After the Fall
Backstage after High Stakes
The roar of the crowd fades into an almost eerie quiet as Miles Kasey walks backstage, each step heavier than the last. His body is screaming in pain, every muscle and bone reminding him of the battle he just endured. His ribs ache with every breath, his vision still blurry from the strikes he took, and yet, none of it compares to the ache inside him.
The ache of being so close to the dream.
He reaches the first wall he sees and leans back against it, sliding down until he’s sitting on the floor. His head falls into his hands, elbows propped on his knees, and he exhales a long, shaky breath. The adrenaline is wearing off now, leaving behind nothing but exhaustion—and that gnawing feeling of almost.
The fluorescent lights above hum faintly, a quiet counterpoint to the turmoil in his head. He replays the match in flashes: the cheers of the crowd, the sting of every hit, the euphoria of thinking he had it—only for it to slip away in the end. Miles had come within inches of holding that SCW World Championship. Inches. And now, the title belongs to someone else.
He clenches his fists, his nails digging into his palms. His heart tells him he left it all out there, gave more of himself than he ever thought possible. But his mind whispers that it still wasn’t enough.
“Goddamn it,” he mutters under his breath again, the words almost instinctive now as they carry both exhaustion and a tinge of regret. He pauses mid-step, leaning against the cool wall again, his breath ragged. “So close.”
A concerned voice breaks through his thoughts, pulling him back to reality. “Hey, Miles... You good? You sure you don’t need a trainer?”
He lifts his head, offering the staffer a tired but genuine wave. “Yeah. I’m good.” He straightens, despite his body’s protests, a surge of resolve coursing through him. “Better than good.”
And with that, Miles pushes forward, the sting of the loss still fresh, but the fire inside him burning hotter than ever. This wasn’t the end of the story. This wasn’t defeat. This was evolution.
Miles doesn’t hear the footsteps approaching at first. It isn’t until a shadow falls over him that he glances up, his tired eyes meeting the concerned gaze of the one person who can break through the fog in his mind.
Carter.
Helluva Bottom Carter stands there, still dressed in street clothes from watching the match earlier. His usually bright, playful demeanor is subdued now, his brows furrowed as he takes in the sight of his husband sitting on the floor, beaten and broken—not just physically, but emotionally.
“Miles…” Carter’s voice is soft, yet it carries a weight that Miles feels in his chest.
“I’m fine,” Miles says quickly, though the crack in his voice betrays the words. He looks away, trying to compose himself, but Carter doesn’t buy it.
“Bullshit,” Carter replies bluntly, dropping down to sit beside him on the floor. “You don’t have to do that with me.”
Miles exhales sharply, running a hand through his damp hair. “I was so close, Carter,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “So goddamn close. And now…”
“And now, what?” Carter interrupts, his tone gentle but firm. “You think this is the end? That you’re not good enough? Because if that’s what you’re telling yourself, then you didn’t hear what I heard out there.”
Miles doesn’t answer, his jaw tightening as he stares at the floor.
“I heard them, Miles,” Carter continues, leaning closer. “That crowd wasn’t just cheering for a great match—they were cheering for you. They saw what I’ve always seen. That you belong up there. That you’re not just good—you’re one of the best.”
Miles finally looks at him, his expression a mix of frustration and vulnerability. “But I didn’t win,” he says, his voice breaking on the last word. “I gave everything I had, and it still wasn’t enough.”
Carter reaches out, placing a hand on the side of Miles’ face, forcing him to meet his gaze. “Listen to me, Miles Kasey. Winning isn’t the only thing that proves you’re worthy. What you did out there tonight? That proved it. You stood toe-to-toe with the best in the world and showed them you belong. That doesn’t go away just because the match didn’t end the way you wanted.”
Miles closes his eyes, leaning into Carter’s touch as the words sink in. He wants to believe them. God, he wants to believe them.
Carter shifts closer, wrapping an arm around Miles’ shoulders and pulling him into his chest. “You’re allowed to feel this, babe,” he murmurs, his voice soft now. “You’re allowed to be upset. But don’t you dare think for a second that you failed. You didn’t. Not to me. Not to anyone who matters.”
For a moment, Miles lets himself be held, the weight of the night finally catching up to him. He buries his face in Carter’s shoulder, his arms wrapping around his husband as he exhales a shaky breath. The tears come then—silent but cathartic—as Carter holds him tighter, his hand running gently through Miles’ curly blonde hair.
“I’m proud of you,” Carter says, his voice steady and unwavering. “I’ve always been proud of you. And tonight? You showed the whole goddamn world why.”
Miles doesn’t respond right away, letting the words wash over him. Eventually, he pulls back slightly, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “You’re too good to me, you know that? Could easily give a man a complex,” he says, his voice still raw but lighter now.
Carter smirks, his trademark humor returning. “Duh. But it’s only for you and just you.” He winks, earning a tired laugh from Miles.
Miles shakes his head, the smallest of smiles tugging at his lips. “Thank you,” he says sincerely, his eyes meeting Carter’s. “For always being here. For… everything.”
“Always,” Carter replies, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to Miles’ forehead. “Now, come on. Let’s get you out of here before someone decides to turn you into a meme.”
Miles chuckles, the tension in his chest easing as he allows Carter to help him to his feet. His body protests every movement, but with Carter’s arm around his waist, the weight feels lighter. Together, they make their way down the hallway, the echoes of the arena fading into the background.
Miles may not have won tonight, but with Carter by his side, he knows he hasn’t lost either.
The First Step: Giving Myself A Complex
Dr. Gail Delacore’s Office, Las Vegas
The hum of Las Vegas still lingered in the background, even from the 15th floor of the high-rise building where Dr. Gail Delacore’s office was located. It was faint but persistent—a reminder of the city’s 24/7 pulse. Yet inside the office, the world seemed to slow down. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the Las Vegas Strip, but the room’s soft beige tones, neatly arranged bookshelves, and comfortable seating were deliberately designed to contrast the chaos outside.
Miles Kasey sat in one of the armchairs near the window, his back to the view. The soft leather creaked as he shifted, his hands clasped tightly together. He’d spent the last five minutes trying not to fidget, his eyes darting around the office instead of meeting Dr. Delacore’s.
The door opened quietly, and in walked Dr. Gail Delacore. She exuded a sense of calm and professionalism, her honey-blonde hair tied back in a loose bun. Dressed in a tailored navy blazer and slacks, she carried a small notebook in one hand, her pen tucked neatly behind her ear.
“Miles,” she greeted warmly, closing the door behind her. “It’s good to see you again.”
Miles managed a half-smile, sitting up a little straighter. “Hey, Doc. It’s… been a while.”
“Since the pre-marriage counseling, yes,” she replied with a small smile, taking the chair across from him. “How’s married life treating you?”
“Fantastic, despite him sending all my Christmas presents to his mum and grams. And as you know Carter’s great,” he said automatically, though there was an edge to his tone. “This isn’t about him, though.”
Dr. Delacore nodded, folding her hands in her lap. “Then let’s focus on you. What brings you here today?”
Miles hesitated, his jaw tightening. He hadn’t been sure how to articulate what he was feeling when he’d booked the appointment, and now that he was here, the words still felt tangled in his throat.
“I don’t know,” he said finally, letting out a frustrated sigh. “I guess… I feel like I’m falling apart, professionally.”
She nodded, her expression open and inviting. “Can you tell me more about that?”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared down at the carpet. “I put everything on the line for a title shot. I burned bridges. Actually I took a flame thrower to the fucker and didn’t turn back. I turned my back on people who cared about me—people I cared about—because I thought it was worth it. And now…” He trailed off, his voice tightening. “Now, I’ve got nothing to show for it. No title. No win. Just a pile of regrets and a target on my back.”
Dr. Delacore watched him carefully, giving him space to continue. When he didn’t, she spoke gently. “You mentioned burning bridges. Who comes to mind when you say that?”
He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Finn Whelan. He was… I don’t even know how to describe it. A friend. A mentor, maybe? He helped me when I needed it, he took me in when I needed to escape a very bad moment in my life and gave me opportunities I didn’t deserve. And I threw it all away.”
“For the title shot?” she asked, her tone free of judgment.
“Yeah.” He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. “I knew what I was doing when I made that choice. I knew it would cost me. I just didn’t think it would… hurt this much, you know?”
Dr. Delacore nodded, jotting something down in her notebook. “It sounds like you’re carrying a lot of guilt over that decision.”
“Of course I am,” he said, his voice rising slightly before he caught himself. He exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay,” she interjected gently. “This is a safe space, Miles. You’re allowed to feel whatever you’re feeling.”
He nodded, his jaw tightening. “I just… I thought it would be worth it. That it would make everything make sense, you know? And I don’t fucking regret it and that’s the insane part of it. But now it just feels like I lost more than I gained.”
“And you mentioned feeling like you have a target on your back,” she prompted.
Miles laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “Yeah, Alex Jones. The guy who kicked me in the face when I tried to help Carter at ringside. I can almost guarantee that he is coming for me now. And I don’t blame him, honestly. I’d be pissed, too, if I were him. But it’s just… one more thing, you know? One more person gunning for me because of the choices I made.”
Dr. Delacore studied him for a moment before speaking. “Miles, it sounds like you’re carrying a lot of weight—guilt, regret, fear of what’s coming next. Have you allowed yourself to process any of it, or have you been pushing it down and focusing on what’s ahead?”
He hesitated, then shrugged. “I don’t have time to process it. I’ve got Alex breathing down my neck, and Finn’s not exactly going to forgive me anytime soon. I don’t get to feel sorry for myself. I just… have to keep going.”
She leaned forward slightly, her tone soft but firm. “Miles, processing what you’re feeling isn’t about feeling sorry for yourself. It’s about understanding why you’re feeling this way, so you can move forward in a way that’s healthy and sustainable. You can’t keep carrying all of this without addressing it—it’ll only weigh you down more.”
He looked at her, his blue eyes filled with a mix of frustration and vulnerability. “What if I can’t?”
“You can,” she said simply. “But you don’t have to do it all at once. And you don’t have to do it alone.”
Miles swallowed hard, her words cutting through the fog of his thoughts. He wanted to believe her, to believe that this wasn’t the end of the line for him. That there was a way to make things right—or at least, to make peace with what he’d done.
“Thanks, Doc,” he said after a long pause, his voice steadier.
She smiled warmly. “That’s what I’m here for. And Miles?”
“Yeah?”
“Be kind to yourself. You’ve made mistakes, yes. But mistakes don’t define you. What you do next—that’s what matters.”
He nodded slowly, standing to leave. Outside the window, the neon lights of the Strip gleamed against the darkening sky. For the first time in weeks, Miles felt like he could breathe a little easier.
“And, personally I think you have something that we should continue to work on. I know the holidays are coming up, so- let’s plan on something regular after the New Year, okay? I really am intrigued by this and I feel like I could help you through a lot of things.”
Miles smirked and nodded, “Carter kept saying that I should have done this a while ago.”
“Well, as we find out on a regular basis, Carter is rarely ever wrong.” Dr. Delacore joked, “But I think you being with him has brought him a long way. You may have given up something for you to plant yourself where people said you needed to be, but there is always one constant Miles, and that is Carter. He is your biggest supporter and fan, as I’ve been learning.”
The Weight of the Glass Ceiling
Turnberry Towers, Las Vegas.
Late Evening.
The soft hum of the city buzzed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Turnberry Towers condo. The view of the Las Vegas Strip sprawled out below was as dazzling as ever, but Miles wasn’t paying it any attention. The bright lights felt more like a reminder of his failures than the promise of opportunity they once symbolized.
The living room was dimly lit, save for a single lamp near the couch and the glow of the cityscape. Miles sat cross-legged on the plush carpet, his back against the couch, earbuds in, scrolling through his playlist. Carter was fast asleep in the bedroom, exhausted from a long week of commitments, but Miles couldn't bring himself to join him. Not tonight. Not with the match looming over him.
The soft piano intro of "Get It Right" began to play, and Miles let the music consume him.
"What can you do when your good isn’t good enough…"
He closed his eyes as Lea Michele’s voice carried the weight of the words he didn’t dare say out loud. The lyrics stung, cutting straight through him.
Ok so his Spotify Playlist was always questionable, but dammit the woman could sing...and that show kicked ass.
He had put everything on the line. His title shot, his friendship with Finn, even his integrity. And for what? To lose?
A bitter chuckle escaped his lips as the words kept coming.
"Cause I’ve tried, tried to do it right… but it’s not enough this time."
Miles ran a hand through his hair, his chest tightening with the weight of it all. He’d sacrificed so much to climb to where he was now. And yet, Finn was still holding the gold, and Miles? Miles was back at square one, but with even fewer allies than before.
And now there was Alex Jones.
Miles didn’t need to look up at the framed championship photo of Carter in the area that they both created of both of their achievements, but the latest one that they added on the wall to remind himself of what was at stake. Carter’s Internet Championship had become a symbol of everything Miles wanted to achieve in his own way, but the road he was traveling seemed littered with roadblocks. Finn. Alex. Wolfslair. They all stood on top of the glass ceiling he was still struggling to punch through.
Alex Jones wasn’t just another roadblock, though. He was a legend. A former World Champion. The leader of Wolfslair. And for some reason, he was intent on turning up the heat, as if Miles hadn’t already been burning himself out just to stay afloat.
Alex. Finn. Kayla. All of them were part of this unspoken hierarchy that Miles was expected to bow to.
But he wasn’t going to bow. Not anymore.
"I'm not gonna stop. That's who I am. I'll give it all I got, that is my plan…"
The next song kicked in, and suddenly Miles’ chest felt lighter. "Loser Like Me" wasn’t just a song—it was a mantra. A smile tugged at his lips as he mouthed the lyrics.
Miles pushed himself up from the floor, his heart pounding in time with the beat. He walked toward the window and placed his hands on the glass, staring down at the lights of the Strip below.
“Go ahead, Alex,” he muttered under his breath. “Laugh. Underestimate me. Call me a loser. I’ve heard it all before.”
His reflection stared back at him, defiant and determined.
“You think I don’t belong? You think you’re better than me because you’ve been there, done that? Fine. But this loser’s not going anywhere. I’m not going to stop, Alex. You can keep standing on that glass ceiling all you want, but I’m going to keep punching until it breaks.”
His voice was low but steady, filled with a quiet confidence that hadn’t been there earlier. The music blaring in his ears fueled him, and for the first time in days, he didn’t feel like he was drowning.
“I heard once, someone told me once that success isn’t about who gets there first—it’s about who stays there. And I’m going to get there. I don’t care how many Alex Joneses or Finn Whelans stand in my way.”
He turned away from the window and grabbed his phone. The playlist was still going, and the familiar chorus of "Loser Like Me" filled the room as Miles began pacing.
“This match isn’t just another step. It will be a statement. The mighty leader of Wolfslair, a former World Champion, and a legend in SCW, but I know something Alex doesn’t: I am not afraid to lose anymore. Losing has taught me about resilience. It taught me to stand up after being knocked down. And now? Now it was teaching him to fight with everything that I have.”
He pressed pause on the music and slipped the earbuds out, tossing them onto the coffee table. The weight in his chest was still there, but it felt different now. Lighter. Manageable.
This wasn’t just about proving himself to Alex or Wolfslair. It wasn’t even about Finn or the championship anymore. This was about Miles finally stepping into his own spotlight and refusing to let anyone push him back into the shadows.
“You now don’t have a choice, do ya Alex?” he said quietly, his voice steady. “You are being forced just like I was forced to punch against the ceiling. And it has pissed you and the crew off....Well Good. But you’d better bring everything you’ve got. Because I’m done holding back. And when the dust settles, we’ll see who the real loser is.”
With that, Miles turned off the lights and headed to bed. He wasn’t running on empty anymore. The fire in his chest was back, and it was burning brighter than ever.
Tomorrow was another day, and Alex Jones was just another obstacle. Miles was ready to punch his way through.
