THIRTY-THREE: Ripples Or Waves (Daddy's Girl) [AGW]

Forty-seven days had passed in the blink of an eye. Bruce McLeod sat on the diving board of their pool, bare feet dangling over the water, watching the steam rise up from its depths as the air started to cool. He was finally getting used to the way night fell here in Nevada, that almost-drastic shift in temperate once the sun started to sink towards the horizon. His eyes were still hidden behind sunglasses – he seemed to have them on these days more often than not, as if he was trying to live out that old song.

The future's so bright, I've gotta wear shades.

The reality was far less clichéd – his eye was still fucked up and he wondered if that was part of the package now, just another thing he'd have to compensate for when he was out there among the animals. All the work he'd put in on his body, all the things he'd done to take the steps out of the shadows, and the consequences of one bullshit moment was fixing to be the end of it all. He couldn't swallow that bitter pill – outright refused to accept defeat.

His legs ached, an exhaustion that he'd begun to find comforting. Over the last year, he'd slipped into this routine, working harder than ever before. It hadn't quite paid the dividends he'd hoped between the ropes – at least not yet – but he could see the results. He didn't get winded as often. He didn't end up in the fetal position, puking up a lung like some green rookie after a hard workout.

He watched the shadows creep across the yard, palms resting against the pebble-textured surface. Eventually, he'd force himself to stand and dive into the water, going as deep as he could until he felt the temperature change, in the depths where even the heat of the Nevada sun couldn't penetrate. He'd started this ritual a few weeks ago, always around the same time – it had become as much a part of the routine as everything else. The comedown, as it were. He saw it as a reward, a thing to look forward to like a cookie, although this moment of reflection and meditation had started to feel more necessary than frivolous at this point.

In a few days, he knew he'd be lacing up his boots for another debut, another company that had come from that ashes of history. This wasn't a reboot like WARPED. This was a company full of legends, full of names he recognized from the magazines, from the fan forums online. He couldn't wait to rub elbows with the likes of Ares and Jerry Watts, especially after watching the events of AGW's last show. It felt like the universe had finally begun to smile upon him, as if whatever he'd done to earn the lion's share of shit karma had burned itself out. It had been a welcome surprise to see that he'd been slated to face AJ Jenkynx – he'd expected never to see that name again after parting ways with the toxic cesspool of GEW and he wondered if the guy had followed him over. There was no way to be sure, at least not really. This new place felt like never-ending fields of greener grass where opportunities were handed out like candy, at least if the current champions were any indication. He could bank on being in the right place at the right time, experienced enough to know when to strike and when to just stay silent and watch.

As silent as a mouse, his twenty-two-year-old daughter unlocked the gate, slipping into the backyard to blend with the lengthening shadows. The swimming pool glowed a vibrant aqua in the gloom but she ignored that, heading instead towards the wooden bench before plopping down with a sigh, feeling like a thorn among the climbing roses. She could see her father's silhouette a few feet away, feeling the anger and resentment that she'd been trying to swallow back for months welling up in the back of her throat, bitter like bile and just as intent on choking her.

Bruce took off his sunglasses, tossing them so they landed on one of the deck chairs. It seemed effortless, as though he'd done it a thousand times and had never missed and just that simple action made her want to hit him in the worst way. He'd heard the creak of the hinge over the gurgle of the pool filter, had heard that tell-tale sigh. Leaning forward, he rolled his shoulders, arching his back as he felt the crackle down his spine. Even for all his might, for all the work he'd done to improve himself, his hands were still traitorous as they trembled just a little when he lifted them, raising the right up to rake his sweat-dampened hair back from his brow.

"How long are you gonna sit there in silence, hmm?" The words came out softly, carrying easily enough to his daughter's ears. Tears stung his eyes, drawn by the sweat that ran down through his furrowed brows to soak past his eyelashes. His mouth tasted like ashes and chalk and he wished he had a cigarette right now in the worst way because he could feel it in the air like ozone – she hadn't come here for a friendly visit.

The young woman with the blonde hair got to her feet and approached her father. Her arms were folded against her chest, her back feeling rigidly straight, almost to the point that it ached. She felt as though she had to be on guard, ready to pounce at the first sign of trouble. Siobahn Jones didn't speak though, wasn't even sure she could. Instead she just stared at her father, her thoughts jumbled in the worst way.

Sighing, Bruce moved to his feet, all joy stripped from the moment he'd been savouring and waiting for. He dove into the water, still, needing to cool off and came up near the edge that was closest to her. After pushing both hands through his hair to slick it back, he grabbed the ladder and pulled himself out of the pool. Bare feet slapping against the tile, he went back to the end of the diving board where he'd left the towel, using it to mop his face before draping it around his neck. He turned around and faced the girl, sucking his teeth as he waited for her to say something. When she didn't, when she still stood there with her arms folded and that turmoil written all over her face, he shook his head. She was so much like her mother in that moment that it reminded him of time long ago, before he'd ever even thought of setting foot in a wrestling ring.

He opened his mouth, thought of saying half a dozen things, but couldn't bring himself to utter the words. He wanted to ask if her mother knew she was here, if she'd come alone or if her husband, the multi-time champion Smith Jones, was waiting to pop out of the shadows next. He wanted to quip that she had this odd habit of turning up at the worst times lately, but didn't really think that was going to do much to improve her state of mind. Finally, he just shook his head, that grim smile on his lips. "Goan then," he murmured, breaking the silence before it grew too awkward.

Sam shook her head, turning her back on her father and returned to the bench she'd been on when he'd noticed her. Everything she wanted to say, that had been building up, not just for the past few months but actual years, was stuck like a rock in her throat. No amount of swallowing made it go away as she sat down and wrapped her arms around herself. Tears had begun to stream down her face, something she'd always done her damnedest to stop. She didn't even attempt to wipe at them as she stared at the water in the pool.

There was a flare of anger, irritation bubbling up when she turned her back on him after intruding on his moment of Zen but that was quickly dismissed when he heard that choked sob, when he saw her huddling into herself as though the whole world was coming to an end. His first thought was that something terrible had happened, something that had brought her here seeking comfort or his intervention. "Ah hell," he muttered under his breath, moving a little closer until he could smell the roses that she was surrounded by. "What's happened? Is it Smitty?"

When she looked up at him, she was finally able to swallow that rock in her throat. The two words that came out were hoarse, as if she'd lost her voice. "It's you."

"What?"

He tilted his head, a furrow between his brows as he tried to make sense of that simple statement, trying to decipher if it was an accusation or concern. Things had felt off since that final match with CCW, since she'd watched him be beaten within an inch of his life and barely make it out of the building under his own power – his first instinct was to assure her that he was fine, that he was in perfect health and the new company that he'd signed with had been thoroughly vetted beforehand. "Am right as rain-"

"I'm not," she cut him off with a sharp tone, keeping her eyes on the ripples crossing the surface of the pool. "Ma called and tore into me for ten minutes because I kept your secret about that damned match."

Forty-seven days and it was still haunting him, still taking its toll on his life.

"She's never..." Sam trailed off, the memory of the phone call making her wince. It would be a conversation she'd never forget; after the call had ended, the young woman had fallen apart completely. There were so many things that had been festering for a while that had finally been triggered. "She's never yelled at me... fucking ever. Even when I deserved it, she kept her cool." Another sob wanted to escape, but she forced it back, shutting her eyes tightly for a moment.

"She made me watch it, relive the whole sorry thing," Bruce replied, bitterness in his words, "never seen her so tore up before... especially not over this damned business." He turned away from her, the sight of those tears making him feel like an absolute asshole. Grabbing one of the deck chairs, he dragged it over closer, sinking into it with a barely stifled groan. "Am sorry. For all of it. Didn't mean for ya tae get all caught up in this mess."

Sam shrugged, a hand finding its way to wipe at her face. "Next time just ask your other kids to keep your secrets, Wrestle Da."

The words hit like a sucker punch and he closed his eyes, biting his lip even as he dragged in a deep breath through his nose to keep from saying something he might regret. "So that's what this is, then. Jealousy? Come, now... gotta know that's ridiculous."

"So, what I'm feeling is ridiculous? Okay." Sam sniffled, using the long-sleeve of her t-shirt to wipe at her face. "I've only felt like your afterthought since you left home, but that's ridiculous too, right?" The words that were running through her head weren't going to stay stuck much longer; they needed to come out. "You've never shown an interest in anything I've done, but maybe if I'd been a wrestler, maybe then it woulda been different? At least you get that with your newly adopted daughter, right? Teach her how to have a thicker skin. She tells you someone is being mean to her and you're ready to kick ass... but that Kuntz guy said those disgusting things about me and oh fucking well."

"That's not-" he stopped when her head snapped up. The look she gave him could have curdled milk.

"Spare me the bullshit – don't you dare try to tell me that was just the normal 'trash talk' that wrestlers do. Says he's gonna sodomize your whole family... says he's gonna-"

It had been far worse than that. Prison showers would've had more poetic pillow talk.

"You played along. You let him say all that..." she shuddered, "nasty shit and you just laughed it off?"

He had. He'd thought it was a joke, was gutter banter until Kuntz had tried to cave in his skull, had tried to take his eye out with a barbed wire bat. Arguing about it now wasn't going to do either of them any good. It wasn't as though he could roll back the clock and edit history. Bruce closed his eyes, counting to ten mentally in an effort to hold back his temper. They hadn't clashed like this in years and he was loath to tear into her now, especially when there was obviously something else going on in her head than outrage over some filth spewed online. "Sam, I-"

"Shut the fuck up." He opened his eyes to see she was staring at him; every bit of pain she'd felt when it came to her father was reflected in those eyes that were exactly like her mother's. "I've felt this way for years... isn't there some validity in that?" Her bottom lip had started to tremble as she shook her head. "I needed you... I needed you to grill the boys who wanted to date me, I needed you there. I needed you to be that overprotective father.... Maybe I still need that."

In his mind, he could see the places he'd been instead of that quaint little house in Queens, in those hypothetical moments she'd mentioned. Warehouses that stunk of rotten fish. Abandoned places that felt haunted, as if the screams and the sounds of flesh hitting flesh were being absorbed by the walls and echoed back. When he'd walked out on her mother, when he'd thrown in the towel on the family, he'd soul his soul to the devil. He'd fought for his life, played the role of the underdog and made the Russians a small fortune before the illegal fight Circuit had been raided and disbanded by Interpol – he would have given anything to be in her corner, to have been worthy to support her then.

He kept his eyes closed, felt the wetness of tears as he lifted his hand up to scrub it across his face. "What'm I supposed tae say?" His voice came out as strained as hers had, the emotions and the tightness in his chest almost choking, "yeh've never been an afterthought. If that's what..." he shook his head, "fuck right off with that, awright? Turned out just fine without these useless hands in the pie, now didn't ya?" He let his hand fall back to his lap, lifting his head to look at her. "If havin' a goddamned mulligan was an option, think I wouldn't jump all over it, knowing what I know now? Am here now, Si-" he stopped himself from saying her proper name, "Sam. Tryin' my best."

His daughter didn't answer him immediately, a good thirty seconds at least. The wheels in her head seemed to be turning, trying to process what he'd said and how it made her feel. Her eyes went upward, as her hands pushed herself to her feet. That vulnerability that had shown itself to him before was gone as she forced a smile. "Then I guess everything's cool. Sorry I interrupted you." This had been a waste and it was only making those internal wounds open further. "Guess I'll head home." Maybe she really didn't have the right to feel how she did.

"Oh, aye," he couldn't keep that sarcasm from bleeding into his tone, "everything's peachy keen. Just get back up on that high horse an' ride right back to Jonestown." He snapped the words, wiping the back of his hand under his nose. "Cut me up... draw a little blood... tell me I'm as shit as a father as I always thought. Sure, hen. Sure. That's just marvie." His eyes, she could see now in the glow of the lights that had come on as the sun had finally gone down completely, were bloodshot and filled with pain that mirrored her own. "Goan back tae that ivory mansion of yours, then... wit' that fuckin' prince you were so keen tae run off with the moment-" he cut himself off, not wanting to open that particular can of worms. It felt like she'd bolted the moment they'd just started to reconnect, as if Smith Jones was that perfect provider and protector that he'd never been able to be.

"It's..." he swallowed hard, trying to force a smile, "stay a while, hmm?"

Seeing the hurt in his eyes caused her face to crumble, tears streaming more as she moved back in his direction, realizing that he felt like he'd been replaced, too. Once she made it to his chair, she hugged onto him. "I'm sorry, Daddy." She hadn't called him anything other than Da since she'd been little. "It just... it hurts and I'm sorry." Her face buried into his shoulder as she just cried.

Bruce's arms wrapped around her, hugging her tight and he could feel his heart breaking at the sound of those sobs, knowing he could never truly repair the damage done. She was always going to resent him for leaving, to mourn those lost years. "Was supposed tae be snarky," he finally said, "the Wrestle Da thing. Like Dad Bod... like..." he bit his lip, shaking his head, "am some ol' Da who thinks'm a wrestler. Fits with the pauper an' rabble-rouser – cheeky nonsense. Didn't mean anything by it... by takin' these broken weans under wing. You've a good head on yer shoulders – never had tae worry about tha'. Not when those pimply fellas were courtin'... not now. Never worried about you, Siobahn, 'cause I knew you were your mother's daughter. Strong. Brave."

He blinked, feeling the warmth of tears on his face and he held her as she wept, as she purged herself of that toxicity, his own tears soaking into her hair like rain. The fact that she thought she didn't matter, that she thought he was trying to replace her cut so deep he couldn't even begin to describe the pain. "Love you," he murmured, his voice breaking and his brogue growing thicker with emotion, blurred by snot and tears, "yeh've always had the biggest piece of me heart... always will. Promise, awright? Nae matter what comes... 'til the seas gang dry."