Invictus
-
Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 7852
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Invictus
Season III | Chapter XV - Second Chances
The fluorescent lights hummed softly above the garage bay as Felix stood behind the front counter of his auto shop.
The place smelled like it always did - oil, rubber, metal, and the faint scent of cleaning solvent that never quite left the air. Felix shuffled through a stack of financial statements, squinting down at the numbers printed across the page. Even with his glasses perched low on his nose, the lines blurred together after a while.
He sighed quietly. "Damn eyes." He rubbed them with two fingers before looking back down. The numbers still didn't make much sense.
Felix reminded himself he was overdue for a new prescription. The optometrist had told him a year ago it was time. Mary had reminded him almost quarterly of the same. He just hadn't gotten around to it.
Trust was, there was a lot of things he hadn't gotten around to lately. He exhaled slowly, leaning back against the counter. He had been working in this shop for as long as he could remember. First as a helper, then eventually taking it over himself when the previous owner retired. It wasn't fancy, and it sure as hell wasn't making him rich.
But, it was his. And that went a long way.
Felix glanced down at the paperwork again. He couldn't help but wonder for how much longer he could sustain this.
He hated admitting it, even to himself. The business side of things had never been his strength. He could fix anything with an engine and four wheels, but numbers and balance sheets felt like an entirely different language.
His body had started betraying him too. The aches that used to come and go had begun sticking around. His knees throbbed most mornings before he even got out of bed. His lower back reminded him of every heavy engine block he had lifted over the year. Even his fingers - once quick and precise - felt stiff when he tried to work delicate bolts or wiring.
He flexed them now, watching the joints move slower than they used to.
Still.
The memories were good. Felix looked out across the garage floor. He remembered all the men who had cycled through this place over the years. Guys trying to make an honest living. Some stayed for a while, some only a few months before life pulled them somewhere else.
Then, there was Zane. Felix smiled faintly at the thought. He could still picture the kid running around the garage as a boy, weaving between cars with a toy wrench in his hand while Felix yelled half-hearted warnings about grease and sharp edges.
Even this past summer had been good. They had spent more time together than they had in what felt like years. Talking. Tinkering.
For the first time in a long time, Felix felt like maybe the two of them had finally found their rhythm again. Then the older memories crept in.
Memories of Rasheed. Felix's smile faded. His heart lurched.
He had tried to keep him in the shop as well. Tried to give him something steady. Honest.
Sitting still had never been something Rasheed has much interest in doing. The neighborhood pulled at him in ways Felix couldn't compete with. The fast money. The excitement. Felix sometimes found himself wondering if the path his son went down had been inevitable.
It may have been truth, but the guilt rang true all the same. He remembered all of the arguments. The pleading. The nights Rasheed stormed out of the house and hadn't returned for days on end.
Felix tried. Lord knew he had tried. But, now his son sat behind bars. A forgotten memory. Felix couldn't bring himself to go see him unless prompted heavily by Mary. Standing in that visitation room. Seeing his son ushered in by correctional officers one bad look away from taking their day out on his baby boy? He couldn't stomach it.
Plus, it felt like his own personal failure. One he couldn't diagnose his way through.
The sputtering roar of an engine approaching suddenly cut through his thoughts. Felix blinked and looked up. A small sedan rolled shakily through the shop gate, the engine coughing like it was choking on itself.
The car came to an uneven stop near the garage bay. The driver's door opened quickly.
A petite woman stepped out, maybe mid-twenties. She wore a jean jacket over a red top, her brown hair pulled loosely behind her head. A long leather purse hung from her shoulder as she approached the garage.
Her voice came out in a rush. "Hi - sorry - um - my car just started making this weird sound like ten minutes ago and there's this smell coming from the front and I'm not really sure what it is but -"
Felix held up a hand gently. "Easy now." She stopped mid-sentence.
"Take a breath, okay dear." She inhaled deeply, clearly embarrassed.
"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I've just been looking for work forever and I finally have a job interview and this had to happen today of all days."
Felix nodded, calmly and walked over to the car. "Let's see what we got here."
He popped the hood and leaned in, poking around the engine with practiced hands. After a moment, he spoke casually.
"What's the interview for?"
The girl blinked. "What?"
Felix didn't look up. "This interview you just mentioned. What's it for?"
He tapped a hose lightly with a wrench.
"Small talk helps with nerves, i hear. Humor an old man."
She smiled faintly despite herself. "It's just an admin position at a dental office," she said. "Nothing crazy."
Felix looked up from the engine and met her eyes. "Doesn't have to be crazy to be worth it. Try and remember that."
The girl smiled a little wider at that. Felix leaned back under the hood for another minute before straightening.
"Alright," he said. "I found the issue." Her shoulders tensed immediately.
"Is it bad?"
He wiped his hands on a rag. "Nah. Nothing major. Hose connection's loose. Easy fix."
Relief flashed across her face, quickly replaced once again by worry. "What's the damage?"
She opedn her purse and pulled out a small wallet, already flipping through it. Felix told her the price. Her fingers slowed. Inside the wallet were a handful of crumpled bills.
Felix watched quietly for a moment. "What's your name?" he asked.
She looked up. "Mariah."
Felix nodded once. Then he gently patted her shoulder. "You go to that job interview." She looked confused.
"When you land the job," he continued, "you come back here and pay your bill then."
For a second, she didn't move. Then tears well up in her eyes.
"Are you serious?"
Felix waved a hand dismissively. "You needed help now. You'll help me when you come back and pay what you owe., That's how community is supposed to work, right?"
She laughed through the tears. "You're right, sir. I'm very grateful." She wiped her face quickly, nodding over and over.
"Thank you. Seriously. Thank you."
Felix finished tightening the hose and closed the hood. Mariah climbed back into the car, the engine now purring normally. She leaned out of the window one last time.
"I'll be back," she promised. Felix gave her a small wave.
The car rolled out of the gate and disappeared down the street. Felix stood there for a moment, watching the empty road.
The weight on his shoulders felt a little lighter. He turned back toward the garage slowly and remembered.
Sometimes it wasn't about the money. sometimes it was just about making someone's 24 hours a little easier.
The metal chair scraped softly against the concrete floor as Rasheed shifted his weight.
His wrists stung. The correctional officer had cinched the handcuffs tight during the walk from his unit, and now the skin around the metal bite marks had turned and irritated. Rasheed rolled them slowly, trying to get some circulation back.
The room itself was plain. Gray walls. A metal table bolted into the floor. Two chairs. A camera in the upper corner that typically blinked its small red light didn’t now. He wasn’t being monitored. He knew what that must mean.
Rasheed leaned back slightly, letting his shoulders relax against the chair. The door clicked open.
A correctional officer stepped inside. “Jones,” he said simply, gesturing. Behind him walked a woman Rasheed hadn’t seen in person in a while.
Vanessa Kent.
The officer uncuffed Rasheed from the transport chain before stepping back out of the room. The heavy door shut again with a dull metallic thud.
For a moment, neither of them said anything. Vanessa set her briefcase down on the table and looked at him. She looked older now, sure. Twenty years had a way of doing that. A few strands of gray had crept into her dark hair, and the soft edges of youth had sharpened into something firmer.
But her eyes were the same. Sharp. Attentive. Stubborn as hell.
“Well,” she said finally, taking the seat across from him. “You look like a bag of shit.”
Rasheed snorted softly. “You always know just what you say, don’t you Vanessa?”
Vanessa smiled as she opened her briefcase. “You’re very welcome, ‘Sheed.” They sat there a moment longer before Rasheed spoke again.
“How you been?”
“Busy,” she said. “Life. Work. Kids.” She paused, a faint smile tugging at her mouth. “My son had a baseball game last week.”
Rasheed leaned forward slightly. “Yeah?”
“Hit his first double of the season,” she said proudly.
Rasheed nodded. “Choking up on the bat will do that, that’s big time.”
“He thought he was Barry Bonds rounding second.”
“Bonds had to start somewhere, that’s how it starts,” Rasheed chuckled. “Next thing you know, the Pirates will be trying to pick him up.”
Vanessa laughed quietly. For a moment, the conversation felt normal. Easy. Not like the conversations he had grown accustomed to having. The ones where you had to watch your back and watch your mouth.
Vanessa knew exactly who Rasheed was. She knew everything he had done. She had never treated him like he was less than human. Like he was a walking cautionary tale.
Not during the trial, or during sentencing, or the bitter, long years ever since. She was young then, freshly called to the bar. Idealistic. Rasheed membered the look on her face the day the judge handed down his sentence.
18 long years. The disbelief in her eyes. As if it wasn’t adding up in her mind. It’s because the math didn’t make sense. She fought like Hell. She made Rasheed feel like he was worth fighting for.
She did that because she believed him. She never stopped. Especially when a lot of people did. Including the judge.
Vanessa always stuck around, always advocating for things he didn’t think he deserved while he’s been inside. He asked her a few times why she didn’t just move on. She would always give him the programmed answers.
“Professional responsibility. Belief in due process. Wanting to see justice done properly.” Rasheed learned to just nod and move on, because he figured out the answer after a while.
Guilt. She felt like she had failed him. A lot of people did. He tried to brush that out of his mind. He was just grateful she was still around.
“I filed something last week,” she said. Rasheed glanced as Vanessa pulled a folder from her briefcase and slid it across the table.
“What kind of something?”
“A petition. For consideration for early release. I’ve been drawing up a post-release plan for you for the last few weeks. Help your case a little.”
Rasheed leaned back slowly, scratching the back of his head. They had been down this road before. “I don’t know about that, Vanessa.”
Vanessa studied him carefully. “What do you mean you don’t know?”
“Don’t you remember last time? How that shit went left?”
Of course she remembered. The first parole hearing had been brutal. Vanessa had spent months preparing for it. Collecting character references. Old bosses, friends from work. Building a case around Rasheed’s spotless behavior inside.
Walked into it hopeful. Walked out crushed. Denied. Rasheed knew what sweet Hell he was re-entering. But Vanessa, it was another crushing loss for her.
“That was years ago,” she said firmly.
“Doesn’t mean they’ll feel differently now.”
“It absolutely does,” she replied. “You don’t know what I have up my sleeves this time. You’ve served well past your minimum sentence. Your disciplinary record is spotless. You’ve competed every rehabilitation program they have offered even though we both know you never needed it. You’re a model inmate, Rasheed.”
She met his eyes. Rasheed left her gaze and stared at the table.
“I just - I don’t know if I have that in me to go through it again.”
Vanessa softened slightly. “I get it - I really do. But, don’t you want to get out? Be a person again? Maybe we can get you out in time to see your son still be a kid.”
That landed. Rasheed’s jaw tightened. He pictured Zane in a cap and gown. Standing tall. Playing football somewhere he never imagined his son could get to.
Maybe Rasheed could be there. Watching his son. Being his father. Not behind a glass window, or seated across him, shackled.
Actually there.
Vanessa watched the thought cross his face. “That’s what we’re fighting for, it’s more than just you,” she said quietly.
Rasheed leaned back in the chair again. For years, he had accepted the idea that prison might just be where his life ended. But now?
Maybe that didn’t have to be true.
The hotel room buzzed with nervous, chaotic energy.
Music played quietly from someone’s phone on the dresser, barely loud enough to drown out the overlapping voices of seven teenage boys trying to get themselves ready for a night they had absolutely no business being excited about.
Cam stood near the mirror, throwing imaging punches in the air. “Tonight,” he declared, pointing at Abdul like a motivational speaker, “we fucking outside.”
Abdul hyped him right back. “We fucking outside, bro.”
They high-fived hands loudly. Across the room, Raekwon sat comfortably in a chair by the window, slowly sipping from a bottle of Hennessy he had somehow smuggled into his overnight bag.
He swirled it around thoughtfully. “Y’all doing a lot of talking,” he said calmly. “Just drink something and relax, you get me?”
Cam looked faux-offended. “This is what preparation and dedication looks like, my boy.”
Malik sat on the edge of the bed, completely removed from the chaos. His head was down, thumb slowly scrolling through his phone. Quiet. Semi-detached enough that Zane noticed but opted not to say anything.
Instead, he leaned back in the rolling office chair between Luke and Brock, spinning slightly as he watched Brock in the mirror. He had been staring at his reflection for the last five minutes. Fixing his shirt. Adjusting hair. Then fixing it again.
Zane smirked. “Bro,” he said finally. Brock jumped slightly.
“Yeah?”
“Take a fucking breath and unclench, I promise you that tonight is not that serious.”
Brock looked back at the mirror again. “I just want to make sure I look normal.”
Zane raised an eyebrow. Luke snorted back a laugh. Brock rubbed the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed. “I’m just saying, I’m not really around the cool crowd too often, I don’t want to - I don’t know - fuck it up.”
Zane nodded slowly. He understood. He once was like this himself. Brock wasn’t built like the rest of them socially. Six-foot-five, three hundred pounds of elite left tackle didn’t exactly scream “nightlife personality”. At least not in Upper St. Clair, Pennsylvania.
Zane leaned forward in the chair. “You’re more than worthy to hang with us, man.” Brock blinked.
Zane lowered his voice a little and leaned closer. “Plus, you’re our best player, you deserve a lot more props than you get.”
Brock frowned. “That’s not-”
“Don’t start man,” Zane cut in. “Malik doesn’t throw me all these touches without you making sure he stays upright every game.”
Malik looked up briefly, shrugged, nodded, but said nothing, going directly back to his phone. Zane pointed at Brock.
“That’s what makes you the coolest one in the room, my boy.” Brock took a slow breath, as if his nerves managed to melt, even just by a bit.
“Thanks, man.” Zane nodded as his phone buzzed in his lap. He glanced down.
Bianca.
Cam noticed and nods towards Zane as he reads through the instructions. “What’s the word, brother?”
Zane looked up at the group. “Alright boys, the girls texted and they said they’ve found a spot for us.”
Cam clapped his hands together instantly. “Say fucking less.”
Zane continued. “There’s apparently this lowkey bar a couple of blocks away from us. Apparently they locked up the back section and the bartender hasn’t carded them once.”
The room erupted. Abdul slapped the wall. “Sista Bianca hooked it the fuck up!”
Raekwon stood up slowly, finishing his sip of Hennessy. “Let’s get some hoes, gentlemen.”
Within a minute the room turned into a quiet scramble. Jackets grabbed. Phone checked. Keycards to room pocketed. They slipped out the room one by one, careful not to draw attention. The hallway was silent except for the muffled sound of the elevator dinging somewhere down the hall and the ice machine crunching more ice.
The city hummed around them - streetlights reflecting off the pavement, distant traffic rumbling through downtown. As they walked, Cam caught up beside Zane, who was out front leading the pack with directions present on his phone.
“Hey man, you cool with Malik tagging along?”
Zane glanced ahead. “I won’t hold you, it’s a little weird. But, things haven’t been all World War III the last few weeks, so I don’t know. I’m not trying to stir shit up if buddy is done messing with me, even if its for a little bit.”
Cam nodded slowly. “Well,” he said, bumping Zane’s shoulder. “You know I got your back either way.”
Zane smiled faintly. “Appreciate you, bro.”
They turned the corner and stopped. The place looked questionable. A small bar tucked between two brick buildings. The faded neon sign flickered like it might give up entirely at any moment. It looked about one step away from being condemned.
Cam grinned. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “This is the spot.”
Malik furrowed his brow. “Yeah, to catch Hepatitis.”
They stepped inside. The bar smelled like cheap beer and old wood. A couple of patrons sat near the front, the kind of people who looked like they had probably been drinking there since noon. But the back of the bar was lively. A small group waved from a booth.
Zane spotted her immediately. He didn’t even hesitate. He walked straight over and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a deep kiss. Bianca laughed softly against him before kissing him back.
When they finally pulled apart, she looked him up and down. Her eyebrows lifted.
“Holy shit.”
Zane blinked. “What?”
“You got hotter.”
Zane grinned. “Football season got me looking good, baby.”
She rolled her eyes playfully. Then she turned to the group. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s do introductions before this becomes chaotic.
Zane gestured behind him. “It might be a bit later as far as my guys go, but you remember Cam obviously. And then, these guys are Malik, Kwon, Abdul, Luke, and my boy, Brock.”
The boys waved or nodded in various degrees of awkward confidence.
Bianca pointed around the table. “This is my girl Katie that you remember from FaceTime, this is Darius, Chloe, and Amanda.”
Cam immediately leaned toward Zane and whispered. “I think I just fell in love, bro.” Zane elbowed him, grinning.
The group shuffled into the booth and surrounding chairs. The bartender slid a couple of pitchers down toward them. Laughter started to build. Stories began flying across the table.
The fluorescent lights hummed softly above the garage bay as Felix stood behind the front counter of his auto shop.
The place smelled like it always did - oil, rubber, metal, and the faint scent of cleaning solvent that never quite left the air. Felix shuffled through a stack of financial statements, squinting down at the numbers printed across the page. Even with his glasses perched low on his nose, the lines blurred together after a while.
He sighed quietly. "Damn eyes." He rubbed them with two fingers before looking back down. The numbers still didn't make much sense.
Felix reminded himself he was overdue for a new prescription. The optometrist had told him a year ago it was time. Mary had reminded him almost quarterly of the same. He just hadn't gotten around to it.
Trust was, there was a lot of things he hadn't gotten around to lately. He exhaled slowly, leaning back against the counter. He had been working in this shop for as long as he could remember. First as a helper, then eventually taking it over himself when the previous owner retired. It wasn't fancy, and it sure as hell wasn't making him rich.
But, it was his. And that went a long way.
Felix glanced down at the paperwork again. He couldn't help but wonder for how much longer he could sustain this.
He hated admitting it, even to himself. The business side of things had never been his strength. He could fix anything with an engine and four wheels, but numbers and balance sheets felt like an entirely different language.
His body had started betraying him too. The aches that used to come and go had begun sticking around. His knees throbbed most mornings before he even got out of bed. His lower back reminded him of every heavy engine block he had lifted over the year. Even his fingers - once quick and precise - felt stiff when he tried to work delicate bolts or wiring.
He flexed them now, watching the joints move slower than they used to.
Still.
The memories were good. Felix looked out across the garage floor. He remembered all the men who had cycled through this place over the years. Guys trying to make an honest living. Some stayed for a while, some only a few months before life pulled them somewhere else.
Then, there was Zane. Felix smiled faintly at the thought. He could still picture the kid running around the garage as a boy, weaving between cars with a toy wrench in his hand while Felix yelled half-hearted warnings about grease and sharp edges.
Even this past summer had been good. They had spent more time together than they had in what felt like years. Talking. Tinkering.
For the first time in a long time, Felix felt like maybe the two of them had finally found their rhythm again. Then the older memories crept in.
Memories of Rasheed. Felix's smile faded. His heart lurched.
He had tried to keep him in the shop as well. Tried to give him something steady. Honest.
Sitting still had never been something Rasheed has much interest in doing. The neighborhood pulled at him in ways Felix couldn't compete with. The fast money. The excitement. Felix sometimes found himself wondering if the path his son went down had been inevitable.
It may have been truth, but the guilt rang true all the same. He remembered all of the arguments. The pleading. The nights Rasheed stormed out of the house and hadn't returned for days on end.
Felix tried. Lord knew he had tried. But, now his son sat behind bars. A forgotten memory. Felix couldn't bring himself to go see him unless prompted heavily by Mary. Standing in that visitation room. Seeing his son ushered in by correctional officers one bad look away from taking their day out on his baby boy? He couldn't stomach it.
Plus, it felt like his own personal failure. One he couldn't diagnose his way through.
The sputtering roar of an engine approaching suddenly cut through his thoughts. Felix blinked and looked up. A small sedan rolled shakily through the shop gate, the engine coughing like it was choking on itself.
The car came to an uneven stop near the garage bay. The driver's door opened quickly.
A petite woman stepped out, maybe mid-twenties. She wore a jean jacket over a red top, her brown hair pulled loosely behind her head. A long leather purse hung from her shoulder as she approached the garage.
Her voice came out in a rush. "Hi - sorry - um - my car just started making this weird sound like ten minutes ago and there's this smell coming from the front and I'm not really sure what it is but -"
Felix held up a hand gently. "Easy now." She stopped mid-sentence.
"Take a breath, okay dear." She inhaled deeply, clearly embarrassed.
"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I've just been looking for work forever and I finally have a job interview and this had to happen today of all days."
Felix nodded, calmly and walked over to the car. "Let's see what we got here."
He popped the hood and leaned in, poking around the engine with practiced hands. After a moment, he spoke casually.
"What's the interview for?"
The girl blinked. "What?"
Felix didn't look up. "This interview you just mentioned. What's it for?"
He tapped a hose lightly with a wrench.
"Small talk helps with nerves, i hear. Humor an old man."
She smiled faintly despite herself. "It's just an admin position at a dental office," she said. "Nothing crazy."
Felix looked up from the engine and met her eyes. "Doesn't have to be crazy to be worth it. Try and remember that."
The girl smiled a little wider at that. Felix leaned back under the hood for another minute before straightening.
"Alright," he said. "I found the issue." Her shoulders tensed immediately.
"Is it bad?"
He wiped his hands on a rag. "Nah. Nothing major. Hose connection's loose. Easy fix."
Relief flashed across her face, quickly replaced once again by worry. "What's the damage?"
She opedn her purse and pulled out a small wallet, already flipping through it. Felix told her the price. Her fingers slowed. Inside the wallet were a handful of crumpled bills.
Felix watched quietly for a moment. "What's your name?" he asked.
She looked up. "Mariah."
Felix nodded once. Then he gently patted her shoulder. "You go to that job interview." She looked confused.
"When you land the job," he continued, "you come back here and pay your bill then."
For a second, she didn't move. Then tears well up in her eyes.
"Are you serious?"
Felix waved a hand dismissively. "You needed help now. You'll help me when you come back and pay what you owe., That's how community is supposed to work, right?"
She laughed through the tears. "You're right, sir. I'm very grateful." She wiped her face quickly, nodding over and over.
"Thank you. Seriously. Thank you."
Felix finished tightening the hose and closed the hood. Mariah climbed back into the car, the engine now purring normally. She leaned out of the window one last time.
"I'll be back," she promised. Felix gave her a small wave.
The car rolled out of the gate and disappeared down the street. Felix stood there for a moment, watching the empty road.
The weight on his shoulders felt a little lighter. He turned back toward the garage slowly and remembered.
Sometimes it wasn't about the money. sometimes it was just about making someone's 24 hours a little easier.
***
The metal chair scraped softly against the concrete floor as Rasheed shifted his weight.
His wrists stung. The correctional officer had cinched the handcuffs tight during the walk from his unit, and now the skin around the metal bite marks had turned and irritated. Rasheed rolled them slowly, trying to get some circulation back.
The room itself was plain. Gray walls. A metal table bolted into the floor. Two chairs. A camera in the upper corner that typically blinked its small red light didn’t now. He wasn’t being monitored. He knew what that must mean.
Rasheed leaned back slightly, letting his shoulders relax against the chair. The door clicked open.
A correctional officer stepped inside. “Jones,” he said simply, gesturing. Behind him walked a woman Rasheed hadn’t seen in person in a while.
Vanessa Kent.
The officer uncuffed Rasheed from the transport chain before stepping back out of the room. The heavy door shut again with a dull metallic thud.
For a moment, neither of them said anything. Vanessa set her briefcase down on the table and looked at him. She looked older now, sure. Twenty years had a way of doing that. A few strands of gray had crept into her dark hair, and the soft edges of youth had sharpened into something firmer.
But her eyes were the same. Sharp. Attentive. Stubborn as hell.
“Well,” she said finally, taking the seat across from him. “You look like a bag of shit.”
Rasheed snorted softly. “You always know just what you say, don’t you Vanessa?”
Vanessa smiled as she opened her briefcase. “You’re very welcome, ‘Sheed.” They sat there a moment longer before Rasheed spoke again.
“How you been?”
“Busy,” she said. “Life. Work. Kids.” She paused, a faint smile tugging at her mouth. “My son had a baseball game last week.”
Rasheed leaned forward slightly. “Yeah?”
“Hit his first double of the season,” she said proudly.
Rasheed nodded. “Choking up on the bat will do that, that’s big time.”
“He thought he was Barry Bonds rounding second.”
“Bonds had to start somewhere, that’s how it starts,” Rasheed chuckled. “Next thing you know, the Pirates will be trying to pick him up.”
Vanessa laughed quietly. For a moment, the conversation felt normal. Easy. Not like the conversations he had grown accustomed to having. The ones where you had to watch your back and watch your mouth.
Vanessa knew exactly who Rasheed was. She knew everything he had done. She had never treated him like he was less than human. Like he was a walking cautionary tale.
Not during the trial, or during sentencing, or the bitter, long years ever since. She was young then, freshly called to the bar. Idealistic. Rasheed membered the look on her face the day the judge handed down his sentence.
18 long years. The disbelief in her eyes. As if it wasn’t adding up in her mind. It’s because the math didn’t make sense. She fought like Hell. She made Rasheed feel like he was worth fighting for.
She did that because she believed him. She never stopped. Especially when a lot of people did. Including the judge.
Vanessa always stuck around, always advocating for things he didn’t think he deserved while he’s been inside. He asked her a few times why she didn’t just move on. She would always give him the programmed answers.
“Professional responsibility. Belief in due process. Wanting to see justice done properly.” Rasheed learned to just nod and move on, because he figured out the answer after a while.
Guilt. She felt like she had failed him. A lot of people did. He tried to brush that out of his mind. He was just grateful she was still around.
“I filed something last week,” she said. Rasheed glanced as Vanessa pulled a folder from her briefcase and slid it across the table.
“What kind of something?”
“A petition. For consideration for early release. I’ve been drawing up a post-release plan for you for the last few weeks. Help your case a little.”
Rasheed leaned back slowly, scratching the back of his head. They had been down this road before. “I don’t know about that, Vanessa.”
Vanessa studied him carefully. “What do you mean you don’t know?”
“Don’t you remember last time? How that shit went left?”
Of course she remembered. The first parole hearing had been brutal. Vanessa had spent months preparing for it. Collecting character references. Old bosses, friends from work. Building a case around Rasheed’s spotless behavior inside.
Walked into it hopeful. Walked out crushed. Denied. Rasheed knew what sweet Hell he was re-entering. But Vanessa, it was another crushing loss for her.
“That was years ago,” she said firmly.
“Doesn’t mean they’ll feel differently now.”
“It absolutely does,” she replied. “You don’t know what I have up my sleeves this time. You’ve served well past your minimum sentence. Your disciplinary record is spotless. You’ve competed every rehabilitation program they have offered even though we both know you never needed it. You’re a model inmate, Rasheed.”
She met his eyes. Rasheed left her gaze and stared at the table.
“I just - I don’t know if I have that in me to go through it again.”
Vanessa softened slightly. “I get it - I really do. But, don’t you want to get out? Be a person again? Maybe we can get you out in time to see your son still be a kid.”
That landed. Rasheed’s jaw tightened. He pictured Zane in a cap and gown. Standing tall. Playing football somewhere he never imagined his son could get to.
Maybe Rasheed could be there. Watching his son. Being his father. Not behind a glass window, or seated across him, shackled.
Actually there.
Vanessa watched the thought cross his face. “That’s what we’re fighting for, it’s more than just you,” she said quietly.
Rasheed leaned back in the chair again. For years, he had accepted the idea that prison might just be where his life ended. But now?
Maybe that didn’t have to be true.
***
The hotel room buzzed with nervous, chaotic energy.
Music played quietly from someone’s phone on the dresser, barely loud enough to drown out the overlapping voices of seven teenage boys trying to get themselves ready for a night they had absolutely no business being excited about.
Cam stood near the mirror, throwing imaging punches in the air. “Tonight,” he declared, pointing at Abdul like a motivational speaker, “we fucking outside.”
Abdul hyped him right back. “We fucking outside, bro.”
They high-fived hands loudly. Across the room, Raekwon sat comfortably in a chair by the window, slowly sipping from a bottle of Hennessy he had somehow smuggled into his overnight bag.
He swirled it around thoughtfully. “Y’all doing a lot of talking,” he said calmly. “Just drink something and relax, you get me?”
Cam looked faux-offended. “This is what preparation and dedication looks like, my boy.”
Malik sat on the edge of the bed, completely removed from the chaos. His head was down, thumb slowly scrolling through his phone. Quiet. Semi-detached enough that Zane noticed but opted not to say anything.
Instead, he leaned back in the rolling office chair between Luke and Brock, spinning slightly as he watched Brock in the mirror. He had been staring at his reflection for the last five minutes. Fixing his shirt. Adjusting hair. Then fixing it again.
Zane smirked. “Bro,” he said finally. Brock jumped slightly.
“Yeah?”
“Take a fucking breath and unclench, I promise you that tonight is not that serious.”
Brock looked back at the mirror again. “I just want to make sure I look normal.”
Zane raised an eyebrow. Luke snorted back a laugh. Brock rubbed the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed. “I’m just saying, I’m not really around the cool crowd too often, I don’t want to - I don’t know - fuck it up.”
Zane nodded slowly. He understood. He once was like this himself. Brock wasn’t built like the rest of them socially. Six-foot-five, three hundred pounds of elite left tackle didn’t exactly scream “nightlife personality”. At least not in Upper St. Clair, Pennsylvania.
Zane leaned forward in the chair. “You’re more than worthy to hang with us, man.” Brock blinked.
Zane lowered his voice a little and leaned closer. “Plus, you’re our best player, you deserve a lot more props than you get.”
Brock frowned. “That’s not-”
“Don’t start man,” Zane cut in. “Malik doesn’t throw me all these touches without you making sure he stays upright every game.”
Malik looked up briefly, shrugged, nodded, but said nothing, going directly back to his phone. Zane pointed at Brock.
“That’s what makes you the coolest one in the room, my boy.” Brock took a slow breath, as if his nerves managed to melt, even just by a bit.
“Thanks, man.” Zane nodded as his phone buzzed in his lap. He glanced down.
Bianca.
Cam noticed and nods towards Zane as he reads through the instructions. “What’s the word, brother?”
Zane looked up at the group. “Alright boys, the girls texted and they said they’ve found a spot for us.”
Cam clapped his hands together instantly. “Say fucking less.”
Zane continued. “There’s apparently this lowkey bar a couple of blocks away from us. Apparently they locked up the back section and the bartender hasn’t carded them once.”
The room erupted. Abdul slapped the wall. “Sista Bianca hooked it the fuck up!”
Raekwon stood up slowly, finishing his sip of Hennessy. “Let’s get some hoes, gentlemen.”
Within a minute the room turned into a quiet scramble. Jackets grabbed. Phone checked. Keycards to room pocketed. They slipped out the room one by one, careful not to draw attention. The hallway was silent except for the muffled sound of the elevator dinging somewhere down the hall and the ice machine crunching more ice.
The city hummed around them - streetlights reflecting off the pavement, distant traffic rumbling through downtown. As they walked, Cam caught up beside Zane, who was out front leading the pack with directions present on his phone.
“Hey man, you cool with Malik tagging along?”
Zane glanced ahead. “I won’t hold you, it’s a little weird. But, things haven’t been all World War III the last few weeks, so I don’t know. I’m not trying to stir shit up if buddy is done messing with me, even if its for a little bit.”
Cam nodded slowly. “Well,” he said, bumping Zane’s shoulder. “You know I got your back either way.”
Zane smiled faintly. “Appreciate you, bro.”
They turned the corner and stopped. The place looked questionable. A small bar tucked between two brick buildings. The faded neon sign flickered like it might give up entirely at any moment. It looked about one step away from being condemned.
Cam grinned. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “This is the spot.”
Malik furrowed his brow. “Yeah, to catch Hepatitis.”
They stepped inside. The bar smelled like cheap beer and old wood. A couple of patrons sat near the front, the kind of people who looked like they had probably been drinking there since noon. But the back of the bar was lively. A small group waved from a booth.
Zane spotted her immediately. He didn’t even hesitate. He walked straight over and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a deep kiss. Bianca laughed softly against him before kissing him back.
When they finally pulled apart, she looked him up and down. Her eyebrows lifted.
“Holy shit.”
Zane blinked. “What?”
“You got hotter.”
Zane grinned. “Football season got me looking good, baby.”
She rolled her eyes playfully. Then she turned to the group. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s do introductions before this becomes chaotic.
Zane gestured behind him. “It might be a bit later as far as my guys go, but you remember Cam obviously. And then, these guys are Malik, Kwon, Abdul, Luke, and my boy, Brock.”
The boys waved or nodded in various degrees of awkward confidence.
Bianca pointed around the table. “This is my girl Katie that you remember from FaceTime, this is Darius, Chloe, and Amanda.”
Cam immediately leaned toward Zane and whispered. “I think I just fell in love, bro.” Zane elbowed him, grinning.
The group shuffled into the booth and surrounding chairs. The bartender slid a couple of pitchers down toward them. Laughter started to build. Stories began flying across the table.
-
Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 7852
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
-
Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 7852
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
-
redsox907
- Posts: 6163
- Joined: 01 Jun 2025, 12:40
Invictus
boy the type to get baby trapped on his first action, you hate to see itCaptain Canada wrote: ↑15 Mar 2026, 19:14Cam immediately leaned toward Zane and whispered. “I think I just fell in love, bro.” Zane elbowed him, grinning.
interesting to see how the appeal plays out for Sheed.
also - Darius comes off as a closet gay fr fr
-
Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 7852
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Invictus
He just needs to get a hit in. He's dying for it.redsox907 wrote: ↑16 Mar 2026, 12:03boy the type to get baby trapped on his first action, you hate to see itCaptain Canada wrote: ↑15 Mar 2026, 19:14Cam immediately leaned toward Zane and whispered. “I think I just fell in love, bro.” Zane elbowed him, grinning.
interesting to see how the appeal plays out for Sheed.
also - Darius comes off as a closet gay fr fr
Sheed just looking for a win
-
Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 7852
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Invictus
Season III | Chapter XVI - Riot
The bar had grown louder as the night wore on. What had started as a cautious hangout had turned into something far more energetic. Music blared from a speaker behind the bar, and most of the group had drifted toward the small open space that passed for a dance floor. Conversations overlapped, laughter bounced off the walls, and the bartender kept sliding pitchers down the counter every few minutes.
Zane stayed where he was. He sat back in the booth with one arm comfortably wrapped around Bianca’s shoulders. In his other hand he nursed the same beer he had been holding most of the night.
Bianca noticed. She tilted her head slightly and tapped the bottle with her finger. “You actually drinking that tonight or are you just babysitting it for someone else”
Zane glanced at it, then shook his head. “Not really.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been holding that thing for like an hour.”
Zane chuckled. “I know.” He took a small sip before setting it back down. “I just don’t want any excuses tomorrow night,” he said. “If I play bad, I want it to be because they beat me. Not because I was being dumb as fuck and drinking heavy the night before.” He stared at some of his teammates as they lined up a shot of something clear at the bar.
Bianca nodded approvingly. “That’s fair.”
She leaned back slightly into his side, letting her eyes wander around the room. “Have you heard anything about scouts being at the game?”
Zane shrugged. “I assume there will be. There’s too many ranked guys playing tomorrow for there not to be between Malik, Brock, myself, and a few of the Central guys too."
Bianca followed his gaze across the room. Malik was on the small dance floor with Kwon and a couple of Bianca’s friends - Chloe and Amanda - laughing as they talked over the music. She studied the group for a moment.
Then she glanced back at Zane.
“What’s the situation with Malik right now?”
Zane inhaled slowly. “I honestly don’t know,” he admitted. "We have that big confrontation like i told you outside of school, and things kind of - i don't know - fizzled out on their own."
He looked back toward Malik.
“But the last few weeks, it's like everything pivoted. On the field - things have been great. And then off of the field, he's stopped hating me. Not necessarily liking me, but.”
Bianca raised an eyebrow. “That seems like a good development.”
“Yeah,” Zane said slowly. “It just feels a little unresolved.”
Bianca studied his face for a moment. “Would you talk to him about it?”
“Nah.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “Because if it’s something he wants to tell me, he will.”
Zane looked back toward the dance floor again. “And if not then it’s not my business.”
Bianca considered that. “That doesn't bother you?”
“The world would be a much better place if people didn't insert themselves into emotions that aren't held for them.” He gave a small half-smile.
Bianca nodded slowly. “That’s actually really mature. and wise. I thought you weren't taking Philosophy until next semester”
Zane looked at her sideways. “Did that do something for you?”
“We haven't fucked since the summer - a light breeze might do something for me.”
Zane broke out in a full-body laugh, Bianca joining him immediately.
Across the room, Cam was loudly attempting to teach Darius and Abdul some ridiculous dance move while Kwon laughed at them.
Zane glanced around the room, noticing a group of guys walk through the front entrance of the bar, a swirl of cool air following them. They eyeballed the group in the back, before tucking themselves into a corner booth similar to the ones Zane and company were currently in.
The booth had filled out again as the night wore on.
Darius slid into the seat beside Bianca and Zane, turning sideways so he could face the table. Across from them, Cam leaned back in his chair with the loose posture of someone who had clearly crossed the line from buzzed to drunk. Malik sat beside him, calmer, though his eyes carried that sharp awareness he always seemed to have.
Chloe perched next to Malik, laughing at something Cam had just said.
At the bar, Abdul, Luke, Brock, Kwon, and Katie had formed their own little orbit of conversation, the occasional burst of laughter drifting across the room.
Darius leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “So,” he said, glancing between the football players, “what do we think tomorrow’s looking like?”
Zane shrugged casually. "They're pretty good from what we've seen on film, but it shouldn't be too much of a challenge for us.”
“That’s it?” Darius asked.
Zane smiled faintly. "What do you mean?"
“I ain't press, good brother. You can talk your shit if you need to.”
Zane smiled earnestly, but shrugged. "I'll talk my shit after we win, howe about that?"
Darius nodded before flicking his attention to Malik.
“What about you, quarterback?” he asked. “How many touchdowns you throwing tomorrow?”
Malik smirked. He pointed across the table toward Zane and nodded his head at Cam on the other side of Chloe. “I can only throw as many as these two catch.”
Cam immediately sat up straighter. “Oh we talking numbers now?” He pointed dramatically toward the ceiling.
“There is not a Central pussy alive that can slow me down tomorrow.” His voice carried across the room.
“We putting at least 50 on the board! I promise you that”
Darius clapped loudly. Bianca laughed. Chloe let out a playful wooo!.
For a moment, it felt like harmless hype.
Then a voice cut through the bar. “Who the fuck said that?”
The entire room quieted. The music still played, but suddenly every conversation had died. ane’s eyes lifted toward the entrance.
The group of guys that had walked in a little while ago. From across the bar, it looked like maybe six of them.
They moved with the slow confidence of people who knew exactly where they were and weren’t interested in pretending otherwise. The one in front stepped forward. Tattoos crawled up both arms and wrapped along his neck like dark vines. His shoulders were broad, and his stare was locked directly on their table.
He repeated himself. “One of you bitches was talking shit about us.”
His eyes swept across the group. “Who the fuck was it?”
Cam’s wide eyes instantly betrayed him.
No one spoke. The silence stretched. Then Malik slowly pushed his chair back.
It scraped loudly against the floor as he stood. “I did, bitch.”
His voice was calm. “What you gonna do about it, pussy?”
The group of guys moved closer.
Just closing the distance.
Zane slid sideways out of the booth, stepping past Darius. He rose to his feet beside Malik. The guy in front looked at Zane now, then back at Malik.
He smirked. “Who’s this? Your fucking boyfriend or something? Took your dick out of his mouth long enough to say something?"
Zane didn’t blink. “All I see,” Zane said evenly, “is six bitches that are gonna be taking belt tomorrow night. Whole ancestral line going to feel the whooping we gonna be putting on your boys."
The tattooed guy stepped forward. Now he was chest-to-chest with Zane, close enough that Zane could smell the alcohol on his breath.
“Tomorrow night?” the guy said quietly. He jerked his head toward the door. “We can settle this outside right now.”
Zane turned his head slightly toward Malik. He looked back at him.
There was something in his expression. Not anger or hesitation.
Just a question. And a challenge.
Malik gave the smallest shrug. Zane nodded once.
Without another word, the two of them turned and started walking toward the door.
Behind them, chairs scraped. The entire bar seemed to rise at once as people realized what was about to happen.
The cold Detroit night waited just outside.
The bar had grown louder as the night wore on. What had started as a cautious hangout had turned into something far more energetic. Music blared from a speaker behind the bar, and most of the group had drifted toward the small open space that passed for a dance floor. Conversations overlapped, laughter bounced off the walls, and the bartender kept sliding pitchers down the counter every few minutes.
Zane stayed where he was. He sat back in the booth with one arm comfortably wrapped around Bianca’s shoulders. In his other hand he nursed the same beer he had been holding most of the night.
Bianca noticed. She tilted her head slightly and tapped the bottle with her finger. “You actually drinking that tonight or are you just babysitting it for someone else”
Zane glanced at it, then shook his head. “Not really.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been holding that thing for like an hour.”
Zane chuckled. “I know.” He took a small sip before setting it back down. “I just don’t want any excuses tomorrow night,” he said. “If I play bad, I want it to be because they beat me. Not because I was being dumb as fuck and drinking heavy the night before.” He stared at some of his teammates as they lined up a shot of something clear at the bar.
Bianca nodded approvingly. “That’s fair.”
She leaned back slightly into his side, letting her eyes wander around the room. “Have you heard anything about scouts being at the game?”
Zane shrugged. “I assume there will be. There’s too many ranked guys playing tomorrow for there not to be between Malik, Brock, myself, and a few of the Central guys too."
Bianca followed his gaze across the room. Malik was on the small dance floor with Kwon and a couple of Bianca’s friends - Chloe and Amanda - laughing as they talked over the music. She studied the group for a moment.
Then she glanced back at Zane.
“What’s the situation with Malik right now?”
Zane inhaled slowly. “I honestly don’t know,” he admitted. "We have that big confrontation like i told you outside of school, and things kind of - i don't know - fizzled out on their own."
He looked back toward Malik.
“But the last few weeks, it's like everything pivoted. On the field - things have been great. And then off of the field, he's stopped hating me. Not necessarily liking me, but.”
Bianca raised an eyebrow. “That seems like a good development.”
“Yeah,” Zane said slowly. “It just feels a little unresolved.”
Bianca studied his face for a moment. “Would you talk to him about it?”
“Nah.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “Because if it’s something he wants to tell me, he will.”
Zane looked back toward the dance floor again. “And if not then it’s not my business.”
Bianca considered that. “That doesn't bother you?”
“The world would be a much better place if people didn't insert themselves into emotions that aren't held for them.” He gave a small half-smile.
Bianca nodded slowly. “That’s actually really mature. and wise. I thought you weren't taking Philosophy until next semester”
Zane looked at her sideways. “Did that do something for you?”
“We haven't fucked since the summer - a light breeze might do something for me.”
Zane broke out in a full-body laugh, Bianca joining him immediately.
Across the room, Cam was loudly attempting to teach Darius and Abdul some ridiculous dance move while Kwon laughed at them.
Zane glanced around the room, noticing a group of guys walk through the front entrance of the bar, a swirl of cool air following them. They eyeballed the group in the back, before tucking themselves into a corner booth similar to the ones Zane and company were currently in.
***
The booth had filled out again as the night wore on.
Darius slid into the seat beside Bianca and Zane, turning sideways so he could face the table. Across from them, Cam leaned back in his chair with the loose posture of someone who had clearly crossed the line from buzzed to drunk. Malik sat beside him, calmer, though his eyes carried that sharp awareness he always seemed to have.
Chloe perched next to Malik, laughing at something Cam had just said.
At the bar, Abdul, Luke, Brock, Kwon, and Katie had formed their own little orbit of conversation, the occasional burst of laughter drifting across the room.
Darius leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “So,” he said, glancing between the football players, “what do we think tomorrow’s looking like?”
Zane shrugged casually. "They're pretty good from what we've seen on film, but it shouldn't be too much of a challenge for us.”
“That’s it?” Darius asked.
Zane smiled faintly. "What do you mean?"
“I ain't press, good brother. You can talk your shit if you need to.”
Zane smiled earnestly, but shrugged. "I'll talk my shit after we win, howe about that?"
Darius nodded before flicking his attention to Malik.
“What about you, quarterback?” he asked. “How many touchdowns you throwing tomorrow?”
Malik smirked. He pointed across the table toward Zane and nodded his head at Cam on the other side of Chloe. “I can only throw as many as these two catch.”
Cam immediately sat up straighter. “Oh we talking numbers now?” He pointed dramatically toward the ceiling.
“There is not a Central pussy alive that can slow me down tomorrow.” His voice carried across the room.
“We putting at least 50 on the board! I promise you that”
Darius clapped loudly. Bianca laughed. Chloe let out a playful wooo!.
For a moment, it felt like harmless hype.
Then a voice cut through the bar. “Who the fuck said that?”
The entire room quieted. The music still played, but suddenly every conversation had died. ane’s eyes lifted toward the entrance.
The group of guys that had walked in a little while ago. From across the bar, it looked like maybe six of them.
They moved with the slow confidence of people who knew exactly where they were and weren’t interested in pretending otherwise. The one in front stepped forward. Tattoos crawled up both arms and wrapped along his neck like dark vines. His shoulders were broad, and his stare was locked directly on their table.
He repeated himself. “One of you bitches was talking shit about us.”
His eyes swept across the group. “Who the fuck was it?”
Cam’s wide eyes instantly betrayed him.
No one spoke. The silence stretched. Then Malik slowly pushed his chair back.
It scraped loudly against the floor as he stood. “I did, bitch.”
His voice was calm. “What you gonna do about it, pussy?”
The group of guys moved closer.
Just closing the distance.
Zane slid sideways out of the booth, stepping past Darius. He rose to his feet beside Malik. The guy in front looked at Zane now, then back at Malik.
He smirked. “Who’s this? Your fucking boyfriend or something? Took your dick out of his mouth long enough to say something?"
Zane didn’t blink. “All I see,” Zane said evenly, “is six bitches that are gonna be taking belt tomorrow night. Whole ancestral line going to feel the whooping we gonna be putting on your boys."
The tattooed guy stepped forward. Now he was chest-to-chest with Zane, close enough that Zane could smell the alcohol on his breath.
“Tomorrow night?” the guy said quietly. He jerked his head toward the door. “We can settle this outside right now.”
Zane turned his head slightly toward Malik. He looked back at him.
There was something in his expression. Not anger or hesitation.
Just a question. And a challenge.
Malik gave the smallest shrug. Zane nodded once.
Without another word, the two of them turned and started walking toward the door.
Behind them, chairs scraped. The entire bar seemed to rise at once as people realized what was about to happen.
The cold Detroit night waited just outside.
-
ShireNiner
- Posts: 1375
- Joined: 29 Sep 2025, 10:06
Invictus
Nothing like bringing two enemies together than beating the shit out of a common enemy. Or getting your ass kicked in the same manner. Either way.
