Nolite te bastardes carborundorum. (Don't let the bastards grind you down.)

The ink is dry and I'm thinking to myself that I've been here before. I have, of course. The name's changed a few times over the years and so have the greedy hands in the political pie backstage— doesn't matter. It's still Limitless. Once upon a time it was NLCW and I had to make it through the development promotion before I could make my way to the main roster to be with that beloved redhaired headcase I was saddled with at the time. We're talking ancient history there, circa 2006. Bailed on that shit (ditched and distanced myself from that particular brand of kuh-razy) and came back a few months later with another piece of arm candy.

How many times have I been here? Too many to count and the dream's the same. How many times have I been standing in this same spot, feeling the déjà vu sinking in my guts? Every time the situation is the same, but the opponent is different. It's been years and I've travelled the globe, working multiple matches each week in different companies. I was an uncommitted free agent for the last three, and I like to think I've carved out a nice reputation as one of the best. But though I now know my own worth, it doesn't change the stinging implications that this situation always holds— that old proving ground mindset— that kill or be killed bullshit. It's always the same. You have to come in hard and fast. You have to prove to them— that mythical they that hold the clipboards and tally up every thing you do— prove to them that you've still got what it takes to do this.

The opponent's always changing and I've been bopping around the world from one company to the next, but this is largely identical to the each and every time I've been here before. Seems to go in cycles. Every couple years I end up backed into a corner and this place— this fucking dive— always seems to be there to serve as a safety net. Last time I lasted two events before I snuck out the back door like a yellow coward. I don't remember why.

The memories remain and the dream is always the same. Like a superstitious pitcher, I'm always sure that the next fastball I throw will end up over the fence in deep center field— an unfounded paranoia for sure, but I've never claimed to be the most mentally stable individual. I know I'm fucked up. So there's this uncertainty. It's always there.

And now I'm looking at a familiar enough name penciled in against mine, subject to change of course as more names drop into the proverbial hat. Sugar Shane Perry. Old SSP… the old friend of a friend (or in my case, a person I never could stand but managed to win the tag team titles with), that person being Tanya Black.

Some nights I wake up covered in cold sweat thinking about getting into the ring. Other nights I wake up alone, wishing she was still here. It's been two years. You think I'd be over it by now but when I saw her name on the roster it all came rushing back. Kayla Knix. There's nothing I can do to change what happened but that doesn't stop me from dwelling on that gaping wound. It's still raw.

The voice in my head is welcoming me home, saying I was greatly missed here in the land of the living. When did I decide to feel things again? When exactly did I decide to be an active participant in something more than a sticky-hot orgy?

I've done this before. I've been in tighter spots. I never gave up. Never gave in. Fought tooth and nail for whatever it was I'd sunk my teeth into.

There's a will. There's a way.

Going through the motions, trying to pretend I'm still alive. Appearances, right? That's what it's all about.

Paste on the smile. Nod for the camera like a space monkey. Move, just keep moving. Let her see that nothing's changed. I'm still here. Still breathing. I'm fine.

Live that lie— just keep it out of your eyes. That's how this dance always goes. Smile and say you're ready. Of course you are. You were born ready. SSP won't know what hit him. Or maybe he will, and he'll laugh all the way to the winner's circle on this pitiful little reboot.

It is what it is.

Maybe she'll be watching. Maybe she'll come back…

Fuck what a mess.

Jax.



Kayla had taken great pains to dress that evening, deciding on a killer red dress that left very little to the imagination and a matching red stiletto heels. Over the dress, she had on a black trench coat that tied at the waist. She'd hailed a taxi and within twenty minutes, found herself outside of Paradox, the club that Brad Jackson owned. Kayla hadn't been there in years but it was amazing to her how nothing had changed. If she knew the man in question, he'd be seated at a table up by the stage close to where the girls were dancing. She approached the entrance and presented her ID to the security guard. He gave her a nod, letting her by. She thanked him with a smirk and walked into the club, keeping a firm grip on her black clutch purse.

The music was loud and she could feel the vibrations as she walked across the floor. Stopping by the bar, her eyes scanned the club and then landed on the table close to the stage. Jackson wasn't there. The office, he had to be in the office. That was probably better, anyway. The office would give her privacy with him, privacy to persuade him to pull out of the company and she'd had plenty of experience persuading him over the years.

Making her way back to the employees area, she managed to keep a low-profile so no questions were asked about her. She hadn't seen her brother around which was good— Lex would have wanted to know what she was up to and she didn't feel like answering those questions. She made it back to the office and Kay could see that the door was open. She just hoped he was in there alone. Walking to the doorway, she paused— looking in. She saw him at his desk and felt her heart skip a couple of beats. He was just as handsome as he'd been the last time she'd seen him although there was a bit more silver in his hair. "Get it under control, Kayla." She scolded herself as she straightened out her trench coat. Exhaling, she knocked on the doorframe and stood there, leaning against it.

"Hi there, Stranger..." Kayla said softly, an eyebrow raised and a little smirk on her face. "Been a long time."

The man known in the wrestling world simply by his last name looked up, dark eyes narrowing. "Pretty sure the sign on the door back there clearly says EMPLOYEES ONLY." He stressed the last two words before returning to the paperwork he was poring over.

"Well, I thought it'd be okay, considering I used to be an employee." She said, not raising her tone as she walked through the door. "Can you spare a little time for a former employee?" That was such a crock of shit— she'd been way much more than just an employee. As she was fully in the room— she shut the door behind her.

"Busy night tonight," he replied without looking up even though he was very much aware that she'd just closed the door. Seeing her here in person was infinitely worse than the few times he'd almost run into her around town, especially now that they were behind closed doors in his sound-proofed office. "Not sure I've got time for whatever drama you're bringing with you." The coldness in his voice was evidence of the emotions that he still felt for her— so was the way he was gripping the pen in his hand.

"I'm not bringing any drama, Jackson." She said as she set her purse down on the couch in his office. "I'm here, because I want to talk to you about something." She made her way over to his desk and stood in front of it. "Found out that you're wrestling for Limitless Wrestling, just thought you'd be interested to know that I've been signed as well." Her hands were resting on the sash that tied her trench coat shut. "Mind if I take my coat off?"

"Sure, whatever. Make yourself at home." He mumbled the words, feeling his hackles rising— he'd known she was signed with Limitless before he'd put the ink to the paper, after all. It was only a matter of time before something like this happened. He didn't bother to tell her why he always ended up drifting back into that place every couple years. There was no point in telling her that it was always his last-ditch haven. She probably didn't care. He felt compelled to say something else, though, "thought you were off in La-La Land, doing that actress-slash-model thing."

"I was." She said as she untied the trench coat, all the while her hands were shaking. She may have been calm and cool on the outside, but on the inside she was tied up in knots. "My manager finally was able to get me a contract with a company and I thought it was time to finally do the wrestling thing. Can't let all that training go to waste." Once the jacket was untied, she slid it off her slender body and draped it over a chair— revealing the red dress she wore. "I wanted to talk to you about us working together." She clasped her hands in front of her. "I don't think it's a good idea."

He kept his eyes on the numbers filling the ledger in front of him, punching random buttons on the calculator to make it look like he was doing something before he broke the silence. "Don't give two shits what you think, Kayla. You want to make good use of that training? Go somewhere else. Your options are..." he paused, putting a sarcastic spin on the next word, "limitless— mine aren't."

"Aren't you funny?" She asked as she walked around his desk so that she was right next to him and hopped on top of it— taking a seat. Neither one could count how many times she'd done that exact thing over the years. Crossing one long leg over the other, she clasped her hands and put them in her lap. "Nice to see your sense of humor hasn't wavered over time." He hadn't looked at her yet, not since she'd taken off the trench coat. Her heart was racing and she wondered if he could hear it from where he was seated.

"Nope. Still the same ol' guy I always was." He shrugged and pushed the papers aside, "so let me get this straight: you came here to tell me that my signing with a company I've had ties with since 2006 is cramping your style? Where, Kayla... where exactly do you—" he finally looked up, and when he saw what she was wearing his jaw dropped. His mind went absolutely blank as he stared at her.

She felt a sense of victory as she watched him staring at her. She shrugged her shoulders and looked at him innocently— a look that had gotten her out of trouble with him many times. "I just didn't think it would be a good idea, is all. Do you honestly think we can coexist together in the same company?" She brushed some blonde locks of hair behind her ears as she placed her palms flat on the surface of the desk. She leaned back and gently swung her foot back and forth.

"We're both adults," he muttered, reaching up to rub the back of his neck, "sure we can." His gaze skittered around the office before settling back on her— there wasn't anything better to look at. "You look good, Kay."

"I've matured." She said casually as she brought a hand up and held it out. She studied her nails, as a way to distract her from his face. He was just as handsome as she remembered, making her heart do flip flops the whole time. "But, I just don't think it's a good idea. Surely you can understand how awkward it would all be, right?"

"Awkward?" He echoed the word, laughing scornfully, "what's so awkward about it? You're the one who walked out on me." He leaned back in his chair, kicking his combat booted feet up on the desk.

Some of her confidence was starting to waver as she sighed. "That was a couple years ago, can't we just move past it?" Truth be known, she hadn't— but she could pretend. "I'm sure you've found some little tart to take my place."

He bristled, barely managing to keep it cool, "nah, baby... you were one of a fuckin' kind. Could never replace you." The words were laced with scorn, but they were also the truth. He'd been with several women since her but nothing had lasted.

"So you haven't had any woman to keep your bed warm?" She looked skeptical. "That must've been a lot of lonely nights with just your hand." There was a smirk on her face as she slightly laughed at her own joke. "Poor baby."

He let his feet slide to the floor and stood up slowly so that he could remove the tailored leather jacket he was wearing. He tossed it across the room, missing the intended coat rack in the corner. Instead it slapped against the wall and fell to the floor. Very deliberately, he flexed his right arm for her, letting her see the definition— "hell of a workout, too. Been keeping at it twice a day since you left."

She screwed her face up a little in disgust. "I didn't need to know that." She said rolling her eyes, not able to keep herself from blushing at watching him flex. It was amazing, even though it'd been seven years since she'd met him— he could still revert her back to that seventeen year old that had showed up looking for a job. She tried to change the subject, feeling herself losing ground. "So are you going to pull out, or what?"

"Hell no I'm not going to fucking pull out!" He folded his arms across his chest and glared at her. "Burned too many bridges in the business... y'know how it is, babe. Not everyone's so appreciative of my particular brand of charisma."

"Yeah, well it is an acquired taste," she said, narrowing her eyes. "I know there were plenty of women around here who succumb to it— hell a lot when I was working here." She let out a sigh. "One even gave in the night before our wedding, or was it two? Can't remember what I was told."

"What?" He stared at her as though she was speaking another language, "what the fuck are you talking about?"

"The girls at your bachelor party." She said as if it was the most natural thing in the world. She'd replayed the story she'd been told so many times in her head. "I heard all about it the morning of the wedding." She shrugged her shoulders, some vulnerability creeping into her expression— making her look like that fresh-faced girl that had shown up on his doorstep. "It's not a big deal— it was a few years ago."

"Yeah, guess it's not." He looked away from her, "doesn't matter what I say now since you already nailed me to the cross." Stiffly, he turned his back on her and went to the door, locking it. He honestly had no idea what she was even talking about. His bachelor party had been pretty low-key given what he'd done over the course of his wrestling career.

She didn't know why he'd locked the door, but all the same, she hopped off the desk. "I can see this was a mistake coming here, should've known you wouldn't listen to reason." She grabbed her coat and then went for her purse. She knew that if she stayed there any longer, she was going to do something she'd regret even though she wanted it badly.

"Listen to reason?" He turned around and stared at her, his eyes narrowing, "everything you've said since you waltzed in here has been crazy-talk. You want me to cancel my contract with Limitless Wrestling because you can't deal with the fact that I'm there... that's great. That's fuckin' wonderful." He sounded angry now— angry and exasperated. "And what the fuck is this all about?" He gestured at the killer dress she was wearing. She knew red was his favorite color.

She bit back the urge to say that it was for him and instead lied. "I have a date with a lawyer, downtown tonight. I had a little while to kill— so I stopped by here." She laid her coat over her arm and held her purse tightly in her other hand. "He's taking me out for drinks and then dancing." She raised an eyebrow as she looked at him, hoping against hope that the lie she'd told wasn't showing through. "Problem?"

There was a flicker of something in his eyes, there and gone in an instant before he shrugged, "nah, no problem. Just thought... whatever. Guess I'm just too caught up in the ghosts of the past."

"Caught up in the past, huh?" She looked as though she didn't believe him. "Right, I'm sure." She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Unlock the door, please— I need to go."

"Why'd you come here?" He didn't bother to move, still standing between her and the door, "this could have been done over email or something. You didn't have to come here, flashing all that skin..." he trailed off, shaking his head.

"You make it sound like I'm showing this much skin for you." She was. "But it's not, it's for Garrett. He likes me in red— bought me this dress as a matter of fact." Lies, lies, all lies. "Don't want to keep him waiting." She glanced at the door and then back at Jax. "So, if you'll kindly move."

"Make me," he said in a low voice, daring her.

"Move." She said, looking annoyed. "I'm sure you don't want me here anymore than I wanna be here." More lies. She raised a hand and placed it on his chest, trying to push him out of the way. "I'm going to be late."

"Don't care," he fired right back, feeling that old familiar anger creeping back over him. It never failed— over the years she'd pissed him off royally, but every little annoyance had cemented one truth in his mind. He loved her more than anything. He still did. His next words came out before they passed through his filter, surprising them both. "I went after you. Found the place completely empty. Nobody would tell me where you were. I fucking looked, Kayla. I flew to LA and I tried like hell to find you. Problem was, you didn't want to be."

He'd actually looked for her? She hadn't known— the surprise flickered in her eyes as she shook her head. "It doesn't matter, it's done and over with." She could feel herself wanting to throw her arms around him and kiss him, but she stopped herself. "And what would you have done if you found me? Yelled at me for leaving? Begged me to come home? Tell me how much you loved and wanted to marry me? When in reality you just didn't want to be alone?"

"Honestly, maybe all of those... but the one thing I needed to know all this time was just one goddamn word: why?" He closed his eyes lest she see the pain in them. "I loved you, Kay. That wasn't a lie."

"You didn't care." She spat out. "You didn't care when I lost Gracie." The anger and hurt matched his on her face. "I gave you everything I had and I needed you— and you couldn't have cared less." She fought back any emotions she felt and shook her head. "I need to go." Her voice cracked.

"I cared," he said quietly, "much more than you think." He shook his head sadly, "you don't need to hear this now. It doesn't matter to you that I held all the pain in as long as I could. You think I didn't love that little girl? You think..." he raked a hand through his hair, his voice rising in volume, "what sort of fuckin' monster do you think I am?"

She couldn't answer that question, because she knew he wasn't a monster. She also couldn't stand to listen to this or watch him. "I have to go, Jax... I..." She looked down at the floor, finding it impossible to look at his face. "I'm late."

The dismissive tone behind her words cut him to the quick, shredding away the deluded ego he'd been hiding behind. He fought the urge to reach out and grab her, desperately wanting to touch her just to prove that she wasn't some sort of apparition. There were so many things he wanted to say, but none of them came out. Instead he simply stood there and watched as she made a huge effort not to look at him. "I was there." He said the words quietly, knowing she could hear him just fine, "the other day when you went to her grave... I was there. You just didn't see me. I go there every weekend. Guess I just have a hard time letting go." His words were so nakedly honest that they made him flinch as he sighed, "you want to know why I wasn't there for you emotionally when Gracie died? Because I'm a coward, Kay. I was hiding behind a wall, trying like fuck not to feel. It doesn't matter now. I lost everything that meant anything— lost you." He raked a hand through his hair, "I can tell you I'm sorry, and it's got no power to fix what I've done. I know you'll probably always hate me."

He stepped aside, unlocking the door. "I won't keep you then. Give my regards to the lucky guy."

Before she could stop herself, "there is no other guy... I lied about that." She'd always had trouble lying to him which is why she rarely ever had. When she had lied, she told him the truth within an hour or so. Jax could read her like a book, so it was very pointless. She had liked this time, because she knew that she'd get sucked right back into things with him and if it fell apart a second time around— she wouldn't have been able to handle it. Finally, she lifted her head and met his eyes with her own. "And I don't hate you, I could never hate you." She felt so silly then, dressed as she was— given the turn that things had taken. "I'm sorry I barged in on you like this, it was a mistake." She needed to get out of there and do it soon.

"So go," he replied without looking at her, "seems the only thing we're good at any more are making mistakes." Turning his back on her, he walked back over to his desk and sat down heavily in the chair. "Two years..." he reached up and rubbed his face, "two years I spent trying to find the right words to say if I ever saw you again and I always came up empty. Wrote you hundreds of letters that I never mailed— always was better on paper. Two goddamn years and the only fucking thing I can think of that I need to say is so damn simple that it's not even worth saying." He shook his head. "Just go, Kay. Leave me alone."

"Never stopped you from saying anything before." She was curious now and that outweighed her need to leave him alone. "So out with it, Jax. What is so simple that it's not even worth mentioning?"

"I love you," three words only, but they were the three hardest in the English language for him to say. "Still. Always... not that it matters."

"What makes you think it doesn't matter?" She asked, frozen to the floor. This whole thing was so surreal that she couldn't believe they were actually having this conversation. Sighing to herself, she grabbed the doorknob and stared at him for a moment. "I really should go."

"Too little, too late." He said with a sigh, "you've obviously moved on... done alright for yourself. No sense dragging you back down into the gutter with me."

"What makes you think I moved on?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. "Moving on would suggest that I've been dating— which I haven't. After I left, I put my focus on working." She had given up on trying to persuade him to pull out of Limitless Wrestling. "I guess I'll be seeing you at the first event."

"Guess so," he reached into the drawer of his desk and pulled out the bottle of aged Glenlivet he kept there under lock and key. Despite being convinced that his heart had been broken beyond repair years ago— he could still feel it beating now. He could also feel a familiar ache that was making it hard to breathe. He tried not to read too much into the fact that she'd said she wasn't dating. Didn't necessarily mean that she was his for the taking. "You should go. Night's still young. Maybe you can find someone to take you out for dinner and dancing."

"Not looking for that." She said, wanting nothing more than to go back to her penthouse and drown her sorrows in booze. Her eyes darted to the bottle of Glenlivet that he'd taken out. At that moment, it looked like the most tempting drink she'd ever seen. "Still drinking that, I see." She said, motioning at the bottle.

"Of course I am," he shrugged, opening the bottle, "only thing that doesn't wreak holy hell on my guts. Gettin' old, y'know." He tilted the bottle at her, "want some?" Chuckling, he remembered the first time she'd gotten drunk on her eighteenth birthday. They'd been drinking the same thing.

"Yeah, actually." She said, setting her things down. Walking over to his desk, she took a seat back where she'd been before. The memory of her birthday was also running through her head, making her smile some. She grabbed the bottle from him and took a long sip, before handing it back to him. "Still burns going down." She said with a wince and a cough.

"Only the first few swallows," he smirked, repeating the same thing he'd said to her that night. Every movement seemed steeped in nostalgia now, and it was cutting him deep.

"Pretty sure that was the night you had me naked within an hour." She said, grinning a little. "Made my birthday one of the most memorable nights of my life." She took the bottle back from him and took another sip. "One of the best, too."

He nodded, "one of the best of mine, too. Not just sayin' that, either." The bottle returned to his hand and he took a huge swig from the neck of it.

"Of course it was." She said, taking the bottle back from him. "It was me and I was a virgin." She brought it to her lips and took a long sip, before handing it back. "Let you do everything to me that night."

"Yeah, you did. Never realized you were that flexible, either." That cocky smirk of his was back as he watched her, "God it's good to see you."

"You too." She said, grinning at him. Reaching over, she caressed his face with the back of her hand. "Still as handsome as the devil. Bet you still make the girls drop their panties on command."

"You know... the only reason the Sahara's still a desert is because I haven't talked to it yet. Once I do, it'll be all sorts of wet." He winked at her, falling back into familiar rhythms with her. The flirting had always been the best part.

She giggled, biting down on her lower lip. "You are so bad, Jax." She caressed his face a little more, before dropping her hand. "And that is what I love most about you." She'd brought her stiletto heel up and rested her foot on the arm of his chair— giving him a nice view of leg.

"I'm a big fan of your legs," he lifted his hand and stroked her calf, "especially in heels."

"And I'm a big fan of your hand on my legs." She leaned forward, giving him a nice view of cleavage— the Glenlivet having loosened her up some.

Slowly, he moved to his feet, setting the bottle of Scotch aside as he braced his palms on either side of her. Leaning forward, he brought himself to within an inch of her face, "how 'bout my lips," he murmured, getting dangerously close to kissing her. "Y'still like them on yours?"

"I do." She said, leaning back on her palms as if she was playing hard to get. "In fact, I like them on both sets of lips." She was smirking and eyeing him hungrily. "Why? You thinking of kissing me?"

He chuckled, "thinking's not my style," his mouth ground against hers, immediately deepening the kiss as he groaned, lifting a hand to tangle in her hair. It was good— too good. Like old times.

Before she knew what was happening, she was grabbing at his shirt and pulling him as close to her as possible. Without hesitation, she slid her tongue into his mouth and manage to get her legs around his waist. She pulled back, but not without biting down on his lower. "Fuck..." She whispered.

"Got that right," he muttered, "what the hell are we doing?"

"Exploring each other's mouths?" She asked, not letting go of him. "Maybe I should leave?"

"Don't go." There was so much pain and longing in those two words as he kissed her again.

She kissed him back, her hands trying to take his shirt off. She couldn't remember how many times the two of them had been in that same situation and she'd missed it so much. "Should we do it here... Or where?" Her breathing was heavy and she was seconds away from stripping down.

"Here," he pulled away from her, pushing things off the desk, not caring where they landed on the floor. "Need you now."

She laid back on his desk and pulled him on top of her. "You read my mind." Her lips were on him once again, only on his neck this time. "Think you remember how to please me?"

"Sure it'll all come back," he ground out, biting back a moan as her teeth dug into his skin— she still knew what he liked, apparently.

"Then what are we waiting for?" She asked, with a grin before biting down again. She hadn't gone there with the intention to sleep with him. She'd gone there hoping to talk him out of wrestling in the same company as her. Kayla should've known better— she could never say no to Jax and she'd never denied him anything. Just goes to show you that some things never change.