Pressure Makes Diamonds

Las Vegas never really slept. Even in December, even during the holidays, the city buzzed with a low, constant hum, traffic rolling past at all hours, neon bleeding through curtains, the faint echo of music from somewhere too far away to pinpoint. It was a city built on excess and endurance, and right now, it felt like it was daring LJ to keep up.

The weeks after Bill Barnhart had tried to end him blurred together in a haze of medical lights, doctor’s voices, and hands that kept telling him to slow down. Neck stiffness that refused to fully let go, headaches that flared without warning, the bruises that bloomed and faded across his ribs like time-lapse reminders of how close it had come to being worse.

But the pain wasn’t the hardest part.

The stillness was.

Law school was done, for now. His finals were behind him for the first semester. His books stacked neatly instead of scattered across every surface of the apartment. There were no outlines to chase. No cold panic creeping in at two in the morning about missed footnotes or case law he hadn’t memorized yet.

It was just space....A little too much of it.

The first few days, LJ did what everyone asked of him. He slept more than he had in months. He stayed on the couch with Ally and Ashlynn, letting Ally fuss over him while pretending she wasn’t counting every breath he took, letting Ashlynn hover nearby under the guise of “just hanging out.”

Miles checked in constantly, sometimes by text, sometimes by stopping by. Sometimes just sitting there with him, neither of them talking, the TV playing something neither of them was actually watching.

“You don’t have to rush back,” Miles told him more than once, voice low, careful, "You’ve already proven enough.”

LJ never argued but that fire didn’t go out. It settled.

By the time the doctors cleared him for light training, LJ was already waking up before his alarm every morning, staring at the ceiling as neon from the Strip filtered faintly through the blinds. His body hummed with restless energy, muscles aching not from overuse, but from disuse.

He replayed the hit in his head more than he wanted to admit. The forearm across the neck. The sickening sound of his head bouncing off concrete. The moment where everything went blank.

It wasn’t fear but from frustration. He didn’t crave revenge as of yet, that would come soon enough. He craved agency.

The gym in Vegas smelled the same as it always did, rubber mats, chalk, sweat, but stepping through the doors again felt like reclaiming a piece of himself. LJ wrapped his wrists slowly, methodically, tape pulled tight with practiced hands with no rush or dramatics.

Across the room, Miles leaned against the ropes, arms folded, watching him like a hawk.

“Easy,” Miles said, "I mean it.”

LJ met his brother’s gaze. There was something steadier there now. There was no recklessness and no blind anger. But for sure there was a purpose.

“I am,” LJ said, "I’m just not stopping.”

They kept it controlled. Running the gambit of cardio, footwork, balance drills and ring positioning. The unglamorous work that rebuilt everything from the inside out. LJ listened to his body but he didn’t coddle it. Every twinge reminded him he was alive. Every drop of sweat felt like proof.

And with each passing day, the noise in his head sharpened into clarity. Barnhart had tried to make him small. Tried to remind him of his place. Tried to teach him a lesson about respect through violence.

All he’d really done was strip something away. The luxury of patience. The belief that things would come if LJ just waited long enough.

Waiting was finished.

He had Denver coming, in the last Climax Control of the year.

A three-way match: LJ Kasey vs. Liam Davis...of whom he had a score to settle with anyways and then there was Aiden Reynolds.

Two names that carried their own gravity. Both had already beaten him. But there was one who represented another step in a company that didn’t slow down for anyone, especially not for someone still labeled “new blood.”

And for the first time since the attack, LJ didn’t feel like he was chasing something.

He felt ready.

He stood in the apartment bathroom one morning, hoodie pulled over his head, staring at his reflection. There were still faint shadows under his eyes. A thin line of kinesiology tape at the base of his neck. Evidence of what he’d survived.

And that was good. He wasn’t walking into Denver as a victim. He wasn’t walking in desperation for anything. He was walking in prepared.

Miles clapped him on the shoulder as they headed out the door later that day, "You sure you’re good?”

LJ nodded once, solid, "Yeah,” he said, "I am.”

Outside, Vegas pulsed like it always did, loud, bright, relentless. Pressure had tried to break him this year. Instead, it had done what pressure always does to the right kind of person.

It had turned him into something harder.

And besides....Denver was waiting.

---------

Proof of Life

The Strip was dressed up in holiday lights anyway, palms wrapped in white strands, fake snow drifting in front of casinos that had never seen the real thing. Everything glittered a little too much, a little too loud, but LJ moved through it quietly, phone pressed to his ear as he stepped into a boutique just off the main drag.

“I’m telling you, Mum, I feel like I’m out of my depth,” he muttered, eyes drifting over glass cases and velvet stands, "And not in the ring.”

Rebecca’s voice came through warm and steady, "You’ve been out of your depth since you were five and tried to read my deposition notes. You’ll manage.”

He snorted softly, "That’s not reassuring.”

“You’re alive. That’s reassuring,” she replied, then softened, "Where are you right now?”

“Out shopping,” he admitted, lowering his voice as a sales associate passed, "For Ally. I didn’t mean for this to be damn near down to the zero hour but when ya have to get laid up after getting jumped like I did and then so busy with school...but...”

There was a pause, there was no judgment or surprise but just recognition, "Oh,” Rebecca said gently, "That kind of shopping.”

LJ stopped in front of a display, fingers hovering over a delicate necklace before pulling back, "She moved her entire life out here, along with her daughter and all of her routines. All of it and I just... I don’t want to screw this up. I feel like I’ve been dropping the ball lately with getting so caught up with the end of the semester and...I don’t know, I feel like I’m really screwing the pooch...”

“You won’t,” Rebecca said immediately.

“Mum...”

“LJ,” she cut in, firm but loving, "You are thoughtful to a fault. That’s why you’re standing in a store instead of grabbing something last minute online like your brother would’ve.” He smiled despite himself, "Don’t tell Miles I said that.”

“Oh, I will absolutely tell him and to his defense, when it comes to Carter especially, Miles is shopping in August for that man.”

LJ picked up a small box, turning it over in his hands, "I want it to mean something. Not flashy. Not ‘look what I bought.’ Just....something that says I see her and how much she means to me.”

Rebecca hummed softly, "You always did understand people better than you thought.”

He leaned against a display table, lowering his voice, "I just don’t know if I’m ready for the next step yet. And I don’t want her thinking this is me promising something I can’t give.”

There it was...the real fear. Rebecca didn’t rush him.

“Love, you don’t have to take every step at once,” she said calmly, "Commitment isn’t a sprint. It’s consistency and from what I can tell, you’ve been showing up every single day.”

He swallowed, "What if that’s not enough?”

“Then you keep showing up,” she replied, "And you talk to her....AND you don’t disappear when it gets hard. That was your father’s M.O. That’s the difference between intention and avoidance and you and him.”

LJ let that sit in his head. He moved on, eventually finding exactly what he was hoping to find in a quieter shop tucked away from the Strip. It was there he found something personal and thoughtful. The kind of gift that didn’t need an explanation because it came with attention baked into it.

When the cashier wrapped it, he stared at the box longer than necessary.

“Did you find it?” Rebecca asked.

“Yeah,” he said softly, "I think so.”

“I’m proud of you,” she added, voice gentler now, "Not just for the wrestling or the law school. For the man you’re becoming.”

The words landed heavier than any punch he’d taken recently.

“Thanks, Mum,” he said quietly.

Outside, he leaned against the railing overlooking the Strip, the gift tucked securely under his arm. The city buzzed below him, neon alive, relentless. Yeah Denver waited and that damn ring waited.

But right now, he was thinking about home and that felt like proof of life.

---------

Pressure Without Witness

The camera flicked on, static buzzing for a moment before LJ appeared, alone in a dimly lit gym. Sweat clung to his hair, and the faint lines of his bruises were still visible under the lights. He didn’t smile. He didn’t hype, he wasn’t that kind of guy at the moment.

The gym didn’t care who you were. That was the thing LJ liked most about it. The gym was quiet, save for the rhythmic thump of LJ’s footwork against the mat. He circled the ring, bouncing lightly on his toes, eyes scanning the canvas like it could tell him secrets. He stopped in the center, breathing steady, and stared at the camera, as though it could carry his words straight to Denver. He just looked at the lens, steady, intense, and deliberate.

“Climax Control,” he began, voice low, measured, "Three men. One match. No excuses. No shortcuts.”

“Aiden Reynolds,” he started, voice low but fierce, "The man who came within inches of holding the SCW Heavyweight Championship. A guy who’s pushed champions to the brink, who knows exactly how to take control and make you pay for every little mistake. I respect that. Hell, anyone who’s been in that position deserves respect. But... that doesn’t mean I’m intimidated. Not anymore. He’s going to come in calculated, precise, and expecting everyone else to play by his rules. I don’t play by anyone’s rules but my own. Not now. Not at Climax Control. I’ve wrestled guys who were supposed to be untouchable. I’ve faced men who think their experience makes them untouchable. And I’ve learned... it doesn’t. Not if you bring more than just strength, more than just strategy. You bring heart, and you bring fight. And I’ve got both in spades.”

He stepped toward the ropes, leaning over, hands gripping the top strand as if it were an extension of his own thoughts, "And Liam Davis... Yeah, Liam. There’s a debt there. From months ago, from that match where I left it all in the ring but walked away short, and not gonna lie...a tad bit humiliated. He doesn’t know how close I came to breaking that night. He doesn’t know how hard I swore I’d come back. Well, he’s about to find out. Last time we crossed paths, I came up short. I left a piece of myself out there that night, and I didn’t finish what I started. That sticks with you. It should. Because it keeps you honest. Keeps you hungry. I can’t let that debt go unpaid. Not now, not ever. So when we step into that ring, it’s going to be more than a match. It’s going to be a reckoning. For both of them, and for me.”

LJ straightened, jaw tight, letting his gaze sweep the empty gym, "This isn’t just another match. This isn’t just some three-way to tick off the end-of-year card. This is personal. Every second, every exchange, every strike, I owe it to myself to go harder than I’ve ever gone before. I owe it to the people who’ve believed in me, who’ve seen me hit the mat and keep getting up. And I owe it to Liam and Aiden to be ready, because they’re going to bring their best. But I will bring mine.”

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle, "I’ve been underestimated my whole career. Called the shadow, the underdog, the kid brother. That ends here. That ends at Climax Control. Because I’m not just fighting for a win... I’m fighting to prove that every person who ever thought I wasn’t ready was wrong. Every man in that ring, Aiden, Liam, they’re going to see exactly what I’m capable of. No shortcuts. No excuses. Just LJ Kasey, leaving it all in the ring.”

He straightened, the camera catching the fire in his gaze, "And me? I’ve got the kind of drive that doesn’t show on paper. Doesn’t get applauded in pre-shows. Doesn’t make headlines until the moment you’re forced to notice it. I’m not just another kid in the match. I’m LJ Kasey. I’ve been tested, I’ve been broken, I’ve been knocked down... and I’ve come back sharper every time.”

“I’ve spent my whole career being underestimated. They see the last name, they see the shadow of my brother, and they write me off before the bell even rings. That ends here. At Climax Control, it’s not about anyone else’s expectations. It’s about me. Every drop of sweat, every bruise, every punch I’ve taken... it all leads to this. I’m not just stepping out of a shadow. I’m carving my own path. I’m taking my shot, and I’m going to leave it all in that ring. Aiden, Liam... I hope you’re ready. Because I am.”

He leaned back against the ropes, taking a deep breath, letting the tension roll off his shoulders just enough to collect himself, "This is the end of the year, the last big moment, and I won’t waste it. Liam, Aiden... I’m coming for you and I won’t stop until it’s done.”

“And Bill...I hope you are watching every moment because I’m coming after you next.”

“Cross Examination”

The morning light slanted through the high windows of the Boyd School of Law, warm against the polished floors and echoing hallways. The scent of old coffee and legal pads hung in the air, the unmistakable perfume of ambition.

LJ Kasey sat three rows from the front in a lecture room filled with murmuring voices and clicking pens. His notebook was open, pages neat but lived-in, margins lined with scrawled reminders and half-finished case notes. The brace on his hand was gone, though the faint bruise around his knuckles remained, a fading testament to the last few weeks.

The professor was already pacing at the front, gesturing toward the whiteboard where “EVIDENCE – EXCEPTIONS TO HEARSAY” was written in tidy block letters. LJ’s pen tapped absently against his paper, his gaze unfocused for a moment before settling on the lecture.

“Now, intent matters,” Professor Roth was saying, "It’s not what someone says, but why they said it. Context defines credibility.”

LJ’s mouth tugged slightly at that. Context defines credibility. He thought of every promo he’d cut in the past month, every ounce of rage he’d translated into clarity, every fan or peer who thought the law student couldn’t hang with the chaos. Context mattered.

He jotted down a note, the words landing almost subconsciously: Everything is evidence if you know how to read it.

His phone buzzed beside his notebook, one quick vibration. He glanced down. A text from Miles:
“You up for training after classes? You got Aiden this week and you better not be caught slacking.”

He stared at the message for a moment before locking the phone again and sliding it face-down. His heart was steady, though. No jolt, no panic, just a quiet acknowledgment. The war with Logan wasn’t done but for now it was settled. Maybe it never would be but he has has to stay looking ahead because Logan was now in the rear view and ahead was his brother’s friend...former friend? ...that will have to be something he needs to ask Miles later.

“Mr. Kasey,” Professor Roth’s voice snapped him back to reality, "You’re up. Walk us through the difference between direct evidence and circumstantial.”

LJ straightened, collecting himself, "Direct evidence is when the proof speaks for itself, like an eyewitness or a confession,” he said smoothly, "Circumstantial is when you infer what happened based on the situation, like blood on a shirt, or...,” he hesitated, a faint smirk pulling at his lips, “or a pattern of behavior that tells you someone’s about to snap.”

A few students laughed quietly. Roth didn’t. He only arched an eyebrow, "Colorful example, Mr. Kasey. I’ll assume that’s from your... extracurricular experience.”

LJ just smiled faintly and nodded, "Something like that.”

The rest of the lecture went by in focused silence. When it ended, LJ gathered his books into his bag with practiced efficiency. As he made his way through the hall, a few classmates passed him by, nods of acknowledgement, the quiet respect given to someone juggling two impossible lives.

Outside, the Las Vegas sun was already beating down on the pavement. He paused by the courtyard fountain, the hum of conversation and water blending together, and exhaled slowly.

Law school gave him order. The ring gave him chaos. Somewhere in between, he was learning to breathe.

Later Back at the Apartment

The sound of laughter met him before the door even opened.

Inside, Ally was sitting cross-legged on the couch, phone in hand, a takeout box beside her. Ashlynn sat across from her at the coffee table, books spread out, a mix of her advanced class notes and a laptop filled with playlists.

“You’re late,” Ally said without looking up, a teasing lilt in her voice, "I was about to send Ashlynn to go drag you out of a courtroom.”

“Evidence lecture,” LJ replied, dropping his bag by the door, "Professor Roth was on a warpath today. I think he enjoys watching first-years sweat.”

Ashlynn grinned, looking up, "You sure it’s not because you always sound like you’re cross-examining him every time you answer a question?”

He shot her a look, "Maybe. But at least I’m polite about it.”

“You’re a Kasey,” Ally chimed in, smirking, "Polite’s not exactly the family brand.”

He chuckled, moving to the kitchen counter, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, "Fair point.”

Ashlynn turned in her seat, studying him for a moment, "So, how’s the hand?”

He flexed it, faint bruises, but the swelling was gone, "Better. Still stiff, but nothing I can’t handle.”

There was a beat, the kind of moment that carried unspoken weight. They all knew what “handle” meant in his world.

Ally finally put down her phone, her tone softening, "You saw the card?”

“Yeah,” LJ said, "Miles texted me.”

“And?”

He leaned back against the counter, taking a sip of water before answering, "He wants to go training tonight but I messaged him that it can wait til the morning. I got Aiden in the Semi’s”

“Feels dangerous,” she countered quietly.

He didn’t argue. Instead, he met her eyes, calm but unflinching, "Everything worth doing usually is.”

Ashlynn gave a half-smile, "That’s one way to look at it. I saw what you said in your promo, though. ‘Done waiting.’ People online are eating that up.”

“Good,” he said, tone sharpening just slightly, "It’s the truth.”

He crossed to the couch, setting his water down beside Ally. The air between them softened as he sat, still carrying that quiet energy that never left him after a fight.

“Aiden is damn good,” LJ said, voice lower now, "He went toe to toe with Carter and came damn close to winning that title. But it’s time, it’s not about respect. It’s not about revenge. I wanna show a lot of people that I’m more than the lil Kasey brother and potentially World Championship material.”

Ally reached out, resting her hand over his, "Then do it. But promise me you’ll come back in one piece.”

He smiled, small, genuine, a flash of the kid she’d fallen for under all the scars, "I’ll do you one better,” he said, "I’ll come back better than I left.”

Ashlynn rolled her eyes playfully, "You two are disgustingly cute. I’m going to my room before this turns into a rom-com.”

“Then go study, ya brat” LJ called after her, laughing.

When the door clicked shut, Ally leaned in and pressed her forehead against his, "You’re doing great, you know that, right?”

He didn’t answer right away. He just closed his eyes for a moment, letting the calm settle.

“Trying,” he said finally, "One case at a time. One match at a time. One breath at a time.”

Later That Night

The apartment had gone quiet hours ago. The glow of the TV cast faint blue light across the room, the credits of some half-watched show rolling in the background. Ally had fallen asleep curled up at the far end of the couch, one hand resting where his knee had been. Her breathing was even, peaceful, the kind of calm LJ never quite found for himself.

He sat at the small desk across from her, law book open but unread. His pen hovered over a margin already filled with legal citations, and between them he’d scribbled something that had nothing to do with evidence or precedent:

Aiden Reynolds - momentum, experience, ring control. Counter with pressure. Stay patient. Don’t chase. Make him come to you.

His world was split in two columns: law and war. Order and chaos.

He leaned back, rubbing a hand over his face. Every match now carried more weight. Every step forward in the tournament felt like validation, not just for him, but for the people who’d bet on him, the ones who’d stood beside him when he was just “Miles’ little brother.”

“Potentially world championship material.” He’d said it half-joking earlier, but he meant it. He could feel it.

He glanced at Ally again, her hair spilling over the pillow, and something inside him steadied.

One case at a time. One match at a time. One breath at a time.

He reached over and turned off the lamp. The city lights filtered through the blinds in thin gold lines, striping across the walls like silent reminders that Las Vegas never slept, but tonight, he would try.

Because come the weekend, there’d be no rest.

Only the fight.

-----

“Brother’s Briefing”

The afternoon sun had dipped low enough to paint the Vegas skyline in burnt orange and gold, and the Wolfslair training facility was half-empty for once, the low thud of gloves on pads echoing faintly in the background. LJ Kasey leaned against the ring apron, towel draped around his shoulders, his water bottle already half-empty. Across from him, his brother Miles was unwrapping his own wrist tape, still sharp even in downtime.

LJ broke the silence first, "You ever notice how every time I’m in one of these big tournament things, they start talkin’ like I’m just here for the vibes?” he said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, "‘Heart,’ ‘charisma,’ ‘potential’ like I’m a God damn commercial break between the real matches.”

Miles chuckled under his breath, "Yeah, that’s the kind of talk you get before you win something big. After that, they call it ‘tenacity’ and ‘championship mindset.’” He tossed the tape aside, "You just haven’t given them their headline yet.”

LJ nodded, but the expression in his eyes was more storm than confidence, "This one’s different, though. Aiden’s not some loudmouth or rookie who thinks Twitter’s a personality. He’s good, real good. He’s got that balance...skill, timing, instinct. I’ve seen what he did with Carter. Man pushed him to the brink. So yeah, I want the headline. But I’m not gonna fake that it’s not a mountain.”

Miles leaned against the ropes, crossing his arms, "Then start by remembering who taught the guy who taught you how to climb.”

LJ looked up, a brow raised, "You?”

“Damn right.” Miles grinned, "And you don’t beat Aiden Reynolds by trying to outdo him. You beat him by making him uncomfortable. Aiden’s all about rhythm, once he finds it, he flows. You have to disrupt that. You can’t let him think, can’t let him breathe. You throw him off tempo, he starts questioning his reads, and that’s when you take over.”

LJ frowned slightly, thoughtful, "Disrupt the rhythm. Okay. But easier said than done when he’s got that ring IQ. I’ve watched the tapes, he adjusts fast.”

“Yeah,” Miles replied, nodding, “But he adjusts reactively. You, on the other hand, you’ve got that unpredictability, that instinct to flip a switch mid-match. You just don’t trust it yet.” He tilted his head slightly, studying his brother, "You still play it too safe sometimes. Like you’re afraid if you go too far, you’ll lose control.”

LJ met his gaze, "You mean like last time, when losing control got my girlfriend put on a bounty list?”

Miles’ smirk faltered, "Yeah,” he said quietly, “that was bad. But I’m not talking about recklessness. I’m talking about deliberate chaos. You got this thing, LJ, that spark that can flip a match upside down when you let it. Aiden? He’s order and precision. You? You’re jazz. Unpredictable, raw, and loud when it counts.”

LJ laughed, "Jazz? Seriously?”

Miles shrugged, unbothered, "Hey, it’s Vegas. Fits the vibe.”

For a moment, both brothers just stood there in silence, the hum of the gym filling the space. Then LJ said quietly, “You think I can do it?”

Miles didn’t answer right away. He walked over, grabbed LJ’s towel off his shoulders, and tossed it back at him, "I know you can. But that’s not what matters.” His tone softened, that rare Miles Kasey brand of sincerity slipping through, "What matters is you knowing it. You can’t come in there thinking ‘maybe.’ You walk into that ring like it’s already your final, because the second you hesitate, he’ll sense it, and you’re done.”

LJ nodded slowly, letting the words settle, "So... disrupt the rhythm. Stay unpredictable. Believe I belong there.”

Miles cracked a grin, "Exactly. And if that fails, just punch him in the face harder than he expects.”

LJ snorted, shaking his head, "Classic Miles strategy.”

“Hey, never said I was subtle.” Miles smirked, "You’re the lawyer. I’m just the brawler with good looks and bad timing.”

LJ chuckled, then his tone shifted just slightly, quieter now, "You ever think about what’s next for you, though? Like... you’ve been where I’m trying to get. You ever miss it? The grind, the chase?”

Miles hesitated for a beat before answering, "At the moment? No, because I’m the SCW Internet Champion with a potential opponent on the horizon, whoever that may be that finds his balls and steps up. But I got my run at that shot, LJ. You’re on yours now. And I’m not gonna let you waste it worrying about me or Carter or what anyone else thinks you can’t do. You go out there and own that ring, little brother. Make them talk about you for the right reasons.”

LJ took a breath, nodded once, "Alright. No hesitation.”

Miles clapped him on the shoulder, "Good. Now go get some rest before you start quoting legal precedent at your opponent.”

LJ smirked, already turning for the exit, "Can’t make promises. Hearsay might actually make a good finisher name.”

Miles called after him, laughing, “You’re an idiot!”

LJ shot back without missing a beat, “Yeah, but I’m your idiot!”

The door swung shut behind him, the sound of Miles’ laughter echoing faintly through the gym.

For the first time in weeks, LJ didn’t feel like the underdog. He felt ready to win.

----

“Disrupt the Rhythm”

The only sound in the apartment was the low hum of the city outside... the heartbeat of Las Vegas bleeding through the open window. The glow from a desk lamp painted long shadows across stacks of law books, loose pages, and the silver reflection of the SCW logo glinting from a duffel bag tossed haphazardly on the floor.

LJ sat at his desk, elbows resting on the edge, hands clasped loosely. The faint bruising around his jaw was still visible under the warm light, but his expression was calm, measured. The kind of calm that usually came before a storm.

The red light on the camera blinked.

“You ever notice how people love to talk about momentum when it’s not theirs?”

His voice was low, smooth... not the performative energy of a promo stage, but the steady conviction of a man making his case.

“They’ll hype you up, call you the next big thing… right until someone like me walks into frame. Then suddenly, it’s not about momentum... it’s about contrast. Charisma versus focus. Heart versus precision. Chaos versus control.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes.

“And for weeks, I’ve heard them say it... that Aiden Reynolds is the storm that’s going to test me. But the truth is, I’ve been living in storms my whole damn life.”

He leaned back, shoulders relaxing, that calm certainty never slipping. Behind him, one of his textbooks lay open... a half-written note in the margin that read ‘context defines credibility.’ It felt fitting.

“They call me charismatic. Hungry. The kid with potential. But what they never call me is dangerous.”

The word dangerous rolled off his tongue like a verdict.

“See, you’ve got your accolades, Aiden. You went to war with Carter. You came close. You earned your flowers. But somewhere along the line, people started thinking that because I smile, because I talk, because I bring something different... I can’t bring pain. They think charisma can’t cut.”

He shook his head, almost laughing under his breath.

“Chaos isn’t the absence of control. It’s the ability to weaponize it.”

LJ shifted forward again, resting his forearms on the desk, his tone tightening with quiet fire.

“You’re order, Aiden. You’re clean. You’re measured. You’ve got that Wolfslair polish. That’s your edge... until it isn’t. Because order has rules and I don’t really play by them.”

The lamp flickered once, faintly, as if the words themselves carried a pulse.

“When that bell rings at Climax Control, I’m not walking in there to match your rhythm. I’m walking in there to break it. You adapt on a dime? Fine. You counter? Good. But I’ll keep coming until there’s nothing left for you to adapt to. Until you’re drowning in the same chaos you thought you could control.”

He let that hang in the air, the faint city hum filling the silence. His eyes flicked to the side for a moment... a brief glance at a photo on the wall: him and Miles, grinning after a match months ago. He inhaled through his nose, grounding himself.

“I’ve watched people skip the line, take opportunities I earned. I’ve been told to wait my turn more times than I can count. But patience? It’s not a weakness. It’s a weapon. And I’ve had enough waiting to make it deadly.”

He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling slowly before continuing.

“You’ve already had your shot, Aiden. You’ve danced with the champion. You’ve had your ‘almost.’ Me? I’m done with almost. I’m done watching from the sidelines while the safe picks get the spotlight. I’m not the brother trying to catch up. I’m not the rookie anymore. I’m the one rewriting the rules.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up again... that familiar grin, dangerous now.

“I’m a law student by day, sure. But in that ring? I'm the judge, jury, and the one rewriting the verdict.”

He pushed up from the chair, walking toward the camera until his face filled the frame... not angry, not loud, just absolute.

“So bring your precision, Aiden. Bring your composure. Bring every ounce of Wolfslair pride you’ve got. Because I’m bringing chaos, charisma, and conviction. And when it’s over... when you’re staring up at those lights wondering what the hell just happened... you’ll finally understand something.”

A pause. A breath.

“You don’t control chaos. You survive it.”

The grin returned, sharper this time, cutting through the intensity like a blade.

“And me? I don’t just survive. I win.”

He reached forward and switched off the camera.

The room fell into silence again... just the hum of Vegas and the soft scratch of pen against paper as LJ turned back to his notebook, writing a single line before the scene faded out:

“Every fight tells a story. This one’s mine.”

Turnberry Towers
Las Vegas

The elevator chimed softly as LJ stepped out, carrying a bottle of wine in one hand, Ally beside him, and Ashlynn trailing just behind with her phone tucked into her back pocket. The hall smelled faintly of lemon polish and expensive carpeting, and LJ adjusted his shirt collar, muttering under his breath.

“Every time I come here, I feel underdressed.”

Ally shot him a look, amused as she reached for the doorbell, “You’re in a button-up and slacks. You’re fine. Stop fussing.”

“It’s Miles and Carter’s place. I feel like everytime I come in here, security should be trailing me.”

Before Ally could tease him further, the door swung open. Miles leaned against the frame with that signature grin, barefoot, jeans and a t-shirt on, as casual as ever.

“About time, baby brother,” Miles said, pulling LJ into a quick hug before leaning around him to greet Ally with a cheek kiss and Ashlynn with a grin and a quick hug, “C’mon in, Carter’s finishing up in the kitchen, and don’t worry he didn’t attempt to cook tonight. And...fair warning, Ms. Thang is in a mood.”

As if summoned, the sleek tuxedo cat slinked into view, tail flicking. Her green eyes locked on LJ like he had personally insulted her ancestors.

“Oh, bloody hell,” LJ muttered, "Here we go.”

Ms. Thang trotted straight over, sniffed his shoe, and swatted his ankle with a disdainful paw before trotting off like she owned the whole tower.

Ally stifled a laugh, "I think she likes you.”

“That’s liking me?” LJ scoffed, rubbing his ankle, "I don’t want to know what hating me looks like.”

The apartment smelled incredible, something roasted, garlic-heavy, with one of Carter’s favorite restaurants’ signature flair. LJ followed Miles inside, setting the wine on the counter. From the living room, the sound of a video game bled faintly into the air.

That’s where Kevin was, curled up in an armchair, controller in hand, focus locked on the screen. He looked healthier now, fuller, a bit of color in his cheeks compared to the frail, haunted boy LJ remembered in that hospital bed. When he noticed them, Kevin quickly paused the game, sitting straighter. His eyes darted toward Ashlynn for a second, just long enough to betray his nerves, before settling on LJ, "Hey, Kev. How are ya, mate?”

“Hey,” Kevin muttered, "Uh, look, before dinner, I just wanted to say something.”

The room went a little quieter, Ally gently nudging Ashlynn toward the kitchen to give them space. Miles lingered, but didn’t speak, just folding his arms across his chest and watching carefully.

Kevin shifted, rubbing the back of his neck, "Last time I saw you, I was kind of a jerk. Okay, I was a total jerk. I didn’t trust anybody, and you didn’t deserve that. So, I’m sorry.”

LJ studied him for a moment, the weight of sincerity clear in the boy’s voice. Slowly, a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“You were a jerk,” LJ said flatly. Then his grin widened, "But trust me, if I were in your shoes, I’d probably have told myself to bugger off too. So the apology is accepted. Fresh start, yeah?”

Kevin blinked, then gave a small, tentative smile, "Yeah. Fresh start.”

Miles clapped a hand on Kevin’s shoulder, squeezing lightly, before shooting LJ a look that said good job.

Just then, Ms. Thang returned, leaping gracefully into Kevin’s lap and curling into a perfect ball, purring like a motor. LJ threw his hands up.

“Oh, of course. Of course the bloody cat likes you.”

Kevin smirked, stroking her fur, "She’s got good taste.”

The dining table was set simply but elegantly, Carter’s restaurant spread dominating the middle with steaming platters of roasted chicken, garlic potatoes, and roasted vegetables. Crystal glasses caught the light from the chandelier overhead, the whole thing looking far too classy for LJ’s comfort. He pulled out a chair for Ally before sitting himself, already eyeing the potatoes like he hadn’t eaten in weeks.

“Alright,” Miles said, pouring wine into Carter’s glass and then his own, “Let’s all pretend this isn’t a family dinner that’s about to devolve into sarcasm and chaos.”

LJ smirked, stabbing a potato with his fork, "That’s optimistic, even for you.”

Across from him, Kevin sat with Ms. Thang perched regally on his lap, as if she’d been invited to dinner too. She purred loudly every time his hand moved, tail swishing like she was queen of the table. LJ swore she shot him a look every so often, daring him to object.

“Can someone explain why the cat has better table manners than LJ?” Carter quipped, arching a brow as he passed the chicken platter.

“Oi, I’ll have you know my table manners are impeccable.” LJ gestured with his fork, mid-chew, crumbs threatening to betray him.

Miles nearly choked on his wine, "Impeccable, he says. You’re stabbing your spuds like they personally insulted you.”

Ally reached over and gently nudged LJ’s arm down, "Chew first. Talk later. Then you can claim impeccable manners.”

Ashlynn, seated beside Kevin, snorted into her glass of water. That small, involuntary laugh seemed to break something open for Kevin, who glanced at her sideways.

“So,” Kevin started cautiously, picking at his plate, “You’re going to school here in Vegas?”

“Yeah,” Ashlynn said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, "Junior year. Just transferred in with the move from Texas.” She tilted her head, studying him, "You’re sixteen, right?”

“Yeah,” Kevin said, shifting uncomfortably but not pulling away from the conversation, "Sophomore, because of everything that happened. Different school though. Mine’s well...public and a bit smaller.” He hesitated, then added, “Probably a good thing.”

Ashlynn gave him a crooked grin, "Smaller schools mean less drama. You’re lucky.”

“Don’t let her fool you,” Ally cut in warmly, sipping her wine, "She thrives on the drama.”

“Mom!” Ashlynn groaned, rolling her eyes.

The table laughed, even Kevin, who ducked his head but smiled for real this time. LJ caught it, and for once didn’t say anything, just filed it away with a small nod of approval.

“Anyway,” Miles said, leaning back in his chair, “We’ll have to compare notes. I survived high school by being the ones with quick comebacks and even quicker legs. Knowing Carter, I’m sure there were plenty of times that his mouth got him in trouble.”

“That’s not true,” Carter countered smoothly, “I mean, it sort of was but I knew when and where.”

LJ lifted his glass in mock salute, "And thus a legend was born.”

“More like an ego,” Miles muttered, earning himself a sharp jab in the ribs from Carter.

Meanwhile, Ms. Thang had stretched luxuriously across Kevin’s lap, then hopped onto the table as if it were her rightful throne. She padded right across to LJ’s plate, sniffed at his chicken, and promptly sat down square in front of him, tail flicking against his glass.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” LJ groaned, leaning back in his chair, "She does this on purpose. She’s trying to ruin me.”

Kevin chuckled, reaching to scoop her up and to LJ’s shock, Ms. Thang actually allowed it, curling into his arms without a fuss.

“She just doesn’t like you,” Kevin said, stroking her fur, "Have you ever thought that maybe it’s because you have a slight scent to you that smells like catnip and she thinks you are holding out on her?”

The whole table burst out laughing, LJ raised his hands in mock surrender, "Wait...for real?”

The boy smirked faintly, the kind of smile that hinted he was finally, slowly, settling into this new world.

Carter cringes ever so slightly, “Well there goes that.”

Miles smirked, “It was only a matter of time, love.”

“Wait!” LJ looked over at his brother and Carter, “YOU KNEW THIS WHOLE TIME?!?!”

-----

Movie Night

This was one of those rare nights when LJ and Ally had the time to just relax and not stress out about work, or school. Ash was also finished with all her work for the week and was just putting the finishing touches on her essay when Alexandra leaned on the door frame.

“Hey Ash, are you almost done there?” She spoke softly.

“Just about. Another few sentences and it will be finished. Why?” Ash looked up at her mom.

“Well there's popcorn and we were about to watch Marvel Thunderbolts if you want to join us.” She thumbed over her shoulder, "I mean unless you were planning on calling over to talk to Kevin.”

“No. I think he’s busy with his dads tonight,” Ash finishes off the essay and shrugs.


“Then come on out and join us when you are ready,” she smirks and walks back out to the living room, "Ash will be in shortly. She seems kind of quiet tonight. Maybe it’s just the stress of school.”

Alexandra sat down next to LJ and snuggled in. On the table in front of them were snacks and drinks to enjoy while they watched a film, like a family. One of the first in the new home. Alexandra was just about to say something more when Ashlynn flopped onto the chair and took a bag of popcorn off the table.

“Let’s do this, Movie night!” She chimed in happily.

“Alright.” Alexandra looks over at LJ and nods.

The opening credits lit up the screen, casting a soft glow across the living room. LJ stretched out on the couch, one arm slung over Alexandra’s shoulders as she curled in close. The smell of buttered popcorn filled the room, mingling with the faint citrus scent of Ally’s shampoo.

Ashlynn had claimed the oversized armchair, legs tucked underneath her, a bowl of popcorn balanced on her lap like a shield. She was already sneaking handfuls before the movie even got through the studio logos.

“You’re going to eat it all before the first fight scene,” LJ teased, tossing a piece of his own popcorn at her.

Ashlynn caught it midair with a dramatic snap of her mouth, chewing smugly, "Please. Rookie mistake. I’ve got the whole bowl strategy mapped out. Pacing is everything.”

Alexandra chuckled, shaking her head, "Only you would turn popcorn into a science.”

“Hey, survival of the fittest,” Ash shot back, grinning.

Halfway through, Ashlynn groaned dramatically when a favorite character took a hit, "If they kill him off, I swear, I’m rioting.”

“Rioting where?” LJ asked, smirking, "Here? In my living room?”

“With the popcorn,” Ashlynn declared, waving her half-empty bowl like a weapon.

“Not the popcorn!” Alexandra gasped in mock horror, "That’s sacred.”

LJ laughed, the sound low and warm, before leaning over to kiss the top of Ally’s head. Ashlynn pretended to gag loudly at the display, throwing a piece of popcorn at them. Alexandra just stuck her tongue out, and LJ, never missing a beat, threw it right back at Ashlynn, sparking a miniature popcorn war until the three of them were laughing so hard they had to pause the movie.

By the time the credits rolled across the screen, the popcorn was mostly gone and Ashlynn had surrendered to sleep. She was curled sideways in the armchair, her head nestled against the armrest, an empty bowl sliding dangerously close to her lap. Alexandra smiled, rising gently to pull a throw blanket over her daughter.

“She’s out cold,” Ally whispered, returning to the couch and tucking herself back against LJ’s side.

“Movie nights are brutal, apparently,” LJ murmured, his eyes soft on Ash before turning back to Ally. He kissed the top of her hair, lingering there, but when he leaned back again, his face had shifted. Serious.

Ally noticed immediately, "What’s on your mind?”

“My match,” LJ said, almost before she finished asking, "Climax Control. It’s just me this time. After what we did in Miami, I thought… I don’t know. Maybe they’d keep us together a little longer. Let us build on it. Instead, it’s back to me on my own.” He let out a quiet sigh, rubbing the back of his neck, "And of course, it’s against Vincent Lyons Jr. Non-title. Which is bollocks, if you ask me.”

Ally turned toward him, searching his face, "You sound more annoyed than usual.”

“Because I am,” LJ admitted, "I’ve been patient and I’ve waited. I’ve shown up, I’ve fought, I’ve bled, and I’ve put my name on the map. But what do I get? A non-title match against the guy holding the very belt I should have had a chance at months ago.” His jaw tightened, the frustration bubbling up now that he finally allowed it, "And beating him? It’s not a walk in the park. Lyons....he’s really fucking good and absolutely mad. And even if I do beat him, what does it prove? That I can? I need more than ‘can.’ I need ‘do’. I need it official. I need the shot.”

Ally laid her hand gently over his, grounding him, "So show them, babe. Show Lyons. Show them all. Title match or not, you walk into that ring and make it undeniable. If it’s uphill, then climb it. Make it so high they can’t ignore you standing at the top.”

Her words hit him harder than he expected, soft but sharp in the way only she could manage. He looked at her for a long moment, his features softening as her steady gaze held his. Then, slowly, he let out a breath and nodded.

“You know,” he said finally, his lips quirking into a wry smile, “You’re bloody good at this pep talk business, you know this right?”

“Well it’s not the only thing I’m good at. But it’s because I believe in you,” she replied simply, brushing her thumb over his knuckles.

For the first time since the movie ended, LJ’s chest eased. He pulled her closer, kissing her temple, his voice quiet but certain, "Then I’ll make sure they start believing too.”

----

Surgical Precision

The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the city bleeding through the blinds. LJ stood in the middle of his living room, still in the clothes he’d worn all day, sleeves rolled up, jaw tight. His voice cut through the silence, sharp and unflinching.

“You know what really grinds me down about this whole thing? It’s been over a year since I walked through those SCW doors. Over a year since I’ve busted my arse proving I belong here. And what have I gotten in return? The same old song and dance, ‘Be patient, Kasey. Your time will come. Just wait your turn.’”

He laughed, dry and humorless, shaking his head.

“I’ve watched idiots, absolute clowns, manage the impossible. I’ve seen people stumble their way into opportunities, trip over the ropes, and still walk out with gold around their waist. And me? I’m told to sit tight. To clap politely from the sidelines while others get handed what I’ve been grinding for. Well, I’m done waiting, lads.”

His eyes narrowed, focus sharpening like a blade.

“Vincent Lyons Jr., Roulette Champion. Big, flashy name. Holds the belt, walks the walk, talks the talk. But you know what? That belt isn’t on the line when you face me. Convenient, innit? A nice little safety net. Because if it was, you and everyone else would be biting their nails wondering if this was the night it slipped right out of your hands. And don’t fool yourself, if I beat you...and I will, that’s exactly what it’s going to feel like. Because I’m not walking into this match to ‘make an impression.’ I’m walking in to make an example out of you.”

He leaned forward, voice low, deliberate, venom threaded through every syllable.

“You’ve gotten comfortable, Lyons. You’ve been sitting pretty with that belt, thinking it makes you untouchable. But comfort is a weakness. Comfort is when the wolves start circling and I am that wolf. You cannot rest on your laurels and overlook what’s standing dead in front of you, and that’s me. Lyle Kasey Jr. Not Miles’ little brother. Not Carter’s brother-in-law. Me. The man who’s been told to wait his turn long enough, and who’s decided his turn is now.”

His lips curled into a dangerous grin.

“So they said it’s a non-title match? Fine, that’s absolutely just fine. But when I pin you to that mat, when I leave you staring at the lights, the whole bloody world is going to know exactly what should have happened all along. And that’s me walking into Violent Conduct not asking for a shot—but demanding it. You’re not just fighting to keep your momentum, Vincent. You’re fighting to keep your head above water, because I’m coming to drag you under.”

He straightened, exhaling through his nose, steady but burning.

“You know the line they keep feeding you?” he said, voice soft but precise, "‘Vincent brings a violent, unstable edge; LJ brings charisma.’ They say it like it’s a fact carved into the ring apron. Like that two-word epitaph defines me while the other guy gets to play monster.”

He let the words hang, then smiled, not warm, but flat, dangerous.

“Let me tell you the truth. The label ‘unstable’ is the easiest thing to sell. It’s loud and it’s terrifying to some. It’s what gets people to sit up and watch, but loud doesn’t mean lethal. Unstable doesn’t mean unbreakable. It means a story people are comfortable telling because it’s simple.”

He stepped closer to the camera, intensity coiling in his posture.

“Vincent’s brand is chaos. He wears it like armor. And when people wear their armor like a costume, they forget how to actually fight smart. They forget that there’s technique to cruelty, elegance to brutality. They mistake loud for effective. They mistake noise for power.”

LJ’s voice became colder, almost surgical.

“My chaos is different. I don’t shout; I calculate. I find the seam and I press, and I don’t stop pressing until whatever’s holding you together unthreads. There’s a difference between breaking a man by accident and taking the time to dismantle him, bone by bone, reputation by reputation, until there’s nothing left but the sound of the bell and your name fading on someone else’s lips.”

His eyes locked to the lens, unblinking.

“So keep calling him violent. Call him unstable. Put that fear in people’s mouths. It doesn’t make him dangerous. It makes him predictable and predictable is a luxury I will not afford him.”

He walked through the room as if walking a scalpel over a map.

“When the bell rings, I will be a surgeon. I will make the same crowd that cheers his theatrics watch him flinch at deliberate things, small, sharp, unavoidable. A planted knee where his balance used to be. A counter he’s learned to expect but not how to answer. I’ll take his swagger and turn it into a liability. I will make him understand the difference between chaos that is a costume and chaos that is craftsmanship.”

LJ’s jaw set. No flourish. No flourish left, only intention.

“You think charisma is harmless? It’s adorable that you would. But watch how poisonous it becomes when it’s coupled with purpose. Watch how pretty speeches sound when they’re followed by precise damage.”

He stepped close enough that the camera filled with his face, the finality folding into the silence.

“Vincent Lyons, you’re not the first man who’s relied on a label to hide the rust beneath, and you won’t be the last to be unmade by someone who understands how to be ruthless and correct about it. I’m not coming to out-charisma you. I’m coming to take you apart, piece by piece, until your so-called edge is nothing more than a dull thing on the mat.”

He let that land, then finished, voice low and inexorable.

“And when I pin you? When your chest hits the canvas and the ref’s hand slaps down? That’s the sound of the story changing. That’s the sound of me stepping out of the background and into everything that matters. You will remember that sound for the rest of your life. Because when it’s over, and you realize you underestimated me, it won’t just be a loss on your record. It’ll be the start of my rise. And the beginning of your fall.”

PROVE YOUR WORTH
UNLV, WILLIAM S. BOYD SCHOOL OF LAW

The campus was waking up under a pale Nevada sun, the city humming softly in the background. LJ Kasey’s boots clicked across the polished concrete hallway of the Boyd Law building, backpack slung over one shoulder, the weight of textbooks pressing down like a reminder that this was real now. No ring. No crowd. No adrenaline-soaked chaos. Just him and the law.

It had been two weeks since classes started, and already LJ could feel the shift in himself. Wrestling had taught him patience, strategy, timing—but this? This demanded precision in a different way. Words mattered more than strikes, logic over brute force, every syllable an opportunity to cut clean through the noise.

He stepped into Roth Lecture Hall, familiar by now, the hum of overhead lights mixing with the soft shuffle of students setting up laptops and folding notes. The smell of coffee, paper, and ambition was tangible. He nodded to a few classmates who recognized him from orientation, but LJ kept to the back corner, as he always did, watching before diving in.

Professor Roth was already speaking, pacing near the front like a conductor orchestrating a symphony of ideas.

“Case law doesn’t exist to tell us what to do,” Roth was saying, "It exists to make us ask the right questions. Every ruling, every precedent, is a conversation. You either contribute or you fade into silence.”

LJ leaned forward, pen in hand, absorbing every word. He had written a thousand words in his wrestling journals about strategy, opponents, and mistakes. Now he translated that focus into arguments, analogies, and counterpoints.

When Roth paused and asked, “Mr. Kasey, your take on the limits of statutory interpretation in United States v. Lopez?” LJ didn’t hesitate.

“Professor, the Court’s reasoning illustrates the tension between federal authority and individual liberty. The decision wasn’t just about a high school gun case, it was about how far Congress can reach into areas traditionally managed by the states. If we don’t interrogate the boundaries of that authority, we risk allowing legality to masquerade as morality. The law becomes a blunt instrument, not a measured one.”

A quiet stir moved through the room. Roth’s eyes narrowed, studying LJ like a scout reading a play.

“Excellent,” he said, voice low but deliberate, "Concise. Thoughtful. You didn’t just recite precedent; you connected principle to practice. That’s rare in a first-year student.”

LJ sat back, heart pounding just slightly, not from nerves, but from the rush of recognition. This wasn’t applause from a crowd. It wasn’t validation from a promoter. This was acknowledgment from someone who saw potential and sharpened it with focus.

Two weeks in, and LJ Kasey could feel the rhythm of law school settling in like a second heartbeat. Every case read, every argument formed, was another step in building something beyond wrestling. Something permanent. Something that didn’t require him to prove himself against another man in a ring to earn respect.

And for the first time in months, maybe even years, LJ allowed himself a small, private smile. He was exactly where he was supposed to be.

The classroom buzzed faintly as students argued quietly in clusters, notebooks open, laptops glowing. LJ Kasey sat in his usual back-row corner, posture relaxed but alert, absorbing the chatter. Two weeks in, he had observed patterns: who spoke to dominate, who spoke to impress, and who spoke without knowing what they were saying.

Professor Roth clapped his hands once.

“Alright, let’s debate statutory limits under the Commerce Clause. Mr. Hayes, why don’t you start?”

A tall, cocky student from the front row stood, voice dripping with assumed superiority, "Well, clearly, some of these foreign students are still learning our system. So maybe if they try to follow, we can explain it slowly.”

A few classmates chuckled nervously. LJ’s jaw tightened. LJ just let out a calm breath before muttering, “Oh, this should be fun.”

Professor Roth glances towards LJ, “Mr. Kasey, your response?”

LJ leaned forward, voice smooth and controlled, each word measured, "Professor, respectfully, the assumption that nationality or accent dictates understanding of law is not just inaccurate, it’s intellectually lazy. To interpret the Commerce Clause, one doesn’t require birthplace, but the ability to analyze precedent and the Constitution’s intent. Let’s take Gonzales v. Raich, for example. Hayes’ point implies a limitation on federal reach only because he presumes foreign students cannot synthesize these arguments independently. That’s...incorrect.”

Hayes’ smirk faltered, "Well, sure, but...”

LJ cutting him off, voice sharpening continues, “But nothing. The Court consistently balances federal authority with personal liberties, weighing economic impact against states’ rights. The idea that one’s nationality could impair their capacity to parse this is not just a straw man -- it’s a straw man dressed in arrogance and dressing arrogance in condescension does not make it argumentation. It makes it rhetoric. Ineffective rhetoric.”

A few heads turned, eyebrows raised. Even the professor leaned slightly forward, impressed by the precision.

“Moreover,” LJ continued, warming to his point, “If we accept Mr. Hayes’ flawed premise, we are creating a hierarchy of comprehension based on irrelevant criteria. The law is not democratic in that way, it’s analytical, critical, and accessible to anyone willing to engage with it seriously. This is what differentiates argument from noise.”

Hayes’ face went pale. He opened his mouth again, but Roth held up a hand, "Mr. Kasey, I think that covers it perfectly. Thank you for demonstrating that comprehension isn’t determined by background, but by rigor. Mr. Hayes, I suggest you take notes.”

LJ leaned back in his chair, a small, self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips. The room had shifted slightly. His classmates now looked at him differently, not as the British outsider, but as someone sharp, fearless, and dangerously articulate.

For the first time, LJ realized law school wasn’t just going to be about learning the law. It was about staking his claim in it, just like he had in the ring.

The bell had rung, but LJ Kasey lingered in his seat a moment longer, letting the classroom’s tension settle like dust after a storm. His pen rested lightly on the notebook, smudges of ink from his quick scribbles, but his mind was elsewhere. Hayes’ sneer, the faint laughter that followed, the subtle shift in the room’s energy, all of it replayed quietly in his head.

When he finally stood, the chair scraped softly against the floor. LJ slung his backpack over one shoulder, adjusted his hoodie, and started down the hallway, his boots echoing on polished concrete.

He could feel the stares now, some curious, some tentative, all measured. Students who had whispered under their breath about “that British guy” were now watching him differently. Not foreign. Not naive. Not a novelty. Dangerous, in a way that made them lean in, just slightly, to see what came next.

Two classmates, a pair of third-years who often debated loudly in the front row, fell into step beside him.

“Hey...uh, LJ? About earlier...”

“Yeah. That was...really solid. I mean, Hayes, I don’t even know. You kind of ripped him apart.”

LJ raised an eyebrow but didn’t slow his pace. He could sense the hesitation behind their words, the mix of relief and awe, as if he’d crossed some invisible threshold, "I didn’t rip him apart. I just pointed out what he ignored. There’s a difference.”

The pair exchanged glances, and LJ could practically see the internal calculations running behind their eyes. He allowed himself a small smirk, "Still you’re quick and clear. Most people would’ve stumbled over that, especially Hayes.”

LJ nodded for a moment, “Most people are too busy trying to sound smart to actually be smart.”

He paused at the doorway, the sunlight from the courtyard spilling over him, warming his shoulders.

“So do you, uh, want to grab coffee or something later? Maybe talk through some of the cases?”

LJ considered it for a moment, then nodded once, sharply.

“Sure. I have a little time before I have to pick my girlfriend up at the airport.”

As they walked on together toward the campus café, LJ’s mind flickered briefly to wrestling, the adrenaline, the strategy, the theater of performance. But here, in law school, the stakes were quieter, deeper, and somehow just as thrilling.

-----

A LONG AWAITED QUESTION ANSWERED
MCCARRAN INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, LAS VEGAS – LATE AFTERNOON

LJ Kasey sat with his car, one hand on the steering wheel, the other tapping a steady rhythm against the leather. He had arrived early, of course, perfectionism wasn’t optional, especially when picking up someone as important as Alexandra.

The airport parking lot buzzed with travelers, rolling luggage and last-minute farewells. LJ scanned the arrivals board, spotting her gate. Alexandra Callaway emerged, a duffle bag slung over her shoulder, her raven hair catching the golden sunlight. She paused, scanning the line of cars, then caught his eye.

LJ opened the door before she even reached the curb, stepping out, "Ello angel.”

Her face broke into a smile, the kind that made the heat, the noise, and the bustle fade, "LJ! Finally.”

He closed the space between them in two strides, wrapping her up in a hug, pulling her off her feet for a moment, before gently taking her bag from her shoulder, "Well, you know me. Early and annoyingly punctual.”

Ally laughs, as she takes his arm and they take a short stroll to his car, “Annoyingly punctual, huh? I thought that was your British charm.”

He rolled his eyes playfully, tossing her bag into the trunk, "The charm is optional. Being organized? Mandatory.”

They climbed into the car, the engine humming to life. LJ stole a glance at her from the corner of his eye, the faintest smile tugging at his lips, "Vegas traffic, airport chaos...nothing compared to missing you.”

Alexandra reached across, brushing her hand over his.“I missed you too. The city’s brighter when I know you’re around.”

LJ’s eyes flicked briefly to the rearview mirror, then back to the road, but the warmth stayed, "You’re going to like the apartment. I’ve upped my game. Books in order, papers stacked, chaos contained. I’m almost respectable now.”

Alexandra raised an eyebrow “Almost?”

“Hey, give me time. Law school just started a couple of weeks ago. I need to look like I know what I’m doing before they see me sweat.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head, "You always find a way to impress, without even trying, it seems.”

“Well, I try. You just see the polished version.”

The ride to his apartment was quiet in that comfortable way only moments like this could be. No rushing, no deadlines, just two people reconnecting. LJ kept stealing glances at her, and she returned them with gentle teasing smiles and subtle laughter.

When they arrived, he jumped out to open the trunk again, pulling her bags inside and gesturing toward the apartment.

“Welcome back to my little corner of organized chaos.”

Alexandra stepped inside, looking around at the neat stacks of books, the freshly arranged furniture, and the small touches LJ had added to make the space feel lived-in, "Wow… you really did get it together.”

“Told you. Almost respectable.”

She dropped her bag with a soft thud, then crossed the room, throwing her arms around him. LJ hugged her back, careful, grounding himself in the moment.

“It’s good to be back, LJ. I’ve missed this...missed you.”

“Missed you too, love. More than I realized.”

For the first time in weeks, LJ felt fully present, not in the ring, not in class, not on a tour. Just here, just this, the start of a week together before Cyprus, before the next challenge. And for once, he let himself breathe.

LJ Kasey took a seat on the edge of the couch, elbows resting on his knees, fingers laced together. Alexandra Callaway stood nearby, arms folded, watching him with that patient, knowing smile that could pierce right through his careful control.

The apartment smelled faintly of coffee and old leather, the shelves lined with neatly stacked law books and wrestling journals. Everything had a place, just like LJ wanted it. And now, after the chaos of Vegas, wrestling tours, and law school prep, this apartment felt more like home than it ever had before.

“Okay...I’m going to say it. Straight up. No dancing around this.”

Ally tilted her head, eyebrow raised, sensing the seriousness in his tone, "Oh? This is serious, huh? Go on, then. Hit me.”

LJ took a slow breath, letting it out like a quiet release of tension he hadn’t realized he was holding, "You know how much I love having you here. And I mean, more than just visiting. You being around is always something that I immensely look forward to. But I need to know, have you given it any real thought to what we talked about a couple of weeks ago? Not joking, not teasing...I’m asking if you would move in with me. Permanently.”

Ally’s lips curved into that mischievous, slow-building smile that made his chest tighten, "Real thought, huh? You think I haven’t? LJ, you’ve been waiting for this question for months.”

LJ groaned, leaning back slightly, "Yeah, well, I wasn’t expecting to be tortured about it first and then I finally got around to asking you but I never asked directly. I know you had a lot to consider, especially with Ashlynn”

Ally had to laugh because he was so like his brother with the rambling when he got frustrated, it was a cute Kasey trait. But she stood there with her arms folded,  “Life doesn’t give out answers that easily. I wanted to make sure you could handle the wait.”

LJ’s jaw tightened. He leaned forward, eyes locked on her, heart thumping, "Well part of me feels like I’ve waited long enough. So...tell me? And if you say no, I’ve got a pint of rocky road waiting to cry into...”

Ally paused, savoring the moment, teasing him just long enough to make him squirm, before her voice softened, "…Yes. I’ve thought about it, LJ. And I’m ready. I’ll move in with you.”

LJ’s lips parted, a grin breaking across his face, the tension in his shoulders finally releasing, "For real? Both you and Ashlynn?” And Ally nodded, and LJ let go of a breath that he wasn’t aware that he was holding, “Finally. Took you long enough.”

Ally playfully smiled, “I wanted to make sure you’d appreciate it properly.”

LJ stood, crossing the small space between them, and took her hands in his. The apartment, with its neat stacks of books and quiet order, no longer felt like just a space. It felt like theirs—a home they were choosing to build together. He leaned closer, forehead resting gently against hers, letting the steady rhythm of her breathing sync with his.

“You have no idea how much this...you...means to me.”

Ally tilted her head, a small smile brushing her lips, "I think I might.”

For a moment, they simply held each other, the hum of the city outside forgotten. Then LJ brushed a fingertip across her cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and leaned in slowly.

Their lips met, tentative at first, a careful press that spoke of patience and trust. Then, as if all the waiting and uncertainty of the last year had built to this, the kiss deepened, soft, steady, grounding. LJ’s hand slid to the small of her back, drawing her closer, and Ally responded in kind, letting herself sink into him.

When they finally pulled back, just enough to breathe, LJ rested his forehead against hers again, whispering, “Home...feels like this now.”

Ally smiled, eyes shimmering in the last of the sunlight, "Yeah it does.”

-----

MAIN EVENT MINDSET
EMPTY TRAINING ROOM, CYPRUS

The echo of bouncing balls and clang of weights had long faded. The training room was quiet now, fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. LJ Kasey paced slowly across the polished floor, fists clenched and unclenched, his mind running the match over and over again.

Vincent Lyons Jr. wasn’t just any opponent. He was clever, dangerous, and unpredictable—the kind of man who thrived on exploiting a single mistake. But LJ didn’t flinch. He thrived on challenges. He thrived on proving he belonged.

“Vincent thinks this is just another warm-up,” LJ muttered to himself, voice low but hard, "Non-title match. The crowd's not expecting anything. He thinks he’s untouchable come Sunday.” He shook his head, a wry grin tugging at his lips, "He doesn’t know what’s coming. He doesn’t know I’ve been waiting for a moment like this my entire life.”

He stopped at the center of the room, letting the silence fill the space, "This isn’t about belts. It’s about respect. Momentum. Showing him and everyone else that LJ Kasey doesn’t just show up. I dominate. I take what I’ve earned. And tonight...that starts with Vincent.”

He dropped lightly into a shadow-boxing stance, imagining Lyons across from him, "We all know that he’s not above the cheats, he will play mind games, and he will lean on the roulette chaos. Fucking let him. I’ve got strategy, instinct, and focus. And I’m not waiting for a mistake. I’m making the first one count.”

LJ’s voice dropped to a low growl, "Vincent’s smart. He’ll try to get in my head, play the mind games, spin the crowd, make me react before I think. But I’ve been studying him. Every tactic, every hesitation, every flashy taunt he’s ever pulled on a rookie or a peer, I’ve seen it. I know it.”

He clenched his fists, flexing his fingers as though feeling the imagined resistance of Vincent in front of him, "He underestimates me because I’m not fighting for a belt. He thinks I’m just another warm-up, another face to look impressive against. He doesn’t see what I’ve been building, what I’ve earned. This isn’t just about a win in Cyprus. This is about proving I belong in this ring with anyone, anywhere. That I’m more than a shadow, more than a name. I’m a force.”

A quiet breath, measured. He tapped the floor once, twice, thinking through the spin of the Roulette wheel, the potential twists, the spots Vincent would exploit. LJ smiled grimly, "This is more than just a match. It’s a statement, a reminder. It’s a reminder that I am here and that I belong. And Vincent? Tonight, you’re just the first example.”

LJ took a deep breath, steadying his heartbeat, “Non-title or not, the stakes couldn’t be higher. Momentum, respect, positioning, all of it. A win here, a clean, calculated, dominating win, it tells the world I’m ready. Ready for the gold, ready for the main stage, ready for the chaos that even the roulette division can bring.”

He straightened, shoulders squared, letting his mind shift from rehearsal to resolve, "Non-title...No matter. The stakes are higher than ever, because it’s my momentum, my credibility, my career on the line just like every time I step into that ring. And when it’s done...everyone will know exactly who LJ Kasey is.”

Quiet, controlled, ready. Not in front of the crowd. Not for anyone else. Just him. Just the fight.

The buzz of the door lock echoed louder than it should have.

LJ stepped in slowly behind Miles, instinctively lowering his voice and posture. The security protocols had been intense, metal detectors, check-ins, even a brief talk with the attending officer stationed nearby, but it was all necessary. Kevin was protected, physically and legally. But emotionally, that was a whole other story.

The room was more like a studio apartment than a hospital suite. Comfortable furniture. Lots and lots of natural light. Books stacked in uneven towers on the desk. A few movie posters on the wall, faded, curling at the edges. It was a space trying hard not to feel clinical, but the presence of quiet orderlies just outside the door was a reminder this wasn’t exactly a safe house.

Kevin sat curled up on the window seat, knees tucked to his chest, hoodie sleeves covering his hands. His hair had grown longer since LJ had seen him in photos, dark, messy, and falling in front of his eyes like a curtain. He was staring out the window, unmoving, but his voice was alert, "I heard the door.”

Miles kept his tone soft, “Yeah mate, it’s just me and someone I wanted you to meet.”

Kevin didn’t turn around, “I don’t recall saying that I wanted company today, Miles.”

“I know,” Miles said gently, “But I thought maybe today you might, I dunno, tolerate some.”

Kevin snorted, “Must have caught me when I was high on the pain meds they had me on because that doesn’t sound like me.”

“Fair enough, bruv. But...” Miles glanced at LJ, “I wanted to introduce my half-brother to you. This is LJ. He was with me a few times when we were trying to find you. In fact, he was the one that thought about the motels around the area.”

LJ raised his hand instinctively, “Hey there, Kev. It’s good to finally meet you..”

Silence, then, after a beat, Kevin spits back, “I didn’t ask fuckin’ introductions either.”

Miles winced, but LJ stepped forward anyway, cautious but unfazed. He’d seen that edge before—in kids who’d been through hell, built walls with steel instead of stone.

“I just wanted to say thanks,” LJ said, looking at Miles uncomfortably for a moment, before clearing his throat, “For hanging in there. I know you don’t know me. I helped Miles look for you, though. So, I guess I already kinda care about you, whether that’s fair or not.”

Kevin finally turned his head. His eyes were red-rimmed, shadowed. Tired in a way no sixteen-year-old should ever look, “You helped him find me?”

“Yeah, man. He and I went practically every corner of Vegas before we found out you had gone back to LA, supposedly to try and talk to yer da.”

Kevin stared at him a long time, eyes narrowing, "Did you actually help, or were you just another guy standing behind him acting like backup?”

LJ blinked, "I..I mean...”

Kevin sat up straight and glared towards LJ, “I don’t need more people pretending to care. I’ve got enough of that.”

The words weren’t loud, but they hit hard.

LJ’s shoulders dropped, "I’m not pretending. But, okay. If you don’t want me here, I’ll go.”

Miles stepped in quickly, tone even but protective, "Kevin, come on, mate.”

“I said I’m done!” Kevin’s voice spiked, sharp enough to draw a nurse’s attention from the hallway. His hands were shaking now, clenched in his hoodie sleeves. He pulled his knees tighter to his chest, rocking slightly, "I can’t. Not today, okay? Not today. Just get the hell out of here.”

Miles turned toward LJ with a quiet sigh and nodded toward the door, "Let’s give him some space.”

LJ nodded, and they slipped out silently. The door clicked shut behind them.

The hospital smelled like antiseptic and old coffee. LJ hated it already.

He stood by a row of chairs that looked like they hadn’t been updated since the nineties, watching through the glass panel of Kevin’s room. Inside, Kevin sat curled on his bed, knees pulled up tight to his chest, eyes blank. A nurse murmured something soothing, but the kid didn’t seem to hear.

Miles had tried. God, he’d tried. Walked in slow, gentle voice, introduced LJ like it might mean something. But Kevin flinched away, voice rising until the nurses intervened. Now Miles was leaning against the wall outside the room, arms folded tight over his chest, jaw locked so hard LJ could see the muscle ticking along his cheek.

LJ stayed quiet for a while, letting the moment settle. The hum of fluorescent lights overhead was the only real sound between them. Finally, he spoke, "Not exactly how you pictured that going, huh?”

Miles didn’t look at him but just shook his head, “He’s been through hell.”

“I know.”

Miles exhaled through his nose, "There are times...He barely even remembers me at that moment in time. And when he does, he remembers everything else, too. The doctors say it’s why his stay is going to be a lot longer than just his medical needs.”

LJ nodded. His gaze drifted back to Kevin. He could feel how fragile the air was around them, like one wrong word might shatter the whole day.

A long beat passed before Miles pushed off the wall, scrubbing a hand over his face, "We should go. He’s not gonna want to see anyone else today.”

They left the hallway and stepped into the elevator. LJ hit the button for the lobby. The doors slid shut with a metallic groan, trapping them in the quiet.

LJ looked sideways at his brother.

“So, are you gonna tell me why we actually went through with all that boxing crap?”

Miles didn’t answer right away. He just stared at the floor, as if he could burn a hole through it.

“I mean,” LJ went on, his voice softer, “why we really did it. ‘Cause King Guy said so’? Or because, I dunno, you wanted to prove something?”

Miles scoffed under his breath, "It was never about proving anything.”

“Then what was it about?”

The elevator jolted as it descended. Miles rested his hands on the rail behind him, leaning back. His voice was low, quiet, "Sometimes, brothers gotta beat the hell out of each other so they don’t end up hating each other.”

LJ blinked, "What?”

Miles finally met his eyes, "LJ we had 20-plus years of not getting to grow up together. Our ol’ man fucked around on both of our mothers, and then shuffled loose the mortal coil, leaving absolutely hell in it’s wake. We didn’t get the big brother/little brother scuffle out of our system. I looked at it from a standpoint of this being the chance. That...If we didn’t get that out of our system, it was gonna sit there between us and fester worse than Lyle Kasey’s corpse. If we didn’t go through with it, you’d start thinking I didn’t respect you. I’d start thinking you didn’t want me around and one day, it would’ve come out way uglier than three rounds with gloves on.” He shrugged, "It was better we did it that way.”

LJ couldn’t help it—he let out a short, humorless laugh, "So… what? You punch me in the face so we can be closer?”

Miles smirked, “It worked, didn’t it?”

LJ rolled his eyes, “Barely.”

Miles smirked. But the humor faded almost as quickly as it came. A shadow passed over his face, “It wasn’t just the boxing match. I said a lot of stupid shit during that whole 2 weeks of Queen and King for a Day. Some to Ally. Some to you.”

LJ raised an eyebrow, "Like telling Ally I see her more than I see you?”

Miles winced, and shook his head and motioned with his hand before slapping it down onto the railing, “Yeah. That. I was angry at the whole situation, especially with Ally doing what she did to Artie. I’m trying to fix everything and I can’t fix Kevin, and I can’t fix how the crew in the locker room talk about us, and you and Ally and....and I couldn’t figure out how to keep you from getting pulled into the same mess. And I took it out on you both.”

LJ softened, his own gaze dropping, “Yeah. Well. You’re not the only one trying to figure stuff out.”

Miles eyed him, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The elevator dinged as it hit the lobby. The doors slid open, but neither of them moved. LJ hesitated, then let out a slow breath.

“It means after Summer Xxxtreme and the cruise, I’m probably moving to Texas. Permently.”

Miles blinked, "Wait. Texas? As in Dallas, Texas? The whole damn state that takes at least 2 days to travel through if the weather is decent, Texas?”

LJ nodded, “Ally and I, we’ve been talking about things. Her and I have been together practically a year now and I don’t know, it seems like bouncing back and forth between my place in Vegas and her house outside of Dallas, is getting expensive. I wanna go to law school. I’ve been playing around with the final decision for long enough and there is a school near there that is fucking amazing. Vegas has been good to me. But it’s… it’s not home. Not anymore. I feel more comfortable and less stressed when I’m with her and that’s what I want in my life right now.”

Miles stared at him like he was trying to solve an equation in his head, "So that’s it? You’re just leaving?”

“I’m not leaving you,” LJ said, firmly, “I’m not leaving wrestling either. But I need to build something that’s mine, outside the ring. I don’t wanna wake up in ten years and wonder why I didn’t try.”

Miles swallowed hard. He looked away, pressing his lips together, "Are you sure about this?”

LJ’s voice was quiet but certain, "Yeah. I am.”

Miles nodded slowly, eyes a little glassy but no tears. He clapped LJ gently on the shoulder.

“Then I’ll help you pack.”

LJ gave a small smile, "I know.”

They stepped out of the elevator together, walking into the sunlit lobby. Whatever lay ahead, Texas, law school, or the next fight, they’d figure it out.

Miles sighs looking at his taller yet younger brother, “Well, I guess that’s how I know you’re really growing up.”

LJ grinned, "That or losing my mind.”

Miles patted his shoulder, "Meh, same thing. I up and left New York to move to Vegas and then moved a man that had the extreme hots for me.”

“And you for him, if I can recall the story properly.”

“Yeah...and the rest, as they say, is history.”

They stood there for a moment longer, brothers in the middle of the hallway, somewhere between past regrets and uncertain futures.

Brothers.

Gloves off.

-----

Grand Junction, CO
The hotel room of LJ Kasey and Alexandra Callaway
Early Evening

The last rays of Colorado sun spilled through the half-open curtains, painting gold lines across the hotel room’s white duvet. LJ set his duffel bag down by the wall with a quiet thump. He rolled his shoulder, wincing a little as he rotated it in its socket. Nothing serious, just the echoes of a few rough weeks.

Ally looked up from where she sat cross-legged on the bed, her phone in one hand, a bottled water in the other. She smiled the second she saw him, "There’s my world traveler.”

LJ grinned, moving over to drop a kiss on her forehead, "Hey, angel.”

She tilted her head, studying his face, "So, how was Vegas?”

LJ let out a breath, plopping down on the edge of the bed beside her, "Heavy. Like majorly heavy.”

“Kevin?”

“Yeah,” he said softly, "The kid is having a rough time. Miles...well, he’s carrying a lot. He’s trying so hard to fix everything. But it’s not the kind of thing you can just patch up.”

Ally gently touched his arm, "And what about the two of you?”

LJ gave a small laugh, "We’re okay, love. He does want to apologize to you, especially. For Queen for a Day week. For that crack about how I see you more than I see him.”

Ally raised a brow, "Oh, he does, does he?”

“He does,” LJ said, "But he wants to do it right. So, give him time and be prepared. This is Milo Kasey that we are talking about so anything is possible, complete with you being serenaded in front of God and everybody.”

She considered that, then nodded, "Okay. I can give him time.”

He leaned his head briefly against hers, soaking up the quiet comfort she always seemed to radiate.

“You know what’s weird?” he murmured.

“What?”

“This whole year, everything that’s happened, it feels like it’s all pointing me here, to this weekend. To us teaming up for the first time.”

She smiled, soft but fierce, "Well it’s about time, don’t you think?”

“It’s long overdue so...hell yeah.” LJ’s grin widened, but there was steel behind it now, "I am so tired of losing. I’m tired of people acting like I’m just Miles’ brother who got lucky to be here. I want to show them who the hell I am. We’re gonna show them.”

Ally poked his chest lightly, "Then let’s make it count.”

-----

The Colorado air was cool, tinged with the smell of brewing coffee from a café down the block. Streetlights glowed overhead as LJ strolled the sidewalk, hoodie pulled over his hair, hands buried in the pockets. The sidewalk under his boots felt solid, grounding him in a way the ring sometimes didn’t.

He stopped under a flickering neon sign, stared straight into the camera that trailed him for a pre-match spot.

He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly.

“Grand Junction. Actually, no, SCW in total”

He tilted his head, voice steady but edged.

“You’ve seen me lose. Over… and over… and over. People are beginning to think that I’m cursed. I’m sure there are even some people who say I’m just the guy who shows up, puts on a good fight, and goes home empty-handed.”

He let a smirk twist his lips, "But here’s the thing about me: I don’t stay down. And I sure as hell don’t forget.”

He shifted his weight, eyes burning a little brighter under the neon glow.

“This Sunday, myself and Ally, yeah, the same Ally who’s been fighting her own wars, who’s bled for this business just like I have, we’re stepping in there together for the first time. And on the other side of the ring… we got Song. And we got Justin Smith.”

“This Sunday, I am teaming up with Ally Callaway — yeah, that Ally — for the first time. First time since we started this thing a year ago. And we’re stepping into the ring against Song and Justin Smith. One of those weird ‘lethal lottery’ deals.”

He paused for effect.

“Song, I’ve seen what you’re about. You move like you’re five steps ahead, and you’ve got experience on your side. But the one thing you don’t have?”

He pointed to himself, then directly at the camera.

“You don’t have Ally. And I do.”

There was a different edge to his voice now, not fire, not bitterness. Faith. Pure and unshakable.

“She’s not just my partner. She’s one of the toughest women in this business. She’s fought her way out of every corner she’s ever been shoved into, and came out swinging. And when it comes to this match? I don’t have a single doubt in my mind.”

He tilted his head slightly.

“You try and test her, Song, you’ll find out exactly why I trust her to finish the job. She’s got her eyes locked on you, and I promise you, she’s ready for whatever you’re bringing.”

Then, LJ turned the attention squarely to his own half of the match.

He spat Justin’s name like a challenge.

“Justin, you’ve been running your mouth since you got here. Acting like you’re some big deal. Like you’re above me. But guess what? You’re not. You really aren’t. You’re the same as me, a guy who’s been chasing wins and coming up short. Except there’s a difference between us.”

He pointed to his chest.

“I know who I am. And I know that I’m done living in my brother’s shadow. I’m done living in anyone’s shadow. Sunday, I’m not walking out there looking for a moral victory. I’m looking to win.”

His jaw flexed, voice growing sharper.

“You’re gonna find out real fast, Justin, that there’s nothing more dangerous than a man who’s got nothing left to lose. I’m tired of being the guy who almost made it. I’m tired of people writing me off.”

He paused, lowering his voice, every word deliberate.

“This is my time. Our time. Me and Ally, we’re not just some couple trying to play nice in a mixed tag. We’re a unit. We’re coming to fight. And Sunday, we’re putting a full stop on this losing streak.”

A small grin flickered across his face as he stepped back.

“So bring your best. Because I’m bringing mine and I know damn well Ally is going to bring hers.”

He dropped his hood and let the cool breeze hit his face, eyes glinting under the lights.

“I’m done waiting for my moment, I’m fucking taking it.”

He turned and kept walking into the night, his footsteps echoing off the quiet storefronts behind him.

He let the words hang, then lowered his tone again, driving it home.

“This Sunday, me and Ally? We’re not just stepping out for bragging rights. We’re stepping out to prove a point. You call it a random pairing.”

He gave the camera one last look, this one with weight.

“I call it destiny.”

The buzz backstage was electric long after the bell for Queen for a Day at Into the Void had sounded. Techs and crew members bustled around the corridors, packing down equipment, rolling cases through the narrow halls of the Paris arena. Champions passed with belts slung over their shoulders, some smiling, some scowling, some too damn tired to do anything but keep moving.

But in one corner, just outside catering, LJ paced like a man possessed.

A bottle of water hung loosely from his fingers, half-forgotten, as his feet padded a restless rhythm against the tile. His black t-shirt clung to him over his shoulder — more from nervous energy than the late night air — and the faint purpling on his neck from the fight from several weeks ago still peeked out. But he was always a fast healer. "To be honest, he should’ve never gone into that PWS match in the state he was in but he wasn’t about to let his first title be lost via forfeiture.

But none of that mattered right now.

Down the hall, Ally’s match had just ended. And not just ended — she’d won. Queen for a Day. A golden ticket with more power than most champions held. LJ had watched from the monitors backstage, shoeless and shirtless because he had to go through a workout just to stay calm before her match, heart damn near punching out of his chest. Now he couldn’t keep still.

A door swung open, and there she was.

Alexandra Callaway. His pulse kicked harder at the sight of her.

Still laced in her battle-worn gear, sweat-slicked black hair with blue streaks spilling over her shoulders, and that victorious, wicked little smirk he loved so much lighting her entire face. The Queen’s crown wasn’t in her hands at the moment— still being prepped for the photo ops — but the power was already there in her eyes.

And it damn near knocked the air out of him.

“Ally!” LJ was on her in an instant, meeting her halfway down the hall.

She barely had time to catch her breath before his arms wrapped around her, lifting her small frame right off her feet.

“You did it,” he whispered against her ear, voice rough with pride. “You fucking did it.”

She laughed, looping her arms around his neck. “You doubted me?”

“Never,” he said, setting her down gently but not letting go. His hands stayed firm on her waist. “But watching it happen? That’s a whole other feeling.”

For a beat they just stood there, foreheads resting together, the noise of the backstage world falling away.

Then she pulled back, brushing her fingers along his jawline where there were more faint bruises that still lingered. “And you… how’s the head?”

He snorted softly. “I’m still here, aren’t I? None of them could have put me down for good. Just made me hungrier.”

Her gaze darkened, thumb tracing the corner of his mouth. “Are you sure you’re ready for what’s next?”

“After watching you tonight?” He smirked. “I’m more than ready. In fact, I’m practically starving.”

He finally stepped back, running a hand through his hair as the restless energy surged again. “Truth is, I needed this. To see you take the damn spotlight. Because now? Now it’s my turn.”

Ally arched a brow, intrigued. “Oh?”

“Officially got the word from the trainers just before you went out.” He flexed his knuckles absently. “I’m cleared, fully. I’m on the card for Climax Control when we get back to the states.”

“LJ.” Her voice held that mix of warning and love. “Don’t push it if you’re not—”

“I am.” He cut her off gently but firmly. “I’ve been waiting too damn long. I’ve taken the hits. I’ve eaten the pavement. And I’m still here.” He smirked. “Besides… after everything? I’m itching to remind the SCW locker room exactly who the hell I am.”

Ally grinned. “Then go remind them. Just remember — I’m not done yet either.”

“Oh, trust me,” LJ said, eyes gleaming now. “I wouldn’t dare forget.”

He pulled her close one more time, lips brushing against her temple. The moment was broken up with a stage hand approaching with the crown. LJ gladly took it from them and turned around to look at Ally. He brushed a few strands off her shoulder and placed the crown on her head and gave her a kiss.

“Queen of SCW,” he murmured. “You’ve got your crown. Now it’s my turn to take heads.”

And with that, he stepped back, bottle of water in one hand, fire burning in his veins.

Next stop? Climax Control.

The Vegas heat felt different when you’d been through Paris and Stockholm in the span of a few weeks. Dry, relentless, like the sun wanted a shot at your title, too.

LJ had the A/C cranked up in his apartment, but it still wasn’t enough to keep him from pacing like a caged lion. The idle time was what got him—after finally getting back in the game, sitting still for even an afternoon made him itch.

He tossed a tennis ball from hand to hand while watching the clock. Ally had been out handling Queen for a Day business most of the day. He was proud of her—hell, he’d seen what she’d done in Paris with his own eyes—but that didn’t mean he wasn’t antsy to know what came next.

Finally, the door opened.

Ally came in, sunglasses pushed up into her dark hair, blue streaks still shimmering in the sunlight that followed her inside. The moment she dropped her bag by the door, LJ was on his feet.

“Well?” he grinned, tossing the tennis ball aside and crossing the room to meet her. “What glorious main event did my Queen book for me?”

Ally laughed, shaking her head. “Hi to you too.”

“Hi,” he said quickly, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Now c’mon. I know you’ve been out there wheeling and dealing. What match did you pull strings for?”

She smirked, sliding off her leather jacket and tossing it over the arm of the couch. “Spoiler alert—you’re not in any of the matches I booked.”

LJ blinked. “Wait. What?”

“I didn’t book you in any of my picks,” she said, sauntering past him into the kitchen. “TRUST ME I wanted to but—I did make sure you had a match for your return. They already had plans for you. I just made sure they followed through.”

LJ narrowed his eyes, leaning against the doorframe with a dramatic sigh. “Sleeping with the Queen is getting me absolutely nowhere.”

Ally snorted. “Please. You’d sleep with me even if I were a stagehand.”

“That’s beside the point,” he shot back, grinning now. “I figured Queen for a Day perks had to account for something.”

She grabbed two waters from the fridge, tossing one to him. “I used them where it mattered. Trust me—you’ve got a match. You’ll be back in that SCW ring next show.”

LJ caught the bottle and cracked the cap with one smooth twist. “Yeah? And I don’t even get to brag that my girlfriend gifted me a marquee spot?”

“Nope,” Ally said, popping the cap on hers and leaning one hip against the counter. “You’ll just have to earn it. Like always.”

He took a long pull of water, then smirked over the bottle. “You’re ruthless. I like it.”

“You better,” she teased, eyes gleaming. “You’re stuck with me.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said easily, crossing the room to hook an arm around her waist. “But just so we’re clear—next time you get to book matches, I want top billing. Full pyro. Maybe a custom throne entrance. Hell, a live entrance wouldn’t be that bad either.”

Ally laughed outright. “I’ll pencil it in... right after I take care of the Bombshell division.”

LJ kissed her temple and grinned. “Deal. And in the meantime? Guess I’d better get ready to remind SCW why they should’ve cleared the damn runway. Just gotta wait to find out who it’s gonna be.”

LJ had just flopped back onto the couch, one arm slung lazily over the back, the other holding his water bottle. Ally had curled up sideways on the other end, phone in hand, legs draped across his lap like she owned the place — which, honestly, she practically did these days.

A few minutes of companionable quiet passed, just the low hum of the A/C and faint traffic noise from the strip below.

Then LJ’s phone buzzed.

He glanced at it absently at first, but when he saw the SCW notification, his brow arched.

“Huh.”

Ally tilted her head. “What?”

“Card’s out,” he said, thumbing it open. “Guess they didn’t waste any time.”

She perked up. “Oh? Who’d they line you up with?”

LJ scanned the preview of the lineup… then blinked.

“Well I’ll be damned.”

Ally sat up straighter. “Talk to me.”

“There’s fresh blood in town,” LJ said, shaking his head with a dry chuckle. “They’ve got me opening the dance card for some new guy. Liam Davis.”

“Liam Davis…” Ally repeated, frowning in thought. “I heard the name floating around. The rogue cop, right? Supposed to have a chip on his shoulder the size of a city block.”

“‘Anger therapy,’” LJ read off with a snort. “That’s how they’re selling it. Using me and the ring to work out his issues.”

Ally rolled her eyes. “That’s cute. Hope they told him you hit back.”

LJ’s grin was sharp now. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, phone still in one hand. “Oh, I hope he tries to swing for the fences. Hell, I’ve been waiting for someone to test this neck and chin again. The difference is? I’m not the therapy type. I’m the relapse.” He glanced at her, eyes gleaming. “And I’m about to make this poor bastard regret thinking I’m the warm-up act.”

Ally smiled darkly. “That’s my guy.”

He leaned back, a low hum of energy starting to pulse through him again. “You know, this is exactly what I needed. Fresh face, fresh fight. He’s hungry, sure. But me? I’m starving.”

She rested her chin on his shoulder, voice soft but knowing. “Just don’t underestimate him.”

“I would never,” LJ said. “But let’s be honest — this guy’s stepping in thinking he’s got a point to prove. I’ve already proved mine. Now? I’m just reminding everyone why the hell I’m still here.”

He glanced back at his phone one more time, the match graphic now burned into his mind.

Liam Davis.

Welcome to SCW, kid, LJ thought grimly. Hope your badge has good health insurance.


The gym was mostly empty — just the way LJ liked it.

Late afternoon sun streamed through the high windows, throwing sharp lines across the black mats and gleaming steel. The rhythmic clank of weights echoed through the cavernous space, punctuated by LJ’s sharp exhales as he drove through another brutal set of incline presses.

“C’mon,” he muttered through gritted teeth, sweat trailing down the side of his face. “One more. Earn it.”

Muscles strained, veins prominent along his arms and shoulders — he locked out the final rep, then racked the bar with a loud clang that seemed to shake the air.

He sat up, towel already around his neck, chest heaving as he caught his breath.

Goddamn it felt good to move like this again.

He’d spent weeks after the war with Alex Jones just trying to get his neck and head to stop feeling like they were on fire. Weeks pacing, itching, watching cards go up without his name on them. Weeks grinding in silence.

Now?

Now the wait was over. Now the beast was out of the cage again. And judging by the reflection staring back at him in the mirror — leaner, harder, broader across the chest and shoulders — LJ Kasey was coming back stronger than before.

He grabbed a bottle of water, took a long swig, then spotted the camera crew moving in. SCW always knew when to show up.

Perfect.

He wiped the towel across his face once, then leaned casually against the rack, that signature half-smirk curling at his mouth. His eyes, though? Ice cold.

“You can feel it, can’t you?”

His voice rolled out low, calm — but there was fire beneath every word.

“That buzz. That tension. The sense that something’s coming.”

He glanced down for a beat, then straight back to the lens.

“For weeks, I’ve been sidelined. Watched as the cards filled up, as names got called. I took my shots. I paid my dues in blood. And I’ve been patient. But patience has a shelf life.”

He folded his arms across his chest — forearms looking downright ridiculous after the pump he’d just run through.

“And now… it’s time.”

His smirk sharpened.

“Liam Davis. Welcome to Sin City, bruv. It’s a pity we gotta meet this way.”

He let the name hang in the air for a beat — the slightest tilt of his head, like the idea of it amused him.

“The rogue cop. The big bad enforcer with a badge and a grudge. I hear you’ve got a little anger problem, Liam. I hear you’re looking to use me as your therapy session.”

LJ let out a low chuckle — dark and humorless.

“Mate, you picked the wrong damn appointment slot.”

He pushed off the rack now, pacing slowly in front of the camera, rolling his shoulders loose.

“See, I’m walking into Climax Control with more heat under my skin than you can begin to understand. I’ve taken shots from one of the best to ever do it, and I’m still here. I’ve eaten the canvas, the barricade, hell — the concrete — and I’m still standing. Still stronger.”

A slow nod. That fire in his voice now bleeding into a near-growl.

“And you? You’re stepping in, green as grass. Hungry, sure — I respect that. But this business doesn’t give a damn about your hunger. This ring doesn’t care if you’ve got demons to exorcise. Once that bell rings? It’s about survival.”

He stopped, squared to the camera, gaze burning straight through the lens now.

“And I refuse to be your damn therapy puppet. You want to bleed out your issues? Find someone else. Because when you step in there with me, Liam — you’re stepping into a fight you can’t just talk your way out of. You’re stepping in with a man who’s been to hell already and dragged himself back up by his teeth.”

A slow shake of his head.

“Your first match… my return match. Bad timing, kid. Real bad. I’ve got too much rage left unshed. Too much pride to reclaim. Too much to prove — not to anyone else. To myself.”

He took a step closer now, voice dropping lower, each word a hammer.

“So come hungry, Liam. Come angry. Come swinging like your damn life depends on it. Because I’m coming to remind this company — and everyone watching — why Lyle Kasey Junior is still the man they should fear.”

One last smirk.

“One way or another… you’ll learn the hard way.”

He grabbed his towel, slung it over his shoulder, and strode out of frame — camera lingering on the empty rack as the screen faded to black.

Won the battle, Now I win the War
Following the Street Fight Match Climax Control 420

The medical staff wanted to check them out, but LJ wasn’t having it. Not yet. He sat on a steel equipment case in the dimly lit hallway, his forearms resting on his knees, his hands still wrapped in bloodstained tape. His knuckles ached from every punch he threw. His ribs burned with every breath. He could still taste the copper of his own blood on his tongue.

Beside him, Ally leaned against the wall, holding an ice pack to her shoulder. Blood from a gash on her forehead had dried in streaks down her cheek, but the exhaustion in her eyes was mixed with something else—satisfaction. They had won.

The low hum of the arena still buzzed in the distance, but back here, at this moment, it was just the two of them. Just the wreckage left in the wake of a fight they had owned.

LJ exhaled sharply, running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair even for as short as it was before shaking his head. “Not enough,” he muttered.

Ally lifted a brow. “Not enough?”

His jaw tightened, his fingers flexing against his knees. “I wanted more,” he admitted, voice low, raw. “Beating them, making them bleed, shutting those two bitches up for once—that was good. It felt good. That was real good.” He huffed a humorless laugh. “But I’m not done. Not with him.”

Ally studied him for a moment before nodding, the knowing glint in her eyes saying she understood. She had her war with Brooke. She’d settle her scores in her own way. But LJ’s fight? His wasn’t over.

A sudden movement in the periphery caught his attention—a camera crew, creeping closer, capturing the moment. Good. He wanted them to.

He slowly sat up, rolling his shoulders, wincing but forcing himself to lean forward, elbows on his knees as he stared directly into the lens. The sweat and blood made his expression even more menacing, his blue eyes piercing through the camera like a blade.

“Logan,” he said, his voice a low, guttural rasp. “I know you’re somewhere back there, getting stitched up, trying to pretend like tonight didn’t happen. Brooke is probably screeching like the harpy she is and you are trying to decide between ibuprofen or Aleve to mix with whiskey because that is the ONLY way you can cope with everything that just happened. I know you are trying to convince yourself that it was just a fluke. That you weren’t just outmatched, outgunned, and out-fucking-classed.”

He smirked, though it lacked any real humor. “But you know the truth, don’t you? You felt it. Every punch. Every shot we took at one another with everything but the kitchen sink. Every single second of that fight, you felt what it’s like when you come at me and fail.”

His fingers curled into fists, his knuckles white. “And yet… it’s still not enough.”

The smirk faded, replaced by something colder. Sharper.

“Blaze of Glory. Last Man Standing,” he said, his tone almost casual, but the fire behind it undeniable. “You and me, Logan. If you are smart there will be no Brooke to distract. No excuses. No way out.”

He tilted his head slightly, as if considering something, then let out a slow breath through his nose.

“You like to talk, Logan. You like to run your mouth about how big, bad, and untouchable you are. But after tonight? I think you’ve figured it out.” His lips curled into something almost predatory. “I won't stop. I don’t break. And I sure as hell don’t back down.”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, forcing the camera to lean in with him.

“This ends when you don’t get back up.”

A long pause. A beat of silence, thick and suffocating.

Then, he sat back again, stretching his arms before glancing at Ally. “You ready to get patched up?”

She smirked, shaking her head. “Are you?”

He chuckled, wincing slightly. “Yeah. Guess I should, since I gotta make sure I’m in one piece when I put that son of a bitch down for good.”

With that, he pushed himself off the crate, slinging an arm around Ally’s shoulder as they walked toward the medical area, leaving behind nothing but the echo of his final warning.


Back to Vegas
Last Week.

The air in the house was heavy, thick with exhaustion and frustration. The long, yet short, drive back from the mid-town Las Vegas Police Department had drained them both, but it was more than just the miles on the road weighing them down.

Miles sat on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, staring blankly at the floor. His fingers interlocked, tense, like he was holding onto something unseen. His jaw was tight, his shoulders hunched. LJ could see it—feel it.

His brother wasn’t just tired. He was defeated.

LJ grabbed a bottle of water from the counter and tossed it to him. “C’mon, mate, hydrate. You look like hell.”

Miles caught it without looking, rolling it between his hands before sighing. “Feels like hell.”

LJ dropped into the chair across from him, leaning forward. “Miles… we’re not giving up.”

“I don’t even know where to look anymore, LJ.” Miles ran a hand through his hair, his voice thick with frustration. “We’ve been going in circles for weeks. We finally got something solid, and now? He’s gone. L.A. is massive. That kid could be anywhere.”

LJ rested his elbows on his knees, nodding slightly. “Yeah. He could be. But we know where he was going. That’s something.”

Miles shook his head. “And if we get there too late? If something happens before we find him? If he took off from his da already, who knows what the hell is going to happen with him going back.”

LJ exhaled sharply, choosing his words carefully. “He may have gone back to his dad for all we know. BUT at least we know we did everything we could. And we keep doing everything we can. We owe him that.”

Miles let out a bitter chuckle. “Owe him?”

LJ tilted his head. “You said it yourself. That kid… he didn’t ask for the life he got stuck with. And maybe he doesn’t even want our help. Maybe he doesn’t trust anyone. I mean, would you if your life was nothing but people failing you over and over again?”

Miles was silent.

LJ pressed on. “I know this is eating at you. But you’re the last person who should be doubting himself here. You saw him, Miles. You saw him, and you didn’t just let it go. You chose to do something. You don’t get to give up now just because it’s hard.”

Miles let out a slow breath, rubbing his face before nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

Before LJ could say anything else, the sound of the front door opening cut through the room.

Carter stepped inside, tossing his keys on the counter as he took in the sight of them. His gaze flicked between them, and his brows furrowed. “Okay… what’s going on?”

LJ and Miles exchanged a glance. Miles had asked LJ and even Kristjan not speak to Carter because of the sensitive situation it was with the kid, his family and more specifically Kevin’s mother who was currently spending 7-10 in Florence McClure Women's Correctional Center for what she and one other attempted to do to Carter. But they hadn’t heard the door and got caught with the conversation.

Carter folded his arms. The silence was palpable. “Seriously, what the heck is going on? Because I walked in on you,” he pointed at LJ, “telling him not to give up. And given how he looks like someone just kicked Ms. Thang, I’m assuming this isn’t about wrestling.”

LJ leaned back in his chair, giving Miles a look that said it’s time.

Miles shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s… complicated, love.”

Carter raised a brow. “Try me.”

Miles hesitated. His fingers tapped restlessly against his knee. “It’s about that kid I told you about. The one who stole my wallet that night on Fremont.”

Carter nodded slowly. “Yeah. What about him?”

LJ watched as Miles clenched his jaw, struggling with the words. This wasn’t easy.

LJ sighed and decided to push him forward, reaching over and nudging Miles’ knee. “Miles, just tell him.”

Miles exhaled, running both hands down his face before finally looking at Carter.

“Babe, it was Kevin,” Miles said. “The son of the woman who got locked up for attacking you not that long ago. He was the one that ran into me”

Carter’s expression didn’t change at first. He blinked once. Twice. Then, slowly, his arms lowered as he processed what he just heard.

The silence was suffocating.

LJ sat back, watching Carter’s reaction closely. Miles looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

Carter’s voice, when he finally spoke, was eerily calm. “Say that again.”

Miles swallowed. “Apparently after Karen was tossed in prison for everything, the rest of the family left for L.A. ....however Kevin apparently ran away for some reason and came back to Vegas. It was just by chance that we ran into one another that night...LJ’s been helpin me find him but...”

A beat. Miles looked up and then over at LJ who’s been looking at Carter the whole time

Then, Carter let out a long breath, looking between both brothers before settling his gaze on Miles.

“…Well. Shit.”


Let’s Fucking Finish It
Somewhere, Late Night

The rhythmic sound of a heavy bag being struck echoes through the dimly lit gym. Sweat drips from LJ’s brow, his hands wrapped tightly, his knuckles bruised but relentless as he drives fist after fist into the bag. His ribs still ache from the war he went through in the Street Fight, but he doesn’t care. Pain is nothing new. Pain is a constant companion.

The camera catches him in a moment of pause, chest heaving, muscles tense. He wipes the sweat from his face with a taped-up hand, then turns toward the lens, his eyes sharp, filled with something more than just determination—something darker. Something raw.

“Three times, Logan. Three times we will have stood across from each other, and this? This is the one that matters the most. You took the first. I took the second. And now? Now we settle it. Last Man Standing.”

He rolls his shoulders, rotating his neck as if shaking off the very idea of weakness.

“I won’t lie. I feel every second of what I put myself through in that Street Fight. The bruises? The cuts? The stiffness in my ribs when I breathe too deep? It reminds me that I walked through hell and kept standing. And now I get to do it again—but this time, Logan, it’s you who’s gonna be feeling every damn second of it.”

He smirks, but there’s no humor behind it. Just intent.

“You love to run your mouth. Hell, Brooke runs her mouth more than you do and yet, you are the one that remains under my skin. Brooke isn’t my problem anymore and if you are wise...you’ll keep her out of this. Ally may have her hands full but she will have my back fully and with how her mindset is lately, Brooke would be better off locking herself into a room and not coming out until the dust is settled to peel what is left of your broken beaten body off whatever area of flooring you will be on.”

“You love to play these games, thinking you can get under my skin, but the truth? I’m past the mind games. I’m past the bullshit. I’m past pretending that I need to prove myself, especially to the likes of you. What I need—what I want—is to shut you the hell up once and for all. And this match? This match is exactly what I’ve been waiting for.”

He turns back to the bag, throwing a vicious elbow before spinning back around.

“This isn’t about titles. It ain’t about rankings. It never has been. This is about respect. And you? You don’t have any. Not for me. Not for anyone who came before us. Not for this sport. Not for the damage we do to ourselves every damn night. And the amazing thing about ALL of this...You think you’re untouchable, that you can weasel your way into people’s heads and coast your way to victories. You are nothing more than a nepo baby that has never had to actually put the fucking work in. That is until you ran head first into me. What we are about to endure...this match at Blaze for Glory? This is a Last Man Standing match, Logan. And I don’t coast—I endure. I fight. I survive.

And when that final count is made, when you’re broken on that mat, staring up at the lights, while I’m the one standing? You’ll know. You’ll finally know.

You were never on my level.”

He steps forward, closer to the camera, his voice lowering but filled with venom.

“You like to make people doubt me. You like to make it seem like I’m just a guy trying to find his footing. But after I leave you broken, I want you to ask yourself one question: Was it worth it? Was it worth the cheap shots? The games? The jabs? Was it worth picking a fight with a guy that had just been through hell and was about to just fucking walk away, ALL for you and your bitch to make a cheap name for yourself? Because when you wake up and realize that I’m still standing and you’re not, all that talking won’t mean a damn thing.”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his damp hair before cracking his knuckles.

“No more questions. No more doubt. No more Logan Hunter.

Last man standing?

That’s gonna be me.”

The scene lingers as he turns back to the bag, unleashing another brutal flurry of punches. And when he lands the hardest of punches, it just goes black.

December 4th, 2024

It felt strange not being on the list for High Stakes. Everyone else was gearing up for it, Miles especially—training harder, talking bigger, pushing themselves to the limit. It was the biggest opportunity of the year, and I stepped back from it.

Not because I didn’t want it. God knows I wanted it. I wanted to prove I belong in the SCW spotlight, to show everyone that I’m not just Miles’s little brother or an afterthought. But there’s something bigger I had to focus on, something I’ve kept to myself.

I signed up for the LSATs.

Yeah. Me. The guy who spends most of his time getting slammed into the mat and throwing punches is also the guy who once had dreams of law school. Dreams that, until recently, felt like they belonged to someone else—a version of me I left behind when I stepped into the ring.

But the truth is, they’ve always been there, lingering in the back of my mind, even as I’ve chased success in wrestling. My moms always believed I could do it. They didn’t push, but they never let me forget that the option was there. And with the way things have been—losing matches, struggling to find my footing—I started wondering if I could be more than just a wrestler.

So, I made the decision. No High Stakes for me. No Christmas championship dreams. Instead, I spent those weeks studying, cramming, obsessing over logic games and reading comprehension passages. I kept it from Miles, from Ally, from everyone. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust them; I just didn’t want anyone talking me out of it or making it bigger than it needed to be.

Now the test is done. I walked out of that room drained, with a mix of relief and panic swirling in my chest. It wasn’t easy. Hell, it felt harder than any match I’ve been in. But I gave it everything I had, just like I would in the ring.

And now I’m waiting.

Waiting for results, for validation, for some sign that this path I’ve chosen isn’t just another wild leap of faith. And while I wait, I can’t help but wonder how this decision will affect everything else. My career, my relationships, my future.

I’ve spent so much of my life trying to prove I’m good enough—to Miles, to Carter, to the fans, to myself. Wrestling is where I’ve poured my heart and soul, but maybe... maybe it doesn’t have to be the only place.

I don’t know what’s next and that’s the weirdest thing. I do know that I’ll be back in the ring by the next show, ready to claw my way back to the top. But this...maybe this is the start of something entirely new.

Either way, I know one thing: I made this choice for me. And for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m in control of my own story.


LJ sat cross-legged on the floor of his Vegas apartment, the soft hum of a Christmas playlist filling the quiet space. His phone rested on the coffee table, speaker mode on, as his moms' familiar voices filled the room. Even through the phone, their dynamic was as clear as ever—Rebecca’s warmth balanced by Joan’s sharp wit.

“So,” Rebecca began gently, her tone careful yet probing, “What’s the plan for Christmas, honey? Are you coming home?”

LJ hesitated, fiddling with the corner of an unopened box nearby. “Honestly? I haven’t decided yet.”

“Translation,” Joan interjected, “he’s avoiding the question.”

“Joan,” Rebecca chided, but there was a smile in her voice.

LJ chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s not that I don’t want to come home. I do. It’s just… complicated this year. Ally’s in Dallas with her daughter most of the time, so if I spend Christmas with them, I’d have to fly there. And then there’s Miles and Carter—first Christmas as a married couple, and I don’t even know what they’re planning. I’m not about to hound them about it.”

“That’s very considerate of you,” Rebecca said, her voice tinged with pride. “But you’re allowed to want something for yourself, too, LJ. It doesn’t always have to be about what works for everyone else.”

Joan jumped in, her tone as pragmatic as ever. “Exactly. You’ve got options, kid. Vegas, Dallas, New York, hell, even home—it’s your call. But sitting on the fence isn’t going to make the decision any easier.”

LJ sighed, leaning back against the couch. “I know, I know. It’s just… I don’t want to overstep, you know? Ally and I haven’t talked about Christmas yet. I don’t even know if she’d want me there. And you guys—”

“Stop right there,” Rebecca cut in. “We will always want you here. But we also understand that you’ve got your own life, your own priorities. You don’t need to feel guilty about that.”

“Besides,” Joan added with a teasing lilt, “we’ve had enough Christmases with you hogging the remote. One year without that isn’t going to kill us.”

LJ laughed despite himself. “Hey, someone had to make sure we didn’t end up watching It’s a Wonderful Life for the millionth time.”

“Blasphemy,” Rebecca muttered, though he could hear the smile in her voice.

“Look,” Joan said, her tone softening just slightly, “you’ve had a crazy year, LJ. New opportunities, big decisions—you’re allowed to take a step back and figure out what you need. Whether that’s spending Christmas with Ally, or coming home to us, or just staying put and breathing for once.”

“That last part does sound nice,” LJ admitted. “This year’s been… a lot.”

“And that’s all the more reason to make this decision for you,” Rebecca said. “We’ll support whatever you decide. Just promise to let us know before Christmas Eve, okay? Your mother might overcook if she doesn’t know how many people she’s feeding.”

Joan snorted. “She overcooks anyway.”

“Joan,” Rebecca said, the exasperation in her voice half-hearted.

“I’ll let you know,” LJ promised, smiling at their familiar bickering. “And no matter where I am, I’ll FaceTime you guys. Deal?”

“Deal,” they said in unison.

As the call ended, LJ sat in the quiet of his apartment, the weight of the decision still hanging over him. His moms were right—this year had been a whirlwind, and maybe what he really needed was to slow down and figure out what felt right.

Whether that meant a quiet holiday in Vegas, a plane ticket to Dallas, or a last-minute trip back to the UK, he knew one thing for sure: Christmas wasn’t about the location. It was about the people who made it feel like home. And no matter where he ended up, he wouldn’t lose sight of that.


The camera opens to a bustling community center decked out in full holiday spirit. Strings of twinkling lights hang from the rafters, and garlands with red and gold ornaments drape across the walls. A massive Christmas tree stands in one corner, covered in sparkling decorations, surrounded by brightly wrapped gifts. The faint sound of holiday music plays in the background as people mill about, sipping hot cocoa and chatting.

In the middle of it all, there’s a wrestling ring set up, surrounded by chairs. Kids in Santa hats are excitedly sitting on the apron, watching as LJ steps into the ring, wearing festive workout gear—a green and red hoodie with a reindeer logo, the hood pulled halfway up. He adjusts his gloves as he looks around, his face a mixture of amusement and determination.

LJ climbs onto the second turnbuckle, looking out at the small crowd of fans and holiday revelers who’ve gathered. He grabs a microphone resting on the top turnbuckle and smiles.

“You know, it’s not every day you get to train in a place that smells like gingerbread and pine trees.”

The crowd chuckles, and a kid yells, “Kick some butt, LJ!” LJ points at him and winks.

“Don’t worry, mate, that’s the plan. But let’s talk about why we’re here, yeah? Because in just a few days, I’m stepping into the ring with someone who’s practically a legend in this business. Kris Ryans. You all know the name. Hall of Famer, former champion, a guy who’s done it all and then some.”

LJ hops off the turnbuckle, pacing the ring as he speaks, his tone becoming more serious.

“I faced Kris when I first got to SCW. Back then, I was just trying to make a name for myself, trying to prove I could hang with the best. And Kris? He gave me a fight. He showed me what it means to stand across from greatness. I didn’t beat him, but I walked away better for it. That’s the thing about facing someone like Kris—you either step up, or you get left behind.”

He pauses, leaning on the ropes, looking out at the crowd. The glow of Christmas lights reflects in his eyes.

“But lately, something’s been different with Kris, hasn’t it? You’ve seen it, I’ve seen it. The man who used to be untouchable, who used to walk into every match like he owned the place—he’s struggling. He lost to Carter, my brother-in-law, and while Carter’s brilliant, Kris? He’s supposed to be the guy who doesn’t lose to anyone. So now I’m wondering, what’s going on with him? Is it just a rough patch? Or is the weight of his own legacy starting to wear him down?”

LJ straightens up, gripping the top rope, his voice steady but tinged with a quiet intensity.

“Kris, if you’re out there listening, I need you to understand something. I respect everything you’ve done. I respect who you are and what you mean to this business. But respect doesn’t mean I’m going to take it easy on you. Quite the opposite, actually. It means I’m going to bring everything I’ve got, because anything less would be insulting to both of us.”

The crowd cheers lightly, a few fans clapping in agreement.

“Here’s the thing, Kris—I’m not that same kid you faced back in SCW just a few short months ago. I’ve grown. I’ve evolved, and I had to, because if you don’t you are going to drown. And while you’ve been questioning yourself, I’ve been finding answers. I’ve been putting in the work, and now? Now, I’m ready to prove that I don’t just belong in this business—I’m ready to prove that I can beat one of the very best.”

He steps back to the center of the ring, the holiday lights glowing behind him, giving him an almost larger-than-life presence.

“So here’s my holiday wish this year, Kris. I want the best version of you in that ring. I want the Hall of Famer, the legend, the man who’s been to the top and stayed there. Because if you show up as anything less, this isn’t going to be a match. It’s going to be a moment where the future of this business walks right past the past.”

LJ leans on the ropes again, a smirk creeping across his face as the crowd cheers louder this time.

“So, Merry Christmas, Kris. Happy Holidays. And when we step into that ring, don’t think of it as the Ghost of Christmas Past versus the Ghost of Christmas Future. Think of it as the Ghost of Christmas Present, standing right in front of you, ready to remind you what this season is all about—giving. And trust me, mate, I’m more than ready to give you the fight of your life.”

LJ tosses the mic onto the mat and climbs the turnbuckle again, raising a fist in the air as the kids cheer. The camera fades out on the festive scene, the Christmas tree twinkling brightly in the background.

"CLEAR THE WAY!"

Backstage at Violent Conduct
Following the Ladder Match
London, UK

The trainers were on standby the minute things started getting real in that ring between Helluva Bottom Carter and LJ Kasey. Behind the scenes of it, Alexandra Callaway and Miles Kasey stood with their eyes wide with worry, a small hint of pride flickering on Miles' face for both his husband and his brother.

Meanwhile LJ was trying to gather himself, struggling to maintain composure as he staggered toward the curtain. Blood from the cut on the side of his head was still dripping down his face and neck, mixing with the sweat and exhaustion etched into his expression. His breathing was labored, each step forward feeling like an impossible weight. Ally was at his side in a flash the moment he crossed into the backstage area, but LJ waved her off, attempting to put on a brave face.

"I'm fine," he muttered, his voice shaky but defiant.

"You don’t look fine," Ally said softly, her eyes scanning his face, her concern palpable.

LJ took another step, but the world around him spun. His knees buckled, and before he could catch himself, he dropped hard to the floor, gasping in pain. Trainers were on him immediately, lifting him up carefully and checking his head for further injury. Ally crouched beside him, her hand on his shoulder, worry clear in her eyes as she watched him wince in pain.

"LJ, hold on. Let them help you," she urged, her voice steady but tinged with fear.

The trainers supported LJ, each taking an arm as they hoisted him up. His face twisted into a grimace, but he leaned into their help, the bravado he’d been trying to maintain crumbling under the weight of his exhaustion.

“I’ve got him,” Ally insisted, slipping under his arm as she helped guide him toward the medical room. Despite the pain that she was in as well, she assisted him the whole way.

LJ let out a low groan but kept moving, every step feeling like a mountain to climb. The hallway seemed longer than it ever had, and the buzz of activity backstage became a blur. The only thing grounding him was the steady presence of Ally at his side, her voice a soft reassurance that cut through the haze of pain.

Finally, they reached the medical room. The trainers carefully lowered him onto a padded bench, and LJ winced as he sat down, the adrenaline from the match beginning to wear off, leaving only the searing ache of his injuries.

“Tis just a scratch,” he tried to joke, but the words fell flat.

Ally shook her head, sitting beside him, her fingers brushing through his sweat-matted hair. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

LJ let out a small, pained laugh. “Yeah... but I tried.”

“You did more than that,” she replied quietly, her eyes meeting his. “Just rest now, okay?”

LJ nodded, leaning back, letting the trainers do their work as the weight of the match finally hit him.


One Week Later
LJ’s Apartment
Las Vegas, NV

LJ stood in the middle of his new apartment, surrounded by half-open boxes, juggling the phone in his hand as his moms appeared on the screen. He shifted a smaller box with his foot, trying to organize the mess without looking like he was overexerting himself. His head still throbbed from last week’s brutal match, but he did his best to look as casual as possible.

“LJ, I hope you’re not trying to lift anything heavy,” Rebecca's voice came through the speaker, her expression a mix of concern and sternness. “You’re supposed to be resting after that match.”

“I’m taking it easy, Mum,” LJ reassured her, flashing a lopsided smile, though his stiff movements betrayed him. “Miles is here, helping with the heavier stuff.”

Joan, his other mom, leaned in closer to the screen, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “Is he? I haven’t seen him yet. He better not have ditched you for lunch again.”

As if on cue, Miles appeared in the background, lugging a large box labeled "Books" across the living room with a playful grin. “Hey, I’m here! Don’t worry, he’s not lifting a thing.” He flashed a wave toward the phone before disappearing back into the hallway.

“See?” LJ chuckled. “I’m in good hands.”

Rebecca’s eyes softened for a moment before she glanced toward Joan. They exchanged a look LJ had grown far too familiar with—one that usually signaled they were about to shift the conversation toward something serious. And they did.

“Well,” Rebecca started, her voice brightening with what LJ could only describe as forced enthusiasm, “since you’ve got all your books moved in, there’s really no excuse now.”

“No excuse for what?” LJ asked, already suspecting where this was headed but playing innocent anyway.

“Law school,” Joan said matter-of-factly, her tone leaving little room for argument. “You remember that, right? Your original plan before wrestling took over.”

LJ tried not to roll his eyes, though a sigh slipped out. “I didn’t forget, but—”

“You’ve got the books,” Rebecca chimed in, cutting off his attempt at deflection. “You’re all set. And now that you’re settled in, it’s the perfect time to start thinking about applying again.”

“Mum, I’m focused on wrestling right now,” LJ protested, shifting awkwardly as he leaned against the counter. “You know that.”

Joan crossed her arms, a knowing look on her face. “You can be focused on more than one thing at a time, sweetheart. Law school doesn’t disappear just because you’re busy and UNLV has a wonderful law school program. And who knows how long wrestling will even be... well, sustainable.”

LJ winced, not liking where this conversation was headed. He loved wrestling. Even after the grueling match with Carter and all the pain that came with it, it was still what he wanted. But the idea of law school—what he’d originally intended before diving headfirst into the wrestling world—always lingered like a shadow over his shoulder.

“I know you’re both looking out for me,” he said, trying to stay calm. “But wrestling’s what I’m focused on right now. I’m building something here. Besides…” He trailed off, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ve got other things going on too.”

Rebecca squinted, catching on quickly. “Other things? You mean Alexandra?”

Joan’s eyes lit up. “Oh yes, how is Ally? We haven’t heard much from you two lately.”

LJ felt the heat rising in his face, but he couldn’t help the small grin that followed. “She’s good. We’re… good.”

“Good?” Rebecca echoed, clearly prying for more details. “Just good?”

“We’re taking things day by day,” LJ admitted, leaning more comfortably against the counter now. “She’s been a real support through everything lately. And she’s extremely happy with my recent addition to my career as well.”

The change in subject seemed to please his moms for the moment, their curiosity about Ally distracting them from the law school talk—for now. But LJ knew they wouldn’t let it go for long. It was the same conversation every few months, usually spurred on by a big move like this.

Rebecca’s voice softened, concern slipping into her tone. “We just want you to have options, LJ. Wrestling can be… unpredictable. And you’re too smart to not have something else to fall back on.”

“I know,” LJ nodded, appreciating their worry even though it frustrated him. “But right now, I’m focused on what’s in front of me. Wrestling, Ally, and... maybe not getting my head split open again.”

Joan chuckled lightly at that, but Rebecca’s eyes remained serious. “Just promise us you’ll think about it.”

“Alright, I promise,” LJ said, though he wasn’t sure how much thought he’d really give it.

Miles reappeared in the background, wiping sweat from his brow. “You guys done with the lecture yet?” he teased, dropping onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. “Because we’ve still got about a dozen more boxes and I’d like to get back to my husband and make sure he isn’t doing anything foolish either.”

LJ couldn’t help but laugh, glad for the distraction. “Yeah, we’re done—for now.”

LJ glanced at the clock on the wall and then back to the phone, feeling the weight of his moms' words lingering in the air. He softened his tone, knowing they only had his best interests at heart.

“I’ll think about it, okay?” he said gently. “But I really appreciate you both checking in. I’ll keep you updated on everything. And I promise, no more heavy lifting.” He flashed a quick smile, hoping to ease their concern.

Rebecca nodded, though her worry was still evident. “Alright. But make sure to rest. No more pushing yourself too hard.”

Joan added with a teasing grin, “And don’t think we’ll stop nudging you about law school. That’s not going anywhere.”

LJ chuckled. “Yeah, I figured as much.”

“Love you, kiddo,” Rebecca said warmly. “Take care of yourself.”

“Love you too, Mum. Love you, Joan.”

“Love you, LJ,” Joan replied with a soft smile before the call ended.

LJ let out a long sigh, setting the phone down on the counter as he stared at the mess of boxes around him. He knew his moms meant well, but it felt like every time he made a step forward in wrestling, they reminded him of the path he’d left behind.

He rubbed the back of his neck, the dull ache from last week’s match still lingering. “Law school, eh?” he muttered to himself, shaking his head with a slight laugh.

Miles, who had been pretending not to eavesdrop from the other side of the room, popped his head up from behind a box. “So… are we taking bets on when they’ll bring it up again?”

LJ grinned. “Oh, probably next week.”

“Yup, sounds about right,” Miles said, standing up and stretching. “Now, let’s get the rest of these boxes out of the way before they decide to call back and check on us.”

LJ laughed, grateful for the distraction. “Yeah, let’s get to it.”


A Toughman is So Much More
Earlier This Week

LJ sat in his new apartment, the quiet of the early morning settling around him. The soft glow of the sun was creeping through the blinds, casting long shadows across the half-unpacked boxes still strewn around the place. Despite the mess, his mind wasn’t on unpacking—or even on the nagging soreness in his body from the brutal ladder match he’d endured just two weeks ago. His thoughts were laser-focused on what lay ahead: the Toughman Battles. Last Man Standing rules.

Man-to-man, the kind of fight that would push him to his limits. But that was fine by LJ. Limits were meant to be tested, and he had something to prove.

LJ stood in front of the mirror, flexing his fingers as if testing his grip. His mind kept circling back to Felix the Cat, the man who would be his opponent in the upcoming Toughman Battles. A guy like Felix wasn’t a threat—he was an annoyance. A pest that needed to be swatted down, and LJ was more than ready to do it.

Felix loved to run his mouth. Loved to talk about how "quick" he was, how "aggressive," how "intelligent" he was in the ring. Always the first to remind people of their injuries, like that somehow gave him an edge. LJ had heard Felix’s chatter before, the way he seemed to get off on the weaknesses of others. But that’s the thing about Felix. He didn’t realize that focusing so much on other people’s flaws only highlighted his own.

"Felix the Cat," LJ muttered, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "More like Felix the Joke."

LJ ran a hand through his hair, the soreness in his body a reminder of the war he had just been through at Violent Conduct. He wasn’t 100% yet, but he didn’t need to be. Felix was the type of guy who thought mentioning someone’s injuries made them vulnerable, but in reality, it showed just how little he knew about real competition.

"You keep bringing up people’s injuries like it gives you some kind of advantage, Felix," LJ said, talking aloud as if Felix were standing in front of him. "But what happens when there’s nothing left for you to talk about? When you’re not the quickest guy in the ring? What happens when you’re the one struggling to get back up after I knock you down? What’s your plan then?"

LJ paced the room, his muscles warming up as his mind sharpened. Felix was all talk, and LJ had seen it before. Guys like him puff themselves up with words, calling themselves ‘talented,’ ‘intelligent,’ ‘above everyone else,’ thinking if they say it enough times, it’ll come true.

"But here’s the thing," LJ continued, his voice calm but edged with contempt. "You aren’t above anyone. You think you’re smarter, faster, better? You need to look in the mirror, man. Because I’ve seen your kind before, Felix. Guys who think they’re something special, but when it comes down to it, they fold under pressure."

LJ’s grin widened as he thought about what Felix was really up against. Felix, with all his bravado, had no idea the storm he was walking into.

"You’re quick? Great. So am I. I just went toe-to-toe with Carter in a ladder match, and you think I’m worried about how ‘quick’ you are? I fought a guy who’s twice as fast as you and took him to the absolute limit. You think your speed’s gonna matter when I’ve got you backed into a corner, gasping for air, trying to figure out where it all went wrong?"

LJ shook his head, the intensity in his eyes growing.

"You’re aggressive? You have no idea what real aggression looks like. I legit just pushed my own brother-in-law to the edge in that match two weeks ago—drove him to the point where he had to bust me open just to keep me down on top of several other horrible things that one human, let alone family, should EVER do to one another. And you think you’re gonna out-aggress me? Nah, Felix. You might start strong, but I’m gonna make sure you finish on your back, staring up at the lights."

He stopped pacing, standing still, staring himself down in the mirror. This wasn’t just about Felix. This was about showing SCW that LJ Kasey wasn’t some flash in the pan. That the name Kasey wasn’t just associated with his brother’s success or Carter’s championship reign.

"You talk about being talented," LJ said, his voice dropping low. "But talent? Talent isn’t running your mouth. Talent is proving yourself, night in and night out. Talent is taking the beating of your life and still coming back for more. I am still sore to this day but everyday it gets a little easier. It’s pushing yourself beyond the limit, even when everything in your body is screaming for you to stop. And that’s where you fall short, Felix. You don’t have the guts to do what I do."

He leaned in closer to the mirror, locking eyes with his reflection.

"You want to talk about who’s talented? Let’s get one thing straight. The name Kasey isn’t just some footnote in SCW. It’s a legacy. My brother, my family, we were born to do this. And you? You’re just another guy who needs to be brought down to reality. The reality where I’m standing tall at the end of our Last Man Standing match, and you’re the one on the mat, wondering what the hell happened."

LJ exhaled slowly, letting the intensity roll off him. He was ready. He wasn’t underestimating Felix—not at all. He knew better than to underestimate anyone. But Felix? Felix was out of his depth, and LJ was more than willing to show him just how deep the waters could get.

"Felix, you might think you’ve got all the answers, but you’re not ready for this. You’re not ready for me."

With that, LJ grabbed his gear bag and slung it over his shoulder. It was time to put the final touches on his preparation. Felix was just another obstacle on the way to something bigger. And LJ? He was ready to show everyone that he wasn’t just his brother’s shadow—he was the future of SCW.

"Last man standing?" LJ smirked. "That’s gonna be me."

I Need A HUGE Favour

LJ sat on the edge of his bed, his phone glowing faintly in his hand. The screen displayed the SCW match card for the upcoming show, and there it was—his name, listed among the participants in the "Aces Wild Gauntlet." A match that, if he could somehow win, would make him the number one contender for the SCW Internet Championship.

But that wasn’t the part that had him rattled. It was the fact that the title was currently held by his brother’s husband, Carter.

LJ’s thoughts spiraled. He hadn’t managed to win a single match since arriving in SCW. Despite the relentless training, despite the talent everyone swore he had, the victories eluded him. And now, just as things seemed at their bleakest, he was thrown into the gauntlet with everything on the line. If he won, he’d have to face Carter—a scenario that left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Shoving the phone into his pocket, he stood up and crossed the room. He knew he needed advice, but there was only one person he could turn to for this. Miles.

The idea gnawed at him. His brother had always been the one to outshine him—effortlessly. But this was different. This wasn’t just about Miles being the better wrestler, this was about his relationship with Carter. Or one lack-there-of, because for some reason he just couldn’t thaw Carter’s iciness towards him even after Miles and Carter got married. LJ needed help, but would Miles give it, knowing what was at stake?

With a deep breath, he grabbed his jacket and headed out.

---

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LJ knocked on the door to Miles’ hotel room. He could hear faint music playing from inside, and a moment later, the door swung open. Miles stood there, looking surprised to see him.

“LJ? Everything alright?” Miles asked, stepping aside to let his brother in.

“Is Carter here?” LJ asked.

“No, he’s out burning a hole in a credit card at the moment with Bella at the particular moment. You’re looking like hell, what’s going on?”

LJ walked into the room that Miles and Carter were calling home for the week, in Monaco, feeling the weight of what lies in the immediate future and beyond on him again. He turned to face Miles, running a hand through his hair. “This is going to sound a bit crazy more than likely but- I... I need your advice.”

Miles raised an eyebrow, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Advice? About what?”

LJ sighed, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “About this gauntlet match. You know, the one that could make me the number one contender for Carter’s title?”

The confusion on Miles’ face was palpable. “Yeah, I saw the match card, but what’s the issue? This is what you’ve been working for, right? A chance at a title. I mean it’s what we all work for.”

“Yeah, but…” LJ paused, struggling to find the right words. “I haven’t won a single match in SCW, Miles. Not one. And now, they’re throwing me into this gauntlet with the possibility of me facing Carter if I win? It feels like some kind of twisted joke.”

Miles frowned, crossing his arms. “You think they’re setting you up to fail again?”

LJ shook his head, though doubt still lingered in his mind. “I don’t know. Maybe. But what really gets me is… if I do win, I’ll have to go against Carter. Your husband. And I can’t ask you to help me with that. It wouldn’t be fair to him.”

Miles’ expression softened as he pushed off the counter and moved closer to LJ. “You’re right, I can’t help you with that match if it comes to that. Carter’s my husband, and I’m not going to do anything that would jeopardize his career. But that doesn’t mean I can’t help you in other ways.”

LJ looked up at his brother, a flicker of hope in his eyes. “Like what?”

Miles smiled slightly. “Here’s the deal: You get through the gauntlet. Focus on that first. Once you’ve earned your shot at Carter, we’ll talk. And after that, I’ll help you—really help you. I’ve got some ideas. There are other places you can go, other things you can do to sharpen your skills outside of SCW. You’ve got the talent, LJ. You just need to find your footing.”

LJ’s shoulders relaxed a little, though the weight of the situation still lingered. “You really think I can do it?”

Miles nodded firmly. “I know you can. But you’ve got to focus. Don’t think about the next match until you’ve won the one in front of you. Carter will understand if you make it that far. Hell, he’ll probably welcome the challenge.”

LJ gave a half-hearted chuckle. “He might, but I’m not so sure I do. I’m still trying to figure out why he doesn’t like me all that much but if I were to get through this match- I don’t know, maybe going one on one would settle it since he seemingly won’t tell me personally.”

Miles clapped his brother on the shoulder, his voice firm. “Look, I married the man and well despite spending an inordinate amount of time with him, I do not know what the deal is besides you showing up out of nowhere because a woman that for some reasons considers our families less than. I think he feels like it was all too convenient when in fact I just looked at it from a point where suddenly there you were and we just kind of had to accept it. He’s still convinced there are...how do I put this...”

“An ulterior motive?”

Miles tilts his head side to side and looks at his brother, “I’m not saying that that’s the whole thing but it’s understandable and he is just as protective of me as I am of him. But you may be on to something, but to get there you need to make it through that Gauntlet match first. It would definitely be interesting to see what happens from there.”

LJ stared at his brother, a mix of gratitude and determination building inside him. “Thanks, Miles. I needed that.”

“Just remember,” Miles added, his tone growing serious, “You win this match and if it comes down to you and Carter... you're on your own. But until then? I’ve got your back.”

The words hung in the air between them, both comforting and challenging. LJ knew what was at stake. It wasn’t just about the SCW title—it was about proving to himself that he belonged. And for the first time in a long while, he felt ready to fight for it.


Let’s Break It Down, One At A Time

LJ sat back, thinking about Justin Smith, the loudmouth with more ego than victories. Of all the people in the gauntlet, Justin was the one that irked him the most. His bravado, the way he strutted around like he owned the place despite not having a single win to his name, was almost laughable.

"Justin Smith," LJ muttered under his breath, pacing the room. "The guy thinks he's untouchable, like he's the best thing to ever step into a ring. But what has he actually done? Nothing."

LJ felt a surge of confidence as he thought about Justin’s cocky attitude. "He talks big, like he's already got the match won before it even starts, but the reality is, he's just as winless as I am. The difference? I know how to learn from my mistakes. I’m not out there pretending I'm something I'm not."

The visual of Justin getting under people's skin was almost comical to LJ. He was the type to run his mouth, full of arrogance, but when it came time to back it up, there was nothing there. A hollow shell of confidence.

"Smith’s got nothing on me," LJ said to himself. "Not in skill, not in drive. He’s all talk, no substance. Like ZERO substance. And when it comes down to it, if we face off in that gauntlet? I’ll be the one walking out, not him."

He could almost hear Justin's overblown, cocky promos, but it just fueled LJ’s resolve. Unlike Justin, LJ knew that real success wasn’t about posturing. It was about putting in the work and showing up when it mattered. And in this match, he was going to prove that he was miles ahead of Justin Smith in every way that counted.

LJ leaned back in his chair, thinking about the next man in the gauntlet—"Bulldog" Bill Barnhart. A veteran in the business, sure, but one who never quite broke free of the mid-tier ceiling. Bill had been around the block more than a few times, but that only seemed to make him complacent.

"Bill Barnhart," LJ said aloud, shaking his head. "Guy's been in this business longer than most, but what does he really have to show for it? He’s stuck in the Roulette Division, can’t even break out of that, and yet here he is, still trying to make noise like he's in his prime."

LJ knew better than to underestimate a veteran, but something about Bill rubbed him the wrong way. The man had the experience, but his time in the spotlight was fading. He was clinging to his past achievements like they still mattered, but that wasn’t going to help him here.

"He’s good, I’ll give him that," LJ admitted, "but good isn’t enough. Not anymore. He’s past his prime, still holding on to the same old tricks, thinking he can just coast by on his legacy. The problem is, Bill’s been playing it safe for way too long. Can’t even pull his balls out of his wife’s purse long enough to make an impact."

LJ couldn’t deny the guy’s skills—Bill was a brawler, tough as nails, but it felt like he was going through the motions at this point. The fire that once burned so brightly had dimmed, and now Bill was just a roadblock in the way of those who were hungrier, more driven.

"It’s time for the old man to move aside," LJ said with a smirk. "He’s had his run, but this gauntlet? This isn’t about honoring the past. It’s about proving who belongs in the future. And that future isn’t Bill Barnhart."

LJ leaned forward, his voice firm. "If we meet in that ring, Bill’s gonna realize that it’s not the 'good ol’ days' anymore. It’s time for him to step aside and make way for those of us who are ready to take this company by storm. I’m not going to let him or anyone else slow me down."

LJ leaned forward, the weight of the next name in the gauntlet pressing down on his thoughts—“The Unbreakable” Eddie Lyons. Eddie wasn’t like the others; LJ actually respected him. Eddie was a former SCW Roulette Champion, someone who had fought his way through the ranks and earned his place. There was no denying Eddie’s talent, his heart, or his resilience.

"Eddie Lyons," LJ muttered to himself, nodding slightly. "This guy’s no joke. Hell, if I don’t win this match, Eddie’s probably the guy I’d expect to see walk away with it. He’s been there, done that, and got the championship gold to prove it."

LJ took a breath, feeling the respect he had for Eddie, but he knew that respect wouldn’t save him in the gauntlet. This was about business now, and business meant doing whatever it took to win. Eddie might have the skill, and he might have the stamina, but so did LJ. And as much as he respected Eddie, there was something driving LJ that was stronger than admiration—this was personal.

"Violent Conduct X," LJ murmured. That show meant everything to him. It wasn’t just another match. It was practically in his backyard, the same streets where he grew up. To LJ, this wasn’t just about a title shot or a win—this was about proving something to everyone, and more importantly, to himself.

"I want to be there," he said quietly, clenching his fists. "I need to be there. Eddie can win this match, no doubt about it. But this is different for me. This isn’t just a fight for a shot at the title—this is about finally showing everyone, including myself, that I’m more than what they see. I’m not just the guy who hasn’t won yet. I’m not just Miles’ brother. I’m my own man, and I’m capable of so much more than what I’ve been."

LJ’s mind raced with the idea of standing tall at Violent Conduct X, representing his home company, his roots, and showing everyone exactly what he was made of.

"Eddie, I respect you, but when it comes down to it, it’s about who wants it more," LJ said, his voice steady. "And no one wants this more than me. I’ve been waiting for this moment my entire life, and I’m not going to let anyone, even someone I respect, stand in my way. When it comes down to it, it’s going to be about heart, stamina, and who’s willing to fight the hardest. And trust me, Eddie, this is a fight I won’t lose."

LJ’s focus sharpened as he thought about the last name on his list—Aiden Reynolds. Aiden was a member of Wolfslair, just like his brother Miles. That connection made things complicated, but it also gave LJ extra motivation. Aiden, despite being part of one of the most dominant stables in wrestling, had slipped into an uncomfortable role lately—becoming more of a punching bag than the fierce competitor everyone knew him to be.

"I get it, Aiden," LJ muttered to himself. "I’ve been there. Hell, I’m still there—people look at me like I don’t belong, like I’m just here to fill a spot. Since I got here, I’ve been nothing but a footnote, and people don’t hesitate to remind me of that. But I’m not here to stay in that role. Just like you shouldn’t be."

LJ knew the gauntlet match wouldn’t be easy, especially not with competitors like Eddie Lyons and Aiden Reynolds in the mix. He respected them both for different reasons, but there was something about Aiden that made LJ want to face him head-on. Maybe it was because Aiden was linked to his brother through Wolfslair, or maybe it was because he knew Aiden had the same fire inside, even if it had dimmed a bit recently.

"Aiden’s not gonna take this lying down," LJ thought. "He’s not gonna just roll over and let anyone walk past him in this match. And I don’t want him to. I want him at his best. I want him to bring everything, because I know I’ll have to. He and Eddie—they’re the ones who are gonna push me to my limit."

LJ could see the path ahead, clear but treacherous. He didn’t know if he’d end up facing all of the participants in the gauntlet, but if there was one person he wanted to stand across the ring from, it was Aiden. This match wasn’t just about proving himself to SCW or even to his brother—it was about stepping into the spotlight on his own terms, and Aiden represented a real test of that.

"Aiden, Eddie, Bill… I know what all of you are capable of, and I know this match isn’t gonna be a walk in the park. But that’s exactly why I’m going all in," LJ said with a steadfastness that damn near resembled his brother, "This is my shot to show everyone what I’ve been building up to. I’m not just a punching bag, I’m not just Miles’ brother—I’m LJ. And when I get into that ring, I’m going to prove that I belong in SCW, that I deserve to be fighting for the SCW Internet Championship. Aiden, I’m ready for you. Bring your best, because I know I’ll be bringing mine."

The idea of standing across from Aiden, another representative of Wolfslair, made the challenge even more personal. But for LJ, this match wasn’t about loyalty to factions or family—it was about showing everyone that he had what it took to rise to the top. And he wasn’t going to let anyone, not even Aiden Reynolds, stop him.

LJ’s mind raced as he finished breaking down his competitors. This gauntlet match wasn’t just another opportunity—it was the opportunity. The winner would head to London to challenge Helluva Bottom Carter for the SCW Internet Championship at Violent Conduct X, and LJ knew that everything he’d been fighting for was coming down to this moment.

He was hungry—hungrier than he’d ever been. The road in SCW had been rocky, with loss after loss chipping away at his confidence. But now, with the stakes as high as they could be, LJ felt a different kind of pressure, the kind that ignited his drive rather than crushed it.

"This isn’t just about beating Justin, Bill, Eddie, or Aiden," LJ thought. "This is about proving that I belong here. That I’m more than just another name on the roster, more than just Miles’ little brother."

The thought of stepping into the ring with Helluva Bottom Carter—his brother’s husband and the current SCW Internet Champion—added a unique layer of emotion to this match. But LJ was ready. He had to be. Everything he’d gone through had led him to this moment, and there was no turning back.

"I know this is going to test every inch of me," he muttered, his fists clenching as his determination solidified. "Physically, mentally—everything I’ve got will be on the line. But I’m ready. I’ve been ready."

As the image of the SCW Internet Championship flashed in his mind, LJ felt the weight of what was at stake. Not just the title, but the validation that came with it—the chance to finally silence the doubters, to break free from the shadow of his brother, and to show everyone that he wasn’t just in SCW; he was meant to be there.

Violent Conduct X was looming, and LJ knew this was his moment. He wasn’t just fighting for a championship shot. He was fighting for his identity, his legacy, and his future.

"LJ’s hungry," he whispered to himself, his eyes burning with intensity. "And nothing’s going to stop me from proving that I belong."