Chapter 80: White Noise
Snow fell the way silence falls.
Not violently. Not dramatically. Just steadily, patiently, like the sky had all the time in the world and nothing better to do than cover Denver in a thin layer of softness. It didn’t erase anything. It didn’t clean anything. It just muted the edges. Everything looked calmer than it actually was. That was the lie of winter. The lie of snow. You could stand in the middle of it and feel like the world had slowed down enough to let you breathe. Like everything was quiet enough for healing to happen. But underneath, the ground was still hard. Frozen. Unforgiving. It just wore a prettier mask. I watched the snowflakes hit the windshield and melt into nothing. Proof of life. Proof of disappearance. The way something could exist and then vanish without leaving a trace. It felt familiar.
Finn’s car was warm, heat blowing softly through the vents, the kind of warmth that made you forget how cold you were until you stepped back outside. The windows fogged at the edges, blurring the world like a half-finished thought. The café was across the road, its lights glowing faintly through the snowfall, a little rectangle of yellow comfort in the gray. I didn’t move. Finn didn’t rush me. He sat in the driver’s seat with one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting loosely on his thigh. No tension. No impatience. He didn’t look like a man waiting for something to happen. He looked like a man who understood that sometimes you didn’t need someone to solve you. You just needed someone to stay present while you tried to solve yourself. The radio was off. He knew better than to fill the air with noise. “Do you want me to come in?” his voice low, careful. Not hesitant. Just respectful.
“No.”
“Okay.”
No disappointment. No wounded ego. No sulking. That was Finn. He didn’t demand to be included to prove he mattered. He already knew he mattered. He didn’t need to stake a claim on my life like territory. I exhaled slowly, watching my breath fog the air for a moment before the heater swallowed it. “It’s weird,” I said, the words tasting strange even before they left my mouth. “That I’m doing this.”
Finn glanced at me briefly. “Meeting your dad?”
“Yes.” I paused. “Talking to him like… like he’s a person.”
Finn’s jaw tightened slightly, not in anger, but in that familiar protective instinct he tried so hard not to weaponize. “Your dad is a person. That doesn’t mean he deserves access to you.”
I looked at him then. “That’s what scares me. That I’m going to start confusing those things.”
Finn’s expression didn’t change much, but his eyes softened. “You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
He shrugged slightly. “No. I don’t. But I know you.”
That was the difference. He didn’t speak in absolutes about the world. He spoke in certainty about me. It made my chest tighten in a way that wasn’t painful, just… heavy. Like love had weight and I wasn’t used to carrying it without flinching. I leaned my head back against the seat, letting my eyes close for a moment. “This is the fourth week,”
Finn hummed. “Mm.”
“And it’s still not easier.”
Finn’s voice was blunt, but not unkind. “Why would it be?”
I opened my eyes again, narrowing them slightly. “You always answer questions like that. Like the obvious thing is obvious.”
He smirked faintly. “Because it usually is.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re infuriating.”
“I know.” That made me laugh, just barely. A short breath of amusement that felt like it didn’t belong in the same space as my father. But Finn had always been good at that, reminding me that my life wasn’t only built out of trauma. That I didn’t have to live in the past just because it still lived in me. I looked out the windshield again. The café was closer than it looked, but still far enough to feel like a decision. Finn followed my gaze. “Do you feel guilty?”
The question landed sharper than it should have. Like he’d reached into the fog and pulled out something I didn’t want to name. I didn’t answer right away. Finn didn’t push. That was his version of patience. He would ask the hard thing once, then leave it on the table like a knife you could choose to pick up or not. “I don’t know, Sometimes. I think I feel guilty for not wanting him. Like… like that makes me cruel.”
Finn’s face tightened again. “It doesn’t.”
“I know.” My voice came out smaller than I wanted. “But knowing doesn’t stop it.”
Finn nodded slowly. “No. It doesn’t.”
I swallowed, fingers curling around the strap of my bag. My nails pressed into the leather, grounding me. “He looks different,” I admitted. “Not like before. He looks… tired.” Finn’s eyes stayed forward, but I could feel him listening. “And part of me hates that. Because it makes me want to soften. It makes me want to pretend that the past wasn’t as bad as it was.”
Finn’s tone was calm. “That’s empathy. It’s not weakness.”
I turned toward him. “Empathy got me hurt a lot.”
Finn met my eyes. “Empathy got you through a lot, too. You survived because you could read people. You could sense danger before it happened. You could adapt.” I didn’t respond. He wasn’t wrong. And that was irritating. Finn’s voice dropped slightly, more serious. “You’re allowed to be compassionate and still have boundaries. You’re allowed to care about someone and still not let them close enough to damage you.”
I stared at him. “How do you make it sound so simple?”
Finn’s mouth twitched. “Because it is simple.”
I groaned softly. “There it is again.”
He shrugged. “It’s not easy. But it’s simple.”
That distinction mattered more than he probably realized. I watched the snow again. It fell in lazy spirals, drifting sideways in the wind, clinging to the edges of parked cars like a quiet invasion. “I’m scared,” I admitted.
Finn’s voice was immediate. “Of what?”
I hesitated. The answer wasn’t pretty. “That I’m going to let him in. And then one day he’s going to do what he always did. Leave. Disappear. Or say something that reminds me who he really is. And I’m going to feel like an idiot for believing in him.”
Finn didn’t flinch. “That’s possible.”
I blinked, looking at him sharply.“That’s not comforting.”
Finn’s tone stayed steady. “I’m not going to lie to you to make you feel better.” That was Finn too. No false reassurance. No sugarcoating. No cheap comfort. “If he hurts you again, it won’t make you an idiot. It’ll make him a coward. And you’ll still be the same woman who survived him the first time.” The words hit me harder than I expected. Because Finn wasn’t telling me my father wouldn’t hurt me. He was telling me I would survive if he did. And for some reason, that felt safer than hope. My throat tightened. Finn reached over then, not grabbing my hand, just placing his fingers lightly against my knee. A small gesture. Grounding. Present. “I don’t want to tell you what to do. But I’ll say this. If meeting him is something you’re doing because you need it, then keep doing it. If meeting him is something you’re doing because you think you owe him something, then stop.”
My eyes stung, and I hated that. “I don’t know which one it is.”
Finn nodded slowly. “Then that’s what you’re figuring out.”
Silence filled the car again. Not awkward. Not empty. Just… real. Outside, the snow kept falling. The café waited like a witness. I took a deep breath, forcing air into my lungs like it was a choice. “I hate that he gets to exist again. After all these years. Like he just… shows up. Like he’s entitled to a second chance.”
Finn’s voice was low. “He’s not entitled to anything. But you’re entitled to closure. You’re entitled to answers. You’re entitled to see if he’s changed. Not for him. For you.” I swallowed hard. Finn’s hand squeezed my knee gently, then withdrew. “I love you,”
“I love you too,”
Finn’s mouth curved faintly. “Go kick his ass emotionally.” That startled a laugh out of me, real this time. Short, sharp, almost disbelieving. Finn grinned. “What? You do it well.”
I shook my head, wiping at my eye with the back of my hand before I could stop myself. “Asshole,” I muttered.
“Your asshole,” he corrected.
I paused, then smirked. “Unfortunately.”
Finn leaned back in his seat, satisfied. “You’ll be fine.” I stared at the café again. The door was a dark rectangle under a small awning dusted with snow. Warmth inside. Conversation. Uncertainty. Finn didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to. I opened the car door. The cold hit me instantly, biting at my cheeks, slipping down my collar like a punishment. The snow crunched under my boots as I stepped out, the air sharp enough to make my lungs protest. Finn stayed in the car, engine running, watching me through the windshield. I shut the door and stood for a moment, letting the winter settle into my bones. Then I crossed the road.
Cars passed slowly, tires hissing against slush. The world smelled like wet pavement and exhaust and cold metal. The snowflakes landed in my hair and melted against my scalp. I pushed open the café door. Warmth wrapped around me immediately, thick with the smell of coffee and baked sugar. The air was loud with soft chatter, cups clinking, the espresso machine steaming like an impatient animal. He was already there. Of course he was. Same table near the window, same posture, hands folded, shoulders slightly hunched as if he didn’t want to take up too much space. He looked up the second I walked in, like he’d been watching the door the whole time. He stood quickly. “Kayla.”
I nodded once. “Hi.” I didn’t hug him. I still wasn’t there.
I shrugged off my coat and sat down, placing my bag at my feet again. Same ritual. Same anchor. Same unspoken reminder: I can leave whenever I want. He sat down across from me, careful, quiet. The waitress came by, smiling politely. I ordered coffee. Black. Again. My father ordered the same as last time. No sugar. No cream. It struck me then that he wasn’t trying to make this easier with familiarity. He wasn’t ordering something indulgent or distracting. He was treating it like a meeting. Like a court date. When the waitress left, silence settled between us. He didn’t rush to fill it. That was new. “How are you?” he asked eventually. The question was so normal it almost felt insulting. But I knew he didn’t mean it casually. He meant it like a man who had missed years of my life and didn’t know where to begin.
“I’m fine,”
He nodded, as if expecting that answer. “How’s work?”
“Fine.”
Another nod. I watched his face carefully. He didn’t look frustrated. He didn’t look offended. He looked like he understood that I was giving him exactly what I was willing to give. And that scared me more than anger would have. Because anger was predictable. This was not. Outside the window, the snow had thickened. People walked past bundled in coats, heads down, moving like shadows through white noise. He glanced out the window briefly. “Still snowing,”
“Yeah,”
Silence again. Then he cleared his throat, hesitant. “I saw you weren’t alone.”
My fingers tightened around the coffee cup as it arrived, heat seeping into my skin. I didn’t look up immediately. I already knew what he meant. I already knew who he meant. Finn was still in the car across the street, parked where the café window gave a clear view. Not hovering. Not spying. Just… there. Like a safety net. I met my father’s eyes. “You saw Finn.”
He nodded. “I did.” I waited, bracing for the judgment. For the comment. For the implication. Instead, he just said quietly, “He looks like he cares about you.”
That caught me off guard. My instincts twitched, searching for the trap. The manipulation. The angle. But his expression stayed steady. “I’m engaged to him,” my voice was colder than necessary.
He didn’t flinch. “I know.”
Of course he knew. Amber probably told him. Tasmin too. Maybe Jax. Maybe everyone in my life had been slowly feeding him pieces of me like crumbs, testing whether he’d choke. My jaw tightened. “Then why ask?”
He hesitated, then looked down at his hands. “Because I don’t know him. And I don’t know what kind of man you’ve chosen. I don’t know what your life looks like now.”
I studied him. The honesty was… uncomfortable. Most men didn’t admit they didn’t know. They pretended they did. They filled the gaps with assumptions and entitlement. He wasn’t doing that. He was sitting there with the emptiness of his absence laid out between us like an open wound. “I don’t want you interrogating me,”
He nodded quickly. “I’m not trying to. I’m sorry.”
The apology didn’t sound rehearsed. It sounded tired. I took a slow sip of coffee, letting the bitterness steady me. “He’s not like you,”
The words came out harsher than I intended. My father’s face tightened, just slightly, like the truth had found a nerve. “I’m glad,”
That should have made me feel victorious. Instead it made me feel… sad. Because he agreed. Because he didn’t defend himself. Because part of me wanted him to argue so I could justify hating him again. I swallowed. Finn wasn’t like him. Finn didn’t drink to disappear. Finn didn’t raise his voice to feel powerful. Finn didn’t punish me for having needs. Finn didn’t treat love like a weapon. Finn was steady in ways I used to think were boring. But boring was what safety looked like. Boring was what peace looked like. “He’s Irish,” I said after a pause, as if that was a safe detail. A harmless detail.
My father blinked, then nodded. “Irish.”
“Yeah.”
“And he’s… good to you?” I stared at him for a long moment.
I didn’t want to answer. Not because the answer was complicated, but because the answer was precious. And I didn’t want to hand something precious to the man who had once shattered everything I touched. But Finn’s voice echoed in my mind. You’re allowed to be compassionate and still have boundaries. I exhaled. “He is, He’s good to me.”
My father’s shoulders sagged slightly, like he’d been holding his breath for that. “I’m glad. Truly.” I didn’t trust the warmth rising in my chest. I didn’t want it. It felt like betrayal. The waitress passed by again, refilling water. The café noise continued around us, strangers laughing, couples talking, people living their normal lives while mine sat dissected on a table between me and the man who made it complicated. My father glanced out the window again. “He waited for you?”
“Yes, “He always does if i need him”
He nodded slowly, like he was absorbing the meaning beneath the words. “He doesn’t try to control you?”
I almost laughed. Almost. “No, He doesn’t have to.”
My father’s eyes lifted to mine. “You trust him.”
It wasn’t a question. I swallowed again, my throat suddenly tight. “Yes, I do.”
My father looked away quickly, blinking as if something in his eyes had stung. “Good,” I watched him carefully. For a second, he looked like a man grieving something he didn’t deserve to grieve. Then he looked back at me, expression composed again. “I’m sorry.”
I stiffened. “For what?”
“For not being that,” The words hit harder than I expected I stared at him, coffee cup frozen in my hands. “I’m sorry I wasn’t the kind of man you could trust, I’m sorry you had to learn what love wasn’t before you could learn what it was.” The air felt thick. The café noise blurred. My heartbeat became too loud. I wanted to lash out. I wanted to tell him it was too late. That apologies didn’t rebuild childhoods. But the truth was uglier than that. The truth was that hearing him say it out loud made something inside me loosen. Not forgiveness.
Just… acknowledgement. And acknowledgement was dangerous, because it made the pain feel real in a way anger had always kept distant. I set the coffee cup down carefully, afraid my hands might shake. “You don’t get to be proud of him,” I said suddenly, voice sharp.“You don’t get to look at Finn and feel relieved like you didn’t almost ruin me.” My father’s face tightened, but he didn’t argue.
“You’re right,” That response stole the fight out of me. I stared at him, jaw clenched, feeling the frustration twist into something unfamiliar. I didn’t want him to agree. I wanted him to be wrong. I wanted him to give me a reason to hate him cleanly again. Instead, he sat there like a man who knew he had no defense. “I’m not asking to be proud, I’m not asking to be part of it. I just… I want to know you’re safe.” The words felt like they should have been said fifteen years ago. They felt like a letter delivered to the wrong address long after the house had burned down. I looked out the window. Finn was still there. Still waiting. Still steady. My father followed my gaze, then looked back at me. “He looks like a good man,”
I didn’t respond right away. Then, reluctantly, “He is.”
Silence again. My father shifted slightly in his seat, hands folding and unfolding like he didn’t know what to do with them. “Do you love him?” he asked.
My stomach tightened. That question felt too intimate. Too personal. Too close to something he hadn’t earned. But then I thought about Finn, sitting in the car, letting me walk into this alone. Letting me face my past without making it about him. I thought about the way he listened. The way he didn’t fix me, but still made me feel held. I looked at my father. “Yes, I do.”
My father’s eyes softened, and he nodded slowly. “I’m glad,” he whispered.
The waitress returned with the bill. My father reached for it immediately. “No,” He froze. “I’m paying for mine,” His hand hesitated, then he nodded, withdrawing.
“Of course.” That small moment mattered. He didn’t argue. He didn’t insist. He didn’t try to reclaim authority through generosity. We paid separately. Outside, the snow was heavier now, thick enough that the world looked blurred at the edges. Like reality was being rewritten. I stood, pulling my coat on. My father stood too. For a moment, we just looked at each other. There was no hug. There was no closure. But there was something else. Something smaller. Something quieter. Something like effort. “I’ll see you next week?”
I hesitated. Finn’s words echoed again. If it’s for you, keep doing it. I nodded once. “Yeah.”
My father exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath the whole hour. “Thank you,” I hated that word. But I didn’t correct him. I just turned and walked toward the door.
Heavy is the crown.
”All good things come to an end….or so they say…”
Kayla Richards, two-time former World Bombshells Champion and current number one contender, steps forward. Her long black hair is tied back away from her face. Her make-up is impeccable, and a small arrogant smirk sits on her upturned lips.
”I still don’t believe my title reign should have come to an end. And it’s funny, because every time it has, the woman who has ‘replaced’ me has failed. The first one was Andrea Hernandez. She tried so hard, and got so far. But in the end, it didn’t even matter. And now her career is as dead as the man who wrote that song.”
“And now Andrea is gone, and I was left to pick up the pieces. Proving that I was the best. Proving without a shadow of a doubt that I was the best. Because as I have pointed out, I could have waited for a one-on-one opportunity. I could have picked my time and my shot, but instead I inserted myself into the Elimination Chamber. But do I get any credit for that? Do any of you acknowledge my accomplishments? No, of course not.”
“But I saved the Bombshells Title once, and now I have to save it again because my ‘heir apparent’, the great young rookie who is so far up Amber Ryan’s snatch she might as well be a redhead and probably knows what Matt Knox tastes like, Frankie Holliday also failed.”
“She lost. She lost to Crystal. And let me be clear here: I was ready to walk away. To allow someone else to have the spotlight. I was ready to settle personal scores, maybe go after the Roulette Title to complete my set. Or hell, I could have taken some time off, enjoyed it with Finn, or spent time with my nieces. I could have done all of that, but instead I’m being called on to save this division and the championship again….because now it is at its worst point….a low point that we haven’t seen since…well…..ever…”
Kayla shrugs and steps forward, her green eyes piercing with annoyance, anger, and frustration.
”And yes, Crystal. That is all because of you. And for this entire promo I am going to be calling you by your first name, since none of us know or care what your last name is anymore. And trust me, I have tried so fucking hard to keep track of your marriages and relationships over the last decade that I have known you. But at some point, even I had to tap out since my cork board started looking like the evidence board for the Zodiac Killer or some shit.”
“But, I was fine with that. I really was. While you were making a complete fool of yourself, we all stood back and laughed. Hell, I even allowed you to call me your ‘bestie’ and truth be told, it was out of respect for the wars you had in IWF with my older sister. Back when you were a force to be reckoned with. Not the simpering, pussy-chasing clout monster you have become.”
“But I never really let you in, Crystal…”
“And why would I?”
“You’re a mess….your entire life is a mess. Your personal and professional relationships. The turnstile love life. All of it. And you have been playing out this bullshit in front of us for years, and it has become old hat. But when it was just in your own little corner of wrestling, no one cared. It was a distraction, a small blip on SCW’s radar….we were all happy with that. Until the Crystal-verse infected the Bombshells World Championship…”
Kayla can’t help but roll her eyes before looking around and taking a deep breath, obviously trying to calm herself so she doesn’t go too overboard.
”That championship is supposed to be a beacon of hope. It is supposed to be this goal that every single woman in this company and other companies wants to attain. An accolade that they can put on their résumé to say for a brief shining moment, they were the best. And that is what the SCW Bombshells Championship is. When I’ve been able to hold it twice, and while I had it in my hands or around my waist or over my shoulder, I could tell anyone and everyone who had their eyes on me that I was the best, and nobody, and I mean nobody, could say any different. That’s what that championship means, and you should be able to do that…but you really can’t.”
“See, at Inception, I was in a hardcore match against Bella Madison. And I’ve been very vocal about Bella and her abilities, in the fact that she is good enough to become a champion but can’t quite take that extra step, and can’t quite hold herself to the same regard as many of the main event players in this company. She isn’t good enough to be like myself, she isn’t good enough to be like Frankie Holliday, she isn’t good enough to be like so many of the other great names that have walked into this business in this company. She could be, but she fails. But she still tried to take me to the limit in a match that was brutal and hard-fought. Meanwhile, what was going on with that championship that you hold?”
“Was it being contested in some kind of epic match? Was it a rematch between yourself and Frankie? Were you defending it in a one-on-one match against someone on the roster who earned it? No. Of course not. A championship meant to be held by one person was being defended in a tag match. A tag team match where you were teaming with a woman who was going to turn on you. A turn that we all saw a mile off. And you were defending it against your wife and your sister-in-law. In this overdramatic, unbelievably convoluted bullshit match that nobody cared about.”
“Wow… amazing.”
“You took a championship that means so much to so many people and reduced it down to a prop in your stupid little drama-filled life. You took the top prize in women’s wrestling and made it all about your stupid little relationship. Nobody cares about your marriage, nobody cares about Seleana or Zenna Zdunich, and the only good thing to come out of that match was watching Mercedes Vargas beat the shit out of you afterwards.”
She takes a deep breath, folding her arms over her chest again. Her shoulders square up and her posture straightens.
”The SCW World Bombshells Championship deserves better. It deserves a champion who’s not going to be like you. While you were defending that championship in that tag match that nobody cared about, I was taking one of the most mid talents in this company and making her look like a star. Bella Madison could beat you for that championship, Crystal. She could beat your wife, she could beat your sister-in-law, and she could beat Mercedes. And I beat her. She and I have more talent than any of the four women that were involved in that match. Yet she and I were pushed into the middle of the show in a hardcore match while you were fighting for that championship. The championship that became secondary because you made it that way.”
“And now where does that leave us? Because I know what the plan is. The plan is that Mercedes wants to face you and take that championship from you. I know that’s what Mercedes wants to happen, and I’m sure in your mind what you want to happen is that you want to get your hands on Mercedes after what she did to you. And that’s fine. You and Vargas can have your silly little legends war where you beat the hell out of each other to prove some stupid point that no one’s going to care about in a month’s time. Go right ahead. I’ll even throw you a little party.”
“But, it won’t be for that championship.”
“No matter how much you both wish it to be. And you can keep your stupid little speech about wanting to be a fighting champion to yourself. Even though I know that that’s exactly where you’re going to go with it. You want to face Mercedes, and you want to let her jump the line. That isn’t going to happen. You will defend that championship against me. Whether it is physically in your hands or not. And after I have beaten you, after I have become the champion again, then Mercedes is either going to hand that championship to me and continue her little crusade against you…or I’m going to snap her neck like a fucking twig, take that championship by force, and then send her to you in a nice, neat little box to do with whatever you will.”
Kayla can’t help but chuckle, shaking her head before continuing.
”But the fact remains that this match is for the World Bombshells Championship. It is for all the marbles, Crystal. You can do and say whatever the hell you want to. You can go back to your wife and her idiot sister, and you can go on with your war with Mercedes all you want. But that championship deserves better, and I’m going to be the one to rescue it from you. I’m going to be the one to make it relevant again. I’m going to be the one who will do everything that you said you wanted to do. To be a real fighting champion. But not just take that championship and defend it against anyone and everyone, I will defend it against the best that this company has to offer. The best that this company can throw at me. And then you will be looked at as just a footnote. A blip on the radar. While my dominance continues.”
