That Feeling Doesn’t Subside
Colorado Springs, CO
Last Sunday Night
The fluorescent lights in the waiting room of UCHealth Memorial buzzed with a low, constant hum, white noise Miles barely registered. He sat on the edge of a plastic chair that was far too small for him, fingers laced so tightly together his knuckles were bone white. His right leg bounced restlessly, heel tapping the floor in an uneven rhythm that betrayed everything he was trying and failing to hide.
Carter sat to his left, elbows on his knees, clutching his phone but not looking at it. His eyes stayed fixed on the double doors leading to the trauma wing. He hadn’t said a word in several minutes, but his silence wasn’t cold, it was controlled and contained. The last thing his husband and Ally needed was him completely losing his own shit about the situation. The only outward sign of stress was the way he kept cracking the knuckles of his thumbs.
On the other side of Miles, Ally paced like her shoes were on fire. Her phone was pressed to her ear, one hand digging into her hair, “No, Ash, baby, listen to me,” Ally said, trying to keep her voice steady, "He’s fine for the most partthey’re just running tests and scans. They need to make sure his ribs are okay and his shoulder. And.no, sweetheart, no one knows anything yet.”
Miles flinched at the tremor in her voice. Ally was tough, tougher than most gave her credit for, but seeing LJ getting wheeled backstage, seeing Barnhart’s boot come down again and again in a match that never got underway because he was a fat fucking cowardthat had shaken all three of them in different ways.
“Tell her he’s stubborn as hell,” Miles said quietly, "And too damn hard-headed to stay down.”
Ally nodded, wiping her nose, "Ash, did you hear that? Yeah. Miles said he’s too stubborn to let Barnhart keep him down.”
A muffled, frantic voice came through the phone, the 16 year old Ashlynn’s panic, barely contained. She had come to really adore LJ and you could tell even through the muffles.
Right beside Carter, in a chair that seemed to swallow him whole, Kevin sat huddled up, his arms wrapped around his knees. His hands twisted nervously between his fingers, the way they always did when he was trying to pretend he was calm. He wasn’t calm, in fact he looked pale and stressed. You could tell he was attempting to stay calm with his earbuds in his ears, playing music, but in his eyes you could tell that it was like he was reliving every second of the attack in his head.
Miles reached over and nudged Kevin’s knee lightly, "Hey. You holdin’ up?”
Kevin swallowed hard, pulling one of the earbuds out, “I justI’ve neverseeing someone get jumped like that seeing LJ not move” He shook his head, voice small, "It freaked me out.”
Miles softened. Protective instinct didn’t stop with LJ; it spread to the teenagers in their care too, "He’s tougher than he looks. Trust me.”
Carter nodded, though his jaw was tight, "Stubborn too. Drives both of us insane.”
Ally’s voice breaks through for a moment, “Yes, sweetheart, I promise we’ll call the second a doctor talks to us. Yes. I swear. Okay. I love you too.”
She hung up and exhaled shakily, leaning her head against the wall for a moment before sliding down into the chair next to Miles. He immediately put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her in. She didn’t resist. After a few moments, she glanced over at Kevin, knowing that the poor kid had spent a lot of time in the hospital before coming home with Miles and Carter, “Hey, you’re okay,” she murmured, she reached out her hand and he took it, brushing her thumb over Kevin’s hand, “We’re all okay. He’she’s going to be okay.”
Miles wanted to believe that. He needed to believe that but every minute the doctor took made his stomach coil tighter.
The clock ticked, the hum of lights droned on. A nurse rolled a cart past them. Someone down the hall coughed. Everything felt too loud and too quiet at the same time.
Miles stared at the floor, jaw clenched so tightly Carter half-expected to hear a tooth crack. He had to calm his husband down someway so he just reached out and took his hand and breathed out, “At least Evelyn said you’re getting Barnhart next week,” Carter murmured, finally breaking the silence.
“I know.” Miles didn’t look up, "Doesn’t really help me right now.”
“Didn’t say it was supposed to.”
Miles flexed his fingers, rubbing the heel of his palm against his forehead, "I should’ve been there sooner. I should’ve.”
“No,” Ally cut in sharply, eyes red but fierce, "Don’t start with that, Miles. You have your own thing going and doing what was asked at the time, you came the second you heard. This is on Barnhart, not you.”
Carter nodded, "All of us were in the building. Barnhart planned all of this and you know it. He knew exactly when to strike.”
Miles swallowed hard. He wanted to believe them, but guilt had a way of worming its way in regardless. His little brother was somewhere behind those doors, hooked up to monitors, getting scanned for fractures and internal damage and he had been powerless to stop it.
The waiting room door slid open, drawing all three heads up at once. Miles’ heart hammered so violently he felt it in his throat but it was only another nurse passing through. He slumped back, exhaling through clenched teeth, fingers digging into the armrests, "If they make us wait much longer I’m gonna”
“Mr. Kasey?”
The three of them snapped to attention, as though pulled by the same wire.
A doctor stood in the doorway, chart in hand, expression calm but not grim or heavy. Not the kind that made the stomach drop.
Miles was on his feet instantly, "That’s me. How is he doing? Is he?”
The doctor raised his hand gently, "LJ is doing just fine. He’s a bit sore. Actually he’s very sore but the scans show no internal bleeding, no organ damage, and the rib we were concerned about is bruised, not broken. The shoulder is strained, but not torn. He’s extremely lucky. We gave him some medication to help with the pain.”
Ally covered her mouth with both hands. Carter sagged back into his chair in silent, shaky relief.
Miles felt like someone had loosened a steel band around his chest, "Can we see him?”
“Yes,” the doctor said, "But only one or two at a time for now. He’s in Observation B.”
Miles didn’t wait for more. He turned, grabbed Ally’s hand with one of his and Carter’s sleeve with the other.
“You two first,” he said firmly, "Go.”
Ally hesitated, "Miles”
“Go.” His voice softened, but his eyes stayed resolute, "He needs you. And I gottapull myself together before I go in there. Or he’s gonna think he’s dying from the look on my face.”
Carter gave a small, tired smirk, "At least you’re self-aware.”
Ally squeezed Miles’ hand hard, "We’ll only be a minute.”
Miles nodded, "Tell him tell him I’m right out here.”
As they slipped through the doors, Miles sat back down heavily, scrubbing a hand over his face. Kevin remained beside him, quiet. After a moment, the boy spoke softly, "You know you didn’t fail him.”
Miles didn’t answer immediately. Not because he didn’t hear Kevin but because the truth lodged somewhere deep in his throat. Finally, he let out a shaky breath, "Feels like I did.”
Kevin shook his head, "You weren’t supposed to predict that. I don’t think that anybody could. Barnhart’s just a piece of shit.”
Miles blinked, surprised at the bluntness, but then let out a small huff of a laugh, "Yeah. Yeah, he is.”
There was a beat of silence that fell between them. Then Kevin added, more firmly, “And LJ’s gonna be fine. He’s strong and he’s got you and Allyand Carter. I should know that more than anybody that having you guys and what it can do for someone”
Miles swallowed hard at that. When he finally spoke, the fire in his voice was unmistakable, "Next week? Barnhart’s gonna learn exactly what happens when you go after my family.”
Kevin nodded slowly, "Good.”
Miles leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring toward the trauma doors where his brother lay recovering. Next week in Boulder wasn’t just a match. It was a different level of personal. A line had been crossed. Miles was going to make sure Bill Barnhart regretted ever touching his brother.
--------
No Good Deed
Las Vegas, NV
Few Days Later
The grocery store was quiet in that mid-morning lull where only retirees, busy parents, and the humans trying to hold their households together seemed to wander. Miles Kasey pushed his cart with his hip, his phone tucked between shoulder and ear as he maneuvered around a pallet of restocked soda.
“You’re talking too fast, kid. Slow down,” Miles said as he tossed a bundle of cilantro in the cart, "You’re making me dizzy.”
On the other end, LJ huffed, exasperated, "I’m fine, Miles. Really. Ally keeps making me sit down, Ash keeps telling me I need to ‘sit and heal,’ and you keep asking me if I’m dizzy every twenty minutes.”
“That’s because you were dizzy every twenty minutes yesterday,” Miles countered, grabbing a box of protein bars, "And I’d rather annoy you than let you walk into a wall.”
He heard LJ’s laugh, small but genuine. Those were rare after the attack, “Honestly,” LJ sighed, “I’m just grateful finals were over before all this shit with Bill happened. If I had to take that Constitutional Law essay with a concussion? God, I’d have spelled ‘due process’ wrong.”
“Oh you’d have done that anyway,” Miles teased, "But at least you would’ve had the concussion as an excuse instead of just being you.”
“Miles”
“Kidding,” he said, though his grin softened, "Mostly.”
Miles turned into the wine aisle, scanning the shelves even though this wasn’t the section he’d come for. Force of habit. Years with Carter meant he automatically checked for certain bottles, certain years, certain labels, "How’s Ally holding up with all of this?” Miles asked, picking up a familiar cabernet.
“Worried. She’s been clinging to me like I’m gonna fall over every five seconds.”
“Well,” Miles drawled, “You did fall over yesterday.”
“BECAUSE BILL HIT ME WITH...”
“Everything but the kitchen sink?” Miles finished, smirking.
LJ groaned loudly, "Though it feels like it, trust me.”
“Though Bill is built like an overstuffed goddy as fuck old school steel fridgeI’m not shocked. He may look like a pillow but somehow there is muscle under that lard.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I know.” Miles looked down at the bottle in his hand. It was one of Carter’s favorites, Cabernet Sauvignon. The one that usually meant a relaxing night with his husband, the two of them curled up on the couch, complaining about the world or watching terrible reality shows. But he couldn’t remember if Carter had any at the moment so he thought twice and sat the bottle back on the shelf.
“Anyway,” Miles said, pushing the cart forward, “You just keep resting. You’re gonna heal faster if you actually listen.”
“You sound like Moms,” LJ muttered.
“Someone has to. She’s not here, and I’m the best option by default.”
He turned into the deli and bakery area as LJ’s tone softened.
“Seriously though Thanks, Miles ya knowFor checking in. For everything lately. I know you’re juggling everything being a big bad Internet Champion and stuff and Carter and my shit and now Alex and.”
“Whoa, whoa,” Miles cut in, grabbing a container of macaroni salad, "First off, your ‘shit’ is not shit. You got jumped by a big fucking bitch. You’re recovering and I’m allowed to care, believe it or not.”
There was a pause, and Miles could practically hear LJ working through emotions on the other end, "Yeah I know.”
“And second,” Miles continued, “I love you, bro. That doesn’t shut off just because life gets busy.”
He heard LJ swallow on the other end. Not crying but he was close, "Yeah. I love you too, Miles.”
“Good. Now get something to eat and by that I mean something real that isn’t protein powder or energy bars.”
“You are currently buying me protein bars.”
“No, those are for me. You get actual food.”
“I swear to you.”
Miles turned, ready to make another jab, another joke.and froze. Because the wine bottle was sitting neatly in the front basket of the cart. The same bottle he had put back. He blinked a couple of times as he looked around to see if he could see if maybe it could have been someone that accidentally just placed it in his cart but there wasn’t a soul around him.
“Miles?” LJ called, "Are you still there?”
Miles didn’t move and his eyes stayed locked on the bottle, "Yeah,” he finally said, voice lower, slower, "Yeah, I’m here.”
“Everything alright over there?”
Miles swallowed hard, "Thought I was. But uh remind me not to grocery shop alone anymore.”
“Why? What happened?”
Miles slowly reached into the cart and lifted the bottle just enough to feel the weight, "I put something back on a shelf,” he said carefully, scanning the aisles around him, "And somehow it ended up in my cart anyway.”
LJ went quiet. But after a moment he said cautiously, “Like someone put it there?”
Miles’s skin prickled, "I didn’t hear anyone and didn’t see anyone and nobody was close enough. Not going to lie, since that whole thing with the shirt that showed up in the closet that Carter swears he didn’t buy, you’d think I would be a bit more aware.”
Then LJ said, with that familiar uneasy sarcasm, “I would just put that back and walk away, just stay aware man. Are ya gonna tell Carter?"
“I mean it would be wrong for me not to tell him,” Miles muttered, lowering the bottle back into the cart, "I need to finish up, I’ll be there soon.”
As he hung up, he looked over his shoulder again but there was still no one there. He couldn’t help himself, as the uneasy feeling crept up his spine told him he wasn’t as alone as he thought.
--------
Attack for the Next Generation
Las Vegas, NV
The camera came on without ceremony, there was no music, no SCW logo and absolutely no attempt to soften what’s coming.
Miles Kasey sat on the edge of the bed in his room, elbows resting on his knees, hands loosely clasped. The lighting is low, a single lamp off to the side casting hard shadows across his face. He’s already wearing one of his infamous ring jackets designed and created by Mattie Comier, it was mostly blue with white and red sewn in throughout with a Union Jack cape hanging off to the left of it, it was worn in, the kind of jacket that’s earned its place. When he shifts, the camera catches the words stitched across the back:
ATTACK FOR THE NEXT GENERATION.
Miles doesn’t look angry at first, he was looking more focused than he had in a while. He could easily snap at any given moment but he had to stay focused. His head lifts and his blue eyes shine directly into the camera.
“Bill Barnhart.” His voice is calm, it’s that deadly calm that should immediate make their opponent shit themselves, but we know that Billy boy is just too fucking stupid for that, “You know... I went back to last week’s Climax Control and watched it, over and over. Not because I wanted to but because I needed to understand how a grown man, a so-called veteran, looks at a kid quite literally half his size and decides that THAT is how he makes his point.”
Miles exhales sharply through his nose, jaw tightening.
“You didn’t attack LJ because you’re tough, you didn’t do it because you’re dangerous. You did it because you’re afraid. Yeah, you heard me right, Barnhart, you are a bloody FUCKING coward and you have been for quite sometime. You have been since the day I walked into SCW, quick to take that low-hanging fruit, attempt to exploit it until it eventually blows up in your face. And it ALWAYS DOES!!!!”
He leans forward now, forearms pressing into his thighs.
“You’re afraid of the locker room passing you by. Afraid of a generation that doesn’t need your approval, doesn’t ask your permission, and sure as hell doesn’t fear your name the way you wish they still did.”
A humorless laugh slips out of his lips as he shifts slightly and just keeps going.
“You run your mouth about ‘soft talent.’ About kids who haven’t paid their dues or about how you were built differently.” Miles’ eyes harden, "The funny thing is? The only thing I saw last week was a coward that couldn’t wait until the bell was ringing to do his damage.”
His voice starts to rise now. He’s not yelling yet, but there is still a sharp edge to his tone.
“You wanna talk about paying dues? For over a year I have watched as LJ earned his shots the right way. He was walking to that ring to wrestle. You attacked him looking for a shortcut because you know damn well you can’t hang bell to bell anymore with at least 95% of this roster. I’ve been able to prove that POINT on more than ONE OCCASION, especially when I even felt bad for you and handed you a chance to prove me wrong. And you still got your head stomped into the canvas on that night.”
He reaches back, grips the collar of the jacket, tugging it forward just enough for the camera to see it clearly.
“This right here, I’m wearing it Sunday. ATTACK for the Next Generation isn’t just a slogan to me, Bill. This is a promise. This promise right here is what keeps me standing up to the likes of the veterans in this fucking business who refuse to let go of what was instead of looking at what COULD BE!”
“I wear this because I believe in the next generation. I believe in kids like LJ who show up, put their bodies on the line, and still shake hands after the fight. I believe in talent that grows, learns, and gets better. And you? You’re standing in their way like a bitter old gatekeeper screaming at the tide to stop coming in.”
He sits back and just shakes his head slowly.
“You wanna know the truth you’re avoiding?”
He leans closer to the camera.
“You’re avoiding the truth of how your time has already passed.”
The words land like a hammer.
“This company moved on, the fans moved on, the locker room moved on and instead of accepting that, instead of mentoring, instead of contributing, you chose to take a cheap shot at my little brother to remind yourself you still exist.”
Miles’ voice drops, it’s down right dangerous now.
“If I had my way? After Climax Control, you would never be cleared to wrestle again. I would put you on a shelf so high you’d need binoculars to see the ring ever again. But I made a promise...”
He exhales, controlled but shaking with fury.
“I promised LJ I’d leave you with some dignity. That I wouldn’t end you. That I wouldn’t become the thing you already are, which is a fucking bully.”
Miles’ jaw clenches hard.
“So this Sunday, in Boulder at Climax Control? My title isn’t on the line but I don’t give a shit! I’m going to hurt you the right way, I’m going to make you bleed...and I’m going to hurt you, bruv. I’m gonna hurt you real bad.”
He points directly at the camera.
“I’m going to beat you in the middle of the ring. I’m going to outwork you, outlast you AND MOST IMPORTANTLY outclass you. And if you’re lucky... real lucky... you’ll walk away with just a fraction of the pain you put my brother through. And then I’m going to sit back at Inception and then I’m going to watch as my little brother puts you down like the DOG YOU ARE FOR GOOD!”
His voice finally snaps, red hot and raw.
“You don’t get to preach about this business anymore, Bill. Not after what you did. Not when your legacy is nothing but bitterness and bad decisions.”
Miles stands tall now, looming in frame.
“This isn’t completely about revenge. Think of it as more about accountability and the consequences of your actions and YOUR ACTIONS ALONE!”
He turns slightly, giving one last clear look at the words on his jacket.
“Attack for the Next Generation.”
Miles looks back at the camera, eyes blazing.
“And Bill? You may wanna start praying that I keep my promise.”
The camera cuts.
