The hallway light was on, but it had the wrong color.
It wasn’t brighter, nor was it dimmer. It was just wrong. Miles had always preferred a brighter, albeit soft lighting. He would say it brought a sense of comfort to a home. This? This was more like that weak yellow that more resembled a cheap motel than somebody's pride and joy. It was as if someone had rebuilt their home from memory and missed details only Carter could feel in his bones. The picture frames were straight, then not straight when he looked again.
And then there was the scent. Ordinarily, Carter could smell the scent of sandalwood whenever he set foot inside. It was the only scent of cologne that Miles wore and it drove Carter's libido crazy. And while he could still smell the sandalwood, it was faint. Overpowered by another smell that was pungent but familiar.
There was also no sound. Not from the city outside nor from inside. No sound from the refrigerator humming, no ticking from the wall-mounted clock, no elevator hum, nothing. It was a dead kind of quiet that made your breath feel too loud.
Carter stood in the living room, staring at the bookshelf, knowing immediately that someone had touched it. Titles he arranged by author were now arranged by color. A memoir he hated had been placed front and center. A game case sat on the coffee table, open to a menu screen that pulsed without sound, though he had not turned on the console. It felt less like a break-in and more like a message written in his own handwriting.
“Miles?”
Nothing. No response.
He tried again, louder, then called for Kevin too, expecting at least a muffled “yeah?” from down the hall, but still there was no response. They were both supposed to be home. He moved toward the kitchen and stopped cold, because there on the counter sat a bottle of red wine that had not been there when he left. The same bottle Miles had contemplated buying but passed, not knowing whether Carter already had one.
From the hallway came the soft click of nails on wood. Ms. Thang appeared and froze in the doorway, ears pinned back and fur bristled. She looked past him and then hissed toward the far corner of the kitchen, right at the closed pantry door. The hiss stretched into a guttural snarl Carter had never heard from her, before she turned and darted away somewhere further into the condo.
He backed into the hall and the condo seemed to rearrange itself around him as he moved. The hallway lengthened by a foot, then two. The photos on the wall were wrong. Miles’s smile had been replaced by a blank expression Carter had never seen. In another, Kevin’s face was turned away as if he had heard someone call from outside the frame. Carter walked faster, saying their names with more fervor, checking the open door to Kevin’s bedroom but found it empty. Literally empty. No Kevin - no furniture. Just a single desk chair that was slowly spinning, though no one sat in it.
His breath caught as he kept seeing movement at the edge of his vision. A vertical shape in the reflection of the TV. A silhouette in the reflection of the sliding glass door that led to the patio. A breath on the back of his neck but nobody there when he jumped and spun around. Every time he turned, he found every day things changed. Kevin’s PS5 controller moved from the couch arm to the coffee table. His book now open to a chapter he had not reached. A zip tie resting on the bathroom sink as casually as a hair tie. His pulse quickened as panic threatened to close in when his phone buzzed, scaring the hell out of him.
Hoping it was a text from Miles, telling him he was almost home, but no. It was just a photo. A photo from his own closet, shot from the inside. Timestamped twelve minutes ago.
Carter stumbled backward and hit the wall. Ms. Thang bolted past him, then stopped halfway down the hall and hissed again, this time at something he couldn’t see. The overhead light above her flickered and then steadied. In that flicker he caught the shape again, a person-shaped shadow. It seemed to move a fraction closer, one step nearer.
He ran for the bedroom and found the door wide open. Beside the closet was the dresser and above the dresser, the large mirror. In the mirror’s reflection, he watched as the bedroom doorway filled with a thin, vertical shadow. When he spun around the doorway was empty. The closet door then started to slide open, causing Carter to stumble back until the back of his legs hit the bed and he fell back …
Against his lime green Beetle in the parking garage.
Carter didn’t remember leaving the bedroom, didn’t remember the elevator ride down to the base level of the towers where every tenant parked their vehicles. But he turned around and there was his ‘baby’ with the driver’s door wide open. By renewed instinct, he leaned over at the waist but could see no one inside. Then just as easily, he was seated inside of the car, keys in the ignition and that tiny figure of Stitch staring directly behind him. Yed wide, mouth even wider, the ceramic hand pointing behind him.
A shape leaned forward from the dark directly behind his headrest, close enough that he could hear cloth whisper against leather. Carter gazed up into the rearview mirror and saw those eyes…
Then the garage dissolved and he was in bed.
He jolted awake, gasping for air and the cold sweat beaded on the bare skin of his arms, chest and legs. The bedroom was dark, the only light being that of the city lights from the nearby Strip shining in through the floor to ceiling windows. He closed his eyes and turned his head, opening them to see Miles asleep in bed beside him, causing a wave of relief to floor through him. It was just a dream. No, it was more than that. It was a nightmare, one of many that he had been suffering through. He then slowly rolled over to his back and looked up…
A man stood over him on his side of the bed, close enough that Carter could see the shine in his eyes. Carter made a sound that barely escaped his throat before the hand came down, a cloth crushed over his mouth and nose with a sweetness so violent it felt like a scream! He bucked upward, grabbed at the wrist, kicked, twisted, all with the same futility. The headboard struck the wall violently! The bed shook in the struggle! He reached for Miles with his free hand, fingers clawing at his husband’s shoulder, shaking, striking, begging without words!
Miles did not wake.
He lay on his side, breathing slow and deep, face slack with impossible sleep while Carter thrashed inches away, while the mattress dipped under another man’s weight, while the room filled with the smell of chloroform and blind terror! Carter tried to shout his name and got nothing but wet choking sounds against the rag! The attacker leaned closer, pressing his weight heavily against him! His limbs turned heavy. Pins and needles raced up his arms. The ceiling above him seemed to bow lower, pressing down, and Ms. Thang screamed from the hallway…!
Carter woke for real with a violent jolt that arched him off the mattress!
The room was truly dark this time, truly still. No figure above him. No cloth pressed against his face. Just his own ragged breathing and the slick chill of sweat soaking his bare skin. He sat halfway up, heart pounding and hands shaking, and the tremor ran through his whole frame. Beside him, Miles stirred instantly, awake and alert at his husband’s blind terror.
“Hey, hey!” Miles said, voice rough with concern as he pushed up on an elbow. “You’re okay, love. You’re okay! Another nightmare?”
Carter couldn’t answer right away. At least, not verbally. He nodded once, hard, trying to keep it together, eyes staring ahead with a blank terror. Miles followed his gaze and found them locked on the closet door that was closed, on the murky shadows against the wall. Miles’s face tightened with that helpless, furious worry that had lived on inside of every part of him ever since the attack, since police lights danced on the cement walls of the parking garage and his husband was found on the garage floor, succumbing to an illegal agent. He reached out, broad hand warm on Carter’s abdomen, then his arm slid around Carter’s waist and drew him back down against his chest. Carter folded into him, little spoon by instinct, back pressed to Miles’s sternum, Miles’s breath steady at the nape of his neck.
“I’ve got you.” Miles whispered, holding him like he was promising nothing would get to him so long as he was around. “I’ve got you.”
Carter let the words settle, let the strong arm around him become a boundary the nightmare could not cross, and stayed there in the dark, shaking slowly easing under the weight of being held.
Morning came faster than Carter would have liked. Despite all reassurances from Miles, Carter never got back to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw those recurring ones in his dream. The ones that always remained in the outskirts of his memory.
Carter stood at the counter in a faded T-shirt and sweatpants, moving with the careful focus of someone who had been awake too long and was trying not to show it. He worked through breakfast like it was the only thing he could trust himself to do, preparing his man and pseudo-son for their day ahead. Two slices of wheat toast with peanut butter and banana slices. Next came a small bowl of Greek yogurt with granola and a handful of raspberries. He set one plate in front of Miles and called for Kevin.
Carter had never pretended to be some gifted home chef. He burnt waffles, forgot the cheese the first time he tried making lasagne, and at least once a month he forgot something on the stove and had to wave a dish towel at the smoke detector while Kevin laughed himself breathless. But he still tried every day, because this was one of the ways he loved people, through effort, and it was appreciated. Miles and Kevin always ate what he made with the kind of gratitude that mattered. That didn’t change this morning, even if Carter’s hands moved a little slower and the shadows under his eyes looked like bruises.
Miles sat at the kitchen island, his plate in front of him and his phone in hand. He scrolled, took a bite, scrolled again, but every few seconds his gaze slid up and tracked Carter’s movements by a protective instinct. His husband looked rested enough on the surface, but there was a tightness around his mouth each time Carter paused too long at the counter or stared blankly at the sink like he’d forgotten what step came next.
“That’s really good.” Miles said after a bite of the peanut butter banana toast, closing his eyes with a soft appreciation. “Like, shockingly good. I might report you for false advertising after years of pretending you can’t cook.”
Carter snorted, but the smile was small and tired. “I can assemble food. That is not the same as cooking.”
“Aren’t you eating?” Miles asked, already knowing the answer. And he was right, as Carter shook his head in dismissal. “I’m not really hungry.” Was the answer and Miles set his spoon down, and was about to say something when they heard the bedroom door down the hallway open and close with an almost surgical gentleness. One thing they came to realize about Kevin since the teen moved in, he did not slam doors.
Kevin came into the kitchen with a backpack slung over one shoulder and wearing jeans and a hoodie that wasn’t his own, and looked about two sizes too big. He stopped when he saw Carter, his expression shifting with concern.
“Are you okay?” He asked, noticing the circles under Carter’s eyes. “You look wiped.”
Carter gave him a tired smile and reached for Kevin’s plate before the kid could say anything else. “Just had trouble sleeping, that’s all.”
Kevin’s gaze flicked to Miles, searching for the adult version of the truth. Miles met his eyes, said nothing, and that silence said enough. Kevin nodded, then crossed to the island and slid onto the stool beside Miles. Carter set the breakfast in front of him, peanut butter banana toast and the yogurt bowl crowned with granola raspberries. Kevin looked down with a grin.
“This looks good.” Kevin said, already picking up the spoon for the yogurt.
“Don’t get used to this level of culinary excellence,” Carter said, trying for light.
Kevin laughed and took a bite. “Honestly, this is perfect.”
They drifted into the easy rhythm of morning talk. Kevin mentioned a Chemistry test in third period that he felt “okay” about. Miles asked whether Connor was still doing pickup, and Kevin nodded through a mouthful of toast before swallowing and adding, “I get out late today, by the way. LGBTQ club meeting after school.”
Miles set his phone down and responded. “Fair enough. Text when you’re done, we’ll come pick you up.”
Kevin nodded. A few minutes later Kevin’s phone buzzed on the counter. He checked the screen, stood, and swung his backpack on properly. “Connor’s downstairs.”
Goodbyes came in a familiar routine they had built without trying. Kevin leaned in to hug Carter first, then bumped Miles’s shoulder and got pulled into a one-armed squeeze anyway before hurrying out the door to meet his “just friend”.
The condo quieted after the door clicked shut, the kind of quiet that felt larger now that Kevin’s energy was gone. Carter turned back to the sink and started the process of cleaning up. Ordinarily Miles was always at his side, helping with the process as was only fair. But this time Miles didn’t get in his way. Carter obviously needed the space to process, which was evident by how he was physically washing the dishes rather than using the dishwasher. Miles watched from the island for a long beat before he finally stood up and walked around the island until he was behind Carter, close enough where he didn’t have to raise his voice.
“Love, you can’t keep this up.”
Carter’s hands stilled under the running water. He did not turn around. He just stared at the slowly filling sink and whispered…
“What choice do I have?”
“This weekend is Double Jeopardy, and I could stand here and play polite, could talk about competition’ and ‘respect’ and all that tidy little nonsense people like to wrap around a fight. But let’s not lie to each other. This is a war with paperwork and stipulations. This is all about leverage and control. Because the team that wins this weekend gets to choose the stipulations for our respective matches at Blaze of Glory XV, and that means this weekend is not just a match, it is the hand on the steering wheel while on a race to the finish line.”
“And I know exactly who I’m riding with.”
“I’m teaming with my husband, Miles Kasey. The one man in this business I trust without hesitation, without doubt, without that little voice in the back of my head wondering when the knife is coming to stab me in the back. I know how he moves. He knows how I breathe. I know when he’s baiting you, when he’s hurting, when he’s one second from ending your night in the worst way possible. He knows the same about me. You can’t manufacture that type of chemistry. And you two can’t say the same when the world remembers the time Alex Jones was collateral damage to Alexander Raven when he first targeted me and the World Championship! You two might want to win, but the thought of you two getting along cohesively while knowing both of you are willing to stab the other in the back? You two aren’t a team, Miles and I very much are.”
“Now, Alex Jones, let’s start with you because right now you’re the only other man in this match besides me that is wearing gold around his waist. You love dressing your record up like it came from clean work and superior precision when in reality it was deception and cheap tactics. You took Miles’s Internet Championship, yes, that part is in the history books. No one is trying to rewrite them. But everyone with functioning eyes saw how you did it. You did not outfight him and you sure as hell didn’t outwrestle him! You had to cheat to walk out with that championship! You can smirk at that, you can pretend it’s just people whining because their guy lost, but somewhere under all that smug noise you know exactly what I’m saying is true. You wear it knowing there is a difference between winning and earning, and deep down you know you did one without the other. That is why you puff your chest out so hard now, because guilty and insecure champions always play bullshit louder than a confident one does! I know, remember? Because you and I went through the same damn song and dance when we had our little tussles over the World title! You can keep telling yourself the end justifies the means, and in a technical sense maybe it does. But that does not erase the fact that when the heat got real, you chose shortcuts over supremacy!”
“And here’s the funny part, Alex. You and I have been on this same path before, and I already know what happens when we get to the biggest stakes. Small world, right, how our paths keep crossing like this. You are standing there with the Internet Championship and I am standing here with the World Championship, and somewhere in there sits a memory you cannot scrub out no matter how many highlights you post. I beat you for this World title! I beat you in the rematch! In the ring, with the whole company watching, I beat you! So when you step into the ring this weekend and stand across from me again, do not confuse familiarity with comfort. You know me, sure, and I know you too. I know when you start crying and whining because you’re buying seconds to recover! I know when you start cutting corners because your first plan failed! I know exactly who you are when things are going your way, and more importantly, who you are when things are not! That’s a little something called leverage!”
“Now let’s get to Alexander Raven, because this whole weekend is about what’s coming at Blaze of Glory XV and your name is attached to it yet again. I am still trying to process how, after I already beat you and knocked you to the back of the line, you are back at the front for another crack at the World Championship! I’ve said it before and I will keep saying it until somebody gets honest about it! I do not believe you deserve this rematch! You got it by bitching until management decided it would be easier to hand you what you want than listen to another week of your tantrums! That is what this looks like from where I stand. Not merit. Not undeniable claim. Volume!”
“And before you start your usual ‘Carter fears me’ bullshit, save it! If I feared you, I would not be standing here welcoming every chance to hit you harder than last time! If I feared you, I would be campaigning for safer opponents when I know damn well what you’re capable of! Instead, I’m walking into a weekend where one result can hand me the exact kind of match environment I want, and I am doing it with a smile because I know what happens when you’re cornered and can’t find a way to escape! Your whole aura depends on the myth that you are inevitable. I shattered that myth once already. You can talk about whatever dramatic excuse is currently trending in your head, but the truth stays the same. When the World Championship was on the line and the pressure was on, you failed.”.
“Double Jeopardy. The winning team chooses the stipulations for both championship matches at Blaze of Glory XV. Let that sink in for everyone who thinks this is just some tune up match. If Miles and I win, we get to pick the rules for Miles versus Alex and me versus Raven. We get to force both of you into match types that strip away your favorite tricks and expose whatever you have been hiding behind your backs! And I know both of you are thinking the same thing right now, that this can cut both ways. That if your team wins then you get to design nightmares for us. This is true. But here is the difference between us.”
“Miles and I are built for that kind of risk because we fight together. You two are an alliance of convenience held together by self-interest and matching enemies. The second things go wrong, the second communication cracks, one of you is going to end up turning on the other. One missed tag and the blame starts! One accidental collision and the finger-pointing begins!”
“This weekend, I am not coming in to entertain or feed your fragile little egos. I am coming in with Miles to win, take stipulation power, and weaponize it at Blaze of Glory XV! I am coming in to remind Alex that cheating can steal a belt but it cannot manufacture superiority! I am coming in to remind Raven that rematches are privileges, not birthrights! And if he keeps treating them like just another footnote in his personal fairy tale, I am going to keep writing the same ending and make this stage of his career resemble a REAL Grimm fairy tale!”
“Miles and I are not walking into this as two singles competitors sharing a corner. We’re walking in as a team, who quite frankly are tired of hearing two old men on borrowed time talk like they own this era!”
“When the smoke clears and both of you are left staring at the rafters and wondering what the hell went wrong in your grand scheme, you can decide whether you want to evolve or keep whining about what should have been yours. That part is up to you, and nobody else can make that decision. One would think men at this point in your lives and careers would make the mature choice but after watching the both of you over the past several months, trust me when I say I am not getting my hopes up!”
“So bring your confidence. Bring your shortcuts and speeches about destiny and injustice and all the little stories you tell yourself to better help yourselves to sleep at night. Bring every ounce of that smug certainty you wear like armor but cracks like eggshells! Then stand in front of me and Miles when the bell rings, and let reality do what reality always does. Separate what sounds good from what actually endures! We are taking this weekend, we are taking Double Jeopardy, and we are taking it straight into Blaze of Glory! Alex, Raven, enjoy the last few days of pretending you control this situation, because once we get our hands on it, your options get very small, very fast, and very painful!”
