Las Vegas – Centennial Medical Center
The smell of antiseptic hit Miles Kasey the moment he stepped off the elevator. That sterile, metallic tang that clung to the walls and the floors and the inside of his throat. He adjusted the straps of the baseball cap pulled low over his brow and gave a polite nod to the nurse at the station, who waved him toward Room 312.
It’s been two weeks. Two weeks since he pulled Kevin out of hell and into this place of humming fluorescent lights and soft-voiced nurses. Two weeks of tests, clean-up and therapy and a massive amount of cautious recovery.
And one week since Kevin had refused to see him.
Miles hesitated outside the door, hand hovering over the handle. He exhaled sharply, steeling himself, then pushed inside. Kevin sat on the edge of the bed, a tray table in front of him with a half-eaten bowl of soup and some crackers. His hair was freshly washed, falling in lank brown strands around his face. The shadows under his eyes were still there, but he looked… lighter, somehow.
Kevin glanced up—and for a moment, he looked like he might tense up again. But then his expression shifted, and he let out a breath, “Hey, Miles.”
“Hey, kid.” Miles kept his voice gentle, eyes scanning Kevin’s face for any sign of distress. He approached the bed, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, "You’re looking a bit better. Is the soup any good?”
Kevin shrugged, poking at the crackers, "A lot better than the stuff they tried to give me the first week. Some weird ass shakes because they weren’t sure if I was being fully truthful about the last time I really ate. That shit tasted like wet cardboard in can form. Actually threw one of them at someone.”
Miles cracked a small grin, "I’ll have to sneak you in something better next time. Maybe some In-N-Out, make sure you tell me your favs before I leave.”
A flicker of a smile crossed Kevin’s face, but then his eyes dropped. He picked at a loose thread on his blanket, “Look about last week...” Kevin’s voice was low, almost swallowed up by the steady beep of the machines, "I’m sorry I told you and your brother...what was his name again? LJ! That’s it. I’m sorry I told LJ to fuck off. I was having a really bad day, not even sure what or who I was that day.”
Miles leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, "Kev, you don’t gotta apologize for that, not to me. And not to LJ. We both know that you’ve been through enough to earn a few bad days.”
“Still Miles, just do me a fav,” Kevin swallowed, his voice tight, "Tell him I’m sorry, yeah? LJ, I mean.”
“I will.” Miles nodded firmly, "He gets it. We both do, trust me.”
Kevin fell silent for a while, tracing patterns on the sheet with his fingertip. Miles waited, patient, not pushing. Finally, Kevin let out a shaky sigh, “So, now that I seem to be under a bit of control, let me guess why you are here. You wanna know why I couldn’t stay with my dad..when I went back to LA.” It wasn’t a question.
Miles didn’t move, "Only if you’re ready, mate.”
Kevin stared down at the blanket, words tumbling out soft and uneven, "He...he didn’t hit me or anything. He didn’t have to. I think....I think I’d almost prefer it if he did. Then at least I’d know what to expect. But he’d look at me like...like I was a stain. Like I’d fucked everything up just by existing. Like he wanted me gone but didn’t have the balls to say it. I got back from my first time leaving, and he’d come home and...I don’t know, he’d just pretend that I wasn’t there. Or he’d scream at me for leaving, that’d usually come after he came home from drinking. He would call me a liar, a thief, a disappointment. It got really bad when my little brother said it was my fault mom is in prison. He wouldn’t say it but dad never denied it when he said it, he looked at me like it was my fault he lost everything. After a while, I started to believe him.”
His voice cracked on that last sentence, eyes blinking furiously to keep tears at bay. Miles felt something splinter in his chest.
“Kevin, none of what happened to your mom, that’s not on you.” Miles’s voice was rough, "Not one fuckin’ bit of it. You hear me?”
Kevin gave a tiny nod but didn’t look up, "Well, it didn’t help any that what really set the whole thing off was my little brother was really on me one day. Screaming at me, just because he needed someone to scream at. Then he started going off about how he heard things about what I did when I took off the first time. He used the same word that mom used when she was screeching about you and Carter. Next thing I know, I punched him, right in the nose. Blood gushed everywhere, dad had to drive him to the hospital, CPS got called because dad still smelled like alcohol and when they pointed the finger at me...well they saw me as a threat to both of my brother and sister. After that, I went back home, grabbed what I could and just took off.”
He glanced over to Miles who sat there, soaking every piece of it in, “I fell right into it. They wanted to get rid of me because I was close with you and they just wanted someone to blame...and I let them. I’m just apparently meant to ruin everyone’s life.”
Miles reached across the tray and gently nudged Kevin’s hand.
“Listen to me, kid. I don’t give a shit what your da said. You didn’t ruin anyone’s life and you deserve better than all of this. And I know you think I can’t do anything, but I’m gonna try anyway. I’m stubborn like that.”
Kevin finally lifted his gaze, eyes bloodshot but fierce, "Even if there’s nothing left to fix?”
Miles stared at him dead-on, unwavering, "Then I’ll find you something new. A new start. A new home. A new chance. Whatever it takes.”
Kevin huffed a shaky breath that might’ve been a laugh, "You sound like a bloody superhero.”
Miles smirked, "Nah, superheroes wear tights. I’ve just got a big mouth and a hard head.”
Kevin wiped at his eyes, looking away toward the window, "I dunno, man. Part of me thinks it’d be easier to just disappear and not have to deal with any of it.”
Miles sat back, folding his arms, "Yeah, well. I’m not gonna let you disappear again, because you deserve a life, Kev. And I’m gonna help you find it, whether you like it or not. I did want to let you know though, that on Sunday we’re going to be gone for about a week or so on the Summer Xxxtreme cruise, but I will make sure that the nurses and doctors have mine and Carter’s numbers, if at anytime you just wanna call and bullshit, as long as we’re not working, we’ll be there. A’ight?”
Kevin went quiet again, the weight of everything still pressing down but somehow a little lighter, “A’ight...mate”
Miles laughed and then glanced at the soup, "Eat some more, yeah? You’re still lookin’ like a stiff breeze could knock you over.”
Kevin rolled his eyes but picked up his spoon, "Alright, alright. Just no more cardboard protein drinks.”
Miles let out a soft laugh, the sound echoing in the sterile room, and sat there while Kevin ate, determined to keep being the stubborn bastard who refused to let him go.
“By the way Miles?” Kevin said between sips.
“Yeah, mate?”
“Don’t you wear tights when you wrestle?”
Los Angeles – Late Afternoon
Hank Chapman’s house sat on a narrow street in East LA, just another sunbaked single-story with peeling paint and a lawn littered with plastic toys. Miles Kasey stood on the cracked walkway, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he stared at the door.
He’d driven all night from Vegas, replaying every word Kevin had told him. The way the kid’s voice had gone small and tight. The way he kept saying it’s my fault. Miles wasn’t the kind of man who let things lie. And he sure as hell wasn’t letting this one go.
He rapped his knuckles against the door—hard. A moment later it cracked open, revealing Hank Chapman. Hank looked older than his forty-some years, sun-worn and hollow-eyed, wearing a grease-stained mechanic’s shirt unbuttoned over a white tee. His expression flickered from confusion to annoyance the second he saw Miles.“…Can I help you?”
Miles offered him a grin that didn’t reach his eyes, "Yeah, Hank. Remember me? Miles Kasey. The husband of the man your now ex-wife tried to have killed? OH and the newest thing, I’m the one who pulled your 16-year-old son outta the gutter in Vegas.”
Hank’s face tightened, "I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
Miles barked out a dry laugh, "Oh, don’t fuckin’ play dumb with me, mate. Kevin. Your son. Sixteen years old. Brown hair, brown eyes, weighs about as much as a wet towel because he’s been starved and trafficked for half a year.”
Hank swallowed, "I said I don’t know...”
“Cut the shit, Hank!” Miles snapped, voice sharp enough to slice skin, "Your kid nearly died. He’s been in the hospital for two fuckin’ weeks and will probably be there for another four, trying to remember what it’s like not to sleep with one eye open. And where the fuck were you, huh? Watching TV? Getting laid? Working on your piece-of-shit car? Because let me tell you something, I was the one holding a bucket while your boy threw up half his organs. I was the one sitting with him at three in the morning because he couldn’t close his eyes without screaming. So don’t stand there and act like you don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about.”
A woman’s voice floated in from the hallway behind Hank, "Baby, who is it?”
Miles leaned sideways, peering past Hank. A tall, slender woman with bleached blonde hair and a smirk plastered across her lips came into view. She wore cut-off shorts and a tank top that left absolutely nothing to the imagination and a swirling tattoo exposed on her shoulder.
“Oh,” she said, looking Miles up and down, "So you’re the guy sticking his nose where it doesn't belong. Got sick and tired of blowing up his phone huh?”
Miles tilted his head, eyes narrowing, "And you must be the new Missus. Or is it just a hobby for you, wreckin’ families for sport?”
“Fuck you, asshole,” she snapped.
Miles ignored her entirely and pinned Hank with a glare, "Kevin’s sixteen, Hank. He’s still a kid. A kid who ran away twice because he’d rather sleep under neon lights in Fremont than spend five minutes in this house.”
Hank opened his mouth, shut it again. His shoulders hunched a little, "You don’t know how hard it’s been.”
“Save it,” Miles growled, stepping forward until they were chest to chest, "I know exactly how hard it’s been. And you know what? I don’t give a shit how hard it was for you. Your boy came back here. He tried to stay and what’d you do? You shoved him right back out the door. And why? Because Blondie over there couldn’t handle him bein’ around?”
Blondie scoffed, "He broke his little brother’s nose after the kid called him a...”
“I know EXACTLY what name he was called, you do not need to repeat it.” Miles snarled in her direction.
That caused yet another scoff “That kid’s a fuckin’ mess. Bringing all kinds of trouble. He’s better off...”
“He’s better off without you.” Miles rounded on her, eyes blazing, "He’s better off without a house where he gets treated like fuckin’ cancer. And don’t you ever talk about him like that again.”
Blondie bristled, but Hank held up a hand, "Look...man, Karen, Kevin’s mom, she fucked everything up for what she did to your husband. She went to prison, destroyed our family, left me with three kids and no money. I’ve been working double shifts, tryin’ to keep food on the table. Kevin, he wasn’t the same when he came back. Always angry. Always quiet. And...and he looked at me like I was the enemy.”
Miles’ voice dropped dangerously soft, "Because you are, Hank. You left him out there to die.”
Hank’s jaw tightened, "I can’t help him.”
Miles stared at him, a muscle ticking in his cheek, "No. You won’t. So let me make this simple for you, yeah? You don’t have to worry about Kevin anymore. I’m gonna make sure that boy’s got a roof over his head, food in his belly, and people around him who don’t treat him like garbage. He’s my responsibility now. And one day, you’re gonna have to look him in the eye and explain why you couldn’t be bothered to give a fuck.”
Blondie rolled her eyes, "You think you’re some big hero...”
Miles pointed a finger at her, pure steel in his voice, "Shut. The fuck. Up. I’m fairly certain I can go down the block into the corner mart and run into at least 10 guys you’ve fucked.”
He looked back at Hank, all pretense of calm gone, "Enjoy your shiny new life, mate. Kevin’s not your problem anymore. Considering you went from living in a condo to living the slums, I say that I’m probably doing you a big favour anyways. Get yourself straighten up, get your shit together, do whatever you want. But let me tell you one last thing, if you ever try to come sniffin’ around him, for a handout or some fake reconciliation so you can look good? You will find out exactly why I let the police handle that bitch of an ex-wife of yours, because I will bury you so deep the world’ll still be diggin’ you up in ten years.”
He shoved past Hank, storming down the cracked walkway to his Jeep.
Behind him, Hank just stood there on the porch, silent and small, while the new girlfriend sputtered curses into the dusty LA breeze.
Miles didn’t look back because Miles didn’t give a fuck.
Las Vegas – Turnberry Towers – Late Night
The city glowed outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, streaks of the neon electric blue and pink washing across the living room walls. Inside, the condo was quiet except for the distant hum of the refrigerator and the occasional honk from traffic far below.
Miles stood at the kitchen island, gripping the edge so hard his knuckles were white. A half-empty glass of water sat ignored beside him. His hair was damp from a shower, the dark curls that Carter loves so much, hanging in his eyes. He stared down at the countertop, chest rising and falling in short, frustrated breaths.
Carter entered the room in sweatpants and a loose tank, fresh from the bedroom. He paused in the doorway, reading the tension in every line of Miles’ body.
“Alright, Milo talk to me,” Carter said softly, "You’ve been pacing the floors like a tiger all night.”
Miles swallowed hard, jaw working. For a few seconds, he didn’t say anything. Then, he sucked in a sharp breath and let it all pour out, "You haven’t called me that in, I don’t know how long. I’m sorry love, I- I feel like my brain’s runnin’ at fuckin’ Mach Jesus,” he burst out, "Everything’s just spinning.”
He lifted his hands, fingers splayed, like he might tear his hair out.
“I keep thinkin’ about Kevin, about the look on his face when he said he couldn’t go back to his dad’s. I keep hearin’ how small his voice sounded when he apologized to me. He’s sixteen, Carter. Sixteen. And he’s already talkin’ like the world’s too heavy for him.”
Carter stepped closer but stayed silent, letting him vent.
Miles dropped his gaze to the countertop. His voice wavered, “And it’s messin’ with me, babe. Because I keep thinkin’...fuck...” Miles' breath actually stuttered as he processed it all, “That was me, wasn’t it? Me and Bri and Mum when my old man just up and left. We were just kids and suddenly there was this giant hole in the world and we had to pretend we were fine, except we really weren’t. Kevin’s sittin’ there, starin’ at me with those eyes, and all I see is my own past starin’ back.”
Carter reached out, fingers brushing Miles’ forearm. Miles leaned into it, like a man drowning.
“And now...now I’ve got the fuckin’ Overboard Battle Royal comin’ up,” Miles said, voice growing sharper, “And all I keep thinkin’ is what if I win? What if this actually leads me to a shot at the World Heavyweight Championship? Because that’s the dream, right? That’s what we kill ourselves for.”
He let out a bitter laugh, "But what if it puts me right in your way?”
Carter’s brow furrowed, "Miles...”
“I know it’s wrestling. I know it’s business. But we both know how real that ring gets,” Miles said, his voice trembling, "And the idea of steppin’ into that ring and lookin’ across at you like that again. Fuck, love, it makes me sick. Because I’d want that title with every bit of me, but I’d never want to hurt you to get it. I’d never want to be the reason you lost somethin’ you fought so hard for. I did that once with Finn and I have lived to regret that every day since, ”
Carter sighed and pulled him closer, pressing his forehead to Miles’.
Miles kept going, voice raw, "And on top of it all, I’ve got this wild feeling that somethin’s about to go wrong. I can’t fuckin’ place it. But it’s like...there’s this storm comin’, and I can’t figure out where it’s gonna hit. And I’m just...so goddamn tired of feelin’ like I’m not enough to stop it.”
He blinked hard, fighting the sting behind his eyes, "I’m tired of feelin’ like I’m always fixin’ broken things, but never fixin’ myself.”
Carter held him tighter, "Miles...you’re not broken and you’re certainly not alone. You hear me? We’ll figure this out. Whatever comes, we’ll figure it out.”
Miles gave a shaky nod, burying his face briefly against Carter’s shoulder before straightening again, eyes red but fierce.
“Yeah,” he said, voice steadier, "We will. I just gotta get there first, don’t I?”
Carter cracked a grin through the worry, brushing Miles’ cheek with his thumb, "And I’d expect nothin’ less from my stubborn ass of a husband.”
Miles exhaled a rough laugh. He sagged a little against the counter, feeling like the weight on his shoulders had eased, just a fraction. And when Carter wrapped himself around him, he was able to release and wrap himself around Carter and just let time be.
-------
Las Vegas, NV — Miles Kasey’s Condo — Late Night
The condo was silent except for the faint hum of the air conditioner and the occasional Vegas sirens wailing somewhere far below. Miles stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows, arms folded, staring out at the neon-soaked city like it might hand him answers. His reflection in the glass looked older somehow, shadows under his eyes, his jaw working as if chewing over a thousand thoughts at once.
On the coffee table behind him, the SCW Summer Xxxtreme promotional poster sat half-rolled, six names scrawled in black Sharpie around his own. He turned away from the window, jaw setting, and crossed the room.
He dropped down onto the sofa, elbows on his knees, and glanced at the list one more time. Then he spoke into the silence, voice low and tight:
“You know,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder as if every man in this match was standing there with him, “I’ve been in this business long enough to know that opportunity doesn’t always knock politely. Sometimes it kicks your door in and dares you to do something about it.”
He straightened, rolling his shoulders, his gaze flinty.
“And that’s what this is, this right here, this match at Summer XXXTreme. It’s opportunity in its most brutal form. The kind that doesn’t give a toss about what you’ve been carrying or what you’ve survived to get here. It’s simple: you show up, or you get run over.”
He braced his forearms on the rail, voice low but certain.
“Eddie Lyons.”
A humorless smile flickered across his face. “Unbreakable Eddie Lyons.
I’m gonna start with you, mate, because I know the fire you’ve got inside. You and me, we’ve circled each other long enough. I’ve seen you in that ring give everything until your body’s screaming to quit—but sometimes, that’s not enough. Because fire alone doesn’t get it done. Precision gets it done. Experience. And I’ve got that in spades, Eddie. I respect you, but I’m not letting you walk out with that win. Not when I’m this close to getting back everything I’ve lost.”
He shifted forward, rolling his shoulders like loosening a pair of wings, eyes dropping to the next name.
“Mate, you were one of the first people to welcome me into SCW. You’ve been chasing validation ever since you dropped the Roulette title, and you’ve been so close—so many times—to proving you’re more than potential. You’re hungry, and I respect that, but you and I both know respect doesn’t get you shit when that bell rings. It’s about who has the will to dig deeper when everyone else is gassed out. And I promise you, Eddie, nobody is ready to dig deeper than I am right now.”
He tipped his head back, exhaling a slow, tired laugh.
“Aiden Reynolds.”
Miles’ expression darkened, the respect there—but tempered by something sharper. “Aiden Reynolds.
My own bloody teammate. My brother in Wolfslair.
And I know you’re probably sitting somewhere in your room right now thinking about how we’re going to tear each other apart on that boat. It’s what we do, yeah? We fight, we claw, we push each other to be better. And that’s what I expect from you at Summer Xxxtreme, mate. I expect the absolute best Aiden Reynolds there is. Because I’m bringing the absolute best Miles Kasey there’s ever been.
And I’m not sorry for what’s gonna happen. Because when that bell rings? It’s every man for himself. And I want that number one contendership more than I want the next breath in my chest.”
“Brother, you and I have fought side by side. We’ve trained together, bled together. But when it comes to that ring, there’s no sanctuary. You’re Wolfslair through and through, but I need you to understand something: I can’t afford to play nice. I’ve spent too long holding back to spare people’s feelings. This isn’t personal, Aiden—it’s survival. And if it comes down to you and me? I will do whatever I have to do.”
He paused, running his tongue over his teeth like tasting something bitter, before shifting his focus to the next name.
“Liam Davis.
I’ll admit, I don’t know you as well as some of the others in this match. But I’ve watched the tapes. I’ve seen you coming out swinging, trying to carve your name into the walls of SCW. I respect that hustle, mate. But you need to understand something: there’s a big difference between wanting it and knowing how to take it. And I’m not in the mood to let someone still finding their footing stand in my way. Not now. Not when everything I’m fighting for is on the line.”
Miles sighed, rubbing a palm over his mouth. He looked tired. But when he dropped his hand, the ice was back in his eyes.
“Justin Smith.
You’ve been talking a big game lately. I hear it. The bravado, the swagger, the chip on your shoulder. But here’s the thing, mate… talk only takes you so far. You can run your mouth all day long about being overlooked, about being the future—until you’re face to face with someone who’s been the present for a hell of a lot longer than you’ve even been in this business. You’re going to find out firsthand that there’s levels to this game. And I’m on a level you’re nowhere near ready for.”
Miles exhaled hard, like blowing out steam from a valve. He planted a finger on the poster right next to another name.
“I’ve had a hell of a year. Carter and I finally getting married, getting close to that 1st anniversary. Finding LJ. Watching him struggle and fight for his place. Seeing the absolute worst of humanity in some cheap motel in Vegas, and realizing that no matter how much you try to save everyone, sometimes all you can do is fight for what you can control.”
“This match is something I can control. This is a chance to remind the world—remind myself—why I’m still here. Why I’m still relevant. Because for too long, people have looked at me like I’m the guy who’s just there. The safe bet. The friendly face. The one who shakes your hand win or lose.”
Miles’ stare went flat.
“Not anymore.”
“This match is the pedestal I’ve been clawing my way back to. Because you can talk about titles, about accolades, about legacies all you want—but it starts here. It starts with proving, once and for all, that no matter how many times I get knocked off course, I will always find my way back to the fight.”
“I’m tired of feeling like I’m standing on the outside looking in. Like the moments I’ve built for myself are slipping through my fingers.
Winning this match at Summer Xxxtreme? It doesn’t just put me in line for a title shot. It puts me right where I belong—on top of this division. In the conversation. And yeah… maybe staring across the ring at my own husband if it comes to that.
I’ve worked too hard, bled too much, and given too many years of my life to be left behind.
So to every single name on this list…
I hope you’re ready.
Because I’m coming for all of you.
And I’m not leaving that cruise without my name etched as the number one contender.”
He reached out and rolled the poster closed, tying it with an elastic band. Then he sat there in the hush of the condo, the neon glow spilling across his face, the weight of it all pressing on his shoulders—and the fire in his chest burning hotter than ever.
