FIFTY-FOUR: A Picture's Worth (part one)

Siobahn "Sam" McLeod laid on the plush couch that was located in her fiancé, Jude's, penthouse. The penthouse actually belonged to Jude's cousin Rick Ravenswood, but since the younger man was helping run LUX, it was a sort of package deal. These days, she was practically living here – most nights were spent enjoying the spectacular view but she still went back and forth between her parents' home so she could spend as much time as possible with her one-year-old baby brother, Victor. Normally on a day like this, she would have been right there, however, she'd had some bad sushi the night before and was basically living on the couch. Her pittie mix, Jarvis, was laying on top of her, refusing to leave his mom's side. It was close to midnight, and she knew Jude would be heading up to the penthouse soon, wiped out after entertaining the masses.

She'd been dozing on and off through the evening when she was startled by a loud series of knocks on the penthouse door. Jarvis immediately jumped off and ran to the door, barks coinciding with the knocks which pulled her the rest of the way from that groggy sleep. As she got off the couch, she grabbed her blanket and wrapped it around her. She knew Jude would have taken the private elevator up – no need for a key. This visitor was pounding on the outside door.

"What the fuck," she grumbled as she made it to the door. Looking through the peephole, she saw that her father, Bruce was standing there. The crabbiness she felt subsided some as she undid the lock on the door. "Shh Jarvey, it's grampa." Jarvis continued his barking as Sam opened the door. "This is a surpri—" She trailed off as she stood face to face with her father and was able to see his expression. It was clear that he was angry and upset, causing a knot to form in the middle of Sam's chest. "Daddy, what's wrong?" Stepping aside to let him in, she grabbed Jarvis' collar and pulled him back. What was about to happen was the last thing she'd ever expect.

He didn't speak, didn't even look at her as he stormed past her. In his hands was one of those folders she remembered from grade school, the glossy ones that folded in half and had pockets inside and for a moment that seemed so weird to see as he threw it down on the bar that she froze. It was covered in neon, smiling animals like something out of a Lisa Frank nightmare – so out of character for her no-nonsense father to be carrying around. He reached over the bar, grabbing the first bottle he could find, and he tore out the pour spigot and whipped it at the mirrored glass behind the bar before bringing it to his lips. It felt like a production, some scene being acted out that she didn't really understand and then he turned around, half the bottle's contents already burning a path down his throat. His eyes were dead black as they fixed on her. "Can't even bear tae look at you." His accent was there, creeping around the edges of his words and she knew he was already either halfway drunk or about to lose emotional control. Neither one boded well with the expression on his face.

From the moment she opened the door, it felt like there were icy fingers tickling the back of her neck and the bottom of her stomach dropped through the floor. "Daddy? Did... did something bad happen?" Swallowing back the lump in her throat, she knew that whatever was upsetting him had everything to do with her. After shutting the door, Sam let go of Jarvis' collar; instead of running and jumping on Bruce with a wagging tail, the dog kept his focus on Bruce. Exhaling deeply, she walked over and with semi-trembling fingers, she slid the folder her way and opened the cover. Once she saw the contents, her eyes became the size of saucers. "Jesus Christ," she said to herself and then tossed the folder back on the counter. She'd thought that she'd destroyed the pictures from that time in her life. Clearly she'd been mistaken...


She'd blown off the fall semester, had fled to Miami from Orlando because it was the cheapest bus ticket she could get – no real surprise when it was the off-season. It had seemed like a great idea when she'd made the decision, but now she was wondering if she hadn't acted too rashly. Staying in Orlando hadn't been an option, though. There was too much baggage. She couldn't even bring herself to leave the tiny apartment she shared with her best friend Jasmine. Her mother had been vocal about not wanting her to do this, but Charity McLeod also wasn't privy to Sam's reasoning to get out of town. There was only one person who knew what that baggage entailed, and her best friend Jasmine had promised to keep the secret. Sam just needed time and to be on her own for a bit. Even though Charity hadn't agreed with her daughter's decision, she still made sure that the young woman was financially taken care of. That was one thing Sam knew about her mother, despite everything, she always had her support.

Because of the financial support, Sam had been able to rent a decent townhouse from AirBnB that was in a better part of the city. Her days had mostly been spent in bed with Netflix on and in pajamas. When she'd been in Orlando, she'd felt this pressure to pretend she was okay. Now, after a few weeks away from it all, she was starting to feel a little stir-crazy. Through the miracle of modern technology, she found a Starbucks not too far from her place. Thinking about a cake pop and a pumpkin spice latte had her mouth watering and before she knew it, she'd arrived at the coffee shop. This was the first day that she actually tried with her appearance, and she couldn't deny that it helped a bit with her funk. She'd dressed in a pair of dark denim leggings, a button-up red and white plaid shirt, and a black tank top underneath. Her red hair had been left down and she'd chosen a pair of heeled boots for her feet. It didn't take long before she'd been given her order and was walking over to a table by the window. Unfortunately, her foot got caught on a laptop cord that caused her to stumble and drop her latte.

"Shit." She muttered to herself as she noticed some of her drink had gotten on the pant leg of the laptop's owner. "I am so sorry!" Quickly, she grabbed whatever napkins she could find and started wiping up the mess. "I knew these boots were a terrible idea."

"It's fine." The man who owned the pants (and the laptop, obviously), didn't sound pissed off. "It's completely my fault. I forgot to charge it last night. Not even supposed to be using the outlet, but..." a rough chuckle passed his lips. "Was that a PSL with extra cinnamon?"

"Yeah." It was obvious she was mortified, and she was just about to apologize again as the voice caught her attention. "Jax?" She said as she looked up into the face of one of her father's oldest friends. She hadn't seen the man in years and couldn't help but smile at him. "Hey."

The man's eyes narrowed as he studied her. Something about her struck a chord but he wasn't sure if he was imagining that because of the recognition or something else? Either way, he wasn't about to admit that he wasn't sure who she was. It was easier to play it cool like he did with fans and play it by ear. "Hey." He pushed out the chair across from him with his booted foot, nodding towards it. "Sit down. I'll get you another latte." He leaned over and picked up her fallen cup, hoping it would have her name on the damned thing and he could solve that mystery, but it just said 'Sam' and he couldn't place her with that name.

"Thanks," she said as she watched him walk away, cheeks flushing. She would never have admitted it to anyone, but Brad Jackson had been her first celebrity crush. She used to watch him wrestle on television and had always been a fan. He'd also always been very nice to her, and she'd enjoyed it when he'd visit. As she waited for him to return, she quickly applied some lipgloss and ran a hand through her hair.

He had a bit of time waiting in line to study her, although he pulled out his cell phone and pretended like he was checking messages instead, wracking his brain for who she might be. She didn't look like any ring rat, that was for sure. She didn't have that fawning fangirl bullshit going on. The fact that she'd called him 'Jax' meant she had some sort of familiarity there. Few people called him that these days. Few people called him at all, and it felt a little too much like the moment he'd chosen to retire in the spring, he'd essentially dropped off the face of the earth completely. When he arrived at the head of the line, he set down the sticky cup and pushed it towards the barista. "Another of these... same as this one. My friend had a little accident." The girl took the cup, looked at the sticker and punched in the order. He paid with the app on his phone like he always did, not thinking much of it as he moved to the side to wait for the drink, leaning against the counter as he looked over towards the table where she sat. She was pretending to look out the window, but he'd caught that flash of movement as she'd turned her head away quickly. In profile, she reminded him of someone he'd known for a very long time – Charity, the woman who'd been married to Bruce McLeod once upon a time and then it dawned on him. This was Bruce and Charity's daughter. He remembered now that she'd started calling herself 'Sam' in high school, growing weary of her classmates mispronouncing her name, no doubt. When he collected her drink, he made sure the lid was on tight before grabbing a huge handful of napkins, taking his time to wander back to the table.

She'd placed her hands in her lap, only so she didn't start tapping on the table out of nervousness. The last time she'd seen Jax, she'd been a teenager and well, now she definitely wasn't. When he made it back to the table, she couldn't help but offer him a friendly smile as he handed her the drink. "Thanks, I'm such a klutz." She brought the cup to her lips and took a long sip. Everything was nostalgic – that taste of nutmeg and cinnamon on her tongue and the chiselled features of the man across from her. Her eyes stayed on him as she set her cup down. "Small world, huh?"

"Something like that." Jax shrugged and reached for his own drink, taking a long swallow even though it was lukewarm now. "What's it been, ten years or something since the last time I saw you? In person, I mean. Has to be at least that long – fucking hell, where's all the time gone?" He sounded almost bitter even though there was that crooked smile on his lips for a moment as he looked at her.

"Yeah, sounds about right." It had been before her parents split up, she knew that. Part of her had never gotten over how quickly their family had shattered after her baby brother's death. "Are you still wrestling?"

He shook his head, the hint of a sad smile on his lips. "Nope. Retired for good back in May, when that ill-conceived reboot of The Circuit went under. Had to – too much nerve damage. Lost most of the feeling from shoulder to fingertips. I still have days where it comes and goes but it's a bit better since I've stopped getting the shit kicked out of me regularly. Go figure, right?" He did the math mentally, looking at her a bit more critically as he set his empty cup down. "You've gotta be what, twenty now? Taking classes at the University of Miami or something?"

"Twenty-one in a couple weeks," she said with a bit of a smile as she brought her own cup of latte to her lips. "And I was attending college in Orlando, majoring in photography, but this year was just... a lot." That didn't even begin to cover it. "I decided to take some time off, change of scenery and such." She shrugged and shook her head. "So, here I am." She was tempted to ask Jax about her father but decided not to.

"Sometimes a change of scenery can be good. Granted, this isn't really the place you come to 'find yourself', so to speak. Especially not down by the beach. That's more the place you go to lose yourself. Or your lunch... possibly articles of clothing." He chuckled at his own joke. "Surprised to see you here... small world, I guess."

"Haven't lost any articles of clothing, yet, but I've only been in town a few weeks." She gave him a smirk, a knot forming in the pit of her stomach. She was trying to flirt and in doing so she felt as though she were playing with fire. Since that weekend where her whole sense of self had been shattered, she'd almost made some very stupid choices with strangers. "Do you live close by?"

"I own the gym up the block," he replied, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table, pushing his laptop to the side. "Got a little apartment above it that I crash at most of the time. I've got a house out in Coral Gables... out in the 'burbs, but I don't go there all that often anymore. Too big for just one person."

Sam nodded, knowing to an extent how it felt to be alone in a big place. "I found a nice little town house to stay in. It's not anything fancy, but it kinda feels like home."

Nodding, Jackson's lips curved into a smile. "That's important. Better than some shitty hotel with one of those starving artist paintings on the wall and a scratchy bedspread – the things I don't miss from being on the road."

She found herself returning his smile, her latte cupped in both hands. "I've heard some stories about places my da has stayed. Some of them sounded extremely sketchy." Glancing down at her cup for a moment, her eyes met his once more. "Have you talked to him lately?"

"Not recently." He shrugged, "might have been sometime last spring... couple weeks after my birthday. Ran into him at the airport. He was off to some pisswater dive to wrestle in a tag team with that She Hulk beast he shacked up with – you ever meet her?"

Sam shook her head, unable to hide the disgust she felt for the whole situation. "Nope and I'm fine with that. He's fine living his life and doing his own thing. Just like I'm doing." Talking about her father caused a sort of heaviness in her chest that made her want to cry.

"Family..." Jackson shook his head with a bitter chuckle, obviously able to tell where her thoughts were wandering, "can't live with 'em. Can't kill 'em – well I mean, you could, but it's generally frowned upon in polite society." He glanced back at the counter, "you want something to eat? They've got those delicious sugar cookies that're shaped like foxes. The cake pops are pretty good too."

"Ah, see cake pops are my weakness." It felt good to be sitting and visiting with someone who'd known her most of her life. "They just taste so damn good." She glanced over at the counter and noticed the sugar cookies on display. She couldn't help but miss her mother in that moment. Baking cookies together had always been a tradition. "If there's something you want, I'll cover the tab, since you replaced my drink."

"Something sweet..." he let those words hang for a moment, wondering if she'd pick up on the subtext there, "to go. Surprise me, Red."

"Something sweet, to go, huh?" She bit down on her lower lip and thought for a moment. "Okay, I've got something in mind." Pushing herself up from the table, she made her way to the counter and wasted no time in choosing a sugar cookie that had been frosted to look like a jack-o'-lantern. It was wrapped in tissue paper and then slid into a small brown bag. Walking back to the table, she sat back down and held the bag out in his direction. "This one looked especially delicious."

He took the bag, his fingers touching hers and lingering. "I trust your judgement," he finally said, setting the treat down on the table. "I've gotta head back to the gym...but you're welcome to come along. See the place, sign a twenty-year membership. Y'know, all that fun stuff." He flashed a mischievous smile before leaning down to pull the plug from the wall, reeling it in and wrapping it around his hand.

"Counter proposal." Her eyes were locked on him. "Come over for dinner tonight. I'm not a great cook, but I could make something."

He chuckled, watching her expression and he couldn't stop thinking how much she looked like her mother. He'd always found Charity attractive, just had never acted on it because Bruce was too much like a brother to cross that line. His daughter, though? Especially when they were very obviously estranged? That smirk on his lips grew. "You don't have to cook for me, Red. If you want some company, just say so."

"Okay." She got up from her chair, her own smirk matching his. "I don't just want some company, I want your company."

"Goan then," her father's voice was harsh as a whip-crack, pulling her out of that memory.

She closed the folder, pushing it back towards him as she struggled to find words to defuse this volatile situation. She'd never known then how much her father had despised Jackson. She'd been naïve, had assumed they were the best of friends. It was only after being in the ring herself that she understood that fundamental truth: there are no friends in the wrestling business. "Daddy, I..." she swallowed hard, feeling nauseated all over again. "It was nothing. I swear. It was—"

"Oh, aye," Bruce's laughter was caustic, "t'was nothing and meant even less, am sure. Tell me that goddamned walking disease didn't have his..." he couldn't even complete the thought, shaking his head. His left hand clenched into a fist so tight his knuckles ached and he brought it down on the top of the bar with a loud thump. He'd been cleaning up some things in the garage, had come across that broken old camera of hers and a little plastic case with two SD cards in it. He'd been trying to do her a favor, going through them to make sure the data was still there, in case there was anything she wanted or needed. He'd never expected to find photographic evidence of Brad Jackson, half-naked with his hands all over a girl less than half his age, let alone his firstborn daughter.

"It wasn't... I mean, it was... but it happened years ago and.." She didn't exactly know how to give her father any explanation that would defuse the bomb that was about to go off. A hand came up and started rubbing the back of her neck as she shook her head. "It didn't mean anything." She shrugged helplessly, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"Makes it worse, Siobahn. Y'know that, aye? See, mebbe could understand some torrid little affair, some hero-worshippin' nonsense on account of his celebrity status. Lord knows, seen enough of that tae last a motherfuckin' lifetime as is. There's a thousand other dicks out there more worthy you coulda ridden. Why'd it have tae be his, hmm?" He swept the folder to the floor, sending those glossy and incriminating images scattering from within to flutter to the floor between them. "What was it then? Revenge? Rebellion?" He'd seen the timestamp on the files. He knew when they were taken and what had happened before then.

"No, not anything like that." She said as she shook her head, feeling the prickle of tears in her eyes. "He made me feel safe. He made me feel..." she couldn't look him in the eye. "He made me feel like he wasn't gonna let anything else bad happen to me." The palm of her hand came up and wiped at her eyes. "I was in a really bad place, and I ran into him. I didn't seek him out, Daddy. I didn't—"

A derisive snort had her stop talking for a moment and she could tell by the way her father stood there, so stiff, so rigid that he was doing everything he could to keep his temper in check.

"It had nothing to do with you," she said softly, wondering if that was even true. If there was blame to be laid on the whole situation, it had begun the moment he'd walked out of her life like she didn't even matter. She rubbed at her eyes as more tears started to fall and her voice was trembling when she spoke again. "I really did like him and he ended things when Lyv came back. So, I guess it wasn't nothing. It was something." Her head felt as though it were swimming and her vision started to blur.

The words cut right through him. Of course, she'd run into the arms of that miserable bastard to feel safe. He'd let her down in the worst way – his selfish bullshit, his obsession with finally winning a championship in professional wrestling, even alongside someone he'd grown to despise in a company in the middle of backwater nowhere that was focused solely on tandem wrestling had set all of this in motion. The girl was broken, was fucking tainted because of him. It was all he could see now, as though she was covered in filth with Jackson's slime all over here. "No wonder Reno was the place," he muttered, "still the loyalty tae that shitbag, even after all this time." He took a step forward, ignoring the low growl that came from Jarvis as a warning; he pointed his finger at her, wagging it in her face. "Have never been so disgusted in all my life. Thought you were better than this... that we'd raised–"

The way he looked at her made her want to hide, but she stayed where she was. Even when Jarvis started to growl, Sam just grabbed onto his collar, holding him next to her. "You. Weren't. There." The volume of her tone rose though, some bite behind her words. Her shoulders twitched in a shrug. "Oh fucking well." The more Bruce glared at her, the stronger the need became to bite back. "It's over and has been for years." Swallowing hard, she shook her head. "I'm sorry you found those pictures... I thought they were destroyed."

"And if they'd been..." there was acid in his tone as he shook his head, chuckling bitterly, "I'd never have known, hmm? What's one more murky secret lurking in these depths?" He glared right back at her. "Who else, then? Anyone else have their hands all over ya? Didja let the rest of the arseholes in that Reno locker room have a go, too? Seem tae have a soft spot for that Legion fella."

Her free hand had clenched at her side, her fingernails digging into the palm of her hand. "I don't know. Any of them could have." Her bottom lip had started to quiver – she hated that sign of weakness, despising it. "I don't remember all the guys that raped me. So, your guess is as good as mine."

"FUCKIN' CHRIST!" The words were almost roared in her face, spittle flying and for a moment, he almost took a swing at her. Instead, he turned and, realizing he still had that near-empty bottle of liquor in his hand, flung it at the wall of booze behind the bar. Glass shattered. Things fell and smashed on the floor. He didn't bother to look; didn't stop to catalogue the damage he'd done to someone else's property. Instead, he shouldered past her and stormed towards the door. "Don't talk to me. Ever again," he snarled the words, feeling rage mixing with guilt as he heard her sharp intake of breath behind him. A moment later, the door slammed behind him, and she was alone.

The second the door slammed shut, Sam let go of her dog's collar as her legs gave out beneath her. Her chest was tight; she had the hardest time breathing as it felt like her whole body was spasming at once. "Oh God... Oh God... Oh God... I'm sorry, Daddy. I'm sorry.... Come back... please come back.... Don't go... don't go... I'm sorry... I'm sorry...." Using the palms of her hands, she dragged herself under the bar counter, leaning against it for support, her arms wrapping around her knees. Resting the side of her face against her knees, she just stared at the door, almost like she was trying to will it to open again and for this to be nothing more than a bad dream.

"Sittin' in the morning sun... I'll be sittin' when the evenin' comes..." with a cracked voice, she began to softly sing the lyrics to Otis Redding's 'Sitting On the Dock Of the Bay'. It was a favorite from childhood that she used to sing with her father when they'd be in the car with the radio turned up. There was no energy in her to say anything else, to do anything else.