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He had just wanted a drink and some alone time away from the chaotic mess that was this version of Judgement Day.
The girls were all fighting. JD was questioning if it was a mistake to turn on Finn. Liv kept talking about a future that he wasn’t sure he envisioned with her.
And somehow, everything always ended up his fault even when it wasn’t.
All of that had led him to the bar across the street from the hotel, where he sat quietly as other wrestlers swarmed around him. Some were playing pool, some were playing darts, some were just being loud and annoying to be loud and annoying.
He was the only one alone. He didn’t mind it. He never got to enjoy anything without someone hanging off his arm.
He hadn't anticipated that Rhea would walk in. He hadn't anticipated that she would have gotten incredibly drunk and that no one would cut her off. Instead, they all seemed to laugh it off and encourage it like they weren't used to seeing this side of her and enjoyed it. Justified it by saying they'd missed her a lot since her move to SmackDown.
When she was handed a fourth shot, he decided to intervene. Not because it was his place, but because no one else seemed about to. He didn’t care. He didn’t. Of course he did.
He slid off the stool and made his way over to where she sat, hunched forward in her chair as she laughed at something Maxxine said. When Bayley and Lyra pulled Maxxine up to dance after Rhea denied them, Dom took the blonde’s seat.
He reached over and slid the small glass away. “You’re gonna be fucked tomorrow.”
Rhea glared at him—well, tried to glare at him—but her mouth was in a cute pout. It didn't have the same effect.
"What do you care?" She said, swatting at his hand but missing, her elbow thudding against the bar with a dull thud. She groaned. He chuckled.
"I don't." He lied. He was really good at sounding convincing when he needed to, and for some reason, he felt like he did. Rhea’s eyes narrowed a fraction as she studied him. She reached for the glass again. He was quicker.
She huffed and then...giggled? She was definitely drunk. Rhea did not giggle.
"Okay. Yep. You're done. Let me walk you back to the hotel." He stood up, offering a hand.
She stared at it like it was foreign to her, like it was a stranger's hand, and maybe it was at this point. She looked up at him, eyes cloudy with alcohol, but clear enough to tell him exactly how little she wanted to oblige. Stubborn ass.
Dom would be surprised if she went quietly, knowing she’d resist just to spite him. He kept his hand out, palm up, fingers slightly curled like he was presenting a challenge. Like he was daring her to take it.
She huffed, reaching up.
He wasn’t sure if she meant to take his hand or slap it away. Surprisingly, she gripped his fingers, using them to pull herself up. The moment she was standing, she wobbled, swaying more than he expected. He caught her elbow before she could face-plant.
“Whoa...” he started, but she shoved at his chest, not hard, just enough to let him know she didn’t need help. She did.
“Don’t.” She muttered, but he heard the frustration in her voice. Not even at him. At herself. At the alcohol.
No one seemed to notice the two leaving, which also pissed him off.
He should have been grateful. Liv would kill him for even speaking to Rhea.
They’d let her get obliterated, and now they didn’t care if she made it back safe or not. What if she were leaving with a stranger? And they called him a bad guy?
He grabbed her arm as they crossed the street.
She didn’t fight him, but she didn’t lean into it either. She just let him lead her along, walking with the unevenness of someone who’d forgotten how to put one foot in front of the other.
He slowed his pace, matching hers. She hummed. Maybe she welcomed the steady arm holding her up, even if it was someone she hated.
As they got on the elevator, she grimaced, and her hand went to her stomach.
“You’re not gonna barf on me, are you?” He asked, only half joking.
She shot him a glare, but it was still unsuccessful in this state.
“Not on purpose.”
He snorted.
“Maybe on purpose.” She muttered, pressing her back against the elevator wall.
Her attempt at a glare turned into something else.
Something softer. The alcohol had stripped away the walls she usually had up, and for a moment, he saw the Rhea he used to know—the one who trusted him, who laughed with him, who had cared about him before he fucked everything up.
He couldn’t help but think how beautiful she looked.
Not just in the obvious way—her long and wavy black hair framing her face, the dark makeup that outlined her blue eyes perfectly (his favorite blue eyes)—but the way her guard slipped. Down. Completely.
The elevator dinged as they reached her floor. The doors slid open, and she pushed off the wall, almost tripping as she crossed over the threshold and onto the carpet of the hallway. He grabbed her again.
Rhea snorted this time, but it came out more like a wet hiccup. He ignored her protest and placed an arm around her waist.
She didn’t resist but instead rolled her shoulders back, pressing slightly into his side.
“You’re gonna have to tell me which room,” he said, trying to stay semi-quiet.
Rhea blinked up at him, her lashes fluttering like she was trying to focus.
“201!” She said loudly. He grimaced, fully expecting someone to poke their head out and bitch at them.
When they finally arrived at her room, she pressed the keycard against the door.
He took it from her and guided her inside, flicking on the light before she could protest.
He led her over to the edge of the bed, and she shrugged away from him, landing with a plop. The way she flopped back onto the mattress made him fight a laugh. There was something almost innocent about her right now.
“You good?” He asked.
Rhea groaned, kicking off her Vans with an exaggerated motion.
“Get my makeup wipes out of my bag.”
Her arm gestured toward her luggage.
Inside, he found a black cosmetic bag and pulled out a pack of cleansing wipes. He handed them to her.
She looked at them briefly and then threw them back, hitting him in the face. He crinkled his nose. He couldn’t even be mad.
“You do it.” She mumbled, rolling onto her side.
“You’re serious?”
“Yeah, duh! Don’t act like you haven’t done it before.”
Dom exhaled through his nose.
He kneeled next to the bed, plucking a single towelette from the pack.
They had always had a routine after a rough match. She’d lie her head in his lap, and he’d wipe off all her makeup, run her a bath, and play with her hair. It was disgustingly sweet.
The only match she had tonight was against the alcohol, and she’d lost.
Badly.
He began dabbing at the smudged eyeliner beneath her eyes. The pad of his thumb brushed against her skin, and she instinctively nuzzled into his touch, a quiet hum slipping past her parted lips.
Dom paused.
The scent of her, vanilla and roses, filled his nose as he continued to wipe at her face. He swallowed. This was the closest they’d been in a long time without fighting. And yet, here she was: drunk, vulnerable, trusting him enough to let him care for her.
She was so precious.
“Mi Vida..” he murmured before he could stop himself.
One of her eyes opened.
Dom froze. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
It was something he’d only ever called her in private. When he meant it in the quietest, most sincere way possible. My life, because that was what she had been to him and probably always would be. It was something he could never call anyone else.
His life, even when they were apart. Even when he’d chosen something else. It was ridiculous. He had made his own bed.
Rhea’s eye fluttered open fully, her gaze locking onto his. She remembered.
He cleared his throat and continued to wipe away the last of her makeup, trying to act like he hadn’t just called her something so intimate. His voice was rough when he spoke again, like the effort of acting normal was fucking with him.
“You should drink some water.”
Rhea peeled her head off the mattress, blinking up at him through the last of her mascara free lashes. She squinted like she was trying to remember why she needed water or where it might be.
He stood, grabbing a bottle that was near the coffee pot. He twisted the cap off and handed it to her. Rhea took it with a nod, chugging half before she came up for air, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She handed it back, still wobbly but less so.
Dom took it, setting it on the nightstand.
She moved to stand up, swaying slightly, and he moved without thinking—one hand steadying her lower back, the other bracing her shoulder.
She didn’t protest this time.
Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt, gripping lightly.
His breath caught.
“I have to pee.”
Dom nodded, stepping back once she was steady.
She shuffled to the bathroom, not bothering to close the door. He heard the toilet flush after a few seconds, followed by the sink running.
When she stumbled back out, he was already standing there, waiting in case she needed help.
She braced herself against the doorframe, blinking up at him again.
To his surprise, she stepped forward. She sagged against him, her forehead pressing into his chest. His heart stuttered.
Dom’s hands hovered at her waist, not quite pulling her close, not quite letting go.
This was the most content he'd felt in a long time.
“Only because you’re warm.” She mumbled.
His fingers finally rested on her back as he led her back to the bed. She didn’t argue when he guided her down, her body folding onto the mattress like a marionette with cut strings.
When he moved to leave, she grabbed his wrist.
Her grip wasn’t tight.
Dom turned back, watching the way her fingers curled around his forearm.
“Stay. Who knows when the next time we’ll be near each other…” She trailed off, yawning between each word. Her fingers loosened slightly, but she didn’t let go. Not yet.
“Sober me will hate me for saying this, but…I miss you.” She mumbled with her eyes closed, her voice heavy.
Dom’s chest tightened. He’d been bracing for her to spew whatever anger she’d been sitting on for the last year. Not this.
He exhaled through his nose, fingers flexing. “Yeah, well…I miss you too. More than you know."
That was all he said. Plain.
Her grip finally slipped. Not with abruptness but like she’d decided she didn’t have the energy to hold on anymore.
He didn’t know much about metaphors, but that sure felt like one.
He turned her onto her side and then pulled the blanket over her, tucking it around her shoulders. She sighed and shifted a little, making herself comfortable.
Finally, he brushed her hair from her face. Not because it was necessary. Just because.
"Goodnight, Mami." He murmured.
As he reached for the door, her voice stopped him.
“Dom Dom.”
He turned.
She was asleep.
He stood there for a long moment, just looking at her, and then he finally left.
Back to the life he’d chosen. Back to Liv. Back to Judgement Day. Back to feeling nothing at all because that was always easier than feeling too much. At the end of the day, she'd always deserve better.