Backstage
Two Weeks Ago
The locker room was quiet when he finally sat down.
Too quiet.
Miles stared at his hands. The knuckles were already swelling, skin split in two places. He didn’t feel it yet as he knew that the pain always came later. Right now there was only the aftermath, that hollow space where adrenaline used to live. He already started calculating in his head what he should have done. The way he was feeling recently, he knew that he could have easily pushed it even harder.
He could have fucked Jones up even more if he wanted too....but sometimes it was nice to have a toy to play with.
His thoughts got yanked away from him the moment that the door opened and Carter stepped inside.
His beautiful blonde husband just looked at him, he didn’t yell. He didn’t rush to him and he didn’t flinch when he saw the blood on Miles’ hands.
He just closed the door behind him and for a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Carter said, quietly, “You okay?”
Miles laughed once, it was sharp and humorless, with a shake of his head. “No.”
Carter nodded, like that answer made sense. He crossed the room and stopped in front of him, resting a hand on Miles’ shoulder.
Maybe this would be a good time to note that there were reasons why Miles never wanted to even entertain the things that Alex said. He WAS that guy once upon a time, in a life that he had long left behind. But when one is backed against the wall...
“You didn’t lose who you are tonight,” Carter said, knocking Miles from that thought process again, “You just stopped pretending you were fine.”
Miles finally looked up at him. His eyes were red, not with tears, with something harder. Of course sleep for both of them had not come easy at all lately but with how life has been lately, Miles had no spoons left to give except for the loves of his life and that was all.
“I don’t regret it,” he admitted. “I regret that it took this long, I honestly should have done this a lot longer but no, my fucking outstanding moral fiber just had to hold on a little bit longer....”
Carter squeezed his shoulder once. “I know.”
Miles exhaled slowly. The Internet Championship is gone and with it so were the old rules.
The silence didn’t break right away.
Carter stayed where he was, hand still resting on Miles’ shoulder, not squeezing anymore, just there. An anchor. Miles’ breathing gradually slowed, the sharp edge of adrenaline dulling into something heavier and harder to carry.
Eventually, Carter glanced down at Miles’ hands.
“You’re bleeding.”
Miles followed his gaze like he hadn’t noticed. The skin across his knuckles was split, red blooming in thin lines that traced the story of what he’d done better than any replay ever could.
“Yeah,” Miles said. “That tracks, forgot about it honestly.”
Carter reached into the small med kit he’d grabbed on instinct, the same one that had lived in their bag for years, through injuries, matches, and worse. He knelt in front of Miles without ceremony and took his hands gently, like he was defusing something fragile instead of cleaning blood.
The sting came immediately and Miles hissed through his teeth, shoulders tightening.
“Breathe,” Carter murmured. “Don’t be dramatic.”
Miles huffed a weak laugh. “Coming from the man who has his entire wardrobe color-cordinated...”
“That’s not dramatics, that's responsibility."
Miles didn’t argue.
They worked in silence for a bit. Carter cleaned, wrapped, taped as efficiently as it could get and honestly very familiar. It wasn’t caretaking born from panic, it was just how their partnership and life worked. Something practiced and something earned.
“You know,” Carter said eventually, not looking up, “He’s going to try to spin this.”
Miles snorted. “Oh I am sure he will....he always does.”
“They’ll say you snapped. That you couldn’t handle losing the title. That you embarrassed the company.”
Miles stared at the far wall, jaw tightening. “Fucking. Let. Them.”
Carter paused, finally looking up at him. “You sure?”
Miles met his eyes. “For the first time in a long time? Yeah. I don’t give a flying fuck if Alex days from now goes onto his precious X account and demands my head on a silver fucking platter...”
That earned a small nod. Carter went back to taping, “We both know you didn’t lose control,” Carter said quietly. “You made a choice.”
Miles swallowed. That distinction mattered more than Carter probably realized, “Alex didn’t beat me because he’s better,” Miles said. “He beat me because he needed it more than I did.”
Carter didn’t interrupt.
“I did need that belt once,” Miles continued. “I needed it to prove I wasn’t wasting my time. I needed it to justify every compromise I made just to survive in their world.” His mouth twisted. “But somewhere along the line, it stopped being about proving something and started being about carrying something.”
“The division,” Carter said.
“The people,” Miles corrected. “The ones they keep telling to wait, to shrink and to be grateful for scraps.”
He flexed his fingers experimentally. The pain was setting in now. Good. It meant he was still here.
“And tonight,” Miles said, quieter now, “I realized I don’t need a title to do that.”
Carter finished the last wrap and leaned back on his heels. “Are you sure you’re ready for what comes next?”
Miles didn’t answer right away.
Because what came next wasn’t abstract. It had names like suspensions, fines, meetings, statements, and headlines. There would be disappointed voices, a few angry ones. Some pretending to actually have concern while sharpening knives behind their backs. But there would also be people watching, people who’d seen someone finally stop asking for permission.
“I’m ready,” Miles said at last. “Because whatever they throw at me, at least it’ll be honest. No more pretending I fit in a box they built to outgrow.”
Carter stood and offered a hand. Miles took it, letting himself be pulled up.
“You know,” Carter said, voice light but eyes serious, “For a guy who ‘lost everything,’ you look a lot steadier than most former champions I’ve known.”
Miles smirked faintly. “Funny how that works.”
There was a knock at the door then. It wasn’t frantic or aggressive, just a reminder that the world outside hadn’t stopped.
Miles straightened his shoulders.
“That’s probably Kevin wanting to make sure we’re alright,” Carter said.
Miles nodded once and moved toward the door. Before opening it, he paused.
“Hey.”
Carter looked up.
“Thanks for not telling me to be better.”
Carter smiled, “Well, babe, you’ve always said that sometimes you have to be the villain in someone’s story..”
Miles opened the door and held it open for his husband and on the other side was Kevin waiting for them.
“Ok good, I was hoping I had the right place.” he said in his shy voice, “Are we going?”
“Yeah...let’s go home.”
And now we finally get just a man who finally understood exactly who he was, and wasn’t going to apologize for it anymore.
------------
Home Isn’t Quiet Anymore
Las Vegas, Nevada
Night used to mean rest. Now it meant vigilance practically every night since the attack.
Miles woke before the nightmare finished unfolding, not because of sound, but because he felt Carter change beside him. The air shifted. Breathing hitched. Muscles went rigid like a body bracing for impact that never came.
Carter bolted upright with a sharp, gasping inhale that tore the silence in half.
Miles was moving before thought caught up, already sitting up, already there. A hand pressed firm between Carter’s shoulder blades, grounding pressure, the other bracing his chest. This had become routine and Miles would have done anything to get just a peak into what was happening, but instead he just had to be there for him.
“Hey,” Miles whispered, low and steady, even as his own heart hammered. “You’re here. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
Carter shook his head once, violently, like he was trying to dislodge something lodged behind his eyes. Sweat slicked his neck, his hair damp and tangled, breath scraping raw through a throat that still hadn’t forgiven the chemicals burned into it weeks ago.
“I couldn’t...” His voice broke. “I couldn’t get the door open.”
That sentence hit Miles harder than any punch ever had. But at least it was more than just a head nod on this round.
He leaned in, pressing his forehead against Carter’s temple, breathing slow on purpose, counting it out so Carter could steal the rhythm if he needed it. “The front door’s locked. Deadbolt’s on. Chain too. Security’s outside. No one’s here but us.”
It took time. Sometimes it always did.
Carter’s breathing eventually stuttered back into something closer to normal, though his hands still trembled where they fisted in the sheets. He scrubbed a hand down his face, anger flickering in his eyes, not at Miles, but at himself. At his own body for betraying him in sleep.
“Sorry,” he muttered hoarsely. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
Miles tightened his arm around him, pulling him in until Carter’s weight sagged into his chest. “You never have to apologize for being scared,” he said quietly. “Not to me.”
After a few moments, he decided to throw on a pair of shorts and pull Carter out with him so they could get some water and take a step away from it all. They both stood there in silence in the kitchen in the dim light, nursing a cup of tea before they both heard a soft creak coming from the hallway.
Miles already knew who it was. Kevin stood there in the dim light, hoodie sleeves pulled down over his hands like armor, eyes wide and too old for sixteen. He hadn’t meant to hover, he just couldn’t stay in his room anymore.
“Is he okay?” Kevin asked, barely above a whisper.
Carter lifted his head, forcing something that tried to pass for a smile. “I’m okay, kid. Just my brain being a dick.”
Kevin didn’t smile back. He stepped closer instead, cautious, like he was afraid sudden movement might shatter something fragile. Miles caught his eye and opened his arm.
“Come here.”
Kevin hesitated for a brief moment, that old reflex, the fear of taking up space, then crossed the room and perched on the edge of the counter. Miles reached out and rested a hand on the back of his neck, thumb warm and steady against skin gone cold with worry.
Kevin swallowed hard. “I thought someone came back,” he admitted. “In my dream.”
Something twisted low in Miles’ chest. He should have known that the attack on Carter would only trigger something within him too. He swore under his breath and made note that whomever was responsible was going to pay far more than getting tossed in jail.
“They’re not,” Miles said firmly, with a conviction he needed to be true. “And they won’t. I won’t let them.”
Kevin nodded, but his eyes stayed glassy. Trauma didn’t obey promises, even good ones.
Morning didn’t arrive so much as it crept in, thin gray light filtering through the blinds like it wasn’t sure it was welcome. The condo felt tense even awake, like the walls themselves were holding their breath.
Miles stood in the kitchen staring into a mug of coffee gone untouched and cold. He couldn’t remember pouring it.
Kevin sat at the counter, cereal soggy, spoon idle in the bowl. Carter leaned against the island, arms folded tight across his ribs, flinching when a door closed somewhere down the hall.
Every sound was too loud and every silence too sharp. It was getting to a point where they should just start playing music all the time just to cut the silence and not make the echos so loud.
Miles hated this feeling more than the fear. It was the sense that the world had marked them, that something unseen was circling, patient.
The knock came just after ten.
Three precise raps. But they weren’t aggressive but not friendly.
Professional.
Miles felt it in his gut before his brain caught up.
“I’ll get it,” he said, already moving, though every instinct screamed threat.
The petite brunette woman outside was calm, composed, clipboard tucked under her arm like a shield. Her eyes were observant without being cold, the look of someone trained to see what people tried to hide.
“Mr. Kasey-McKinney?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Hi, I’m Rachel Monroe. I’m with the Clark County Child Protective Services.”
Kevin froze behind him as the woman flashed her badge. Miles felt it without looking, that sharp intake of breath, that old fear snapping awake.
Carter stepped close, shoulder brushing Miles’, showing silent solidarity.
“May I come in?”
Miles stepped aside and allowed her to enter. The condo felt suddenly smaller even with her tiny frame in the room. Almost like it was too exposed.
But Miles and Carter offered her a seat in their wide open living room and Rachel took in the room with a practiced glance, of course she took note of the security officer that stood just on the other side of the door, cameras now at their front door, in the hallway in the corners and in the living room, the lived-in chaos of a family that hadn’t had time to tidy itself into perfection.
“I want to be clear,” she said as they sat. “This is not an accusation but more like a precautionary visit. Given recent and very public events involving an attempted violent crime against a guardian, we’re required to perform a welfare check.”
Kevin’s fingers twisted in his sleeves.
Miles folded his hands carefully in his lap, keeping his voice even. “We understand.”
Rachel nodded, opening her folder, grabbing her pen and looking like she was pressing recording on a device, “Kevin, would you be comfortable answering a few questions?”
Kevin looked at Miles first and Miles met his eyes. “You’re okay. Say whatever you need to.”
Kevin straightened. “Okay.”
Rachel asked about school and how he was doing and whether or not he was making friends. She asked about meals especially the meal preps that the doctors had given him after the hospital. How he felt about all of the safety precautions and about whether Kevin felt secure in the home.
Kevin answered honestly and of course, carefully.
“They take care of me,” Kevin said at one point, eyes flicking briefly to Miles and Carter. “They always have.”
Rachel watched him closely. “Do you feel safe here?”
Kevin hesitated, but just long enough to be honest.
“I’m scared of what happened,” he said. “But not of them. I mean who wouldn’t. I’ve come to really care about them both and they care about me. They have seen to my every need and even a few things I feel like I didn’t really need but they did it anyways.”
Miles felt something loosen in his chest.
Rachel nodded, scribbled notes, then looked at them both. “I won’t pretend this is easy and once again I am sorry about it,” she said. “But from what I see, Kevin is loved, supported and of course protected. I won’t say that I won’t be making some more visits of course but for right now...well...anyways.”
She cleared her throat, "“There will be follow-ups,” Rachel continued. “Given the nature of the attack, we may recommend counseling services for all three of you. Trauma has a way of rippling outward.”
Miles nodded and glanced over at Carter because that was a conversation that still needed to be had but for right now to appease.... “We’re already looking into it.”
Rachel stood. “Good.”
She stood as did Miles and he walked her to the door. At the door, she paused briefly and looked at him, “I’ve been made fully aware of the case and what lengths you went through to make sure that he had a safe place to be. From a personal and professional view, you’re doing right by him,” she said to Miles. “Don’t let fear convince you otherwise.”
Miles didn’t trust himself to speak but said thank you. When the door finally closed behind her, Kevin exhaled like he’d been underwater too long.
“Did I mess it up?” he asked quietly.
Miles crossed the room in two strides and pulled him into a hug, tight and fierce. “You did everything right.”
Carter wrapped his arms around both of them, careful but firm. For a moment, the world stayed outside.
But Miles knew better than to believe this was over. The danger hadn’t disappeared, it had just changed shape and if the world thought it could take his husband or his kid from him?
It was going to learn just how hard Miles Kasey fought when everything he loved was on the line.
----------
Miles stands alone.
Just him.
He doesn’t look at the camera at first. When he finally does, it feels like a mistake for whoever’s watching.
“Do you know what it’s like,” Miles begins, voice low and rough, “To wake up every morning wondering which part of your life the world is going to try to take from you next?”
He breathes out slowly through his nose.
“Because that’s where I’ve been living for quite some time and it has begun to peel back a part of the world I left behind, the part that I left back in the UK when I came to the states. I didn’t want to be that chav brash prick any more, but apparently we’re going to just say ‘fuck it’ and just let it all out.”
A pause.
“I lost the Internet Championship. Fine...just whatever at this point because titles come and go. I’ve bled for them, I’ve carried them, I’ve handed them over when it was time. I can live with that.”
His jaw tightens.
“What I won’t live with....is men mistaking that loss for weakness.”
He lifts his head fully now.
“So let’s talk about the two of you pricks that Carter and just cannot shake off.”
“And we’re going to start it RIGHT THE FUCK OFF with Alex Jones.”
Miles’ mouth twists, not angry yet. Disgusted.
“For absolute fuck sakes it feels like I am constantly having to repeat myself with you....You love to talk about standards. About legacy. About how things are ‘supposed’ to be done. And the funniest part? You really believe you’re the authority on it.”
He shakes his head.
“You call yourself a legend, but every word out of your mouth reeks of insecurity and CONSTANT HYPOCRISY!!! Instead you live in a world of double standards, screaming at me to be this thing and then when you FINALLY GET WHAT YOU WERE FUCKING WISHING FOR YOU WANTED ME SUSPENDED?!?! Nah bruv, you know damn well this company wasn’t about to give me the vacation I so earned. You don’t get to get the easy way out of getting every fucking thing that you fucking deserve TEN FUCKING FOLD after what happened at Inception. You needed my championship like oxygen because without it, you were just another old man shouting into the void, begging the past to remember you. Congratulations...you got what you wished for.”
His eyes sharpen.
“You didn’t take that belt from me to elevate it. You took it to validate yourself, to prove you still mattered and to convince yourself that the world hadn’t moved on without you. Congratulations, you got what you wished for.”
He steps forward slightly.
“And while you were busy running your mouth about my marriage, my manhood, and my ambition, my family was under threat. My husband was targeted. My home stopped feeling safe. My kid started looking over his shoulder again.”
His voice drops.
“So understand this, Alex, you didn’t just step into my division. You stepped into my life. And now you don’t get to play the disappointed mentor or the noble veteran.”
His eyes burn.
“You’re the man who lit the fuse that I had to constantly stomp out because I didn’t want to BE that anymore...and bitch, we have only just begun. Two weeks ago? That’s going to be a full on walk in the fucking park on a Sunday afternoon after what happens Sunday at Climax Control. CONGRATULATIONS, MR. JONES, YOU GOT WHAT YOU WERE EXACTLY FUCKING ASKING FOR!”
Then Miles turns, just slightly, as if addressing a second presence.
“And then there is Alexander Raven. The man that has decided to refuse to take getting his ass beat not once...twice......maybe three times now? I don’t know...I’ve lost count... But you’re not loud like Alex. You don’t rant much.... You don’t posture like a peacock like Jones.”
Miles nods once.
“Instead...You’re worse.”
He folds his arms.
“You hide behind this strange silence and call it intelligence. You let other people burn bridges while you stand back and pretend your hands are clean. But I remember last year. I remember the sneak attack. I remember how quickly you disappeared when the consequences showed up.”
His head tilts.
“And now suddenly you’re standing shoulder to shoulder with the same man you blindsided, expecting trust to just....exist?”
A humorless laugh slips out.
“That’s not a strategy, that’s desperation. And if you BOTH are actually somehow trusting one another, you are both fucking fools. Even for the quote-unquote bad guys of the match, there is absolutely ZERO honor amongst the thieves between the two of you and we ALL know that you both would stab your own mother in the back for a sniff of a better life.”
Miles steps closer.
“We are going walking into Climax Control with Blaze of Glory looming on the horizon, with you thinking you’re studying Carter, measuring him, figuring out how to dismantle him piece by piece. What you don’t understand is that Carter doesn’t fight alone and neither do I. Not when it comes to something like this.”
He gestures to his chest.
“You’re not just facing a champion. You’re facing a family that already survived what should’ve broken us. And you? You’ve never survived anything you didn’t plan an exit from. BUT if you want this Raven, if you want to call your shot? You are going to have, for once, NOT RUN and actually face the facts that you have been royally FUCKED by getting assigned this match and your partner.”
Miles straightens fully now, voice steady but blazing.
“So here’s the truth neither of you seem ready to hear. I’m done asking for space. I’m done explaining myself. I’m done shrinking so men like you can feel important. This match isn’t about just the stipulations that we may get. It isn’t about chess moves or alliances or who turns on who first.”
He looks straight into the lens.
“This is about consequences.”
A final step forward.
“You assholes wanted my attention? Congratulations you tossers, you’ve got all of it now. I guess you should have been more careful about what you wished for.”
Silence.
“Too late now.”
And nothingness.
