All I'm saying is her punishing and distancing herself from Ramon for something he shouldn't have to carry is incredulous and under-deserving, but I guess expecting this character to act any bit rationally is asinine at this point.
Anyone who got money? She laying in Jordan's bed and he's - for all intents and purposes - a regular college student. She kinda hungry for dick, family.
American Sun
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 5760
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 12947
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
American Sun
People are not rational, my good sir.Captain Canada wrote: ↑05 Dec 2025, 15:03All I'm saying is her punishing and distancing herself from Ramon for something he shouldn't have to carry is incredulous and under-deserving, but I guess expecting this character to act any bit rationally is asinine at this point.
Anyone who got money? She laying in Jordan's bed and he's - for all intents and purposes - a regular college student. She kinda hungry for dick, family.
Jordan and everything else operate in two different planes of existence though. One is work, one isn’t. Mireya the College Student fucking with one singular other college student is hardly hungry for dick. Luna fucking for money ain’t hungry for dick either because if you remove the money, she doesn’t do it. Just saying
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 12947
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
American Sun
God’s Lazy
Mireya let her head fall back against the seat, the cheap vinyl pressing into her hair. The plane hummed around them, engines a steady rush under the tinny announcements and the low murmur of strangers. Somewhere a baby fussed. Ice clinked in a plastic cup a row up.
She turned her head just enough to see Camila. The little girl sat balanced on her knees, forehead almost against the window, hands braced on the armrest and the plastic ledge. The clouds outside rolled past in soft piles, white on white with slices of blue between them. Camila watched them with the same quiet focus she’d had the last few trips, lips parted, eyes wide, like the whole sky was putting on a show just for her.
“Look, Mami,” Camila whispered, more to the glass than to anyone. Her breath fogged a small circle that faded as fast as it came. She didn’t look back to see if Mireya heard. She didn’t have to. Mireya knew this was the part of the flight that belonged to her.
She looked across the row at Sara. Sara had her headphones in, shoulders easy against the seat, a show playing on her phone propped up on the tray table. The light from the screen washed soft over her face, picking out the faint lines at the corners of her eyes when she smiled at something only she could hear. There was always that softness there when she was with Camila or Caine—even Mireya.
Mireya reached over and tapped her arm with two fingers.
Sara glanced away from the phone. She paused the show, pulled one earbud out, and turned toward her. The look she gave her was the same one she always did when it was just them, soft and open, like she was already listening even before Mireya spoke.
“Can I tell you something?” Mireya asked. Her voice came out quieter than she meant. “Get your advice?”
Sara’s mouth pulled into a small smile. “Claro que sí,” she said.
The words settled something in Mireya’s chest and knotted something else. She took a breath that didn’t quite go all the way down and let it out slow, eyes dropping to her hands for a second. Her fingers smoothed over the edge of the armrest, then she lifted her chin.
“I started dating someone,” she said. “Kinda.”
Sara’s eyebrows went up just a little. “Oh yeah?” she asked.
Mireya nodded once. The plane shifted a bit under them, a small dip, and she felt her stomach answer it.
“That’s all you have to say?” she asked.
Sara’s smile widened, the lines at the corners of her eyes deepening. She shook her head once.
“Mija, I told you that you don’t have to be with Caine for me to love you,” she said. “Caine has his own problems right now, anyway.”
Mireya watched her face, waiting for something else to come behind that. The engines filled the space instead. Sara just reached up and tucked a loose piece of hair back behind her ear, her attention still settled fully on Mireya.
After a few beats, Sara tilted her head. “Is it anyone Caine knows?” she asked.
Mireya shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she said.
Faces crossed her mind uninvited. Trell and Jordan’s both.
“But there’s a bit of a problem,” she said.
Sara’s eyebrow arched again. “Oh?” she asked.
Mireya rolled her bottom lip between her teeth for a second, then let it go. “I’m also kinda dating someone else,” she said.
For a second, she heard the words the way they might sound to someone who didn’t know her. She braced herself without meaning to.
Sara’s laugh came out low and surprised. She lifted her hand and slapped Mireya lightly on the arm, palm soft through the thin cotton of her shirt.
“Escandaloso,” she said. “Reminds me of my days before I had Caine.”
Mireya raised an eyebrow at that. Sara just waved it off with her wrist.
“You only get to be young and hot once,” Sara said. “Do they know about each other?”
Mireya shook her head, the motion small. “No,” she said.
“Well,” Sara said, voice even, “unless it’s serious with either or both of them, I’d keep it to myself. It’s not their business what you do beyond them. They don’t control you.”
The words landed heavier than the slap had. Mireya let them sit there for a second, rolling them over, feeling where they fit. The plane hummed on, a cart rattling in the aisle behind them, the faint click of a seatbelt from somewhere up front. Camila whispered something to the window again, fingertip tracing shapes nobody else could see.
Mireya nodded and let her head fall back against the headrest. She closed her eyes for half a breath.
She opened her eyes and turned back toward Sara. “Can you not tell Caine, please?” she asked.
Sara’s smile came back, gentle and certain. She reached down for her phone, picking up her headphones again with the same hand.
“You didn’t even have to ask that,” she said.
Something in Mireya unclenched and then tightened right back up. She nodded, even though Sara was already sliding the earbud back in. Sara turned her show back on, the small screen lighting her face again, but Mireya knew the answer would stand even if she never brought it up again.
Mireya let out a small sigh that got lost under the noise of the cabin. She turned her head, looking past Sara to Camila. The little girl still had her eyes on the clouds, one knee tucked under her, sneakers braced on the edge of the seat. Mireya reached across and ran her hand over Camila’s hair, smoothing it down. Camila didn’t look away from the window. She kept looking out at the clouds.
Laney stepped out of the bedroom and into the hallway, the house already cooled down from the afternoon. The soft gray runner under her feet caught the sound of her steps as she moved past the boys’ closed doors. The murmur from the TV reached her first, a low narrator talking over gunfire and shouting, some old war replayed in high definition.
She came into the living room and kept going. The lamplight was on instead of the overhead, throwing a yellow pool over the end of the sofa where Tommy sat. His shoulders were squared toward the TV, one ankle rested on his knee, remote loose in his hand. Tanks crawled across a strip of desert on the screen. He didn’t look up.
Laney crossed behind the sofa and into the kitchen. Her purse hung off the back of one of the chairs at the island, strap curved down toward the floor. She slipped it off with one hand and checked the weight, fingers sliding over the leather and the zipper just to make sure everything was where she’d put it.
The kitchen lights were off, the last of the evening coming through the window over the sink. She set the purse strap on her shoulder and walked back toward the front of the house.
Nothing from the sofa. Tommy didn’t move. The narrator on the TV said something about troop movements. A shell exploded on the screen and lit his face for a second, then faded.
Laney reached for the doorknob. Her hand was halfway there when his voice cut through the room.
“Where are you going?”
She stopped, fingers hovering over the metal. The question landed behind her, clipped and flat. She turned just enough to see him over her shoulder.
He still had his eyes on the TV. The hand with the remote rested on his thigh now, not moving.
“The teacher of the year ceremony,” she said. Her voice came out easy. “Mere asked me the other day if I could come help her set it up.”
The TV flickered over his face again. Tommy didn’t look at her yet. “The thing Mere asked you to do that you said you weren’t gonna do?” he asked. “That ceremony?”
Laney shifted her purse higher on her shoulder. “Well, I changed my mind.”
That got him up. Tommy pushed off the sofa in one motion, remote dropping onto the cushion. He stood between her and the TV now, the light from the screen painting his shirt in cold colors.
“Alright,” he said. “I’m gonna come with you then.”
Laney turned the rest of the way toward him, back against the small table by the door. Her hand slipped from the knob. “That ain’t necessary,” she said. “You gonna be bored to tears in there.”
Tommy’s jaw moved once. “Either I’m coming with you or you’re not going anywhere.”
The words didn’t come loud. He watched her face now, eyes running over every line, looking for the smallest flinch. The TV kept playing behind him, men running toward a trench, but he’d turned the sound down without her seeing him hit the button.
Laney met his stare. Her shoulders stayed where they were, not shrinking, not braced. “Alright then,” she said. “Which you want me to do?”
Tommy took another step closer, cutting the space between them in half. She could see the crease in his forehead, the deepening line at the corner of his mouth.
“Where were you trying to go, Laney?” he asked.
“I told you that I changed my mind about helpin’ with the ceremony.” She kept her tone even. “But if you don’t want me to go then I ain’t gonna go. It’s up to you.”
They stayed there for a beat, the two of them at the front of the house while the TV showed bodies falling in slow motion. The cool air from the vent over the door pushed down in a thin stream between them.
Tommy reached for her without warning. His hand closed on the strap of the purse at her shoulder and pulled it off. The shift of weight tugged at her arm for a second and then the bag was in his hand. He turned and walked back into the living room, not waiting to see if she followed.
“Go sit down,” he said, nodding toward the sofa as he moved past it.
Laney stayed on her feet long enough to watch him cross to the recliner. Then she walked back into the room, each step measured. The cushions sank under her when she sat on the far end of the couch, her knees close together, hands resting on top of each other. She set her gaze on him.
Tommy dropped into the recliner and settled back, the leather letting out a soft breath under his weight. He set her purse in his lap and opened it with the same care he gave to a file at work. The zipper teeth parted slow. The small sounds carried in the quiet room.
He reached inside and pulled out her phone. The case was bright against his hand. He thumbed the side button and the screen lit his face. His expression didn’t change. His fingers moved over the glass, quick and practiced. Knowing the code was the day of the boys’ birth dates.
Laney didn’t shift. Her shoulders stayed relaxed against the cushion. The faint buzz of the AC and the muted TV filled up what was left between them.
Tommy went to the messages and began to scroll. His eyes followed the lines, moving steady. The blue and gray bubbles reflected in the gloss of his eyes. From time to time his thumb paused, then continued on. He flipped through threads, opened one, read, backed out, opened another.
“Findin’ what you lookin’ for?” Laney asked.
Her voice held no wobble, no strain. She didn’t lean forward. She didn’t look away. She just watched him, hands still folded in her lap.
Tommy lifted his head and looked at her, eyes dark and flat. The TV behind him showed a battlefield covered in smoke. He let his stare hold for a second, something hard set behind it, then he tossed the purse toward the floor near her feet. It landed with a dull thud, the strap splayed, one corner of the wallet peeking out.
He got up only long enough to put the phone down on the end table, screen facing up. The message app still sat open. Then he dropped back into the recliner, legs stretched out, one ankle crossed.
Laney watched the phone for a second, then lifted her eyes back to him.
“So, you want me to stay or you want me to go?” she asked, starting to stand.
Tommy didn’t answer. He only lifted his hand, pointed straight at her, then pointed down at the floor in front of the couch.
Laney lowered herself back into the cushion without a sound.
The documentary rolled on. The narrator’s voice came up again, steady and distant. Tommy turned his eyes back to the TV and settled deeper into the recliner, his face blank in the wash of shifting light.
Laney sat silently on the sofa, spine straight, hands resting on her knees, and stared at him while the war played across the screen.
Trell sat in the back of Dez’s car, the thin dome light catching the edge of the newspaper he had spread over his knee. The paper crackled when he shifted, his thumb running down the crease. The car smelled faintly of old food bags and whatever air freshener Dez had last used. Outside the windows, the November night sat still and cold, the houses and streetlights giving off a quiet glow as they passed.
Ant rode shotgun, his elbow against the door, face angled toward the glass. Dez drove stiff-backed, fingers tapping at the wheel, the hum of the tires steady under them.
Trell found what he wanted in the crime section and slapped his palm over the headline.
GOVERNOR REQUESTS NATIONAL GUARD DEPLOYMENT CITING LOWER CRIME FROM ’25 MISSION.
“That pasty face ass motherfucker about to be fucking up the bread again,” Trell said.
Dez’s eyes flicked up to the rearview. Trell stared back at him in the small rectangle, expression pulled tight.
“Who you vote for in ’23?” Trell asked.
Dez didn’t look away from the mirror at first. Then he dropped his gaze and kept driving. “I ain’t vote.”
Trell sucked his teeth. His head shook once, slow, disappointed. “That’s why these crackers feel like they can do whatever they want to us. You tellin’ ’em right to they face to slap the piss out you.”
Dez let out a small breath through his nose, but he didn’t answer. He turned onto a side street lined with quiet houses. The cold had settled enough that condensation rimmed the edges of the windshield where the vents didn’t reach.
Dez tipped his chin toward Ant. “Ant ain’t got no fault in it?” he asked.
Ant didn’t turn all the way around. He just looked at Dez long enough. “I can’t vote, you stupid motherfucker.”
The silence that followed was short but sharp. Trell stared at Dez through the mirror again. Dez’s jaw tightened as he eased the car into a slower roll down the block.
They turned into Cass’s driveway. The gravel was small and clean, a narrow strip beside her house. The porch light wasn’t on, but soft light drifted through the front windows.
Before the engine finished settling, the front door opened. Cass stepped out wearing a robe tied loose at the waist, mocha skin visible under the gap. Her hair was down this time, and the chill of the night air moved the hem of the robe enough to show her bare thigh catching the porch-light glow from inside.
She stood with one hand on the doorframe. She didn’t shiver. Didn’t rush. She watched the car a moment, then stepped down onto the porch like she’d been timing her entrance.
Trell didn’t take his eyes off her. He tapped Dez’s seat with two fingers. “Get the fuck out the car.”
Dez got out, breath puffing faint in the cold. He walked around the front bumper and waited.
Cass crossed the short walkway and opened the back door, slipping in beside Trell. Her perfume settled quickly into the car’s stale air.
“What’s up, Ant?” she asked as she sat, crossing one knee over the other. The robe rode high enough to show the smooth line of her thigh and the curve of her ass.
“Ain’t shit,” Ant said, eyes meeting hers in the rearview before he looked out his window again.
Trell shifted toward her, one arm braced along the backseat. The faint glow from Cass’s house behind her lit the edge of her cheek.
“You got my cut?” she asked.
Trell smirked and reached into his jacket. He pulled out a small envelope and let it hang between two fingers so she’d see it. She reached. He pulled it back just a little.
“I’m goin’ back next week,” he said. “I need you to show me how to get in touch with them motherfuckers.”
Cass sucked her teeth. “What I need to show you that for if I’m gonna be there?”
“Nah, not this time,” Trell said. “Just me, Ant and Dez.”
Cass looked past him, out the window at Dez standing near the bumper. Her eyebrow arched. “You saw how they acted last time. Which one of y’all niggas gonna talk to them like businessmen and make the deal? You need me there.”
Trell lifted a shoulder. “We can manage. If not, Ant and Dez just gon’ shoot they ass.”
Cass gave Ant a pointed look. “He might,” she said. Then she nodded toward Dez. “But he ain’t about to bang it out with no rednecks in the swamp callin’ theyself a militia. Ain’t no sense makin’ shit harder than it need to be.”
Trell watched her face for a long second, weighing it. The cold from outside crept in through the door Cass hadn’t shut all the way, brushing across Trell’s arm.
Finally, he shrugged. “Alright. But your cut gonna be smaller.”
Cass scoffed. “Uh uh, nigga. Ain’t no way. You only know who they is because of me.”
“You the one tryin’ to be there when I said we got it.”
Cass folded her arms across her chest. “How much smaller?”
“A quarter.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Who the fuck getting the other seventy five?”
“That ain’t none of your business.”
Cass held his gaze a moment, then snatched the envelope from his hand with a sharp rip of movement. Trell let it go easily.
She pushed the door open and stepped out into the cold, robe shifting around her legs. She turned back toward the car, one hand resting on the frame.
“You comin’ back by here in the morning?” she asked.
Trell lifted his shoulders in a lazy shrug. “I’ll see.”
Cass rolled her eyes and slammed the door. The sound echoed down the quiet street. She walked back toward her porch, the warm light from inside catching the edges of her robe as she disappeared through the door.
Ant lowered the window, letting cold air rush into the car. He leaned toward the opening.
“Get your fucking ass back in the car, bitch ass nigga,” he yelled at Dez.
Dez shook his head once, breath fogging white, and walked around to climb back in.
“RINGO! RINGO!”
Popping his mouthpiece back in, he stepped back into his place alongside David. He lifted his foot and waved his right hand, sending Jeremiah in motion.
“SET, GO!”
Chandler rifled the ball back to him. He spun the ball to get the laces.
One step.
Two.
Dwight tripped over Johnnie’s legs, falling to the turf as the defensive tackle bull rushed through him.
Three.
Caine planted his back foot and fired it to his left, hitting Jeremiah in stride on a drag route. The receiver turned up field and ran into the endzone untouched for the score.
Caine left his hand up in the air like Steph Curry as the Marshall defender ran into him, shoving him a little after the play. Caine leaned back on one foot then dropped his hand.
“Hand down, man down, bitch!” Caine shouted at his opponent as he ran toward the endzone to celebrate with his teammates.
…
“Guerra in the shotgun and he already has 100 yards here in the first quarter. Snap is clean. The pocket is holding up around him and he gets it out quick to Josh Dallas on the slant and that’s a touchdown for the Eagles!”
“Caine Guerra and Josh Dallas have formed a vital partnership for Georgia Southern and that’s why they’re fifteenth in the nation, looking at an automatic bid to the CFP as one of the five highest-ranked conference champions.”
…
Caine held the ball out in front of David, eyes on the read man at the end of the line. The lineman crashed down toward the middle of the field so Caine pulled it just seconds before David took the ball from him.
He ran to the outside, looking to pick up the first down and get down. The Marshall defenders closed around him quickly just before he could start his slide. One of the safeties held him up as he tried to fall to his knees.
A linebacker swung a fist around his back, punching the ball up just before he touched the turf.
Caine grasped at the ball as it shot up into the air, but the defensive back holding on to him drove him into the field. He could only watch as the referee’s signaled Marshall ball.
He crawled out from under the pile and got to his feet, shouting to the ref, “I was fucking down! My knee was fucking down!”
The referee grabs his whistle, saying “Watch your mouth, 10.”
One of the Herd’s cornerbacks bumped into Caine, nodding and clapping in his face, shouting “Yeah, fuck nigga. Yeah.”
Caine pointed at the corner as Jeremiah and Trey’Dez turned him back toward the field, and shouted back, “Nah, I got you, bitch. We gon’ see.”
…
“Caine Guerra finds Ware down the field. The redshirt sophomore breaks a tackle and he’s off to the race! 50, 40, 30, 20, 10, TOUCHDOWN! Just like that, it’s 21-3 after a field goal on Marshall’s last drive.”
…
“Who else but Jeremiah Ware to get on the end of that and he’s going to walk into the endzone untouched! Touchdown, Eagles.”
“This one is starting to get out of hand, Bobby.”
…
Caine walked over to the cornerback who had been in his face earlier in the game. Caine got in the player’s face, helmets clashing against one another.
“What’s good, lil’ bitch? Talk that fucking shit now,” Caine said, nodding as he side stepped to stay in front of the corner.
The corner shoved him but it was less than an instant before the offensive line came to Caine’s aid, getting between him and the growing number of Marshall players making their way off the field.
…
“Guerra drops back to pass and finds Green over the middle and he’s going to waltz into the endzone for the dagger!”
“That throw right there is why people are saying this kid is playing below his level. Just dropped it right between the linebacker and the safety for the easiest of catches for the big man.”
“Only a few more weeks until the portal opens. What are we thinking?”
“I’m thinking he’s gone.”
…
Caine looked up at the clock, a little more than a minute to go as they faced third down. He looked toward the sideline, resisting the urge to suck his teeth as Coach Aplin signaled in a change, dialing up an option.
Caine nodded then shouted the audible to the offense, hands gesturing over his head as he reset the assignments.
He walked back to his spot and called for the snap.
He caught the ball, sprinting out to his right. The linebacker hesitated between him and Nate so Caine faked the pitch.
The linebacker bit, jumping hard to try to make the play in the backfield.
Caine tucked the ball and turned upfield. The safety who’d held him up in the second quarter for the fumble ran toward him, full sprint.
Caine lowered his shoulder at the line to gain. Pads cracking through the night sky. The safety folded backwards and crumbled to the ground as Caine ran him over.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two more Marshall players sprinting toward him so he fell down to the turf on his own before he took a big hit.
Jumping up to his feet, he turned back toward the safety, flexing both of his arms. “Talk that shit now, bitch. Talk that shit now!”
His teammates mobbed him as Coach Aplin signaled for Caine to come out, sending Weston in to run the rest of the clock out.
Mireya let her head fall back against the seat, the cheap vinyl pressing into her hair. The plane hummed around them, engines a steady rush under the tinny announcements and the low murmur of strangers. Somewhere a baby fussed. Ice clinked in a plastic cup a row up.
She turned her head just enough to see Camila. The little girl sat balanced on her knees, forehead almost against the window, hands braced on the armrest and the plastic ledge. The clouds outside rolled past in soft piles, white on white with slices of blue between them. Camila watched them with the same quiet focus she’d had the last few trips, lips parted, eyes wide, like the whole sky was putting on a show just for her.
“Look, Mami,” Camila whispered, more to the glass than to anyone. Her breath fogged a small circle that faded as fast as it came. She didn’t look back to see if Mireya heard. She didn’t have to. Mireya knew this was the part of the flight that belonged to her.
She looked across the row at Sara. Sara had her headphones in, shoulders easy against the seat, a show playing on her phone propped up on the tray table. The light from the screen washed soft over her face, picking out the faint lines at the corners of her eyes when she smiled at something only she could hear. There was always that softness there when she was with Camila or Caine—even Mireya.
Mireya reached over and tapped her arm with two fingers.
Sara glanced away from the phone. She paused the show, pulled one earbud out, and turned toward her. The look she gave her was the same one she always did when it was just them, soft and open, like she was already listening even before Mireya spoke.
“Can I tell you something?” Mireya asked. Her voice came out quieter than she meant. “Get your advice?”
Sara’s mouth pulled into a small smile. “Claro que sí,” she said.
The words settled something in Mireya’s chest and knotted something else. She took a breath that didn’t quite go all the way down and let it out slow, eyes dropping to her hands for a second. Her fingers smoothed over the edge of the armrest, then she lifted her chin.
“I started dating someone,” she said. “Kinda.”
Sara’s eyebrows went up just a little. “Oh yeah?” she asked.
Mireya nodded once. The plane shifted a bit under them, a small dip, and she felt her stomach answer it.
“That’s all you have to say?” she asked.
Sara’s smile widened, the lines at the corners of her eyes deepening. She shook her head once.
“Mija, I told you that you don’t have to be with Caine for me to love you,” she said. “Caine has his own problems right now, anyway.”
Mireya watched her face, waiting for something else to come behind that. The engines filled the space instead. Sara just reached up and tucked a loose piece of hair back behind her ear, her attention still settled fully on Mireya.
After a few beats, Sara tilted her head. “Is it anyone Caine knows?” she asked.
Mireya shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she said.
Faces crossed her mind uninvited. Trell and Jordan’s both.
“But there’s a bit of a problem,” she said.
Sara’s eyebrow arched again. “Oh?” she asked.
Mireya rolled her bottom lip between her teeth for a second, then let it go. “I’m also kinda dating someone else,” she said.
For a second, she heard the words the way they might sound to someone who didn’t know her. She braced herself without meaning to.
Sara’s laugh came out low and surprised. She lifted her hand and slapped Mireya lightly on the arm, palm soft through the thin cotton of her shirt.
“Escandaloso,” she said. “Reminds me of my days before I had Caine.”
Mireya raised an eyebrow at that. Sara just waved it off with her wrist.
“You only get to be young and hot once,” Sara said. “Do they know about each other?”
Mireya shook her head, the motion small. “No,” she said.
“Well,” Sara said, voice even, “unless it’s serious with either or both of them, I’d keep it to myself. It’s not their business what you do beyond them. They don’t control you.”
The words landed heavier than the slap had. Mireya let them sit there for a second, rolling them over, feeling where they fit. The plane hummed on, a cart rattling in the aisle behind them, the faint click of a seatbelt from somewhere up front. Camila whispered something to the window again, fingertip tracing shapes nobody else could see.
Mireya nodded and let her head fall back against the headrest. She closed her eyes for half a breath.
She opened her eyes and turned back toward Sara. “Can you not tell Caine, please?” she asked.
Sara’s smile came back, gentle and certain. She reached down for her phone, picking up her headphones again with the same hand.
“You didn’t even have to ask that,” she said.
Something in Mireya unclenched and then tightened right back up. She nodded, even though Sara was already sliding the earbud back in. Sara turned her show back on, the small screen lighting her face again, but Mireya knew the answer would stand even if she never brought it up again.
Mireya let out a small sigh that got lost under the noise of the cabin. She turned her head, looking past Sara to Camila. The little girl still had her eyes on the clouds, one knee tucked under her, sneakers braced on the edge of the seat. Mireya reached across and ran her hand over Camila’s hair, smoothing it down. Camila didn’t look away from the window. She kept looking out at the clouds.
~~~
Laney stepped out of the bedroom and into the hallway, the house already cooled down from the afternoon. The soft gray runner under her feet caught the sound of her steps as she moved past the boys’ closed doors. The murmur from the TV reached her first, a low narrator talking over gunfire and shouting, some old war replayed in high definition.
She came into the living room and kept going. The lamplight was on instead of the overhead, throwing a yellow pool over the end of the sofa where Tommy sat. His shoulders were squared toward the TV, one ankle rested on his knee, remote loose in his hand. Tanks crawled across a strip of desert on the screen. He didn’t look up.
Laney crossed behind the sofa and into the kitchen. Her purse hung off the back of one of the chairs at the island, strap curved down toward the floor. She slipped it off with one hand and checked the weight, fingers sliding over the leather and the zipper just to make sure everything was where she’d put it.
The kitchen lights were off, the last of the evening coming through the window over the sink. She set the purse strap on her shoulder and walked back toward the front of the house.
Nothing from the sofa. Tommy didn’t move. The narrator on the TV said something about troop movements. A shell exploded on the screen and lit his face for a second, then faded.
Laney reached for the doorknob. Her hand was halfway there when his voice cut through the room.
“Where are you going?”
She stopped, fingers hovering over the metal. The question landed behind her, clipped and flat. She turned just enough to see him over her shoulder.
He still had his eyes on the TV. The hand with the remote rested on his thigh now, not moving.
“The teacher of the year ceremony,” she said. Her voice came out easy. “Mere asked me the other day if I could come help her set it up.”
The TV flickered over his face again. Tommy didn’t look at her yet. “The thing Mere asked you to do that you said you weren’t gonna do?” he asked. “That ceremony?”
Laney shifted her purse higher on her shoulder. “Well, I changed my mind.”
That got him up. Tommy pushed off the sofa in one motion, remote dropping onto the cushion. He stood between her and the TV now, the light from the screen painting his shirt in cold colors.
“Alright,” he said. “I’m gonna come with you then.”
Laney turned the rest of the way toward him, back against the small table by the door. Her hand slipped from the knob. “That ain’t necessary,” she said. “You gonna be bored to tears in there.”
Tommy’s jaw moved once. “Either I’m coming with you or you’re not going anywhere.”
The words didn’t come loud. He watched her face now, eyes running over every line, looking for the smallest flinch. The TV kept playing behind him, men running toward a trench, but he’d turned the sound down without her seeing him hit the button.
Laney met his stare. Her shoulders stayed where they were, not shrinking, not braced. “Alright then,” she said. “Which you want me to do?”
Tommy took another step closer, cutting the space between them in half. She could see the crease in his forehead, the deepening line at the corner of his mouth.
“Where were you trying to go, Laney?” he asked.
“I told you that I changed my mind about helpin’ with the ceremony.” She kept her tone even. “But if you don’t want me to go then I ain’t gonna go. It’s up to you.”
They stayed there for a beat, the two of them at the front of the house while the TV showed bodies falling in slow motion. The cool air from the vent over the door pushed down in a thin stream between them.
Tommy reached for her without warning. His hand closed on the strap of the purse at her shoulder and pulled it off. The shift of weight tugged at her arm for a second and then the bag was in his hand. He turned and walked back into the living room, not waiting to see if she followed.
“Go sit down,” he said, nodding toward the sofa as he moved past it.
Laney stayed on her feet long enough to watch him cross to the recliner. Then she walked back into the room, each step measured. The cushions sank under her when she sat on the far end of the couch, her knees close together, hands resting on top of each other. She set her gaze on him.
Tommy dropped into the recliner and settled back, the leather letting out a soft breath under his weight. He set her purse in his lap and opened it with the same care he gave to a file at work. The zipper teeth parted slow. The small sounds carried in the quiet room.
He reached inside and pulled out her phone. The case was bright against his hand. He thumbed the side button and the screen lit his face. His expression didn’t change. His fingers moved over the glass, quick and practiced. Knowing the code was the day of the boys’ birth dates.
Laney didn’t shift. Her shoulders stayed relaxed against the cushion. The faint buzz of the AC and the muted TV filled up what was left between them.
Tommy went to the messages and began to scroll. His eyes followed the lines, moving steady. The blue and gray bubbles reflected in the gloss of his eyes. From time to time his thumb paused, then continued on. He flipped through threads, opened one, read, backed out, opened another.
“Findin’ what you lookin’ for?” Laney asked.
Her voice held no wobble, no strain. She didn’t lean forward. She didn’t look away. She just watched him, hands still folded in her lap.
Tommy lifted his head and looked at her, eyes dark and flat. The TV behind him showed a battlefield covered in smoke. He let his stare hold for a second, something hard set behind it, then he tossed the purse toward the floor near her feet. It landed with a dull thud, the strap splayed, one corner of the wallet peeking out.
He got up only long enough to put the phone down on the end table, screen facing up. The message app still sat open. Then he dropped back into the recliner, legs stretched out, one ankle crossed.
Laney watched the phone for a second, then lifted her eyes back to him.
“So, you want me to stay or you want me to go?” she asked, starting to stand.
Tommy didn’t answer. He only lifted his hand, pointed straight at her, then pointed down at the floor in front of the couch.
Laney lowered herself back into the cushion without a sound.
The documentary rolled on. The narrator’s voice came up again, steady and distant. Tommy turned his eyes back to the TV and settled deeper into the recliner, his face blank in the wash of shifting light.
Laney sat silently on the sofa, spine straight, hands resting on her knees, and stared at him while the war played across the screen.
~~~
Trell sat in the back of Dez’s car, the thin dome light catching the edge of the newspaper he had spread over his knee. The paper crackled when he shifted, his thumb running down the crease. The car smelled faintly of old food bags and whatever air freshener Dez had last used. Outside the windows, the November night sat still and cold, the houses and streetlights giving off a quiet glow as they passed.
Ant rode shotgun, his elbow against the door, face angled toward the glass. Dez drove stiff-backed, fingers tapping at the wheel, the hum of the tires steady under them.
Trell found what he wanted in the crime section and slapped his palm over the headline.
GOVERNOR REQUESTS NATIONAL GUARD DEPLOYMENT CITING LOWER CRIME FROM ’25 MISSION.
“That pasty face ass motherfucker about to be fucking up the bread again,” Trell said.
Dez’s eyes flicked up to the rearview. Trell stared back at him in the small rectangle, expression pulled tight.
“Who you vote for in ’23?” Trell asked.
Dez didn’t look away from the mirror at first. Then he dropped his gaze and kept driving. “I ain’t vote.”
Trell sucked his teeth. His head shook once, slow, disappointed. “That’s why these crackers feel like they can do whatever they want to us. You tellin’ ’em right to they face to slap the piss out you.”
Dez let out a small breath through his nose, but he didn’t answer. He turned onto a side street lined with quiet houses. The cold had settled enough that condensation rimmed the edges of the windshield where the vents didn’t reach.
Dez tipped his chin toward Ant. “Ant ain’t got no fault in it?” he asked.
Ant didn’t turn all the way around. He just looked at Dez long enough. “I can’t vote, you stupid motherfucker.”
The silence that followed was short but sharp. Trell stared at Dez through the mirror again. Dez’s jaw tightened as he eased the car into a slower roll down the block.
They turned into Cass’s driveway. The gravel was small and clean, a narrow strip beside her house. The porch light wasn’t on, but soft light drifted through the front windows.
Before the engine finished settling, the front door opened. Cass stepped out wearing a robe tied loose at the waist, mocha skin visible under the gap. Her hair was down this time, and the chill of the night air moved the hem of the robe enough to show her bare thigh catching the porch-light glow from inside.
She stood with one hand on the doorframe. She didn’t shiver. Didn’t rush. She watched the car a moment, then stepped down onto the porch like she’d been timing her entrance.
Trell didn’t take his eyes off her. He tapped Dez’s seat with two fingers. “Get the fuck out the car.”
Dez got out, breath puffing faint in the cold. He walked around the front bumper and waited.
Cass crossed the short walkway and opened the back door, slipping in beside Trell. Her perfume settled quickly into the car’s stale air.
“What’s up, Ant?” she asked as she sat, crossing one knee over the other. The robe rode high enough to show the smooth line of her thigh and the curve of her ass.
“Ain’t shit,” Ant said, eyes meeting hers in the rearview before he looked out his window again.
Trell shifted toward her, one arm braced along the backseat. The faint glow from Cass’s house behind her lit the edge of her cheek.
“You got my cut?” she asked.
Trell smirked and reached into his jacket. He pulled out a small envelope and let it hang between two fingers so she’d see it. She reached. He pulled it back just a little.
“I’m goin’ back next week,” he said. “I need you to show me how to get in touch with them motherfuckers.”
Cass sucked her teeth. “What I need to show you that for if I’m gonna be there?”
“Nah, not this time,” Trell said. “Just me, Ant and Dez.”
Cass looked past him, out the window at Dez standing near the bumper. Her eyebrow arched. “You saw how they acted last time. Which one of y’all niggas gonna talk to them like businessmen and make the deal? You need me there.”
Trell lifted a shoulder. “We can manage. If not, Ant and Dez just gon’ shoot they ass.”
Cass gave Ant a pointed look. “He might,” she said. Then she nodded toward Dez. “But he ain’t about to bang it out with no rednecks in the swamp callin’ theyself a militia. Ain’t no sense makin’ shit harder than it need to be.”
Trell watched her face for a long second, weighing it. The cold from outside crept in through the door Cass hadn’t shut all the way, brushing across Trell’s arm.
Finally, he shrugged. “Alright. But your cut gonna be smaller.”
Cass scoffed. “Uh uh, nigga. Ain’t no way. You only know who they is because of me.”
“You the one tryin’ to be there when I said we got it.”
Cass folded her arms across her chest. “How much smaller?”
“A quarter.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Who the fuck getting the other seventy five?”
“That ain’t none of your business.”
Cass held his gaze a moment, then snatched the envelope from his hand with a sharp rip of movement. Trell let it go easily.
She pushed the door open and stepped out into the cold, robe shifting around her legs. She turned back toward the car, one hand resting on the frame.
“You comin’ back by here in the morning?” she asked.
Trell lifted his shoulders in a lazy shrug. “I’ll see.”
Cass rolled her eyes and slammed the door. The sound echoed down the quiet street. She walked back toward her porch, the warm light from inside catching the edges of her robe as she disappeared through the door.
Ant lowered the window, letting cold air rush into the car. He leaned toward the opening.
“Get your fucking ass back in the car, bitch ass nigga,” he yelled at Dez.
Dez shook his head once, breath fogging white, and walked around to climb back in.
~~~
Caine stepped up toward the line, taking his mouthpiece out to shout over the low din of the crowd in Paulson.“RINGO! RINGO!”
Popping his mouthpiece back in, he stepped back into his place alongside David. He lifted his foot and waved his right hand, sending Jeremiah in motion.
“SET, GO!”
Chandler rifled the ball back to him. He spun the ball to get the laces.
One step.
Two.
Dwight tripped over Johnnie’s legs, falling to the turf as the defensive tackle bull rushed through him.
Three.
Caine planted his back foot and fired it to his left, hitting Jeremiah in stride on a drag route. The receiver turned up field and ran into the endzone untouched for the score.
Caine left his hand up in the air like Steph Curry as the Marshall defender ran into him, shoving him a little after the play. Caine leaned back on one foot then dropped his hand.
“Hand down, man down, bitch!” Caine shouted at his opponent as he ran toward the endzone to celebrate with his teammates.
…
“Guerra in the shotgun and he already has 100 yards here in the first quarter. Snap is clean. The pocket is holding up around him and he gets it out quick to Josh Dallas on the slant and that’s a touchdown for the Eagles!”
“Caine Guerra and Josh Dallas have formed a vital partnership for Georgia Southern and that’s why they’re fifteenth in the nation, looking at an automatic bid to the CFP as one of the five highest-ranked conference champions.”
…
Caine held the ball out in front of David, eyes on the read man at the end of the line. The lineman crashed down toward the middle of the field so Caine pulled it just seconds before David took the ball from him.
He ran to the outside, looking to pick up the first down and get down. The Marshall defenders closed around him quickly just before he could start his slide. One of the safeties held him up as he tried to fall to his knees.
A linebacker swung a fist around his back, punching the ball up just before he touched the turf.
Caine grasped at the ball as it shot up into the air, but the defensive back holding on to him drove him into the field. He could only watch as the referee’s signaled Marshall ball.
He crawled out from under the pile and got to his feet, shouting to the ref, “I was fucking down! My knee was fucking down!”
The referee grabs his whistle, saying “Watch your mouth, 10.”
One of the Herd’s cornerbacks bumped into Caine, nodding and clapping in his face, shouting “Yeah, fuck nigga. Yeah.”
Caine pointed at the corner as Jeremiah and Trey’Dez turned him back toward the field, and shouted back, “Nah, I got you, bitch. We gon’ see.”
…
“Caine Guerra finds Ware down the field. The redshirt sophomore breaks a tackle and he’s off to the race! 50, 40, 30, 20, 10, TOUCHDOWN! Just like that, it’s 21-3 after a field goal on Marshall’s last drive.”
…
“Who else but Jeremiah Ware to get on the end of that and he’s going to walk into the endzone untouched! Touchdown, Eagles.”
“This one is starting to get out of hand, Bobby.”
…
Caine walked over to the cornerback who had been in his face earlier in the game. Caine got in the player’s face, helmets clashing against one another.
“What’s good, lil’ bitch? Talk that fucking shit now,” Caine said, nodding as he side stepped to stay in front of the corner.
The corner shoved him but it was less than an instant before the offensive line came to Caine’s aid, getting between him and the growing number of Marshall players making their way off the field.
…
“Guerra drops back to pass and finds Green over the middle and he’s going to waltz into the endzone for the dagger!”
“That throw right there is why people are saying this kid is playing below his level. Just dropped it right between the linebacker and the safety for the easiest of catches for the big man.”
“Only a few more weeks until the portal opens. What are we thinking?”
“I’m thinking he’s gone.”
…
Caine looked up at the clock, a little more than a minute to go as they faced third down. He looked toward the sideline, resisting the urge to suck his teeth as Coach Aplin signaled in a change, dialing up an option.
Caine nodded then shouted the audible to the offense, hands gesturing over his head as he reset the assignments.
He walked back to his spot and called for the snap.
He caught the ball, sprinting out to his right. The linebacker hesitated between him and Nate so Caine faked the pitch.
The linebacker bit, jumping hard to try to make the play in the backfield.
Caine tucked the ball and turned upfield. The safety who’d held him up in the second quarter for the fumble ran toward him, full sprint.
Caine lowered his shoulder at the line to gain. Pads cracking through the night sky. The safety folded backwards and crumbled to the ground as Caine ran him over.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two more Marshall players sprinting toward him so he fell down to the turf on his own before he took a big hit.
Jumping up to his feet, he turned back toward the safety, flexing both of his arms. “Talk that shit now, bitch. Talk that shit now!”
His teammates mobbed him as Coach Aplin signaled for Caine to come out, sending Weston in to run the rest of the clock out.
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redsox907
- Posts: 3082
- Joined: 01 Jun 2025, 12:40
American Sun
I mean technically Mireya isn't dating two dudes. She dating one, Luna dating the other 
Doesn't surprise me that Sara dgaf. Kids will be kids. She knows Caine can hold his own, so long as Mila isn't in harms way.
So much for Friday at 6 eh? Tommy shut that shit down with a quickness. But I thought she wasn't hiding the text messages anymore, so he would have seen them going through the phone? I swear in an update two days ago it was mentioned she wasn't deleting them anymore because "no reason to hide them" or something.
Cass is smart holding onto the last card she has left, which is how to contact them. I'm sure Mireya can figure it out if given the info, but Cass isn't going to let some new honey pot take her spot.
Notice you didn't put the fumble in the final stat line
Doesn't surprise me that Sara dgaf. Kids will be kids. She knows Caine can hold his own, so long as Mila isn't in harms way.
So much for Friday at 6 eh? Tommy shut that shit down with a quickness. But I thought she wasn't hiding the text messages anymore, so he would have seen them going through the phone? I swear in an update two days ago it was mentioned she wasn't deleting them anymore because "no reason to hide them" or something.
Cass is smart holding onto the last card she has left, which is how to contact them. I'm sure Mireya can figure it out if given the info, but Cass isn't going to let some new honey pot take her spot.
Notice you didn't put the fumble in the final stat line
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 5760
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
American Sun
Cooked their dumb ass in that one 
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 12947
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
American Sun
That's just what Mireya needs, to start dissociating and thinking she's actually two different peopleredsox907 wrote: ↑06 Dec 2025, 04:25I mean technically Mireya isn't dating two dudes. She dating one, Luna dating the other
Doesn't surprise me that Sara dgaf. Kids will be kids. She knows Caine can hold his own, so long as Mila isn't in harms way.
So much for Friday at 6 eh? Tommy shut that shit down with a quickness. But I thought she wasn't hiding the text messages anymore, so he would have seen them going through the phone? I swear in an update two days ago it was mentioned she wasn't deleting them anymore because "no reason to hide them" or something.
Cass is smart holding onto the last card she has left, which is how to contact them. I'm sure Mireya can figure it out if given the info, but Cass isn't going to let some new honey pot take her spot.
Notice you didn't put the fumble in the final stat line
She also knows Caine is fucking Laney.
That small town shit. You knew her declining that was going to prompt worry. It doesn't say what she was hiding, just that she "wasn't hiding" and in that scene she is texting Caine while Tommy is standing there.
Cass has another card shown in that scene.
Because it wasn't a fookin' fumble. He was down but you can't challenge in RTG because it doesn't let you pause after plays that your player leaves the field for. It jumps to the sim.
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 12947
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
American Sun
The Devil is Pleased
Caine sat on the edge of the back porch, the wood cool under his legs. The jug of water sweated against his palm, cold slipping down the plastic in slow beads that wet his fingers. He tipped it up and let a long pull sit in his mouth before swallowing.
Mr. Charlie stood a few feet away in the thin strip of shade that clung to the side of the church, hands on his hips.
“I gotta say,” Mr. Charlie said, squinting toward the parking lot like the answer was written out there on the asphalt, “Smart’s done an alright job at Georgia, but you gotta wonder if it’s time to get rid of him. Ain’t won nothin’ lately and they ain’t been good this season. They might lose next week.”
Caine let the jug rest against his knee, a small grin already tugging at his mouth. Sweat had gathered in the hollow at the base of his neck and soaked into the collar of his shirt. He shook his head.
“C’mon, OG,” he said, voice easy. “They ain’t losing to no fucking Georgia Tech. If it wasn’t for Stanford, them boys would be the worst team in the conference.”
Mr. Charlie snorted, the sound short and disbelieving. “They ‘cause ain’t got no quarterback,” he said. “You need to carry yo’ ass up there to Atlanta and show them how it go.”
Caine chuckled, a low sound that came from deep in his chest. He rolled the jug between his palms.
“Fuck no,” he said. “I’m trying to get to the league, not the morgue.”
Mr. Charlie sucked his teeth and shifted his weight like that answer offended him on principle. A car turned in off the road, tires crunching gravel at the far side of the lot, then kept going when it realized the church was empty today.
“Always the same thing with you youngsters,” Mr. Charlie said. “Can’t face any adversity.”
Caine laughed again. He didn’t say anything to that, though. He tipped the jug back again instead, water washing down the back of his throat while Mr. Charlie kept muttering about soft kids and NIL money.
The kitchen door creaked behind him. Laney stepped out onto the porch, one hand braced against the doorframe, the other still holding a dish towel she had twisted up without thinking.
“Caine,” she called, voice cutting across the air. “You could come here a minute?”
He looked over his shoulder. Her eyes were already on him, steady. He pushed himself up, joints popping a little from sitting too long.
“Yeah,” he said. He glanced back at Mr. Charlie, lifting his chin. “I’ll be back, OG. You forgettin’ in all this that Georgia Southern the best team in Georgia right now.”
Mr. Charlie waved a hand, the gesture dismissive. “’Til them boosters open up them wallets,” he said. “Then we’ll see who’s the best.”
Caine smirked, let the comment slide, and set the jug aside. He crossed the boards toward Laney. Up close he could see the faint shine at her hairline, the way she had tucked a loose piece behind her ear and it had already tried to escape again.
She didn’t say anything else on the porch. She turned, opening the kitchen door wider with her shoulder, and went back inside. He followed.
Laney cut across the tile without looking back, her sandals whispering against the floor. He trailed her down the narrow hallway that ran off the kitchen, past the bulletin board with its curling flyers, past the door to the supply closet. Fluorescent lights hummed above, flattening the colors on the walls.
She reached her office and stepped in first. Laney waited until he crossed the threshold, then pushed the door closed behind him with the heel of her hand.
The latch clicked. The sound was small but it changed the air.
“Sorry ’bout disappearin’ on you over the weekend,” she said, turning so her back leaned against the door for a second. She dragged her fingers through the towel, twisting it tighter. “Tommy went through my phone.”
Caine lifted his eyebrows. A beat stretched while he took that in.
“Went through your phone?” he asked. “With our texts in it?”
She blew out a breath that moved a piece of hair off her forehead, then dropped the towel on the corner of the desk. Her mouth pressed in, then eased.
“No,” she said. “I had deleted ’em right before I went to leave Friday. Somethin’ told me that I needed to.”
Caine snorted a laugh, short and quiet.
“So much for you not carin’ if he finds out,” he said.
Laney’s eyes narrowed just enough to let him know she had heard the edge in it. She pushed off the door and crossed her arms, one hand rubbing at the inside of her elbow like she was easing out a cramp.
“Not carin’ and makin’ it easy for him ain’t the same thing, Caine,” she said.
He lifted both hands, palms out, the hint of a smile still there. “My bad,” he said. “I ain’t trying to be a dick. Just seem like he getting close to finding out, though.”
Laney’s hand slid up, fingers passing over her face and into her hair. She left them there for a second, elbow pointed out, then dropped her arm again.
“Yeah, I know,” she said. The words were quiet, flat with how familiar the worry had become.
He watched her, the set of her shoulders. He shifted the angle of his body, leaning one shoulder against the edge of the filing cabinet.
“What you gonna do if he does?” Caine asked.
Laney let out a laugh, more air than sound. She moved past him toward the door, fingertips grazing the desk as she went.
“Tell him you fuckin’ Rylee,” she said, half turning back to look at him, eyes catching the light.
Caine’s smile came easier at that, mouth pulling up on one side. “That’s part of you not makin’ it easy for him?” he asked.
She nodded once, that small crooked grin she got when she had decided on something she knew was messy but already accepted. Her hand found the knob and turned it. She cracked the door, sticking her head out into the hallway. The hum of the lights and the distant sound of a child somewhere in the daycare drifted in. She scanned one way, then the other, shoulders still and calm while her eyes did the work.
Laney eased the door wider just enough to step into the gap. Her fingers reached back without looking, brushing against his knuckles, a quick electrical touch that said more than she did out loud.
“You gonna be free sometime today?” she asked, voice soft enough it did not have to go any farther than him.
He nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “But I’m gonna call your sister first to make sure your story stronger.”
Her hand flew from his, swatting at the back of his fingers, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to sting a little. “That shit ain’t funny,” she said, eyes cutting at him.
Caine winked at her, that easy, familiar gesture they had grown into. Then he stepped out into the hall. He stood there a second, listening. No footsteps. No voices close by. Just the quiet hum of the church doing its weekday breathing.
He shifted his shoulders, then turned toward the kitchen, walking back the way he had come to head outside again.
Ramon stood outside the car with the pump handle in his hand, the hose stretched tight from the machine to the tank. The station sat just off the interstate in Montgomery, all concrete and glare, the late afternoon sun bouncing off windshields and the big green price sign. The smell of gas and hot rubber sat heavy in the air.
The numbers on the pump ticked up, slow at first, then faster. Ramon leaned his shoulder into the car, free hand resting on the roof. His back ached from the drive out of New Orleans, muscles tight from hours hunched over the wheel. He rolled one shoulder, then the other, and squinted past the pumps toward the glass storefront.
Tyree and E.J. pushed out of the gas station together, the bell over the door giving a tired little ring as it shut behind them. A blast of cold air followed them for a second and then disappeared.
Tyree came out talking, head tipped back, hands up like he was already arguing his case to a jury. “I’m just sayin’, not havin’ cash and not havin’ money is two different things,” he said. “It ain’t my fault they backwards as fuck out here and don’t allow tap to pay.”
E.J. let the door swing shut behind him and shook his head, the plastic bag from the counter crinkling in his hand. “You sound broke,” he said. “That’s what that shit sound like.” He walked up to the car and tossed a bottle of Sprite toward Ramon in one smooth underhand.
Ramon caught it with his free hand, the chill biting into his palm. “Good lookin’,” he said, setting it on the roof above him for a second while the pump clicked on.
E.J. stopped at the driver’s door, hand already going to the handle. Ramon pulled his keys from his pocket, metal warm against his fingers, and flipped them over the roof.
“Go ‘head and drive,” he said.
E.J. snagged the keys against his chest. “I got you,” he answered.
Tyree snorted. “Yeah, don’t wreck this shit so we can’t get back to the city,” he said, drifting around to the passenger side. He popped the door and slid in, one hand bracing against the dash.
The pump thunked once, then the handle clicked, cutting the flow. Ramon glanced at the numbers and eased the nozzle out, a faint splash of fuel smell rising as he set it back into its cradle. He screwed the gas cap tight, slapped the side of the car with his palm, and walked around to the back door.
Inside, the air carried the faint, stale cool of the AC that had been cut off when he killed the engine. Ramon climbed into the back seat and stretched his legs out as far as the space would let him, spine easing as he settled.
Up front, E.J. dropped into the driver’s seat and pushed it back, one hand pulling the lever while he rocked his body until he was comfortable.
“Shit,” he said, “y’all got me drivin’ Miss Daisy.”
He twisted the key. The engine turned over with a rough cough and then settled into a low idle. He reached for the cord hanging from the dash, plugged his phone in, and tapped through a couple of screens until a beat slid in under the hum of the motor.
Tyree shifted, buckling his seat belt with a sharp click. “So,” he said, eyes on the windshield as E.J. eased them out from between the pumps. “We really ‘bout to be up in this bitch all week?”
Ramon let his head fall back against the seat, watching the line of cars through the front windshield. “Yeah,” he said. “Duke said these niggas got into a little beef in one of the zones or whatever the fuck they call that shit, so they need to handle that first.”
The car rolled past the edge of the lot and out toward the street. E.J. flicked the turn signal and guided them toward the on-ramp, wheels bumping over a seam in the concrete.
“Why the fuck they ain’t handle that shit and then tell us to come pick the weight up?” E.J. asked, shoulders bunching as he checked the mirror and merged.
Ramon shrugged in the back seat even though E.J. couldn’t see him. “I don’t fucking know,” he said. “I ain’t ask.”
The interstate opened up in front of them, long gray stretch lined with trees and billboards. E.J. pressed on the gas, the car humming louder as they slid into the flow of traffic. Trucks rumbled past in the next lane. A strip of sky showed pale and hazy over the low line of buildings in the distance.
Tyree sat back, one elbow propped against the door, fingers tapping a little rhythm on the window ledge. “A nigga got an exam to do Friday,” he said. “So I need y’all niggas to figure out where we gonna be then.”
E.J. cut his eyes over, mouth curling. He pitched his voice high and thin. “A nigga got an exam to do Friday,” he mimicked, dragging the last word out. “Boy, shut the fuck up.”
Tyree’s reached across the center console and slapped the back of E.J.’s head with an open palm, the sound sharp in the small space.
E.J. flinched and the wheel jumped in his hands. The car swerved a half lane before he grabbed it back, tires buzzing over the edge line.
“I’m fucking driving, bro,” he said, straightening them out, jaw tight.
Tyree leaned back in his seat, face turned toward the side window, but his voice stayed steady.
“You could pull over,” he said, “and we could catch that one out here in this redneck ass state.”
The beat from E.J.’s phone filled the pause that followed, bass rattling the loose change in the cup holder. Road noise droned under it, the steady hiss of tires on highway.
In the back seat, Ramon shook his head, the hint of a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. The two of them stayed at it, trading little jabs back and forth about who would win a fight that neither one of them was really trying to start, voices rising and falling over the music.
Ramon let their bickering blur into background sound. He shifted once more, sliding down until his shoulders rested easier against the seat. He closed his eyes, letting himself drift toward sleep, saving his energy for when it was his turn to take the wheel again.
Saul pulled off the interstate at the Gonzales exit and rolled into the strip mall lot they always used. Evening had the sky already going dim, a flat gray pressing low over the buildings. The light in the nail shop window glowed blue against the glass. A thin wind moved across the open spaces and carried the smell of fryer grease and cold air from the fast food place on the corner.
He cut the engine and sat for a second with his hands on the wheel. The car ticked as it cooled. It had been a long drive and his shoulders felt stiff from holding the same position too long. He blew out a breath, popped the door, and stepped out into the November air.
The chill met him right away, sliding under his sweatshirt and finding his bare wrists. He locked the car with the fob and walked around to the front, palms rubbing once over his jeans to bring some feeling back into his fingers. Then he pushed himself up onto the hood and sat, the metal cool through the denim.
Out past the back fence, the interstate kept moving. Headlights slipped by in lines, a low rush of noise filling the spaces between the small sounds of the lot. A cart bumped against a curb and stayed there. Somewhere a delivery truck backed up and let off a quick set of beeps, then stopped.
Saul set his phone down beside him on the hood, screen dark. The wind tugged at the edges of his sweatshirt. He rolled his shoulders again and watched the entrance to the lot.
A car he knew turned in off the service road a couple of minutes later. He recognized the way it took the corner, the little dip of the front end when the brakes caught. It crossed the painted lines and eased into the space next to him. The engine cut and the lights blinked off, leaving only the glow from the storefronts.
Ava climbed out and shut her door with her hip. Her jacket was zipped most of the way, collar turned up against the cold. She shoved her hands in her pockets for a few steps, then pulled one out to brace on the hood as she hoisted herself up beside him. The hood dipped under the new weight and their hips bumped.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey.” He turned toward her. She leaned in and gave him a quick kiss, mouth cool from the air outside. He kissed her back, his hand landing on her thigh for a second before he let it fall away.
When she pulled back, he saw the set of her face. Her mouth tried for a smile, but her eyes stayed fixed somewhere over his shoulder instead of really landing on him.
“You good?” he asked.
Ava lifted one shoulder, then let it fall. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’m not sure. I don’t think so.”
The words sat between them. He slid his arm around her waist, fingers finding the curve there through the layers of fabric and pulled her in a little closer against his side.
“You know you can tell me anything,” he said.
She nodded, eyes on the interstate. Her hand went back into her jacket pocket. She felt around for a second, then drew something out and turned her palm toward him.
“Here,” she said.
Resting on a folded piece of paper towel in her hand was a white plastic stick. He reached for it slow, taking care to only touch the ends of the towel. The plastic felt hard and light against his fingers in the cold.
A small window showed two pink lines, clear and solid. He stared at them, throat working once.
His eyes lifted back to her. “This yours?” he asked.
Ava gave him a flat look. “I hope you wouldn’t think I’d be walking around with something someone else pissed on.”
The corner of his mouth twitched and he let out a short laugh. “Yeah,” he said. “Makes sense.”
He looked down at the test again, mind trailing over the little window. The faint traffic noise rose and fell, filling in the quiet.
“Is it—” he started.
“Yours?” she cut in. “Yes.”
He shut his mouth. The answer settled heavy in his chest. He let his gaze drop to her hands. Her fingers had found the edge of her jacket and were pinching and smoothing the same spot over and over.
“What do you want to do?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I really don’t know.”
He heard how tired that sounded and didn’t push past it. Instead he tightened his arm around her and pulled her closer. She shifted, turning enough to rest her head against his shoulder. The side of her face was cool where it met his neck. He could feel the small movements of her breathing through all the fabric between them.
“Well,” he said quietly, eyes still on the test, “whatever you want to do, I got you.”
She stayed there a beat, then he felt the muscles in her shoulders loosen a little. “I know,” she said.
They let the silence come in after that. There was nothing else that needed saying right then. Cars passed on the interstate, a steady ribbon of sound under everything. A piece of trash skated across the lot and tangled itself near the fence, then stopped.
Saul kept his arm around Ava and looked at the plastic in his hand. The two lines in the window stayed fixed, thin and bright in the dim light from the storefronts. His stomach tightened and rolled, nerves bubbling there in a slow, restless way while he stared down at the test and held her closer against his side.
Mireya sat on the low stool in front of the mirror, shoulders tipped forward so Jaslene could get to her face. The dressing room was all hard light and clutter. Open makeup bags. A blow dryer tossed on its side. Somebody’s half-finished plate of wings going cold on the counter. The AC pushed a faint chill, but the room still held body warmth and layers of perfume.
“Stop moving, nena,” Jaslene said, one hand cupped under Mireya’s chin. “You gonna have one eyebrow all the way in the Gulf.”
Mireya huffed through her nose and tried to keep still. Her phone sat in her hand out in front of her, thumb hovering over the screen. The text thread took up the whole display, blue and gray bubbles stacked tight.
Jaslene glanced down, brush pausing. “Texting that gringo?”
Mireya rolled her eyes, careful not to move her forehead. “You gotta stop calling him that.”
“Why?” Jaslene leaned back just enough to twist at the waist. “Bianca.” Her voice carried across the room. “If she’s talking to a white boy, you think I should stop calling him a white boy?”
Bianca sat on the other side of them, legs crossed at the ankle, cash spread in a fan on the vanity in front of her. She didn’t bother looking up from the stacks, nails clicking soft as she broke a band.
“He a white boy,” Bianca said.
Mireya sucked her teeth. “Bitch.”
Jaslene snorted, going back to work. “Hold still, mami.” The tip of the brush traced highlighter across Mireya’s cheekbone, catching the cold light.
The phone buzzed in Mireya’s hand. Another message rolled in over the thread.
Boogie: you working?
Her face stayed still. Her thumb tapped back, quick.
yeah
The dots popped up almost right away.
Boogie: bet. i’m here. i want a dance
She held the phone out so Jaslene could see the screen.
“Oh, one of your favoritos,” Jaslene’s mouth pulled into a grin, though she kept her wrist steady. “Let me know if he wants the Sol y Luna treatment.”
“He ain’t got that kind of money,” Mireya said.
“We can give him a discount just for us,” Jaslene said.
Bianca shook her head, lips tugging. “Y’all wrong.”
Jaslene flicked a finger under Mireya’s chin to straighten her face. “Tal vez.”
Mireya let her mouth tip up, small. “Hurry up.”
“Done.” Jaslene stepped back, studying her work. She tapped Mireya’s jaw once. “You good.”
Mireya locked her phone, set it down in the corner of the mirror where her lashes case sat, and pushed up from the stool. The robe slid over her shoulders when she stood, silk shifting against skin before it settled. She tied it loose at the waist and checked herself once in the mirror. Eyes sharp. Lips lined.
Mireya pushed the dressing room door with her hip and stepped out into the short hallway. Sound hit first. Bass on the other side of the wall, low and steady.
She walked out onto the floor, eyes adjusting to the light. Reds, deep blues, the occasional white flash.
Her gaze moved across the space as she walked. The main stage down the middle, men crowded at the rail. Smaller platforms in the corners. Booths tucked into shadow along the walls. She caught a nod from Liana coming off a set.
Back of the room.
She cut between tables, sidestepping a hand that came up with crumpled ones and a slurred “Lemme get you next, baby.” The robe flashed enough skin when she moved that eyes followed her, but she didn’t break stride.
Boogie sat in a booth near the back wall, shoulders loose, drink in one hand. Dez sat inside the booth, back in the corner, one arm stretched along the top. Light from the stage reached them in sweeps, touching their faces, sliding away, coming back.
Mireya didn’t slow. She came right up to Boogie and slid onto his lap, smooth and practiced, one knee dropping between his legs, the silk of her robe parting a little higher.
“Hola, papi,” she said, voice warm in his ear. “You were looking for me?”
Boogie’s grin showed quick. His free hand went straight to the belt of her robe. He tugged it up, then aside, pulling the edge open so he could look down at her body. His gaze swept over her, slow, from her chest down to her thighs and back up to her face.
“Shit yeah,” he said. “You know you my favorite one in here. I don’t even go to them Bourbon Street clubs no more.”
She let her weight settle so he felt all of her, one arm hooking behind his neck. The bass from the speakers under the booth thrummed through them both.
Her eyes cut over to Dez.
He sat with his glass near his mouth, eyes on her. He didn’t say anything.
“I haven’t been seeing you around,” she said to Boogie, though she was still looking at Dez when she said it. “You been busy?”
Boogie shifted under her, attention still locked on her. “At Trell’s?” he said. “Man, that nigga got me doing some lil’ nigga shit. Watching bitches bag the work and shit.”
“Man, shut the fuck up, nigga,” Dez said. His voice cut in low, a quick edge under it.
Boogie didn’t look his way. “Nah, nigga. You shut your pussy ass up.” His chin tipped just enough toward Dez, hand still on Mireya’s robe. “You acting like she don’t know what we do. She be at the fucking trap.”
Mireya turned her face toward Dez, eyes finding his. “I know how to keep a secret, baby.”
Dez shook his head once and took a long sip from his drink instead of answering. Ice hit glass with a small tap.
Boogie sucked his teeth. “Don’t worry about that lame ass nigga,” he said, mouth pulling into a half smile. “He just sad he got demoted, too.”
His fingers hooked the belt of her robe and gave it a sharp tug. The knot slipped, and the fabric fell open down the middle, framing skin instead of covering it. Cooler air brushed across her stomach and thighs. She didn’t adjust it.
“So, you got me for that dance?” he asked.
Mireya slid her hand up the side of his neck, nails grazing his skin light. “As long as you got the money, papi.”
Boogie’s eyes dropped to her mouth, then back up. He smiled, easy and sure. “I definitely got the money.”
He shifted her off his lap, hands firm at her hips as he set her back on her feet. The robe moved with her. She let it stay that way. His eyes followed, same as before.
She tipped her head toward the back hallway where the VIP rooms sat behind a curtain. “Come on.”
Boogie pushed himself out of the booth, finishing his drink in one swallow and setting the glass on the table. Dez moved his arm just enough to let him slide past, still in the corner.
Mireya looked back at Dez, one hand on the end of the table for balance. “You want one after?” she asked. “I got time.”
Dez’s eyes met hers, steady, something softer under it. “Nah,” he said. “I ain’t trying to make you do all that.”
She raised an eyebrow at him, the corner of her mouth tugging. “Alright then. Let me know if you change your mind, papi.”
He shook his head once and brought the glass back to his lips.
Mireya turned away and walked to catch up with Boogie. He didn’t wait long, just enough for her to reach him before he started toward the back. His arm slid around her waist, hand resting low at her hip, fingers pressing into the silk.
They moved together toward the VIP section, bass rolling under their feet.
Caine sat on the edge of the back porch, the wood cool under his legs. The jug of water sweated against his palm, cold slipping down the plastic in slow beads that wet his fingers. He tipped it up and let a long pull sit in his mouth before swallowing.
Mr. Charlie stood a few feet away in the thin strip of shade that clung to the side of the church, hands on his hips.
“I gotta say,” Mr. Charlie said, squinting toward the parking lot like the answer was written out there on the asphalt, “Smart’s done an alright job at Georgia, but you gotta wonder if it’s time to get rid of him. Ain’t won nothin’ lately and they ain’t been good this season. They might lose next week.”
Caine let the jug rest against his knee, a small grin already tugging at his mouth. Sweat had gathered in the hollow at the base of his neck and soaked into the collar of his shirt. He shook his head.
“C’mon, OG,” he said, voice easy. “They ain’t losing to no fucking Georgia Tech. If it wasn’t for Stanford, them boys would be the worst team in the conference.”
Mr. Charlie snorted, the sound short and disbelieving. “They ‘cause ain’t got no quarterback,” he said. “You need to carry yo’ ass up there to Atlanta and show them how it go.”
Caine chuckled, a low sound that came from deep in his chest. He rolled the jug between his palms.
“Fuck no,” he said. “I’m trying to get to the league, not the morgue.”
Mr. Charlie sucked his teeth and shifted his weight like that answer offended him on principle. A car turned in off the road, tires crunching gravel at the far side of the lot, then kept going when it realized the church was empty today.
“Always the same thing with you youngsters,” Mr. Charlie said. “Can’t face any adversity.”
Caine laughed again. He didn’t say anything to that, though. He tipped the jug back again instead, water washing down the back of his throat while Mr. Charlie kept muttering about soft kids and NIL money.
The kitchen door creaked behind him. Laney stepped out onto the porch, one hand braced against the doorframe, the other still holding a dish towel she had twisted up without thinking.
“Caine,” she called, voice cutting across the air. “You could come here a minute?”
He looked over his shoulder. Her eyes were already on him, steady. He pushed himself up, joints popping a little from sitting too long.
“Yeah,” he said. He glanced back at Mr. Charlie, lifting his chin. “I’ll be back, OG. You forgettin’ in all this that Georgia Southern the best team in Georgia right now.”
Mr. Charlie waved a hand, the gesture dismissive. “’Til them boosters open up them wallets,” he said. “Then we’ll see who’s the best.”
Caine smirked, let the comment slide, and set the jug aside. He crossed the boards toward Laney. Up close he could see the faint shine at her hairline, the way she had tucked a loose piece behind her ear and it had already tried to escape again.
She didn’t say anything else on the porch. She turned, opening the kitchen door wider with her shoulder, and went back inside. He followed.
Laney cut across the tile without looking back, her sandals whispering against the floor. He trailed her down the narrow hallway that ran off the kitchen, past the bulletin board with its curling flyers, past the door to the supply closet. Fluorescent lights hummed above, flattening the colors on the walls.
She reached her office and stepped in first. Laney waited until he crossed the threshold, then pushed the door closed behind him with the heel of her hand.
The latch clicked. The sound was small but it changed the air.
“Sorry ’bout disappearin’ on you over the weekend,” she said, turning so her back leaned against the door for a second. She dragged her fingers through the towel, twisting it tighter. “Tommy went through my phone.”
Caine lifted his eyebrows. A beat stretched while he took that in.
“Went through your phone?” he asked. “With our texts in it?”
She blew out a breath that moved a piece of hair off her forehead, then dropped the towel on the corner of the desk. Her mouth pressed in, then eased.
“No,” she said. “I had deleted ’em right before I went to leave Friday. Somethin’ told me that I needed to.”
Caine snorted a laugh, short and quiet.
“So much for you not carin’ if he finds out,” he said.
Laney’s eyes narrowed just enough to let him know she had heard the edge in it. She pushed off the door and crossed her arms, one hand rubbing at the inside of her elbow like she was easing out a cramp.
“Not carin’ and makin’ it easy for him ain’t the same thing, Caine,” she said.
He lifted both hands, palms out, the hint of a smile still there. “My bad,” he said. “I ain’t trying to be a dick. Just seem like he getting close to finding out, though.”
Laney’s hand slid up, fingers passing over her face and into her hair. She left them there for a second, elbow pointed out, then dropped her arm again.
“Yeah, I know,” she said. The words were quiet, flat with how familiar the worry had become.
He watched her, the set of her shoulders. He shifted the angle of his body, leaning one shoulder against the edge of the filing cabinet.
“What you gonna do if he does?” Caine asked.
Laney let out a laugh, more air than sound. She moved past him toward the door, fingertips grazing the desk as she went.
“Tell him you fuckin’ Rylee,” she said, half turning back to look at him, eyes catching the light.
Caine’s smile came easier at that, mouth pulling up on one side. “That’s part of you not makin’ it easy for him?” he asked.
She nodded once, that small crooked grin she got when she had decided on something she knew was messy but already accepted. Her hand found the knob and turned it. She cracked the door, sticking her head out into the hallway. The hum of the lights and the distant sound of a child somewhere in the daycare drifted in. She scanned one way, then the other, shoulders still and calm while her eyes did the work.
Laney eased the door wider just enough to step into the gap. Her fingers reached back without looking, brushing against his knuckles, a quick electrical touch that said more than she did out loud.
“You gonna be free sometime today?” she asked, voice soft enough it did not have to go any farther than him.
He nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “But I’m gonna call your sister first to make sure your story stronger.”
Her hand flew from his, swatting at the back of his fingers, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to sting a little. “That shit ain’t funny,” she said, eyes cutting at him.
Caine winked at her, that easy, familiar gesture they had grown into. Then he stepped out into the hall. He stood there a second, listening. No footsteps. No voices close by. Just the quiet hum of the church doing its weekday breathing.
He shifted his shoulders, then turned toward the kitchen, walking back the way he had come to head outside again.
~~~
Ramon stood outside the car with the pump handle in his hand, the hose stretched tight from the machine to the tank. The station sat just off the interstate in Montgomery, all concrete and glare, the late afternoon sun bouncing off windshields and the big green price sign. The smell of gas and hot rubber sat heavy in the air.
The numbers on the pump ticked up, slow at first, then faster. Ramon leaned his shoulder into the car, free hand resting on the roof. His back ached from the drive out of New Orleans, muscles tight from hours hunched over the wheel. He rolled one shoulder, then the other, and squinted past the pumps toward the glass storefront.
Tyree and E.J. pushed out of the gas station together, the bell over the door giving a tired little ring as it shut behind them. A blast of cold air followed them for a second and then disappeared.
Tyree came out talking, head tipped back, hands up like he was already arguing his case to a jury. “I’m just sayin’, not havin’ cash and not havin’ money is two different things,” he said. “It ain’t my fault they backwards as fuck out here and don’t allow tap to pay.”
E.J. let the door swing shut behind him and shook his head, the plastic bag from the counter crinkling in his hand. “You sound broke,” he said. “That’s what that shit sound like.” He walked up to the car and tossed a bottle of Sprite toward Ramon in one smooth underhand.
Ramon caught it with his free hand, the chill biting into his palm. “Good lookin’,” he said, setting it on the roof above him for a second while the pump clicked on.
E.J. stopped at the driver’s door, hand already going to the handle. Ramon pulled his keys from his pocket, metal warm against his fingers, and flipped them over the roof.
“Go ‘head and drive,” he said.
E.J. snagged the keys against his chest. “I got you,” he answered.
Tyree snorted. “Yeah, don’t wreck this shit so we can’t get back to the city,” he said, drifting around to the passenger side. He popped the door and slid in, one hand bracing against the dash.
The pump thunked once, then the handle clicked, cutting the flow. Ramon glanced at the numbers and eased the nozzle out, a faint splash of fuel smell rising as he set it back into its cradle. He screwed the gas cap tight, slapped the side of the car with his palm, and walked around to the back door.
Inside, the air carried the faint, stale cool of the AC that had been cut off when he killed the engine. Ramon climbed into the back seat and stretched his legs out as far as the space would let him, spine easing as he settled.
Up front, E.J. dropped into the driver’s seat and pushed it back, one hand pulling the lever while he rocked his body until he was comfortable.
“Shit,” he said, “y’all got me drivin’ Miss Daisy.”
He twisted the key. The engine turned over with a rough cough and then settled into a low idle. He reached for the cord hanging from the dash, plugged his phone in, and tapped through a couple of screens until a beat slid in under the hum of the motor.
Tyree shifted, buckling his seat belt with a sharp click. “So,” he said, eyes on the windshield as E.J. eased them out from between the pumps. “We really ‘bout to be up in this bitch all week?”
Ramon let his head fall back against the seat, watching the line of cars through the front windshield. “Yeah,” he said. “Duke said these niggas got into a little beef in one of the zones or whatever the fuck they call that shit, so they need to handle that first.”
The car rolled past the edge of the lot and out toward the street. E.J. flicked the turn signal and guided them toward the on-ramp, wheels bumping over a seam in the concrete.
“Why the fuck they ain’t handle that shit and then tell us to come pick the weight up?” E.J. asked, shoulders bunching as he checked the mirror and merged.
Ramon shrugged in the back seat even though E.J. couldn’t see him. “I don’t fucking know,” he said. “I ain’t ask.”
The interstate opened up in front of them, long gray stretch lined with trees and billboards. E.J. pressed on the gas, the car humming louder as they slid into the flow of traffic. Trucks rumbled past in the next lane. A strip of sky showed pale and hazy over the low line of buildings in the distance.
Tyree sat back, one elbow propped against the door, fingers tapping a little rhythm on the window ledge. “A nigga got an exam to do Friday,” he said. “So I need y’all niggas to figure out where we gonna be then.”
E.J. cut his eyes over, mouth curling. He pitched his voice high and thin. “A nigga got an exam to do Friday,” he mimicked, dragging the last word out. “Boy, shut the fuck up.”
Tyree’s reached across the center console and slapped the back of E.J.’s head with an open palm, the sound sharp in the small space.
E.J. flinched and the wheel jumped in his hands. The car swerved a half lane before he grabbed it back, tires buzzing over the edge line.
“I’m fucking driving, bro,” he said, straightening them out, jaw tight.
Tyree leaned back in his seat, face turned toward the side window, but his voice stayed steady.
“You could pull over,” he said, “and we could catch that one out here in this redneck ass state.”
The beat from E.J.’s phone filled the pause that followed, bass rattling the loose change in the cup holder. Road noise droned under it, the steady hiss of tires on highway.
In the back seat, Ramon shook his head, the hint of a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. The two of them stayed at it, trading little jabs back and forth about who would win a fight that neither one of them was really trying to start, voices rising and falling over the music.
Ramon let their bickering blur into background sound. He shifted once more, sliding down until his shoulders rested easier against the seat. He closed his eyes, letting himself drift toward sleep, saving his energy for when it was his turn to take the wheel again.
~~~
Saul pulled off the interstate at the Gonzales exit and rolled into the strip mall lot they always used. Evening had the sky already going dim, a flat gray pressing low over the buildings. The light in the nail shop window glowed blue against the glass. A thin wind moved across the open spaces and carried the smell of fryer grease and cold air from the fast food place on the corner.
He cut the engine and sat for a second with his hands on the wheel. The car ticked as it cooled. It had been a long drive and his shoulders felt stiff from holding the same position too long. He blew out a breath, popped the door, and stepped out into the November air.
The chill met him right away, sliding under his sweatshirt and finding his bare wrists. He locked the car with the fob and walked around to the front, palms rubbing once over his jeans to bring some feeling back into his fingers. Then he pushed himself up onto the hood and sat, the metal cool through the denim.
Out past the back fence, the interstate kept moving. Headlights slipped by in lines, a low rush of noise filling the spaces between the small sounds of the lot. A cart bumped against a curb and stayed there. Somewhere a delivery truck backed up and let off a quick set of beeps, then stopped.
Saul set his phone down beside him on the hood, screen dark. The wind tugged at the edges of his sweatshirt. He rolled his shoulders again and watched the entrance to the lot.
A car he knew turned in off the service road a couple of minutes later. He recognized the way it took the corner, the little dip of the front end when the brakes caught. It crossed the painted lines and eased into the space next to him. The engine cut and the lights blinked off, leaving only the glow from the storefronts.
Ava climbed out and shut her door with her hip. Her jacket was zipped most of the way, collar turned up against the cold. She shoved her hands in her pockets for a few steps, then pulled one out to brace on the hood as she hoisted herself up beside him. The hood dipped under the new weight and their hips bumped.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey.” He turned toward her. She leaned in and gave him a quick kiss, mouth cool from the air outside. He kissed her back, his hand landing on her thigh for a second before he let it fall away.
When she pulled back, he saw the set of her face. Her mouth tried for a smile, but her eyes stayed fixed somewhere over his shoulder instead of really landing on him.
“You good?” he asked.
Ava lifted one shoulder, then let it fall. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’m not sure. I don’t think so.”
The words sat between them. He slid his arm around her waist, fingers finding the curve there through the layers of fabric and pulled her in a little closer against his side.
“You know you can tell me anything,” he said.
She nodded, eyes on the interstate. Her hand went back into her jacket pocket. She felt around for a second, then drew something out and turned her palm toward him.
“Here,” she said.
Resting on a folded piece of paper towel in her hand was a white plastic stick. He reached for it slow, taking care to only touch the ends of the towel. The plastic felt hard and light against his fingers in the cold.
A small window showed two pink lines, clear and solid. He stared at them, throat working once.
His eyes lifted back to her. “This yours?” he asked.
Ava gave him a flat look. “I hope you wouldn’t think I’d be walking around with something someone else pissed on.”
The corner of his mouth twitched and he let out a short laugh. “Yeah,” he said. “Makes sense.”
He looked down at the test again, mind trailing over the little window. The faint traffic noise rose and fell, filling in the quiet.
“Is it—” he started.
“Yours?” she cut in. “Yes.”
He shut his mouth. The answer settled heavy in his chest. He let his gaze drop to her hands. Her fingers had found the edge of her jacket and were pinching and smoothing the same spot over and over.
“What do you want to do?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I really don’t know.”
He heard how tired that sounded and didn’t push past it. Instead he tightened his arm around her and pulled her closer. She shifted, turning enough to rest her head against his shoulder. The side of her face was cool where it met his neck. He could feel the small movements of her breathing through all the fabric between them.
“Well,” he said quietly, eyes still on the test, “whatever you want to do, I got you.”
She stayed there a beat, then he felt the muscles in her shoulders loosen a little. “I know,” she said.
They let the silence come in after that. There was nothing else that needed saying right then. Cars passed on the interstate, a steady ribbon of sound under everything. A piece of trash skated across the lot and tangled itself near the fence, then stopped.
Saul kept his arm around Ava and looked at the plastic in his hand. The two lines in the window stayed fixed, thin and bright in the dim light from the storefronts. His stomach tightened and rolled, nerves bubbling there in a slow, restless way while he stared down at the test and held her closer against his side.
~~~
Mireya sat on the low stool in front of the mirror, shoulders tipped forward so Jaslene could get to her face. The dressing room was all hard light and clutter. Open makeup bags. A blow dryer tossed on its side. Somebody’s half-finished plate of wings going cold on the counter. The AC pushed a faint chill, but the room still held body warmth and layers of perfume.
“Stop moving, nena,” Jaslene said, one hand cupped under Mireya’s chin. “You gonna have one eyebrow all the way in the Gulf.”
Mireya huffed through her nose and tried to keep still. Her phone sat in her hand out in front of her, thumb hovering over the screen. The text thread took up the whole display, blue and gray bubbles stacked tight.
Jaslene glanced down, brush pausing. “Texting that gringo?”
Mireya rolled her eyes, careful not to move her forehead. “You gotta stop calling him that.”
“Why?” Jaslene leaned back just enough to twist at the waist. “Bianca.” Her voice carried across the room. “If she’s talking to a white boy, you think I should stop calling him a white boy?”
Bianca sat on the other side of them, legs crossed at the ankle, cash spread in a fan on the vanity in front of her. She didn’t bother looking up from the stacks, nails clicking soft as she broke a band.
“He a white boy,” Bianca said.
Mireya sucked her teeth. “Bitch.”
Jaslene snorted, going back to work. “Hold still, mami.” The tip of the brush traced highlighter across Mireya’s cheekbone, catching the cold light.
The phone buzzed in Mireya’s hand. Another message rolled in over the thread.
Boogie: you working?
Her face stayed still. Her thumb tapped back, quick.
yeah
The dots popped up almost right away.
Boogie: bet. i’m here. i want a dance
She held the phone out so Jaslene could see the screen.
“Oh, one of your favoritos,” Jaslene’s mouth pulled into a grin, though she kept her wrist steady. “Let me know if he wants the Sol y Luna treatment.”
“He ain’t got that kind of money,” Mireya said.
“We can give him a discount just for us,” Jaslene said.
Bianca shook her head, lips tugging. “Y’all wrong.”
Jaslene flicked a finger under Mireya’s chin to straighten her face. “Tal vez.”
Mireya let her mouth tip up, small. “Hurry up.”
“Done.” Jaslene stepped back, studying her work. She tapped Mireya’s jaw once. “You good.”
Mireya locked her phone, set it down in the corner of the mirror where her lashes case sat, and pushed up from the stool. The robe slid over her shoulders when she stood, silk shifting against skin before it settled. She tied it loose at the waist and checked herself once in the mirror. Eyes sharp. Lips lined.
Mireya pushed the dressing room door with her hip and stepped out into the short hallway. Sound hit first. Bass on the other side of the wall, low and steady.
She walked out onto the floor, eyes adjusting to the light. Reds, deep blues, the occasional white flash.
Her gaze moved across the space as she walked. The main stage down the middle, men crowded at the rail. Smaller platforms in the corners. Booths tucked into shadow along the walls. She caught a nod from Liana coming off a set.
Back of the room.
She cut between tables, sidestepping a hand that came up with crumpled ones and a slurred “Lemme get you next, baby.” The robe flashed enough skin when she moved that eyes followed her, but she didn’t break stride.
Boogie sat in a booth near the back wall, shoulders loose, drink in one hand. Dez sat inside the booth, back in the corner, one arm stretched along the top. Light from the stage reached them in sweeps, touching their faces, sliding away, coming back.
Mireya didn’t slow. She came right up to Boogie and slid onto his lap, smooth and practiced, one knee dropping between his legs, the silk of her robe parting a little higher.
“Hola, papi,” she said, voice warm in his ear. “You were looking for me?”
Boogie’s grin showed quick. His free hand went straight to the belt of her robe. He tugged it up, then aside, pulling the edge open so he could look down at her body. His gaze swept over her, slow, from her chest down to her thighs and back up to her face.
“Shit yeah,” he said. “You know you my favorite one in here. I don’t even go to them Bourbon Street clubs no more.”
She let her weight settle so he felt all of her, one arm hooking behind his neck. The bass from the speakers under the booth thrummed through them both.
Her eyes cut over to Dez.
He sat with his glass near his mouth, eyes on her. He didn’t say anything.
“I haven’t been seeing you around,” she said to Boogie, though she was still looking at Dez when she said it. “You been busy?”
Boogie shifted under her, attention still locked on her. “At Trell’s?” he said. “Man, that nigga got me doing some lil’ nigga shit. Watching bitches bag the work and shit.”
“Man, shut the fuck up, nigga,” Dez said. His voice cut in low, a quick edge under it.
Boogie didn’t look his way. “Nah, nigga. You shut your pussy ass up.” His chin tipped just enough toward Dez, hand still on Mireya’s robe. “You acting like she don’t know what we do. She be at the fucking trap.”
Mireya turned her face toward Dez, eyes finding his. “I know how to keep a secret, baby.”
Dez shook his head once and took a long sip from his drink instead of answering. Ice hit glass with a small tap.
Boogie sucked his teeth. “Don’t worry about that lame ass nigga,” he said, mouth pulling into a half smile. “He just sad he got demoted, too.”
His fingers hooked the belt of her robe and gave it a sharp tug. The knot slipped, and the fabric fell open down the middle, framing skin instead of covering it. Cooler air brushed across her stomach and thighs. She didn’t adjust it.
“So, you got me for that dance?” he asked.
Mireya slid her hand up the side of his neck, nails grazing his skin light. “As long as you got the money, papi.”
Boogie’s eyes dropped to her mouth, then back up. He smiled, easy and sure. “I definitely got the money.”
He shifted her off his lap, hands firm at her hips as he set her back on her feet. The robe moved with her. She let it stay that way. His eyes followed, same as before.
She tipped her head toward the back hallway where the VIP rooms sat behind a curtain. “Come on.”
Boogie pushed himself out of the booth, finishing his drink in one swallow and setting the glass on the table. Dez moved his arm just enough to let him slide past, still in the corner.
Mireya looked back at Dez, one hand on the end of the table for balance. “You want one after?” she asked. “I got time.”
Dez’s eyes met hers, steady, something softer under it. “Nah,” he said. “I ain’t trying to make you do all that.”
She raised an eyebrow at him, the corner of her mouth tugging. “Alright then. Let me know if you change your mind, papi.”
He shook his head once and brought the glass back to his lips.
Mireya turned away and walked to catch up with Boogie. He didn’t wait long, just enough for her to reach him before he started toward the back. His arm slid around her waist, hand resting low at her hip, fingers pressing into the silk.
They moved together toward the VIP section, bass rolling under their feet.
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redsox907
- Posts: 3082
- Joined: 01 Jun 2025, 12:40
American Sun
Laney wants her cake and too eat it too
Ramon and the boys caught up in Alabama spells trouble imo
Saul got a baby lmao was wondering when he’d pop back up
Boogie bout to spill all the tea to Mireya while getting slurped. Wonder if Dez figured out that they got demoted after taking to Mireya hmm
Ramon and the boys caught up in Alabama spells trouble imo
Saul got a baby lmao was wondering when he’d pop back up
Boogie bout to spill all the tea to Mireya while getting slurped. Wonder if Dez figured out that they got demoted after taking to Mireya hmm
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 12947
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
American Sun
You say her husband beats her so she wants to stay with that?redsox907 wrote: ↑07 Dec 2025, 17:26Laney wants her cake and too eat it too
Ramon and the boys caught up in Alabama spells trouble imo
Saul got a baby lmao was wondering when he’d pop back up
Boogie bout to spill all the tea to Mireya while getting slurped. Wonder if Dez figured out that they got demoted after taking to Mireya hmm
They're going to Atlanta, slime.
He just been out there fucking and look where he ended up
Boogie ain't about to do no pillow talk. Dez might've had something else in his eyes.
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 12947
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47