaze fixated on the bloodied path, Bret's belly twisted in hunger, his mouth and fangs poised to take a bite.

She smelled not like anyone encountered before. Succulent, delectable, melody and music intertwined with sweetness and lush. Goodness, from the very heart that filled Niccola with life. She would be delicious. Addictive, devoured and savored until Bret had his fill and satisfied his craving. He never needed anyone more. He never wanted another so desperately. Features changed as irises bloomed totally black, a purr deep in his throat accompanied Bret's rigid, inflexible hand. Stone-like in its stiffness, raised from his side to grasp Niccola's wrist, firm but gentle. Cautiously manipulated her, until her wound was exposed and before both their eyes. Unguarded, unprotected, the hand not occupied reached for Bret's jacket pocket and retrieved his handkerchief. Bordered in pristine white lace and inscribed with Hart in ivory, Niccola was tended to like a lover.

Embraced within a cooled hold, fingertips baptized as saturnine, as gloomy and stubborn as the vampire attached to them, Bret chased the beautiful streak. Stalked the path that lingered upon Niccola's skin, brushed the handkerchief and watched keenly as stainless linen drank proud ichor. Absorbed all that dared to pool from her wound, cleansed her tender flesh and revealed only its golden warmth, where the sun had kissed. What Bret so wished to do himself; thirst had transformed into emotions more territorial, more protective. Desired to be with her, to keep her safe, to love her, intentions so sudden and instinctive. A faint groan within earshot, a treated injury wouldn't be able to keep the others of his kind away, even those already compromised. Vampires always able to locate their next meal, Niccola needed to leave.

Their stares intertwined, bound and unable to be separated, something fragile had made a man not in need of breath breathless. Stolen from his lungs, tightened around his stilled heart, would've made him teary had he been capable. Niccola's scent rooted deep in his mind, unable to be forgotten, what encouraged Bret more. Bloodied handkerchief stuffed into a blazer's pocket - the motion of something so prized - his hand took Niccola's and led her through the broken doors. Fingers interlaced, to guide and lead but not to force, to keep her close and away from danger. Niccola brought against Bret's side as they walked, the distant whispers heard alerted the vampire but did little to openly offend the human. Niccola smelled divine... God bless Brian for having brought attention to her, stupid and reckless though his actions were... If only Bret would share... Would the Hitman be able to stop anyone else if they tried...

Arrived at the ballroom, eyes needn't look toward the scene for Bret to see what destruction had been done. Brian's face contorted into something more animalistic: teeth bared, brown irises blackened, boyish countenance shifted to pronounced proportions. Restrained by Davey, whose own features appeared more monstrous, soothed by Jim, who attempted to relax troubled waters. But the storm had become untamable. An elder vampire insulted, their own face painted in outrage, fangs and eyes and ancient elegance mutilated. It was the reflection of a damned soul. A sigh carried over pink lips, an unspoken command did just as Bret had hoped: brought Sarah to him. Accompanied by Owen, who needed not to hear his brother to understand him, an expression of sorrow shared. A knowing glance, too, the promise that Bret would be back inside to help clean up. More than just tattered decor or smashed plates.

Somehow found the ability to calm down, the last of Brian's words were directed toward him. An apology, a defense for his conduct, a cocky smirk that was certain he'd see Sarah again. Never stable, poor Brian always in the position to protect himself, to feel too much or be easily angered. A nod sent, for Bret did understand, amends would be made. Wanted not to waste another moment inside, on gentle escort, Niccola and Sarah were ushered out. On the same side, Bret their literal wall and shield, fresh air blowed through hair once doors were opened. Against cheeks, the world from the smallest ant to the largest owl. A world that Bret had witnessed in change, throughout lonesome centuries. But alone he wouldn't be anymore. Hopefulness assured him so.

Walked until Niccola and Sarah's shared car came into view, begrudgingly, he released his hold upon Niccola. Untangled their fingers, slow so that he could selfishly retain her warmth, remembered fondly the pace of her heartbeat. Cold hand greeted by cold breeze, quickly did he discover himself missing her touch. His own heart ached at her loss. Grieved so, the soft smile on his face hid the hurts, the pain that overcame. Sharpened and cruel; it were as if he died again.

"I really am sorry about my friend." Bret began, fists jammed into his pant's pockets at the knuckle. "Brian... he's had a tough life, y'know. Was never really taught how to control himself. I'll make sure that he does his best by you, the both of you. I only hope that his behavior hasn't put either of you off from coming to another event like this. Might not have seemed like it, but you two being here really made it special. It's nice not having only vampires to talk to."

A beep heard, Bret reached out and opened Sarah and Niccola's doors, one after another. Niccola's held ajar for a moment longer, his eyes wandering from the top of her head to the bottom of her feet. Bret would remember her forever.

"Y'know, I'm glad that I didn't keep my distance tonight either, Niccola." Bret said, a confession meant only for her. "I'll call you. If that's alright."

THE    YOUNG    ORTON    BOY   stares   at   the   veteran.   He   wished   he   was   more   prepared,   but   inside   his   was   nervous,   and   well   he   was   in   front   of   a   veteran,   someone   who   has   been   in   this   place   for   a   long   time.  Randy   makes   a   small   frown.   

He   was   honestly   scared.   He   never   thought   he   would   be   here   at   the   big   leagues,   the   best   of   the   best.     The   urge   to   just   hide   or   maybe   call   his   dad.   Take   me   home!   He   screamed   in   his   head.    It   was   2002.    Maybe..   there   were   better   places   elsewhere.    He   shakes   the   man's   hand.  ALREADY CAN BRETT TELL HE WAS NERVOUS ?

Dry lips made wet by tongue, an unsureness overcame Bret. Not certain as to whether Randy was teasing him or telling the truth, the absence of gear was not the first of its kind. Surely, not the last, either. A desire to help bubbled low in his heart, a greater desire to not step another foot in a WWE arena. Wounds still so deep, bloody and gaping, Bret did the only thing he could think to do.

"Well, y'know, Randy, it's not the gear that makes a wrestler. It's the heart, what's inside of you. Still, I haven't yet seen a wrestler make a name for himself in a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt."

“Well there’s people out there that might think that Shawn Michaels is even a little bit cuter than I am.”

Stardew Valley Sentence Starters:

↳ Taken from a Summer, Year One playthrough.

"Whew… that was quite a workout, walking all the way up here."

"I came by to ask if you wanted to have dinner with us tonight!"

"Mmm… that crispy bass was delicious! That breading was out of this world…"

"I almost feel like part of the family, now."

"Hey. Sorry if I came off as rude when we first met. It takes me a while to warm up to strangers."

"My bracelet is gone! I know I had it on when I got here…"

"I’m just keeping an eye on my little brother. It’s good for him to get some fresh air on a day like this."

"To be honest, I have no idea if my old man will come back… "

"You scared me, sneaking into my room like that!"

"So I’ve been playing Journey of the Prairie King for hours and I can’t even beat the first level…"

"The air is so muggy I feel like I’m floating in soup."

"Figured I’d give you this recipe I had lying around. Try not to burn it."

"Have you come to ridicule me?"

"This is embarrassing… I lost my lucky purple shorts."

"Maybe I should cook something new and exciting today. Something spicy."

"I dunno what you did, but those raccoons haven’t been back since last week!"

"I spent three hours practicing my signature yesterday. I guess that’s pretty silly, huh?"

"If my hair wasn’t so popular with the ladies, I swear I’d shave it all off in a second."

"If you’re lucky, you might see a frog in this weather."

"I know what’s best for me. Who do you think you are, telling me how to live my life?"

"I woke up late, stepped out of the door and found myself in the middle of all this hubbub!"

"I’ll be back here by the trees… the air is a lot cooler."

"Why should I care about some random old guy?"

"I’m full, but what else is there to do besides eat?"

"It’s tiring to socialize with everyone… I’d rather watch the sea."

"To tell you the truth, I’d rather be fishing right now."

"The merpeople are curious about your festivities."

"Ow. You stepped on my foot."

"If you brought something for the potluck, make sure to add it to the soup cauldron."

"Do you like my bow?"

"So you’re a farmer, huh? At least it’s honest work."

"I made you a little treat this morning. Dig in!"

"Um… there appears to be some kind of… anomalous reading… I… don’t know what this means…"

"You’re not worried about this rain? That does put me at ease a little…"

"I don’t have to go into work today, so I’m not complaining."

"Are you alright? We’ve never seen anything like this before…"

"It’s a sign from the Almighty… we’re doomed…"

"I saw the weather report last night. It really gave me a scare!"

"Are there monsters out there? What’s happening?"

"I propose a round of drinks to settle the nerves!"

"I don’t think I’ve ever set foot in this place. It’s actually kind of cozy!"

"It’s situations like this where a person’s true character is put to the test."

"It’s hard to read. I feel a strong presence, though…"

"I want to go exploring, but my Mom is kind of worried. I don’t want to add to her stress."

"This may be a once in a lifetime opportunity!"

"Erm… if you see (name) , can you tell them I’m okay?"

"Well that was a dud. And here I thought it was finally my chance to be a hero. Oh well…"

"I’m just looking over last month’s earnings… and it’s not looking very good."

"Every time I try something new it goes horribly wrong."

"I wouldn’t want anything getting in the way of her bright future, know what I mean?"

"Whenever I see a banana slug, I feel like it’s a sign of good luck."

"One sec... I gotta beat this level."

"Oh, you're a bit different than the others, aren't you? Just like me..."

"Don't worry, I'll nurse you back to health, little one. Everything will be alright."

"Of course... some guy shows up wearing the same outfit as me. How embarrassing!"

"Where I come from, they call me 'Trout Man.' "

"I spent five years learning how to think like a trout. Pretty simple, actually: food, food, food, lay eggs, rest, eat more food..."

"Any luck? Most of the bites I'm getting are from the mosquitos..."

"What's your plan? Don't you ever think about the future?"

"I love to come in here for a fresh cup of tea every day."

"Life isn't fair, and I can't help but feel bitter about it."

"I thought we had something special... I guess I was wrong."

"It's got three times the sorbitol for a thick, sweet blast. And it's cheaper than water!"

"The world-class science team at Joja Headquarters have determined that 'Joja Bluu' does not cause a significant erosion of the stomach lining."

"If I knew how to use a sword I would be exploring those caves by the mountain lake right now."

"Sorry, I was just thinking about some gadgets I'm making."

"I've decided I'm going to build a robot someday."

"I definitely don't want to go swimming, if that's what you're about to ask."

"Well, summer's over. To be honest, I'll be happy to say goodbye to these blasted mosquitos!"

"How did you find me back here? I thought I was well-hidden."

"What, why are you looking at me like that? You think I'm too old to enjoy something like this?"

"Life is so easy for a jellyfish... just letting the waves carry you onward forever."

"I thought I saw something moving in there... something big, something dark."

"I can't believe summer's over... I feel like it just started."

"Look out there, at the endless sea. Deep underwater, all kinds of life forms are moving around in the dark. Eerie, isn't it?"

Without realizing it sometimes Kyleigh could be kind of pushy about her love of books and the way she would recommend them to anyone that would listen. But with Bret right now in that store she didn't feel as if she was being that way and he didn't seem to mind. He always felt so easy going and relaxed when he was with her, of course he should because he wasn't The Hitman, he was his true self. And she was so proud of that, able to bring out a side of him that maybe not many could. Of course she had to giggle a bit when she saw the flush on his own cheeks at the mention of those book covers but she wasn't stupid. She saw the women that came to the shows, probably had no clue what any of it was about but they saw him and decided that was what they wanted. Hair teased to hell, make up in layers, and clothes that barely covered much of anything. No she wasn't judging them, in a way the half lycan was a bit jealous. She showed up to work in jeans and worn t-shirts, ready to get sweaty and dirty with the best of them. But it was what she loved to do and her friendship with Bret was just a happy little side effect of that. Didn't mean she didn't catch the women that threw themselves at him and the others and think; what in the fuck was attractive about that?

Shaking her head to get rid of those thoughts she forced herself to focus on that moment, it being just the two of them in a quiet store in yet another city she forgot the name of. The smell of old and new literature mixing together with a hint of whatever cologne the man had on. If she could stay there with Bret forever she would, but the earth kept turning and life kept on going. Every time he mentioned his large family it reminded her just how many of them there were, and she couldn't help but wonder how the hell his parents did it. Did any of them get the short end of the stick? Or did each get the attention they deserved? Was it pure chaos or a happy mess? Kyleigh clung to each word in the story, loving that Bret felt free enough with her to let her take a peak into his younger life. She had grown up with friends that had siblings so she knew how torturous they could be towards each other. It did not surprise her that his brother decided to pick on him for reading such a classic, her hand coming to rest softly on his shoulder in consolation.

"First of all, that is a true classic and I enjoyed it as well. Second of all, the next time I see that brother of yours I'm going to give him the noogie of a lifetime for that. Reading and loving it is a very attractive quality to have and it helps the mind grow. Third of all, I agree completely. If I hadn't discovered books when I was younger I don't know where I would be right now. I was the 'weird' one on the street anyway, so sometimes these things were the only friends I had."

There had always been rumors around the neighborhood about her family, but Kyleigh never paid much attention to them. Aunt Joan told her that if the kids didn't like her it wasn't her fault, it was theirs. So she believed it was true until she got old enough to just not care any longer. Then when she was eighteen her entire world was rocked so it was hard for her to believe anything. Excdept if it came from Bret, he was very easy to believe and trust in. Something she wasn't quite sure how to feel about just yet. The human part of her wanted to stop it immediately; she wasn't supposed to get close to anyone. She was too dangerous, too feral, not good enough. But the lycan part was so curious, wanted to dig deep into Bret's soul and stay there for as long as possible.

Realizing that he was holding out another book for her, Kyleigh snapped back to reality and gently took it from his hand. There was a passing warmth in the quick touch, a smile crossing her face before she inspected the front and back covers. "A beautiful woman finds herself lost in the woods on a moonlit night, unaware of the beast that stalks her every movement, captivated by her scent…" She murmured as she scanned the words. "Yeah that definitely doesn't really scream romance, but I haven't met a book I didn't want to read just yet."

Climbing down the last rungs of the ladder she was back on solid ground, once more having to tilt her head back to look Bret in the face. The books they had weren't new by any means, but with the amount of them combined they couldn't be that cheap either. His offer to pay for them all was so sweet it melted a bit more of her frozen heart, her smile growing despite the fact she hated the way it looked on her.

"Bret! That's so sweet! Are you sure it's not too much? I can chip in..."

Delicately leaned into her touch, subtle but loud for someone like he, Bret already begun to plan the mentioned trip, to see for himself firsthand Bruce receive his karma. An arm around his neck and tanned knuckles to his blonde head, the revenge that the Hitman hadn't been able to enforce, much too tolerant and much too patient. Not the eldest but certainly the one with the most responsibilities, it was hard to believe that the old tale that concerned Black Beauty solely involved a horse and an English countryside. Always jealous, never happy; in the deepest pits of his stomach, where nerves threatened to turn, Bret knew that Bruce held much against him. Mentioned as much in all the years they grew, from the aged mats in the Dungeon to the bloodstained canvas of Stampede. There was reason that it was the Bulldog, not the Hitman, who earned Bruce's favor when the Intercontinental Championship was on the line. Bruce was the second son who couldn't fulfill a father's dreams. Bret was the fifth brother who couldn't win over another brother's affection, not entirely.

Kyleigh and Calgary destined to be together soon, somehow and someway, with the sunlight that peaked between window glass, the beauty that she never excessively obsessed over became clear. Revealed more and more as she climbed her way down from the ladder, the traces of gold to be discovered in her eyes, the sharpness in her smile, pronounced but not horrid. Casual and always cool, Kyleigh was more gorgeous than she ever wanted to admit, far too pretty to have been in the profession that she was skilled for. Talented and smart, better than the men in the same crew and the best investment that the WWF had made in years, much too good to have been around someone like the Hitman, least he so believed. An ugly face that was painted in hardened lines and softened scars; the visage of an athlete who did everything to the absolute, who couldn't quit even if he wanted to. Seated lazily beside the women in tight skirts and low-cut blouses, the men who watched the WWF shows could never take their eyes away from Kyleigh if they caught a glimpse of her. A quick reveal from behind the black velvet curtain, from beyond the halls and corridors; like birds, they would preen, flex their muscles and flash their teeth. Practically drool and yearn with an anticipation that was almost too desperate.

Memories that made him wince in nausea if he thought about them too much, it was the closest that Bret would come to admitting jealousy. A horrible monster that would hide beneath frowned lips and saddened eyes, far from an explosive outburst but surely just as painful to endure. Bret was her friend; he cared for Kyleigh as he would for any other, adored her like the family he associated with, blood and not. But ever so was he a friend of instinct. Disciplined to protect, to keep safe, she wore not his colors or his emblem, but Kyleigh was welcomed to the Hitman's sentimentalities. He couldn't keep but worry about her, even when knowing she could more than handle her own problems. Weakness was not a quality to be noted in Kyleigh. Small in stature but not feeble, she had tended to her life before Bret came into it, he knew that she would do so after. Nevertheless, like a spark or fire in the softest parts of his belly, the protectiveness enflamed. Emotion that showcased in how he held their bundle, a sudden, tightened grip to romantic space adventurers and Americana classics, a nod that made his words less out of politeness and rather honest truth.

Made stride toward the checkout counter, not rushed or widely spaced, Bret led he and Kyleigh in the direction that was occupied by a mother and her teen daughter, a man of grandfatherly years, and a woman who didn't seem sure of her intended purchase, the start of the line.

"No, really, don't worry about it. You've done enough for me already, going out for lunch and then coming to the bookstore. It was nice, y'know. I don't always get the chance. I'm not always able to take time for myself. Especially with all the bullshit that Austin and Michaels put me through. All the messes that McMahon likes to get me involved with. It's been too long."

A heavy sigh, a weight that he didn't intend to acknowledge but did so anyway, Bret's lips pressed together in a firm line, the anger toward himself for a tragedy not so old, then.