So, welcome to the sequel to Behind Blue Eyes. For anyone here who used to read my older stuff, some names will be be familiar. I am looking at this as an offshoot of my original world, where, instead of growing up with his birth mother, Dean Ambrose was kidnapped and forced into a life of physical and sexual abuse until he ran away. As you come across familiar names, please keep in mind that the roles they may play in this story are not the same as they have played in the other stories. There will also be a lot of new OC's that play minor roles as well.

Chapter One

There is nothing quite like traveling coach in a plane to make a man realize he's carrying around some extra weight, Sefa Reigns thought, as he buckled the seat belt, preparing for takeoff. He was 6'1", not overly tall for this day in age, and 275 lbs. A lot of it was muscle, but if he was going to be honest with himself, not all of it was. Some of it was having a wife who loved and was very good at cooking. The seat was squeezing him like a vice. Even worse, he was in the middle seat, the only seat available on this flight. To the right of him was a woman, to the left of him, a man who were both carrying around a little extra poundage themselves. This would be a long six hours, even with a layover where he could stretch. All he could hope for, was that someone wouldn't be able to make the connecting flight, and he could get their aisle or window seat. But, knowing his luck, he'd be smooshed in the middle again, but this time by two people who were on diets and wanted to talk about how happy they were that they were finally just under 400lbs.

I should have driven, he thought, as the woman squirmed and tried to subtly take possession of the one armrest between them. Sefa responded to her efforts by planting his elbows a little firmer and leaving her no choice, but to stop. She had an aisle seat, she could get up at any point without bothering anyone to use the bathroom or stretch her legs if she had to. Thus, she could suck it up and use one armrest. Same with the guy on the other side. He had a window on his side, so he could suck it up, too. The only advantage Sefa had was that he could use both of the armrests and he was going to do it.

This flight hadn't been planned, but it had been necessary. He and his wife Jen, had talked about it, after their friend, and the local Sheriff, Aaron had left the house after dropping another bombshell on a day that had already been rather explosive.

Their foster son, Jon "call me Mox" Moxley wasn't really Jon Moxley at all. His name was Dean Ambrose and his mother had been looking at him for the last ten years. They had known the name Jon Moxley wasn't the name the kid was born with, so that part wasn't a complete shock. But plenty of other things were shocking enough.

Sefa remembered the night his three sons brought Mox home. He had a sprained ankle from a roll in a drain water ditch and he refused to let them take him to the hospital. The kid had been so pale as if he'd never seen the sun, and so skinny it was obvious he wasn't being fed on a regular basis. He'd tried to claim his name was Bret Hart, which amused the hell out of Sefa. Of all the folks to find him, he picked the kids of a retired professional wrestler who also owned a camp for teaching professional wrestling. Samoan Pride Wrestling Academy, named after the tag team Sefa had belonged to while in the WWF. There were a lot of folks around who would have accepted the name Brett Hart without question, but not them. They'd all met Bret Hart. Hell, Sefa and his former tag team partner had even wrestled Bret and Owen Hart.

When further questioned the kid finally admitted he had forgotten his name. Sefa would have thought that was bullshit, too, but with the kid looking like he could win the "Who's The Palest" contest with Casper the Friendly Ghost, and that he'd been shirtless, even though Florida was a bug heaven, his back covered in multiple scars told enough of his story for him. Whoever had been caring for the kid had done a terrible job. The kid had been kept in the dark and barely fed him. Whatever name they had given him, it was not a name the boy wanted to be known by. And Sefa could understand that. He was pretty sure the kid had run away from that situation and he wasn't going to use the name they had given him, for safety reasons, and not using it, was also a bit of a rebirth for him.

Sefa let him pick his own name, so they would have something to call him, and after a discussion involving the use of a character's name in the movie Varsity Blues, Jon Moxen, they had modified it into Jon Moxley. From that moment on, he became Jon "call me Mox" Moxley. The only person who did not call him "Mox" was Jen, who called him Jon, just as if she'd picked the name Jon for him when he was a baby, and refused to acknowledge he had a nickname.

While it didn't allow him to be reborn as Bret Hart, being found by a family that had a wrestling academy turned out to be the best thing for Mox, because he really wanted to be a wrestler. Sefa had trained more wrestlers than he could remember, but he could honestly say no one was as eager to learn as Mox. Once his ankle was healed from the sprain, all he wanted to do was train to wrestle and he was willing to work at the camp, to do whatever job assigned him, in return for lessons. He and Jen agreed that the kid should stay with them, so they had worked around the system, getting him temporary ID, becoming foster parents, and getting him "in the system" so they could get him the medical help he needed.

They did have Aaron, the local sheriff, checking for a missing child that could be Mox, but if Sefa had to be honest, nobody was looking very hard, Aaron included. Mox really didn't have much of a desire to find his family, having believed that his mother had sold him all those years, and he still wasn't convinced she hadn't. Apparently, the few memories he did have of her seemed to imply she was, if not an addict, a heavy drug user, and possibly even a prostitute.

It would have been fine with the whole family, if Mox could make it to eighteen without being "discovered," but yesterday had changed that.

Yesterday his kidnappers came to kill him or take him back, depending on which one you talked to. Except you couldn't talk to the one who Mox had known as Sam, but was really named Simon anymore. Simon had been the one who wanted to kill "Timmy" the name they had given to Mox, but it ended up that Dennis, the one Mox called "Father", shot Simon instead, leaving Simon unable to talk to anyone, unless they could find someone really good with an Ouija board.

Dennis was in custody, and Mox was calm about the whole thing, almost too calm. The only true emotion he had shown was disappointed that Sefa had cancelled the public wrestling show they had on Saturday night. Mox was supposed to take the Academy belt from Sefa's middle son, Roman, in a storyline the two of them had been working on for awhile.

The storyline that almost got him killed, Sefa thought as the safety video began, and the plane pulled out of the gate. He barely paid attention to the safety video, it gave no information he hadn't heard a million times in his wrestling days with WCW and WWF, where he'd flown almost everywhere in the world, at least twice. Instead he went back to his own thoughts.

Mox was a natural on the mike, good enough that he was even making Roman, who looked awesome, but wasn't great on public speaking, find his wrestling persona voice. The simple plot line they had created, Roman winning the belt and Mox being angry about that, taking the attitude that he'd only won it because he was the son of the owner of the academy, had created a bit of a fan base, thanks to the website his youngest son Lance had put up, that included taped matches and promos, available for downloading. According to Aaron, Dennis had told him that it was finding the website that allowed them to find "Timmy." Apparently, Dennis had been more than willing to talk after being arrested, confessing to the murder, even after his rights were read to him, and letting them know the kid's real name and where they had taken him from.

And that's what lead to Sefa being on this plane, heading to Cincinnati. After spending most of the night talking about it, they knew Mox/Dean's mother had a right to know her son was alive after all these years. Sefa was going to do that, and also, try to convince her that the best thing for Mox/Dean would be to stay with them.

That's going to be the tough one, Sefa thought, as the plane left the ground and he sunk his fingers into the arms of the seat. He didn't mind being in the air, but he hated takeoffs and landings. You could explain to him a billion times what was happening, and how safe it was, but he still hated them. A small part of him believed that if the slightest thing went wrong, the plane would explode until it was safely up in the air, or down on the ground. If Lance were here, he'd be telling you how it all worked and why you're stupid for being scared, he told himself. Well, he might not use the word stupid, but that's exactly how you'd feel, stupid.

When the plane was up in the air, he let out a deep breath and relaxed. He hadn't gotten any sleep at all the night before and he was hoping to get a nap. He rolled his shoulders as best he could in the small seat, then stretched his arms out to get rid of some of the stiffness. As he did, the woman sitting next to him tried to take possession of the armrest again. But before she could get a firm grip, he brought his own arm down and pushed hers out of the way. Then he closed his eyes and tried to get some rest.

By the time Jen got back from dropping Sefa off at the airport, it was daylight. I guess it's a pot of strong coffee for me, today, she thought, as she parked her car in the garage. She saw Marc, her oldest son, out on the running track, running with a group of overnight students who had arrived the Monday before. Technically, Sundays were a day off for everyone, both overnighters and those who just came for lessons, but the gym and the track were still open for use and some students took advantage of that.

Marc knew where Sefa was going, they had gone down to his house before taking Sefa to the airport and woke him up to tell him what was going on and to tell him he would be running the camp by himself for a day or two. Marc had been Sefa's assistant for the last few years, he could handle it.

Jen had been a little surprised when Marc's door was opened by a young woman wearing Marc's bathrobe and little else. With all the excitement the day before, Marc had told Jen and Sefa he was just going to bed and getting some sleep. But apparently, Noella (hadn't she said that was her name?) had called him, or he had called Noella and, well, Jen could only assume she came over and the two of them had decided to make the night a little brighter.

That's Marc for you, she thought, as she headed into the house, I remember Sefa once joking with him that the rules of life for a young man were, 1: Never play cards with a man named Doc. 2: Never eat at a place called Joe's. and 3: Never pass up the chance to have sex or use the bathroom. Clearly he took the first part of number three, seriously. The good or bad thing about Marc, depending on how you looked at it, was that he loved women and women loved him right back.

When she got into the house, the first thing she did was make coffee. The pot was still clean from where she'd washed it and set it up with water before taking Sefa to the airport, which told her that two of her sons had to be asleep, or they would have started a pot. She realized with a jolt, that she had automatically assumed Jon as one of her sons. Do I have the right to do that anymore? she wondered. Think of him as my son?

She was taking a carton of eggs out of the refrigerator, when her youngest son, Lance came downstairs, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, hair still tousled from sleep, but breath smelling minty, which told her he'd at least brushed his teeth. He yawned and went to the cupboard and took down a glass. Since Jen was already at the refrigerator, she handed him a pitcher of orange juice. He accepted it, poured himself a glass and returned it to the refrigerator. "Dad and Marc still training?" He asked, looking at the clock. "I'm up early, today."

Jen wasn't surprised he was up early. Nine-year-old Lance had been the one to discover Mox being confronted by his kidnappers on the cross country wooded trail that ran along the edge of the property. And at that point, Simon/Sam had the gun trained on Mox. Lance had managed to quietly sneak away and then ran to get help. Fortunately, he had not seen Dennis shoot Simon, but coming across Mox, who he had come to think of as another brother, having a gun pointed at him, had been traumatic enough. She had ended up giving him two children's Benadryl shortly after dinner, and he'd been sound asleep by eight o'clock, of course he'd be up early today.

"Marc is out training," Jen said. "Your father is out of town."

Lance frowned. "Is everything okay?" he asked, taking a drink of his orange juice before bringing it over and putting it by his place at the table. "Does this have anything to do with what happened yesterday?"

Of course he would associate his father being gone with what happened yesterday, Jen thought. He never remembers the days when his father had to travel all the time to make a living.

Sometimes, Jen and Sefa joked with each other about their kids, referring to Marc as the Honeymoon baby, Roman as the Shoulder Surgery baby, and Lance as the Injured Knee baby. Their kids were spaced far apart, Marc was 24, Roman was 16 and Lance was 9 going on 10. And Roman and Lance were born about nine months after Sefa had been out of wrestling on an injury. But Lance had also been Retirement baby. Sefa realized that even though he tried to stay in touch with his sons, both Marc and Roman were looking at him as this stranger they called Father, who was hardly around.

Sefa had just come down from being on the top of his game in the WWF, a member of one of the hottest tag teams the company had ever seen, Samoan Pride. He and his partner, Aleki Safuta, both decided to leave the WWF at the top, rather than wait to be phased out and replaced by younger wrestlers who were eager to make their mark.

Sefa had access to a huge plot of land, originally intended to be used by Jen's father, upon his retirement, with hopes of starting a horse farm. Unfortunately, he had died before he could retire and Jen's mother had given Jen and Sefa the land as part of Jen's inheritance. Sefa used it to open one of the biggest wrestling camps in the United States the Samoan Pride Wrestling Academy.

Jen struggled with what to tell her youngest son. She didn't want to lie, but the truth would be too hard for him to handle, and until things were decided, she really didn't want him telling Mox what was happening. "I-I can't tell you what it's about," she finally said. "I promise I will, as soon as I'm able, but right now, all I can tell you is that he's had to go somewhere and he'll be back in a couple days. Maybe even sooner."

"Can you at least tell me if it is about Mox?" Lance asked, going over to the cabinet and taking out five plates.

Jen shook her head. "I'm sorry, I can't."

"Then it is," Lance said, eyes narrowing as he looked at his mother. "What's going on?" He brought the plates back to the table and started putting them in their proper places.

Jen sighed, cursing the fact that Lance was smarter than his years. Of course she couldn't fool him. But, she was still the parent. "I can't tell you," she said, making her voice as firm as she could. "And you are not allowed to discuss it. Not with your brothers, not with anyone."

"I should be able to," Lance said, scowling. "Especially since it concerns Mox."

"I didn't say it did," Jen said.

"But you didn't say it didn't." Having set the plates, Lance went to one of the drawers and started pulling out silverware.

"That's because I don't want to play twenty questions," Jen said in a desperate attempt to throw Lance off the track. "If I said no, you would ask if it was about something else, so on and so forth, until you figured it out. I love you Lance, but this is something that cannot be talked about until more is known."

"More is known about what?" Roman asked, coming into the kitchen. He was wearing a pair of loose fitting shorts and a "Crusaders" T-shirt that represented the Catholic High school football team that he played on. His hair was pulled back neatly in a ponytail, letting Jen know he'd been awake for at least enough time to get ready for the day. It was Sunday, and he probably thought they'd be going to church after breakfast, because if they didn't go on Saturday night, they went Sunday morning. Since Roman had his license, Jen had been debating if she should skip Mass in favor of a nap.

"Dad's out of town," Lance answered for Jen, as he began putting the silverware on the table. "And Mom won't tell me what it's about. But I'm thinking it has something to do with Mox."

Roman's brow furrowed and he looked at Jen. "Does it?"

"I'm not telling," Jen said, although she did plan on telling Roman a little more once she could get him alone, which meant maybe she should go to church, since Lance didn't attend. Well, that would depend on if Mox wanted to go. "I told Lance that I'm not saying it does or doesn't have anything to do with Mox, because I don't want to play the twenty questions so he can try to figure it out. And I won't play it with you, either. Your father isn't going to be gone for very long, a couple days at the most. He might even be home tomorrow. And, since we're talking about Mox, how is he doing?"

"He's still asleep," Roman said. "And if he had any nightmares, they were quiet enough not to wake me. Those sedatives the doctor gave him must be strong, because it's Sunday and he never oversleeps on Sunday… and speaking of Sunday, I don't smell cinnamon rolls."

"I know," Jen confessed. Every Sunday she made nine cinnamon rolls. Everyone got one, but the first three to get to the breakfast table got two of them. Sefa never lost, which left a fierce competition for the other two. "I just didn't have time."

"No cinnamon rolls?" Lance asked, frowning. "That sucks!" Jen frowned at him, but he ignored it.

"Give mom a break, pipsqueak," Roman said. "She probably had to drive Dad to the airport."

Jen gave Roman a grateful smile. "True. And I promise to make up for this. At some point this week, I will make cinnamon rolls for breakfast."

"You don't have to," Roman said. "I mean, you're nice enough to make them for us in the first place."

"Yeah," Lance said, looking crestfallen. But then he smiled and said, "But we sure won't stop you if you want to."

"I'll make them when your father is home," Jen decided.

"Can I drive?" Roman asked his mother as they went to the garage. He expected his mother to tell him no, because she really didn't like riding in the ancient SUV, which was the main vehicle Roman used.

To his surprise, his mother nodded and tossed him a set of car keys. "As long as we can take my car."

Roman caught them and stared at them, then at her. She looked more than tired, she had that look that crossed extremely worried in with so exhaustion. Weary, he thought, She looks weary. "Did you get any sleep last night?" he asked her. "I mean, if you want to just skip Mass, I think God will understand."

"No, I did not sleep last night," Jen said, "But I still want to go to Mass. I have a few prayers I need to say and I need to talk to you. But I am tired enough to let you drive both ways."

It wasn't until they were out of the driveway and headed down the road before his mother decided to talk. "You father has gone to Cincinnati."

"Oooookay," Roman said, dragging out the word. "Is there a reason?" As far as he knew, there was no reason at all for anyone in the family to have to go to Cincinnati. His father might have known a few wrestlers that made Ohio their home, but nobody close enough that his father would fly out there on a moments notice, especially with all that was going on, lately.

Jen sighed. "Aaron came over last night, after you boys were in bed."

Instantly, Roman knew what this was about and it was like being punched in the gut. "Cincinnati is where Mox is from, isn't it?"

"Yes," Jen said softly. "And his real name is Dean Ambrose. Dennis told Aaron when he was arrested. Both his real name and that they had taken him from Cincinnati. They ran it through the database and discovered he has people who are looking for him."

Roman felt his jaw tightening. "How do we know that Dennis is telling the truth?" he asked, making Dennis sound like a swear word. "I mean, maybe he's still lying. Trying to throw us off the track by giving the name of a different missing kid. Maybe one they killed or that someone else, took."

He could feel his mother looking at him, even though he didn't take his eyes off the road. "Roman, do you really think that's very likely?"

Roman sighed, and clenched the steering wheel harder. "But it could be what happened. It's not impossible."

"True, and I am sure your father will do whatever he can to make sure that Jon really is Dean" Jen's voice was quiet and calm, but Roman knew his mother well enough to know she was covering up a lot of emotions.

He tried to do the same, tried to just calmly drive, but his fingers were clutching the steering wheel to the point where his knuckles were white. "Mox won't want to go," he finally said.

"We don't know that for sure, either," Jen said.

"He loves wrestling. He loves the Academy, he loves us. We're his family, not those people in Cincinnati." Roman tried not to sound angry, but he couldn't help his voice from rising. He wasn't yelling, but he was on the borderline. "Where were these folks in Cincinnati when he was kidnapped and tortured? Where were they when he managed to get away from those guys and we found him? We're the ones that took him in!"

"Roman," Jen's voice was soft, but firm. "Are you really being fair to his mother? She didn't have a clue where he was and I'm sure she did everything she could do to find him."

Roman let out a long breath. "No," he admitted. "But it isn't fair, Mox is happy with us. What's Dad going to do?"

"Talk to the police and hopefully talk to his mother," Jen said. She paused and bit her lower lip, and Roman could tell she was debating if she should tell him the next part. Finally, she spoke. "He's going to try to convince her to let Jon, I mean, Dean, stay with us."

"So there's hope?" Roman asked, feeling his emotions lift slightly.

"Well, yes," Jen said, "But, I know how I would feel if it were you that had been taken rather than Jon, and I don't know if I'd be willing to let another family keep you. I would want you home."

"I think you'd want what was best for me," Roman said. "Even if it was awful for you, you'd want me to stay where I was happiest. And Mox likes it with us. He wants to be a wrestler. What better family for him than us?"

"I'm not arguing any of that," Jen said. "But we have to find out what is going on and what can be done. But Roman, you're forgetting one thing."

"Oh?"

"Your Dad is going to talk to Jon's mother and maybe she will agree that we're what's best for him and let him stay with us. But then we have to ask Jon, I mean Dean, how he feels. He might want to go home."

"He won't." Roman was confident of that. "He believes his mother sold him. He remembers her as a drug user and maybe even a prostitute. He won't want to be with her. And stop calling him Dean! He doesn't even know that's the name he was born with!"

"That could be," Jen said. "But we'll still have to give him the choice."

Mox awoke with that sluggish, fuzzy headed feeling one gets from being in a drug induced sleep. His limbs felt heavy from lack of movement and just sitting up took a lot more effort.

He dragged himself into the bathroom, where he brushed his teeth and took a shower. A feeling that everything was different was settling over him, but it didn't all hit him until he was in the shower, the hot water washing over him.

Sam is dead.

Richard was arrested. No, not Richard, his real name is Dennis.

Dennis was saying some fucked up shit about loving me. And part of me almost believed him, but most of me just didn't give a shit. Dennis might have, in his own twisted way, loved "Timmy," but I am not Timmy anymore. I am Mox.

These were not the best of thoughts, but then came the worst one, The show was cancelled last night. The night I was going to win the belt from Roman, and my stupid fucking kidnappers had to ruin it.

He grabbed his shampoo bottle. Not the "conditioning shampoo" Roman used, but baby shampoo. Sure, it was supposed to be for babies, but that just meant it wasn't as fierce as regular shampoo. And the smell of it disappeared quickly, so Mox liked it. The stuff Roman washed his hair with, some special "Man blend" smelled like the cologne he sometimes wore when he went to church or on dates.

Mox liked to tease Roman about his cologne and body spray usage, but he never told him how much he hated the scent. Not just the scent of Roman's cologne, but the scent of any man's cologne. How, when Roman took a shower late at night, after Mox had fallen asleep, and left the door open, Mox would sometimes wake up, smelling that cologne scent. And the heat from the shower would roll that scent out to him and he'd want to curl up in a ball and just wait for it to happen, for his "father" and Sam to tell him they had company.

It reminds you of life before, his brain told him. Of the guys your fa-Dennis used to bring down. So many of them reeked of cologne. Even worse, some of them, when it was all over, would pull a bottle out of their pocket and splash it all over themselves, trying to cover up the scent of sex.

There was a part of him that hoped that at least one guy still got busted by his wife or girlfriend or someone. That he'd splashed that cologne all over and it still hadn't done the trick and their partner or whoever, kicked him out of where they lived and never had anything to do with him again. And, while that might be a mean and petty thing to hope for, he'd had plenty of fantasies over the years involving them getting into accidents on the way home that killed them. Causing a break up or ten was a pretty mild fantasy in comparison.

When he left the bathroom, he noticed Roman's bed all neatly made up and looked at the clock. It was almost 10, which shocked him, because he never slept this late. Those sleeping drugs the doctor gave me were some powerful shit. I wonder what would happen if I took half of one? Would I fall asleep or get a buzz? It had been a long time since Mox had caught a buzz. Well, actually, Mox had never caught a buzz, but Timmy had. Timmy drank beer, snorted cocaine, smoked pot, and in general, tried everything that was offered to him. He found pot to be useless, but he had like cocaine a lot. E was fantastic. However, he knew the Reigns family weren't going to put up with that, and that wrestlers really shouldn't do drugs. Sure, some wrestlers did take drugs, steroids and things, but that didn't mean they should. Mox felt he was already at a disadvantage having been denied food and sunshine growing up, he figured he had to take extra good care of himself from here on out.

He dressed in a pair of sweatpants, fairly new ones that still had that fluffy feeling on the inside, and a plain gray T-shirt and went downstairs.

He figured Mom and Roman had probably gone to Mass and Marc might have gone with them, but Lance was another story. Lance was the family agnostic and rather insistent about it. In fact, when Mox first lived here, the kid refused to go to anything religious, but Mox had convinced him on Thanksgiving, that he might as well go to Mass, just for the family doing something together aspect. Lance had attended and also attended Christmas Mass as well. But other than that, Lance did not go to Church.

"Hey, Lance," he called out, as he went into the kitchen and went to the coffee pot. "Where are you, runt?" There was at least one cup of coffee still in the pot, so he found his mug, the one he'd gotten on his sixteenth birthday, which advertised the academy on one side, and had red letters on the other side that spelled out MOX. He loved that mug.

He could hear Lance turning off the TV in the den. A few moments later, he was in the kitchen. "Hey Mox, don't call me runt."

"Why not?" Mox asked. "You're shorter than me. Did mom leave me a cinnamon roll?"

Lance shook his head, sadly. "She didn't make them this morning, because she had to drive Dad to the airport. He had to go somewhere, and Mom won't tell me where it is, or what he has to do."

"That's because you'll ask too many questions and drive her nuts," Mox said, not unkindly, as he reached out and rubbed the top of Lance's head.

Lance ducked and stood out of arm's length. "Why do people think it's bad that I want to know things?"

Mox shrugged. "It's not that wanting to know some things is bad, it's that you want to know everything and not everything is your business." Before Lance could protest, Mox changed the subject. "Bummer about the cinnamon rolls."

"I know," Lance said, sighing. "She said she would make them when Dad came home."

"Then let's hope Dad comes home soon." Mox said, sipping his coffee and debating if he should make some eggs for breakfast, or just toast some bread and put peanut butter on it.

"Yeah," Lance said, then looked at him, head tipped to one side. "Aren't you curious about what's up with Dad?"

"Not that much," Mox said, shrugging. "I figure we'll know whats up, when and if it's important."

"I wish I was as calm about it as you are," Lance said, going to the refrigerator and getting himself an orange.

Mox shrugged again as if to reinforce that he was perfectly calm about this, and perfectly content to wait until the truth revealed itself. Congratulations, Mox, he told himself, You're lying sack of shit. With all that happened yesterday, Mox was pretty well convinced that this trip Sefa was taking, had something to do with him, he just didn't know what.

Author's Notes: Thank you, all of you who supported me through Behind Blue Eyes. If you read it and enjoyed it, that's great. If you decided to favor and/or follow the story, that's fantastic, and if you commented on it, that's awesome. I love hearing from my readers. And I hope everyone decides to continue to follow the journey I have for Jon "Call me Mox" Moxley.

I had some good and bad things happen while writing the rough draft of this story. We found a little stray cat in our backyard and she won us over. We had no intention of taking in another cat, but we couldn't resist her. Her name is Kismet and she has eight toes on her front paws, which means eight claws and then dew claws. 18 claws on her front feet. Even for polydactyl that's fairly unusual. Then, later, our cat Jesse passed, which about broke me apart. We had some other issues too, but we are recovering.

Mostly though, I need to thank all of you who encouraged me through the editing/rewriting/publishing of Behind Blue Eyes. Your appreciation, comments and genuine love of the story kept me going. And that's a good thing, because writing it has helped a lot with my chemo brain. I am still not perfect and don't think I ever will be, but my linear thinking has improved drastically and that is amazing as far as I'm concerned. So, to all of you? Thank you, I really appreciate it!