Trouble

ELEVEN

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter features a small cameo from a now-deceased wrestler who was still alive when the fic was originally written. (Love you, Balls. Always.) I'm just giving you readers a head's up, because when I proofread it, seeing him actually threw me off for a minute and I realize it might be upsetting to others.

ELEVEN

I tried to tell myself this was just another day. I'd been to my fair share of funerals recently. We were at war. It happened more than anyone liked to admit. The problem was, this wasn't just another day and it wasn't just any funeral. I was about to bury the woman I loved, and part of me wanted to just give up and be buried with her.

You have to be strong for Abigail, I reminded myself. She needs you. You are her guardian.

I wasn't sure how long I'd be her guardian, but as long as I was, I had to function.

I didn't eat breakfast. I allowed myself to drink a Vegas Fuel, because I am the spokesperson for the company and I'm addicted to the stuff. It didn't fix my mood, but it gave me a little bit of adrenaline so I could attempt to get through the day.

James had woken up before me. He had proceeded to get up and quietly iron my black button-down shirt and dress pants. They were beyond perfectly ironed and I knew James was freaking out. He threw himself into things like that when he wasn't okay.

"Thanks, Buddy," I said gently. "Are you okay?"

"I..." He hesitated. He knew it was pointless to lie to me. "I feel responsible, Michael."

"For what?" I was genuinely confused.

"For this. All of you risked your lives to save me... And you lost her. You lost the first woman I've ever seen you get serious with. I... I'm so sorry, Michael!" James started to cry.

I immediately grabbed him and pulled him into a hug. "Stop that right now," I said firmly. "You are not responsible for this." This was the second time I'd had to tell someone that in the last twenty-four hours. James looked broken, and that broke me. "We all made that choice knowing what could happen. You didn't ask to get kidnapped and tortured, James. You didn't even ask to be rescued."

"It should have been me. Not her, Michael. She had a daughter! She had you. Her life was worth something!" He was crying harder now and he fell to his knees. I knelt beside him. I tried to touch his shoulder, but he recoiled like I'd slapped him.

"James..." I hated seeing him like this. He didn't deserve to hurt this much.

"Emily's life meant something..." He stared at the floor.

"So does yours, James. You were worth saving, too."

"She had a family! She was a mother! What am I? I'm nothing! I'm just poor, pathetic Spud, the one who needs saving, the butt of every joke, the guy who doesn't matter because in the scheme of things, I'm not that important to anyone." He was rambling. Some of it was what they'd said to him while he'd been kidnapped, and some was how he actually felt about himself at times, but he wouldn't stop going on and on about how his life didn't matter and I suddenly couldn't take it anymore.

"Shut up!" I told him shaply. He stared at me in stunned silence. "That's my best friend you're talking about."

"How can I still be your best friend?" He asked me. "How can you look at me and not see the reason Emily's gone? Why don't you hate me?"

"Because you're not the reason, James," I told him. "They are. The bad guys, the monsters who kidnap good people and who kill them for kicks. Not you. And you're not nothing. You aren't 'poor, pathetic Spud.' You are Rockstar Spud, and you are the best person I know."