Ambrose Steel Hounds

Part 1

Javawocky was the sort of coffee house that you go to cram for your exams at the last minute because their tables were big and clean. Or the sort where you lay out your work spread out in front of you, trying to tidy it up before you head to that meeting you were definitely going to be late for.

It was not a place to sleep.

But what did Dean Ambrose care about? He was the lead singer of one of the most famous heavy metal bands of all time. He had money. Lots of flashy cars, two mansions and a yacht. Unfortunately, he had gotten kicked out of a club early morning after the cleaner had found him in the toilet passed out.

Which was how he ended up here. Dean had a huge hangover to nurse.

"Can I get you anything, Sir?"

Dean looked up and found a waiter looking at him with concern. He had black hair neatly tied up in a tight bun and grey eyes. Dean likened him to those Greek marble statues you'd see in museums. "Ummm... coffee. Preferably a whole pot."

"Hangover?" the waiter asked with concern.

"Yep."

"Can I offer you toast and cereal as well? It's easy to digest and you'll get calories back into your body."

"Sure, man." Dean rubbed his temples. "Can you give me an aspirin if you have one too?"

"No problem. Though I hope you don't tell my manager. He'd kick my ass for it. It's against company's policy to give medications to customers lest we want a lawsuit on our hands."

Dean grimaced. "Don't worry. I won't tell."

"I'll get your order." The man nodded his head and went to the kitchen. Dean leaned against the cushioned booth. He'd need to hail a taxi to his place after this. The waiter came back with a pot of coffee, a glass of water and two aspirins. "Here you go," he said, setting it on the table along with a white ceramic mug. "There's creamer and sugar in the basket on your left."

"It's quiet around here."

The waiter chuckled. "It's six and it's also Sunday morning. Most people are still in bed."

"Then what are you doing here?" Dean asked.

"Well, I work here."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Obviously."

"I also study at the local community college a few blocks down here."

Dean made a face. "Study? How old are you?"

"30."

"And you're still hitting the books. Jeez man, am I glad I'm a rock star. I don't even need to know my ABCs."

The waiter chuckled. "Of course, you do. How else are you going to read the menu?"

"I'll just have you do it."

"Fair enough." The waiter looked at him keenly. "You're a rock star?"

"Yep. Dean Ambrose," he introduced himself, reaching his hand out. "Lead singer for Steel Hounds."

The waiter took his hand and shook it. "Roman Reigns. I've heard of your band."

"But have you heard our music?"

"Not really. I'm into blues and jazz."

"An old soul."

"That's what my dad says."

"Well, we're one of the biggest heavy metal bands in the world. We've sold out arenas, had all our albums hit multi platinum, awards and stuff... you name it."

"What brings you here then?" Roman asked.

"I got kicked out of a club. Typical rock star behavior. This cafe was the only one opened so early. But hey, I won't complain. I love being famous. The perks are one of the reasons why."

"I've never been interested in being famous at all. I can't imagine the amount of pressure you're in."

"If you mean the paparazzi, I've gotten used to them. But they hardly follow us. They're more interested in those Kardashians."

Roman chuckled. "Let me check on your order." He headed back into the kitchen. Dean leaned back and smiled to himself. It had been a while he met someone he actually liked conversing with. The people he was surrounded with usually talked about meaningless things, superficial stuff too. He always longed to meet other people he could just talk with.

Roman seemed like the kind of guy he'd hang out with. Not in a bar or anything but like a nice setting like Starbucks or Joe & Dough.

He came out of the kitchen and served Dean four slices of toasts and hot cereal. "Enjoy your meal."

"You have to head back to work?" Dean asked as he stirred his cereal.

"Well-"

"Come on. Five more minutes. That's all I ask."

Roman smiled. "Okay."

"Great. So what are you studying in college? Please don't tell me it's architecture."

"No," Roman said, laughing a little. "I'm majoring in Behavioral Health and Human Services. I like helping people. I want to work as a Mental Health and Substance Abuse Social Worker."

"That's noble of you," Dean remarked. "How long do you have till you get your degree?"

"This is my last year... I'd say about nine months to go."

Dean chewed on his cereal. "Doesn't seem too long. It'll be over before you know it."

"That's exactly what I'm thinking."

"You live nearby?"

"Right now, I'm renting a room in a friend's apartment."

"Penthouse?"

"Just a regular apartment." He glanced at the clock. "I'd better start tidying up. The next shift will be in soon."

Something in him didn't want to let this man go. Dean took a pen attached to a feedback form clipboard and wrote his cellular number on a napkin before passing it to Roman who looked at it, surprised.

"I really like talking to you, Roman. I hope you wouldn't mind staying in touch."

Roman looked at him, his cheeks tinged with pink. "Wow... sure, Dean. That'd be great." He thanked Dean once again before heading into the utilities room.

Dean threw some money and a good tip for Roman before heading outside to hail a taxi. He listened to music on his iPod, keeping his head low just in case a paparazzi wanted to get a picture. He wasn't in the mood for it today.

When he entered his house, he tossed his key to the cabinet by the side. It was a big home with three levels with seven bedrooms and nine bathrooms, patio, pool, karaoke room and a private hiking trail surrounded by light trees.

He lied down his couch, his thoughts on his life. How lucky he was compared to most.

And also how lonely he was too.

He fell asleep, dreaming of a burning house that day.