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Climax Control Archives / Plans In Motion
« Last post by MiloKasey on August 22, 2025, 09:34:44 PM »The desert sun was still high enough to pour gold through the kitchen blinds, painting sharp slants across the counter. The air conditioning hummed, doing its best against the August Vegas extreme heat, while Miles stood at the island counter with a can of tuna, a jar of mayo, and a stubborn loaf of bread.
And Ms. Thang being a relentless pain in the proverbial ass.
“C’mon, girl, I’ve fed you already.” Miles nudged his hip against the counter as the sleek lone female in the house, wound around his legs, tail flicking in sharp punctuation. She meowed, sharp and insistent, then batted at his calf with one paw.
“I swear, you’re worse than Brianna when he was twelve and thought ramen noodles were a food group.”
On the laptop propped open on the counter, Alastair O’Malley’s image flickered. The connection wasn’t perfect, a little lag because the heat was messing with the connection today, the occasional stutter, but his voice came through clear. Measured, steady, with that blend of Irish warmth and lawyerly precision that always put Carter at ease.
“Miles, you might want to focus before she climbs your leg.”
As if on cue, Ms. Thang gave a frustrated chirp and stretched up toward the counter. Miles groaned, swiping her up with one arm before she could sink her claws into his jeans. He balanced the cat against his chest, holding the butter knife in his other hand like some bizarre multitasking act.
“She’s dramatic, Al. Wonder where she gets it.” He shot the camera with a knowing look.
From the living room came Carter’s voice, muffled but amused, "I heard that!”
Alastair chuckled, "Good to see you two haven’t changed much. But, Miles, you said this was about Kevin?”
The shift in his tone, lighter notes slipping into something more careful, made Miles set the knife down. He scratched under Ms. Thang’s chin, grounding himself with the rhythmic purr.
“Yeah,” Miles said finally, "It’s about Kevin. He’s...look, I know I’m not his dad. Hell, I’m not even his stepdad. I’m just some random bloke that he met before his whole world turned upside down with his mum turning into a psycho and his da into a blithering drunk. But he’s in a place right now in his life where I know that no one else is really looking out for him except for some nurses and the doctors.”
Alastair leaned forward on the screen, "And you and Carter want to explore guardianship.”
“Guardianship, custody, adoption, I don’t even know the damn terminology,” Miles admitted, "I just know that kid’s been through too much already and he needs something stable in his life. His own mother decided to attack Carter, Kevin got caught in the middle of that mess more than he should have. And his father is in no condition to assume custody, even if he wants to. I went and saw the man myself before the cruise, from a man that lived in the condo in one of the best areas of Vegas to the slums of LA? He showed absolutely no desire to make sure that his son was even ok after everything. If there’s a way we can make sure Kevin’s got stability, make it official that he’s got someone in his corner, I need to know what it takes.”
Ms. Thang kneaded at his chest, purring obliviously while Miles stared into the laptop camera, jaw set.
Alastair didn’t rush his answer. He never did, "It won’t be easy,” he said carefully, "Kevin’s still a minor, yes? You’d need Carter on board, of course. Which from the sounds of it, he is. And if his biological parents, or anyone else with standing, contested it, you’d have to be prepared for a fight.”
Miles’ fingers drummed on the counter, restless, "I don’t care about a fight. I care about Kevin not slipping through the cracks. That kid deserves better than being a footnote in someone else’s story. He deserves a family that actually gives a shit.”
For a beat, only the AC hummed, Ms. Thang’s purring filling the silence. Then Alastair’s expression softened.
“I’ll draw up what you’d need to start with,” he said, "Paperwork, requirements, possible obstacles. We’ll go step by step. Just make sure this is something Carter wants too. Guardianship isn’t just legal. It’s personal. It changes the family dynamic.”
As Ms. Thang slipped from his arms onto the counter, Miles glanced toward the living room where Carter was still humming along to whatever song was playing low on the stereo. His chest tightened, not in doubt, but in recognition of the weight of it all. But this was Carter’s idea to reach out to O’Malley and begin the process.
“I know,” he murmured, "But I believe that the kid is worth it as does Carter.”
The sound of Miles’ butter knife clattering against the counter was followed by a sharp “Ow!”
From the stool, Ms. Thang leapt up with all the grace of a ballerina and landed square on the cutting board. The cat swiped a paw at the open tuna can like she’d been plotting it for days.
“For the love of....no. Absolutely not.” Miles scooped her up under one arm, holding her like a furry football as he turned back toward the laptop, "Alastair, you didn’t hear that.”
“I heard everything,” Alastair’s smooth baritone replied through the screen. His smirk betrayed how much he enjoyed watching Miles wrestle with his supposed domesticated life, "And I assume the cat is negotiating for joint custody as well?”
“Joint custody of tuna maybe,” Miles muttered, depositing Ms. Thang onto the floor where she immediately coiled around his legs like a snake with claws.
Carter strolled in, stretching like he’d just woken up from a nap he hadn’t earned, "What’s all the yelling about? Did Ms. Thang find out she’s not in your will again?”
“She knows damn well she’s first in line,” Miles shot back, fishing out a slice of bread with unnecessary aggression, "Unlike you, she doesn’t talk back.”
Carter grinned, leaned across the counter, and stage-whispered toward the laptop, "Alastair, if you ever file paperwork for guardianship of Miles here, I’ll co-sign.”
Alastair chuckled, "Believe me, Mr. Kasey, no court would grant me that burden.”
“Oi!” Miles barked, pointing the butter knife like a weapon, "Less comedy, more lawyering. We’re talking about Kevin. It’s not about me trying to fix everything,” he said, "I just...I can’t stand the idea of Kevin feeling like he’s disposable. Like he doesn’t belong anywhere. I know that feeling, Al. And I’ll be damned if I let him grow up thinking that’s all he deserves.”
He glanced over his shoulder, meeting Carter’s eyes. No growl, no edge, just the kind of quiet conviction that left no room for argument, "I want him here. With us.”
That sobered the air slightly, though Carter’s expression still held a trace of mischief. He padded over, grabbed the bread heel Miles had discarded, and bit into it without asking.
“You’re serious, then,” Carter said through a mouthful, "This isn’t you just having a Florence Nightingale moment.”
Miles turned back toward the screen, ignoring Carter’s blatant theft, "Yes, I’m serious. He’s had a rough enough go as it is, Al. Someone’s got to give the kid some stability.”
“Mm.” Alastair steepled his fingers, "Guardianship is possible, but it isn’t simple. You’ll both be under scrutiny, your careers, your income, your marriage, all of it. They’ll want to know Kevin isn’t just being rescued because he was conveniently nearby.”
Carter raised a brow, swallowed his bite, and leaned in, "So basically they’re going to ask if we’re adopting him for the tax write-off.”
Miles pinched the bridge of his nose, stifling a laugh, "Can you not?”
“What?” Carter grinned, "I’m just saying, if we’re filling out forms, I want to know if I get to claim him as a dependent. The kid is eating like a linebacker from what we’ve heard.”
Even Alastair cracked a laugh at that.
Miles laughed under his breath as Ms. Thang batted at the bread crust he’d just tossed aside, "You’re relentless, you know that?” he muttered, but then set the knife down with a little clatter. He leaned forward on the counter, palms flat, eyes flicking back to the screen.
“It’s not some grand plan, Al,” he said, softer now, but still with that crooked grin tugging at his mouth, "I just… I can’t keep watching Kevin get passed around like a lost suitcase. The kid deserves more than that.”
He glanced toward Carter, a teasing glimmer still there, but his voice steady, "I want him here. With us. Simple as that.”
For once, Carter didn’t undercut him with a quip. He just nodded slowly, his grin fading into something softer, "Then we’ll make it work. Even if the cat objects.”
Ms. Thang meowed loudly in protest, leaping back onto the counter like she’d been waiting for her cue.
“See?” Carter gestured at her with the bread heel, "Told you.”
-----
The hospital didn’t smell as sharp as it used to. Kevin had been here long enough that the antiseptic tang just sort of folded into the background of his days. Still, when the door swung open and Miles stepped in, Carter right behind him balancing a bag of contraband snacks, Kevin perked up like someone had just turned on the lights.
“Hey, Kevin,” Carter said first, because Carter always said it first. He set the bag down on the nightstand and started unpacking it like it was treasure, chips, a couple of sodas, a pack of gummy worms, "Don’t tell your doctor.”
Kevin smirked and pulled himself up against the pillows, "I’m not a snitch.”
Miles grinned at that, dragging the chair closer to the bed before sitting down. Ms. Thang’s fur was still clinging to his shirt; he hadn’t noticed, but Carter did, brushing it off with a laugh.
The three of them chatted at first, Carter filling Kevin in on the cat’s latest attempt to chew through a cardboard Amazon box, Kevin rolling his eyes at one of Miles’ sarcastic remarks about Carter’s cooking. Carter retaliated by tossing a gummy worm at Miles, which bounced off his chest and landed in Kevin’s lap.
“Free snack,” Kevin said with mock solemnity, popping it into his mouth before either of them could protest.
“Gross,” Carter groaned, though the grin spreading across his face gave him away.
“Kid’s tougher than you give him credit for,” Miles teased, leaning back in the chair.
Kevin shook his head, hiding his smirk under the blanket pulled up to his chin. For a few minutes, it almost didn’t feel like a hospital room. Just three people hanging out, laughing at dumb jokes, making fun of each other the way families did.
But when the laughter ebbed, Miles leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His voice was steady, but quieter now, "Kev, we wanted to talk to you about something real. Something important.”
Kevin blinked, wary, "I’m not getting discharged early, am I?”
Carter shook his head quickly, "No, no. It’s nothing like that. This is about after. When you do get out.”
Miles rubbed the back of his neck before continuing, "We’ve been talking and we don’t think it’s fair, you were on the run for so long, bouncing from one place to another, never knowing how long you’ll stay. And after everything, you’ve been here and a hospital is no place to stay and we’re being told your recovery is going amazing. We feel that you deserve better than that. Stability. A real home.” He glanced at Carter, then back at Kevin, "We were thinking...if you wanted to, you could come live with us. Permanently. We’d take guardianship, maybe even custody if it goes that far. I know I sort of mentioned it in passing before but this is a legit question.”
The room went quiet except for the faint hum of machines down the hall. Kevin’s mouth opened like he had a response ready, but no words came out. His hands fidgeted with the blanket.
“You don’t have to answer right now,” Carter said gently, sliding onto the edge of the bed, "This is your life. Your choice. We just...want you to know that we want you. No strings. No pity.”
Kevin’s eyes flicked between them, wide and uncertain, "You...you’re serious?”
Miles gave him a small, crooked smile, "Dead serious. I can’t promise we’re perfect. Carter burns pancakes and I forget to buy paper towels, but I can promise you’d never have to wonder if you belong. You would. With us.”
Kevin swallowed hard, and for the first time in a long time, some of the practiced armor in his voice cracked, "Nobody’s ever...asked me what I wanted before.”
Carter reached for his hand, giving it a squeeze, "Well, we are. And we’ll keep asking, until you’re ready to tell us.”
Kevin nodded slowly, fighting a smile he didn’t quite believe he was allowed to have yet, "Maybe I’d like that.”
And for the first time that afternoon, it wasn’t the hospital lights that made the room feel bright.
----
The Castle Club was alive even before the crowd arrived. Neon streaked across the glass walls, strobing in pulses that made the shadows bend and stretch. The bass from the sound system rolled through the floors like a low tide, vibrating up through Miles’ boots as he walked the balcony, alone. Stagehands moved with purpose below, unaware they were in the presence of a man on the edge of something bigger than himself.
Miles stopped at the railing, leaning over to peer down at the empty arena. He let the reflection in the glass meet his eyes—a reminder of how far he’d come.
“Bill Bloody Barnhart,” he said softly, almost to himself, letting the name roll over his tongue like sandpaper, "You’ve been a thorn in my side for years. Not because you outsmarted me, not because you ever beat me...but because you made me question myself. Made me wonder if I even belonged here. You barked, you shoved, you tried to convince me that the kid who showed up scared, green, and unsure would never have a place at this table. You’ve been my shadow for too long. Not because you outshined me, not because you beat me, but because every time I turned around, you were there, barking. Clinging. Pretending like you’re still dangerous.”
He smiled faintly, that crooked edge that had saved him more times than he could count.
“Well, guess what, Bill? That kid isn’t here anymore. That scared little boy is gone. He got buried in Vegas, in scars, and in sweat—and what’s left is someone who doesn’t blink at ghosts. Someone who promised himself, on his birthday weekend, that he’d do it his way. No more fear. No more shadows. No more letting the past dictate the present.”
“You’re not dangerous, Bill. You’re desperate. You’re a tired old warhorse whose legs can’t carry him to the finish line anymore. And I see it. Everyone sees it. You lean on Bea screaming at ringside because your voice can’t carry the weight anymore. You lean on Felix sneaking cheap shots because your fists don’t hit like they used to. You lean on history, on all the years you’ve been here but history doesn’t win fights. Hunger does. Fire does.”
He traced the railing with one hand, letting the neon light carve patterns across his face, "You’ve had your moments. You’ve been the grinder, the veteran, the man who wore everyone down. And yeah, you’ve had your wins but that was then. This is now. This is me. Faster, sharper, hungrier than I have EVER been in my life. And I’m ready to show you what it looks like when someone who’s finally free of their own doubts steps into the ring.”
“Let’s not get it twisted, Bill...you’ve had your moments. You’ve been the roadblock, the gatekeeper, the man who drags others down to your pace just to prove they can’t escape you. You made a career out of turning the ring into a grindhouse. But you’ve also run your course. And I? I’m not the kid who once let ghosts scare him into submission. I’m not the boy questioning if he belongs. That version of Miles Kasey is dead and buried. What’s left is sharper, faster, meaner and ready to take everything you still cling to.”
Miles let out a low laugh, shaking his head, "You can bring Bea. You can bring Felix. You can bring every distraction, every trick, every cheap shot in your playbook. None of it matters. Because this isn’t just about beating you. This is about proving to myself that I can own my story. That I can take what I’ve earned and run with it. That the kid who once feared losing everything… isn’t afraid anymore.”
He leaned closer to the glass, voice dropping to a hard edge, "This is Cyprus. This is a furnace. And you? You’re just kindling. When I’m done, all that’s left of you will be smoke and echoes. And me? I’ll be walking to Violent Conduct X, ticket punched, name etched into that Internet Championship, exactly like I promised myself I would.”
Miles pushed off the railing, pacing the balcony like a predator on the hunt, "You’re the grit, Bill. I’m the fire and fire always wins.”
He took a deep breath, letting the pulsating bass fill his lungs, the neon reflection flashing across his jaw. A faint grin touched his lips, quiet, confident, unshakable, "No more ghosts. No more doubts. Just me. My way. And tonight, Bulldog, you’re going to learn exactly what that means.”
With that, he turned, boots echoing against the steel steps as he descended toward the ring prep area. Behind him, the Castle Club throbbed like a heartbeat, alive and ready for the storm Miles was about to bring.
And Ms. Thang being a relentless pain in the proverbial ass.
“C’mon, girl, I’ve fed you already.” Miles nudged his hip against the counter as the sleek lone female in the house, wound around his legs, tail flicking in sharp punctuation. She meowed, sharp and insistent, then batted at his calf with one paw.
“I swear, you’re worse than Brianna when he was twelve and thought ramen noodles were a food group.”
On the laptop propped open on the counter, Alastair O’Malley’s image flickered. The connection wasn’t perfect, a little lag because the heat was messing with the connection today, the occasional stutter, but his voice came through clear. Measured, steady, with that blend of Irish warmth and lawyerly precision that always put Carter at ease.
“Miles, you might want to focus before she climbs your leg.”
As if on cue, Ms. Thang gave a frustrated chirp and stretched up toward the counter. Miles groaned, swiping her up with one arm before she could sink her claws into his jeans. He balanced the cat against his chest, holding the butter knife in his other hand like some bizarre multitasking act.
“She’s dramatic, Al. Wonder where she gets it.” He shot the camera with a knowing look.
From the living room came Carter’s voice, muffled but amused, "I heard that!”
Alastair chuckled, "Good to see you two haven’t changed much. But, Miles, you said this was about Kevin?”
The shift in his tone, lighter notes slipping into something more careful, made Miles set the knife down. He scratched under Ms. Thang’s chin, grounding himself with the rhythmic purr.
“Yeah,” Miles said finally, "It’s about Kevin. He’s...look, I know I’m not his dad. Hell, I’m not even his stepdad. I’m just some random bloke that he met before his whole world turned upside down with his mum turning into a psycho and his da into a blithering drunk. But he’s in a place right now in his life where I know that no one else is really looking out for him except for some nurses and the doctors.”
Alastair leaned forward on the screen, "And you and Carter want to explore guardianship.”
“Guardianship, custody, adoption, I don’t even know the damn terminology,” Miles admitted, "I just know that kid’s been through too much already and he needs something stable in his life. His own mother decided to attack Carter, Kevin got caught in the middle of that mess more than he should have. And his father is in no condition to assume custody, even if he wants to. I went and saw the man myself before the cruise, from a man that lived in the condo in one of the best areas of Vegas to the slums of LA? He showed absolutely no desire to make sure that his son was even ok after everything. If there’s a way we can make sure Kevin’s got stability, make it official that he’s got someone in his corner, I need to know what it takes.”
Ms. Thang kneaded at his chest, purring obliviously while Miles stared into the laptop camera, jaw set.
Alastair didn’t rush his answer. He never did, "It won’t be easy,” he said carefully, "Kevin’s still a minor, yes? You’d need Carter on board, of course. Which from the sounds of it, he is. And if his biological parents, or anyone else with standing, contested it, you’d have to be prepared for a fight.”
Miles’ fingers drummed on the counter, restless, "I don’t care about a fight. I care about Kevin not slipping through the cracks. That kid deserves better than being a footnote in someone else’s story. He deserves a family that actually gives a shit.”
For a beat, only the AC hummed, Ms. Thang’s purring filling the silence. Then Alastair’s expression softened.
“I’ll draw up what you’d need to start with,” he said, "Paperwork, requirements, possible obstacles. We’ll go step by step. Just make sure this is something Carter wants too. Guardianship isn’t just legal. It’s personal. It changes the family dynamic.”
As Ms. Thang slipped from his arms onto the counter, Miles glanced toward the living room where Carter was still humming along to whatever song was playing low on the stereo. His chest tightened, not in doubt, but in recognition of the weight of it all. But this was Carter’s idea to reach out to O’Malley and begin the process.
“I know,” he murmured, "But I believe that the kid is worth it as does Carter.”
The sound of Miles’ butter knife clattering against the counter was followed by a sharp “Ow!”
From the stool, Ms. Thang leapt up with all the grace of a ballerina and landed square on the cutting board. The cat swiped a paw at the open tuna can like she’d been plotting it for days.
“For the love of....no. Absolutely not.” Miles scooped her up under one arm, holding her like a furry football as he turned back toward the laptop, "Alastair, you didn’t hear that.”
“I heard everything,” Alastair’s smooth baritone replied through the screen. His smirk betrayed how much he enjoyed watching Miles wrestle with his supposed domesticated life, "And I assume the cat is negotiating for joint custody as well?”
“Joint custody of tuna maybe,” Miles muttered, depositing Ms. Thang onto the floor where she immediately coiled around his legs like a snake with claws.
Carter strolled in, stretching like he’d just woken up from a nap he hadn’t earned, "What’s all the yelling about? Did Ms. Thang find out she’s not in your will again?”
“She knows damn well she’s first in line,” Miles shot back, fishing out a slice of bread with unnecessary aggression, "Unlike you, she doesn’t talk back.”
Carter grinned, leaned across the counter, and stage-whispered toward the laptop, "Alastair, if you ever file paperwork for guardianship of Miles here, I’ll co-sign.”
Alastair chuckled, "Believe me, Mr. Kasey, no court would grant me that burden.”
“Oi!” Miles barked, pointing the butter knife like a weapon, "Less comedy, more lawyering. We’re talking about Kevin. It’s not about me trying to fix everything,” he said, "I just...I can’t stand the idea of Kevin feeling like he’s disposable. Like he doesn’t belong anywhere. I know that feeling, Al. And I’ll be damned if I let him grow up thinking that’s all he deserves.”
He glanced over his shoulder, meeting Carter’s eyes. No growl, no edge, just the kind of quiet conviction that left no room for argument, "I want him here. With us.”
That sobered the air slightly, though Carter’s expression still held a trace of mischief. He padded over, grabbed the bread heel Miles had discarded, and bit into it without asking.
“You’re serious, then,” Carter said through a mouthful, "This isn’t you just having a Florence Nightingale moment.”
Miles turned back toward the screen, ignoring Carter’s blatant theft, "Yes, I’m serious. He’s had a rough enough go as it is, Al. Someone’s got to give the kid some stability.”
“Mm.” Alastair steepled his fingers, "Guardianship is possible, but it isn’t simple. You’ll both be under scrutiny, your careers, your income, your marriage, all of it. They’ll want to know Kevin isn’t just being rescued because he was conveniently nearby.”
Carter raised a brow, swallowed his bite, and leaned in, "So basically they’re going to ask if we’re adopting him for the tax write-off.”
Miles pinched the bridge of his nose, stifling a laugh, "Can you not?”
“What?” Carter grinned, "I’m just saying, if we’re filling out forms, I want to know if I get to claim him as a dependent. The kid is eating like a linebacker from what we’ve heard.”
Even Alastair cracked a laugh at that.
Miles laughed under his breath as Ms. Thang batted at the bread crust he’d just tossed aside, "You’re relentless, you know that?” he muttered, but then set the knife down with a little clatter. He leaned forward on the counter, palms flat, eyes flicking back to the screen.
“It’s not some grand plan, Al,” he said, softer now, but still with that crooked grin tugging at his mouth, "I just… I can’t keep watching Kevin get passed around like a lost suitcase. The kid deserves more than that.”
He glanced toward Carter, a teasing glimmer still there, but his voice steady, "I want him here. With us. Simple as that.”
For once, Carter didn’t undercut him with a quip. He just nodded slowly, his grin fading into something softer, "Then we’ll make it work. Even if the cat objects.”
Ms. Thang meowed loudly in protest, leaping back onto the counter like she’d been waiting for her cue.
“See?” Carter gestured at her with the bread heel, "Told you.”
-----
The hospital didn’t smell as sharp as it used to. Kevin had been here long enough that the antiseptic tang just sort of folded into the background of his days. Still, when the door swung open and Miles stepped in, Carter right behind him balancing a bag of contraband snacks, Kevin perked up like someone had just turned on the lights.
“Hey, Kevin,” Carter said first, because Carter always said it first. He set the bag down on the nightstand and started unpacking it like it was treasure, chips, a couple of sodas, a pack of gummy worms, "Don’t tell your doctor.”
Kevin smirked and pulled himself up against the pillows, "I’m not a snitch.”
Miles grinned at that, dragging the chair closer to the bed before sitting down. Ms. Thang’s fur was still clinging to his shirt; he hadn’t noticed, but Carter did, brushing it off with a laugh.
The three of them chatted at first, Carter filling Kevin in on the cat’s latest attempt to chew through a cardboard Amazon box, Kevin rolling his eyes at one of Miles’ sarcastic remarks about Carter’s cooking. Carter retaliated by tossing a gummy worm at Miles, which bounced off his chest and landed in Kevin’s lap.
“Free snack,” Kevin said with mock solemnity, popping it into his mouth before either of them could protest.
“Gross,” Carter groaned, though the grin spreading across his face gave him away.
“Kid’s tougher than you give him credit for,” Miles teased, leaning back in the chair.
Kevin shook his head, hiding his smirk under the blanket pulled up to his chin. For a few minutes, it almost didn’t feel like a hospital room. Just three people hanging out, laughing at dumb jokes, making fun of each other the way families did.
But when the laughter ebbed, Miles leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His voice was steady, but quieter now, "Kev, we wanted to talk to you about something real. Something important.”
Kevin blinked, wary, "I’m not getting discharged early, am I?”
Carter shook his head quickly, "No, no. It’s nothing like that. This is about after. When you do get out.”
Miles rubbed the back of his neck before continuing, "We’ve been talking and we don’t think it’s fair, you were on the run for so long, bouncing from one place to another, never knowing how long you’ll stay. And after everything, you’ve been here and a hospital is no place to stay and we’re being told your recovery is going amazing. We feel that you deserve better than that. Stability. A real home.” He glanced at Carter, then back at Kevin, "We were thinking...if you wanted to, you could come live with us. Permanently. We’d take guardianship, maybe even custody if it goes that far. I know I sort of mentioned it in passing before but this is a legit question.”
The room went quiet except for the faint hum of machines down the hall. Kevin’s mouth opened like he had a response ready, but no words came out. His hands fidgeted with the blanket.
“You don’t have to answer right now,” Carter said gently, sliding onto the edge of the bed, "This is your life. Your choice. We just...want you to know that we want you. No strings. No pity.”
Kevin’s eyes flicked between them, wide and uncertain, "You...you’re serious?”
Miles gave him a small, crooked smile, "Dead serious. I can’t promise we’re perfect. Carter burns pancakes and I forget to buy paper towels, but I can promise you’d never have to wonder if you belong. You would. With us.”
Kevin swallowed hard, and for the first time in a long time, some of the practiced armor in his voice cracked, "Nobody’s ever...asked me what I wanted before.”
Carter reached for his hand, giving it a squeeze, "Well, we are. And we’ll keep asking, until you’re ready to tell us.”
Kevin nodded slowly, fighting a smile he didn’t quite believe he was allowed to have yet, "Maybe I’d like that.”
And for the first time that afternoon, it wasn’t the hospital lights that made the room feel bright.
----
The Castle Club was alive even before the crowd arrived. Neon streaked across the glass walls, strobing in pulses that made the shadows bend and stretch. The bass from the sound system rolled through the floors like a low tide, vibrating up through Miles’ boots as he walked the balcony, alone. Stagehands moved with purpose below, unaware they were in the presence of a man on the edge of something bigger than himself.
Miles stopped at the railing, leaning over to peer down at the empty arena. He let the reflection in the glass meet his eyes—a reminder of how far he’d come.
“Bill Bloody Barnhart,” he said softly, almost to himself, letting the name roll over his tongue like sandpaper, "You’ve been a thorn in my side for years. Not because you outsmarted me, not because you ever beat me...but because you made me question myself. Made me wonder if I even belonged here. You barked, you shoved, you tried to convince me that the kid who showed up scared, green, and unsure would never have a place at this table. You’ve been my shadow for too long. Not because you outshined me, not because you beat me, but because every time I turned around, you were there, barking. Clinging. Pretending like you’re still dangerous.”
He smiled faintly, that crooked edge that had saved him more times than he could count.
“Well, guess what, Bill? That kid isn’t here anymore. That scared little boy is gone. He got buried in Vegas, in scars, and in sweat—and what’s left is someone who doesn’t blink at ghosts. Someone who promised himself, on his birthday weekend, that he’d do it his way. No more fear. No more shadows. No more letting the past dictate the present.”
“You’re not dangerous, Bill. You’re desperate. You’re a tired old warhorse whose legs can’t carry him to the finish line anymore. And I see it. Everyone sees it. You lean on Bea screaming at ringside because your voice can’t carry the weight anymore. You lean on Felix sneaking cheap shots because your fists don’t hit like they used to. You lean on history, on all the years you’ve been here but history doesn’t win fights. Hunger does. Fire does.”
He traced the railing with one hand, letting the neon light carve patterns across his face, "You’ve had your moments. You’ve been the grinder, the veteran, the man who wore everyone down. And yeah, you’ve had your wins but that was then. This is now. This is me. Faster, sharper, hungrier than I have EVER been in my life. And I’m ready to show you what it looks like when someone who’s finally free of their own doubts steps into the ring.”
“Let’s not get it twisted, Bill...you’ve had your moments. You’ve been the roadblock, the gatekeeper, the man who drags others down to your pace just to prove they can’t escape you. You made a career out of turning the ring into a grindhouse. But you’ve also run your course. And I? I’m not the kid who once let ghosts scare him into submission. I’m not the boy questioning if he belongs. That version of Miles Kasey is dead and buried. What’s left is sharper, faster, meaner and ready to take everything you still cling to.”
Miles let out a low laugh, shaking his head, "You can bring Bea. You can bring Felix. You can bring every distraction, every trick, every cheap shot in your playbook. None of it matters. Because this isn’t just about beating you. This is about proving to myself that I can own my story. That I can take what I’ve earned and run with it. That the kid who once feared losing everything… isn’t afraid anymore.”
He leaned closer to the glass, voice dropping to a hard edge, "This is Cyprus. This is a furnace. And you? You’re just kindling. When I’m done, all that’s left of you will be smoke and echoes. And me? I’ll be walking to Violent Conduct X, ticket punched, name etched into that Internet Championship, exactly like I promised myself I would.”
Miles pushed off the railing, pacing the balcony like a predator on the hunt, "You’re the grit, Bill. I’m the fire and fire always wins.”
He took a deep breath, letting the pulsating bass fill his lungs, the neon reflection flashing across his jaw. A faint grin touched his lips, quiet, confident, unshakable, "No more ghosts. No more doubts. Just me. My way. And tonight, Bulldog, you’re going to learn exactly what that means.”
With that, he turned, boots echoing against the steel steps as he descended toward the ring prep area. Behind him, the Castle Club throbbed like a heartbeat, alive and ready for the storm Miles was about to bring.
