Tuesday -
Las Vegas, Nevada

The final bell had barely finished ringing inside the school building before the front doors opened and students emerged by the dozens, eager for the end of their school day and coming this much closer to the Christmas break. There was already a steady line up of school buses and parental cars with a few drivers leaning out windows to call names to their loved ones. And parked just off the curve of the pickup lane was a blue Jeep Renegade that had easily become part of this daily routine.

Miles Kasey was at the wheel, one elbow propped on the door, sunglasses pushed up into his hair. Beside him, Carter watched the front doors, half-joking, “This is like watching a nature documentary.”

“Teenagers in their natural habitat.” Miles played along. “Observe the way they travel in packs for migratory purposes.”

Carter added, “And the way they communicate exclusively through yelling, shoulder-checking, and whatever that dance is.” Pointing at one boy who looked like he was imitating one of those inflatable tubemen outside storefronts.

Carter leaned against the open window, watching the teenagers like they were some live reality show. “You think he’s gonna spot us right away today, or do we get the ‘mysteriously blind until he’s five feet away’ routine again?”

Miles shrugged, musing with a deep fondness and said, “Depends if Connor is with him or not.”

Carter tipped his chin toward the doors, “Speak of the devil...”

Miles shifted in his seat as the familiar figure of Kevin Chapman emerged with the crowd, backpack slung over one shoulder. Right beside him was Connor, and even from this distance, they could see Connor’s head angled toward Kevin like he was sharing the secrets of the universe with Kevin.

Carter watched them for a beat, then murmured, “Look at them.”

Miles could not help but grin openly as Kevin and Connor moved down the steps and into the swarm of students. Kevin’s eyes roamed the pickup area while trying not to be too obvious.

Carter smiled, “Called it.”

The two adults watched with growing affection as Kevin lifted a hand and gave Connor a quick, awkward, very teenager kind of half-wave. Connor answered with a two-finger salute and stepped backward, still talking, until he vanished in the growing throng of students.

Kevin lingered just long enough to watch Connor go, then turned away from the buses and started scanning again.

Watching closely, Miles spoke softly as if narrating an episode of National Geographic Explorer, “And now the subject disengages from his associate and pretends he is simply walking.”

Carter followed up with, “Totally casual. Not at all headed directly for a blue Jeep containing two grown men who keep snacks in the center console.”

Carter watched him weave through the crowd with his head down as if without Connor by his side, he was trying to remain unseen. He stepped around a gathering of kids taking selfies near the curb, until he drew close to the Renegade.

Kevin reached the passenger side first, paused as if to make sure he had the right vehicle despite it being impossibly obvious, then leaned slightly toward the open window line, his face brightening in that way that always made him look a little younger.

“Hey.” Kevin said. And then he pulled the rear door open and climbed into the backseat, shutting the door behind him. By personal tradition, a small bag of jalapeno Doritos and a Dr. Pepper was passed to the grateful hands of the teen, a much needed after-school snack.

Carter didn’t turn all the way around. He just angled his eyes to the rearview mirror as Kevin popped the tab of the soda and almost drained it straight away.

“So…” Carter said, breaking the proverbial ice. “Did you invite him to the party?”

Kevin blinked, then put on his best innocent face, for which it affected neither Carter nor Miles. “Who?”

“Who.“ Carter repeated with a playful roll of his eyes. “Oh, I don’t know. The Ghost of Algebra Past?”

Kevin stared, causing Carter to sigh dramatically. “Connor, of course.”

He stammered, taking on an adorable flush from his neck to his ears. “No. I mean, not yet. I don’t…”

“The party’s on Friday.” Carter pointed out. “And we leave for Denver on Saturday. Then we head to Washington on Monday.”

Kevin’s eyes shifted to the mirror again. “Washington?”

“`Fraid so.” Carter smiled. “Christmas break and this time, with Miles’s family there too..”

Kevin went quiet in that way he did sometimes, processing that the new ‘family’ that he was surrounded by was going to grow even bigger.

Carter continued, “So our Christmas party is basically your last chance to see Connor before the holiday takes over.”

Kevin huffed, the sound half laugh, half protest. He said without a convincing tone, “We’re just friends.”

Carter’s eyebrows lifted as if he’d just heard the funniest thing in the world. “Sure.” He said. “And Miles and I are just roommates who took in a cat and a teenager for ambience.”

Miles snorted so suddenly it came out as an undignified burst of laughter. Kevin’s ears went pink as he said, “It’s not the same.”

Miles glanced back over his shoulder just enough to catch Kevin’s eyes. “You want me to invite him for you?” He asked. “I can do a drive-by. You know. Roll the window down. ‘Connor! Friday! Party! Bring your mistletoe!’”

Already smiling, Miles lifted his hand toward the window controls. The driver’s window began to lower when Kevin lurched forward, pleading, “Miles, don’t! Please!”

Miles froze mid-motion, wearing a faux sense of innocence. “What? I’m just being supportive!”

Kevin’s voice dropped to a whisper, “I’ll invite him.” He promised. “Later.”

Carter’s eyes met Miles’s for a beat. Miles lifted both hands briefly in surrender and nudged the window back up. “Fine. Later. No public declarations from the Jeep.”

Kevin sank back into the seat, exhaling sharply. Miles eased the Jeep forward a few feet, waiting to pull out when a figure stepped toward the Jeep from the sidewalk, close enough that Miles had to stop. A teacher approached the driver’s side. Her expression was professional, but not unfriendly. More like careful than anything. Hazard of the job. Teachers never knew what type of parents that they’d be dealing with.

Miles tapped the brake and rolled the window down.

“Hi.” She said, leaning forward at the waist to look inside the window. “I’m Ms. Saldana. Kevin’s Ethics teacher.”

Kevin made a noise in the backseat, something between a sigh and a groan. Ms. Saldana’s eyes darted past Miles and Carter, toward the rear, and then back again. “Would you have a moment?” She asked hopefully. “I was hoping to discuss something that happened today in class with Kevin.”

Carter and Miles exchanged a look, then they turned their attention toward the backseat. Kevin was trying to bury himself into the cushions of the backseat.

“Okay?” Miles said with caution, keeping his eyes on the teacher. “What happened?”

Ms. Saldana said, “Today in ethics we held a series of structured debates about current events and social issues. Kevin was assigned to debate DEI topics with another student, Samantha Price. Samantha is … fairly religious.”

“Fairly religious?” Kevin burst out. “She brings a Bible to school!”

Ms. Saldana continued, “Samantha’s position was that DEI has no place in Hollywood. She argued that the best actors should simply get the roles, that gender and race swapping for the sake of inclusion undermines original stories, and that casting should remain faithful to the source material.”

Carter prodded, “And?”

“And … when it was Kevin’s turn…” Ms. Saldana spoke carefully, “He responded by pointing out that Samantha is about to celebrate a holiday that was appropriated from Pagan traditions, filled with Pagan symbols and rituals, all to commemorate the birth of a Middle Eastern Jewish man who is now commonly portrayed as having blond hair and blue eyes. He then suggested she ‘sit this one out.’”

There was a brief, suspended silence inside the Jeep.

Carter stared at Ms. Saldana like she’d just finished reading a grocery list.

Miles blinked once. Twice. “I’m … not seeing the issue.”

Carter tilted his head. “I’ll grant that the ‘sit this one out’ line might’ve been a bit much, but everything else he said is historically accurate.”

Ms. Saldana sighed, saying, “Samantha ran out of the classroom in tears. We have strict policies regarding bullying…”

“Bullying!?” Miles interrupted, incredulous. He leaned a bit closer to the window now. “From what you just described, that wasn’t bullying! That was debating! In a debate that you assigned!”

Carter leaned over to get a better vantage point at the teacher. He said, “You introduced a culturally and politically sensitive topic to a classroom full of teenagers and it went sideways. And now you’re trying to pin that on the student who actually knew his facts?”

Ms. Saldana opened her mouth, then closed it again.

Carter continued, voice calm but unyielding in support of Kevin. “I respect that the girl has religious beliefs, but she doesn’t get to weaponize them and turn herself into the victim just because she lost the argument. And frankly, neither do you!”

Kevin sat frozen in the backseat, eyes flicking between the three adults.

Ms. Saldana exhaled slowly. “I’m not accusing Kevin of malicious intent.” She said after a moment. “I needed to understand the context, and make sure expectations are clear moving forward.”

“Fair enough.” Miles nodded. “And our expectation is that if you assign debate, you accept the debate. Even when it’s uncomfortable.”

Ms. Saldana gave a small, professional nod. “Understood. Thank you for your time.”

She stepped back from the Jeep, turned, and headed toward the school doors. The moment she was out of earshot, Kevin let out a breath he’d clearly been holding. “Thanks for having my back.”

Carter glanced over his shoulder with an easy smile. “Anytime.”

Miles eased the Jeep into motion as the line finally loosened, turning them toward the exit. As they rolled forward, one could hear one last exchange between Miles and Kevin.

“She did lose the debate, right?”

“By a landslide.”

“Attaboy!”

Turnberry Towers -
Friday Night

The condo at the Turnberry Towers was tastefully decorated for the upcoming holiday. Just enough and not overdone as the residing family would be spending Christmas in Olympia, Washington. Christmas music hummed softly from the Bluetooth speakers and the rich scent of food hung in the air. Thick slices of prime rib disappeared quickly, paired with roasted vegetables and glasses freely being refilled.

Say what you might, Carter and Miles treated their guests right.

George C. Scott’s “A Christmas Carol” played quietly more for atmosphere while clusters of guests filled the living room. LJ Kasey and Alexandra Calaway lingered near the windows with red wine in hand, talking animatedly with Harper Mason while Bobbie Dahl and Artie hovered close to the kitchen island, revisiting the charcuterie board of cheeses and meat slices for the third time. Anne Thompson had stood laughing with her husband, Robert, both holding mugs of hot buttered rum as Gabriel and Odette from GO Gym had debated about whether Die Hard qualified as a Christmas movie. Synn and Despayre had loomed nearby, Despayre already eyeing the cocoa bar like it was a sacred calling. Fenris and David Shepherd had occupied one of the sofas, Fenris nursing a drink while Aron Baltasarsson and Zoey Lukas had drifted between groups, greeting people with easy familiarity.

Their upstairs neighbor Oliwia, unique and unmistakable Oliwia, had floated between worlds, her presence somehow both chaotic and grounding.

And Kevin? Kevin grew to be very much part of the room that night, despite all lingering unease. He had drifted between conversations, laughing at Despayre’s antics and growing flushed at Fenris’s colorful language in his Icelandic accent. Every so often, his eyes flicked toward the door, just quick enough that he probably hoped nobody noticed.

Carter clapped his hands sharply from the center of the room. “Okay! Ugly sweater runway in five minutes! Final call for last-minute questionable fashion decisions!”

That was when there had been a knock at the door.

“I’ll get it!” Oliwia had called out brightly, already halfway there. She opened the door and froze.

Connor stood in the doorway wearing the flashiest Christmas sweater anyone had ever seen. It blinked. It sparkled. It featured sequins, dangling ornaments, and what appeared to be a light-up reindeer doing something vaguely suggestive. It was both a crime in fashion and glorious.

Oliwia slowly turned her head back toward the living room, eyes wide with awe. “We have a winner!”

Kevin’s head snapped up at Connor’s arrival. For half a second, he just stared until his face broke into a grin that lit the room. He moved without thinking, stopping just in front of Connor.

“Hi.” Kevin had said.

“Hi.” Connor replied.

(Hey, if you know, you know!)

They stood there longer than necessary, both smiling like lovesick puppies before Oliwia ushered Connor inside to cheers and applause at the sight of his garish sweater.

And the Ugly Sweater Runway contest? It proceeded exactly as expected. Dramatic entrances, exaggerated poses, elaborate commentary from Carter as emcee and ruthless applause. Highlights had included Bobbie’s sweater that had appeared to be actively attacking her, Anne Thompson’s tastefully ugly knit covered in embroidered bells, and Harper’s minimalist-but-deeply-disturbing sweater featuring a single blinking reindeer eye. Then it was Connor’s turn.

The teenager walked last and the room absolutely lost it, especially with his little spin and pageant smile at the end. And by unanimous decision, Connor had been crowned the winner, accepting a tiny gold-wrapped prize and generous applause.

Later, teams split for Christmas movie Pictionary. Shouting had erupted almost immediately. Someone had drawn something that had looked suspiciously like a toaster. Gabriel had insisted it was “Elf” while Harper had yelled “The Grinch”. Bobbie had screamed “Home Alone” with absolute conviction.

Despayre had fully claimed the hot cocoa bar, operating it like a high-end café. There were rules now, and a line. He judged marshmallow distribution with a critical eye.

As the night had settled into a comfortable glow, Carter and Miles had made the rounds, handing out small wrapped gifts to everyone; simple, thoughtful gifts When they had reached Connor, Miles had handed him an envelope rather than a wrapped package.

With Kevin glancing curiously over his shoulder, Connor opened it and stared at the contents with a gaping expression.

“No way…” He whispered, his excitement barely contained. Inside was a VIP package for Inception VIII. Ringside seats, backstage passes, the whole thing.

“Are you serious!?” Connor laughed, shaking his head. The sixteen year old was a big wrestling fan and this gift was a dream come true!

Carter smiled, Miles’s arm wrapped around his husband’s shoulder. “Dead serious.”

Connor was thrilled, bouncing on his heels, thanking them both with breathless enthusiasm.

Later in the evening, Kevin drifted near the edge of the room, unaware he’d wandered directly beneath a sprig of mistletoe. But Connor had noticed. He slipped in close, quick and easy, and gave a quick peck to Kevin’s cheek.

Kevin froze, and then he blushed, but the smile on his face was unmistakable as he looked at an equally smiling Connor. But then he looked over Connor’s shoulder and found Carter and Miles watching. Miles lifted his glass in a toast while Carter muttered, “Just friends my ass.”

---

“This weekend isn’t just another match on the calendar. It isn’t just another excuse for Alexander Raven to hear his own voice. This is the World Heavyweight Champion standing side-by-side with the ‘Workhorse of SCW,’ ‘Unbreakable’ Eddie Lyons, and the first thing I want to make perfectly clear is the fact that I respect Eddie Lyons. I’m not paying lip service because the cameras are on and Eddie and I have to get along. I mean the kind of respect you earn when you show up every single week, when you take whatever they put in front of you and you don’t make excuses. You work. You bleed. You keep going. And my partner Eddie Lyons? He’s the standard of what a professional wrestler is supposed to be when the cameras are off and on. Whether the arena is sold out or he’s working in front of a few dozen fans at most.”

“And I’ll say this right now. If there was any justice in this sport? Eddie Lyons would be the man getting the championship opportunity at Inception VIII. That’s not me trying to butter up my partner for the weekend, that’s not me playing mind games with anybody. That’s me saying out loud what everyone in that locker room knows. Eddie has put in the miles and he’s done the work. He’s earned the right to be rewarded with the biggest stage and the biggest prize and instead we’re watching the system do what it always does. It looks for the loudest mouth, the most poisonous narrative and the person who can stir the most chaos and call it momentum. It reaches past the person who deserves it and hands the spotlight to the person who screams like he’s entitled to it. That’s how Alexander Raven ended up sniffing around the World Heavyweight Title picture like a vulture circling a battlefield he didn’t fight on.”

“So Eddie, I’m telling you now, not as a champion trying to sound benevolent, but as a man who has fought his way to the top and knows what it takes. I see you. I see what you’ve endured. I see what you’ve overcome. The difference between you and the people you’re dealing with is that you don’t need a scheme to be dangerous. You don’t need a story to be relevant. You don’t need to build a staircase out of other people’s backs just to reach the door. You just show up. And this weekend, when we stand across from Alexander Raven and Brayden Hilton, we’re not just teaming up because it makes for a neat graphic on a screen. We’re teaming up because the truth has a way of finding its moment. The truth is that the Workhorse and the World Heavyweight Champion are aligned for one night and when that happens, it’s going to expose the difference between men who earn it and men who expect it.”

Now, Alexander Raven. You slithered your way into a championship match that you didn’t earn, and the reason I’m using that word ‘slithered’ is because it fits you perfectly like the snake you are! You attach yourself to whatever controversy is burning hottest and you call it proof that you deserve to be relevant. You’re not a contender, you’re an opportunist. And the worst part is that you’ve convinced yourself that those two things are one and the same. You look at a ranking system and you treat it like it’s supposed to bend around your ego, and when it doesn’t, you don’t work harder and prove people wrong. You retreat into conspiracy theories and insults like a man hiding under a table during a storm. If you can’t make a case with wins, you make a case with noise. If you can’t earn respect, you try to bully it out of people. If you can’t convince the world you belong, you try to convince the world that everyone else is cheating you out of your rightful place at the head of the table!”

“And here’s what gives you away, Alexander. You always have a reason and excuse ready that makes you the victim. You always need a narrative where you’re the man the world refuses to recognize. You cling to that narrative because it absolves you of any responsibility for your own shortcomings. It lets you avoid the one thing you’re terrified of; standing alone on your own merit! Because if you stand alone, the truth gets loud real fast, and the truth is that you haven’t done enough to deserve what you’re demanding! You’ve done enough to demand attention, sure, but attention and achievement are not the same thing! You’ve learned how to weaponize a microphone. You’ve learned how to bait people and how to keep your name in headlines> The sad part about all of that is you’ve mistaken that for accomplishment. And it’s not! You can’t talk your way past the bell! You can’t conspire your way past a three-count! You can’t insult your way into a clean victory! And deep down, you know that! Which is why you keep trying to change the conversation!”

“Then there’s the other part, your favorite part. You know the one. The part where you pretend you’re some sort of self-made threat. But let me say it plainly. You can’t accomplish anything of merit without Luna. You can posture all you want, but when push comes to shove, when the moment gets heavy and the pressure squeezes? You reach for the same crutch every single time! Luna interferes. Luna distracts. Luna manufactures the outcome you can’t manufacture on your own! And the funniest thing is the way you try to wash your hands of it afterward, like some sanctimonious politician caught on tape. You say you can’t control what your wife does, as if we’re all supposed to nod along and accept that as the end of the conversation. Alexander, you absolutely can control what happens in that case! Not in some creepy, possessive sense but in the most basic, simple, adult way possible! You tell her to stay out of it! You tell her not to interfere! You can draw boundaries! You can choose to stand on your own! You could do that, but you just don’t want to because you prefer the shortcut. You prefer to keep your hands clean while someone else does your dirty work! You want the victory and the spotlight but you don’t want the accountability that comes with earning it!”

“And that’s what you are, Alexander! A man who believes he’s entitled to the rewards of greatness without paying the cost of becoming great! You want to be treated like a champion contender while operating like a man who needs a safety net! You want the prestige without the sacrifice! You want the status without the substance! And you’ve managed to convince just enough people that you’re worth keeping around because you’re ‘dangerous’, when in reality? You’re just loud.”

“Now, Brayden Hilton? Brayden, you are the only man in SCW who can make Alexander Raven look like a priest when it comes to entitlement. And I’m not saying that figuratively. Literally! That's a fact you’ve built your entire identity on! Alexander at least hides behind conspiracy theories and fake persecution. You don’t even bother with that! You walk into a room like the world owes you applause. You talk like the simple fact that your mother is of lofty standing means you carry that same stature. And what have you actually done? What have you earned? What have you achieved that wasn’t handed to you? Because from where I’m standing, you’ve accomplished absolutely nothing to warrant the space you take up on this roster other than the fact that you are your mother’s son!”

“And when that emptiness starts to show, what then? What do you do? You make yourself relevant the only way you know how, by costing someone else their match! By sabotaging someone who is clearly your better! By inserting yourself like a parasite into other people’s moments and hoping the repercussions make you look important! We just saw you do it, costing Eddie Lyons his match against Alexander Raven last Sunday! You didn’t win anything! You didn’t prove anything! You just ruined something for someone else! That’s your whole brand, Brayden. You don’t create moments, you hijack them! You don’t elevate yourself, you pull other people down and call it strategy!”

“And that’s why you and Alexander are standing on the same side of the ring this weekend. Not because you’re compatible or some cohesive unit built for dominance. You’re together because you’re both addicted to shortcuts. You’re both obsessed with the idea that you can skip steps and still claim the outcome! You’re both the kind of men who would rather cheat the process than respect it! You’re both terrified that if the world ever turns the volume down, they’ll hear the emptiness underneath!”

“And let me say with the clarity of a champion that there is no possible way oil and water like Alexander Raven and Brayden Hilton could ever form a cohesive team! You can pose together and cut your little speeches about destiny and injustice, but the moment that bell rings, reality takes over! Reality doesn’t care about your entitlement and excuses! Reality cares about the ability to sacrifice your ego for the sake of victory! You two can’t do that, because you don’t even like each other! You just like what the other represents. Alexander likes having a chaos agent he can point at and claim innocence. Brayden likes having a headline to stand next to. But the second one of you has to actually rely on the other, that alliance will shatter like a dollar store Christmas ornament!”

“Because Alexander, you need control and to have everything to revolve around you. And Brayden, you need attention. You need the spotlight to follow you like you’re the main character. Two men like that don’t share space. Two men like that don’t cooperate. Two men like that don’t win together, they implode together! And when you implode, Eddie and I will be standing there, neither one of us surprised. Because Eddie Lyons is a professional, and I am the World Heavyweight Champion!"

“So this weekend, understand what you’re walking into. Eddie Lyons is coming for payback! He’s coming with the righteous anger of a man who should be on the road to Inception VIII with his name stamped on the title picture, not watching Alexander Raven taking up a spot he didn’t earn! Eddie is coming with the resolve of a man who has carried this company on his back while men like you two play politics and pretend that’s the same thing as achievement! And I’m coming with a promise that I will not let parasites and pretenders turn the World Heavyweight Title into a prop for their ego! A promise that I will not allow slithering opportunists and inherited entitlement to define what it means to be at the top!”

“Alexander, you can bring your conspiracy theories. Brayden, you can bring your family name. Bring Luna! Bring excuses! Because when the bell rings, none of that saves you when the work starts and the air gets heavy and you realize you’re standing across from men who don’t need shortcuts to be dangerous! And when it’s over, when the dust settles and the excuses start to form on your tongues like they always do, you’ll have to face the simplest reality of all. You tried to steal what you didn’t earn, and you ran headfirst into men who know the value of earning everything! This weekend, your little alliance of convenience becomes your downfall because you can’t trust each other, you can’t respect each other, and you can’t hold it together when it matters!”

“And Eddie? Let’s remind SCW what happens when the work meets the crown. You get past Brayden, I run over Raven, and in 2026? You and me. Finally.”

Turnberry Towers,
Las Vegas - the morning after Halloween

The condo was quiet in that hour between 11 and noon. The drapes were pulled wide open, allowing for the sun to shine fully through the floor to ceiling  windows. The holiday decorations had yet to be taken down for another year, a chore Miles and Carter had reserved for later that day.

Kevin Chapman was huddled in the family's gaming nook, in front of the TV and fingers flying across the controller as his character in Baldur’s Gate 3 took his turn dodging and slashing through a horde of goblins. Kevin had been making great strides at school, still shy in his newness but having taken that all-important first step in trying to make some friends. He had joined two clubs at Carter and Miles's understanding. A video game club and one geared toward the LGBTQ student body.

Miles and Carter agreed that this must be where Kevin met his “friend” Connor.

That's why Kevin was so focused on his gaming today, playing multiplayer with three club members. The teenager was so focused on his party making short work of the goblin encampment that he all but ignored the giant bowl of Halloween candy on the coffee table in front of him.

From the kitchen area, Miles leaned casually against the counter, nursing his own mug, watching Kevin’s game with a smirk, finding as much enjoyment in watching him play as if he were playing himself.

“You’ve officially killed more goblins than Carter's had cups of coffee.” Miles jested as Kevin's half elf sorcerer sent a fireball into a huddled group of goblins, igniting the whole lot

Kevin smiled, his eyes never leaving the screen. “That’s because I’m emotionally committed to saving Faerûn.”

He paused only to set the controller down and stretch.  He declared, “Okay, time-out. I need a Dr Pepper.”

He walked into the kitchen and pulled a can from the bottom shelf of the fridge. As he popped the tab and took a long sip, Miles said, “That stuff will rot your teeth.”

Kevin lowered the can and replied, “So will those six Reece's Cups you called breakfast.”

Miles was about to reply but stopped, hand raised and mouth open before he conceded, “Touche.” Satisfied he got in the last word, Kevin made to resume his game when Miles called him.

“Hey, Kev.” The teen turned and saw Miles wearing a smile that did not bode well. You know that cheeky, smarmy smile? “Wanna see something funny?”

Kevin lowered the can, asking, “Should I be worried?”

“Naw!” Miles declared as he walked over to a wooden shelf resting against the foyer wall where a CD Player in the shape of a jukebox was set up. A set up that hadn’t seen much use since the early 2000s, but Carter had a thing for nostalgia and it was a gift from his Grams. Miles flipped the switch and pressed play.

A few seconds later, the bright and unmistakable sound of sleigh bells filled the condo, followed by a clear and familiar voice….

“I don’t want a lot for Christmas
There is just one thing I need…”

Kevin froze mid-sip. His head swiveled slowly toward Miles, who was already grinning like a child about to attack his Christmas presents with no one in his way.

Kevin shook his head, groaning, “MIles! It’s only November first…!” But before he could finish, the bedroom door opened and Carter stepped out into the hall.

His hair was mussed up, classic bed head, and his eyes were still filled with sleep, or the desire for it. But the expression on his face? Now that was pure judgment. He stood there for a second, just long enough to look around at what he was seeing in front of him. Kevin frozen by the fridge, Miles standing beside the CD player, and Mariah Carey’s holiday anthem playing through the condo.

Without saying a word, Carter crossed the threshold without saying so much as a word. He reached the CD player, popped open the top, and forcibly popped the disc out, holding onto it like a bomb expert might hold onto a live explosive.

Miles’s grin faltered only slightly, reasoning, “Carter? Love? It’s just a little festive music…” But Carter wasn’t listening to reason. He turned and walked past them and straight through the living room. He opened the sliding glass door to the patio and then, without hesitation, Carter flung the CD like a frisbee into the vast expanse of the city! It vanished somewhere over the pool deck, maybe toward Paradise Avenue, maybe into legend, never to be seen again!

He then slid the door shut again, turned, and walked back toward the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

Miles, doubled over, couldn’t breathe from laughing so hard. He staggered back to the kitchen and practically fell against the island counter.

“Oh my god!” He declared between gasps for breath. “He yeeted Mariah into Nevada!”

Kevin just stood there, Dr Pepper still halfway to his mouth, jaw slack. “He didn’t even say anything.”

Miles managed to straighten up, wiping his eyes. “No words needed, Kev! Not when you’re an artist!”

Outside, somewhere in Vegas, Mariah Carey’s reign had been briefly interrupted.

Later in the day

Just after noon, all had returned to normal, well, as normal as this household was truly capable of becoming. Carter had finally dragged himself out of bed, all thoughts and memories of the Mariah Carey ambush forgotten as the first thing he did was prepare lunch for his family. By his own admission, Carter was not the greatest cook but just his efforts were more than appreciated by his husband and Kevin.

And while Carter put the finishing touches on rinsing the dishes and putting them in the dishwasher, Miles leaned against the counter, studying something on his phone before he spoke up, “Alright, I’ve got an errand to run before traffic gets bad.”

Meanwhile, Carter fished a tumbler from a cabinet and filled it with water, saying casually, “Yeah, I have to make a quick stop at the mall anyway this afternoon.”

Miles glanced at him, one eyebrow raised. “The mall, huh?” There was a teasing edge in his voice, Miles fully aware of his husband’s love for all things shopping, and being so close to the holidays? The idea of turning Carter loose on the mall would be like setting the Tasmanian Devil loose in the forest.

Carter sighed, already anticipating whatever Miles was going to imply. He said, “Before you say anything, it’s for my Mom.”

Miles tilted his head, grin softening. “Oh?”

“She mentioned wanting a nice pants suit for her office meetings but can’t find one in Seattle that’s the right color.” Carter explained.

“What color does she want?” Kevin asked casually, looking up from his texting for the first time.

Carter answered, “Lavendar. So I had one custom ordered a few weeks ago. Just got the text from Neiman Marcus that it’s ready for pickup.”

Miles’s smile was genuine now. “That’s actually really sweet.” He said. “She’ll love it.”

Carter shrugged, all but indifferent to the praise. He didn’t do these things for his Mom and Grams for any form of recognition. He did it because he was able to. His Mom spent years facing adversity in raising him, and now that he was financially stable and independent? He was able to return the favor by spoiling her a little bit.

He said, “She deserves it.” Carter then turned to Kevin who, feeling his eyes on him, glanced up from whatever conversation he was having via text messaging.

“Wanna come with?” Carter asked. “Could get a smoothie while I pick it up.”

Kevin hesitated, thumb hovering over his phone. “Um, actually?” He said with an awkward half-smile. “Connor texted me. He was asking if I wanted to hang out. Maybe catch a movie or something.”

He looked from Carter to Miles, then back again. Almost as if he was concerned that turning him down and asking might somehow offend them. “Is that okay?”

Carter blinked in surprise, then nodded. “Of course that’s fine, Kev. Go have fun.”

“Glad to see you hanging out with some of your friends. Or, at least one of them.” Miles said, fishing a wallet from his back pocket. As he passed behind Carter, he casually slipped a folded twenty into Kevin’s hand, murmuring, “Don’t tell him I gave you that.”

Kevin’s face brightened. “Thanks.” He said quietly, as if sharing a secret of utmost importance and hurriedly tucking the cash in his pocket.  He then casually said, “I haven’t really hung out with anyone. Not on weekends, anyway. We’re always on the road.”

Kevin hurriedly continued, as if he was trying to right a wrong that he somehow committed. “I mean, I really love it… How many guys my age get to travel and hang out with famous wrestlers? It’s just…”

He trailed off, and the look on his face was more telling than the words. A flicker of guilt crossed both men’s expressions.

Miles met Carter’s gaze, brow furrowed slightly. Carter’s mouth pressed into a line, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. This particular revelation landed with unexpected weight. Miles then forced a soft smile, trying to pull the mood back up. “Need a ride to meet Connor?”

Kevin shook his head. “He’s picking me up. Should be here in a bit.” He hesitated, then added with shy hope. “I’m hoping to start learning to drive soon. That’d help.” Something else that Miles and Carter would have to tack onto the ever-growing list of Things To Do When Raising A Teenager.

Miles turned to put his wallet back on the counter, and as he did, Carter walked around the island and subtly slipped a folded twenty into Kevin’s hoodie pocket, murmuring, “Don’t tell him I gave you that.”

Kevin stifled a grin. If there was an Olympic event for accidental generosity, both men would have gone on to win gold medals. “Thanks.” He said, grabbing his phone, and heading toward the door, “See you guys later!”

The door closed softly behind him, leaving a small pocket of silence in his wake. For a moment, neither Miles nor Carter spoke. Then Carter leaned on the counter, arms folded, eyes drifting toward the floor. “You ever wonder if dragging him along to all the shows is hurting his social life?”

Miles exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. I do. But what else can we do? We can’t just leave him here alone in Vegas.”

Carter nodded, jaw tightening slightly. “I know. I just don’t like the idea of him missing out.”

The conversation faded into the kind of quiet only shared guilt brings. That lingering ache of two people who know they’ve been doing their best, yet still feel like it’s not quite enough. These two men feeling concerned, thoughtful, and a little bit ashamed that the life they loved might be costing the kid something precious.

Neiman Marcus -
Fashion Show Mall

Soft music hummed through the air, jazzy and indulgent. Carter stepped up to the counter, the gift box containing his Mom’s new tan dress suit with matching white blouse expertly folded inside already in the clerk’s hands.

“This is for your mother?” The woman behind the counter asked conversationally.

Carter nodded and said, “Yeah. She mentioned needing a new outfit for meetings, so I had one tailored for her. I’m just glad you guys were able to come through on such short notice.”

“That’s sweet.” The clerk said with genuine approval. “Not every son thinks like that.”

She then handed him his package and asked, “Anything for yourself today?”

“Not today.” He answered with a shake of the head. “I’m trying to cut back on indulging.” He said but his eyes wandered to some of the nearby displays.

“Cutting back, huh?” She turned slightly and gestured to a display just behind her. “Because this just came in. Limited edition.”

Carter glanced over and his attention was on point. It was a long-sleeve dress shirt, rich in cinnamon color with a subtle sheen that caught the light. The kind of shirt that could turn heads in any room, yet still look timeless. He stepped closer, fingertips brushing the fabric. It was smooth, almost silky. He couldn’t help but pick it up and admire it before stepping in front of a mirror, holding the shirt against him.

“Damn.” He half muttered. “That’s perfect.”

The clerk smiled from behind the counter, recognizing that look that all shoppers wore. Carter stood there a moment longer, then he sighed, putting it back where he got it. “Maybe next time. Today’s about her.”

He offered a polite smile and left the store, and that glorious shirt, behind him.

Early Evening

The condo was quiet again when Carter returned. Miles had not yet returned and Kevin was still at the movies with Connor. Carter set his keys down on the counter and carried the Neiman Marcus box into the bedroom. He walked to the door of the walk-in and pulled it open.

And froze.

There, hanging neatly among his shirts and jackets, was the cinnamon-colored dress shirt from the store. The metallic sheen caught the fading light from the bedroom window just as it had under the boutique’s overhead track lightning. The price tag was still attached.

Carter didn’t move. His pulse ticked up. The air in the room felt heavier. He stepped closer, his fingertips hovering just above the fabric, barely touching. He turned slightly, eyes narrowing toward the bedroom door, listening to the silence of the condo. No movement. No sound.

The faint reflection of himself in the mirrored closet wall stared back. He looked down at the box still tucked under his arm, then back at the shirt. A long beat passed, and then, slowly, Carter closed the closet door. He stumbled back on unsteady legs and fell against the bed, almost missing it entirely as he sat.

---

“I'm going to tell everyone out there a little joke. And I'm not talking about one of those funny ‘ha ha’ kind of jokes that literally leave you breathless and make your ribs hurt. I'm talking about one of those type of jokes that has you scratching at the back of your head and making you wonder what the heck is going through the mind of the person responsible.”

“And it all starts with my confessing a little something. Something that still blows my mind to this day even though you would think that I'd be used to it by now. And that's this…”

“After everything I’ve done, after every single time that I’ve gone out there injured and put this company on my back! Every time I've bled and sweat, every time I've been hurt, and won since May! There are still these narrow minded jack offs out there lining up to tell anyone that's willing to listen (not to mention a few that are not) that I don’t have any business being the World Heavyweight Champion!”

“Let that sink in for a second. After beating legends, after shutting down the ones everyone swore would shut me up and put me in my place, after months of surviving matches that would have ruined other men, I still have some wannabe spotlight junkie out here trying to spin the narrative that I’m not worthy. That I’m not ‘World Championship material!’ That I’m the equivalent to a wrestling figure that you'd find at the dollar store as compared to what you would find at Toys R Us! A so-called downgrade to what the fans actually want!”

“A downgrade. Yeah, that’s really funny! Because if I’m the downgrade, then what the hell does that make all the people I’ve already beaten? Let’s start with the top two names I beat as the champion, shall we?”

“Alex Jones? Beaten! J2H? Beaten! Shall I go on? Oh please, yes! Allow me to continue! Since May, I have recorded wins over those two greats! Vincent Lyons! Artie! Eddie Lyons! Oh, wait! Are you ready for this next one? Aiden Reynolds! Yeah, the very same Aiden Reynolds who is going around, talking shit about me and saying I don’t have any business standing where I am today! But yeah, sure! I’m the one that doesn’t belong!”

“You know what I’ve learned since becoming champion? The biggest lie in wrestling is that once you win the big one, once you get that must desired World title belt around your waist, you’re done proving yourself. People think you can just relax. They think the debate’s over. You’ve climbed the mountain, planted the flag, and now you just exist. Well, let me tell you the reality of that.”

“What a crock of shit!”

“Winning the championship doesn’t mean you’ve stopped proving yourself! If anything, it means the complete opposite! It means you’ve got to prove it every single day! Every match, every promo, every time you step into that ring! You have to prove that you’re not a fluke! You have to prove that it wasn’t luck! You have to prove that your name belongs next to the ones they hang banners for! And I’d like to think that I have proven myself recently but there are still some naysayers who will gladly tell you otherwise.”

“Do you actually think walking into the ring against Alex Jones is easy? Dispute our differences and the fact I think he’s a pretentious asshole, the man is a respected veteran of this business and has earned his spot! I mean, for God’s sake! He’s the one that ended the reign of Finn Whelan so if that doesn’t cement his standing, what the hell does!?”

“And then there’s J2H! Looking back to his origins, he used to be the running joke of the locker rooms! A glorified jobber that literally nobody took seriously! But then the man actually pushed aside his pride and his bank account and did what he had to do to make something of himself! To make people take him seriously! And until Finn came along, J2H had that record for longest World title reign! J2H was the standard bearer! I still remember when he won Blast From the Past and secured his title shot against me. Almost immediately that was when I started to hear the whispers from the armchair experts that this was where I was going to fall. They were all saying things that I’ve heard before! Things like ‘He’s a novelty act.’ and ‘He’s not serious enough.’ And do you know something?”

“Every single self-proclaimed expert with a Twitter account and an opinion got real quiet after that bell rang.”

“And now, here comes Aiden Reynolds. The guy I once thought incredibly highly of because he was true to himself and saw no reason to be the fluff of the industry. The guy I praised before and after Violent Conduct X. The guy I gave respect to because I thought he earned every single bit of it. And what does he do? He turns his back, opens his mouth, and starts running it like a kid who just learned a new curse word. All because he couldn’t handle losing.”

“That’s jealousy for you. And it served for me as a stark reminder of the truth of this industry. That being that every handshake hides ambition. Every smile in the locker room is someone waiting for you to slip so they can take what you bled to earn. Respect isn’t shared here. It’s seized, defended, and stolen back again. Wrestling has this way of pulling the mask off people. You think you know them. You think you’ve got friends, allies, people who get it and will have your back throughout adversity. But then you win something they wanted for themself and suddenly their respect turns into resentment.”

“Aiden wants to call me a downgrade? Buddy, you might want to talk to your mentor about that, because who the hell do you think I beat for this title? Who did I pin to take the gold home? Alex Jones! And then I petitioned the higher ups to give Alex the title shot he deserved, despite everything, and what happened? I defended it … successfully! So what does that make Alex, huh? What does that say about your precious mentor if the ‘downgrade’ walked into the ring, stared him down twice, and left with the championship both times?”

“Go ahead, I’ll wait.”

“Now let's talk about J2H. The ‘Crown Jewel’ of professional wrestling. Everybody said that was going to be the end of me. They said that match would be the moment I realized I was out of my depth. But guess what? The living legend didn’t humble me. He validated me. He stood across the ring from me, brought the fight, and I was the one that stood tall at the end. That night, I didn’t just survive. I won!”

“But somehow, in the minds of the bitter and the broken, I’m still a downgrade. And in the end, it’s always the same story, isn’t it? When I win, it’s luck. When they lose, it’s excuses. They can’t handle that the guy who laughs, dances, and is the ‘Pride of SCW’ is also the guy that’s better than them inside of the ring!”

“Now, Aiden Reynolds says I can’t be taken seriously because I don’t take things seriously. Only… who says that I don’t? Is it because I smile when I’m around the fans? Is it because I have fun doing something I love doing? Is it because when I walk into that ring, I make people feel something? Is that why you don’t think I’m serious, Aiden?”

“Are you honestly telling me that because I don’t brood in a corner and walk past fans who hold their hands out to me, that I don’t belong here?”

“You want to talk about emotion, Aiden? You’ve got the emotional depth of a roll of toilet paper! You walk to the ring, you wrestle, and you leave. There’s nothing behind your eyes. There’s no spark, no connection… Aiden? You’re a man without a soul. Meanwhile, the fans connect with me because I’m real. I’m not playing some fake tough guy act. I’m not out here pretending to be a tortured soul who can only express himself through inflicting pain on someone else!”

“I’m myself! 100% unfiltered, unapologetic … me!”

“So you can talk all you want about how I don’t take things seriously, but here’s the truth Aiden. I take having and being fun seriously. This business is built on passion! On heart. On giving people a reason to come back next week!  And I give them that reason every damn time! All you give them are excuses to visit the popcorn stand or a quick trip to the restroom in the hope that something more exciting will be coming up next! So if you want to wrestle like a robot, fine. But don’t come crying to me when the crowd forgets your name five minutes after your last match ends!”

“Aiden says I’m in some kind of funk. That I’m off my game and can’t get out of my own head. All I can say to that is since when is being human a crime? Yeah, I have my off days. I admit it. I have depression. I get anxiety over things others would consider small. But you know what’s funny about that? Even on my worst day, I’m still better than you on your best.”

“You want to talk about funks, Aiden? Maybe you should take a good, long look in the mirror. Because from where I’m standing, you’re the one drowning your sorrows in a bottle, then coming online to play therapist about how ‘Carter’s not focused.’ You’re not fooling anyone. You’re projecting. There’s a difference.”

“And then… Oh and then! You saved the absolute best part for last, didn’t you? Because Aiden is too much of an uneducated Trogoldyte who can’t win a war of words, he instead goes for the lowest-hanging fruit possible. He drags my husband into it. Aiden thought that was going to get under my skin. He thought talking about my personal life would shake me, make me slip. It was his sad little attempt at mind games. A little extra assist from Alex Jones, I’m hazarding a guess. Well, it didn’t work, Buttercup. It just showed how desperate you really are.”

“You can’t handle the fact that Miles and I love each other. That we’ve got something real, something solid, something you’ll never have because you’re too busy trying to prove to the world how tough you are when in reality, you are completely alone where it matters most! You hate seeing us happy. You hate that our love doesn’t fit into your fragile idea of masculinity. In another life, Aiden, you must’ve been an American Republican!”

“And I feel for you, Aiden. I honestly do. Maybe one day you’ll find someone who can put up with your mood swings, your ego, and your terrible taste in gas station whiskey. Until then, though, keep our names out of your mouth!”

“I just find it hilarious that Aiden is trying to say that Miles’s so-called lack of success where it matters is somehow my fault. Bitch, do you remember the first Elimination Chamber in SCW history? Yeah, Miles was the one that eliminated the Hall of Famer J2H! How many people can say they hold a pinfall win over James? Present company excluded?”

“I think Aiden is glossing over the important fact that unlike him, Miles is a champion. He won the Internet Championship in a match that, and correct me if I’m wrong here, your mentor walked away empty handed!”

“So let’s play connect-the-dots, shall we? Miles beat J2H. Miles is the current Internet champion! But sure, tell me again how I’m the problem!”

“You’ve got this narrow-minded idea that a champion has to be intimidating! That being intimidating is the same as being great! Newsflash, Aiden! Intimidation is only a state of mind. You think scary means scowling into a camera and flexing your muscles and talking about violence like you’ve never been hugged! You want to know what’s really scary, Aiden?”

“It’s the idea of a so-called real man like you stepping into the ring with a man like me and losing! Twice! Because when that happens, all the things you cling to, whether it be the machismo, the posturing or the idea that being loud makes you right? It’s all going to crumble down around your feet, ready to be swept away by history!”

“See, I’m not the World Champion because I’m bigger, stronger, or meaner than everyone else. I’m the World Champion because I’m better. Because I was trained by the best! Because I understand what this business is about! Because I bring the heart, the soul, the connection that you can’t fake, can’t manufacture and can’t imitate! “

“So you can call me all the names that you want! You can question my worth and spin your little narratives about how I don’t belong. Trust me, you’re not saying anything that I haven’t already heard a hundred times over! But when that bell rings, just you, me, and the truth! And the truth is you can’t beat me! Not then. Not now. Not ever!”

“High Stakes is our biggest night of the year, every year! For most, it’s a dream. For you, it’s about to become a nightmare. You’re gonna walk into that match thinking you’re the hero of your story. You’ll convince yourself that you’re destined to win. That it’s your redemption arc. So please Aiden, allow me the grace of offering you an early reality check! You don’t get to decide who belongs! You don’t get to define what a champion looks like! You don’t get to rewrite history just because it doesn’t flatter you!”

“You called me a downgrade, but here’s the reality. Downgrades quit. Champions endure. And like it or not, I’m still here! Still the World Heavyweight Champion! You’re walking into High Stakes thinking it’s your chance to take the throne, but when it’s over, when you’re lying flat on that mat staring up at the lights, you’ll finally understand why the fans believe in me! And it’s not because I’m the scariest or the loudest. It’s because I’m the realest!”

“And reality always wins!”

The weather over Las Vegas had been picture-perfect with clear blue skies stretching across the skyline of the famed “City of Sin” without a cloud in sight. The sun was shining warm but gentle enough as temperatures settled comfortably in the mid-70s since early this morning and did not raise a single degree above 80. It had been the kind of day that felt bright and open as autumn slowly  settled in.

Carter pulled the lime green Volkswagen Beetle into the long line of vehicles outside Las Vegas High just as the dismissal bell rang through the campus. To say his car stood out among the literal menagerie of newer and more colorful vehicles driven by the other parents, grandparents, and guardians, all who were waiting (in)patiently for their high schoolers would be a gross understatement. All the better for Kevin to spot Carter's ‘little bug’ from a mile away.

Carter drummed his fingers lightly on the steering wheel, sunglasses on, elbow casually hooked out the open driver-side window like he was posing for an autumn holiday ad campaign. In fact, he caught a prototypical soccer mom staring at him from the relative anonymity of her SUV. You know the type. Bleached blonde hair with that ‘duck tail’ style over her eyes. Too much spray tan and sunglasses two sizes too big.

When he caught her looking, she actually had the audacity to sneer at him. As if to say ‘ How dare you look at me when I'm looking at you ‘. So Carter, being the kind and mature individual that he is, responded in kind. By puckering his lips and blowing her a kiss, resulting in her hurriedly averting her gaze.

Mission accomplished.

Carter then turned back to watch as kids spilled out of the front entrance, the chatter of weekend plans and bemoaning homework assignments bouncing between them. The yellow school buses idled further down, waiting for their charges. Carter idly remembered what it felt like riding those buses, especially when going home. It felt like such a sense of freedom. Carter spotted Kevin quickly enough, but what drew Carter’s eye was the kid walking beside him. A relatively big kid for his age. Husky, easily six feet tall with strawberry blonde hair, stood out without even trying. The two boys were talking quietly, their heads slightly leaned toward one another in a way that communicated familiarity. Not awkward. Not forced. Actually comfortable. Interesting. Carter could not help but smile, knowing that Kevin was well on his way to making friends at his new school, despite any worries toward the contrary.

Kevin looked up, laughing about something the boy had said to him, and the flash of lime green gave Carter away instantly. His expression flickered. Not displeased but certainly not the way it lit up for Miles, either. If he noticed, Carter buried the reaction down deep.

The boys exchanged a quick goodbye before Kevin cut away from him and started toward the car while the ‘mystery boy’ headed for one of the buses, ready to deliver him home. Carter watched him until the passenger seat opened and Kevin climbed in, slinging his backpack into the back seat.

“Hey.” Kevin greeted, always polite, but quiet enough as if he was a child who just got caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar.

Carter nodded toward the direction the big kid had walked. “Who’s that?” He asked.

Kevin’s hand stalled halfway through attempting to buckle his seatbelt. “Just a friend.”

It was a shy answer. One of deflection that every teenager crafted to perfection (or at least thought they did) to ward off interfering (nosey) adults. Carter caught it, but despite his genuine curiosity and a mad desire to tease, he did absolutely nothing to draw more information from out of the teen beside him than he was ready to give.

Kevin settled into the passenger seat, asking the obvious, “Miles didn’t come?”

“Nope.” Carter carefully pulled the Beetle out of the pick up line and merging into traffic without hesitation. “Sorry but you’re stuck with me.”

Kevin sank back into the seat, not irritated, just unsure of himself and his present situation. He glanced briefly at the dashboard, the familiar sight of the Stitch bobbing on his weighted mount. “Oh. Okay.”

Carter tried not to let Kevin’s reaction get to him, but truth be told it did bother him. Miles had bonded with Kevin over the months when he was rescued and recuperating in the hospital. And as much as Carter tried to be there for him, it seemed like the teenager kept him somewhat at arms length.

“Well,” Carter spoke as the Beetle wove about its way into traffic, paying careful heed now that he had a special passenger. A promise he made to Miles. “I hope you’re not in any kind of hurry to get home because I have to hit the Mall real quick. Miles is meeting us there for dinner.”

Kevin turned to him. “You didn’t tell me we were going out…”

“I know, sorry about that but…” Carter said easily. “Surprise?”

Kevin sank further into his seat, if that were at all possible. Carter then added, “Figured this gives us some time to talk.”

Kevin paused before asking “About what?”

“Let’s get there first.” Was all Carter said for the time being…


Twenty minutes later, the duo of Carter and Kevin were stepping inside Fashion Show Mall, an air-conditioned chill sweeping across everyone who passed inside from the streets of Vegas to the vast interior. The Friday crowd was already heavy, even in the early afternoon, with shopping bags, screaming children and teenagers roaming in clustered packs. Carter walked naturally, hands in pockets, comfortable navigating anywhere.

Kevin kept pace beside him, not quite shoulder to shoulder. Not as comfortable.

They passed a Coca-Cola branded kiosk, Carter paused long enough to buy a cold bottled Dr. Pepper and handed it directly to Kevin without even asking. An act that months ago would have been unheard of. Carter tried to eat well, he had his cheats and failures, but he had maintained the belief that soda was nothing more than liquid candy that rotted teeth. Then along came Kevin and his stance softened with the heart of a teenager who had gone without the simple things too often.

Kevin blinked at it before he unscrewed the cap and took a deep and appreciative drink. “Thanks.”

“Sit with me a sec,” Carter said, leading him toward a long bench near a palm installation. They sat together but Carter didn’t talk right away. Instead, Carter breathed slowly and quietly, people watching briefly rather than keep an eye on the teenager beside him.

Finally Carter spoke out of the blue, “Did I ever do something to make you uncomfortable?”

Kevin froze mid-sip.

He visibly collected himself before answering. “No. Why?”

“The little things,” Carter answered, lifting a hand, gesturing vaguely. “When Miles isn’t home, you usually go down to Missus Thompson’s. Or your room. You don’t hang out with me in the living room. You don’t ever say no, you’re not rude, but you… I guess evaporate is the word I’m looking for.”

Kevin said nothing and Carter continued. “When I pulled up just now.” Carter added lightly, “You kinda looked disappointed it wasn’t Miles.”

Kevin exhaled weakly through his nose. “That’s not…”

But Carter interrupted, being Carter. “And I really hope Miles hasn’t been poisoning my reputation by slandering my driving again.”

That resulted in a tiny laugh out of Kevin. “He said you flirt your way out of tickets.”

“Oh, that hypocrite!” Carter said instantly, with obvious theatrical disdain. “He wears gray sweatpants or those special shorts to get me to agree to whatever he wants. The man has no room to talk!”

Kevin almost choked on the Dr. Pepper.

Carter glanced at him, finally looking directly at him. “Did I do something to upset you? You can tell me. I promise I won't get upset.”

Kevin’s fingers tightened around the cold plastic bottle. His eyes stayed on the floor tiles but he didn’t answer. Not at first. In fact, Carter was fairly certain he wasn’t going to until he heard the hushed whisper, I don’t know how to act around you. After what my mom did.”

Carter went still. He stared ahead for a moment then lowered his head slightly. “Do you blame me?” He asked carefully. “For what happened to your family?”

Kevin’s heartbeat jumped but he answered fast. “No.” He paused, waited a brief time again before he continued, “I blame her. But the fact she tried to have you seriously hurt or…”

“Kevin.” Carter cut in immediately. “That was not you. That was your mom. You are not your mom.”

Kevin’s voice cracked, silently, but he didn’t look up.

“Hey.” Carter leaned in, gentler, locking eye contact this time because he needed it received. “You don’t ever have to worry about how I feel. Ever.”

Silence. Kevin’s grip had gone white-knuckled on the bottle. Kevin’s voice was barely audible as he whispered, “I thought maybe you hated me for it.”

“If I hated you…” Carter said simply. “You would not be living in our house. And I sure as hell wouldn’t have gone out of my way to spoil you rotten every five minutes. Which I take great pride in, thank you.”

That finally drew a genuine smile from the teenager.
Carter spoke, “Hey. Look at me a sec?”

Kevin did, hesitantly.

“I wanted to ask you something. And I wanted you to be one hundred percent honest with me. You wouldn’t get in trouble, and I wouldn’t get butt hurt.”

Kevin tensed, bracing.

Carter finally asked. “Did it upset you, or make you uncomfortable, when I called my mom ‘grandma’? Or when I told Bella and Malachi you were our son?”

Kevin instantly flinched. He stared at the fountain, then at some passing kids — anywhere but at Carter. His hands twisted and twisted in his sleeves. There was a long, silent beat heavy enough to feel in the chest. Kevin swallowed before he answered.

“It doesn’t upset me,” he finally whispered. “Not really. It just... I guess feels a little weird. That’s all. I’m not mad. It’s just still new.”

Carter exhaled, gently nodding. “That’s fair.” He said. “And I’m sorry. With Malachi it genuinely was just to bust his chops for being a little bitch. Then it just ... I guess it just got away from me. Because Miles and I did see you as family. That wasn’t a joke.”

Kevin’s eyes were low. But he nodded. Accepting but not yet knowing what to do with it. Carter went on, “You’ve just been through so much. I wanted you to have a family again. A real one. Not a temporary one. Not one waiting to see if you screw up. A permanent one.”

Kevin nodded again but this time with a barely audible sound. "I know." He said quietly. “I appreciate it.”

Carter looked away and let the quiet time pass between them. And then, “You know, you and I have a lot in common. Especially when it comes to family.”

That made Kevin look up at him.

Carter told his tale, “I had a pretty happy childhood. My parents were great. At least until I was about your age.”

Kevin blinked. “That’s like me?”

“I'm getting there,” Carter said gently. “It fell apart when my dad caught me making out with my best friend Randy Coppler in my bedroom.”

Kevin flinched with immediate understanding. He asked, “What happened?”

“Everything you’d expect.” Carter answered as the painful memories came flooding back. “Mom accepted me instantly. Dad very much didn’t. He tried to get me sent to conversion therapy and Mom forbid it. Their marriage didn't last much longer. They divorced. Dad vanished.”

Kevin asked, “Did you ever see him again?”

“Not for ten years.” Carter answered. “Not until it was too late.”

Kevin didn’t look away and Carter continued. “He came back. And I treated him like absolute garbage. And I thought I was right. Turns out it was his own family behind everything. Money. Threats. Pressure. They were going to cut him off. He needed that money to feed his wife and kid. So he failed me to save us.”

Kevin’s face wrenched, recognizing the parallels between them.

“I hated him.” Carter said quietly. “Then I found out he was dying. Kidney failure. And all I could think about was how I was going to lose my dad.”

The bright mall felt almost abandoned around them.

“We did reconnect. And I was going to donate a kidney, even though he refused to ask. But he died before I could.”

Carter let out a deep breath before turning to face Kevin directly, head on. “You have a family now with Miles and with me. No expiration date. You don’t ever have to worry about what happens if you mess up.”

Kevin wasn’t crying but his throat did constrict as if fighting to control himself. He whispered, “I don’t know how to believe that, but I want to.”

Carter nodded. “That’s enough." He said. Wanting to is enough. We’d handle the rest. Holidays might be awkward, though.”

Kevin blinked, “Why?”

“Because my Mom and Grams are absolutely going to want to spoil you rotten.” Carter leaned in and added, “And so will Miles’s Mom.”

Kevin just smiled.

Carter’s tone shifted again. “Listen. If I ever do anything I do makes you uncomfortable? You have to tell me. So I can fix it.”

Kevin started to say, “It’s just… you keep buying me all this stuff…”

“Except that.” Carter smiled. “I spoil. It’s what I do. And besides…” Carter finally stood up from the bench. “That’s actually why we’re here.”

“What?”

“Me and Miles think it’s time we got you a phone. And your own laptop.”

Kevin sucked in a quiet breath. “You don’t have to…” He started to protest.

“I know I don’t have to.” Carter said. “I want to. There’s a difference.”

Carter beckoned him with a wave. “Let’s move.”

Slowly, Kevin nodded and pushed himself back to his feet. He looked Carter in the eyes and his guardian asked, “Are we good?”

“We’re good.”

“Alright then.” Carter turned toward the inner corridor flow of shoppers. “Let’s go do some damage before Miles puts a stop to it!”

Kevin stayed beside him as they stepped forward together, vanishing into the masses of Mall shoppers.

---

“So! Vincent … Vinnie! Can I call you Vinnie? Let’s get something straight before your paranoid delusions try to rewrite reality again. This match, this Clash of the Champions? It wasn’t meant to be. It wasn’t booked. It wasn’t even necessary. You weren’t supposed to be standing across from me this weekend, but you just couldn’t help yourself, could you? You just had to shove your nose where it didn’t belong, sniffing around like a stray bitch desperate for attention! You stuck your nose into something between Alexander Raven and me, and now you’re running yourself into the ground, trying to justify yourself.”

“See, you could’ve stayed quiet. You could’ve stayed in your lane, polishing that Roulette Championship like it’s the only thing giving your life meaning. Because let’s be real, it probably is. But no. You had to make it about you. And the second you used that as a cue to open your mouth and start flapping your big mouth about my husband and my brother-in-law? That’s where the line got crossed, Vinnie. That’s the moment your little interference turned into an invitation for me to start taking things personally.”

“You didn’t just step into my story, you became the punchline. Because right there, when you started talking about my family, you didn’t step back. You didn’t think to yourself that maybe that’s crossing a line that ought not be crossed. You grinned. You became what the internet calls a ‘pick me girl.”=’ You know the type: Always desperate to prove they’re one of the ‘cool kids,’ always nodding along with the loudest jerk in the room hoping someone, literally anyone, will finally notice them!”

“So congratulations, Vinnie. You officially made the jump from ‘ credible champion’ to ‘high school cheerleader.’ And not even a good one. You’re like the knockoff-brand version, offering discount drama and zero self-awareness.”

“You’ve been walking around, running your mouth and acting like you’re the second coming of wrestling royalty! But all I see is a man who’s so far up his own ass he could probably see daylight out his throat! You want to talk about wins and losses? You want to talk about how you beat LJ? Cute. Real cute. You love to brag about that, huh? You talk about that match like it’s your magnum opus. Like you climbed a mountain. Like you slayed a dragon. But here’s what you’re conveniently forgetting, sugar! August 24th in Cypress. The night when LJ pinned your ass! One, two, three! And if that match had been for your precious little Roulette Championship? You wouldn’t be walking into this weekend with that belt around your waist. You’d be walking in with your tail between your legs and your ego deflated like a cheap dollar store balloon! Probably hanging out in catering and wondering what might have been! But you don’t mention that part, do you? No, you just cherry-pick your wins and bury your losses under selective memory and mental impaired delusion.”

“And this match between us? This isn’t new ground. This is the second time we’ve done this dance. You remember the first, don’t you? Well even if you don’t, you should. Because it wasn’t your arm that got raised at the end. You didn’t walk out a winner. You crawled out a very lucky man… Well, man baby. You only got out of that match with any semblance of dignity because you took the coward’s way out! You grabbed a chair and swung it like your life depended on it, because deep down, you knew it did! Right into my head, sending me to the hospital with a concussion!”

“And don’t think I forgot about that because bitch, trust me when I say I still owe you big for that one!”

“You didn’t take me down. You didn’t pin me. You didn’t beat me. You escaped me. You took the easy way out because the hard way was about to end with you flat on your back, staring up at the lights, wondering where it all went wrong! You didn’t fight me, you survived me!”

“And ever since then, you’ve been clinging to whatever scraps of dignity you could find. You talk a big game, Vinnie, but every time you open your mouth, all I hear is the sound of insecurity echoing off hollow ambition. You don’t believe what you say. You’re just hoping if you repeat it enough, someone else will.”

“And then you had the nerve to go full high school mean girl on me. You couldn’t handle the heat, so you tried to take a cheap shot at my personal life. You called my marriage to Miles … I believe the word you used to describe us was cringe? Really? That’s the best you’ve got? We’re not in the locker room. We’re not in high school. You don’t get points for bitchiness.”

“But since you brought it up, let’s talk about relationships, shall we? See, I’ve got one. A real one. A husband who stands by me, loves me, and doesn’t just tolerate me because of what I can do for him in the bedroom although I certainly do a lot! Meanwhile, you couldn’t get a date in a women’s prison with a fistful of conjugal visit coupons and a bottle of champagne! You want to throw shade about cringe? Your love life is a ghost town! Your own hand falls asleep every time you go for a good wank! The only thing that’s ever committed to you is your reflection and even that’s close to filing a restraining order!”

“I mean … even your own family doesn’t want anything to do with you! Doesn’t that tell you anything? They see the way you isolate yourself. The way you push people away. You talk about legacy like it’s a family heirloom, but the only thing you’ve inherited from the Lyons dynasty is loneliness and denial! You’re the black sheep who thinks he’s a lion. The outcast pretending he was exiled when he was really just cast away.”

“You strut around the backstage and locker rooms like you’re the future of SCW but the sad fact is that the only thing you’re building is a reputation for running your mouth and ducking responsibility. You’re not the future Vinnie. You're the cautionary tale they’ll tell at wrestling training camps when they warn students not to believe their own hype.”

“So before we go any further, let’s get one thing clear. I’m not stepping into that ring to play nice. This isn’t some handshake-and-hug exhibition. This is a reckoning. You stuck your nose in my business, you disrespected my family, you put me in the hospital and now I’m coming to collect interest! And I don’t care if Alexander Raven decides to lurk around ringside trying to be relevant again. He can take a cheap shot if he wants to, but let’s be real. He won’t. Because Raven’s an even bigger candy-ass than you are!”

“The man struts around like he’s mystery incarnate, but I’ve seen scarier things on a Pride parade float. He’s all eyeliner and ego, and you’re on the fast track to becoming his backup dancer! The two of you together? You’re like a Hot Topic clearance rack come to life. So if he wants to insert himself again, he can try. He can take his swing. But I promise you, the second he does, I’ll snap his wings and send him flying right back into irrelevance!”

“So here’s the reality check you’ve been avoiding. I’m not the guy you get over on. I’m not the stepping stone. I’m the wall you crash into when your mouth finally outweighs your talent! See, you can wrap it up however you want. You can call it destiny, you can call it pride, you can call it whatever buzzword you need to feel important, but the truth is simple. You’re not walking into that ring as my equal. You’re walking into that ring as your own karma.”

“And don’t get it twisted because this isn’t about titles. This isn’t about the World Heavyweight Championship. This isn’t about the Roulette belt around your waist. This is about you learning the hard way what happens when you mistake tolerance for weakness. I’ve been patient. I’ve been measured. But patience runs out, and you, Vinnie? You've been cashing checks your body can’t afford to cover because your talent bank account has insufficient funds!”

“You think you’re going to walk into our Main Event match weekend and make a statement? You think this is your moment to shine? Let me tell you something. I am the statement. I’m the headline. You’re just the side quest that wastes the main character’s time! You are just the pre-show attraction pretending that it’s the main event! You can walk down that ramp with all the swagger in the world, wearing that Roulette title like it’s a badge of honor, but deep down, you know it’s just armor. You cling to that belt because it’s the only thing shielding you from the truth! That without it, you’re forgettable. Without it, you’re just another guy with family issues and delusions of grandeur!”

“Do you want to know what makes us different? Unlike you, I don’t need anyone to validate me. I don’t need to beg for attention. I don’t need to be ‘picked.’ I’m the World Heavyweight Champion not because of luck, not because of politics, but because every single time someone’s tried to knock me off this throne, I’ve reminded them that charisma, skill, and authenticity don’t come from pretending! They come from being! And what I am is everything you wish you could be! Confident. Respected. Loved. Admired. You’ve spent your whole career trying to convince people you’re the future, while I’ve been out here proving I’m the now!”

“So when that bell rings, and you’re standing across from me, remember this! Every insult, every little jab, every attempt to tear me down? It all comes due at that moment. Because you’re not fighting the glitz or the glam. You’re not fighting the persona or pride rainbows. You’re fighting the man. The champion. The husband. The brother-in-law. The fighter who’s done playing nice!”

“And I don’t care what Halloween stipulation this ends up as! Casket Match, Trick or Street Fight, Monster’s Ball… Hell! It doesn’t matter if it’s barbed wire and pumpkin pies, because the endgame stays the same! You’re going to walk in cocky and walk out corrected! You’re going to walk in thinking you’re the hero and crawl out realizing you’re just another victim of your own borderline personality disorder!”

“You’ve been running your mouth about how you’re ready for anything, but you’ve never been ready for me. You’ve never faced someone who can dissect you emotionally and physically at the same time! I’m not just going to beat you, Vinnie. I’m going to break you. Mentally as well as physically. I’m going to strip away that false bravado until there’s nothing left but the truth staring back at you! And that truth is that no matter how loud you shout, how hard you hit, how desperately you claw for relevance, you will never … ever … be me!”

“When the dust settles, and the lights dim, and the crowd stops chanting your name out of pity, you’ll finally understand the one universal law of creation! That the world has never known a bigger bitch than a pissed-off gay man!”

The bedroom door opened, revealing Kevin Chapman, a sixteen-year-old teen with curly brown hair and an expression that seemed to fluctuate between hesitation and curiosity and one single bag that contained everything of value that he owned. Flanking him on both sides were his new legal guardians, Carter and Miles, who, by their own admission, were far more excited about this moment than Kevin could possibly understand.

“Go on inside.” Miles encouraged gently, nudging Kevin slightly with a hand on his shoulder. "It's alright."

Almost reluctantly, Kevin took a step forward, barely glancing back before he stepped inside of the bedroom. The sixteen year old paused, taking in every detail yet saying nothing. Not just yet.

The room was decorated in what could only be described as minimal at best. The walls were painted a cream color, giving the room a feeling of being open and airy. A queen-sized bed rested against the far wall, covered in a tanned comforter and pillows that appeared soft and inviting. To the right of the bed, a simple painting hung against the wall that showcased the artist's rendition of a peaceful ocean scene. Below that was a slender vase filled with orchids, Carter’s favorite flower. Kevin had always loved flowers, their colors and scents offering solace in troubled times of which there were plenty. His Mom also loved gardening but her fits of perfection had all but ruined it for him.

His eyes drifted to various memorabilia scattered about. There were a few pieces featuring Stitch from Disney, cheerful reminders that at one point in time, this was Carter’s bedroom before he and Miles became the loving couple they are today. A TV mounted on the opposite wall caught his attention, promising late-night binges of shows he loved but missed.

But what really captured Kevin’s eye was the sliding door, partly concealed by the lace drapery. He could see sunlight pouring in over the balcony that overlooked the cityscape of Las Vegas below. That was when something in Kevin's mind clicked and he turned around, asking, "You guys aren't giving me your room, are you?"

"Our room?" Miles frowned, confused. "No, why?"

"Well, b-because..." Kevin turned back and looked toward the balcony and the dawning of realization struck both Miles and Carter at the same time.

"No, no!" Carter laughed. "There are balconies along every bedroom, even the guest bedrooms. It's just how the place was designed. This was my room once, you can tell by all the Stitch stuff. Then when Miles and I… well… It became a guest room.”

“And now?” Miles added, stepping further inside. “It’s yours.”

There was a slight coloring at the base of Kevin's neck and he turned back to look at the balcony. Then a movement from the corner of his eye attracted his attention and he turned to spot Ms. Thang strolled into the room with a graceful saunter. She had the same sort of attitude that every cat seemed to possess. That she alone ruled this household. Her emerald eyes blinked slowly as she surveyed Kevin, heading immediately for the teen and butted her head against his shin.

Feeling a little uncomfortable under the weight of the moment, Kevin rocked from one foot to the other. He asked hesitantly, “Are you sure you want this? I mean… ?”

Carter stepped forward, a reassuring smile on his face. “Kevin, stop. Please. If we didn't want this, trust me when I say that you wouldn't be here. This is your home now. Not just because you need it, but because we want it."

Kevin bit his lip, glancing at his surroundings again, a natural uncertainty on his features given everything he had been put through over the last year. “I’m not anyone special.  I’m just me.”

That was when Miles stepped right up to the teen and rested a firm but supportive hand on Kevin’s slim shoulder. “You listen to me.” Miles stated flatly. “Don’t ever let either of us hear you say you’re not special because you are!”

Kevin flushed at the praise, words like he was not used to being on the receiving end of. He just nodded and satisfied for the moment, Miles patted his shoulder and stepped back.

Carter said, “I know it’s a little plain now but that’s just because it got transformed into a guest room. But now that it’s yours? We want you to make it your own. Posters, paintings, decorations… If you want new paint or a new bedspread…”

“What if I want to take down the Stitch stuff?” Kevin muttered, half-joking.

Carter shrugged. “I wouldn’t be upset in the slightest.”

Miles resumed his spot close at his husband’s side, sliding an arm around his waist and he smirked, “Except he totally would be upset.” Earning for himself a slight swat to the arm as a result.

Kevin felt a tiny smile tug at his lips. With a faint sigh, he set his bag down onto the bed. Ms. Thang hopped up onto the bed, her curiosity piqued. She sniffed at Kevin’s items, her ears pinning back slightly. Carter’s eyes strayed toward the boy and found himself focusing on his shoes and, for the first time, he noticed just how truly worn out his footwear was. Worn to the soles, dirty … Carter even noticed that there was an obvious hole in Kevin’s sock.

With a frown of concern, Carter turned to Kevin. “Is this really all the clothes you own?” The boy nodded, a wave of embarrassment washing over him.

Carter exchanged glances with Miles. “Okay, we need to remedy this. Get ready.”

“Ready for what?” Kevin asked, brow furrowing in confusion.

“I’m taking you shopping,” Carter announced, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“What? No!” Kevin's protest was instinctive. The thought of someone spending money on him felt overwhelming and undeserved. “You don’t have to do that.”

Carter remained unfazed, shaking his head firmly. “I know I don’t have to Kevin. But I want to.”

Miles sighed, “I better go with you two. Last time Carter went on a shopping spree, he practically emptied the mall.” Miles then clapped Kevin on the shoulder reassuringly. “So imagine what he’s going to try and do for you!”

“Hey!” Carter retorted. “I’m not that bad!” Earning a very obvious eye roll from Miles.

Kevin watched the verbal jousting between the two men. Their excitement and determination to help him felt unlike anything he had ever experienced before. But still, he hesitated.

“I-I don’t even know what to pick.”

Carter met Kevin’s gaze and smiled. “Just think of what makes you feel comfortable. What colors do you like? What styles do you prefer?”

“I…” Kevin trailed off, pondering. His mind raced through memories of what he liked versus what he had settled for over the years. “I guess I like blue? And comfy clothes?”

“We can totally work with comfy and blue!” Miles smiled, steering Kevin toward the door where Carter was waiting.

“Alright then,” Carter said. “Let’s get you some clothes that scream ‘Kevin’ and maybe a new pair of shoes, too. After all, we can’t have Ms. Thang judging you based on your wardrobe!”

The tension in Kevin's shoulders started to ease, a reluctant smile forming on his lips as he felt a flicker of excitement replace his anxiety. “Okay. I guess that doesn’t sound so bad.”

As they all headed out of the room, Ms. Thang curled up on Kevin’s bed and made herself at home, her eyes closing for a well earned snooze.


Carter adjusted his sunglasses as he stepped out of the car, looking back at Kevin who was still buckled in his seat, eyes wide. He was taking in the sheer magnitude of the mall located on the Las Vegas Strip. The modern exterior, the huge disc that covered the very building itself. It was all... so much!

Kevin glanced at Miles, then back to Carter, “What if we go overboard? You know, with all the stuff?”

Miles chuckled. “Carter is famous for turning shopping trips into full-blown missions.”

Kevin, still adjusting to his role as a teenager now living in unfamiliar luxury, could feel his heart race at the thought of a full day dedicated to him. He was getting new clothes but a big part of him felt uncomfortable about it. Undeserving.

“Let’s stick to the plan,” Miles said, his tone businesslike but warm. “No wild impulse buys, okay?”

Carter rolled his eyes as they led Kevin through the bustling entrance of the mall, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

Their first stop was Nordstrom, and Kevin couldn’t help but be drawn in by the sheer variety of styles laid before him. Carter immediately headed toward the men’s section, gesturing for Kevin to follow. It wasn’t long before they were rifling through hoodies, dress shirts, and even some casual pieces. Kevin watched in awe as Carter picked out outfits like a maestro conducting an orchestra.

“How about this?” Carter asked, holding up an amethyst blue hoodie against Kevin’s frame.

Kevin nodded, feeling a thrill run through him and Carter tossed it into their growing pile. He was in his element, combining colors and styles as if he were piecing together a masterpiece. There were dress slacks that would fit perfectly for school presentations and denim jeans that promised comfort at home.

By the time they passed through boutiques such as Macy's, Forever 21 and H&M, Kevin had amassed quite the wardrobe.

At Urban Outfitters, Kevin exclaimed, “I love this graphic tee!” Admiring a shirt featuring a vintage band logo. Carter was already on it, plucking it off the rack without a second thought.

As they moved through the store, Kevin couldn’t help but hold back his concerns. After all, Carter had already spent what felt like a fortune. Kevin leaned closer to Miles. “Miles?” He whispered, glancing at all the items piled high on the counter. “Do you think Carter is spending too much?”

Miles glanced at the cash register where Carter was currently making small talk with the cashier while swiping his card. “Kevin, I know it seems like a lot, but you need to let Carter do this for you. This is what he loves.”

“But he spent over a thousand dollars!” Kevin replied, his anxiety creeping up.

“Two thousand, actually.” Miles interrupted gently, the number making Kevin weak at the knees. “But remember, I’ve handled most of your legal needs. Carter knows what he’s doing. More importantly, this isn’t just about spending money. It’s about helping you. So let him.”

Carter finished paying and approached the two, arms laden with bags. “Are we ready for the next store? I’m thinking decorations for your room!”

Kevin could see how much Carter enjoyed this and somehow, it lifted the weight off his shoulders. “Where to now?”

“Hot Topic, where else?” Carter answered, already leading the way through the mall patrons. As they entered Hot Topic, Kevin’s eyes lit up. Posters and shirts covered the walls, showcasing pop culture icons and their colorful merchandise. “Wow.”

“Grab anything that catches your eye.” Carter encouraged, nudging Kevin further inside.

“I’ve always wanted a poster of that band.” Kevin pointed to the artwork hung on the wall. “And maybe that blanket?”

Carter nodded vigorously. “Whatever you want, add them to the haul!”

Kevin wandered around, picking out accessories and decor. A few band tees, colorful socks, and even a lamp featuring Jack Skellington and Sally. The clerks were friendly, offering suggestions and complimenting his picks, which gave Kevin a shot of confidence.

Before long, they were back outside, and the sheer volume of shopping bags dwarfed Kevin’s small stature. The poor kid was caught somewhere between riding the wave of excitement and disbelief.

“Anyone hungry?” Miles asked, looking over at Kevin, who was inspecting a new pair of sneakers peeking out from one of the bags.

“I actually am,” Kevin admitted, his stomach rumbling audibly.

Carter asked, “What’s your favorite food?”

“Mexican,” Kevin replied, remembering the delicious tacos he had tasted once at a food truck before everything in his life changed.

“Perfect!” Carter exclaimed. “There’s a great Mexican place just a short stroll away from here. Tacos, burritos… You name it! Let’s refuel and call it a day.”

“Babe?” Miles spoke up. “We should probably take the bags to the car before heading for dinner.”

Carter turned and looked at the virtual mountain of shopping bags that they’ve collected, an amount that would in no way fit at any table. He then blinked and turned back to his husband and shrugged, “Why?”


Miles, of course, won out. Or logic did. The trio had taken all of their shopping out to the car and were now seated in a round booth near the center of the busy restaurant. A literal Mexican filled the table, everything that Kevin had said sounded good, Carter and Miles had ordered. Everything from a platter of tacos to cheese enchiladas, burritos and bowls of guacamole and warm chips.

Kevin’s eyes darted from platter to platter. His expression betrayed how badly he wanted to dig in. He reached for a taco, but his movements were still cautious, like he was waiting for someone to tell him he wasn’t allowed.

The first few bites seemed to ease the tension, though, and soon their conversation turned toward the future and what hopeful expectations that it would bring.

“So…” Carter said between bites. “Saturday we’re heading down to Florida.”

Kevin blinked and asked, “Florida?”

Miles nodded. “Yeah, we’ve got an SCW show down there on Sunday. We want you to come with us.”

Kevin’s mouth was agape as he half forgot the taco at his lips. “Me?” He asked. “Seriously?”

“We've got the okay from the court.” Miles said, sipping his drink. “We can take you to the shows with us so long as it doesn’t disrupt your routine.”

Carter added, “Or your school.”

Kevin asked “Wait, school?”

Miles exchanged a quick glance with Carter, then nodded. “We have you enrolled to start as a sophomore next week.”

Kevin frowned, “But … I was a sophomore last year.”

“You didn’t finish the year.” Carter said gently. “So you’ll need to repeat it. Clean slate. Do it right this time.”

Kevin’s shoulders sank. “That sucks.”

“Yeah.” Carter admitted, “It does. But it’s not the end of the world. You’ll catch up. You’ve got this.”

Kevin gave a reluctant nod, chewing in silence. But both Carter and Miles could see the way his hands tightened around his fork, his body curling inward as if he wanted to disappear.

Miles leaned forward. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

Kevin shook his head quickly, avoiding their eyes. “Nothing.”

Carter set down his taco. “Doesn’t look like nothing. Talk to us.”

Kevin hesitated, glancing toward the floor. Finally, almost ashamed, he whispered, “A woman’s been staring at us since we sat down.”

Carter tilted his head slightly. “Who?”

Kevin’s chin lifted, eyes darting toward the table just behind them. “Behind you. Don’t...”

But Carter was already half-turned.

“Wait...!” Kevin hissed.

Too late! Carter’s sharp voice carried across the booth. “Excuse me! What exactly are you staring at!? Do you see us staring at your son and grandson???”

The woman, a middle-aged brunette with too much jewelry and too little subtlety, went scarlet red at his words. She practically screeched in the middle of the restaurant, drawing stares. “This is my husband and son! How dare you!”

Carter rolled his eyes and turned back without missing a beat. “My mistake.” He speared another fajita strip as though nothing had happened. The woman, shocked into silence and cheeks flushed, quickly turned away and back to her embarrassed family.

Kevin sat wide-eyed, his taco forgotten, mouth hanging open. Miles pressed his lips together, fighting the laugh threatening to escape. He patted Kevin’s shoulder. “Any wonder why I married him? You’ll get used to it.”

Kevin looked between the two of them, still stunned, while Carter calmly went back to his meal.

---

The sun shone down on Miami Beach, where colorful umbrellas were as far as the eye could see and the laughter of beachgoers filled the air. And among the crowd was Helluva Bottom Carter, the World Heavyweight Champion, adorned in a rainbow-colored Pride One brief and metallic violet shades, lounging on a large beach towel. His sharp gaze remained fixated on a lively scene in the water.

His husband Miles Kasey splashed about the waves like an overgrown child, along with their sixteen-year-old ward, Kevin Chapman. The boy had come into their lives under heart wrenching circumstances, walls built high around him. Yet, Carter could see the hope flickering behind those defenses as he watched Miles effortlessly draw out Kevin's laughter.

“Violent Conduct X...”

“The name alone gets the blood pumping, doesn’t it? The single most hardcore event of the year. The kind of night where you don’t bring the kids unless you’re ready for them to have nightmares. This is where the bloodthirsty fans in the front row get exactly what they paid for. Where bodies crash through tables, steel bends against bone, and the whole damn show turns into a car wreck you can’t look away from!”

Carter sat up, setting his drink aside on a tray as he drew a knee up against his chest and wrapped his arms around his upper body. His eyes remained hidden behind his shades but his attention was straight forward.

“You think the iconic hardcore events of the indie scene made you squirm? You think Japan’s deathmatches in hardcore promotions made your stomach churn? That’s … cute. Violent Conduct makes all of that look like Sunday afternoon tea with grandma complete with lace doilies and homemade oatmeal cookies. Violent Conduct is where legends are carved out of scars and bruises. And this year on the tenth anniversary? We’re taking it a step farther than it’s ever gone before!”

“I mean, take a look at some of what we’re throwing in your face and tell me if I’m lying. You’ve got the Loser Leaves SCW match between Justin Smith, the man who’s made more people bleed than a surgeon’s scalpel, going against Felix ‘the Cat’ Hernandez. And Felix? That sneaky little bastard who hasn’t got an ounce of loyalty in his body. You’re gonna see chairs fly, tables splinter, maybe even the sand out here in Miami stained red by the time those two are finished with each other!”

“And then you have the Street Fight for the World Bombshell Championship! Kayla Richards and Frankie Holliday! Not a wrestling match, not a contest of holds and counter holds … a straight-up brawl where anything goes! You think the Bombshells can’t hit as hard as the guys? You’re in for a rude awakening because those women are out for blood, belts, and bragging rights!”

“But we’re not stopping there. Oh no! We’ve got the Extreme Funhouse Match. My brother-in-law LJ and his main squeeze Alexandra stepping into a nightmare filled steel cage against the Metal Maniacs. That one’s gonna be chaos wrapped in neon lights and broken glass, a funhouse where the fun’s gonna end with somebody’s career in shambles! I still don’t know who LJ and Ally pissed off to get booked into this match but I know they’re capable of handling those two clowns!”

“And let’s not forget the drama that had all of Twitter melting down. Namely Seleana Zdunich and Crystal Caldwell. They were supposed to roll around in a mud pit, tear each other apart in the messiest catfight this side of reality TV. But some people not even in SCW started pitching a fit and the match got changed into a Ball n Chain match? This isn’t the first time Crystal has betrayed Sel and I’d hate to be the Woman of 1,000 Names when Seleana gets hold of her!”

“But all of that? That’s just the appetizer. Because after the blood, after the broken bones, after the wreckage is swept off the stage, there’s still the main course. There’s still me, the World Heavyweight Champion standing across the ring from my challenger, Aiden Reynolds.”

There was a pause as Carter exhaled slowly and adjusted his sunglasses.

“Let me tell you something about Aiden Reynolds. He’s what my trainers at the GO Gym would call old school appropriation. Not because he’s been around twenty years or because he’s slow, washed up, or boring. Quite the opposite! The man is seen as ‘old school’ because he’s not what you would consider flashy. Most wrestlers come out in flash and pomp to try and force all eyes to turn to them but Aiden?”

Carter shook his head.

“The flashiest thing about him is the leather jacket he wears and the ink he’s got on his skin. Other than that? He walks out to the ring in trunks and boots. No pyro. No smoke. No sequins. No grandstanding. Just a man who laces his boots, steps through those ropes, and does the damn thing that he was born to do. And you know what? I’m starting to suspect that’s all by design.”

“Because if you don’t purposely draw attention to yourself, people don’t notice you. If they don’t notice you, they overlook you. And when they overlook you, they make the exact same mistake that half the locker room had made with me. Because, let’s face it! I’m the complete opposite. I’m flashy as hell. Bleached hair. Rainbow briefs. Flamboyant fashion. A walking, talking MAGA homophobe’s worst nightmare! And because of that? A lot of guys look at me and don’t take me seriously.”

“Big mistake. And I’m not about to make that same mistake with Aiden. Because here’s the truth. I was there when Aiden made his SCW debut. January 2024. First match against Justin Smith. Justin beat him from pillar to post, made him bleed and Aiden still walked out the winner!”

“I watched him take on names like Ben Jordan, Alexander Raven, and Bill Barnhart in a Blood Bath Brawl! And even though Ben got his hand raised that night, Aiden proved something important. He’s not afraid to bleed.”

“I watched him give it his all in the Blast From the Past. I watched him fight with my brother-in-law, LJ. I was there when he beat Eddie Lyons, a man I have immense respect for, to walk away as the Roulette Champion! And yeah, Alexander Raven cut that short thanks to Victoria Lyon’s machinations, but did Aiden whine? Did he walk out in protest? Hell no! He bounced back, won the title again, and proved himself all over again for any doubters he might have had!”

“Two Roulette title reigns is no joke. That’s the division where you never know what the hell you’re stepping into, where adaptability is survival! Aiden showed he could think on his feet and thrive in chaos. That’s the kind of challenger I want! That’s the kind of man worthy of a World Championship shot!”

“And his time came six weeks ago at Summer XXXTreme XIII. The first-ever Overboard Battle Royal. Six men entered, one walked out with the golden ticket.”

“Now, full disclosure? I was pulling for my husband Miles. I would’ve loved to defend this championship against him. He’s a future World Champion, no doubt. Or Eddie Lyons, because the man deserves it. But who won? Aiden Reynolds. And you know what? I wasn’t disappointed. I was thrilled!”

“Because I knew the moment he dumped Miles over that top railing, it was only a matter of time before we crossed paths. And I know damn well what Aiden brings to the table! I’ve seen it! Win or lose, he always drags his opponents to the brink! And I am not expecting to be any exception.”

“You want another reason why I’m not overlooking him? Let’s talk about the last guy I defended against. J2H. Hall of Famer. Multi-time World Champion. One of the greatest to ever step foot in this business. Ring a bell?”

“J2H said that I was beneath him. That he couldn’t take me seriously because of who I am and how I portrayed myself. That SCW needed somebody better. That I didn’t deserve this championship or earn it.”

“And look at what happened! He said all that and I left him flat on his back, staring up at the lights, wondering what the hell just happened!”

“So yeah, I get the mental gymnastics. I’ve been where Aiden is, underestimated and often overlooked. But I’m not gonna make the same mistake with Aiden that J2H made with me. I know Aiden Reynolds is dangerous. I know he’s earned this shot. And I know he’s gonna bring me the fight of my life.”

Carter’s tone shifted, quieter but firmer.

“I’m proud of who I am, Aiden. I’ve never hidden it. Being LGBTQ wasn’t easy growing up. It’s why I grew up in a broken home. It’s why my Dad left. It’s why I got into fights in high school. My mom and grandma wanted me to go to college, get a job, live a safe and quiet life. Anything but wrestling. To this day they see this business as barbaric, like the Romans feeding Christians to the lions in the Coliseum.”

“But guess what? This ‘barbaric world’ gave me everything. It gave me a family. It gave me purpose. It gave me this championship. And it taught me to never, ever back down from a fight!”

Carter’s voice lowered, the bravado giving way to something more personal.

“Outside of the ring, I’ve lived through the ultimate nightmare. I was the victim of domestic abuse. The man who was supposed to love me, who was supposed to protect me, who was supposed to be my safe place turned me into nothing more than another statistic. I can still remember the nights where I thought it would never end, where I wondered if this was going to be the rest of my life. I was bruised. I was broken. I was lost in a hole so deep that I wasn’t sure I’d ever climb out of it!”

“But I didn’t quit. I couldn’t. Because I had people in my corner who refused to let me fall all the way. I had a family. I had friends. And most importantly, I had the man who would soon become everything I never thought I deserved. My husband. My heart. He reminded me every single day that I was worth more than the pain and more than the fear that I had been dragged into. And as twisted as it sounds, I’m almost glad for everything my ex put me through. Because without that, I might never have found the strength to become the man I am today. I might never have found Miles. And I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

Carter paused, eyes narrowing with a bittersweet weight.

“And if that wasn’t enough, I faced the kind of loss that no championship, no victory, no cheering crowd could ever heal. I finally reconciled with my father after more than a decade apart. Ten years of silence, anger and distance. We finally found our way back to each other and just weeks later, I lost him. Renal failure took him from me before we even had the chance to rebuild the years we lost. That pain, that grief, it could have destroyed me. It could have been the thing that broke me forever. But still, I didn’t give up. Because I knew deep in my soul that my Dad would never have wanted that. He wouldn’t have wanted his son to quit on life or to quit on himself! He would have wanted me to keep going, to keep fighting, to live a life that honored him! So I did, and I do.”

“And that right there is the reason why I’m walking out of Violent Conduct X still your World Heavyweight Champion. Because simply put?”

“I don’t quit.”

Carter glanced back to the water. Kevin suddenly leapt onto Miles’ shoulders, toppling the Englishman into the waters of the Atlantic. They came up, gasping and laughing like maniacs. Carter’s smile softened and he slowly removed his shades and stood up. He tossed his sunglasses aside, bolted down the sand, and dove into the waves to join Miles and Kevin. The camera lingered on the three of them splashing and laughing, all else all but forgotten.