“Wild Cards”
Centennial Medical Center
Las Vegas
The dull beige walls of the recovery center hadn’t changed, but Kevin had.
The kid had color in his cheeks again. His shoulders weren’t as slumped. The hoodie he wore didn’t swallow him up the way it used to. Miles noticed all of it as he walked into the room with a paper bag in hand, the logo of some hole-in-the-wall burger place already leaving a greasy stain on the side.
Kevin looked up from where he was sitting cross-legged on the bed, earbuds half in. His face lit up like a pinball machine, "Took you long enough, old man.”
Miles raised an eyebrow, "Excuse you, this ‘old man’ just brought you a cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate shake. Show some damn respect.”
“Respect is earned,” Kevin said with a grin, already stretching his hands out for the bag, "Hospital food was this close to killing me. This is a life-saving measure.”
Miles dropped the bag in his lap with a dramatic sigh, then pulled out a second fry container for himself, "You will take this to your grave.”
“What?”
He pointed a fry at him.
“Carter. The man has the nose of a bloodhound when it comes to junk food.”
Kevin laughed through a mouthful of burger, "Dude, he’s like...healthy judgment personified.”
“Exactly. If he finds out I broke my post-cruise detox with the best fries ever and not getting him some? ...I’ll be doing morning pilates until 2090 and I already get my ass kicked enough by Fenris on a daily basis.”
Kevin tossed him a pack of Uno cards, "Then we play. And if I win, I get to rat you out.”
Miles snorted, "You just got healthy. You wanna end up in traction again?”
They dealt the cards, the ease between them returning instantly. No cameras. No spotlight. Just greasy fingers, bad trash talk, and the shuffle of cards between rounds.
A few hands in, Kevin looked up, face more serious, "Just to let you know, they gave me a release date.”
Miles glanced over the top of his cards, "Yeah?”
“Mid-September. That’s practically next month.”
The words lingered. Neither of them played a card.
“That’s good news, Kev. It means you’re healing.”
“Yeah. But then what?”
Miles lowered his cards, resting his arms on his thighs looking at the kid that he had saved, who was thin, pale and knocking on death’s doorstep just a few weeks ago, turning back into a strong willed kid with meat on his bones again, "What do you mean, mate?”
Kevin picked at a corner of the table, "My dad...he’s still him. Same mess. Same bullshit excuses. The guy couldn’t show up for a Zoom visit without being drunk out of his mind. And my mom’s...you know, in prison.”
“I know.” Miles sat back, he had yet to even tell Kevin how well that meeting went with his dad but it was like the kid already had a clue and more than likely it was his drunk old man that had even said something.
Kevin didn’t look up when he said it, "They’re not gonna just let me out without a place to go, but they’re talking about group homes or temporary foster placements or whatever. It’s not exactly ‘happily ever after.’”
Miles took a breath. Deep. Thoughtful. Then he laid his cards down face-up, "Draw four.”
“Dude!”
“Also,” Miles said calmly, grabbing a fry, “You’re not going back out into the wild alone. I don’t care what the state says.”
Kevin looked up at him, brows tight, "Are you serious?”
Miles nodded, "Dead serious, mate. Carter and I have already been talking about it in a way. Whether that means staying with us for a while, or us getting the legal guardianship train moving again, we’re not leaving you behind.”
Kevin was silent for a moment, his hands frozen around his cards, "You’d do that?”
Miles nodded again, “Look mate, after the talk I had with your old man....I knew damn well I needed to do something and we’re already working on it.”
“Even after everything?”
“You got sick, Kevin. You didn’t get bad. Don’t confuse the two.”
Kevin’s throat bobbed, "You really think I could do something after this? Like actually get somewhere?”
Miles looked him straight in the eye, "Yeah. I do. You’re tough, and you’re smart. And more than that? You give a damn. That already puts you ahead of half the people I’ve met in this business.”
Kevin smiled, small but real, "So… what, you think I could be a wrestler someday?”
Miles leaned back, crossed his arms, and smirked, "Well, you already eat like one. Might as well learn how to throw a punch like one too.”
Kevin laughed, "Okay, but if I ever pin you in a match, I’m making a T-shirt that says ‘I beat Miles Kasey and all I got was this stupid shirt.’”
“Rude,” Miles said, flicking a fry at him, "But marketable.”
They went back to playing, but the air was different now, lighter, with a thread of hope sewn into it. The future wasn’t so murky anymore. It wasn’t just a calendar counting down days until an uncertain release.
It was real and they were going to face it together.
Even if Carter was definitely going to find out about the fries.
“The Nose Knows”
Turnberry Towers, Las Vegas
Evening
The sound of the door unlocking echoed into the sleek, open-layout condo just as golden sunset bled in through the windows. Turnberry Towers gave them that perfect view of the Strip, all lights and promises, but inside, it was peaceful.
Miles stepped in quietly, keys jangling in one hand and a mostly-empty paper bag clutched in the other. He was in his usual post-hospital-visit mode: hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair a little messy, a warm glow on his face that only came from time spent with Kevin. He closed the door with his foot and turned around just in time to see Carter appear from the kitchen.
Silk pajama pants. Oversized tee that was definitely Miles’ at one point. Barefoot. Domestic as hell.
“Hey,” Carter said, walking over with that small, sleepy smile that made Miles feel like he’d actually come home instead of just entering a condo, "How’s our favorite teenager?”
“He’s looking good. A lot better achtually,” Miles replied, leaning in for a quick kiss, "He’s got color again. Got jokes again. He’s eating well…”
He trailed off.
Carter’s eyes narrowed. He hadn’t let go yet — his hands still loosely looped behind Miles’ neck.
“...Well?”
Miles cleared his throat and smiled, but it was too innocent. Way too innocent.
“We might have split some fries.”
The moment he said it, Carter’s expression went full shift: from soft domestic glow to dramatic betrayal, "You smell like grease and sodium.”
Miles took a step back, already laughing and pointing at his husband, "Don’t you dare start sniffing me like some kind of bloodhound.”
“You think I wouldn’t? You think I don’t know the scent of betrayal?”
“C’mon love, he’s been stuck eating plastic-wrapped pudding cups and mystery meat. I was being a good influence for him.”
Carter crossed his arms, "So naturally, you got yourself a personal order too.”
“Gotta build trust,” Miles said, lips twitching, "Can’t let him think I’m above the fry line.”
Carter blinked, "The fry line?”
Miles wiggled his brows, "It’s a delicate balance. You gotta stay relatable and well, I can’t not enjoy a nice fry now and again.”
Carter sighed dramatically, turning away toward the kitchen, "You are so lucky I made dinner.”
Miles perked up, "Wait, you cooked and the fire department didn’t show?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I was hungry.” Carter glanced back with a smirk, "But since you had the gall to cheat on me with fast food, I’m keeping the good leftovers for myself.”
“My darling love, as much as I love spaghetti as the next man, I wouldn’t exactly call your cooking healthy.”
“I also made garlic bread.”
Miles followed him, wrapping his arms around Carter’s waist from behind and resting his chin on his shoulder, "You are the best part of coming home, you know that?”
Carter leaned his head back against him with a soft noise, Miles loved to lay that accent on thick when he was up to no good and knew exactly the effect it had on him, "Uh-huh. Don’t think you’re getting out of salad duty tomorrow.”
Miles kissed the side of his neck, "Fine. But I’m sneaking croutons when you’re not looking.”
Carter just hummed, "One crouton. Per hour. That’s the deal.”
“Fine, this diet is gonna kill me, you know that?”
“Hey, it’s either this or I let K the vegetarian have at you...and we’ve seen that man’s diet.”
They stood there for a beat, swaying slightly in the glow of the Strip lights blinking through the windows. Peaceful. Warm. The kind of evening they never used to get, the kind they now tried to hold onto whenever they could.
Miles was first to break the silence, “Six or so weeks by the way, he was told mid-September.”
Finally, Carter asked, more gently, “You think he’s ready?”
Miles nodded against his shoulder, "I think he’s scared. But I also think he’s got a fight in him that is down right recognizable in myself. Maybe it’s why this is getting to me. I just...I don’t want him going back into that system, y’know?”
Carter turned in his arms, facing him fully, "We will figured something out for him, I swear. Even if it’s here.”
Miles smiled, "I mean we do have that room that has been empty for what...2.5 years now. And, I may have already put a call in to a lawyer to ask a few questions, legality speaking of course. I’ll be damned if he goes back to that family after what I saw.”
Carter gave him a look that said everything, pride, love, and a little of course you did.
He kissed him again, "You’re a good man, Miles Kasey, no matter what anyone thinks.”
Miles grinned, "I know. Even with fry breath.”
Carter groaned, "Okay, go brush your teeth before we even think about cuddling on that couch.”
Miles backed away with a wink, "Yes, Chef.”
“Also?” Carter added, loud enough as Miles disappeared into the bathroom.
“Yeah?” Miles said, poking his head out as Carter crossed his arms.
“That was a full order of fries, wasn’t it?”
The sheepist of smiles slides on Miles face, “...I will neither confirm nor deny.”
“You’re going to be IMPOSSIBLE on this tour, aren’t you? Miles? Miles!”
“You’re The Example I’ve Been Waiting For”
Ibiza, Spain
The view from the balcony was downright picturesque from almost a postcard, the sunlight bouncing off the sea, thumping music from a nearby beach club echoing off the cobbled streets of Ibiza because the party apparently never stopped. But none of that mattered to Miles Kasey right now. Maybe later but for now....
He stood barefoot, leaning on the railing in gym shorts and a tank top, the scene was perfectly capturing the fire behind those usually playful blue eyes. There was no cheeky smirk today. No flirty wink. Just a clenched jaw and the kind of intensity that didn’t simmer, it scorched.
He ran a hand through his ocean-blown hair, letting the silence speak for a moment before turning to the camera.
"You ever get the feeling that you're floating between moments? Like... something just ended, but whatever's next hasn’t quite started yet?"
He chuckles dryly, running his hand through his windswept hair.
"Yeah. That’s where I’m at right now. Last one tossed in the Overboard Battle Royal... Summer Xxxtreme in the rearview… and now we’re here in Ibiza. New tour. New city. New match. And it should feel like a reset, right?"
A long pause. His jaw tightens.
"But instead, it feels like a reckoning."
“Logan. Bloody. Hunter. You’ve been clawing at attention like a starving mutt, and for what? You think dragging Carter's name through the mud is your shortcut to relevance? You think rehashing your GO Gym days gives you legacy? You act like Carter owes you something, like you were left behind while the world moved on without you. And maybe it did. But that’s not his fault. That’s yours."
He steps toward the camera, a hint of fire igniting behind his ocean-blue eyes.
"You see, I’ve watched you do this. To others. To my brother. Now to my husband. You can’t build anything of your own so you tear down people who’ve made it. But you made one critical mistake, mate… you made it personal with me. You talked about Carter like he’s just a stepping stone, like his success somehow diminishes yours. And that’s where you crossed the line."
Miles pauses, lips pressed tight. You can see the battle behind his eyes—righteous fury held at bay by sheer willpower.
"You thought you were punching up, Logan. But you’re about to learn the difference between ‘punching up’... and being put down."
His voice lowers, dead serious.
"I didn’t come to Ibiza to wrestle you. I came to hurt you. To make you feel every word you’ve said. To show you what happens when you mouth off about people who’ve fought, bled, and earned what you never could. This isn’t about who went to what school or who trained with who. This is about respect. And you’ve shown none."
He leans into the camera slightly, his tone shifting. Still angry—but now, there’s something else. Something quieter.
"And maybe I’m fighting this hard because I don’t know what’s next. Maybe part of me is scared that if I don’t make this count—if I don’t shut your mouth now—I’ll keep floating like I have been since I got back. One second I’m managing LJ. The next I’m in title talks. Then I’m fighting for family. Then I’m… here. On a balcony. Wondering if any of it’s really going somewhere, or if I’m just holding on to something that already passed me by."
Miles looks away for a moment. The wind picks up, tugging at his shirt. When he looks back, there’s no more uncertainty in his face. Just resolution.
"But whatever’s coming—whatever I’m headed toward—I know one thing with absolute clarity: you don’t belong in that future. You’re a relic, Logan. You’re stuck in the past, clinging to Carter because he made it out and you didn’t. You’re bitter. You’re loud. But you’re not built to last."
He lifts the half-empty box of fries, grabs one, and takes a bite. Chews. Swallows. Then grins, just a flash of the old Miles, but this one’s got bite.
"Also, Carter’s definitely gonna smell this and give me hell. But I figure I’ll be in more trouble for what I do to you in that ring."”
Miles tosses the rest of the box into the trash behind him and leans into the camera for the final words.
“You’ve run your mouth from the second your entire career kicked off. First was your bullshit with my lil bro and now you’ve gone and started digging up your days at the GO Gym, dragging Carter’s name into every promo, every cheap shot, every whisper of your damn shadow. Like that makes you somebody. Like that makes you relevant. What’s amazing about it is you aren’t even on Carter’s level, let alone mine.”
Miles paced, energy rising with every step.
“But here’s the part where your fantasy ends and reality comes crashing through like a goddamn freight train, because you forgot one very important detail, Logan. Carter isn’t alone. He’s got someone in his corner. Me. I have sat aside as promised and had to dig my heels in every time I’ve had to hear someone attempt to one up my husband, but it JUST so happens that we both have the time.”
He jabbed a finger at his chest, that anger boiling just beneath the surface.
“You don’t get to talk about him and you don’t get to pretend he didn’t surpass you in every way. You sure as hell don’t get to twist history to make yourself look like the victim when everything that has happened to you has been of your own doing.”
Miles’ voice trembled, not with fear, but with rage barely contained.
“You just cannot stand watching Carter become something you know you never could. And now? After you got a taste of championship gold, the Roulette Championship that you got embarrassed out of...You’re trying to claw your way into the spotlight by attaching yourself to the man you could never beat, in the ring or in life.”
A pause. A deep breath.
“Well, congratulations. You finally got the attention you’ve been begging for. But it’s not Carter who’s stepping through those ropes. It’s me. You know one of the many joys I had during Summer Xxxtreme was being apart of tossing you and Grandma Brooke overboard. I enjoyed as I heard you scream for your mommy and splash to that cold water below. And yeah I had a taste of that too and part of me is still bitter about it but now that I’m presented with a chance such as this, I’m feeling...I’m feeling spicy. And I come baring you tidings and horrible fortune because Logan....I’m not coming to wrestle. I’m coming to make sure that every single insult, every little jab, every disrespectful comment you’ve made comes back to haunt you.”
“You thought you were going to bully Carter from the sidelines? Nah, mate. Now you’ve got me to deal with.”
Miles leaned forward into the lens, voice cold and steady.
“This isn’t just about school pride. This isn’t about the GO Gym. GO has been kind in its invites to me since I moved to Las Vegas. Logan, this is about respect. Simple, plain respect. And it’s about what happens when you cross a line you can’t uncross.”
“I don’t care if you trained with Carter. I don’t care what history you think you had. I care about what you said. About how you said it. And about making damn sure you never say it again.”
He stood back, arms crossed over his chest, and the cold breeze of the coast tugged at the edge of his shirt.
“You’re not just facing the high-flying heartthrob this week, Logan. You’re facing a husband. A man fueled by something a hell of a lot stronger than ego, love. And that? That’s gonna hurt a lot more than whatever legacy you think you supposedly had left.”
Miles took one last breath, jaw tightening.
"You’ve had your say, Logan. Now it’s my turn. I’m gonna beat your ass in Ibiza and after that? Maybe I will figure out what comes next. But first, I bury you and your delusions. And I promise you, once I’m done, even you won’t be able to rewrite history anymore."
“Get ready, Logan. You’re not walking out of Ibiza the same way you walked in. I’m gonna drag your sorry arse all over that ring and when I toss your broken pride out to sea just like we did at Summer Xxxtreme, just remember one thing…”
“You brought this on yourself.”
He turned and walked back into the room, the door shutting behind him with a hard click as the screen faded to black.
