This is Miles’ Heaven
Olympia, WA
Thanksgiving morning broke over Olympia in a soft gray glow, the kind that made the whole world feel wrapped in a wool blanket. The backyard smelled like damp cedar and cold air, until the grill came to life, and the first curl of heat shimmered upward.
Miles stood at the Weber Spirit E-310 gas grill like it was his personal altar.
He was wearing an apron that said “Kiss the Cook (But Only If You’re Married to Him)”, a gift from Carter last year, and one Miles wore with obnoxious pride. His hair was tied back, as much as he could with the curls battling. Carter told him a while ago he really could use a haircut. His sleeves rolled up, and the patio around him was a minefield of seasoning bowls, basting brushes, foil pans, and the massive turkey he’d prepped at dawn.
“Miles is in his element,” Kevin muttered to Ashlynn as they cracked open sodas on the steps.
Ashlynn smirked, "He’s like...glowing.”
“He always glows when he’s bossing fire around.” From the kitchen window, Carter leaned his elbows on the sill, chin propped on his hands, "Babe, how’s the bird?”
Miles didn’t even turn, he just lifted the lid of the grill with a flourish like he was performing for an audience. Smoke wafted up, fragrant and rich. The turkey, rubbed down in Miles’ secret blend of herbs and citrus, had already started to bronze.
“Look at her!” Miles declared proudly, "Look at that color! This is gonna be my masterpiece. They’re gonna write songs about this turkey.”
Grams shuffled up behind Carter, "If this meal doesn’t convert me to being thankful for your dramatic ass, nothing will.”
“Grams!” Miles called, "Have a little bit of faith in me!”
“I have faith,” Grams replied, tapping the window glass with her finger, "What I don’t have is patience, especially the way your brother is bugging me.”
Joanna slid in behind her, wiping her hands on a towel, "Mom, we promised him the turkey. We promised him the outdoor responsibility. Let the man have his triumph.”
“Thank you!” Miles said, pointing his basting brush at her like a wand, "Someone appreciates the culinary arts.”
Joanna kissed the top of Carter’s head and went back to the kitchen, leaving the two men visible through the glass.
Carter opened the back door and stepped out onto the patio, arms wrapped around himself against the cold, "You didn’t even have breakfast.”
“I don’t need breakfast,” Miles said cheerfully, rotating the tray, "I am breakfast. Besides, I had my coffee and that’s all I need right now.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“You married this ridiculous.”
Carter walked down the steps and joined him, watching with that soft, private smile he only ever showed when it was just the two of them.
“You look happy,” Carter said quietly.
Miles shrugged, flipping the turkey with careful precision, "I love this. Cooking for family. Feeding people. Hearing Grams complain. Watching LJ eat like he hasn’t seen food in ten years. Kevin trying to steal the crispy skin before it’s ready. It’s... I dunno. Feels right.”
Carter leaned into him, "You make it feel like home.”
Miles let that settle in the cool air before nudging him with his shoulder, "You’re getting sappy.”
“You’re basting a turkey like you’re Michelangelo painting the Sistine Chapel.”
“And it’ll taste just as holy.”
From inside the house, LJ’s voice carried faintly through the walls, "WHEN IS FOOD?! I’m dyin in here!”
Grams’ voice followed immediately, "YOU’LL EAT WHEN MILES SAVES YOU FROM SALMONELLA!”
Miles grinned, shaking his head, "See? Perfect.”
Ashlynn came over with Kevin in tow, both holding their empty plates like beggars.
“How much longer?” she asked sweetly.
Miles arched his brow to them both, "Do you see a timer in my hand?”
“No...”
“Do you see panic in my eyes?”
“Um... no?”
“Then relax. I got this.”
Kevin leaned to Ashlynn and whispered, “This is how he asserts dominance.”
Miles scoffed, "I heard that. Go steal some marshmallows for me and maybe I’ll give you an update.”
Carter slipped his arm around Miles’ waist, "They’re excited. We all are. It smells insane.”
Miles finally closed the lid on the grill with ceremony, "One hour. Then greatness.”
Carter kissed his cheek, "We’ll be ready.”
And as the backyard filled with laughter, chatter, and the warm smell of roasting turkey, Miles stood guard over the grill like a king with his crown. Thanksgiving was in his hands now and everyone knew, from the look in his eyes, the confidence in his posture, and the reverent care he gave that Weber Spirit E-310, they were in very, very good hands.
--------
This is Miles’ Hell
Still Olympia....Next Morning....STUPID EARLY!
Black Friday morning hit Olympia like a slap. It was cold, dark and completely unreasonable to any SANE person. And full of Carter, Ally, Ashlynn, Joanna and Joan standing over three half-coherent men like a firing squad of cheerful demons.
Miles opened one eye and immediately regretted it, "No. No, absolutely not. I reject this timeline.”
“You agreed to this last night,” Carter said, already dressed, hair perfect, scarf draped like an ad campaign, "You said and I quote ‘Black Friday is tradition.’”
“In my defense,” Miles mumbled into his pillow, “I was warm, slightly inebriated and stupid.”
LJ groaned from across the room, "It’s not even light out.”
“It’s Black Friday,” Ally said, "The sun doesn’t get a say.”
And Kevin, poor Kevin, looked like he was questioning every major life decision that brought him to this moment.
Joanna clapped her hands, "UP! All of you! We have stores to conquer!”
Grams smirked behind her, "If you survive, the hot cocoa is on me.”
That was not reassuring.
By 6:15 a.m., they were inside the mall with thousands of other sleep-deprived lunatics.
Joanna, Joan, Ally, Carter, and Ashlynn moved with terrifying precision, splitting off like a well-trained tactical unit. Meanwhile, two men and one teenager lagged behind.
Kevin whispered, “How...how do they walk like that? They didn’t even look at a map.”
“They don’t need maps,” Miles said gravely, "They smell sales. Like sharks smell blood.”
LJ nodded solemnly, "I swear it’s like they evolve for this.”
Miles was, however, prepared this year. He unveiled his backpack like it was a survival kit, "Okay, I have snacks, protein bars, gummy bears, two energy drinks, hand warmers, four granola bars for emergencies, a foldable phone charger, and a playlist called ‘Suffering But Make It Festive.’”
Kevin blinked, "Why are you...like this?”
“Experience,” Carter answered for him, already sipping the peppermint latte Miles bought him, "You should’ve seen him two years ago. Better known as the Great Target Incident.”
LJ shuddered like a man haunted, "Oh I heard about that one.”
Miles shot back with a warning look, “We don’t talk about it.”
An hour in, Kevin looked like someone had unplugged his soul. People all around them shoved at each other like rabid animals trying to get the last bit of meat. Someone screamed about half-price AirPods. A toddler threw a shoe with demonic accuracy. And Christmas music blasted from every direction.
Kevin rubbed his temples, "I didn’t... I didn’t know this was real. I thought people exaggerated.”
Miles handed him a Snickers like he was warding off a curse, "Eat this before you start seeing visions.”
Kevin took it numbly. They sat on a bench outside a shoe store, part of the mall traffic swirling around them.
Miles scrolled through his phone lazily, "So... how’s it going? Holding up?”
Kevin sighed, "I think I saw a woman threaten an old man over a scarf.”
That brought a snort of a laugh from Miles, “That tracks.”
After a bit Carter rejoined Miles and put down a few bags that looked expensive but Miles wasn’t about to pry yet, "I think I’m about halfway done.”
“Halfway and in need of a refill of coffee?”
“Perhaps...I could be persuaded. Mine is stone cold anyways.” Carter smirked.
Kevin hesitated for a long moment. Then he stood abruptly, brushing imaginary dust off his jeans, "Hey, uh... Miles?”
“Yeah mate?”
“Do you... maybe... have some money I could borrow?” Kevin’s voice was small, uneasy, "I saw something. Like... something I might want to get for someone.”
Miles raised an eyebrow, amused, "Oh? Someone?”
Kevin shifted, clearing his throat, "Well. Yeah.”
LJ perked up instantly, "OOOOH? Who?”
Kevin glared towards the younger Kasey and just couldn’t stop himself, "Shut up.”
Miles leaned back, arms crossed, "Kev, if you want cash, you gotta tell me who it’s for. That’s how this works. It is after all a family tradition.”
“No, it’s not,” Kevin muttered.
“It is now,” Miles said cheerfully.
Kevin groaned, cheeks warming. He kicked at the floor once, stalling, "It’s for... uh... Connor.”
Miles blinked. LJ’s eyebrows shot up like rockets, "CONNOR?! BRO. BROOOO.”
Miles slowly grinned, and to stop the boy from killing his brother he piped in, “As in... that Connor? Your Connor?”
Kevin covered his face with both hands, "Please don’t make it weird. It’s just a little gift. He likes knives and throwing axes and all that badass stuff and I saw this custom leather wrist cuff thingy and I thought he might... y’know... maybe... like it.”
Miles and LJ exchanged a look as Carter’s lips curved in a knowing smirk.
Miles beamed, "Kev... that’s adorable.”
“It’s not adorable,” Kevin snapped, mortified, "It’s practical and it looks cool.”
LJ nudged him, "So you like him.”
Kevin’s ears went red, "I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to,” Miles said, handing him a folded fifty, "Go get the boy the cuff.”
Kevin hesitated, then took the bill with a quiet, “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” Miles said, "But I do want to hear all about this later.”
Kevin groaned again, but he was already walking toward the kiosk, trying not to look like he was floating.
Carter smirked, leaning into Miles, "Look at you. Being a responsible guardian and everything.”
Miles shrugged, "I mean... It's Black Friday. If love isn’t going to blossom here, where will it?”
LJ snorted, "This mall really is hell.”
But Miles just grinned, watching Kevin hover over the bracelets with shy purpose, "Nah,” he said softly, "Sometimes hell’s where the good stories start.”
--------
Miles Utopia
Heart to Heart in the Dark
Night settled over Olympia like a heavy blanket, quiet and cold and still—nothing like the chaos of the mall or the shrieking frenzy of shoppers trying to tear one another apart over televisions. By the time the family returned to the house on the lake, everyone else had crashed—Kevin passed out on the couch mid–hot cocoa, LJ starfished across the guest bed, Ally curled next to him, Ashlynn in a cocoon of blankets on the floor. Even Joanna and Joan turned in early, leaving the house humming with that rare, peaceful silence that only comes after a long day of forced socializing.
Except for Miles.
The sliding door off the kitchen stood cracked open, letting out a narrow slip of warm air into the freezing dark. Outside, the lake stretched like a black mirror, swallowing the moon whole. A few houses across the water still had their twinkling lights on, blurry in the reflection. The firepit near the dock was lit, embers pulsing like a lazy heartbeat.
Miles sat on one of the Adirondack chairs, boots planted in the gravel, a blanket draped over the back of his shoulders. He wasn’t drunk, he rarely let himself these days, but the whiskey in his hand had softened the edges, not blurred them. Just enough to clarify things.
Because clarity was what he needed.
He breathed out a cloud of steam and watched it dissipate.
For once, he wasn’t the loud one. He wasn’t the excitable one. He wasn’t Carter’s sunshine or LJ’s rock or Kevin’s mentor or the chaos wrangler of Black Friday. He was just Miles, quiet, listening to the lake lap against the dock, listening to the fire pop, listening to every single fucking thing in his head that he’d been avoiding.
Footsteps creaked softly across the deck. Carter didn’t announce himself, didn’t make a sound except for the crunch of gravel as he approached; Miles didn’t have to look to know it was him. He simply tilted his glass in greeting.
“You okay out here?” Carter asked, voice low, careful.
Miles chuckled, though there was no humor in it, "Define ‘okay.’”
Carter eased into the chair beside him, tugging his coat closer, "The house is quiet without you.” A beat, "You disappeared before I got out of the shower.”
“I just needed some air, love. It’s nice to get out here and be able to breathe a bit.”
“Mmhmm.” Carter’s tone shifted, gentle, but probing, "Needed space?”
Miles finally glanced over. Carter wasn’t pushing. He never did when it came to him but he could read Miles like scripture. He sighed, "Something like that.”
They sat without speaking for a minute. The fire crackled. Somewhere far off, an owl hooted. A perfect slice of peace, but Miles’ shoulders remained tight, his jaw clenched.
Carter nudged him, "Babe, talk to me.”
Miles swirled the amber liquid in his glass, "It’s... a lot.”
“Then pour it out.”
Miles exhaled, long and slow, "Do you ever feel like everyone’s got an opinion about you? Like your career belongs to the group chat?”
Carter blinked at the sudden shift, but he didn’t comment. He let Miles continue.
“Alex Jones. Aiden Reynolds.” Miles scoffed, shaking his head, "Guys who haven’t taken a moment to know me for over a year since I did what I did to Finn....and somehow they’re experts in where I should be on the roster.”
Carter’s eyes sharpened, "Ah.”
“There it is,” Miles muttered, taking a sip from his tumbler, “You’ve heard it too.”
“I’ve heard noise but then again it’s been Alex and Aiden in my last two major defenses,” Carter corrected, "But I don’t really listen to noise.”
“Well, I try not to. But lately?” He dragged a hand through his curls, "I’m hearing it whether I want to or not.” His voice dropped, heavy, "‘Miles should be higher up on the card.’ ‘Miles should be chasing bigger things.’ ‘Miles won’t get his chance because the World Champion is his husband.’”
Carter stiffened, not offended, but wounded on his behalf.
Miles continued before Carter could speak, "And it pisses me off, Car. Because they talk like I don’t love what I’m doing. Like I’m... settling.” He looked at his championship lying beside the chair, glinting faintly in the firelight, "That title? The SCW Internet Championship? This division? This was my climb. My fucking mountain and instead of enjoying what I’ve earned, I’ve got people telling me I should be...” he waved a hand vaguely, “...more.”
Carter leaned forward, "You don’t owe them more.”
“That’s the thing,” Miles whispered, "I don’t want ‘more.’ I want this. I like being the guy people underestimate. I like being the champion people think they can beat. I like elevating the title that elevated me.”
Carter’s voice softened, "Then do that.”
Miles laughed bitterly, "Tell that to Wolfslair.”
Carter’s jaw flexed, "I have and I will again if I have to. But maybe it’s their way of getting your attention, like they are pushing to see just how hard you’ll push back.”
“Maybe. And I think that you are getting somewhere,” Miles looked back at the lake, "And now Ryan Keys is getting another shot.” A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, "And honestly? Thank God. That kid deserves it. He caught me off guard at High Stakes, nearly beat me and I told him, ‘Run it back. Anytime’ Because that’s what this division is supposed to be. Fresh faces. Second chances. No politics.” He lifted his glass slightly, "It’s the one place in this company where your name doesn’t matter. What you do does.”
Carter rested his hand on Miles’ arm, "And that’s why you’re the perfect champion for it.”
Miles swallowed hard, "But now we both know how the other fights. There’s no surprise this time. No shock factor. And I know that he’s coming for blood.” His voice steadied, steel threading through it, "And I want him to. I want him to bring everything he’s got. Because if Ryan Keys wants this title? If he wants my division? Then he’d better be ready to climb higher, hit harder, push deeper than he ever has before.” He set his glass down, "Because I’m not rolling over for anyone for belly scratches. Not Keys, most certainly not Wolfslair. Not any of the fucking peanut gallery.”
Carter smirked despite himself, "There’s my wolf.”
“As much as I appreciate that love....No,” Miles corrected, eyes burning with conviction, "I’m not their wolf. I’m not anyone’s anything. I’m the Internet Champion because I fought for it, because I earned it and Sunday in Tempe? I’m gonna remind every single person running their mouths why they were dead wrong about me.”
Carter squeezed his hand, their wedding rings clinking softly in the quiet.
“I’m proud of you,” he murmured.
Miles looked at him then, really looked at him. The man he loved. The man who believed in him even before he believed in himself. The World Champion who didn’t cast a shadow, he lit a path that very few had the guts to take.
“I know,” Miles whispered, "I just wish more people said that instead of telling me what I should be.”
“I’ll say it as many times as you need.”
Miles smiled, small and tired but real, "You already do.”
They went quiet again, but it wasn’t heavy this time. Not tense. Just two men sitting by a fire, the lake breathing out cold mist, the world slow and soft around them.
Carter leaned his head on Miles’ shoulder, "Are you done spiraling for tonight?”
Miles chuckled, "Maybe.”
“You want to come inside?”
“I will...In a minute.”
Carter kissed his cheek and rose, brushing ash from his jeans, "Don’t fall into the lake.”
“No promises.”
Carter smiled and walked back up toward the house, leaving Miles with the fire, the cold, and his thoughts, sharper now. Hell even clearer through the whiskey haze.
Because the call wasn’t coming from inside the house. It was coming from him and he was done letting anyone else narrate his story.
The fire had burned down low, embers glowing like a bed of red-hot stars beneath the blackened logs. Miles stood now instead of sitting, both hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, breath curling white into the cold lake air. He stared across the still water as if Ryan Keys might rise out of it like some mythic creature.
Then he spoke—not loudly, not theatrically. Just steady. Direct. The tone of a man who finally knows exactly what he wants to say.
“Ryan... you ever notice how quiet things get the night before a fight?”
His voice carried in the empty dark, broken only by the occasional crackle of the fire.
“It’s funny. You’d think holding a title would make the world louder. Everyone’s got something to say....ALWAYS and I’ve learned that lately. Half the roster thinks they know what I should be doing. Where I should be. What kind of champion I should turn myself into to fit their narratives.”
A humorless laugh escaped him.
“But you? You don’t talk like them. You don’t walk like them. You don’t carry yourself like a guy trying to convince the world you belong. You just... try to earn it.”
Miles stepped closer to the firepit, letting the glow hit his face, casting sharp light and darker shadows across his features.
“And that’s why we’re here again.”
He looked down at the flames.
“High Stakes... you caught me. Flat-footed. In fact you want the honest truth? You dragged something out of me that I didn’t even realize I’d let fall asleep. That match made me wake the hell up. People forget that the Internet Title isn’t just a stepping stone or some shiny toy to throw around on opening cards. It’s a test. A very bright spotlight that is placed on you like it’s blaring through a magnifying glass. A place where people get to find out who the hell they are before the machine chews them up.”
He pointed toward the lake like he was pointing through the camera, through the world, straight into Ryan’s chest.
“And that night? You proved you’re not some party-boy goof-off with a playlist and a dream. You pushed me, not because you’re the next big thing, not because the company wants to slap a rocket on you, but because you fight like someone who wants this. I mean really wants it.”
Miles took a deep breath, pacing slowly along the dock. The water below rippled with each footstep.
“But now you and I have a problem, mate.”
He stopped at the edge, the lake black and bottomless beneath him.
“You aren’t catching me off-guard this time.”
Another long exhale.
“You know how I move now, how I think, what hurts, what doesn’t. But the best part of this is I know yours. I know your rhythm. I’ve seen your habits. I got your tells in the memory banks. I know the way your shoulders tighten right before you fire off that kick. I know the way you stall half a second too long before the frog splash.”
His expression hardened, not anger, not arrogance. Just focus.
“This time... we’re equals walking in. There are no surprises and zero blind spots. Just you, me, and a championship that forces people to either evolve...” he snapped his fingers, “....or drown.”
A breeze swept off the lake and pushed through his curls. He didn’t flinch.
“You want the Internet Title? Then you better be ready to raise hell. Bring something new. Hit me harder. Because if you walk into Tempe hoping for another stroke of luck or a quick moment of spark to steal this belt off me...”
He tapped the title on the chair behind him without looking back.
“...you’re not ready.”
Miles leaned his weight onto the railing of the dock, eyes narrowing.
“But if you learned from High Stakes? If you took that almost-win and turned it into fuel? If you’re coming in knowing this may be the closest you get to rewriting the entire trajectory of your career?”
A small smile crept across his lips.
“Then good.”
He looked right into the night.
“Because I want the best version of you standing across from me. I want to see if you really can step up. I want the challenge and the best thing of all, I want to walk out of Tempe knowing that the only reason I’m still champion is because I was the better man that night, not because you slipped, not because you hesitated, but because I earned it.”
He straightened, the fire reflecting in his eyes like twin sparks.
“That’s what this title is supposed to be, Ryan. It’s not politics nor the chatter. Not what people think I should be doing or where they think I should be going.”
His voice dropped to a near growl.
“It’s about the fight.”
He grabbed the championship finally, lifting it onto his shoulder with practiced ease.
“So come fight me. Come make me work for it. Come prove that this....” he tapped the center plate, “....means just as much to you as it does to me. Because the Internet Division isn’t a playground. It isn’t a shortcut and it damn sure isn’t an afterthought.”
He took one step back, framed by flames and the endless dark of the lake.
“It’s my division.”
Another step.
“My title.”
One final breath, steady and sure.
“And on Sunday, Ryan Keys...I dare you to try and take it from me.”
He turned, heading back up toward the house, the fire crackling behind him.
“Let’s run it back.”
