I Love You - Bret Hart
A/N: This was inspired as I was reading his autobiography and the fact that I need much more Bret love in my life. Set in the early days of The Hart Foundation.
Not sure who to tag but I hope you all enjoy. :)
@monstersmaid @riottkick @theoldwweattitude @spniv
Being with Bret was a real mixed bag of things. I had to deal with him and Jim's antics while ringside, playing valet for shows, but away from the ring, he was a completely different guy. Many people, my family especially, were surprised when they met him. This intimidating and often cold seeming man was surprisingly soft and gentle with me by his side, at least away from the ring that is. I was he and his partner's valet. I served as an intentional distraction to their opponents and "eye candy" for the fans, as bigwigs in the company once stated. Bret hated that. He hated for anyone to objectify me and the minute he heard the old kook tell me that my body alone could "knock soldiers and bozos from their posts" I could see his eyes grow darker. I grabbed his rough, calloused hands and gave him a nod. Later I reassured him that I didn't mind.
"Just as long as those fans don't give you any trouble, I guess I don't mind either." He said to me that night. He kissed me softly and held my hand. "You're a good girl Mitzi." Blush creeped on my cheeks at the name. No one called me that. First name, sure, but my middle name was easier on the tongue and mind, but not Bret. To him, Mitzi had spunk and Rose seemed to open old wounds of his. He called it cute, but unfitting, with a look in his eyes that gave his heart's true meaning away. Bret never liked to talk of past relationships, but that was fine by me most of the time, I was curious, but I of all people knew what scars and pain a failed relationship could leave. I never pushed, besides, we were often too in love to care anyways.
He was almost always touching me. Walking to the ring, he had a hand on my waist and after the matches he'd hug me and hold my hand on the way to the locker room. Back around the guys, he'd have me situated on his lap while they drank and talked about the night. His hand would lay lightly on my thigh and just before the arena shut down, when the guys left, he'd let me up to change. I'd change quickly, into one of his shirts and sweatpants, while he kept a check on the door, occasionally looking back and letting his eyes linger a bit too long on my frame. When we got back to a random low-brow, motel in an off the grid town in the winter. We'd nestle into each other for warmth. This was the routine after shows.
On days off we'd typically visit with his family in Calgary. The easiest people to get on with were his brothers, especially the youngest, Owen. He was the sweetest, and a jokester. I shared loads of laughs with him. One particular week, Bret suggested we visit my family for the days off. My family lived in a rural town in the US. It would be a long road trip but we'd survive. We visited a day with Stu and Helen in their mansion before saying our goodbyes and heading into the states to see my long awaiting family.
When my family met Bret, they were surprised to say the least. Bret wore a soft, pastel colored shirt and regular old blue jeans. His hair was down, soft and wavy, falling over his shoulders. He looked like a typical guy with longer hair and a bulky frame. My parents were decently impressed by Bret. His shy and gentle nature, but willingness to talk and laugh when the time called for it won them over. We stayed for three days and then it was back on the road. My dad and Bret had become incredibly close over those days despite their certainly differing opinions on challenging subjects.
On the road again. I stared out of the SUV's tinted window as we drove to yet another motel in the middle of nowhere. Bret was driving, his hand on my knee per usual and mine over top of it, providing my warmth as we made our way through the country side. We checked into the sleazy joint. It had a surprisingly comfortable bed. We stayed in one room and snuggled up to each other like long separated puppies, seeing each other for the first time. Bret's arms wrapped around me, pulling me closer as I laid parallel to him.
"You're so beautiful Mitzi." Even in the dim lighting of the dingy room, I could see his eyes staring into mine. Wide and dark. Admiring me. I would never tire of how he looked at me. Seemingly longing for my promise to stay forever.
"Those eye's Mitz." He leaned in a kissed my forehead and his eyes glistened with love.
"I love you Bret, always will." I said with a smile. He grinned back at me softly and nestled his head into my chest. I was one of the only people he allowed himself to be raw and vulnerable with and I appreciated that wholeheartedly. In his short life, so far, he had been through so much. Lost friends, failed relationships, and the addiction plague that struck many in the wrestling world. I genuinely fell in love with him and I couldn't bear to see him upset, but it was better than him burying everything under a tough exterior like many men of his time were taught to do.
"I love you too Mitzi." He whispered into the crevice of my neck. It was the first time he had muttered those words.