Slander.
The shake back will be monumental.
Dying to Live
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16847
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
-
Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16847
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
A Little Secret
Royce rubbed at his temples as another NBA YoungBoy song started up, the bass from nearby speakers giving him a headache that seemed to pulse in sync with the music. He’d found himself at another house party, still astounded by the upgraded digs from what he was used to in Houma, even in the ritzier parts of town.
That didn’t stop the air from being thick with the smell of sweat, vomit and alcohol thanks to the A/C not being able to keep up with the combination of the sweltering Louisiana summer air and a crush of bodies crammed into the house.
He leaned against the kitchen counter, watching as Malik’s eyes tracked a girl across the room, a pretty, curly-haired Black girl. She wasn’t exactly the typical type Malik went after, but Royce could see the vision.
He turned to Royce, pressing his hands together over the cup of beer he held.
“Come on, bro,” Malik said. “She said she ain’t with it if her homegirl ain’t there. You gotta come through for me on this.”
Royce took a long sip from his drink before gesturing to a much bigger girl standing next to the one Malik had his eyes on. “Nigga, her homegirl look like she could play 3-tech for the Saints. I don’t know about you, but I don’t fuck fat bitches.”
“She pretty, man. She just got a little bit of extra meat on her. I know you got some worse bodies than her.”
“Speak for yourself. I ain’t never. That bitch don’t got ‘a little bit extra’ on her. She looks like they had another friend with them when they came in here, but the big bitch ate her because she was out of snacks.”
“My nigga, do me this solid. She probably a throat GOAT,” Malik said, glancing back at the girls.
“Nah, you need to stop fucking with scary ass bitches that can’t fuck unless they got a friend with them. That shit sound like a charge waiting to happen anyway,” Royce said.
Malik waved his hand at his throat. “Don’t put that bad juju on me. You just gotta be more—”
“More what?” Royce asked, but Malik’s attention had already shifted. A familiar figure was approaching them, her dark hair falling in waves past her shoulders.
“Royce!” Bree called out, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease. “I was starting to think you were avoiding me.” She smiled as she said it, but there was an edge to her voice that suggested the thought had actually crossed her mind.
“What makes you think that?” he asked, raising his eyebrow.
“I don’t know. You tell me. I thought we had fun those couples of times.”
Before Royce could respond, movement on the opposite side of the room caught his attention. Alix stood there with a few others, laughing at something someone had said. Royce shamelessly glanced down at her ass as she moved, enjoying the way the shorts she wore hugged her. As if sensing his gaze, she turned, meeting his eyes. The wink she gave him was so quick he might have imagined it, but the slight smile that followed confirmed it was real. Then she was back in her conversation as if nothing had happened.
“Hello? Are you listening to me?” Bree waved her hand in front of his face, her bangles catching the light.
“The fu—My bad,” he said, having to catch himself from swatting her hand away as she moved it to close to his face. “What’d you say?”
“I was saying that maybe we could hang out again. You know, for more than ten minutes at a time. You enjoyed my company, right?” Bree leaned against the counter next to him, close enough that he could smell her perfume, the same floral notes she wore when he’d snuck her into Rana’s.
“It was more than ten minutes. Don’t do me like that.”
“Okay, more like twenty, but the point stands,” she said, rolling her eyes.
Behind her, Malik was trying to get Royce’s attention, tapping on his wrist and nodding over his shoulder. Royce’s eyebrows furrowed as he watched Malik’s confusing gestures.
“I just been busy. You know, how that goes. Shit get hectic and then a few days and weeks pass by like that,” Royce said, snapping his fingers.
“Too busy to send a text?” Bree raised an eyebrow.
He took a step closer to her, putting a hand on her hip. The touch seemed to soften her expression. “You right. That’s my bad. I’ll hit you up next week after I get out of practice and we can make a move.”
“Alright. I might accept your apology,” she said, putting her hand on his chest and playfully shoving him. “But you better not be too much of a stranger. Don’t forget I know where you live.”
She smiled at him one last time and walked away, back into the crowd of people. Malik looked over his shoulder at her and shook his head. “You one dumb motherfucker if you not knocking that down as much as possible.”
“It ain’t that good,” Royce said, taking a sip from his drink. “She just lay there.”
“She fine enough that I’d be alright with that,” Malik shrugged.
Royce’s eyes drifted back to where Alix had been standing, but she was now gone. “What were you tapping your wrist for?”
“Taylor just told me they about to leave. You gotta go talk to that fat b—Her friend so I can sneak off somewhere with Taylor for four, five minutes.”
“Four, five minutes, nigga? Just give that big Lizzo looking bitch a seafood boil and she’ll be occupied for five minutes,” Royce said, shaking his head. “Ain’t I see Justin in here somewhere earlier? Go ask that nigga.”
“I’m going to remember that, bruh. Could’ve had you a bitch that’ll cook for you. She got them auntie arms.”
“You acting like you didn’t just see a girl walk away from here that I only know for this same reason.”
Malik pointed over his shoulder. “Bree’s fine. That’s different. This is taking one for the team.”
“Bruh.”
~~~~~~~~~~
An hour later, Royce leaned on the counter of an upstairs bathroom, scrolling through his phone. He’d somehow found a quiet spot in the house where it didn’t feel like his brain was being assaulted by loud music and terrible smells. It’d also given him a chance to sit down and give his leg a bit of a break.
Sighing, he shoved his phone in his pocket, turning to wash his hands, shaking them dry when he couldn’t find a towel. He looked into the mirror, taking in his appearance. He rubbed his thumb over a wrinkle that seemed to be forming just under the corner of his lips.
He opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, finding Alix walking toward him, a knowing smile playing at the corners of her mouth. The hall behind her was empty, and the music from downstairs was muffled, creating an oddly intimate atmosphere.
“You stalking me?” he asked.
“Yeah, actually. This is the start of Get Out 2. You’ve been in a movie this entire time. I’m going to take your body and give it to my pawpaw,” her eyes gleamed with mischief. She came to a stop in front of him, so close that her feet were between his.
“I knew that’s what y’all did to Marc. He was trying to warn me that one night,” Royce said.
“Totally was. You should’ve listened. Now, look at you.” She reached for his wrist, her fingers warm against his skin. She nodded to a door behind him next to the bathroom. “I think that’s a bedroom right there.”
Before he could respond, she was pulling him through the door, closing it behind them with a soft click. The room was dark except for the street light filtering through thin curtains, casting everything in a soft, amber glow. Personal items scattered around suggested it belong to someone, a son off at college perhaps. But a laptop on the desk and family photos on the dresser gave it a lived in feel.
Alix didn’t waste any time, pressing him against the door and kissing him. Her hands found their way under his shirt. The contrast between her confident touches and the hesitation at her house weeks before throwing him for a loop.
It took every ounce of willpower he had to pull back. “Wait,” he said. “What about Malik?”
She stepped back, running her hands through her hair. “What about him? You want to have this conversation right now? Me and Malik aren’t together. Isn’t he downstairs trying to fuck some other girl right now?”
“Yeah, but that’s my boy.”
“I want you. Right now.” She stepped back again to sit down on the bed, unbuttoning her shorts as she laid back on her elbows. “What do you want more, Royce? Me or for your boys to know you follow some dumb ass bro code?”
Any slight hesitation he may have had evaporated when those shorts came off.
…
As they lay catching their breath, reality started to creep back in. Royce stared at the ceiling, trying to figure out how to voice the question that had been nagging at him for weeks. The music from downstairs had shifted to something slower, the bass line crawling up through the mattress like a heartbeat.
“So,” he started, then stopped.
“So?” Alix propped herself up on one elbow, looking at him with amusement. She ran her fingers through her hair in an effort to make it look less tussled.
“Didn’t you say you didn’t want a relationship?”
“I don’t.”
He gestured vaguely between them, at the tangled sheets and discarded clothes. “What we doing then?”
She sat up, reaching for her clothes. The spell was breaking, reality reasserting itself on piece of clothing at a time. “This is fun. I like you, Royce, but I meant what I said,” she said simply, pulling her shorts back on. “We can call it whatever we want, a situationship I guess. It can be our little secret.” She pulled her shirt over her head, then turned to look at him. “Unless you’re good with just once?”
“Fuck no, I’m not good with just once,” Royce said.
“Good.” She leaned over and kissed him once more, slow and deep, before standing up. “We should probably head back separately. I wouldn’t want your boy getting any ideas if he sees us sneaking around.”
Royce watched her check her reflection in the window, adjusting her hair some more.
“You go first,” he said. “I’ll wait a few minutes.”
At the door, she paused, that mischievous smile back on her face. “And I know I’m better than Bree.”
He laughed as she ducked out of the door, leaving him alone with the amber light and the fading warmth where she had been.
When he finally made his way back to the party, she was dancing with some friends. Malik was off in a corner talking to Taylor, his earlier frustration with Royce apparently forgotten. Everything was exactly as it had been before, except for the lingering taste of her kiss on his lips.
Someone handed him another drink, and he took it, gulping down half of it in one motion. As he settled back into a spot in the kitchen, he and Alix locked eyes from across the room once more as she danced. A small, knowing smile played at her lips.
Royce brought the cup up to his lips once more, the night still young.
Royce rubbed at his temples as another NBA YoungBoy song started up, the bass from nearby speakers giving him a headache that seemed to pulse in sync with the music. He’d found himself at another house party, still astounded by the upgraded digs from what he was used to in Houma, even in the ritzier parts of town.
That didn’t stop the air from being thick with the smell of sweat, vomit and alcohol thanks to the A/C not being able to keep up with the combination of the sweltering Louisiana summer air and a crush of bodies crammed into the house.
He leaned against the kitchen counter, watching as Malik’s eyes tracked a girl across the room, a pretty, curly-haired Black girl. She wasn’t exactly the typical type Malik went after, but Royce could see the vision.
He turned to Royce, pressing his hands together over the cup of beer he held.
“Come on, bro,” Malik said. “She said she ain’t with it if her homegirl ain’t there. You gotta come through for me on this.”
Royce took a long sip from his drink before gesturing to a much bigger girl standing next to the one Malik had his eyes on. “Nigga, her homegirl look like she could play 3-tech for the Saints. I don’t know about you, but I don’t fuck fat bitches.”
“She pretty, man. She just got a little bit of extra meat on her. I know you got some worse bodies than her.”
“Speak for yourself. I ain’t never. That bitch don’t got ‘a little bit extra’ on her. She looks like they had another friend with them when they came in here, but the big bitch ate her because she was out of snacks.”
“My nigga, do me this solid. She probably a throat GOAT,” Malik said, glancing back at the girls.
“Nah, you need to stop fucking with scary ass bitches that can’t fuck unless they got a friend with them. That shit sound like a charge waiting to happen anyway,” Royce said.
Malik waved his hand at his throat. “Don’t put that bad juju on me. You just gotta be more—”
“More what?” Royce asked, but Malik’s attention had already shifted. A familiar figure was approaching them, her dark hair falling in waves past her shoulders.
“Royce!” Bree called out, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease. “I was starting to think you were avoiding me.” She smiled as she said it, but there was an edge to her voice that suggested the thought had actually crossed her mind.
“What makes you think that?” he asked, raising his eyebrow.
“I don’t know. You tell me. I thought we had fun those couples of times.”
Before Royce could respond, movement on the opposite side of the room caught his attention. Alix stood there with a few others, laughing at something someone had said. Royce shamelessly glanced down at her ass as she moved, enjoying the way the shorts she wore hugged her. As if sensing his gaze, she turned, meeting his eyes. The wink she gave him was so quick he might have imagined it, but the slight smile that followed confirmed it was real. Then she was back in her conversation as if nothing had happened.
“Hello? Are you listening to me?” Bree waved her hand in front of his face, her bangles catching the light.
“The fu—My bad,” he said, having to catch himself from swatting her hand away as she moved it to close to his face. “What’d you say?”
“I was saying that maybe we could hang out again. You know, for more than ten minutes at a time. You enjoyed my company, right?” Bree leaned against the counter next to him, close enough that he could smell her perfume, the same floral notes she wore when he’d snuck her into Rana’s.
“It was more than ten minutes. Don’t do me like that.”
“Okay, more like twenty, but the point stands,” she said, rolling her eyes.
Behind her, Malik was trying to get Royce’s attention, tapping on his wrist and nodding over his shoulder. Royce’s eyebrows furrowed as he watched Malik’s confusing gestures.
“I just been busy. You know, how that goes. Shit get hectic and then a few days and weeks pass by like that,” Royce said, snapping his fingers.
“Too busy to send a text?” Bree raised an eyebrow.
He took a step closer to her, putting a hand on her hip. The touch seemed to soften her expression. “You right. That’s my bad. I’ll hit you up next week after I get out of practice and we can make a move.”
“Alright. I might accept your apology,” she said, putting her hand on his chest and playfully shoving him. “But you better not be too much of a stranger. Don’t forget I know where you live.”
She smiled at him one last time and walked away, back into the crowd of people. Malik looked over his shoulder at her and shook his head. “You one dumb motherfucker if you not knocking that down as much as possible.”
“It ain’t that good,” Royce said, taking a sip from his drink. “She just lay there.”
“She fine enough that I’d be alright with that,” Malik shrugged.
Royce’s eyes drifted back to where Alix had been standing, but she was now gone. “What were you tapping your wrist for?”
“Taylor just told me they about to leave. You gotta go talk to that fat b—Her friend so I can sneak off somewhere with Taylor for four, five minutes.”
“Four, five minutes, nigga? Just give that big Lizzo looking bitch a seafood boil and she’ll be occupied for five minutes,” Royce said, shaking his head. “Ain’t I see Justin in here somewhere earlier? Go ask that nigga.”
“I’m going to remember that, bruh. Could’ve had you a bitch that’ll cook for you. She got them auntie arms.”
“You acting like you didn’t just see a girl walk away from here that I only know for this same reason.”
Malik pointed over his shoulder. “Bree’s fine. That’s different. This is taking one for the team.”
“Bruh.”
~~~~~~~~~~
An hour later, Royce leaned on the counter of an upstairs bathroom, scrolling through his phone. He’d somehow found a quiet spot in the house where it didn’t feel like his brain was being assaulted by loud music and terrible smells. It’d also given him a chance to sit down and give his leg a bit of a break.
Sighing, he shoved his phone in his pocket, turning to wash his hands, shaking them dry when he couldn’t find a towel. He looked into the mirror, taking in his appearance. He rubbed his thumb over a wrinkle that seemed to be forming just under the corner of his lips.
He opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, finding Alix walking toward him, a knowing smile playing at the corners of her mouth. The hall behind her was empty, and the music from downstairs was muffled, creating an oddly intimate atmosphere.
“You stalking me?” he asked.
“Yeah, actually. This is the start of Get Out 2. You’ve been in a movie this entire time. I’m going to take your body and give it to my pawpaw,” her eyes gleamed with mischief. She came to a stop in front of him, so close that her feet were between his.
“I knew that’s what y’all did to Marc. He was trying to warn me that one night,” Royce said.
“Totally was. You should’ve listened. Now, look at you.” She reached for his wrist, her fingers warm against his skin. She nodded to a door behind him next to the bathroom. “I think that’s a bedroom right there.”
Before he could respond, she was pulling him through the door, closing it behind them with a soft click. The room was dark except for the street light filtering through thin curtains, casting everything in a soft, amber glow. Personal items scattered around suggested it belong to someone, a son off at college perhaps. But a laptop on the desk and family photos on the dresser gave it a lived in feel.
Alix didn’t waste any time, pressing him against the door and kissing him. Her hands found their way under his shirt. The contrast between her confident touches and the hesitation at her house weeks before throwing him for a loop.
It took every ounce of willpower he had to pull back. “Wait,” he said. “What about Malik?”
She stepped back, running her hands through her hair. “What about him? You want to have this conversation right now? Me and Malik aren’t together. Isn’t he downstairs trying to fuck some other girl right now?”
“Yeah, but that’s my boy.”
“I want you. Right now.” She stepped back again to sit down on the bed, unbuttoning her shorts as she laid back on her elbows. “What do you want more, Royce? Me or for your boys to know you follow some dumb ass bro code?”
Any slight hesitation he may have had evaporated when those shorts came off.
…
As they lay catching their breath, reality started to creep back in. Royce stared at the ceiling, trying to figure out how to voice the question that had been nagging at him for weeks. The music from downstairs had shifted to something slower, the bass line crawling up through the mattress like a heartbeat.
“So,” he started, then stopped.
“So?” Alix propped herself up on one elbow, looking at him with amusement. She ran her fingers through her hair in an effort to make it look less tussled.
“Didn’t you say you didn’t want a relationship?”
“I don’t.”
He gestured vaguely between them, at the tangled sheets and discarded clothes. “What we doing then?”
She sat up, reaching for her clothes. The spell was breaking, reality reasserting itself on piece of clothing at a time. “This is fun. I like you, Royce, but I meant what I said,” she said simply, pulling her shorts back on. “We can call it whatever we want, a situationship I guess. It can be our little secret.” She pulled her shirt over her head, then turned to look at him. “Unless you’re good with just once?”
“Fuck no, I’m not good with just once,” Royce said.
“Good.” She leaned over and kissed him once more, slow and deep, before standing up. “We should probably head back separately. I wouldn’t want your boy getting any ideas if he sees us sneaking around.”
Royce watched her check her reflection in the window, adjusting her hair some more.
“You go first,” he said. “I’ll wait a few minutes.”
At the door, she paused, that mischievous smile back on her face. “And I know I’m better than Bree.”
He laughed as she ducked out of the door, leaving him alone with the amber light and the fading warmth where she had been.
When he finally made his way back to the party, she was dancing with some friends. Malik was off in a corner talking to Taylor, his earlier frustration with Royce apparently forgotten. Everything was exactly as it had been before, except for the lingering taste of her kiss on his lips.
Someone handed him another drink, and he took it, gulping down half of it in one motion. As he settled back into a spot in the kitchen, he and Alix locked eyes from across the room once more as she danced. A small, knowing smile played at her lips.
Royce brought the cup up to his lips once more, the night still young.
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Soapy
- Posts: 16591
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16847
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 7859
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Dying to Live
Devious dawg 
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16847
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
She came on to him!
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16847
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Get In There
Royce sat on the metal bench, his leg propped up on a bag of extra footballs as his fingers flew across his phone screen that he had hidden behind a package of cups next to him. On the field, the team was finally ramping up to full-speed during the reps and that meant the other managers paid him less attention for not doing anything to help them.
Every so often, he’d glance up, watching the defense working through any issues that would need to be fixed before the season started. The rhythmic cadence of the signals, the synchronized movement of the players shifting in response to the offense’s motions, the satisfying crack of pads meeting pads, it all reminded him that each day spent filling cups of water was a day he’d wasted in trying to get back on the field.
’I figured you’d be trying to find a way to make some time for lil’ ol’ me’ Alix’s latest message said. It’d been a few days since the party and Alix had no problems pushing for a round two.
Royce, on the other hand, was a little more apprehensive, not wanting to risk slipping up and having Malik find out.
’Nah, you gotta take a number. I’m trying to get a whole alphabet of a roster. I’m on C tonight’
’Talking like that is how you end up getting traded, buddy’
Royce chuckled to himself as he looked up to at least give the illusion he was paying attention to practice. Donovan stood in the middle of the field, orchestrating the defense. He’d just come back from a bout with COVID and it was obvious how much smoother things flowed when he was there quarterbacking the defense opposed to Justin or someone else. But he was a step slower, his lungs likely struggling to keep up with his desire to go as hard as possible in each rep.
He was about to respond to Alix when a sharp cry of pain cut through the rhythmic sounds of cleats hitting turf and coaches barking out calls. His head snapped up, trying to locate the source of the sound.
The entire team had stopped, forming a tight cluster of jerseys, all hovering around a figure on the ground. Royce stood up and walked toward the field, trying to get a closer look at who it was.
The whistles hadn’t stopped blowing – sharp, insistent sounds that had the coaching staff jogging in the direction of the pack of players. Through gaps between their legs, Royce could see Donovan clutching his knee, his face contorted in pain. Keith, an offensive lineman, crouched down near him, his hands on his helmet, the likely culprit of whatever had happened to Donovan.
“Give him some space!” Coach Cunningham’s voice boomed. The circle of players widened reluctantly as the trainers jogged out.
The silence that fell over the field was eerie. A knee injury in practice could change the complexion of their season, especially one to a key player and leader of the team like Donovan was.
The trainers helped Donovan to his feet, but he couldn’t put any weight on his right leg. One of the trainers was asking him questions in a low voice but he just kept shaking his head, his jaw clenched tight.
Coach Cunningham walked over to his assistants, speaking in low voices as Donovan disappeared into the locker room. Royce couldn’t make out what they were saying, but every athlete had seen the grave look on Coach Cunningham’s face.
“Lafitte!” Coach Cunningham called out suddenly. “Come here.”
Royce walked over. Coach Vaughn was already heading toward him, and together the three of them walked back toward the locker room, leaving the rest of the team watching curiously. Moments later, a whistle blew and Royce could hear Coach McDaniels yelling for them to get back to work.
The locker room was cool and dim, a stark contrast to the bright sunshine outside. Donovan was already gone, probably whisked away for evaluation.
“Have you gotten the green light to play yet?” Coach Cunningham asked Royce without preamble.
Royce shook his head. “Not exactly. Dr. Richards said I’m looking better, but he hasn’t told me one way or the other. At my last appointment, he said ‘probably’ but I ain’t no doctor, coach, so I don’t know what that means.”
“Dr. Richards at the Lake? James Richards?”
“Yes, sir.”
Cunningham pulled out his phone, scrolling through his contacts. “We went to school together. Give me a minute.”
Coach Cunningham stepped away, phone to his ear. Royce was left standing awkwardly next to Coach Vaughn, not entirely cleared on what was happening. Coach Vaughn scribbled in a tattered notebook, the same one he always carried around. From the periodic glances Royce had gotten of what he was writing down, it was an endless stream of thoughts on what could be changed to have the defense running at its best.
Royce could hear snippets of Coach Cunningham’s conversation: “…understand the concern, but … Yes, I know … what if we… right, exactly…” None of it was clear enough to give Royce an idea of what their conversation was about.
Eventually, the old coach returned, sliding his phone back into his pocket. Coach Vaughn looked up from the notebook as he noticed Coach Cunningham walking back in their direction.
Cunningham pointed to Royce. “Get him what he needs. Jersey, pads, cleats. I doubt he has anything with him.”
Coach Vaughn nodded and disappeared toward the equipment room.
Royce froze then stuttered out a question. “Wait… what? I don’t understand.”
“Dr. Richards says you can go. He knows that our team doc is going to look after you. Dr. Naquin works at the Lake, too. But you’re to go half-speed,” Coach Cunningham’s eyes bored into him. “I mean that, son. Half-speed even if it means missed a read or being a step late to the ball. Those guys have been practicing all spring and summer. You haven’t put on cleats in a while. Half-speed. You understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” Royce said, nodding.
“You sure you’re up for this? No one’s going to think less of you if you need more time, but I can’t have you out there second guessing yourself.”
He didn’t hesitate. “I’m good to go, coach.”
Coach Vaughn returned with gear, backup stuff that they had on hand in cases of emergency. Royce looked at the number on the jersey, 71, a far cry from his typical number five that he’d worn all his life. It would just be something else he’d need to add to his list of things to get back in his quest for normalcy.
“Get changed and we’ll run you through a warm-up before you go out there,” Coach Vaughn said as he put the gear down on a nearby bench.
…
When he jogged back out on the field twenty minutes later, it seemed like something had shifted in the world, something was different than it was when he’d woken up that morning. The defense was running pursuit drills, bodies flying to the ball as Coach Smith called out different offensive formations.
“Lafitte, remember what I said,” Coach Cunningham said before gesturing for him to take the field. “You’re in for the next series.”
Royce nodded before joining the defensive huddle, trying to ignore the whispers. He couldn’t ignore Malik slapping him on the back, a wide grin on his face under the facemask.
“They ain’t give my nigga no drip with that ol’ 1960s ass facemask,” Malik said, drawing laughter from the other players. “That shit so old, it marched here with A.Z. Young.” Even Royce laughed at the second quip.
“Focus!” Coach Smith shouted.
Half-speed, Royce reminded himself as they broke the huddle. That didn’t stop the nervous energy that coursed through his limbs, his hands clenched tightly as he settled into that familiar point behind the defensive line. The muscle memory was still there -- he could see the tells in the offensive line’s stance, could anticipate where the play was likely to go.
Half-speed, he said under his breath.
But as soon as the ball was snapped, instinct took over. He exploded through the gap, reading the guard’s pull and flowing with the play. Jarvis, the running back, was heading for the edge, but Royce took the perfect angle, his feet finding the familiar rhythm as he pursued.
Without hesitation, he closed the distance. Just as he was about to make contact, he pulled up, wrapping his arms around Jarvis as the two of them jogged to a stop to a chorus of claps from the players not in the drill.
Royce jogged back to the huddle past Coach Cunningham.
“What’s half mean, son?” the coach asked him.
“Sorry, coach,” Royce said, but the adrenaline had taken over. He’d just run a full sprint and didn’t feel a bit of pain in his leg. His heart pounded in his chest as he struggled to keep the smile off his face, feeling the pure joy of being back on the field.
He bent over, running his hands through the grass before clapping them together, just wanting to feel the turf on his palms to go along with the weight of the pads on his shoulders. This is where he belonged. His lungs burned a little, and he could feel his heart thudding in his ears, but he didn’t care.
This was worth it.
Malik bumped fists with Royce just as he retreated to his spot at safety. “You just might not embarrass a nigga out here.”
“Just might,” Royce said, settling into his stance.
The ball was snapped, and Royce was moving again. He ran into a lineman, relishing the sound of pads clashing against pads before spinning back off the block. Coach Cunningham might bench him for going full speed again…
…but in that moment, all that mattered was making up for lost time.
Royce sat on the metal bench, his leg propped up on a bag of extra footballs as his fingers flew across his phone screen that he had hidden behind a package of cups next to him. On the field, the team was finally ramping up to full-speed during the reps and that meant the other managers paid him less attention for not doing anything to help them.
Every so often, he’d glance up, watching the defense working through any issues that would need to be fixed before the season started. The rhythmic cadence of the signals, the synchronized movement of the players shifting in response to the offense’s motions, the satisfying crack of pads meeting pads, it all reminded him that each day spent filling cups of water was a day he’d wasted in trying to get back on the field.
’I figured you’d be trying to find a way to make some time for lil’ ol’ me’ Alix’s latest message said. It’d been a few days since the party and Alix had no problems pushing for a round two.
Royce, on the other hand, was a little more apprehensive, not wanting to risk slipping up and having Malik find out.
’Nah, you gotta take a number. I’m trying to get a whole alphabet of a roster. I’m on C tonight’
’Talking like that is how you end up getting traded, buddy’
Royce chuckled to himself as he looked up to at least give the illusion he was paying attention to practice. Donovan stood in the middle of the field, orchestrating the defense. He’d just come back from a bout with COVID and it was obvious how much smoother things flowed when he was there quarterbacking the defense opposed to Justin or someone else. But he was a step slower, his lungs likely struggling to keep up with his desire to go as hard as possible in each rep.
He was about to respond to Alix when a sharp cry of pain cut through the rhythmic sounds of cleats hitting turf and coaches barking out calls. His head snapped up, trying to locate the source of the sound.
The entire team had stopped, forming a tight cluster of jerseys, all hovering around a figure on the ground. Royce stood up and walked toward the field, trying to get a closer look at who it was.
The whistles hadn’t stopped blowing – sharp, insistent sounds that had the coaching staff jogging in the direction of the pack of players. Through gaps between their legs, Royce could see Donovan clutching his knee, his face contorted in pain. Keith, an offensive lineman, crouched down near him, his hands on his helmet, the likely culprit of whatever had happened to Donovan.
“Give him some space!” Coach Cunningham’s voice boomed. The circle of players widened reluctantly as the trainers jogged out.
The silence that fell over the field was eerie. A knee injury in practice could change the complexion of their season, especially one to a key player and leader of the team like Donovan was.
The trainers helped Donovan to his feet, but he couldn’t put any weight on his right leg. One of the trainers was asking him questions in a low voice but he just kept shaking his head, his jaw clenched tight.
Coach Cunningham walked over to his assistants, speaking in low voices as Donovan disappeared into the locker room. Royce couldn’t make out what they were saying, but every athlete had seen the grave look on Coach Cunningham’s face.
“Lafitte!” Coach Cunningham called out suddenly. “Come here.”
Royce walked over. Coach Vaughn was already heading toward him, and together the three of them walked back toward the locker room, leaving the rest of the team watching curiously. Moments later, a whistle blew and Royce could hear Coach McDaniels yelling for them to get back to work.
The locker room was cool and dim, a stark contrast to the bright sunshine outside. Donovan was already gone, probably whisked away for evaluation.
“Have you gotten the green light to play yet?” Coach Cunningham asked Royce without preamble.
Royce shook his head. “Not exactly. Dr. Richards said I’m looking better, but he hasn’t told me one way or the other. At my last appointment, he said ‘probably’ but I ain’t no doctor, coach, so I don’t know what that means.”
“Dr. Richards at the Lake? James Richards?”
“Yes, sir.”
Cunningham pulled out his phone, scrolling through his contacts. “We went to school together. Give me a minute.”
Coach Cunningham stepped away, phone to his ear. Royce was left standing awkwardly next to Coach Vaughn, not entirely cleared on what was happening. Coach Vaughn scribbled in a tattered notebook, the same one he always carried around. From the periodic glances Royce had gotten of what he was writing down, it was an endless stream of thoughts on what could be changed to have the defense running at its best.
Royce could hear snippets of Coach Cunningham’s conversation: “…understand the concern, but … Yes, I know … what if we… right, exactly…” None of it was clear enough to give Royce an idea of what their conversation was about.
Eventually, the old coach returned, sliding his phone back into his pocket. Coach Vaughn looked up from the notebook as he noticed Coach Cunningham walking back in their direction.
Cunningham pointed to Royce. “Get him what he needs. Jersey, pads, cleats. I doubt he has anything with him.”
Coach Vaughn nodded and disappeared toward the equipment room.
Royce froze then stuttered out a question. “Wait… what? I don’t understand.”
“Dr. Richards says you can go. He knows that our team doc is going to look after you. Dr. Naquin works at the Lake, too. But you’re to go half-speed,” Coach Cunningham’s eyes bored into him. “I mean that, son. Half-speed even if it means missed a read or being a step late to the ball. Those guys have been practicing all spring and summer. You haven’t put on cleats in a while. Half-speed. You understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” Royce said, nodding.
“You sure you’re up for this? No one’s going to think less of you if you need more time, but I can’t have you out there second guessing yourself.”
He didn’t hesitate. “I’m good to go, coach.”
Coach Vaughn returned with gear, backup stuff that they had on hand in cases of emergency. Royce looked at the number on the jersey, 71, a far cry from his typical number five that he’d worn all his life. It would just be something else he’d need to add to his list of things to get back in his quest for normalcy.
“Get changed and we’ll run you through a warm-up before you go out there,” Coach Vaughn said as he put the gear down on a nearby bench.
…
When he jogged back out on the field twenty minutes later, it seemed like something had shifted in the world, something was different than it was when he’d woken up that morning. The defense was running pursuit drills, bodies flying to the ball as Coach Smith called out different offensive formations.
“Lafitte, remember what I said,” Coach Cunningham said before gesturing for him to take the field. “You’re in for the next series.”
Royce nodded before joining the defensive huddle, trying to ignore the whispers. He couldn’t ignore Malik slapping him on the back, a wide grin on his face under the facemask.
“They ain’t give my nigga no drip with that ol’ 1960s ass facemask,” Malik said, drawing laughter from the other players. “That shit so old, it marched here with A.Z. Young.” Even Royce laughed at the second quip.
“Focus!” Coach Smith shouted.
Half-speed, Royce reminded himself as they broke the huddle. That didn’t stop the nervous energy that coursed through his limbs, his hands clenched tightly as he settled into that familiar point behind the defensive line. The muscle memory was still there -- he could see the tells in the offensive line’s stance, could anticipate where the play was likely to go.
Half-speed, he said under his breath.
But as soon as the ball was snapped, instinct took over. He exploded through the gap, reading the guard’s pull and flowing with the play. Jarvis, the running back, was heading for the edge, but Royce took the perfect angle, his feet finding the familiar rhythm as he pursued.
Without hesitation, he closed the distance. Just as he was about to make contact, he pulled up, wrapping his arms around Jarvis as the two of them jogged to a stop to a chorus of claps from the players not in the drill.
Royce jogged back to the huddle past Coach Cunningham.
“What’s half mean, son?” the coach asked him.
“Sorry, coach,” Royce said, but the adrenaline had taken over. He’d just run a full sprint and didn’t feel a bit of pain in his leg. His heart pounded in his chest as he struggled to keep the smile off his face, feeling the pure joy of being back on the field.
He bent over, running his hands through the grass before clapping them together, just wanting to feel the turf on his palms to go along with the weight of the pads on his shoulders. This is where he belonged. His lungs burned a little, and he could feel his heart thudding in his ears, but he didn’t care.
This was worth it.
Malik bumped fists with Royce just as he retreated to his spot at safety. “You just might not embarrass a nigga out here.”
“Just might,” Royce said, settling into his stance.
The ball was snapped, and Royce was moving again. He ran into a lineman, relishing the sound of pads clashing against pads before spinning back off the block. Coach Cunningham might bench him for going full speed again…
…but in that moment, all that mattered was making up for lost time.
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Soapy
- Posts: 16591
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Dying to Live
No adjustment period, no nothing, just straight CTE. this the first crash out yn that's also a pussy
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16847
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
CTE all day, baby
The only time this man has ever ran is when he was unarmed with two guns in his face but he a pussy???? Yall so mad he fucking a SINGLE chick that yall retconning
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djp73
- Posts: 13184
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 13:42
Dying to Live
All gas no brakes