What He Asked For
They had just gotten back from Olympia after spending a whole week with their families.
The condo still smelled faintly of pine and cinnamon from the Christmas decorations that they had put up even though they weren’t there for Christmas, the quiet hum that followed a holiday finally exhaling. It should have been peaceful and it almost was.
Kevin stood in the kitchen entranceway longer than necessary. Miles noticed first. He always did.
The kid had that look again. It wasn’t panic or fear exactly, but the kind of tightness that came from rehearsing something in your head until it bruised. Carter was rinsing a mug at the sink, back turned, sleeves rolled up, hair still slightly damp from a shower. Domestic. Safe.
Kevin swallowed, “Can I...ask something?”
Carter turned immediately. Miles didn’t move, but every part of him tuned in.
“Yeah,” Carter said gently, "What’s up?”
Kevin’s fingers twisted in the hem of his hoodie, "I was wondering if it was possible... I mean, this isn’t really a gift thing. But I was thinking maybe... if it was possible...”
Miles leaned back against the counter, arms crossing loosely, "Kev, you don’t have to preface it like you’re about to get arrested.”
A weak smile flickered on the young man’s face but then vanished, "I want to visit my mom.”
The words landed heavy. Not explosive....it was worse. Quiet and extremely dense. Carter’s hands stilled under the faucet. The water kept running for a second too long before he shut it off. He didn’t turn around right away.
Miles felt it in his chest first. That tightening. That instinctive no that rose before reason could catch up.
Kevin rushed on, voice quickening, "I know....I know it’s uncomfortable. I know what she did. I know how you feel about it. I just....she’s still my mom. And I keep thinking if I don’t go now, if I don’t at least try, then I’ll regret it forever.”
Carter finally turned. His face was controlled, but there was something brittle behind his eyes, "You understand,” he said carefully, “that what she did wasn’t just a mistake.”
Kevin nodded immediately, "I know. I do. I’m not saying I forgive her. I just... I feel like I need to see her.”
Miles pushed off the counter.
“Okay,” he said.
Carter shot him a look. Miles met it and held his hands up to keep it calm.
“Okay,” Miles repeated, steadier, "We can talk about it. Doesn’t mean yes and doesn’t mean no but we’ll talk.”
Kevin’s shoulders sagged with relief he hadn’t even tried to hide, "Thank you.”
That night, Miles lay awake long after Carter’s breathing evened out beside him.
He wasn’t afraid of the prison. He was afraid of what Karen would try to do to Kevin. Afraid of what words could still cut a sixteen-year-old who had already been carved thin by neglect and abuse. But more than that? He was afraid Kevin would walk out of that room thinking he’d been wrong to be loved.
The prison was colder than Miles expected. Not temperature but the atmosphere. Fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, the echo of footsteps on tile, the kind of quiet that didn’t soothe but watched. Kevin walked between them, shoulders squared, jaw set. He wore the jacket Carter had bought him earlier this winter. The one that actually fit.
Karen Chapman sat at the table already. Her hair was shorter now and sharper. Her mouth still curved into that same judgmental line Miles remembered all too well. She looked at Kevin first, then at Miles, then at Carter and her expression curdled.
“So,” she said flatly, "You finally let them bring you here.”
Kevin stiffened, Miles didn’t sit yet and neither did Carter. After a few moments Kevin took a deep breath and took the chair across from her.
“I asked,” Kevin said, "They didn’t force me.”
Karen scoffed, "Of course you’d say that.”
Carter sat down, slowly and deliberately, "We’re here because Kevin asked us to be,” he said evenly, "Nothing more.”
Karen’s eyes flicked over him with open disdain, "Funny how you two always speak for him.”
Kevin’s hands curled into fists on the table, "I asked to come alone,” he said, "They said no. And honestly? I’m glad they did.”
Karen’s lips thinned, "Still can’t do anything without hiding behind them, I see.”
That did it, Kevin leaned forward, “You don’t get to talk to me like that anymore.”
Karen blinked, "Excuse me?”
“You treated me like a problem my entire life,” Kevin said, voice shaking but loud, "Like I was something you and Dad had to put up with. Like feeding me and housing me was some huge sacrifice.”
Miles felt his chest burn with pride. Afterall this was the same kid that could barely look at him after he found him in that ratty motel months ago.
Karen laughed, short and humorless, "Oh, don’t be dramatic.”
“I ran away because of you,” Kevin snapped, "Because of both of you. First what you did to Carter and how you ended up even in here and then dad and his new arm candy...Because I could feel how much hatred was around me.”
Karen’s face hardened, "That’s a lie.”
“No,” Kevin said, "That’s the truth you don’t like.”
She turned her glare toward Miles, "You hear this? This is what they’ve filled his head with.”
Kevin slammed his hand on the table, “STOP.”
The sound echoed and Karen flinched. Kevin’s voice broke, but he didn’t stop.
“I wanted this visit because I thought maybe...just maybe you’d changed while being in here. Maybe you’d see me and realize I wasn’t the burden you convinced yourself I was.”
Karen’s eyes narrowed, "You were difficult.”
That caused Miles’s jaw to tighten.
Kevin laughed then. A sharp, hollow sound, "I was a kid. A scared kid who knew his own mother couldn’t stand him.”
Karen leaned back, crossing her arms, "And now look at you, living with them. You expect me to believe they didn’t....”
“I’m gay.”
The words hit like glass shattering as Karen stared at him. Then she laughed bitterly, “There it is.”
Kevin’s heart pounded so hard he felt dizzy, but he didn’t look away, “I’ve known for over five years,” he said, "Long before I ever met them. Long before I ever ran.”
Karen’s face twisted, "They corrupted you.”
“No,” Kevin said, shaking his head, "They saved me.”
She sneered, "You’re just confused.”
“No,” Kevin said, "I’m done.”
Karen leaned forward, voice venomous, "You think they’ll keep you forever? Once you’re inconvenient again...”
Kevin stood, “This is the last time you will ever see me.”
There was silence for a moment, and then Karen scoffed, "Don’t be ridiculous.”
Kevin looked at her, not angry now, he was just tired, “My dad never wanted me. And you never loved me,” he said, "I finally understand that. And I don’t need you anymore.”
Karen’s mouth opened, Kevin turned away. At the door, he paused, "Goodbye, Karen.”
Miles’s hand was on his shoulder immediately. Carter’s arm came around him from the other side and they walked out together. And for the first time since asking for it, Kevin didn’t look back.
They didn’t talk in the car at first. Kevin stared out the window. Miles drove. Carter watched him from the passenger seat.
Finally, Kevin whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Miles pulled over immediately and turned off the engine. He looked over at Carter for a moment and then got out of the car and so did Carter, Miles opened up the door and Kevin stepped out and without another word, Miles wrapped him up in a huge hug and then Carter joined in. They must have looked a sight to the passerbys on the freeway but they did not care.
“You didn’t hurt us,” Miles said fiercely, "You chose yourself.”
Carter nodded, "That’s not something you ever have to apologize for.”
Kevin broke then and they held him.
--------------
Attack for the Next Generation....YET AGAIN
The camera comes on mid-breath. It was not centered and certainly not framed pretty. It was just like someone hit record and Miles didn’t bother adjusting for it.
He’s standing this time. The SCW Internet Championship is slung over his shoulder, heavy and unapologetic. One of his ring jackets hangs on a chair behind him, the words ATTACK FOR THE NEXT GENERATION stretched across the back in bold lettering.
Miles doesn’t blink at the lens.
“Alex Jones.”
His mouth twists, not into a smile, but something sharper.
“You know what pisses me off the most about you right now?”
He takes one step forward.
“It’s not the shit you’ve been saying about me. It’s not the way you talk about this championship like it’s beneath you. It’s not even the way you try to turn your past into some kind of moral high ground. It’s the fact that you know better.... and you’re choosing to lie anyway.”
Miles reaches up, grips the faceplate of the title, knuckles whitening.
“Years ago you and the others welcomed me into Wolfslair. You looked me in the eye and told me this business was about growth and it was about pressure forging something stronger. It was about earning your spot, not waiting for someone to hand it to you. And now you can stand there and try to tell the world that the man carrying this championship somehow failed? By the way this was me already guessing what was coming because you have not changed after all this time.”
He scoffs, short and bitter.
“And you know what? Fuck that.” Miles paces once, fast, like a caged animal refusing to stay still, "You don’t get to rewrite history because it’s inconvenient. You don’t get to decide that the division built to elevate talent suddenly doesn’t matter just because it’s me holding the flag.”
He jabs a thumb into his own chest.
“You don’t like what I represent because I’m proof your way isn’t the only way. I didn’t chase validation, I didn’t beg for permission. And I sure as fuck didn’t wait for the big pat on the head from the old guard. Instead, I took responsibility.”
Miles stops pacing and plants his feet.
“This championship? It’s not a consolation prize. It’s not a stepping stone. It’s a burden and it is one I chose to carry because somebody has to make sure the next wave doesn’t drown before it learns how to swim.”
He lifts the belt slightly.
“I defend this thing because I believe in what it stands for. Because I remember what it felt like to be the guy standing on the outside, hoping someone would open the door instead of slamming it shut. And you, Alex? You are constantly slamming it shut....in your own face lately it seems.”
Miles leans toward the camera now, voice low, venomous.
“I have heard you talk like I should be ashamed that my husband is the World Champion. Like standing beside greatness somehow diminishes mine. Let me be very clear, you don’t get to shrink me to make yourself feel taller.”
He straightens.
“I’m not chasing the World Title because I don’t need to prove I belong. I already have that with the Internet Championship. With every defense and every match where I showed up when other people were busy running their mouths. I’m also not about to pull a whole ass relationship apart for my own fucking ego...I did that once already and it has forever set this course of me being the red-headed step-child of Wolfslair. Well BAH BAH I’m the Black sheep and I am loving how my life turned out.”
He taps the jacket behind him.
“ATTACK FOR THE NEXT GENERATION isn’t a slogan, it’s a promise.”
Miles’ voice rises but it’s not shouting but instead commanding.
“And if that scares you? If the idea that the kid you welcomed in grew up, sharpened his teeth, and stopped asking for approval bothers you? That sounds like a ‘you’ problem.”
A slow, cruel smile finally breaks through.
“At Inception, you don’t get the grateful student. You don’t get the respectful nod and you don’t get the version of me that was still figuring himself out.”
He steps closer until the lens almost can’t hold him.
“You get the champion who refuses to be kicked down. You get the man who knows exactly what he is.”
His hand tightens on the belt.
“And you’re going to find out real fast that this division doesn’t need your permission to move forward, "Next week, we can talk more.”
A darker edge slips into his tone.
“But at Inception?”
Miles’ eyes burn.
“The time for talk is over and baby....I don’t hold back.”
The camera doesn’t cut right away.
Miles stays there, breathing through his nose, jaw tight, eyes burning like he’s daring the lens to flinch first. He exhales slowly.
“And let’s get something straight while I’ve got the floor.”
He shifts the belt higher on his shoulder, the leather creaking.
“This isn’t about nostalgia and this isn’t about legacy. This isn’t about what Wolfslair used to be when your name meant something and your word carried weight. This is about now.”
He points at the camera, sharp and deliberate.
“Right now, this company is full of men and women grinding every single week trying to earn something real. They don’t need to be told they’re less-than because they didn’t come up your way. They don’t need to be shamed for wanting more without sacrificing who they are to get it.”
Miles shakes his head, disbelief edging into fury.
“And you? You’ve been standing on the sidelines acting like the gatekeeper to a future that already passed you by. Talking about ‘standards’ while tearing down the same division that gave people like me a chance to survive long enough to become something dangerous.”
He takes another step forward.
“You call this title small because you’ve forgotten what it’s like to fight for oxygen. You’ve forgotten what it’s like to need a platform instead of a pedestal. Somewhere along the line, you stopped forging steel and started hoarding the furnace.”
Miles’ voice hardens.
“I didn’t forget.”
He taps the belt once, firm.
“I remember every match where I was told ‘not yet.’ Every time I was good enough to carry the load but not good enough to get the credit. Every time I watched someone else get handed what I had to bleed for. And I learned.”
Miles straightens fully now, shoulders squared, unmovable.
“So here’s what’s going to happen at Inception. You’re going to walk into that ring thinking you’re about to teach a lesson. Thinking this is your chance to remind everyone who you were and I’m going to remind you who I am.”
He gestures behind him, to the jacket, to the words.
“This isn’t rebellion. This is an evolution. This is the next generation refusing to apologize for existing. And you don’t scare me, Alex. Your disappointment doesn’t scare me. Your approval never mattered as much as you think it did.”
Miles leans in one last time, voice low and certain.
“You taught me how to survive this business. I taught myself how to win.”
He steps back, finally allowing space between himself and the camera.
“At Inception, you don’t get to test me. You’ll finally get exposed.”
The feed cuts.
--------------
Aftermath: The Wrong Man to Wake Up
The condo was loud in the way that meant safe. It wasn’t chaotic and especially not overwhelming, just lived in.
Pizza boxes were stacked on the coffee table, lids folded back like discarded armor. A controller buzzed somewhere near the couch where Connor and Kevin were arguing over whose fault it was that the game had gone sideways. Ashlynn sat cross-legged on the floor, scrolling through her phone while half-listening, occasionally chiming in just to stir the pot. For the moment they put a pause on the D-n-D game until Carter returned.
Ally was in the kitchen, barefoot, leaning against the counter while LJ talked with his hands like his ribs hadn’t been brutalized a few weeks ago.
“I’m telling you, if finals were after Bill jumped me,” LJ said, shaking his head, “I would’ve failed out of law school on principle alone.”
Ally snorted, "You would’ve tried to cite the concussion as precedent.”
“Which is valid...”
“It’s so totally not.”
Miles stood near the hallway, arms crossed, watching it all with that quiet, hyperaware calm that had become second nature lately. The house was full. Everyone accounted for. Carter had stepped out for fifteen minutes, ‘I’m just grabbing Dr. Pepper, babe’ and Miles had clocked the time automatically.
Too automatically...as he checked his watch again.
“You good?” Kevin asked, noticing.
Miles nodded once, "Yeah. Just... habit especially after everything.”
Connor shot him a grin, "Parental instincts activated.”
Miles rolled his eyes, "Don’t push it, kid.”
The laughter hadn’t even finished fading when the pounding started. Not a knock but a slam.
Three sharp impacts against the door that immediately drained the air from the room and caused everyone froze. Miles didn’t hesitate, he was already moving as he said, “Stay here.”
He didn’t wait for agreement. The door flew open to reveal a neighbor from two floors down, breathless, eyes wide with panic.
“Miles...oh my God...it’s Carter....”
The name and the panic in her voice hit like a physical blow.
“What happened?” Miles demanded, already past her, keys in hand.
“The garage...someone screamed....his car...”
Miles was running before she finished.
“Kevin!” Ally shouted behind him, "You, Ash and Conner stay here and lock the fucking door. If you need to, call Kristjan.”
Connor was already standing, adrenaline snapping into place. LJ swore under his breath and grabbed his jacket.
Miles was already gone and he jumped stairs down the well several steps at a time. Miles hit the stairwell hard enough that his shoulder clipped the railing. He took the steps two at a time, lungs burning, pulse roaring in his ears. His mind tried to assemble fragments...the shirt, the wine bottle, the phone call, Carter’s forced smile earlier that day when he’d said I’m fine, really.
Miles hadn’t believed him and he should have pushed harder. He’d kick himself later for it but first he needed to get Carter. He finally got to the door to the parking garage and ripped open the door. The parking garage smelled like concrete, oil, and panic.
The horn was still echoing when he reached the level. That sound, so sharp and relentless, cut straight through him. Then he saw the car.
The stupid lime green Beetle, door hanging open, Carter sprawled half on the concrete, half twisted toward the seat like gravity hadn’t finished deciding what to do with him yet.
Miles didn’t remember crossing the distance. But he remembered dropping to his knees. He remembered Carter’s glasses shattered near the tire. He remembered the smell, it was sweet, minty and wrong.
“Hey...hey Carter, look at me. Come on love, look at me, please.”
Carter’s eyelids fluttered. His chest hitched. His hands twitched like they were still fighting something that wasn’t there anymore.
Miles cupped his face, thumb brushing over skin gone clammy too fast, "You’re here. You’re okay. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
I’ve got you and those were the words were a promise and a vow and a threat all at once.
Security arrived. Someone called 911. Another neighbor tried to hand Miles a jacket. He shrugged it off without realizing it. He didn’t let go of Carter’s face until the paramedics told him he had to. He would occasionally glance up and look around to see if he could spot anything suspicious. And then something in the backseat caught his eye....zip ties and duct tape
That was the first time Miles Kasey felt something snap clean through his restraint. It wasn’t fear.
Rage...it was cold.
Unapologetic.
And now it was the realist that it has even been.
