Dale Denton | The Legacy | Rookie Year

[The JZA]

[redsox907]

“Boy, don’t go up north with them snow bunnies. Stay home.”

plenty of snow bunnies in South Bend LETS GET IT

feel like Coach Freeman will be another solid mentor for Dale along the way

[The JZA]

Chapter XV: The Last Bell

Time don’t wait for nobody. And for Dale Denton, that truth was louder than a 6 a.m. alarm with no snooze button.

Days blurred. Weeks flew. Months pulled up and peeled off like cars on the I-20. Since committing to Notre Dame, life for Dale was just clockwork. Wake up at five, grind. Eat, class, grind harder. Sleep. Repeat. Like he was already on a college schedule before even stepping foot on campus.

His 18th birthday slid by with a steak dinner and a pair of sneakers. Spring Break came and went like it owed him money. He even finally learned how to drive, mostly so he wouldn’t have to hear Mark’s mouth every time they hit the road.

And now? Now the finish line was in sight. The last week of May had arrived, bringing graduation with it like a stampede.

Sharnell came back down for it, of course. She wouldn’t miss this for nothing. She swore she wouldn’t stay at the house again, but the closer the date came, the softer she got. She ended up taking Dale’s room while he took the couch, and for once, the house wasn’t filled with awkward silence. Just laughter, teasing, and a little bit of old-school funk music humming through the kitchen while she cooked.

Mark even pulled out his dusty-ass clippers to bless Dale with a crispy fade the night before.

“Look at my baby, lookin’ like a young Denzel!” Sharnell beamed, hands clasped in pure mama pride.

“He gets it from his old man,” Mark said, giving a wink towards Sharnell. “You would know.”

Sharnell hit him with the eye-roll of the decade. “Boy, hush. Only thing he got from you was your height.”

“You ready for the big day tomorrow, son?” Mark asked, cutting through the flirt-and-fuss.

“Ready as ever,” Dale replied, checking his fit laid out for tomorrow like it was the Met Gala.

Sharnell was damn near emotional. “My baby boy… about to walk that stage lookin’ like a million bucks!”

“Layin’ it on thick, Ma,” Dale smirked, but truth be told, he loved the attention.

Later that night, they stayed up talking, eating too much, and flipping through old TV shows that they mutually loved watching. Then, when the house got quiet and the night wrapped them up, Dale laid on the couch, staring at the ceiling, thinking about everything—where he’d been, where he was, and where he was going.

Graduation Day came in hot like a brick oven.

The air was sticky. The sun was petty. But Dale? He was focused. Dressed to kill in his cap and gown, his tassel hanging to the side like a badge of honor.

The entire town poured into the school’s auditorium like it was a playoff game. For some of these folks, seeing their kids graduate was the win they never got for themselves.

As Dale made his way inside, he caught up with his boy Denzelle, who was already grinning ear to ear.

“Yo, what’s up, money?”

“My man Dale,” Denzelle said, dapping him up. “You ready to walk that stage for the final time?”

“Hell yeah. We did twelve years, now it’s time to make bail and do another four.”

Both cracked up. A moment of levity before the weight of the day sat on their shoulders.

“You seen Amani?” Dale asked, scanning the crowd.

“Nah. I hit him last night, told him don’t oversleep,” Denzelle replied. “Man said he had a party to attend.”

“In this dry-ass town? Party where?” Dale asked, eyebrows raised.

Denzelle just shrugged.

The ceremony kicked off with Principal Matthews doing the usual: long-winded speech full of motivational quotes and corny jokes that only made the teachers laugh. The kind of speech that made your legs fall asleep before your mind did.

But Dale listened. Not because it was interesting, but because it was the last time he’d ever hear that voice in that place.

Then the names started getting called. One by one, future plumbers, teachers, nurses, and ballplayers made their way across that stage, snatching their diplomas like championship rings.

Dale looked to the side, at the row in front of his. Empty seat. Amani’s seat. Still vacant. Still untouched. Still no sign of him.

Then Dale’s name rang out through the gym, "Dale Denton!”

The crowd erupted like he’d just thrown the game-winning touchdown in the state title game. He walked that stage like a king, shook Matthews’ hand, took his diploma. His eyes scanned the crowd. Sharnell was clapping but kept it cool—no crazy screaming this time. Mark had that quiet pride in his eyes, nodding like, that’s my boy.

He hugged Coach Kennedy on the way back to his seat. Slapped hands with Denzelle. Then waited as the rest of the class was called.

When it was over, hats flew up like prayers, and the future scattered like dandelion seeds in the wind. After pictures, handshakes, hugs, even some autographs and a few last-minute “keep in touch” promises, the Dentons headed out. They had reservations at California Dreaming in Columbia, an hour’s ride, but worth it for food that didn’t come with a cafeteria tray.

But as they approached the school’s exit, something didn’t sit right.

People were stopped—not just hanging around, but stuck. Cars lined the streets. Folks murmuring. The flashing lights of an ambulance danced against the fading daylight.

Something happened. Something bad. Dale felt it before he saw it. His legs moved before his brain could stop them.

He broke from the crowd, weaving through bodies, past the sirens, closer to the wreckage. A beige Toyota Corolla was crushed in the middle of the road. Side door caved in. Windows spiderwebbed. But it wasn’t the car that made his heart thud like bass in a speaker. It was the jersey—#13, black jersey gold letters, white trim—Amani’s jersey, dangling off the back door like a flag at half-staff.

Dale’s world slowed.

Then Mark caught up, and his eyes went straight to the second vehicle—a police cruiser, front and side crumpled, lights still spinning. Mark’s face went pale. He recognized it.

Jett’s car. Same dent near the gas tank. Same unit number. His partner. His friend.

Two familiar faces. Two familiar lives. Gone.

No survivors.

The silence was heavier than the heat. Dale stood frozen, tears not even forming yet. His heart didn’t break—it cracked. Quietly. Slowly. A familiar, yet different pain.

Today was supposed to be a new beginning. Instead, it was a tragic ending.

Amani was supposed to be there. Supposed to walk that stage. Supposed to celebrate. Supposed to laugh and smile. Supposed to crack jokes on his brotherhood he bonded with over the football season. Amani was supposed to live.

But now? All Dale could do was stand in the middle of the chaos, cap still in his hand, diploma in the other, as the world reminded him again—life don’t wait for nobody. And when it ends, it don’t send no warning.

Just leaves you with silence and memories....

[The JZA]

“Boy, don’t go up north with them snow bunnies. Stay home.”

plenty of snow bunnies in South Bend LETS GET IT

feel like Coach Freeman will be another solid mentor for Dale along the way

redsox907, As Soapy would say:

[James]

Notre Dame is an interesting choice.

Also tough news in that last update. Always gotta add some drama like that huh? I guess it makes up for the straight forward singing day. Man knew what he was about on signing day.

[The JZA]

Chapter XVI: Privilege

The sun should’ve been shining that day. But it wasn’t. The sky was a dull gray, like it knew better than to be happy. It didn’t dare disrespect the grief in the air. It stayed tucked behind the clouds, letting the silence speak louder than thunder ever could.

Amani Toles’ funeral was held in the First Baptist church on West Boyce Street, where the air smelled like old hymn books and sadness. Rows of people packed the pews—family, friends, teammates, teachers, even folks who only knew Amani as a name on a jersey or a highlight reel.

Dale sat in the second row, eyes fixed on the casket, draped with a freshly crisp white jersey. #13, immortal now. The school was retiring the number, and rightfully so.

He hadn’t cried yet. Not when the accident happened. Not when they buried Amani in his cap and gown. Not when his moms asked him if he was okay and he said “yeah,” even though he wasn’t. But now, with the choir humming softly behind a preacher spitting scripture about life and how short it could be…

That first tear snuck out the corner of his eye like a thief. And once it did, more followed.

He remembered Amani’s laugh, that wild hyena cackle that had no volume control. He remembered the way they’d argue about who was faster—Dale swore he was, Amani called cap every time. He remembered their secret handshake, the trash talk before practice, the plans they had after graduation.

Gone. Like a light switch. Just off. Just another reason why Dale didn't want new faces to become friends. That lingering attachment...

Coach Kennedy sat behind him, head bowed, sunglasses hiding his own grief. Dale could feel the man’s hand on his shoulder, firm like always, but different. Like he knew Dale needed it to anchor him.

When the service ended, and they loaded Amani into the hearse for the last ride, Dale stood at the edge of the cemetery grass, fists in his pockets, jaw tight.

He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t believe in that word. He whispered, “I got you, bro.”

Then turned and walked away.

The days after blurred into June’s heat. It was that sticky South Carolina humidity that wrapped around your neck like a scarf you couldn’t take off. The world kept spinning, though it felt wrong that it did. Dale kept to himself mostly. School was done. Graduation already a memory. And Notre Dame? It loomed just weeks away.

But before the next chapter could begin, he had a summer to live. One last ride with Mark.

They worked odd jobs around the town—cutting grass, collecting clothes for the salvation, even helping Coach Kennedy set up his summer camp with middle school students. Dale didn’t do it for money. He did it to feel something. To stay busy. To keep Amani’s voice from creeping in too loud.

And Mark, once again, didn’t push. He was just there. With those one-liners, that old-school playlist, and a six-pack of beer on standby.

Every evening they sat on the back porch, sipping cold drinks and watching the sun crawl behind the treeline. Some nights they talked. Some nights they didn’t need to.

“Time flies, huh?” Mark said one night, flipping through a photo album with grease on his hands from working under the hood of his Explorer. “I still remember the day I picked you up. Your Mama looked tired of your hard-headed self. It was just me, you and the road.”

Dale smirked. “I wasn’t hard-headed. I was just... I don't know what I was. Guess I was trying to be a man before I could be.”

“You was both. Just like your old man...”

They both laughed. The kind of laugh that comes from shared pain and pride.

“I’m gonna miss this,” Dale said quietly. “I never thought I would be calling this place a home. But being around you, having the chance to spend time with you. Home here is a pretty sweet deal.”

Mark looked over, face soft beneath the porch light.

“I'm going to miss you too, Son. I never thought I would have this life, this chance at fatherhood... To tell you the truth... Having you here, and your mother here at the same time, it showed me a lot... All those years that I missed out on, that I ran away from. Even if it was those two occasions, if that's all I get to experience... Well worth it... I learned a lot, even at my age, Dale. That... I didn't run away because I wasn't ready. I was selfish, because I wasn't ready. And... I'm sorry, Dale. I'm sorry to you and your mother. It's very eye opening to me that I should've done better. But you came around, and I want to thank you for the opportunity... Thank you for letting me be your Dad.”

Dale nodded. He knew what that meant. Growth. Becoming more.

In late July, they took a trip to Charlotte—just the two of them. Mark wanted to do something special before Notre Dame called Dale away for good. They hit a WWE Smackdown show, ate too much barbecue, stayed up in the hotel room clowning around and arguing over old NBA debates, who was better: Magic or Bird, MJ or Kobe.

On the drive back, Mark gave him a man’s talk. Not a father-to-son, not even coach-to-player. Just man-to-man.

“Life don’t come with no playbook, Dale. You gotta call audibles on the fly. You gone make mistakes. You gone hurt people. People gone hurt you. But if you keep your heart solid and your purpose clear, ain’t nothing out there that can break you. Just don't run away from your fears. Don't do what I did. Keep your chin up and chest out. Be a better man that I ever will be.”

Dale listened. Not just heard him—listened. He would carry that talk with him, same way he carried his playbook, his cleats, and that framed jersey from Manning High.

Move-in day at Notre Dame came fast. Too fast. One moment he was walking the halls of Manning High, the next he was loading bags into Mark’s truck, saying goodbye at the airport terminal, and heading into a new life wearing navy and gold. Before they parted ways, Mark handed Dale a empty photo album, eyes glassy but proud.

"What's this? It's empty."

"I want you to take pictures and fill it up with your experiences." Mark asked of Dale.

"Come on, old man, get up with the times, I can send you pictures to your phone."

"No, no, I want the physical. Something you can touch. Something you can pass down for generations and test time. Something real."

"Okay, I get it. I will, I promise." Dale stuffed the album into his back pack.

“You need anything,” he said, pulling Dale in for a hug. “You hit my line. I don’t care if it’s two in the morning or two in the afternoon.”

“I got you, Pops,” Dale said, hugging him tighter than he ever had. Then they separated, and just like that, the chapter was done.

That night, Dale sat on his bed, dorm room window open, the Indiana breeze cool against his skin. He unpacked the last of his things, placing the framed jersey on the desk. Signed by the whole team. The one that said:
“Denton. #5. May this one year last forever.”

Next to it, he propped up a photo of him and Amani at the state championship, arms over each other’s shoulders, grins wide, helmets off, hearts full.

He stared at both. One for the past. One for the promise.

Then he laid back, closed his eyes, and whispered into the quiet: “No days off...”

[The JZA]

Notre Dame is an interesting choice.

Also tough news in that last update. Always gotta add some drama like that huh? I guess it makes up for the straight forward singing day. Man knew what he was about on signing day.

James, Was a really tough choice. Didn't want to go to a top school, but the boy is a five-star recruit.

We save the happy ending for the finale I mean, if you want, I could sprinkle some witch craft in the mix like I did with Jodi

[Caesar]

Notre Dame. Yuck. At least we know this won' include any baby mama drama because the nuns at Notre Dame will just take a pregnant, unmarried student over to Chicago.

[The JZA]

Caes blessing the thread! 2025 Chise of the Year! Queue the anthem!

Notre Dame. Yuck. At least we know this won' include any baby mama drama because the nuns at Notre Dame will just take a pregnant, unmarried student over to Chicago.

Caesar, All football & no ass? This can't be life.

[The JZA]

Chapter I: At The Church Steps

A new city. A new state. A new life.

Dale Denton stood at the edge of the practice field like a ghost stepping into his own future. The turf was still dewy from last night’s rain, sun slicing through the clouds like it had something to prove. South Bend, Indiana wasn’t home. It didn’t smell like sweet tea or fried fish Fridays. No oak trees with Spanish moss or corner stores with cheap honey buns. But it had a pulse—steady and cold like Notre Dame’s legacy, and Dale could feel that shit thumping in his chest.

He was here now, and it was real.

The perks of being a student-athlete meant he got first dibs. Early move-in, early orientation, early taste of solitude. The dorms were still half-empty, but Dale was fully present. No distractions. No noise. Just him and the sound of a clock ticking toward something bigger than high school championships and broken hearts.

He’d taken the campus tour. Seen the basilica. The golden dome. Walked the same cobblestone paths legends walked. Shook hands with folks who smiled too long and asked too many questions. He learned which spots had the best wings. Learned where the athletes chilled, and which cafeterias to avoid unless you liked soggy turkey sandwiches.

But the field—the field was church.

That was the only place he could think straight. Could see it all laid out: the routes, the pressure, the pocket collapsing, the split-second reads. He came here to ball, not just wear a jersey. This wasn't just about playing football. It was about making history. Dale had dreams. Big ones. And another to fulfill in honor of Amani Toles. He didn't leave South Carolina and everything he'd been through to ride pine for the next three years.

But peace don’t last long in places built for war, especially not on the field.

“Yo, what’s up, freshie? You supposed to be out here?”

The voice cut through the stillness like a boxcutter. Dale turned and already knew: Jaden Greathouse.

Senior wideout. Future draft pick. Walked like he knew God owed him a favor.

“Yo, what’s good my dude? Jaden, right?”

Jaden smirked and pointed. “That’s me. Wait... Hold up. You that cat from the South—quarterback? Dale Denton, right? Top 30 in the nation?” He snapped his fingers like he was scrolling through a mental Instagram reel. “Boys been talkin’ about you in the group chat. You shook up the internet for a minute.”

Dale chuckled, dapped him up. “I see the hype made it through the cornfields.”

“Yup. Heard you got an arm and some legs. What you think of Notre Dame so far?”

Dale glanced around the field, then up at the sky. “It’s different. Ain’t home, but I ain’t here for comfort. I’m here to make noise. Just waiting on my jersey.”

Jaden raised a brow. “Word. I feel that. Well, glad you’re here. Even though this my last ride, hopefully we can get some snaps in together, see what you got.”

“Just a few? You don’t want a whole season with your boy?” Dale smirked.

“Easy, rook. Seniority.” Jaden said, brushing invisible lint off Dale shoulder. “CJ Carr’s our guy. He made All-American last season. Bro got numbers, and Coach Freeman loyal.”

That name again—CJ Carr.

Dale had read the stats. Watched the tape. Dude was nice. But Dale wasn’t trying to sit behind nice. He came to be great.

“I'm saying though, he may be All-American, but CJ ain’t future Heisman like I will be.”

Jaden chuckled, but it came with a little warning in the eyes.

“Don’t make enemies here, D. This ain’t high school. We not fighting for shine. We trying to win Natties. Everybody eats if we handle business.”

The message was clear. Fall in line. Earn your spot. No handouts here.

Dale didn’t flinch. “I ain’t here to step on toes. I’m here to snatch ankles.”

Greathouse laughed for real this time. “I like you, Denton. Just remember—hype don’t win games. Execution does. Coach’ll throw you in a few plays. Maybe garbage time. Maybe when CJ needs a breather. But if you want more, you know what to do.”

And just like that, Jaden patted Dale on the back and departed off the field. No drama. No ego. Just a vet laying ground rules.

Dale stood there for a moment longer, heart beating steady now. Notre Dame wasn’t gonna hand him a throne. He’d have to build it from scratch.

From dorm room to end zone. From freshman to legend. Let the games begin...