SOFT
••••••
08 NOVEMBER || CENTRAL PARK
FINN’S APARTMENT
Water sprayed against the white marble tiles of the oversized shower wall, bouncing off the tattooed back of the Seattle Saint as he closed his eyes and allowed the droplets to coat his face. It hadn’t been long since he’d been in the ring, but the force in which Dimitri -- no, Dickie; he knew Dickie hated being called by his given name -- had slammed into him in his take down to the floor was more powerful than he’d imagined. His back smarted in pulsating pain from where it collided with the padded, yet still abusively hard cement floor. It would be a day or two before it stopped hurting, he was sure of that. For now, the warmth of the water over the areas was a soothing balm -- he’d put menthol on it later and relax as much as he could.
His thoughts were a whirlwind. He knew exactly what it’d looked like, taking apart Dickie like that. A sudden turn of events, a backstabbing, a complete one-eighty. Sibling upon sibling in the most brutal of betrayals. But what was visible to the outward eye was not always the most telling part of the story. He had his reasons. In every bit of honesty and integrity that Finn carried within his very bones, this wasn’t something that was unexpected. He knew when he stepped back into Wolfslair, he’d have to explain himself, he’d be immediately interrogated. He’d have to explain himself to Alex, who hated when there was dissent in his gym. He’d have to explain it to Aiden, who was probably going off with some impression of Steve Irwin about how shitty he’d become. He’d have to explain it to the Nazi and the actual German chick and honestly, he just wasn’t prepared for it at all.
It wasn’t any of their business. Yes, he’d made public the business, but more intelligent minds would understand that it was not their place to be judge or jury. He could act like a fool about it, as childish as it would be. He could gnash his teeth together, raise his hackles, show his fangs. It would have been the easiest option, all well and good to do. Retreat back into the mentality that he needed to be a jackass to get ahead. That’s what he would have done before he’d become a leader, before he had to watch himself. Before he had to be the example.
So engrossed in his own mind, he didn’t even hear the footsteps approaching from the doorway. He raised his hands, smoothing back his wet hair and sighing deeply.
“Well, hello Finn.”
Kayla Richards’ voice was definitely not something that he expected to hear in that moment, and her dulcet tone made him jump. He bashed his shoulder into the wall as he stumbled to the right, looking directly to his left. Kayla’s green eyes took in his figure up and down and a slight smirk slid up on the side of her mouth.
“Jesus fucking Christ...” Finn turned towards the wall and slammed his hand onto the faucet, turning off the flow of the water quickly.
“I didn’t even realize your tattoos went down that far.”
“Yeah, I fuckin’ know.”
Kayla waited a second, glancing from left to right before jutting her chin forward as if to say, Okay? “So am I just going to continue looking at your ass or are you gonna step out to talk to me?”
“Towel.”
“Ugh, it’s unnecessary. I’m eventually going to see your di--”
“Towel!”
“Fine!” Kayla sighed, reaching for the black terry towel and thrusting it in Finn’s direction. She disappeared with a roll of her eyes from the bathroom, her flannel sweatpants as waited. Their relationship was a strange construct, one that wasn’t easily described. Kayla, of course, was engaged to Billy Danielson, a prominent wrestler and seemingly the person that calmed her. Or at the very least, loved her enough to put a ring on her finger and buy her all of the things in the world. In the presence of anyone else, she would make advances on him. In front of a camera, in front of people, she’d try to persuade him with overt sexual overtones. Twitter, especially.
It was all a joke. He knew she enjoyed making people repulsed or upset, knew it filled her with deep satisfaction when a cringing expression fell upon whomever was in the room. It made her feel better about herself. Finn knew how much resentment went through Kayla’s mind about even the smallest of things that even she said didn’t bother her, regardless of if she realized it or not. As a friend, perhaps even her only one, he could take on the repulsion and the surprise if it meant that for once, she didn’t feel like she was out of place.
A moment later, he walked out of his bedroom into the apartment’s main living space, shrugging on a black shirt. Kayla sat on his couch, her thumb haphazardly scrolling through channels on the eighty-inch television via remote control, her legs curled up under a blanket and looking extremely comfortable for someone visiting someone else’s house.
“Are you sticking around?” Finn questioned, padding past her towards the open kitchen with bare feet and heading for the pantry.
“Yep.”
He paused, staring at the plethora of snacks within. “Mainstream?”
“Yep.”
Finn turned his head, looking at her inquiringly. She didn’t even look up. “Did you tell Billy you’re here?” Kayla didn’t respond. She didn’t even look back. Instead, she settled on a channel and leaned back into the sofa, crossing her arms over her legs and looking intently upon it. Finn grabbed a bag of popcorn, reached up higher for a bag of Taki’s and headed back into the room. He tossed the Taki’s into her lap.
“Ooooh, how did you–”
“Did you tell Billy?”
Kayla gave him the most annoyed expression possible, rolled her eyes, and then glanced at him. “Duh, Finnegan. He said, ‘Yeah, okay, babe’, and promptly went off to train. Champion shit…or something. Whatever. The fact that you’re interested in making sure I tell my fiance I’m spending the night at your house is cute, though.” She reached up, pinched Finn’s cheek as he sat down. He tch’d, swiped at her hand, and settled into the couch.
“I just don’t want Roidboi getting the wrong idea,” he replied, grabbing a handful of popcorn and stuffing it in his face.
“No idea to get.” She rolled her eyes once more, leaned her back against him and set the crown of her head on his shoulder as she scrolled through Twitter on her phone. “As you keep telling me.”
“Kayla.”
“I know.” There was a pause, and then she turned her head to look at him. “So…why the attack on the little brat? I mean, not that it wasn’t thrilling and all to see you finally kicking his ass, but…why now?”
Finn was silent. He ignored her, looking directly at the screen. That was his reason to know. His reason to covet. His reason to own. He wasn’t quite ready to share it, even if it was in the privacy of his own home. And to be honest, it was between himself and Dickie. All would come to light…just not now.
People would learn to accept that response. One way or another.
••••••
February.
February was the month that changed everything. The world became just a little bit better for some of us. A little bit more bitter for the rest of us. You and your people would recognize that, right, Levi? Snow glistening on the ground. Moves being made for people, making a statement, doing what they needed to do to become better, to rise above and to make themselves a living commodity. Recognizable. Stars within the world, not just the one little company that you think you’re the top shit in. Your safe space is no longer a safe space when wolves are at your door.
When people want something better, they start seeking out other opportunities. They start looking for where others seem to be building themselves, creating a positive atmosphere that isn’t about them alone, but the whole. It’s no secret that Alex Jones and I do not share the common theme of a friendly bond. In fact, he probably still wants my head on a spike, but at some point, you put your differences aside for the good of everyone else. When I came into Wolfslair, it wasn’t because I wanted to carry some mantle and championships to the gym itself. It wasn’t because I wanted to hog glory for myself. I could do that in any place. I literally could take myself, walk into a company, and do what I do best: win.
I may be getting up there in years, but that’s one thing that’s undeniable about me. If anything, I put forth my goals, I make a statement, and I succeed. In just this year alone, I walked into a company, four matches in, and took their World Championship. The NLW Heavyweight Championship was mine, and I held it with pride. Did I hold it as long as I wanted to? No. But I held it. I’ve been relevant, memorable, and the person that people wanted to be, even if it was for just a small amount of time. I left because I didn’t have the time to apply myself to the company with Wolfslair as well.
Did you forget that, Levi? Did you forget who you started a fuckin’ war with? It wasn’t like you were going to war with the Madisons or the Kanes. Your Carpenters and your Makarios and your own little miscreant family. No. You chose to go to war with people who didn’t even remember you fucking existed because you’ve been a non-existant blip for the past four years. Your head has been lodged in PWS: Apex’s ass for so long that the moment you stepped out into the big leagues, and your eyes saw the shiny lights above you and Sin City gave you that attention you’ve been fucking craving like a drugged-up cokehead, you thought you were something more special than the truth.
You’ve been fucking forgotten.
It’s time for you to recognize that. February, you started making comments. And I only remember this because of the fact that I thought it was pedantic and pathetic that Miles Kasey and Lachlan Kane had to assuage your padded ass. Thank you for the time they spent in the Russow Whateverthefuck – I’m sorry, but what kind of person except for a self-serving prick names their own academy after themselves? –, say you taught them everything they know, but they needed to try something different.
The same thing fuckin’ Bella Madison said when she came over to us as well, her eyes on the prize to become better than she was now.
The quips came out slowly, but surely. First, from Mack McKane, the man who fuckin’ failed miserably against Kane’s wifey pants. The man who ran PWS for a year, but couldn’t when a challenge came to his own door. Milo wasn’t stupid. He recognized it. Recognized the shit stirring, the unrest. He called it out. McKane was silenced…until he made quips against wolves and you know…bullshit.
Funny how you said the same bullshit as well, just weeks later. Almost as if it were a collective thought. Whining about how wolves had come to take down with a pack, and how suddenly people thought they were better than they were. Bitching. Complaining.
May, you had the audacity to finally say something about Wolfslair…and what did everyone do?
Tell me, Levi, what did everyone do?
We fucking ignored you. Like we’ve been ignoring you for months.
But no, in your mind, we’ve been going around, acting like we’re pious fucking saints for taking the low and downtrodden men and women of your poor academy and trying to give them a fucking handout. If that’s nothing more than a fucking fallacy, I can’t even begin to tell you how demeaning and likely demoralizing it is for people like Miles and Lach. Lachlan was never part of your training school, and you act like he was your child to grow. Bella? Are you going to go to her and act like she’s a piece of shit for choosing to try and better herself?
Are you jealous, Levi? Jealous that people looked past you and had eyes placed upon them? Jealous that you were left behind in a vicious cycle where you couldn’t figure out your ass from your dick, stood on your head, and tried to be something hilarious that everyone looks at like you’re that strange, idiotic mess that we should all pity?
Instead of standing there, Levi, and being grateful that people want to better themselves…you tried mouthing off. You tried acting like you were this big, bad motherfucker that could hang with the best, put your boots up to the test with the best. And you bitched out and the fucking Sin City World Champion got your bitchass in a match, you fucking backpedaled like it was an amazing opportunity and begged him to give you thanks.
He fucking insulted you and you took it like a beggar. You didn’t even recognize when he sat there and said you could drop by and get some fucking lessons at Wolfslair, it was a fucking insult. I knew you were dense, but I never thought you were Yung Gravy levels of stupid.
Well, oops, baby, fuck up on a bitch like whoopsie-daisy.
But looking at what you had to say about Alex, I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re going to come up with bullshit that you think is relevant. It was up to you to teach humility and respect, but in the process, you called the rest of the roster piggies because Alex is…the King of the Wolves? There are a lot of things Alex is…a fucking idiotic prick from time to time, but here’s the thing that I’ve realized: if anyone in this little creation needs a hand, if they need to grow, if they need to build themselves upwards and get a little more training in here, or a splash of work in another area there…he’ll do it. He builds people, he pushes every single member of Wolfslair to take that extra step, to guide themselves with facilitation into a happier moment. You would know this if you actually took a step out of your hallowed halls, but since you can’t even look at yourself in a mirror and see truths, you probably won’t recognize it either.
You talked about your family. About yourself. What you have done for yourself, what you’ve done for your kid. You talk about Lach and Miles as if they’re yours to own. They’re their own people. Miles stepped into Wolfslair with wide eyes about how things went elsewhere, like it was strange to see how we all work, grow and fight together. Lachlan is a fucking trainer in the Orlando branch. You act like they’re your children. And I can’t think of anything fucking more demoralizing than being treated as if they are owned. Miles has said it. He’s literally sat there and thanked us for always having his back, but not acting as if he owes us anything. Bella? She came in because she knew that the collective pack would only be there to support positive steps in the world. She wouldn’t be fucking used and talked about like a fucking piece of trash for months on end if she wanted to move away from us later on.
Do not try to sit there and act like you’ll always support them, because your griping, whining and bitching on a public forum tells us everything we need to know.
You brought yourself into my business with Dickie. And while I know you backpedal and you’ll try weaseling your way out of this, you tried to whiteknight for a kid who doesn’t need your support. He doesn’t want your support, and if you’d actually been around for more than five seconds at a time, you’d realize he doesn’t want anyone’s help in being the fucking hall of famer he is. The kid can stand on his own two feet, and while you’re over there bitching about how awful it was that I ‘turned on him’...motherfucker, you put your own foot in your mouth when you don’t understand what’s going on.
Who the fuck do you think you are?
That’s right. Alex told us who you really are. “A man who, when he spreads his wings and tries to fly, often comes crashing down to Earth in a realization that he really isn’t as good as he believes.” He told us you have a fucking ego. You sit there and act like you’re God’s fucking gift to wrestling, but you are no more a gift than Heather Haze tied up in a bondage swing allowing a group of multiple men to run a train on her and call it Collateral Damage.
I’m sorry. Hold on.
That was rude of me. Nevertheless true, but rude. She’d let Alexis hit her from the back, though.
You’re not prepared for this, Levi. And even in your most lucid of delusions…you never were.
••••••
01 DECEMBER || MANHATTAN
WOLFSLAIR TRAINING FACILITY
They’d been separated. Ever since the incident at Annihilation I, Dickie and Finn did not exist in the same rooms. It wasn’t a huge deal for Finn, honestly. Ninety-five percent of the time, he sat behind a desk or was working on how to hit a little harder on phrasing with the gym members. A lot of his sessions were through Zoom, like most of the education world, and he found himself pinching his nose in frustration with some of the trainees in the Orlando branch. They weren’t at all willing to go for the throat, and it would take a lot more patience than he was willing to provide for them to get there.
His patience was wearing thin on most occasions lately. It’d never been great, but he’d had a better handle on keeping himself calm. Maybe it was because he wasn’t living on his own anymore. Kayla had moved in, although he’d never really said it was an option. She just kind of…appeared. Her break-up with Billy had been unexpected, but it made sense. Kayla was focused on her career, and honestly, it seemed easier for her to just…not have to put out that much effort. It wasn’t as if they hated each other, but it was a mutual split. Or, at least, that’s what she told Finn when she sat on his couch another night.
Even now, she was standing there in Wolfslair, looking at Alicia Lukas like she was going to stab holes into her brain. Maybe it was because she looked so much like Betsy Granger. Blonde hair, blue eyes. You know. Nazi McWafflecunty.
Finn typed slowly on his computer, looking at a submission from one of the wrestlers down in Orlando. He’d asked them to try to journal one day, and regretted it instantly. It looked like a promo from Latoya Hixx in 2018, and he just wasn’t willing to deal with an interview script. Nevertheless, he still responded and tried to tell them how to adjust it so it didn’t sound like a generic piece that anyone could say. Every so often, he’d get a flash in the window of someone walking by, and it’d distract him for a second.
At least…until he realized it was the same person over and over, walking past and looking in as if they wanted to say something to him, but they weren’t sure when, how, or if they really should.
Aiden Reynolds.
Finn recalled how pissed Aiden had been when he’d shown up at the Pro Wrestling EXCELLENCE show. And how easily Kayla had dispatched him. But that was neither here, nor there. This was Wolfslair. This was camaraderie in a box, and this was teamwork. Aiden was, by all means, a part of this gym as much as Finn was now. He might be able to come unglued at a show, but Alex would absolutely stop it in the event Aiden came in and swung. Not that he figured the Australian would actually have the balls. He’d try to yell, Finn would snap, and the Australian would peace out.
“Aiden.” Finn stated, just as he walked by again. Aiden finally stopped, turned, and looked at him from the doorway. There was a long, prolonged silence that made Finn lean back in his chair and look at him with his eyebrow raised. “Something you’d like to say?”
“Yeah…yeah, mate,” Aiden started, the word mate coming off a bit haphazard and forced. “I do.” He took a step in, but nothing more. “The fuck you pickin’ on Dickie like that, eh? I know he didn’t do anythin’ to you, and to be honest–”
“I’m not gonna answer that, Aiden.” Finn cut across him. “The shit between Dickie and I really isn’t anything that needs to be discussed. Dickie knows why. You don’t see him chomping at the bit to get at me like I did this heinous thing to him.”
“Mate, he fuckin’ idolizes you. And you know that. He looks up to you, and you just…bashed his fuckin’ head in like you were Edward Norton in American History X.”
Finn shook his head. Aiden’s movie references would always be, at minimum, his best analogies. He knew movie characters like the back of his hand. “There’s a reason, Aiden. And right now, Dickie seems to have a lot more on his plate than me. I know you’re pissed off and frustrated, and I get it. You should be, and I’m glad you’ve got his back, but I promise you…it wasn’t meant to throw Dickie off and make him think differently. It’s something he wanted.”
“You can’t tell me that lil’ ol’ Dickie wanted his own brother to dislocate his arm. And you can’t tell me that he wanted that done in front of millions of viewers.”
“He’s always wanted to stand on his own. He stands in a shadow of people who he perceives to be better than him, and he’s always fighting that. You know that. I know that. One day, he’s gotta look ahead and know for himself that he’s better than what he thinks. This is just another step in that process.”
Realization, slowly, dawned on the Australian Wolf’s face. Even as he stood in the doorway, sans-shirt, wearing basketball shorts and tennis shoes, it took but a few seconds before Aiden understood. “You’re doin’ it to help him.”
“He’s gotta face his demons.” Finn repeated, as he had at the previous show. “He’s gotta face his demons and come to terms with what he is. Whether that’s better than he thought or worse, that’s going to be up to him. I’m just giving him the opportunity. Yeah. Bashed his face in. But for a reason.”
“Pretty shitty way of helpin’.”
“I know.” Finn nodded, turning back to his computer. “But what else would you expect from an asshole like me?”
••••••
Let’s talk about you, though. Shall we? Since that seems to be your favorite topic, Levi. You’ve been wrestling since you were what, a teen? Runaway from home, rough home life…etc. Etc. Right? Seems to be the common theme in wrestling: your life as you grew up was fucking terrible so let’s make sure everyone hates us for sure, right? What was interesting to me is that you tweeted at me like you thought I had a fuckin’ silver platter handed to me, but you know what…it is what it is. We’re talking about you. You’ve been a champion, but you can’t even remember any of your own championships at this rate. You were fired as the President at PWS: Apex – or were you only asked to step down, I can’t remember?
You talked at lengths about your home life as a kid, the whole Alaska thing, the whole desire to become something better than Satan and Satan’s Wife. I mean, I sat there and watched it and cringed through the whole thing, but the thing that struck me the most was that all that it sounds like is that you want fucking pity. Poor you, the whole life you had was terrible and godsawful, but look at you now. You’re relevant…ish. Why?
Because we made you that way. Or maybe even worse, your son made you that way. When he walked into Sin City Wrestling and was an instant star, you saw something in him that you would never be able to obtain. Talent. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is not something you can force yourself to gain. No matter how often you shove your figurative dick down the throats of the people, you can’t make anyone actually swallow your shit.
Instead of encouraging Jack to come back, you encouraged him to stay home and be daddy to his twins. He has the freedom to do that, and it’s nice…I suppose. Alanah really has the support of a great man. Instead, you decided to come back with your decrepit mind and try to wrestle your way to notoriety again. You want to be in the eyes of the people, you want to be loved, cherished, and you want to matter.
Levi, why in the fuck are you so soft?
I’m not impressed by you, I’m not impressed by your so-called ability to step back into the ring and try to make yourself relevant. Yeah, you defeated Helluva Bottom Carter last week, congrats. You did it by waving the gay pride flag and white-knighting for a cause so that the world would look at you and agree you’re kinda a swell guy. But you wrestled and won and all seems to be well for you. Every other match you’ve been in, you’ve failed like a miserable little wretch, and you can sit there and say you’re willing to be here, but we all know the truth: you’re chomping at your own bits to try and do exactly what everyone else says you can’t.
So good for the PWS Legend, Hall of Famer, eh?
Levi, you’re no longer at PWS. This is the message that everyone has tried to send, and one that I know Dickie stated this week. This is not your safe zone. This is not your place where people respect you because of who you are. Your name? As much as it meant something there, the only weight that it carries here is the weight of your accomplishments…which you clearly don’t remember and couldn’t even give anyone the decency of knowing. If you want to sit there and claim you’re the best, you need information to back it up. Clout, so to speak. Instead, you rattle off this, that and the other like it matters. It doesn’t unless you make it matter.
Most of the people here have never heard of PWS and you want to know one of the only reasons we do? There’s six of them.
Bella.
Aiden.
Dickie.
Sierra.
Lachlan.
Miles.
Funny. They’re all members of Wolfslair. Looks like they did the work for you. But you’re used to that, aren’t you? Pawning off shit onto others. Making sure they carry everything for you. You just want to come screaming in at the last second, making sure that everyone knows your name while everyone else gets to bask in your glory.
Let me tell you something. The crowd in Chicago is going to bask in the blood that is spilled from your skull as I beat you post to post and across this entire fuckin’ ring. You see, as every bit of egotistical I may be, you’re ten times that amount. And this? This is fucking deserved. Yeah, I’m sure you’re willing to bring whatever you think you’ve got, but you brought a knife to a gunfight and I’ve got an AR-15 with an unlimited clip locked and loaded.
I’m not going to “sell” you. I’m not going to say you’re this wonderful wrestler because you haven’t earned my respect and for all that matters, at the end of the day, I don’t give a shit about you. I’m not gonna Alex Jones you and allow you to thank me for a great match. I’m going to shut your bitchass up. You opened your mouth, you reap what you sow. Talk about how shitty I’ve been all you want, backpedal your ass and say all the things that you think you need to so you can wish-wash yourself with Tide Pods that you should’ve eaten – but you will never fucking question my integrity again. You will think before you open your fucking trap.
You will truly mean what it is to go hard, and why you’re so fucking soft.
You will be a fuckin’ blip in the rearview mirror, as is expected. But you knew this was coming, right? You’d do better to just lie in a fucking fetal position and give up. Because Levi…I have every opportunity to end your fucking career in that ring, and don’t think for a second that I won’t destroy you.
Good luck, Russow.
I’ve got a body bag with a tag on it just for you.
