Handprints and signatures of stars of House of Dark Shadows and Night of Dark Shadows in the forecourt of Quentin Tarantino's Vista Theater in Los Angeles.
Those days were long behind them. That's what James Storm had tried to tell himself for years now, since Robert Roode had hung up his own boots to become a backstage employee of the WWE. James himself had long since turned to acting over an in-ring career. Yet here was the irrefutable proof of the days when both men had less gray in their hair and more of a future to their individual names.
And here was, staring Bobby Roode in the face through the mirror of the crowded dive bar. It had been years since the two men had been in any semblance of this position. Bobby was sipping some fruity little cocktail that had twice the alcohol content than the beer he was currently nursing, leaving Bobby's mouth tasting as sweet as whatever fruit the drink was flavored with. Instead of being as partners, hands locked on top of the table before eventually stumbling off into the night and back to the hotel, they were meeting as something else. This time it was as two men who hadn't spoken in years.
Drunkenly, James had swore he was going to fix that.
Pushing himself through the crowded bar, James checked a man with his shoulder before climbing onto the stool next to Bobby, "Well, well, well. Look atcha now, down 'n the dumps."
Bobby's gentle gray eyes glanced up at James, and a few things stood out to the cowboy. Bobby looked harder than he ever had before, grizzled but still incredibly handsome. The cockiness that had always set the money in Beer Money apart was still there, James knew it would never go away, but it wasn't as prominent as it had once been. James recognized the look of broken man when he saw it. It was hard not to recognize a look that met him every time he looked at the mirror. "How longs it been, Storm, and ya still ain't over this? Ya here to gloat? To talk about how good your life is?"
There was a moment between the two as he swished the liquid around in his bottle, a moment of doubt in James' mind. His life going good? The in-ring life he had loved so much was gone, traded these days for small bit parts in movies and television programs. Everything had fallen in around him, the highlight of most days being the few beers at the local dives that created a warmth in his chest. But great? No, no. He couldn't admit to that weakness.
"Fuckin' scuse me?" James snarled, raising an eyebrow at Bobby, "I ain't-"
"Aren't what, James? Sitting miserably in a bar with no one around you? Telling yourself it'll all be alright but going back home and debating if it could all just end-"
"That's what's on yer mind?" James raised an eyebrow in alarm, refusing to acknowledge that he had felt the same way since losing his partner. "Wantin' it t' end?"
Bobby slunk down, his arms leaning against the bar and his head in his hands, "My career on the main roster was a joke, James. I wanted to be in the 'E, wanted to be a star. All I am now is watching others live my dream. Hell, the Machine Guns are there living what I wanted. What we always wanted."
James tired not to chuckle as he scratched his beard, flecked with gray, the feeling all too relatable. All this time he had spent hating Bobby, loathing Bobby, missing Bobby. It had festered into his personal life and chased those he might have loved away. Seeing Chris Sabin and Alex Shelley living the dream that James and Bobby had always tried to manifest was a little frustrating. "Damn Guns. Second best tag team ever to be in TNA. We always belonged in a tag team. Never felt right when I wasn't."
Bobby laughed, a full throated sound that James recognized he missed, "We thrived in a team, James. We thrived together."
James ran a hand through his long brown hair, eyes closed as he tried to focus his mind on something other than the rush of cologne from Bobby. "It's the booze, Bobby. Ya know that. We both know that."
"I haven't had but one, James. Damn it, cowboy, I miss you," Bobby's soft hand reached for his and when it connected, it finally felt as if the world made sense. He wasn't sure if it was because he was touch starved or if Bobby had reached out to touch him because he was the touch starved one. Either way, the two sat like that for what seemed like an eternity.
"Missed you too, rich boy," James realized with a tearful chuckle, "God I missed ya. I missed us. Maybe we can fix this?"
"We can sure as hell try," Bobby squeezed his hand around James, "We can always try."
