Dale Denton | The Legacy | Rookie Year

[YaBoyRobRoy]

Of fucking course it’s Miami lmao. Rip Soapy

[The JZA]

Chapter VII: Snakes In The Grass, Ibis On The Platter

Since New York, Layla had been glued to Dale like she was afraid the world might swallow him if she blinked too long. Every flight, every practice, every game—if Dale was there, she wasn’t far behind. Part of it was fear, sure, the kind that never really leaves you once you’ve tasted it. But most of it was love. The kind that made the air feel lighter when he was near. He even got her into working out more seriously. Dale was her calm in the chaos, her soft place after all the storms. And for him, she was the same.

But the season didn’t wait for nobody, not even the reigning king. Dale and the Longhorns had business in Atlanta—national stage, bright lights, Miami Hurricanes.

Belts were in hands and asses were needed.

Layla wanted to be there, but part of her needed something different. Needed home, even if home didn’t feel like one anymore. Dale wasn’t thrilled about it, but he got it. So that Wednesday night, he pressed a kiss against her forehead before loading her into a black Uber, the city lights flashing across the window as they pulled off.

“Text me soon as you get in,” he said.

“I will,” she promised.

When the car stopped in front of her building, Layla sat for a second, staring up at the concrete tower that used to be her sanctuary. The air felt colder here, heavier. She took a deep breath, clutching her tote as she stepped out.

Inside, the lobby was too quiet. The hum of a single fluorescent light overhead buzzed like a trapped bee. She checked her mailbox—junk mail, bills, more bills.

Normal, almost comforting.

She stuffed them in her bag, texted Dale of her arrival and walked toward the elevator, the soles of her boots echoing through the silence.

When the elevator doors slid open on her floor, something in the air shifted. The hallway felt wrong—too still. The usual sounds of life—TVs, laughter, someone arguing through thin walls—were gone. She could almost hear her heartbeat. Each step toward her door felt heavier than the last.

Her key hesitated in the lock. She could feel something on the other side.

Energy. Memory. Ghosts.

When she pushed the door open, the sight hit her like a punch.

Her apartment was wrecked.

Couch cushions ripped open, feathers littering the floor like snow. Table flipped. TV cracked down the middle. Glass glittered across the floor in jagged constellations. The smell of dust and old fear hung in the air. Layla’s breath hitched. The room blurred as flashes came back—Dom’s voice, rough and venomous, spitting words meant to break her spirit. The sound of something crashing. The weight of his shadow across her face.

She knelt by the entertainment stand, her trembling fingers tracing the broken pieces of a ceramic urn. Her grandmother’s ashes had been inside. Now, just dust and fragments.

She didn’t hear the footsteps behind her.

“Girl, where the hell have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you!”

Layla flinched hard, spinning around with a sharp gasp. A jagged shard of the urn was still clutched in her hand, ready to strike. But when she saw who it was, the fight drained out of her.

“Zara…” she breathed, her voice hollow. “Girl, don't scare me like that… I didn’t expect you to be here.”

"I just walked in the building as I saw you catching the elevator." Zara took in the chaotic scene with a disgusted sneer, hands on her hips. "Fucking hell, Layla. Look at this mess! What they hell happened here?"

Zara stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, eyes wide as they swept over the destruction. “Fucking hell, Layla. Look at this mess! What happened?”

“I’ve been with Dale,” Layla muttered, still dazed. “I just had to get away… from all this.” She gestured around at the wreckage, her hand trembling.

Zara’s expression hardened, her mouth twisting. “Don’t tell me Dom was here.” She sucked her teeth, fury flashing in her eyes. “I swear to God, if I ever get my hands on that waste of oxygen, I’ll make him regret ever breathing the same air as you.” But deep down, Zara already knew. She’d known about Dom showing up, about the mess between them. Knew how close Layla had come to slipping back under his spell. She wasn’t mad at her friend for it—just scared for her.

Layla moved on autopilot, setting her bag down and heading for the kitchen. She came back with a broom and dustpan, kneeling to start sweeping up the shards.

Zara broke the silence. “You should know… cops been snooping around looking for him, again.”

Layla froze mid-sweep, the handle tight in her hands. “What? They actually doing something or just trying to meet quota?” Her voice cracked, questions spilling out faster than breath. “Did they find anything? Know anything?”

Zara sighed, trying to soften her tone as she shook her head. “I honestly know nothing. I heard some hearsay from some of the boys, but I’ll keep you posted, Layla. You know I got your back.” She didn’t add that the cops weren’t really looking. Not like they should be. Too many people preferred not to get involved when it came to Dom. “But real talk,” Zara said, her voice sharpening, “why risk coming back here alone? You know better than that.”

Layla leaned against the wall, exhaling a breath that trembled on the way out. “I don’t know, Zar’. Maybe I just needed to face it. Prove I’m not scared anymore. I can’t keep letting him own the air in my lungs.” She straightened, her eyes hard now. “This is my home. I’m done running.”

Zara nodded slowly, a faint smile touching her lips. “You got heart, girl. I’ll give you that. But don’t get too comfortable. That mother fucka' ain’t never been wrapped too tight.” She took the broom from Layla’s hands. “Why don’t you let me handle this? Go grab us two glasses and that coconut Moscato I like. Let’s forget about this fool for a minute.”

Layla hesitated, then gave a tired laugh, throwing her hands up in surrender. “Alright, boss babe.”

A couple minutes later, she came back with two glasses and a chilled bottle, pouring until the Moscato shimmered under the dim living room light. She handed one to Zara.

“So,” Zara said, smirking as she took a sip, “tell me about your little escapades with your new ting. Hope he’s throwing you dick like he throws that football.”

Layla choked on her drink, face heating up instantly. “Zara!” she laughed, blushing so hard it glowed through the dim.

Zara grinned wide, swirling her glass. “What? I’m just saying, girl—you glowing different.”

For the first time since she’d stepped foot back into that broken apartment, Layla laughed. Really laughed. The sound was shaky at first, but real. The room was still a mess. The ghosts were still there. But for that moment, with wine in hand and Zara by her side, Layla let herself breathe again. And maybe, just maybe, that was the start of taking her peace back.


———————————————————————————————————————————


Late Thursday night... San Antonio slept under a blanket chill of the night skies, but inside Dom’s apartment, the air was thick with smoke and sin. The room was dark except for the blue TV light bouncing off the glass sliding door that framed the skyline. Kush burned slow between his fingers, its haze hanging like a ghost above his head. Dom was sunk deep into the leather couch, black tank top exposing his midriff, his gold chain catching the flicker of the screen. The TV mumbled low, barely audible under the wet rhythm coming from between his legs.

Zara was down there, going to work like she had something to prove.

He exhaled smoke, eyes half-closed, voice low and gravelly. “Damn… just like that,” he murmured, a lazy smirk curling his lips. “Always knew that mouth was good for more than talkin’ shit.”

Zara pulled off with a slick pop, wiping her mouth. Her eyes cut up at him sharp and bold. “Don’t flatter yourself, Dom. This don’t mean shit. You still got that washed-up OnlyFans skank living rent-free in your head.”

He laughed under his breath, the sound cold and humorless. “Layla?” he said, leaning forward to ash the blunt. “She just a paycheck that forgot where she came from. You, though? You held it down when I was inside.” He dragged on the blunt again, the smoke curling like a smirk. “But don’t get it twisted—she mine. Always have been, always will be. She just need remindin’.. Unless you're jealous.”

Zara’s face twisted in disgust, but before she could speak, the TV cut through the tension.

ESPNU was showcasing the covering the upcoming national championship game that had aired earlier in the day. Texas vs. Miami. Highlights shifted between both team's best players and greatest moments as both analysts sift through the details. And there he was.

Dale Denton. Texas's savior, the 3-time Heisman winner, looking to become a 3-time NCAA college football champion.

Dom’s smile faded. His jaw tightened. That was the same dude he’d brushed past outside Layla’s building—the golden boy. Everything clicked. Zara noticed the shift, the way his eyes narrowed like he was lining up a target. “That’s him,” she said with a hint of a grin. “Layla’s man. The one you can’t touch. Boy’s a star, Dom. He ain’t like you. He loves her for real.”

Dom’s gaze never left the screen. His voice dropped low, dangerous. “Shut the fuck up and blow this dick.”

Zara rolled her eyes but went quiet.

Dom leaned back, blunt glowing like a fuse between his fingers. On the TV, Dale was showing raising the orange bowl trophy, smiling under stadium lights. Dom’s lip curled. “Pretty boy quarterback think he bulletproof,” he muttered, the smoke swirling from his mouth like a promise. “We’ll see...”


———————————————————————————————————————————


Monday night in Atlanta, the air inside Mercedes-Benz Stadium was thick enough to chew on. Every seat filled, every fan draped in burnt orange or hurricane green. The lights blazed down on the turf like judgment day — bright, merciless, electric.

This was it. The stage. The grand finale.

The locker room for the Texas Longhorns sat in eerie quiet, like the calm before an ambush. Shoulder pads creaked. Gloves snapped. Heartbeats thudded against rib cages. Some boys prayed. Some sat still, lost in their own storm.

Dale Denton sat dead center, elbows on his knees, head low, “Sage Infinite — Rendezvous With Destiny” blasting in his headphones. His eyes were closed, but his mind was moving — flashes of every sacrifice, every rep, every doubt turned into fuel.

His phone buzzed.

Pop: “We here, son in the Skybox, place is electric. Can't wait to see the biggest show you've put on yet.”

A ghost of a smile crept across his face.

Then Coach Mike Elko stepped in. No clipboard. No playbook. Just purpose. He scanned the room, his voice low but cutting through the silence like a blade.

“Gentlemen, you all know why we're here. Set before us one more challenge, one more game. For some of you, this is your first time playing on the grandest stage. For others, you've been here before. And for all of you, this may be your last. Without a doubt, you all need to play like it is your last. The Miami Hurricanes did their job in giving you all a easy target to pick apart. We've did it with every team before them, let's do it again. ”

He paced slow, steady, letting every word hit bone.

“Now, I'm proud of you all no matter how this game cuts, but do not let our efforts this season go to waste. When we hit that field, we pour 1000% of everything we have into every play, and we take what's ours! When they said we couldn't break the curse and become SEC champions? We did we do? We stepped up. Sugar bowl? We stepped up. Orange bowl? We stepped up. Now... After 25 years of not being crowed national champion, you all have one more job to do. Step. Up. One. More. Time.”

While the team rallied, Dale could sense how halfhearted the locker room was.

Dale’s eyes snapped open. He ripped his headphones off and stood tall, the captain in him taking over.

“Nah, nah, nah... We not going nowhere until all y'all asses light a fire under y'all bellies. You heard what coach said, we need to play like it's our last, cause for some one us, including me, it's our final hour.”

The room looked up.

“Whatever noise that's out there, waiting for us, block that shit out! Whatever jitters you got, shake all of that out. Cause once we step out there, it's Longhorns football and nothing less. Do not force my hand to take this game over.”

He paced like a general about to send his soldiers to war.

“I need all of you. From starters to back ups, from coaches to towel and water boys, I need all of y'all. This game right here is what legacies are built on. We're all standing inside the mecca of our football dreams. Some of us will go onto the NFL and do great things, some of us will turn to being football coaches. Some of us will hang it up. Whichever the fork road lead us, we leave this path as champions. WE! LEAVE! AS! LEGENDS!”

His words sparked the room like jumper cables on a dead battery.

“Horns up high,” Dale shouted, hand raised. “Texas on three. One… two… three—”

“TEXAS!!”

The roar hit the walls, shook the lockers, and spilled out the tunnel. Pads clapped. Cleats scraped. The Longhorns stampeded out like a wave of fire. Only two remained — Dale and Coach Elko.

Elko stared at his quarterback with a pride that went deeper than football. He extended his hand. “When they call your name in Canton, make sure I’m there to see it.”

Dale gripped his hand tight, eyes locked. “Canton can wait. Tonight, we eat at Natty’s.” He strapped on his helmet, the visor gleaming under the locker room light. “See you at the fifty after the fourth,” he said with that trademark Denton smirk.

Coach Elko clapped his shoulder once. “Let’s show ’em what Texas football really look like, son.”

As Dale turned toward the tunnel, the crowd outside began to swell — a sound like thunder rolling in.

It was time for the final act...

[The JZA]

Oh damn. The Soapy/Miami punishment continues.

Of fucking course it’s Miami lmao. Rip Soapy

Captain Canada, YaBoyRobRoy, Y'all boys know what time it is...

[Soapy]

Oh damn. The Soapy/Miami punishment continues.

Of fucking course it’s Miami lmao. Rip Soapy

Captain Canada, YaBoyRobRoy, Y'all boys know what time it is...

ON NATIONS WE SPANKING SHIT THIS TIME!



TRIPUCKA!

[James]

Dale Denton about to BTA

[The JZA]

Oh damn. The Soapy/Miami punishment continues.

Of fucking course it’s Miami lmao. Rip Soapy

Captain Canada, YaBoyRobRoy, Y'all boys know what time it is...

ON NATIONS WE SPANKING SHIT THIS TIME!



TRIPUCKA!

Soapy, Over or under

Dale Denton about to BTA

James, Big James favoring Texas over Miami!!

[The JZA]

[Captain Canada]

Should stream it

[Soapy]

PUT ME IN COACH!

[redsox907]

Hurricanes, Raising Canes, Chicken Lo Mein

Dale Denton in 5