Chapter 81: The Little Things
Restaurants were different than cafés.
Cafés were safe because they were temporary. Quick. Casual. Something you could excuse yourself from without it feeling like a dramatic exit. You could wrap your hands around a cup of coffee, stare out a window, and pretend the entire meeting was just something that happened in passing. Like it didn’t matter. Restaurants didn’t let you hide like that. Restaurants asked you to sit down and stay. They asked you to commit to a meal. To conversation. To time. They asked you to make room. And I wasn’t sure I knew how to do that.
The snow had stopped a few days ago, but Denver still looked like it hadn’t forgiven winter yet. The sidewalks were wet and dark, the streets slushy at the edges, and the air had that biting sharpness that made your lungs feel like they were being scraped clean with every breath. The sky was pale and low, heavy with clouds that couldn’t decide whether they wanted to rain or just hang there like a threat.
Finn had dropped me off again. He always offered to come in. He always made it sound like a suggestion, not a plea. And I always said no. Not because I didn’t want him there. But because this wasn’t his battle. This wasn’t his mess. This was mine. The restaurant wasn’t fancy. Not the kind of place with white tablecloths and wine glasses polished to perfection. It was warmer than that. A family place. Brick walls, soft lighting, booths that looked like they’d held a thousand conversations that mattered and a million that didn’t. It smelled like garlic and tomatoes and butter. It smelled like comfort.
It smelled like the kind of place people brought their families. That thought tightened something in my chest as I stepped inside. The hostess smiled, asked for my name, and before I could even answer, I saw him. He was already there. Of course he was. He always got there early. Like he thought punctuality could make up for absence. Like if he arrived first enough times, he could rewrite the years he hadn’t shown up at all. He stood as soon as he saw me, and the movement was automatic, reflexive respect. It used to annoy me. It used to feel like performance. Now it just looked… nervous. “Kayla,” he said quietly. His voice didn’t carry the way it used to. It didn’t have that edge of authority. It was softer now, worn down around the corners.
“Hi,”
The hostess gestured toward the booth. “Right this way.” My father nodded politely, letting her lead. He waited for me to slide into the booth first before he sat down across from me. Another small thing. Another careful thing. Like he was constantly measuring the space between us, making sure he didn’t step too close. It shouldn’t have mattered. But it did. I pulled my coat off and draped it beside me, my bag settling against my hip like an anchor. The menu was already open in front of him, but I could tell he wasn’t reading it. He was pretending to. Pretending gave people something to do with their hands when their emotions were too loud. I knew the trick. The waitress came over almost immediately, cheerful, too bright for the tension sitting at our table. “Can I start you off with something to drink?”
“Coffee,” I said automatically.
My father looked at me, then nodded. “Coffee for me as well.”
The waitress smiled. “Cream? Sugar?”
“No,”
“No,” he echoed. It was strange. How much we matched in that moment. How much we mirrored each other without meaning to. The waitress left and silence dropped into the booth like a weight. Not uncomfortable. Not exactly. Just… heavy. I stared down at the menu, even though I already knew what I’d order. Spaghetti and meat sauce. It was basic. Predictable. Safe. A meal you didn’t have to think about. A meal you couldn’t mess up. I didn’t look up right away. I could feel him watching me anyway. “How have you been?” he asked, voice low.
The question wasn’t casual. It wasn’t polite small talk. It was careful, like he was testing the floor in front of him for cracks. I swallowed. “I’m good,” I said, then paused. The words felt too automatic. Too shallow. And I hated that I’d given him the same empty answer I always did. So I added, quieter, “I’ve been… busy.”
His eyes softened, like that mattered. Like that was something he could hold onto. “With work?” he asked.
“And training,” I admitted.
His brow lifted slightly. “Still wrestling.” I nodded. He didn’t say anything judgmental. He didn’t lecture. He didn’t ask if it was safe. He didn’t tell me I should stop. He just nodded again, like he was absorbing the reality of the life I’d built without him. “That’s good….You always had drive.” That compliment should’ve irritated me. It didn’t. Maybe because it wasn’t wrapped in expectation. It wasn’t him taking credit for it. It was just an observation. The waitress returned with coffee, setting the cups down between us. Steam curled into the air, warm and fragrant, and for a moment it felt like the booth was its own world. Separated from everything else. From everyone else. I wrapped my hands around the mug. The warmth seeped into my fingers. My father watched me for a moment, thencleared his throat. “How’s Finn?”
The name still startled me, even after weeks of these meetings. Like hearing him speak Finn’s name made it real in a way I didn’t like. Like it confirmed that my father had access to parts of my life he hadn’t earned. But I answered anyway. “He’s good…..Busy too. But… good.”
My father nodded slowly. “He seems like a steady man.”
I didn’t respond immediately. Steady. That was exactly what Finn was. And it was exactly what I’d never had growing up. “He is,”
There was another pause. Another moment of silence that didn’t feel like avoidance so much as… adjustment. Like we were both still learning how to speak to each other without old habits poisoning the air. My father shifted slightly in his seat. “I’ve been seeing Amber more,” he said, and I felt my shoulders tighten instinctively.
Not because I was angry. Because I was afraid. Afraid that hearing about Amber would make something ugly rise up inside me. Jealousy. Resentment. That bitter, childish thought that always came first: Why does she get the version of you I didn’t? But I forced myself to stay still. I forced myself to listen. “How is she?” I asked, and the words surprised even me.
My father blinked, as if he hadn’t expected that question. “She’s… good. She’s doing well. She’s happy. She’s still stubborn.” That earned the faintest twitch at the corner of my mouth. Amber had always been stubborn. It was practically her personality trait. “And Tasmin….She’s been coming around too. She brings her daughter sometimes.” My stomach tightened slightly.
I’d always liked being around them because it was easy. Kids didn’t hold grudges. Kids didn’t demand explanations. They just existed, loud and messy and full of life. They didn’t know the history. They didn’t know the damage. They just knew you were there. “That’s… good,” I said carefully.
My father nodded. “It is. I didn’t realize how much I missed having noise in the house. Real noise. Not the kind you drown yourself in. The kind that reminds you you’re alive.” I stared into my coffee. That sentence sat heavy in my chest. Because I understood it. I understood the difference between noise and silence. I understood what it meant to drown yourself in the wrong kind of sound. My father’s fingers tapped once against the edge of his mug, a small restless habit. “I’m trying,” he said quietly. I didn’t look up. I didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing the emotion on my face.
But my throat tightened anyway. “I know,” I admitted. The words were barely audible. But they were honest. And honesty felt like stepping onto ice and hoping it didn’t crack. My father exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath. Then he hesitated. And I saw it before he even spoke. That slight shift in his posture. That careful inhale. The way his eyes dropped, then lifted again, as if he was bracing himself. He was about to say something dangerous. Something that could ruin the progress we’d made.
“I’ve been thinking about…” he started. I stiffened. He paused, then corrected himself. “I’ve been thinking about you.” I didn’t respond. My father’s gaze held mine. “You’re engaged. And you’re building a life. A real one.” My fingers tightened around the mug. “And I…” he trailed off, then tried again. “I know I don’t have the right to ask this. But it’s something I’ve been wondering.” Here it comes. I felt my heart rate pick up. My instincts rose like armor. He leaned back slightly, giving me space even as he spoke. “Do you want children someday?” The question hit like a slap. Not because it was cruel. Because it was intimate. Because it was the kind of question fathers asked their daughters when they were involved. When they were present. When they were part of the future. Not the past. My mouth went dry.
My first instinct was to shut down. To retreat into sarcasm, to snap something sharp and defensive. To punish him for daring to ask. But I didn’t. Instead, I swallowed hard and forced myself to breathe through it. “I don’t know,” I admitted.
My father nodded, accepting that without pressure. “That’s fair.” I stared at him. The restaurant noise around us blurred, forks clinking, people laughing, a child whining somewhere near the front. It all sounded distant.
“I mean…” I started, then stopped. Because I realized the truth. I realized what I was about to say. And that truth scared me. “I’m not sure if Finn wants kids,” I said finally. My father’s eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger. In clarity.
“That’s not what I asked,” The words rattled me. Because he wasn’t correcting me like a man trying to control the conversation. He was reminding me that my feelings mattered. That my wants mattered. That I wasn’t just someone who existed in reaction to the men in her life. He leaned forward just a fraction. “I asked if you want children, Kayla.” My breath caught. I stared at him. My mind scrambled, searching for the safest answer. The most neutral answer. The answer that wouldn’t expose me. But there wasn’t one.
Not anymore. I looked down at my hands, watching my fingers curl against the ceramic mug. “I didn’t,” I said quietly. My father stayed silent. So I continued. “Before Finn, I didn’t want kids. I didn’t… I didn’t see myself as a mother.” I swallowed, the words thick. “I like spending time with Amber and Tasmin’s kids. I love my nieces and nephews. But I liked being able to leave. Being able to give them back.” My father nodded slowly. No judgment. Just listening. “I didn’t want the responsibility……I didn’t want… the fear.”
My father’s face softened at that. “The fear of what?” he asked carefully.
I laughed once, bitter and quiet. “The fear of being you.”
The words hung between us like smoke. I expected him to flinch. To get defensive. To lash out. But he didn’t. His expression tightened, like it hurt, but he didn’t deny it. He just nodded once. “That’s fair too” he murmured. I swallowed again, throat burning.
Then I forced myself to say the part that scared me most. “But after meeting Finn…” I hesitated, then pushed through it. “I do want them.” My father’s eyes widened slightly. Not in shock. In something else. Something like relief. Something like grief. Like he was realizing he’d missed the years where I’d become a woman capable of saying that out loud. “I want a family, Not because I feel like I’m supposed to. But because… because I can actually picture it. With him.”
I felt my cheeks heat, embarrassed by my own vulnerability. My father’s voice was quiet. “I hope you get everything you want in life,” he said. The words weren’t dramatic. They weren’t performative. They weren’t followed by an apology or a plea. They were simple. And somehow that made them heavier.
I didn’t trust myself to respond. So I didn’t. The waitress returned then, balancing plates on her arms, saving me from whatever emotion might’ve slipped out next. The smell hit immediately, tomatoes, basil, warm beef, buttered noodles. Comfort. Simple. Safe. Then she placed my father’s meal in front of him. Something similar, pasta with sauce, but he didn’t look at it right away. He reached into the small basket on the table, pulling out a container of granulated garlic. Not the tiny packets. A whole container. He unscrewed the lid, then slid it across the table toward me. Casually. Like it was nothing. Like it was obvious. I stared at it. My throat tightened so fast it felt like it might close.
He remembered. He remembered that I liked extra garlic. I didn’t even know when he would’ve learned that. Maybe from when I was a kid. Maybe from some family dinner I’d forgotten. Maybe from watching me once and storing it away like it mattered. And the stupid thing was… It did matter. Not because garlic was important. But because it was proof. Proof that he had paid attention at some point. Proof that he’d seen me, even if he’d failed me. My father didn’t say anything. He just picked up his fork, like it was normal. Like he hadn’t just cracked something open inside my chest with one simple movement. I stared down at my plate, blinking too hard. The little things.
That was what got you. Not the big apologies. Not the dramatic declarations. Not the promises. The little things were what made you feel stupidly human. I swallowed and reached for the garlic, sprinkling it across the spaghetti until it looked like snow falling onto red sauce. And I couldn’t help it. I smiled. It was small. Barely there. But it was real. My father noticed. His eyes softened, but he didn’t comment. He didn’t ruin it by pointing it out. He just started eating. And I realized, sitting there with a fork in my hand and garlic on my breath, that the older you got…The more you understood that love wasn’t always grand gestures. Sometimes love was just remembering. Remembering the way someone took their coffee.
Remembering the way someone liked extra garlic. Remembering the parts of them that weren’t convenient. The parts that didn’t benefit you. The parts that made them who they were. And maybe…Maybe the reason it hurt so much now was because those little things mattered more than they ever did when I was younger. Because when you were young, you thought love was supposed to be loud. But when you got older, you started realizing that the loud love was usually the dangerous kind. The love that screamed. The love that demanded. The love that disappeared. Quiet love was the kind that stayed. I didn’t know if my father could ever be that kind of love. I didn’t know if he deserved the chance.
But sitting there, across from him, with the smell of garlic and sauce filling the booth…I couldn’t deny the truth. He was trying. And for the first time in my life…I wasn’t sure I wanted to slam the door in his face. Maybe I should keep letting him in. Not all the way. Not yet. But enough. Enough to see if the man across from me was still the same ghost from my childhood… Or if he was someone new. Someone learning how to exist in my life without destroying it. I twirled spaghetti around my fork, watching the sauce cling to the noodles. And I thought, quietly, bitterly, almost amused, It was funny, wasn’t it? How something as small as garlic could feel like forgiveness.
Or at least…The beginning of it.
A champions decree
”You know, it’s funny. I thought everything would feel right again holding this championship. Like winning it would erase the disappointment that I felt over certain things that had been happening.”
Kayla looks down at her right hand, raising it up as she’s holding the SCW Bombshells World Championship. She takes a deep breath, placing her left hand on the main faceplate and moving her fingers across the nameplate before looking up and forward.
”But, it just goes to show that things that happen now can’t erase the past. The fact is that I needed to fight to get this championship back. And I did. Only to have some old ratchet bitch tell me that I had been handed the championship. Now, before I get into the match with Crystal and before I get into what’s next for me, let me be very clear to Mercedes Vargas about something. I won this championship. I have now won it three times and I have earned it each and every time. You, Mercedes, stole the championship from Crystal. You took it from her and after I beat her, I was denied my moment to hold it above my head and show the world that I was the best. By you.”
“And then after I threatened you at the beginning of the night, you walk up to me, hand me the championship, all while trying to hype your little match against Crystal. Because you actually expect people to give a shit about it. You wanted it to be for the Bombshells World Championship so badly. So badly. But because Crystal couldn’t keep up her end of the bargain, you didn’t get your little dream. You didn’t get to go to Blaze of Glory and defeat her for the Bombshells Championship because I stole your dream. You might even say I killed your dream. And because of that, you think you can stand in front of me and tell me that I was handed this championship? Handed it?”
“Yes, I was. You physically handed me the championship. Much like someone who would be looked at as a ring attendant or a referee would hand the championship to the person who rightfully won it and earned it.”
“And I did earn it. I earned it by beating the hell out of Crystal and taking that championship from her. I earned it by being better than her. Just like I earned that championship time and time again by beating every single woman who is put in front of me, including you, Mercedes. And I will be completely honest, if you hadn’t given me that championship, if you hadn’t done the right thing, then I would have found you and I would’ve destroyed you. And then I would have physically taken that championship back.”
Taylor grinds her teeth together and gets to her feet, throwing the championship over her shoulder and adjusting it before taking a step forward. Her long hair is tied back in a high ponytail, flowing down a black leather jacket.
”Now, just in case you people have forgotten what you are going to be dealing with, let me remind you of what has happened every single other time that I have been the Bombshells World Champion. I have dominated and beaten everybody that they have put me in the ring with. I have broken records and been one of, if not the most dominant champion this company has ever seen. And unlike other champions, I have stayed. I have stayed and I have stuck around. And as your Bombshells World Champion, I will make damn sure that this championship is not viewed as an afterthought ever again. And that’s what it became when Crystal was holding it. It was an afterthought.
“It was placed behind family drama that nobody gave a shit about. It was placed behind an issue between Mercedes Vargas and Crystal that we have seen time and time again because apparently these two just can’t stop getting in each other’s way. And we were supposed to get excited about this? We were supposed to think it was great that Mercedes turned on Crystal and we were going to get these two beating the shit out of each other for the 100th time in a Japanese death match? After they had just made a mockery of the Bombshells Championship in that ridiculous tag team match with two women who should never get anywhere near it?”
“I had to beat Crystal. I had to beat her and take the Bombshells Championship from her because it was the only way I could guarantee its safety. It was the only way I could guarantee that the championship was not going to keep on being laughed at and called a joke. That it was not going to continue being the laughing stock of the professional wrestling world, which is what they all made it. And now that I have Crystal and Mercedes in my rearview mirror, now I get to go on to right a wrong and face Frankie Holliday and defend this championship against her.”
Kayla chuckles and pats the championship as it sits on her shoulder. She then clears her throat before continuing, focusing instead on her next match.
”But, before I go into Blaze of Glory and defend my championship against Frankie Holliday, I have to turn up and go one on one with Cassie Wolfe….”
“Wow…..”
“Every excite…”
“Much hype…”
“I’m being facetious…”
“And it just occurred to me that a lot of you who are going to be watching this promo have no idea what that word means. So let me put it this way. A bitch. I’m being a bitch. I’m not excited or happy about facing this woman. For a multitude of reasons, one of which being I really only enjoy matches when I’m being challenged. That seems to be a common misconception about me, that I enjoy punching down and beating the living hell out of women who are not as good as me. My name is not Alexandra Calaway….”
“I enjoy a challenge. I enjoy going into a match and having no clue whether or not I’m going to win because the person standing across from me is just as good as me. Now, I understand that can sometimes be a bit of a problem considering there are not a lot of women on the roster or in the professional wrestling world who are as good as me. Believe me, I know that. But Cassie, you are so beneath my level. I wonder if you and I are even in the same business.”
She pauses for a moment and folds her arms over her chest, taking a sharp inhale before taking the Bombshells World Championship off her shoulder and looking at it before turning it toward the camera.
”You see this, Cassie? I mean, of course you do. You have probably been watching it and looking at it from afar, knowing that you are never going to hold it. I’m sure there is part of you that thinks maybe one day you can. Maybe one day, Cassie, you can defy the odds and you can shock the world and become the Bombshells World Champion. I mean, if you don’t have that dream, there would be something very, very wrong with you. But the sad fact is that in this kind of situation, all it is is a dream.”
“We all have them. Dreams. Everyone has things that they want to accomplish, things that might feel out of reach but they know that they can overcome the obstacles and accomplish them. The funny thing about dreams is that not all of them come true. In fact, barely any of them do. For someone like me, dreams are attainable. For someone like you? You need to bring your dreams down to match your talent. And you have, in a way.”
“You are the number one contender for the SCW Roulette Championship.”
“Congrats… really, that is the perfect position for you. A mid-level championship that you can win by taking out one of the most insufferable legends that this business has ever seen. And deep down, I’m rooting for you, Cassie. I want to see you take that championship from Alicia and hold it over your head because that blonde bitch is an insufferable bore…”
She chuckles again.
”But, while I am cheering for you to become the Roulette Champion, I have to be completely honest and burst your bubble. You are still going to be getting in the ring with me. You are still getting in the ring with someone who is far superior to you and has the record and the championship to prove it. You can count the women who have been able to beat me on one hand. And do you know how many of those women kept that win over me? Do you know how many of them were able to escape before I ended up beating them and embarrassing them? One. Because she ran. Like a bitch.”
“Your chances don’t look good. And I know what you’re thinking. It’s the same thing that you are probably going to say to the world. You’re going to shout to the heavens that you are going to shock the world and beat me and that I’m all ego and you are good enough and you’re going to prove it. That you need the momentum to go into the Roulette Championship match at Blaze of Glory so you can take that championship off Alicia and prove how great you are. That you are the pride of Australia. Well, if you want to be the pride of a continent that was founded by a bunch of filthy convicts and thieves, you go right ahead, Cassie. You go right ahead. I have lofty expectations. I have goals that I want to accomplish.”
“And while a loss to you would not end those goals or dreams, they would certainly put a small speed bump in front of me.”
“So, what am I to do with you? You don’t mean enough to me to have me want to destroy you. You’re not like Frankie and you’re not like Crystal, women that I have a vested interest in breaking. You are just a professional wrestler going about your life and trying to live your dreams. As a person, I don’t find you offensive to my sensibilities. As a human being, I don’t dislike you. In fact, I barely know enough about you to want to dislike you. But you are still in my way. I want to become one of the most dominant human beings that this business has ever seen, and while I have come a long way to accomplishing that dream and that goal, you are still in a position where you could disrupt my flow and my momentum going into my match with Frankie Holliday. So to keep myself where I need to be, I have to beat you. And I have to beat you in dominant fashion.”
“I can, however, say one thing. This is definitely, positively not personal. Only certain people get that side of me. That personal side where I want to destroy them. Crystal is one of those women. Mercedes Vargas would be one of those women. Frankie Holliday is going to be one of those women. But you, Cassie? I don’t give enough of a shit about you to let it get personal. So this is just business, and my business is being the best. And sister, business is booming.”
