Caine sat at the far end of the conference table, leaning back in his chair, one arm propped up on the armrest, the other flat on the table. Tatum sat to his left, one leg crossed over the other, his phone beside his elbow. Lincoln Riley leaned back in his chair across from them, one ankle over the opposite knee, his hands resting on the armrests. Kevin Hargrove stood at the head of the table with both hands gripping the back of his chair, his weight forward on them. Dana Whitfield sat two seats from Riley, her phone flat in her lap, her thumb still against the screen. Patricia Langford occupied the chair across from Whitfield with a folder closed in front of her, her posture straight against the seatback. Derek Ueda sat at the far corner, his arms on the table, his fingers laced together.
Tatum leaned forward and set his forearms against the wood. “Look, all of this was known when y’all offered a scholarship to Caine. He was on probation. It was cleared by your,” he pointed at Ueda, “office. I don’t even know what we’re sitting here discussing. He just won you a national championship.”
Langford’s chin came up. Her fingers spread flat on the folder in front of her. “I understand that we cleared it and I understand that you have to defend your client as his agent, but clearly this changes the math. No one knew about this two weeks ago.”
Riley’s voice came from across the table. “Caine’s not the only person on any of this university’s athletics rosters with a record.”
Caine snorted a laugh.
Hargrove pulled the chair out and lowered himself into it. “We’re not trying to be rash here at all, Caine, believe me. I just think we need to take a pause and decide the best course of action and how to manage this.”
“There isn’t time for a pause.” Tatum’s hands separated, one of them turning up on the table. “Caine has 48 hours to declare for the draft or enter the transfer portal. If you’re not going to back him then we’ll find a program that will.”
Whitfield looked up from her phone. “You can’t possibly be serious. You’re not going to hold us hostage here.”
“I’ve already been in touch with Ohio State, Michigan, Georgia, LSU, Texas and Oregon. We’ll have offers on the table by the end of the day. It’s not 1995. There is no downside to him simply leaving.”
Hargrove’s hand came off the armrest and rubbed across his jaw. Langford’s eyes went to Whitfield. Ueda’s fingers unlaced and relaced. Then every face in the room turned toward Caine.
He held a hand up. “I ain’t trying to force nobody hand but I need to know which way y’all going because we talking about my fucking career here.”
Riley leaned forward, his elbows finding his knees, his hands clasping in front of him. “Alright, let’s pump the brakes here. The facts are, we knew Caine had a record when we recruited him. We knew he was on probation. We knew he got that probation terminated early. By and large, he’s been the least problematic player on the roster. We had a kid get arrested in October for crashing his car with three drunk girls in the backseat if y’all don’t remember.”
Whitfield opened her mouth, but Tatum said, “Drunk white girls if I remember correctly.”
Whitfield’s head turned toward him. He tilted his head, one corner of his mouth pulling up.
“Just saying what my client would probably say.”
Langford set both hands flat on the folder in front of her and leaned forward over them. “We’re behind the fucking eight ball here. I think we need a little more give from you, Mr. Reese and Mr. Guerra.”
Tatum looked at Caine. Caine met his eyes for a beat and turned back to the table.
“I ain’t got no problem with that, but I need some backing here, too.”
Riley nodded once, his jaw working for a second before he spoke. “I’d prefer not to abruptly go looking for another quarterback.”
Ueda held his hands up from the far end of the table. “He cleared compliance. What he was charged with five years ago is irrelevant. We’re opening up a can of worms if we revoke that.”
Hargrove’s breath left him through his nose, his shoulders settling lower in the chair. He ran his hand over the back of his neck and looked at Whitfield. “Dana, how can we spin this?”
Whitfield shrugged. “I’ll have to go back to my office and think on that.” She looked at Tatum and Caine, her eyes moving between the two of them. “Do I have time to do that or will I get a notification that Caine’s entering the portal?”
“I gotta know something soon.”
Whitfield nodded.
Tatum pushed his chair back and stood, sliding his phone off the table and into his jacket pocket in one motion. “We’ll let y’all talk alone and decide which way you’re going with this.”
Caine stood and nodded to Coach Riley. Riley held the nod for a beat, his chin dipping once. Tatum was already at the door. Caine followed him out and the door closed behind them.
Riley drummed his fingers on the table. “Well, this is exactly how you celebrate a national championship.”
~~~
Autumn sat in the lounge chair by the pool, her head tipped back against the cushion, her eyes half closed.
She’d been staring at the same article on her phone for twenty minutes. Every time she scrolled past it another version of it appeared, the same photo of Caine cropped differently, the same court documents blown up and highlighted, the same quotes. She locked the screen and set the phone on her stomach.
The back door opened and closed. Garrison came across the deck, a mug of coffee in one hand. His shadow fell across the foot of her chair before the rest of him arrived. He leaned down and kissed her on the top of her head, his free hand landing on her shoulder for a second before he straightened and brought the mug to his mouth.
“You good?”
Autumn sighed and shook her head, her thumb pressing into the edge of the phone case. “You already know about that story about Caine.”
Garrison nodded. He pulled one of the patio chairs closer with his foot, the legs scraping against the stone, and sat down beside her. He set the mug on the arm of the chair and leaned back, one ankle crossing over the opposite knee. “Nothing worse than having your worst day dragged out into the public for some clicks and ad revenue.”
Autumn looked past him at the house. “I guess this is another example of people saying that the other shoe is always going to drop eventually.”
Garrison picked the mug back up and turned it in his hand. He took a sip and held it in front of him, the steam gone from it. “Baby, you’re dating a highly successful Black man who just won a championship and a Heisman. The scrutiny is going to be extreme unless he decides that he’s going to run for Senate as a Republican.”
Autumn snorted a laugh. “Are you going to try to convince me to stop dating him?”
Garrison shook his head. “I trust your decision making. He was charged with stealing cars and selling drugs, not beating women.” He looked at her. “Would I prefer he not have been doing that? Sure, but he was always honest about his past with us so I have to give him some credit for that.”
Autumn pulled her legs up and crossed them underneath her on the chair, turning her body toward him. The phone slid off her stomach and she caught it against her thigh. “What would you do with this?”
Garrison scratched his chin, his thumbnail dragging along the underside of his jaw. He squinted out across the pool, the light off the water pressing into his face, and took a long breath through his nose before he answered. “There’s not much you can do. The record is the record. People who are going to believe you are a monster already thought you were. People who can be swayed aren’t going to be swayed based on what you say. People who aren’t against you, aren’t.” His hand came off his chin and opened, palm up. “I’d still probably put out a statement to tell my side of the story.”
Autumn shook her head. “Caine’s too much of a hot head for that.”
Garrison’s eyebrow went up. “Probably why he got into the trouble that he did.”
Autumn sucked her teeth, her eyes dropping to the pool. “You’re not wrong.”
Garrison reached for the mug again and turned it once before he drank. He lowered it and rested it on his thigh, his eyes still on her. “Whenever he figures out what he’s doing, have his folks call me and I’ll help them figure out their talking points.”
She smiled. “Thank you, daddy.”
Garrison leaned forward, kissing her on top of the head again, his hand cupping the back of her head for a beat before he let it go. “You’re welcome, baby.”
~~~
Mireya sat on the couch with her legs folded underneath her. Alejandra was stretched across the loveseat on the other side of the room with one arm hanging off the edge, her fingers almost touching the carpet. Hayley sat cross-legged on the floor with her back against the base of the armchair. Jaslene had the armchair, her feet pulled up beneath her, a blanket draped over her legs that she’d pulled from the back of the couch when they sat down.
Mireya locked her phone and dropped it on the cushion beside her. “Y’all got no idea how fucking mad all of this shit is making me.”
Alejandra rolled her head on the armrest toward Mireya. “You just need to go get some dick, Mexicana. We got a private this weekend if you want to get back in.”
Jaslene looked over at Alejandra. “Ale, basta.”
Alejandra held her hands up from the loveseat.
Mireya waved the comment off, her hand cutting once through the air in front of her face. “The last thing I need to be doing is walking out of someone’s BnB and have some reporter popping out of the fucking bushes looking for me.”
“You’re right,” Jaslene said.
Mireya shook her head, her jaw tightening for a second. “I just don’t know why this is a fucking story now. I mean, I know. But the shit doesn’t even fucking matter.”
Hayley shifted her weight against the base of the armchair, pulling her mug off her knee and holding it between both hands. She blew across the surface and took a sip. “Can I ask you something, though?”
Mireya looked at her. “Yeah, whatever.”
“Why are you so angry about this if you’re not even with him? I mean, we’ve known you for damn near four years and you’ve never been with him.”
Mireya sucked her teeth, her head turning fully toward Hayley. “I still care about him. And it’s still going to affect my daughters. Shit, it might even affect me. Trell’s in the story, too.”
Jaslene’s mouth pulled into a smile. She laughed once. “Te encantan esos chicos rebeldes, mi amor.”
Alejandra kept her eyes on her phone. “Because those are the ones that are giving out good dick.”
Hayley smiled behind her mug. “So, you have a type. No wonder things didn’t work with that random white guy you dated for a while.”
Mireya’s eyes went from Hayley to Jaslene to Alejandra and back. “Can y’all fucking focus on what I’m complaining about? My type right now is my girlfriend and she ain’t got a fucking dick.”
Alejandra’s grin spread across her face. “Al menos, no uno de verdad.”
Jaslene and Alejandra laughed at the same time, Jaslene’s hand coming up to cover her mouth and Alejandra’s body shaking on the loveseat, her dangling arm swinging against the carpet. Mireya shook her head, her eyes closing for a second, her finger pointing at Alejandra.
“No eres gracioso.”
Hayley set her mug down on the carpet beside her knee and sat up straighter, her back leaving the armchair. “I’m just saying that I love a good love story and clearly you and Caine are like Bonny and Clyde.”
Jaslene pulled the blanket higher on her lap. “They died at the end.”
Hayley waved off the comment. “And they were white so we’ll change the story. Y’all have to see this, right? Mireya’s a hustler. Apparently Caine was a hustler and Mireya never told us. It’s meant to be.”
Mireya looked at the ceiling. “Trell was a hustler, too.”
Jaslene pointed at her. “And he died.”
“No, wait.” Alejandra lifted her head off the armrest, her phone dropping flat against her chest. “I see it. Because Caine’s rich now. He ain’t gonna get gunned down.”
“If this story goes bad, he ain’t gonna be rich for much longer,” Mireya said.
Hayley leaned forward, her elbows finding her knees. “You’re just deflecting from what you clearly see is meant to be.”
Mireya rolled her eyes and pointed at Alejandra and Jaslene. “Y’all gotta stop hanging out with her if she’s going to keep watching Pretty Woman and thinking that’s her future.”
Hayley pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, her chin resting on top. “I actually got an old man wanting to marry me right now.”
The four of them laughed.
~~~
Sena sat on the couch with her hands between her knees, her fingers laced together, her weight settled back into the cushion. Celia sat across from her, her reading glasses pushed up into her hair where they held a few strands off her forehead.
“Did you see that Caine’s criminal record’s been in the news?”
Celia’s head tilted a fraction. “I wasn’t sure that was the same Caine that you’ve spoken about in here.”
Sena nodded, her thumbs pressing against each other between her knees. “Yep. That’s him. Caine Guerra, father of Mireya’s children.”
“Didn’t you say that another one of Mireya’s boyfriends was shot and killed?”
“He was in the article, too.”
Celia’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh?”
Sena’s tongue pressed against the inside of her cheek. She looked at the bands of light on the floor, at the dust moving through them, particles turning slow in the warm air from the heater, and then back at Celia. Her hands came apart and she pressed her palms flat on her thighs.
“Yeah, after she calmed down a bit, she told me on the plane that one of the other men in the article was that guy. I guess she has a type when it comes to me. Outside of this one guy she dated at UNO. That didn’t last very long, though.”
“It does seem like that.” Celia drew a breath and held it for a second, her lips pressing together before she let it out. She pulled her glasses down from her hair and set them on the arm of her chair. “I want to caution that I’m basing this only off what you’ve told me in here and what I read in that article, but it seems as though Mireya surrounds herself with a certain element, almost a self-sabotaging tactic even.”
Sena’s jaw shifted.
“It doesn’t quite track that a woman so focused on becoming a nurse would have multiple ex-boyfriends with long rap sheets, especially when one of them is the father of both of her children.”
Sena shrugged. “A lot of nurses are with shitty men.”
Celia’s mouth moved into a bit of a smile.. “I guess that is the stereotype.” She let a beat pass. “How does it make you feel, though? Now that you know the extent of what Caine has been involved in?”
“I feel like I should feel uncomfortable around him. That’s what everyone else is going to say. But I’ve never felt unsafe near him.” Her fingers curled against the denim on her thighs. She brought her eyes back to Celia. “He’s just the guy my girlfriend has kids with and he has a mom who’s really sweet. I can’t wrap my head around Caine Guerra the inmate with gang ties being the same person as Caine Guerra the guy who sits on the floor with Camila and colors with her whenever she asks or Caine Guerra the guy who makes funny faces at Micaela to make her giggle.”
Celia picked up her tea and brought it to her mouth, her lips pressing against the rim. She took a sip and set it back on the saucer, the ceramic meeting ceramic. “People are complex.” She crossed one leg over the other, her shoe coming off the floor and settling. “Have you asked Mireya to tell you more about the situation? Were they together at the time?”
Sena shrugged. “I guess they were. They didn’t break up until he went to college.” Her thumb found the seam of her jeans along her thigh and pressed into it. “But no and I don’t think I will. It’s not my business and I don’t feel uncomfortable around Caine.”
Celia nodded. “That’s one way to handle it. Hopefully, this blows over soon.”
~~~
Caine leaned against the counter opposite the island with his arms crossed over his chest, his weight back on his heels, his eyes on the laptop screen propped open on the quartz in front of them. Autumn stood beside him, her hip against the counter’s edge. Tatum sat on one of the stools on the far side of the island with his ankle on his knee, his hands clasped in his lap. Markus filled the screen from his office in New Orleans, the bookshelves behind him packed tight, the overhead light catching the frames on the wall.
Markus leaned forward on his end, his forearms resting on his desk, the screen sharpening as he moved closer to the camera. “Babin’s pretending her schedule is packed and she can’t speak until Friday but we all know that’s bullshit.”
Caine’s jaw tightened. “The bitch is mad that I bounced back from her trying to send me to prison for life and is playing with my fucking money now.”
Tatum nodded from the stool, his thumb tapping a steady rhythm against his ankle. “You are falling down the draft boards, right now. But that may not be the worse thing since you didn’t want to play for the teams at the top anyway.”
Caine sucked his teeth. “So, I’m losing fucking money.”
Autumn looked at him, held it for a second, then turned back to the screen. “There’s nothing that we can really do about the story, is there?”
Markus shook his head on the screen, his hand coming up and rubbing across his chin. “It’s public record what they reported. We can argue that Babin led the reporter to it, which she probably did, but at best, that gets her suspended or sanctioned. But I’m sure she has higher office in mind so that would be a feather in her cap to get punished for exposing people with criminal records and showing a pattern.”
Autumn turned her body toward Caine, her elbow resting on the counter behind her. “I think you need to say something. Don’t let them control the narrative.”
Tatum uncrossed his legs and set both feet on the floor, his forearms coming to rest on the island. “That’s not a bad idea actually. Only problem is that if you speak, they’ll expect you to announce what you’re doing for next season, too, and it doesn’t sound like you’re planning on leaving SC unless they push you out.”
Caine nodded. “Yeah. That was the fucking plan before I woke up to this shit.”
On the screen, Markus sat back in his chair, the leather creaking through the laptop speakers. He laced his fingers together across his stomach. “If I were in your shoes, son, and I decided that’s the best course of action, I would suggest you do it here in New Orleans. If you stage a press conference in Los Angeles to fight a story from Louisiana, you’re going to look like you’re hiding.”
Caine’s eyes moved from the screen to the window. “I know.”
Tatum pulled his phone from his pocket and looked at the screen, his thumb scrolling once before he stopped. “That’s a problem for our timeline.”
Autumn shifted beside Caine, her weight moving to her other hip. “Why?”
Tatum kept his eyes on his phone. “Caine has about 38 hours to make a decision on the portal or the draft. Whitfield’s dragging this out. I doubt we hear back before tomorrow.”
Markus’s head tilted on the screen, his brow pulling together. “Whitfield?”
“USC’s comms person,” Caine said. “She’s supposed to be preparing a statement.”
“They’re trying to claw back some leverage in this,” Markus said.
Tatum nodded, sliding his phone back into his pocket. “Probably talking to the collective right now to try to lower their offer after they back Caine at the eleventh hour.”
Autumn stepped away from the counter and put her hands on the edge of the island, leaning forward on them, her weight on her palms. “Just announce one way or the other now. Force their hand.”
Markus’s voice came through the speakers. “Then you’d be fighting a two front war when you could have them as an ally.”
Caine shook his head. He looked at Tatum across the island. “Get me a flight to New Orleans for tomorrow. I’ll work with whatever time USC gives me.”
Tatum nodded, his phone already back in his hand, his thumb moving across the screen. “You want to look at the other offers, too?”
Caine nodded.
Autumn looked at him, her fingers curling over the edge of the island. “You want me in New Orleans?”
“Yeah, of course.”
She smiled and nodded, her weight settling back off the island, her hands sliding off the edge. Caine looked back at the screen.
“Markus, I need you to tell me how to do this since I just want to curse that bitch out.”
Markus snorted a laugh, his hand lifting off his desk and turning up. “I’ll tell you how to do that in not as many words.”
~~~
Mireya lay on her back in bed with her phone held above her face, her thumb scrolling through TikTok. The lamp on the nightstand threw a circle of yellow light across the pillow beside her and the edge of the comforter bunched at her waist. The rest of the room sat dark, the blinds drawn, the air cold enough that she’d pulled the covers up to her stomach an hour ago and left them there. Down the hall, the house was still.
Footsteps padded on the hardwood in the hallway. Mireya lowered the phone and looked toward the door. Camila stood in the doorway with one of her stuffed eagles pressed to her chest, both arms wrapped around it, her bare feet on the threshold. The hallway nightlight caught the side of her face and left the rest in shadow.
“¿Qué te pasa, mi amor?”
“I can’t sleep.” Camila’s fingers tightened around the eagle’s wing. “Can I lay down with you?”
Mireya nodded. She scooted toward the center of the bed and pulled the comforter back on the empty side, folding it over so the sheet showed underneath. “Of course, baby. Come on.”
Camila crossed the room in three quick steps and jumped up onto the mattress, the bed dipping under her weight as she landed on her knees and crawled into the space Mireya had made. She turned onto her back and pulled the eagle up against her chest again, both arms closing around it. Mireya tucked the comforter around her, folding it under her chin and pressing it along her side with her palm, working it snug.
She put her arm around Camila’s shoulders and pulled her against her side. Camila’s head settled on Mireya’s chest, her curls spreading across the fabric of Mireya’s shirt.
“Comfy?”
Camila nodded.
Mireya brought her phone back up and started scrolling again, her other hand moving over Camila’s hair, from the crown to the ends, slow and steady. Camila’s breathing slowed against her side.
“Mami?”
“Yeah, baby?”
Camila’s voice was smaller. “At school, the grown ups were talking about daddy. They were saying he’s bad.”
Mireya’s thumb stopped on the screen. She lowered the phone to the mattress beside her hip and looked down at the top of Camila’s head. Her hand kept moving through them.
“People say a lot of things about stuff they don’t know nothing about, mi amor. Your daddy did some things a long time ago that he’s not proud of, but you know that he’s not bad, right?”
Camila nodded against her chest. “He’s the best daddy in the world. They’re just stupid and mad because their daddies aren’t.”
Mireya smiled. “Yeah, he is.”
“Is that why you and Abuelita have been angry since we got home?”
Mireya sighed, her chest rising and falling under Camila’s head. “We’re just worried about him. That’s all. We’re not angry, just sad.”
“Is he going to come home?”
Mireya shrugged. “I don’t know, baby. He’s going to have to talk about it with the people that he works with and then he’s going to figure out what he’s going to do next. But you don’t have to worry about that. Your daddy always figures things out. He doesn’t let nothing stop him.”
“Okay, mami.”
Mireya watched her for a moment. Camila held the eagle up in front of her face, both hands gripping its body, and moved its wings in slow arcs, the fabric catching air as the wings rose and fell. She made it fly in a small circle above the comforter, her wrists turning, the eagle banking left and then right.
“Mírame, mi amor.”
Camila lowered the eagle and looked up at Mireya, her chin pressing into Mireya’s chest, her eyes dark in the lamplight.
“¿Cómo te llamas?”
“Camila Guerra Rosas.”
Mireya’s hand found the side of Camila’s face, her thumb brushing the skin below her eye. “You’ll understand more when you’re older, but me and your daddy, everything we’ve ever done, everything we do, it’s so that you can have a better life than we had. The things that people are talking about, they weren’t good things. But daddy had to do what he had to do. You probably don’t remember when he went away for a while when you were a baby.”
Camila shook her head, her curls shifting against Mireya’s palm.
Mireya smiled, heavier at the edges. “I’m glad you don’t. But when you grow up and you start doing great things in the world, never let people take your name from you, baby. You’re the best of me and your daddy.”
Camila’s eyes moved across Mireya’s face, from her mouth to her eyes and back. “I like my name. I got two last names. No one else in my class does.”
Mireya smiled and leaned down, pressing her lips to Camila’s forehead. She held for a second, her nose brushing the skin above Camila’s brow. “You’re the coolest one in there, baby.”
Camila nodded.
“Te queremos más que a la vida misma, Camila. A pesar de todo, te vamos a decepcionar.”
“Yo también te quiero, mami.”
“Try to go to sleep, mi amor.”
Camila looked back down at the eagle in her hands. She turned it once, tucked it under her arm, and settled into Mireya’s side, her breathing slowing against the fabric of Mireya’s shirt. Mireya picked up her phone from the mattress and held it above her face again, the screen lighting up, her other hand still in Camila’s hair.
