"I never cared for it. Before. But I could see myself living out there. Not right now. Maybe when I retire."
LaPenna nodded. Brice kept going.
"It was cool. It was nice. Oh! You know Serena’s never seen Sopranos? Like has no idea at all what it is."
"It is a pretty old show," LaPenna looked up towards the ceiling, doing the math in his head, "It’s what, twenty, twenty-five years since the show aired? I’m surprised you’ve seen it."
"I clear out the HBO catalog when I’m bored," Brice shrugged.
"I could never get into it."
"The therapy scenes weren’t good enough for you?"
"No comment on that," LaPenna sheepishly smiled, "Did you watch it with her?"
"What?"
"The Sopranos."
"Oh," Brice cleared his throat, "No. I thought there’d be like more downtime but there really wasn’t. And the free time we did have, we did all the touristy shit."
Brice paused.
"It was nice," he continued, "I know what’s coming, you know. What’s waiting for me. I know what this next month is gonna be."
LaPenna sat there watching him.
"It was like coming up for air. You know what I mean? Like you’ve been underwater for a while and you finally break the surface and you get one good breath and you know you’re about to go back under and you’re gonna have to fight like hell not to drown. So yeah. New York was good. I needed it. I didn’t know I did but I did.”
LaPenna nodded. Brice leaned back.
"The trip was worth it," Brice said, "Even with me not winning. Tavien deserved it. His stats were crazy. I knew he had a good year but damn, I didn’t realize how insane they were until we were doing media."
LaPenna stayed quiet.
“It’s a cute story, too. You know? Ohio State washout goes to Boise State and becomes a star. The media loves that shit. Underdog narrative. Rags to riches. All of it,” Brice shrugged. “I mean, it is Boise State. It is the Mountain West. Not exactly the same as playing in the Big Ten. But hey. He put up the numbers. Can’t argue with the numbers.”
He paused. LaPenna waited.
“I don’t know. Maybe people are tired of me. Maybe they’ve seen enough of Brice Colton. Or maybe it’s the shit with Skylar. Maybe that’s still hanging over me and voters didn’t want to put their name on that. I don’t know. I’m not gonna sit here and pretend I know what goes through people’s heads.”
He cleared his throat again.
“He deserves it, though. It’s not like Boise State is in the playoffs. At least he got something to show for his season. That’s good. That’s real good for him.”
Brice sat up straighter.
“Shit, I’ve got bigger things to worry about anyway. Bigger trophies to win. I’ve already got a Rose Bowl. I’ve already got a national championship. I’m gonna get another one. I’m gonna get another Rose Bowl. That’s what matters. That’s what I’m focused on.”
The room was quiet. He let out a long breath.
“Obviously I wanted to win. Obviously, I’m disappointed."
The words hung there.
"I don’t know, at some point, I sort of realized I wasn’t going to win it. Back in September, when I just kept fucking throwing the ball to the other team. That fucking sucked. Obviously, once I stopped doing that dumb shit, once I stopped worrying about it and just playing free, I started putting up numbers. You had people talking about dumb shit like how many sacks I’m taking or not processing quickly enough or, their favorite, my fucking drifting in the pocket as if I don’t have six hundred pounds collapsing on me within two seconds."
He stopped.
"That’s how I knew I was balling. When they had nothing else to say. After a while, I don’t know, I thought I had a chance to become a finalist. I did. We win the Big Ten Championship, I ball out against Oregon and this dude doesn’t even make the playoffs? I thought I could really win it. And then I didn’t."
"You didn’t," LaPenna repeated.
“Tavien’s a good guy,” Brice said. "Got a chance to talk to him before the draft. He remembered us camping together in high school. I don’t even think he threw that day, but you could tell. He was going to be one of those guys. I’m glad it worked out that way. I’m happy for him. He deserves it. Really."
He looked at LaPenna.
“I’m just upset that I didn’t get to win. It’s not like I’m going to ever get another chance to do it, you know? It’s over."
LaPenna nodded slowly.
“Those feelings are normal, Brice. Both of them. The disappointment and the genuine happiness for someone else. They can exist at the same time. They should exist at the same time. That’s healthy. That’s what it looks like when you’re processing something real.”
Brice listened.
“The disappointment deserves the space it takes up. So does the happiness. Neither one cancels the other out. What matters is what you do with them. How you let them move through you without letting either one steer you somewhere you don’t want to go.”
LaPenna sat back. The chair creaked the same way Brice’s did.
“You’re allowed to be sad about losing something you wanted. You’re also allowed to be genuinely happy for someone who earned it. Both of those things can be true. The challenge, and this is the part that matters, is making sure neither feeling leads to an outcome that hurts you or someone else.”
Brice held his gaze for a moment.
“Yeah,” he said. “I hear you.”
…
Britney set her coffee down on the conference table and didn’t bother with a greeting. Vega was already seated across from her, Cohen to her left, the same arrangement as the last two meetings. The file in front of Britney was closed. She hadn’t opened it once today.
“Thirty,” Britney said. “Reckless homicide and kidnapping."
Vega didn’t blink. “Twenty. Parole at twelve.”
Britney let the number sit. She picked up her coffee, took a sip, set it back down.
“Twenty-five,” Britney said. “Parole at fifteen.”
Vega opened her mouth. Britney held up one finger.
"I want you to think about who’s going to be sitting in this chair after we come back from the holiday recess. Because it won’t be me.”
Vega’s mouth closed. Cohen looked at Vega. Britney watched him do it.
Vega held Britney’s gaze for another beat. Then she gave the smallest nod.
…
"You said she left a half-eaten bowl of ramen on the kitchen counter for two days."
"I know what I said."
"So you hated her," Brice hefted the mini-fridge onto the tailgate and slid it toward the back of the truck bed. The thing was heavier than it looked. He wiped his hands on his sweats and turned around.
"She wasn’t compatible as a roommate," Mel shrugged.
Brice shook his head and climbed back up the stairs. Mel followed. The door was still open, propped with a box. Brice stepped inside. The room was small. Smaller than he remembered from the one time he’d been up here. Mel’s side was mostly packed. The desk was clear. The bed was stripped down to the mattress.
"I don’t know you do it," Brice shook his head, "I would have moved out immediately.
“Not everyone has 'fuck you' money,” Mel said, pulling a box of books off the shelf above her desk. She handed it to Brice. "Besides, it could have been worse."
"How?"
"She could have been bringing random dudes to our dorm. I hate girls that do that shit."
"So you’re telling me this room has seen no action for the last six months?"
Mel rolled her eyes and grabbed another box. This one was lighter. Brice took it and stacked it on top of the first one. He could feel the bottom box buckling a little under the weight. He adjusted.
They carried the boxes down together, Mel taking the stairs two at a time, Brice going slower, watching his feet. Brice set the boxes in the truck bed and rearranged them so nothing would slide around.
They made two more trips. On the last one, Mel came down with a duffel bag over her shoulder and a potted plant in her hands. The plant was small.
“You’re taking the plant?”
“It’s my plant. She never watered it."
Brice laughed. He took the plant from her and set it carefully on the passenger seat of the truck, wedging it between the center console and the seat back so it wouldn’t tip over. Mel tossed the duffel into the bed and slammed the tailgate shut. She moved around the truck and pulled the passenger door open. The plant was right where Brice had left it. She moved it to her lap and buckled in. Brice got behind the wheel and started the engine. The truck rumbled to life.
“So,” Mel said. She was looking straight ahead, out the windshield, at the line of cars trying to exit the parking lot. “New York.”
“Yeah.”
“How was it?”
Brice put the truck in reverse and checked his mirror. A kid on a scooter cut behind him. He waited.
“It was good,” he said. “Really good, actually.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Just being normal for a minute, you know? Before everything goes crazy.”
Mel nodded. She was still looking out the windshield. The scoot kid disappeared around the corner. Brice backed out slowly and shifted into drive.
“I wasn’t happy about the other dude winning it,” he said, "But you can’t win them all."
He kept his eyes on the road. The parking lot exit was backed up. He eased into the line of cars.
"No," she let out a wry chuckle, "You sure can’t."
“I was jealous. I’m not gonna lie. I definitely wanted to win it."
He paused. The line of cars inched forward. He let off the brake and rolled ahead a few feet.
“But I got over it. Being jealous is a bitch trait.”
The cold stare hit him before he even finished the sentence.
"Sorry," he said sheepishly, "Old habits I guess."
The silence held for another beat. A small exhale, almost a laugh. She returned to the passenger window, trying to hide her smile.
He smiled too and pulled forward.
“I could see myself living there, though,” he nodded to himself. "Serena really likes it."
Mel turned back from the window. “New York?”
“Yeah.”
“You think that’s a good idea?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean New York is a big city. That’s a big adjustment. A lot of distractions. It’s not exactly South Bend or West Lafayette and you got into plenty there."
Brice laughed to himself. The line of cars moved again. He followed. "You’re probably right."
"If you ever do get a tattoo, you should get that on your arm or something. Mel is probably right."
“Shut up.”
He laughed. The exit was getting closer. He could see the main road up ahead, the traffic moving faster, the semester officially behind them.
“So what are the teams?” Mel asked. She’d settled back in her seat, the plant still in her lap, her fingers absently touching one of the leaves. “Like, realistically. What cities could you actually end up in?”
Brice merged onto the road. The truck picked up speed. The dorm disappeared in the rearview.
