Lass Ride: Crossroads - The Messages

1. Renee

Going first was supposed to make things easier. Back in school, teachers used to say that if you volunteered to do your presentation first, you not only got things out of the way, but you also couldn't be compared to anyone else—not to mention you'd likely get unofficial mercy points since your volunteering meant the teacher didn't have to force someone else to go. As Renee held Dean's back-up phone in her hand, though, she was second-guessing her decision to go first.

Her reasoning had been sound enough: Since she was the newest addition to the group—well, it was a toss-up between her and Seth, technically—she didn't have the family-like bond with Becky that the others did. But she was still a friend, and before that she was a fan. The others felt hurt and upset and betrayed, and justifiably so, but Renee just felt sad. She knew first-hand that being in the WWE with no allies—or worse, with a target on your back—was an incredibly isolating, claustrophobic feeling. I hope the girls aren't holding it against her, she thought as her finger hovered above the call button. I hope she has some friends, or at least people to talk to.

"Two minutes," Renee told herself as she took a deep breath and pressed the button, almost jumping out of her skin when the phone started to ring. What do I do if she picks up? It wasn't likely, but with her luck, Becky might just answer and then she'd be a stammering mess. The call rang through, though, and after the spiel about being unavailable, there was a familiar beep. "Hey. Hey, Becky. It's Renee. I guess I should warn you to prepare for a flood of messages. I offered to go first, since I thought I'd be more neutral, but . . . it's still hard."

Renee let out a long breath before shaking her head. If they only had two minutes each, give or take, she didn't have time to waste on pondering or pauses. "I . . . I just wanted to say that . . . I understand. You did what you thought was best. The others—they're hurt and confused and I understand that too, but they're not thinking clearly about what you did and why. I've got a bit of distance, so I can see it better than they can. If you ever need to talk, just let Dean know. I'm happy to chat about what WWE was like when you were gone or. . . ." Feeling tears starting to press at her eyes, Renee coughed. "I hope you're happy. I hope the women's locker room is fucking elated, because they should be. If you'd come back while I was still there, I would have been over the moon. I hope you've been making friends again and that you're okay. Please don't worry about us—you've done more than enough. Thank you. Thank you for everything. I know Dean talked to you about proposing to me." A sharp, sudden sob took Renee's breath then, and she knew she wouldn't be able to blink back the tears much longer. "Come to the wedding? I have no idea when it'll be, but we'd love to have you there. It won't feel right without you."

Then she forced herself to hit the disconnect button. If she said anything more, she'd start crying in full, and she wasn't a delicate crier: she could go from delicate sniffles to monstrously ugly sobs in a single blink. She wiped the phone clean and looked at her reflection in the bedroom mirror to make sure no sneaky tears had leaked out. One down, she thought as she took a steadying breath and headed back downstairs. When she reached the living room, she put on a smile she hoped looked natural. "Well, I didn't get a mailbox is full warning, so that's a good sign, right?" She held up the phone and glanced around. "Who's next?"

If Becky could put on a brave face, so could she.