who fault that is cuh?
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Season 6, Episode 16
Lana gazed up at the gleaming skyscrapers, their windows reflecting the fading sunlight like countless golden mirrors. Richie's hand found the small of her back, guiding her through the revolving door of a towering glass building.
"You look amazing," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. "They're going to love you."
The elevator whisked them to the penthouse level, opening onto a sea of tailored suits and cocktail dresses. Lana's heart raced as she took in the panoramic views, the tinkling of crystal glasses, the low hum of important conversations. She felt like an imposter in this world of power and wealth.
Richie effortlessly glided through the crowd, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries. Lana trailed behind, sipping her champagne too quickly, searching for an anchor in this unfamiliar ocean.
"Ah, there's someone I want you to meet," Richie said, steering her towards a distinguished-looking man with salt-and-pepper hair. "Jack! So glad you could make it."
The man turned, his keen eyes appraising Lana. "Richard, elegant as always. I see you’ve found your match."
Lana felt her cheeks flush, but before she could stammer out an introduction, Richie's arm slipped around her waist. "Jack, I'd like you to meet Lana. My girlfriend."
The word hung in the air for a moment, and Lana felt a curious mix of surprise and relief wash over her. Girlfriend. It was the first time Richie had used that term, and in this intimidating setting, it felt like a lifeline.
Jack's face broke into a warm smile. "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Lana. Model, actress?”
She blushed, laughing away the compliment yet a bit embarrassed at her lack of a reply. Student felt too vague, without much purpose or direction. She had wanted to be a sociologist and then a psychologist and then an art major and now, undecided.
“A pretty face,” Jack answered for her, “Trust me, he needs one of those.”
…
Yassy's muffled sobs filled the small space, her face buried in her hands. Tess reached across the center console, gently rubbing her friend's back. The silence between Yassy's cries was heavy with unspoken grief.
"I don't understand," Yassy choked out, her voice raw. "I felt fine…I didn’t even feel like anything was wrong…it was just a routine check up.”
Tess swallowed hard, fighting back her own tears. "I know, girl. I know."
A gust of wind rustled through the trees lining the parking lot, and a few stray leaves skittered across the pavement. The sound of distant sirens pierced the night, a reminder that life continued on outside their bubble of grief.
Yassy lifted her head, mascara streaking her cheeks. "I never even got to tell him," she sobbed, her voice barely audible.
Tess squeezed her friend's hand. "We'll figure it out," she promised. "You're not alone in this."
The two friends sat there in the quiet car, surrounded by the soft glow of the hospital lights, mourning a future that would never come to be.
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
UK (2-7, 1-5) | 7 | 10 | 0 | 6 | 23
ARK (5-4, 4-2) | 3 | 14 | 3 | 10 | 30
UK QB Cole Pennington: 13-19, 117 yds, TD, INT
UK HB Kamaldeen Seidu-Harris: 27 att, 140 yds, 6 rec, 50 yds
UK HB Kyrie Patterson: 4 att, 26 yds, TD, 3 rec, 35 yds, TD
ARK QB K.J. Jackson: 16-19, 230 yds, TD, 9 att, 90 yds, TD
ARK HB Rodney Hill: 20 att, 89 yds
Season Stats 219 att, 1087 yds, 3 TD, fumble, 47 rec, 436 yds, 3 TD
-
Captain Canada
- Posts: 5033
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Even Kyrie getting in the endzone and you ain't 
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
So which UFL team is Kam’s preferred destination?
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Kam leading the country in rushing behind this bum ass offensive line and getting slandered like these. Ya know I can see that you guys aren't watching the recap videos, right?
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Season 6, Episode 17
Mark paced his office, phone pressed to his ear, his free hand gesticulating wildly even though no one could see him. The late afternoon sun slanted through the blinds, casting zebra-like stripes across his desk cluttered with printouts.
"Gentlemen, I understand your concerns," he said, his voice steady. "But Kam’s been the least of your problems, you know that.”
A chorus of muffled voices crackled through the speaker, a cacophony of doubts and dollar signs. Mark pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache building behind his eyes.
"Look," he continued, "I’m not saying that Kam is going to shut things down, I’m just saying that it would behoove everyone on this call if he was made to feel like there was something left to play for this season.”
The line went quiet for a moment, and Mark held his breath. He could almost hear the gears turning in the minds of the school’s most influential boosters and donors.
"What about next year?" a gravelly voice finally broke the silence. "Any chance we can get him to stick around for his senior season?"
It was the question that Mark had been bracing for.
"I can't make any promises," he said carefully, "but if we show Kam our commitment now, it might just plant that seed. Give him something to think about over the off-season."
He could feel the mood on the call shifting, a tentative optimism replacing the earlier skepticism. Mark pressed on, painting a picture of a triumphant senior year, of records broken and glory restored to Kentucky football. With each word, he could sense the donors warming to the idea, their initial reluctance melting away like frost in the morning sun.
As the call wound down, Mark felt a glimmer of hope. It wasn't a done deal, not by a long shot, but it was a start. He hung up the phone and sank into his chair, exhausted but cautiously optimistic. Now came the hard part: convincing Kam that his future – and the future of Kentucky football – might just be intertwined for one more year.
…
Tess stood outside Yassy's apartment door, her backpack heavy with notebooks and a care package hastily thrown together. She knocked softly, then waited, shifting her weight from foot to foot. The hallway was quiet, save for the distant hum of a vacuum cleaner and the muffled sounds of a TV from a neighboring unit.
After what felt like an eternity, the door creaked open. Yassy stood there, wrapped in Kam’s oversized sweater, her hair pulled back in a messy bun.
"Hey," Tess said softly, offering a small smile. "I brought your notes."
Yassy nodded, stepping back to let her friend in.
Tess set her backpack down and began unpacking the notes. "Professor Hendricks asked about you," she said, trying to keep her voice light. "I told him you had the flu."
Yassy sank onto the couch, pulling her knees to her chest. "Thanks," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Tess sat beside her, close but not touching, respecting the invisible barrier Yassy had erected around herself. For a long moment, neither spoke. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words and shared pain.
Finally, Yassy broke the silence. "I haven't been able to step outside," she admitted, her voice cracking. "I just... I can't."
Tess nodded, understanding. "You don't have to explain," she said gently.
Yassy's eyes welled with tears. She blinked rapidly, trying to hold them back. "The worst part is..." she began, then stopped, swallowing hard. "The worst part is that when the doctor told me, my first feeling was... relief."
The admission hung in the air between them, raw and painful. Yassy's shoulders shook as she fought back sobs. "What kind of person feels relief at something like that?" she whispered, her voice thick with self-loathing.
Tess reached out, hesitating for a moment before placing a hand on Yassy's arm. "A normal person," she said firmly. "A person who was scared and overwhelmed and unprepared. It doesn't make you a bad person, Yas. It makes you human."
Yassy looked up, meeting Tess's gaze for the first time. Her eyes were filled with a mixture of gratitude and lingering doubt. "I just... I feel so guilty," she admitted. "Like maybe if I had wanted it more, if I had told Kam..."
…
The diner was quiet, the usual clatter of plates and chatter of patrons subdued to a low hum. Kam and Jamal sat in their usual booth, the red vinyl seats cracked and worn from years of use.
Kam picked at his plate of chicken fried steak, his fork pushing the food around more than bringing it to his mouth. Jamal, on the other hand, was already halfway through his double cheeseburger, a smear of ketchup at the corner of his mouth.
"You gonna eat that?" Jamal asked, eyeing Kam's barely-touched meal.
Kam shook his head and pushed the plate towards his friend. "Knock yourself out."
Jamal didn't need to be told twice. He reached across the table and dragged Kam's plate towards him, immediately digging in. "You're missing out, man," he said around a mouthful of food. "Mrs. D's gravy is on point tonight."
Kam managed a small smile. "I'll take your word for it."
They fell into a comfortable silence, broken only by the scrape of Jamal's fork against the plate and the distant sound of cars passing on the highway. It was a far cry from the bustling energy of game day, but these quiet Thursday nights had become a sanctuary for both of them.
"How y’all boys holding up?" Kam asked, stirring his drink absently.
Jamal shrugged, swallowing a bite before answering. "Shit, it is what it is really. I mean, not like we came in with crazy expectations or nothing but four straight of them bitches still hurt"
Kam nodded, understanding all too well, “They sure do.”
"Tell me about it," Jamal agreed. "But shit, at least a nigga still balling, you feel me? You got the Boise nigga beat by at least a couple hundred, right?”
Kam shrugged, uncomfortable with the praise. "I haven’t checked in a while. Mark really the one that be sending me that shit. You know they got a stat that can tell you how many yards you were supposed to get on a run? Supposedly, I’m like way above that shit but I don’t know, it don’t feel like it.”
"I watch your film," Jamal insisted. "You're fucking balling, bro.”
“Appreciate you,” Kam tried to hide the genuine smile on his face, “I see you out there drilling shit too.”
Jamal grinned, puffing out his chest playfully. "All that running niggas over shit gonna end when you line up against me, lil brudda’.”
They shared a laugh, the tension of their teams' struggles momentarily forgotten. As the laughter faded, Jamal's expression turned thoughtful.
"You know," he said slowly, "With the way you're playing, you think you’re coming back next year?”
It wasn’t something that Kam had given much thought to, or any.
“You mean with the draft?”
“Yeah,” Jamal relaxed into the booth, “At this rate, you might touch that bitch a thousand times before you even get to the league and you know how they treating y’all running backs in the league.”
“Now it’s y’all,” Kam shook his head, “You’re not a running back no more?”
“Fuck no,” Jamal playfully flexed, “I’m dumping shit, now, motherfucker! But for real, you haven’t spoken to Mark about that shit?”
“He’s actually supposed to call me tomorrow,” Kam remembered, “You know he is with the collective and shit, always asking for more. Not that I’m complaining.”
“You sure ain’t,” Jamal laughed, grabbing Kam’s wrist and holding the diamonds on his watch against the light, “Blinding a nigga and shit.”
Last edited by Soapy on 17 Sep 2024, 16:54, edited 1 time in total.
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
I just watched the Arkansas video and them hogs making bus sized holes for ya. Yards are nice but it's all foreplay if you don't get in the endzone.
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Talking about going league with 3 touchdowns on the season. Can’t finish on the field just like he can’t finish his dinner. 