Chapter I: The Tale Of Mr. Snozzberry Pt.1
Life moved for Dale Denton like seasons in fast-forward, no breaks, no pause button. One minute he’s hoisting the 2030 CFP trophy under a rain of confetti in Atlanta, next he’s ripping through drills at the NFL Combine like he was born in sprint spikes and power bands. Then came draft night in Miami—spotlights, cameras, flashing lights like he stepped onto a movie set. Fourth overall pick. Buffalo Bills. History rewritten in real time.
All that, and still—Dale Denton remained that same kid from the block, hungry, grounded, built from the heated grit and cold winters of East Harlem.
The NIL checks and draft bonus stacked heavy enough to scare a middle-man, but instead of flexing, he secured a loft—clean two-bedroom between Allentown and Willert Park. Just twelve miles north of Highmark Stadium. Close enough to breathe team air, far enough for peace. Buffalo cold hit different, but it was home in its own way.
After settling in, the tug of real home pulled him south. He returned to the city—A.K., the projects that raised him. The minute he stepped in, he smelled that familiar blend of detergent, cold steel, and everything good about childhood. But instead of Sharnell, Mark was the one sitting on the couch like a man caught in the wrong seat at the wrong time.
“Hey old man, what’s up? What you doing here?” Dale said, voice half-laugh, half-question as Mark rose. Big grin, arms open.
“Damn… look who decided to grace us with his presence!” Mark wrapped him up in a hug that felt like home and apology and pride all pressed together. “Look at you cooling in that red, white, and blue,” Mark said, stepping back to take him in. “About time you get up out that burnt orange.” He joked. "But ain't nothing, I'm just chilling..." Mark walks past Dale into the kitchen, grabbing two beers casually, tossing one to Dale.
Dale cocks a brow. "Chilling, on enemies' territory?" He shakes his head after catching the beer. "You not adding up old man, you ain't gotta B.S. me. Speaking of which, where Mom's at? She stepped out?" Dale asked as he cracks open the beer, taking a seat on the couch next to Mark.
"Yeah, she went to the grocery store to pick up a few things for dinner tonight." Mark leans back, taking a swig of his beer, the alcohol loosening up his lips. "But aight, I'm caught red-handed, I ain't here to chill... Truthfully, me and your moms been talking more, working things out, getting more cordial." Mark shifts in his seat, turning to face Dale. "Could be a chance that we might get back together."
"What?" Dale says in a high pitch, surprised at Sharnell's resentment towards Mark crumbling. "No way man, get out of here." He chuckled. "Y'all really trying to make it work after all these years of no communication and separation? Getting lonely down there in the Carolinas, huh?" Dale nudged and teased.
Mark chuckles and playfully pushes Dale's back. "Watch your mouth, boy. You ain't too old to be taken over the knee!" Mark smiled. "I ain't gettin' lonely nowhere! A man's got needs though, I won't lie. But for real, it ain't about that... Your mother and I, we got history. Good times and bad. We been reminiscing, talking 'bout old times..." His expression softens. "Life's too short for grudges and what-ifs, ya know? I fucked up royally in the past, but I ain't the same man I used to be. I wanna make things right, build bridges instead of walls." He looks at Dale earnestly. "You think your old man can't change, grow, and do better?"
"Initially? No." Dale takes another swig. "I thought my time in South Carolina with you was a one-year deal, straight in and out. But then I realized the summer down there was just too damn long and I wasn't going nowhere. "Dale finishes off his beer before continuing. "But over time, you did more than just gave me something to do and put a football back in my hands. You showed me first hand that you wanted to be a father and that when the opportunity had arise, you weren't going to let it slip by you after you ran away from it. So no, I didn't believe at first, but you definitely won me over." Dale nodded. "I'm just more surprised that you penetrated Mom's defenses. She wanted absolutely nothing to do with you at one point and now y'all all buddy-buddy."
Mark takes a deep swig of his beer, considering Dale's words carefully. "Penetrating her defenses took time, patience, and a lot of groveling on my part, I ain't gonna lie. "He chuckles ruefully." But your mother, she's a smart woman. She knows I've changed, that I'm genuinely sorry for the past." He leans forward, elbows on knees, staring at the bottle label. "I started small, reaching out, showing I cared from afar. Flowers on birthdays, calls on holidays, supporting you and her silently. Slowly but surely, I chipped away at that wall she built up." Mark glances at Dale sideways. "Your mama, she's got a heart of gold underneath that tough exterior. Takes time to melt the ice, but once it does..." He grins. "Boom! Faster than a Hail Mary pass."
"Only problem with that is, you ain't fast enough to catch your own passes, so don't throw further than you should this time." Dale fist bump Mark's knee as he stood up to discard his bottle. Just as he was halfway to the kitchen, keys started playing at the door. To surprise Sharnell, Dale opened the door for her, standing before her with a big smile.
"Well, well, well... look what the cat dragged in." She steps forward with a fond smile, pulling Dale into a warm embrace that speaks of years of familiarity and love. "Thought I taught you better than to go answering doors without knowing who's on the other side, boy." Despite her scolding tone, her arms remain wrapped snugly around him with the other bag in her free hand.
Dale takes the bag from her as she released him, letting her pass by. "And I thought I told you to never carry your own bags while you got a man in the house." Dale shot a look at Sharnell like two can play that game.
Sharnell shoots Dale a playful glare as she slips off her coat and hangs it up. "Well excuse me, Mr. Big Shot Quarterback, for not immediately recognizing your royal highness had deigned to grace us with his presence. Some of us mere mortals still have chores to attend to." She grabs a few items from the bag Dale set down. Over her shoulder, she adds, "And since when do you tell your mother what to do, hmm? Last I checked, these streets still run through me."
Dale throws his hands up in surrender. "My bad O.G., I didn't know you were still hugging the block like that still." Dale leans in over Sharnell's shoulder, speaking conspiratorially low. "But I heard the stories, the streets been talking, you gone soft." Dale smiled. "What's this I hear that you and Pops putting y'all beef aside for coffee and bagels in the mornings."
Sharnell stops in the middle of her unbagging, spinning around to face Dale with a mix of shock and amusement on her face. "Boy, you must've hit your head somewhere if you think I've gone soft." She plants a hand on her hip, leaning in close to Dale. "Coffee and bagels are just a start, a small olive branch if you will. That man's still got a lot of making up to do before I let him think everything's sweet." She taps Dale's nose playfully. "And who told you about that hmmm? Them loose lips gon' sink ships, you hear?" She turns back to put away the groceries after giving Mark the look. "But since you seem to know everything already, yes, your daddy and I are working on being civil. Doesn't mean I'm about to go easy on him."
Mark chimes in, sauntering into the kitchen. "Aw c'mon now baby, don't be like that. We're just trying to turn a new page here." He wraps an arm around Sharnell's waist, pulling her gently against his side as he flashes Dale a cheeky grin. "Besides, even the toughest streets need a little tender lovin' care sometimes. Ain't that right, son?"
Dale throws up his hands again. "Hey, don't put me in that. I don't know how y'all got down in the 1800's. But, I am happy to see y'all not at each other's throats anymore." Dale folded his arm, leaning against the refrigerator. "So what's on the menu tonight?"
Mark releases Sharnell from his embrace and claps his hands together. "Aight, since the prodigal son hath returned, I say we break out the good stuff! Whaddya say we bust out some steaks, maybe whip up a little of that famous Denton coleslaw? Make this a real family affair!"
Sharnell rolls eyes and smacks Mark's arm. "Ugh, steak and coleslaw? Really? I was thinking baked lemon herb chicken, roasted vegetables, and a nice quinoa salad. Something healthy and balanced, not all that red meat nonsense."
Dale nods at Sharnell's recommendation. "Not gonna hold you, old man, but I didn't eat ramen for 5 years just to come back home and eat coleslaw. I'ma have to be the vote that sways to lemon herb chicken."
Mark pouts playfully at Dale's betrayal. "Wow, throwing your old man under the bus like that? I see how it is." He looks at Sharnell with mock hurt. "And here I thought we had something special, Dale. Guess even blood isn't thicker than lean chicken. "He chuckles and shakes his head." But aight, I respect the game. Lemon herb chicken it is." Turning to Sharnell with a grin, he offers, "Need any help in the kitchen, beautiful? Might as well make myself useful, yeah?"
Sharnell raises an eyebrow at Mark's offer, pausing, "Help in the kitchen? You? Since when do you know your way around a recipe beyond microwave popcorn and frozen pizza?"
Mark holds his hands up defensively. Ouch, low blow, Sharnell. I've picked up a few tricks over the years. Can't expect a grown-ass man to survive on takeout alone."
Dale then sides with Mark."This point goes to Pops, he can actually throw down in the kitchen, Ma, as frail as he looks." Dale laughs, taking a jab at Mark.
Mark puffs out his chest, shooting Dale a triumphant grin. "Now you're speaking my language, son! See there? That's my boy!" He winks at Sharnell. "Told you this old dog still had some tricks up his sleeve. Just wait till you taste my famous lemon butter garlic sauce. It's a panty dropper, if I do say so myself." He glances at Dale, jerking his thumb towards the living room. "And you, go keep yourself occupied elsewhere, boy. Ain't room for three in this kitchen." He gives a slick smirk.
"Uh huh..." Dale rolled his eyes as he leaned off the fridge. "Y'all keep it PG in here. I'd like for us to eat tonight and not be on the eyewitness news."
Dale drifted out the kitchen like a ghost sliding between worlds, leaving his parents behind with all that clatter, laughter, pots hitting stovetops, forks scraping plates. His old room sat at the end of the hall like a memory he wasn’t sure he wanted to open. The door creaked on the same tired hinge, and even the air inside smelled like who he used to be. Posters still on the walls, old trophies collecting dust, his football pads sagging in the closet’s corner like dead armor. Everything neat, untouched — too neat. That kind of clean where you know ain’t nobody been in there except to do the bare minimum. The floorboards groaned under him, louder than he remembered, a reminder the room aged without him. Dale flopped onto the bed, sinking into that old mattress that still dipped in the middle where he used to crash after late-night studies.
He checked his phone — two missed texts from Layla.
He hit call and it wasn't long before she picked up after the second ring.
“Hey babe. Please tell me you found a place up in Buffalo already?”
Dale smirked, wiping a hand across his face. “Damn… no ‘how are you?, no ‘I missed you’? Straight to business, huh?” He teased, knowing her impatience had always been a part of her charm — the kind that made you either kiss her or choke her.
Layla sighed loud enough he pictured her rolling her eyes. “Okay, okay… hi honey, I missed you like crazy, but I’m anxious as hell waiting to hear if you found a place to crash up there. Happy now?” He could hear her flopping back on her bed, sheets ruffling. “Seriously though, how’s the hunt going? Did you find somewhere decent or am I gonna be worried sick about us sleeping in some sketchy-ass motel in Hicksville up there? And before you ask — yes, I’m doing alright. Same ol’, same ol’. Just counting the days till I see your gorgeous face again and you drag us out of Texas.”
Dale chuckled. “Annnnd the Emmy for ‘Best Agitated Actress’ goes to… Layla Ayari!” He clapped dramatically. “Girl, you make it look easy. What’s your secret?”
He leaned back on the bed, grin lingering until he finally toned down. “But jokes aside? Yeah. I found us something. Agent hooked me up with some good spots. Ended up locking down a two-bedroom loft. White walls. Big ass windows. Walk-in closets, marble showers, industrial ceilings. Fitness room. Theater room. Rooftop terrace with a dog park. Real high-end shit. Swanky as hell. Perfect spot for us monkeys to fuck it up.”
Layla’s squeal damn near blew out the speaker. “OH MY GOD! Dale — that sounds — absolutely — AMAZING! You’re joking, right? Tell me you’re not playing with me… because I will climb through this phone and choke you out if you are.”
“Nope,” Dale said with a lazy grin. “Real deal.”
She went off like fireworks. “A rooftop terrace with a dog park? Babe, I can see it already — you and me up there after a long day, wine in hand, watching the sunset—” She paused, biting that lip he knew too well. “And walk-in closets? Honey… my shoe collection finally got a kingdom.” Her voice softened. “Send pictures. I gotta see what my future looks like.”
Then the shift — softer, rawer.
“You know… I was worried, Dale. About leaving everything I know behind.”
“Worried?” Dale scoffed lightly. “You sound more hyped about claiming the place than I do. If you can make rent, I ain’t complaining.” He smirked, warmth lighting up his chest at her excitement. “But yeah… I’m glad you’re happy. Just — breathe, babe. Simmer down.”
Layla laughed, that smooth, rich laugh that still did something to him. “Oh hush. You know what I meant. I’m just excited about this chapter. About us.” Her voice dipped lower. “And trust me, baby, you’re not getting rid of me. I’m gonna make you never wanna leave that loft. Waking up next to you every morning… breakfast, outfits, dumb little everyday shit… just being normal. No hiding. No secrets. Just us against the world.”
She hesitated. “You… want that too, right? I know I’m getting ahead of myself but—”
“But nothing,” Dale cut her off. He sat up, moving toward the window, staring down at traffic humming over the FDR like heartbeat rhythms. “I want what you want. We didn’t come this far to end up living separate or drifting apart. Block all that noise out. You met my parents — next step is seeing how our lives look next to each other every damn day. None of that 50/50 shit. It’s 100/100. Twenty toes. Twenty fingers. Two hearts. Two minds. That’s it.”
Layla inhaled sharply, like he’d punched the air out her lungs — in a good way. “Damn… you really said that,” she whispered. “I want that, more than anything. All of you, all the time. Your chaos, your calm, your dreams, your fears - I want to be right there beside you through it all... everything” He heard her sniffle and laugh softly. “Guess that means you’re stuck with me in our own world.”
Then — “Wait… does this mean I finally get to meet your teammates?!”
Dale blinked. “… What? Meet my teammates? Girl, hell no. Only teammate your ass is meeting is my foot. Fuck you mean?!” He burst out laughing.
Layla cackled. “Mmmhmm, I see how it is, Mr. Insecure.” He could almost see her smirk. “You forget I’m still a fan of the game. Or you scared your little porn star still got that star power? Think the boys might remember me too well?”
“Yeah, whatever.” Dale rolled his eyes. “All I know is you ain’t no Buffalo fan. Shit, I ain’t even a Buffalo fan.”
She snorts and shakes her head. "Wow, real mature, Dale. Trying to change the subject by talking trash about my hypothetical fan status? Typical athlete, all brawn no brain." She smirks deviously. "But you're right about one thing - I'm definitely not a Bills fan. In fact, maybe I should start a petition among the cheerleaders to get them to give you all the cold shoulder when you score. See how you like that icy reception, mister."
"Shit, you doing me a favor having them turn around and giving me something to look at. Be careful, they might just show you up." Dale slickly rebutted.
She breathed mischief. “Besides, those girls could never compete with me. I been in the game too long. They’d be drooling and taking notes by nightfall. I’d have ‘em starstruck.”
“There she go. That egotistical Nadia Starr activated,” Dale laughed — but before he could keep it going—
“Dale!” His Mom shouted from the kitchen. “Could you get the door please?!”
Dale sighed. “Hey, I gotta go. Somebody at the door. Probably one of Ma’s nosy-ass neighbors. We’ll talk when I get back to Texas. My flight’s tomorrow morning.”
“Alright babe. Tell Mama Denton I said hi. Love you. Take care.”
“Love you more. Later.”
Dale slid off the window sill, leaving his room behind. “You expecting someone, Ma?”
“No,” she called back. “Check who it is.”
Second knock hit. Dale opened the door, and the world slowed.
Keisha Harrington.
She stood there like a ghost with an attitude — arms crossed, eyes locked, daring. Chocolate skin flawless, lips full, hair styled in a sleek comb-over bob that made her look like Maia Campbell, if she had short hair, back when she still looked like she had the world at her feet. Dale’s eyes raked over her out of reflex… then the disgust hit. The memory hit.
That video hit.
“Keisha…” Dale mustered through through old trauma depression.
“Hey, Dale. Long time, no see,” she said flat, no smile, no remorse, no warmth.
“What you want?” he snapped.
She tilted her chin, reaching to her side. “I wanted you to meet someone.” And then a little body stepped into view, tiny hand clutching her jeans.
“Your son...”
Makes sense
My mans gets it. Dale's a man of people! He's a smart kid that do dumb shit, but he ain't running from responsibilities. 
