So Busted
Turnberry Towers
The late afternoon sun slanted through the blinds of the Las Vegas condo, painting long golden stripes across the living room floor. The place still had that lived-in chaos, a half-empty mug on the coffee table, a pile of Carter’s books by the couch, the gleam of Miles’ newly-won SCW Internet Championship catching the light from its place on the kitchen counter right next to Carter’s SCW World Championship. The air still carried a faint hum of celebration, but Miles didn’t feel like celebrating.
He was stretched out on the couch, hoodie up, remote somewhere he wasn’t going to bother finding. His phone sat face-down on the cushion beside him. Across the room, Carter leaned against the counter, arms folded, wearing that look, the one that said he was about to instigate something. Kevin was in his room, currently working on his Literature Studies homework after having a wonderful conversation with Carter’s mom.
“You know it’s your turn, right?” Carter asked casually, thumbing through his phone.
Miles cracked one eye open, "My turn for what? Spontaneous combustion?”
Carter’s mouth twitched into a grin, "No, for calling your mother. You know... that talk.”
Miles groaned, dragging a hand over his face, "Oh, Christ, Carter, not today. She’s probably already heard.”
“Exactly,” Carter said, "And that’s the problem. You didn’t tell her, Twitter did.”
Miles sat up, brow furrowed, "That’s not my fault! I didn’t think it’d blow up that fast!”
Carter gave him that look again...the one that said, ‘You’re adorable when you’re full of shit.’ “Babe, the second you so much as breathe sideways, there’s a hashtag. You really thought you could quietly become someone’s guardian and it wouldn’t end up trending? Especially when we showed up with him in Florida ”
Miles leaned forward, elbows on his knees, "I was just...waiting for the right time.”
Carter arched a brow, "Mhm. And when exactly was that? Before or after hell freezes over?”
Miles glared, "You’re enjoying this way too much.”
Carter didn’t even try to hide his smirk as he brought Miles laptop over to him, things already set up and his finger lingering over the ‘call’ button, "Well, seeing as I already broke the news to my mom and grams, it’s only fair. So...ready?”
“Ready for what?”
Carter hit the button. The cheerful FaceTime jingle filled the room.
Miles’ eyes widened, "Carter! No. No, no, no, babe, don’t—”
Too late.
“Smile, champ,” Carter said, settling down next to him with infuriating calm, "You’re live.”
Miles looked like he was about to leap off the couch and throw the computer out the window when the screen came to life...and immediately...
“MILES ANTHONY KASEY!” Mora’s voice nearly rattled the speakers.
Miles winced, "...Hi, Ma.”
Behind her, his twin sister Brianna was grinning like a cat that had eaten an entire flock of canaries, "Told you, Ma! I knew he was waiting because he was a chicken shit!”
Mora shot her daughter a look that could’ve melted steel before turning her gaze back to the screen, "You’ve got some nerve, young man! I had to find out from Twitter, THROUGH YOUR SISTER, that you took in a child?”
Miles scrubbed his face with both hands, muttering something under his breath, "It wasn’t supposed to go that way...”
“Oh, it never is,” Brianna teased, "So, what’s his name again? Kevin? Looks like social media already loves him. There’s fan art. Miles, there’s fan art.”
Carter bit his lip, trying and failing to hold in a laugh beside him.
Miles turned his head slowly, glaring daggers at him, "You think this is funny, don’t you?”
Carter shrugged, smiling sweetly, "A little.”
Mora sighed, shaking her head, though the sharpness in her expression softened as she leaned closer to the camera, "Miles, I’m proud of you. You know that. But, light of my life, a little heads up would’ve been nice.”
“I know,” Miles said, his voice quieting, "You’re right. I just...wanted to make sure everything was set before saying anything. The last few months were rough, Ma. We had to make sure everything was in a row and when the courts approved it, I just wanted to breathe for a minute before the world caught up.”
There was a pause. Brianna exchanged a glance with Mora, then looked back at the screen, "So he’s living with you guys now?”
“Yeah,” Miles said, "He’s here. Settling in and getting used to the insanity of our lives. We’ve been slowly working into getting the other bedroom to something that suits him. He’s also getting used to the cat. Ms. Thang already claimed him.”
Carter chuckled, "It’s true. She hasn’t left his side since he came in.”
Mora smiled faintly, "She’s got good instincts. Probably knows he needs you both.”
Miles nodded slowly, "I feel like he was needed here too. I’d call him out here to introduce you but he had a long conversation with Carter’s mum and he needed to get to his homework. Don’t wanna overwhelm him.”
For a moment, there was quiet, the kind that carried more warmth than words. Mora smiled at him from the screen, that proud-mother look softening all the edges of the earlier scolding.
“Alright,” she said at last, "It’s understandable. We’ll let you off the hook, but you’re calling again soon, and next time, I want to meet him properly. Understood?”
Miles cracked a tired smile, "Yes, ma’am. You’ll have your chance before Christmas, I promise”
Brianna smirked, "Oh, I’m recording that. You said ‘ma’am’. Rare footage.”
Miles rolled his eyes and extended his middle finger towards his sister, and Carter burst out laughing.
When the call ended, Miles just closed the computer slowly and slumped back, exhaling like he’d just gone fifteen minutes in the ring.
Carter grinned, leaning over to nudge him, "See? Not so bad.”
Miles shot him a look, "Next time, I’m making you call them.”
Carter laughed, "Next time, babe, you’ll thank me for hitting that button.”
Miles turned his head toward him, his irritation finally cracking into a quiet laugh of his own, "You’re lucky you’re cute.”
Carter smiled, stealing a quick kiss before standing up, "I know.”
Miles shook his head, chuckling to himself as the weight in the room finally lifted and somewhere down the hall, the sound of Kevin’s laughter echoed faintly from his new room, grounding the moment in something real. Something that, despite the chaos, finally felt like home.
--------
A Brother Protects
UNLV - SUES Student Union
The student union was loud, the kind of midday chaos that came with too many conversations happening at once and not enough caffeine to keep up. LJ sat at one of the corner tables, hoodie pulled halfway up, laptop open but untouched, the glow of the screen reflecting off the rim of his coffee cup.
He wasn’t really studying, not today. Not with everything rattling around in his head.
When a familiar shadow fell across the table, LJ didn’t even need to look up, "You’re late,” he muttered, clicking the screen dark.
Miles slid into the seat across from him, smirking faintly, "I was giving you time to pretend you were actually doing work.”
“Funny.” LJ leaned back, folding his arms, "You came to make sure I didn’t break anything since you told me about Vincent’s little bounty stunt?”
Miles raised an eyebrow, "You mean since I stopped you from driving to wherever he’s training and doing something that would’ve gotten you expelled, arrested, or worse? Yeah, that’s pretty much it.”
LJ gave a short, humorless laugh, "Yeah, well, you didn’t have to stop me. You could’ve just let me...”
Miles cut him off, "Make things worse? Yeaaaaaaah, not happening.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes locked on his brother’s, "You’ve got enough on your plate, LJ. Classes. SCW. Trying to rebuild your rhythm. You don’t need this idiot dragging you down again.”
LJ stared at him for a long second before sighing, voice low, "I keep seeing it in my head, though. Him standing over me after the match. If Ally hadn’t run down there...” He trailed off, jaw tight, "And now he’s got ten grand hanging over her like she’s some target at a carnival. Like she’s just bait.”
Miles’s hands clenched around his cup, the ceramic creaking under the pressure, "Yeah. Believe me, I’ve been thinking about that part a lot.”
LJ looked up, and for the first time since Miles had arrived, there was a flicker of something, not anger, but worry, "You got your match with him at Control, right?”
Miles nodded once, "Yep, Clash of the Champions, non-title. But trust me, it’s not about that. This is about sending a message.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” LJ said quietly, "You go in there with your blood boiling, he’s already halfway to winning. He knows how to get in people’s heads. He knew exactly what he was doing when he went after her name.”
Miles gave a sharp little nod, but there was that familiar burn behind his eyes, that quiet fire LJ had seen a hundred times before, "He went after family, LJ. That’s all the motivation I need. And yeah, maybe I am angry, but I’ve learned how to use it.”
LJ tilted his head, "You sound like Carter.”
Miles smirked, "Carter is rarely angry, but that’s what happens when you live with him long enough. Some of his righteous fury rubs off.”
LJ finally cracked a small smile, "He’s gonna love that you called it that.”
They both chuckled, but it faded quickly, replaced by that heavy quiet again. The kind that came after something ugly but inevitable.
LJ’s fingers tapped against the table, "You really think this match will change anything?”
“No, it won’t change a fucking thing,” Miles admitted, "But it’ll make Vincent think twice before running his mouth about Ally again. That’s all I need.” He leaned back in his chair, voice steady but low, "You and Ally don’t need to look over your shoulders. Not while I’m still standing.”
LJ studied him for a moment, the set of his jaw, the coiled tension in his shoulders, the weight that Miles carried even when he tried to hide it.
Finally, LJ nodded, "Then do me a favor when you face him.”
Miles raised an eyebrow, "What’s that?”
“Don’t just beat him,” LJ said, his tone dark and deliberate, "Embarrass him. Make him remember why the Lyons name used to mean something worth respecting, more so when his sister was an actual champion.”
Miles’s mouth quirked into that slow, dangerous grin, "That was already the plan, lil bro.”
He stood, clapping a hand on LJ’s shoulder before walking off toward the exit.
LJ watched him go, the noise of the café swelling back around him like static. For a long moment, he just sat there, then finally opened his laptop again. Not to study, but to pull up the Climax Control card, one that he himself was also on.
He found Miles’ name next to Vincent Lyons Jr.’s and let out a slow breath.
“Make him remember,” LJ murmured to himself, a faint, fierce smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
------
The Line in the Sand
Las Vegas – Late Afternoon
The sun was sinking low over the Vegas valley, painting the horizon in bruised shades of orange and violet. The heat still lingered, thick and dry, the kind that clung to skin and made the air hum with silence. Out on the balcony, Miles sat alone, no ring, no noise except the faint buzz of the cicadas and the muted hum of the Strip in the distance, and the storms for this time of year that always hang in the atmosphere.
A bottle of water sat sweating on the glass table beside the SCW Internet Championship. The title gleamed under the fading light, reflecting the gold like it belonged there. Miles leaned back in his chair, hoodie sleeves shoved up his forearms, expression carved into quiet focus. His thumb tapped against the bottle. His eyes didn’t blink much.
He had that look, the one people always mistook for calm before realizing it wasn’t calm at all. It was controlled. It was the kind of control that came before the storm.
“Some people,” Miles murmured, voice low, “Just don’t know when to quit.”
He leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, gaze locked on the horizon as if Vincent Lyons Jr. were standing right there in the distance.
“Vincent Lyons Jr.,” he said, rolling the name over his tongue with a hint of disgust, "A name that’s supposed to mean something. That’s what you keep telling everyone, right? You’ve got that legacy thing, the bloodline, the name, the family pride. Like it’s your birthright to be respected.”
A humorless smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth.
“Let me tell you something,” Miles said quietly, "And it’s something that a lot of people will tell you first hand, bloodlines don’t make legends. The work does. Pain does. The willingness to break and rebuild yourself, that’s what makes a legend. And you?” He shook his head, "You’ve done a lot of talking, Junior. A lot of chest-beating but not a lot of that for a guy that was most recently a lackey for Victoria and when she had enough of your shit, she dumped you like yesterday’s garbage.”
He reached over and dragged the championship belt closer, the metal catching the last slant of sunlight. For a moment, he just looked at it, thumb running absently along the edge of the plate, tracing the scratches left from years of chaos that came even before him the first time.
“You think putting a ten grand bounty on Ally Callaway’s head makes you feared?” His voice hardened, "Makes you powerful? It doesn’t. It makes you weak and pathetic. It makes you cowardly. You couldn’t break my brother, so you went for the woman who saved him. You went for the person who had nothing to do with your ego. That’s not power, Vincent. That’s desperation dressed up as dominance.”
He leaned back again, but his jaw was tight, the calm façade slipping just enough to show the heat burning underneath.
“See, LJ didn’t quit,” Miles continued, "He got knocked down, yeah...hard. But he managed to collect himself, stood back up as beaten as you left him in that ring 2 weeks ago. That’s what we do. That’s what Kasey’s do. You think you hurt him? You didn’t. Yeah he’s bruised up but that will heal over time. And bruv, you lit a fire under his arse like I’ve never seen. And now, because you couldn’t handle that, you’ve made it my problem.”
The silence hung between each word, heavy and deliberate. Miles tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips.
“You wanted to make noise? You did. Congratulations. Now you’ve got my attention, and that’s something you really shouldn’t have wanted.”
He exhaled slowly through his nose, grabbed the bottle of water, and took a measured sip before setting it back down. The bottle clicked softly against the table, a sound that felt like punctuation.
“You talk about being dangerous,” Miles said, "You have no idea what that word means. I’ve been through tables, ladders, chairs and some other insane shit that most people would have run away from. Just ask Christian Underwood the insane shit that he put me through before I even had a SNIFF at this level. I’ve bled for everything I’ve earned. Every scar I’ve got, I paid for it. You?” He scoffed, "You’ve been cashing in on a name. You’ve been living off of legacy and turning it into that psycho-style that usually would require 2 weeks in a ward with heavy medications and those jackets that make you give you that hug that you so desperately needed from dear ole da. But when we meet at Climax Control in this Clash of Champions, legacy won’t help you. Your family name won’t mean DICK. Because I’m not coming to wrestle you, Vincent.”
He leaned in, voice dropping to something quiet, almost intimate, the kind of tone that carried more threat than shouting ever could.
“I’m coming to end you.”
The belt gleamed on the table, the reflection of gold catching the sharp edge of his grin.
“For my brother,” Miles said, "For Ally. And for every single person who’s had to deal with a Lyons thinking the world owes them something.”
He stood, slinging the Internet Championship over his shoulder. The belt seemed to fit there effortlessly, like it belonged. The sun had dipped low enough now that his figure was cast in half-shadow, gold catching fire in the last streaks of daylight.
He took a few steps toward the sliding glass door, paused with his hand on the handle, then glanced back over his shoulder, his voice soft, but venom-laced.
“Ten grand bounty, huh?” he said, a slow smirk curling across his face, "Consider that your price tag, Vincent. Because I’m cashing it in myself.”
The door slid shut behind him with a click, and the quiet settled over the patio once more, the kind of silence that comes after a promise you know is going to be kept.
