War of the Roses: Redux Edition

[Caesar]

Downtrodden

The late night sports recap shows were alight with the sights and sounds of LSU’s upset win over the previously undefeated Tulane Green Wave. In what was expected to be a blow for the Wave, a team favored by as many as three touchdowns, the Tigers did the unthinkable in not only winning the game but doing it on the back of a second half comeback.

There was one image from the win that had become instantly iconic. Caesar lying face down in the endzone, the ball a yard away from him, and Erik ripping off his helmet and shouting in celebration as the fans jumped out of the stands and ran onto the field.

“I remember back in the day when we were kids, people started talking about aura in regards to athletes. This right here,” one sports reporter said as images from the second half flicked through on a screen behind him. “That’s aura. You can’t tell me that in 20, 30, 40 years, people won’t still remember this night in Tiger Stadium.”

…

“You can boil a game’s result down to a series of moments. Typically, I think it’s unfair to single out any individual player for a game’s outcome, but that’s usually the case. If Caesar Jenkins goes down instead of continuing to fight for more yards, Tulane could’ve saved their timeout and had two or three more chances to get into field goal range. That’s the double-edged sword you get with him. He’s probably the most talented freshman in the country. He’s given them a lot of touchdowns. But to be blunt, he’s an arrogant fool. That wasn’t playing for your team. That was trying to be a hero. To all the kids out there watching tonight, go down and win the game for your team in those situations. Don’t be Caesar Jenkins.”

…

“Give him the number before he leaves the stadium. I don’t know who has it now. I don’t care who has it now. Give it to him.”

“Don’t you think we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves? Erik Jenkins is undoubtedly one of the top freshmen and a Thorpe finalist, but is he worthy of wearing the number seven jersey at LSU? I don’t know about all that yet.”

“You can’t be serious. The kid just etched his name into college football lore. To dislocate your elbow and then come back into the game, catch an interception and lead your team to victory, at what? 18? 19? Forget about it. Give him the jersey. Let’s not forget that we’re talking about a guy whose team only won when he was on the field this season. That’s the best player on the Tigers team.”

…

“There have been rumors that Denver Shuman is going to take another job at the end of the season. Does this make it more likely that he will?”

“They can still get into the playoffs if they beat Florida in the SEC Championship Game. I don’t think he leaves if they take that step.”

“I don’t think he stays either way. He can’t get out of LSU’s shadow. He can’t get out of Alabama’s, Auburn’s, all the big boys’ shadows. Why keep spinning your wheels? The guy is going to be 70 years old next year. Time to go somewhere and win a championship, at least a conference one.”

“Well, there is no greater test of a coach than getting his team to pick up the pieces and find a way to win a conference like the SEC after the loss they took tonight.”

-*****-

Devin flicked his finger across his phone, sending the list of contacts sliding up and then back down. He sat on an air mattress in the living room of Christian and Hayden’s apartment, his back to the wall in the pitch-black room that was only slightly illuminated by the street light outside peeking through the tops of the blinds of a nearby window.

Unlike the previous times he’d crashed at his teammates’ apartment after an away game, there was no celebration going on, no one struggling to stay awake as they basked in glory of yet another win against a formidable opponent.

Instead, there was only silence bar the sound of the compressor on the refrigerator clicking on and off a couple dozen feet away from him.

Silence. It was the same across the campus as watch parties morphed into gatherings of commiseration thanks to LSU’s improbable win.

Once upon a time, Devin would’ve been much more used to losing football games. It was something that he came to expect in the earlier portions of his still young career on the gridiron. That was, of course, before Coach McCoy arrived and transformed Terrebonne into a juggernaut. That night’s loss in Tiger Stadium was only the third time he’d been on the wrong end of the scoreboard in the better part of three years.

Now, losing sucked.

Losing the way they did, being the team that allowed a 17-point comeback, only made it worse. Losing to who they did, their hated rivals, only made it feel like the end of the world.

The return trip to campus from Baton Rouge had a morose vibe among the team. It’d been permeating everything since they were ushered off the field through the throngs of LSU students who descended from the stands at the end of the game, a few of them taking the opportunity to talk some trash to the Green Wave’s players as they trudged back to the locker rooms.

It all combined for a shit night.

He stopped his contact list in the “Cs” and scrolled back up to Carla’s name. Despite it being well after midnight, he tapped on the screen to call her. The phone only rang a couple of times before it went to voicemail. Devin hung up, typing out a quick text to her asking if she was awake and to call him whenever she was if not.

Tossing the phone on the floor, he leaned his head back against the wall and stared at the ceiling, wondering why he didn’t feel tired. It was almost as if he hadn’t just been on the field a few hours ago.

It was almost as if his brain was determined to keep him awake to suffer in the events of the night for as long as possible.

Shuffling from down the hall broke him out of his own thoughts. Christian came walking down the hall and went to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the refrigerator. He glanced over at Devin, finding him still awake.

“I told you that you got to stop sleeping on that air mattress. We got that shit from Goodwill back when we first moved in here,” Christian said to Devin before chugging the rest of the water and tossing the bottle into the trash.

Devin shook his head, although Christian could barely see him in the mostly dark apartment. “Tonight sucked, man. I let the team down letting that motherfucker score that one touchdown. Shouldn’t have bit on that shit.”

“Maybe. We shouldn’t have let them get going. That’s the team’s fault. No one person can be blamed for us losing. That shit is just football.”

“Everyone ain’t as rational as you, man. But I know you’re mad that we lost. It’s just all should’ve, could’ve, would’ve now. I almost feel like I would feel better about this shit if we’d gotten blown out instead of losing like that.”

Christian shrugged, walking over to the front door to check if it was locked. He walked back to the entrance to the hall, stopping to turn back to Devin. “We got another game at the end of the week. We only get twenty-four hours to wallow in our self-pity before we have to start getting ready for a championship game. You know what would make this shit worse? Going to fucking Atlanta and losing again because we’re boo-hooing all week. That was LSU’s national championship. We got bigger fish to fry.”

“I guess. Right now, I don’t even think I care if we lost the championship game. It ain’t going to make much a difference in the grand scheme of shit.”

“Look, man. Tomorrow, go see your girl. Don’t worry about football for the day. Clear your head, forget about tonight and then get some rest. Monday, we’ll start all over again. We’re 0-0 now. Just gotta go 1-0 for the week,” Christian said, beginning to walk down the hall. “And if Hayden wakes up before me, tell his ass not to fuck with the grits. The box’s almost empty and he never puts in on that.”

Devin nodded slowly before resting his head against the wall again, staring back up at the ceiling. He reached to pick up his phone as it lit up. Unsure why, he half expected to see a text from Carla, but was only greeted with a number of social media notifications.

Mostly from LSU fans, alumni and students telling him how much he sucked and thanking him for helping them win the game.

He silenced his phone and put it back on the floor, screen down. After another five or so minutes of staring at nothing, he lay down to end the worst night of his college football career so far.

-*****-

His head resting on his hands as he fingers dug into his skin as he sat on the floor between his bed and desk, Caesar stared at his phone between his feet. The social media feed updated every few seconds, showing a deluge of new posts mocking him for being the reason that Tulane had lost to the Tigers, each one serving to make him angrier with himself for his failures that night.

He leaned his head back against the wall, rubbing at his eyes. He hadn’t spoken a word since he walked off the field in Baton Rouge some hours ago, ignoring the attempts of teammates to lift his spirits, to take some of the burden of the loss.

No amount of attempts at pep talks would change the facts. When the chips were down, when he needed to prove that he was the best college football player in the country, he didn’t just come up short, but he came up short against his father’s illegitimate son.

And that was immortalized for all to see with the image of the season taken at the end of the game.

The phone steadily vibrated, as it did on many a night, showing deposits to his bank account from the impressions rider in his biggest NIL deal. He was trending, and money was being transferred to him every time he had $1,000 in the account as stipulated by the contract.

Of course, this was a unique situation where Erik Jenkins was boosting the eyes on Caesar Jenkins in the social media world.

Hitting his head against the wall a few times, he continued to rub at his burning eyes. He looked down at his phone just as it refreshed again, and one username caught his attention in the sea of people who were trying to go viral with a copied “funny” post.

“EmmaLou985” was the username that stood, that of his ex, Emma.

Embarrassed that I used to be with this motherfucker the post read with a zoomed in picture of Caesar face down on the Tiger Stadium field, followed by an absurd number of crying and laughing emojis.

He picked up his phone, typing back a response of still let me hit it raw. It was the only post he’d felt the need to respond to all night.

His phone dinged with her response. thanks for making me more embarrassed that I was fucking with a bum. Give #1 my number at the family reunion tho

Responding was a mistake, only serving to bring more attention to her posts. He had half a mind to delete it, but he knew well enough that it’d already been screenshotted and would only make it worse to remove the posts. All he could do was chuck the phone across the room in anger, doing nothing to stop it from its incessant chirping.

He continued to rub at his eyes, running his hands down his face every few seconds. Standing up, he reached behind the desk, pushing the drawer forward to reveal a space where the track had been dragged forward to create a pocket behind the drawer.

He reached his hand into the aging wood, fishing with his fingers for a Ziploc bag. He pulled it free from the cavity with a few tugs and held it up in front of his face. Empty save for some chalky residue on the inside of it.

He threw it to the floor, crossing the room to get his phone. He went to his text thread with Gia, shooting her a message to ask where she was. After a few minutes, she sent back that she was still in Baton Rouge.

“Fuck this bitch,” he said to himself, powering the phone off and throwing it to the opposite side of the room near the door.

There was no outlet for the jittery energy that coursed through him, the feeling of failure so he began to pace back and forth, his jaw clenched and fists tightly balled at his sides. The movement only served to increase the frustration bubbling inside of him.

Already forming in his head were the words that his father would tell him to mock him for coming up short in arguably the biggest game in Tulane’s history. He’d be told he was a disappointment, that his priorities being askew were the reason for the loss.

He stopped in front of his bed. The cheaply made, Wal-Mart caliber frame a simile for the thoughts of fraudulence in his head.

Without thinking, he swung his leg forward at the nearest bedpost. His foot connected with it, sending a shock of pain through his leg as the particleboard broke with a sharp crack. The mattress and frame tipped over without the support on that side.

Caesar stood there, staring at the bed. His foot and leg throbbed with pain. It did nothing to dull the sense of disappointment, to replace it without another feeling.

Running his hands down his face and rubbing at his eyes, he sat down on the edge of the now-broken bed.

Sleep wouldn’t come anytime soon.

[Captain Canada]

Oh this man is absolutely unravelling. Excellent update, brother.

[Caesar]

The Highway

“Fuck,” Devin said to himself as he got another practice question wrong in his attempts to study for an upcoming trig final.

Despite the team getting a brief reprieve from their finals due to their upcoming participation in the SEC Championship Game that weekend, Devin decided that it would be better to take advantage of the extra week to get some much-needed additional studying in.

And because he didn’t have classes to keep him out of the room when Caesar was there, an afternoon spent in a study room of the athletics facility seemed like a good way to pass the time until he found something better to do.

Unfortunately, success was hard to come by in his attempts because his mind was still reeling from the loss against LSU.

Try as he might, he couldn’t help but feel as though they’d missed a huge chance to do something special. The highs of the first nine-tenths of the season had been replaced by the feeling that they’d return to being a middle of the road SEC program next season, far from the heady heights of a trip to Atlanta with a shot at winning the conference.

Closing his laptop, he leaned back in his chair, staring at the mural on the wall opposite him. It depicted one of the baseball team’s conference championship wins, sometime in the 2030s or 2040s. Of all the Green Wave’s teams, baseball had coped the best with the transition to the SEC, despite the conference boasting the country’s strongest set of squads on the diamond.

It only made it more important that the football team return from the Peach State with the conference crown to put Tulane football on the map.

“Well, fancy seeing you in here, Devinho,” Sol said, poking her head into the room.

He looked over at her, eyebrow raised. “Devin-yo?”

“Yes, Devinho,” she said before walking over and sitting across the table from him. She flicked her finger across the tablet that was next to his laptop, bringing it to life. Reading the title of the book on the screen, she shook her head. “Trigonometry, huh? You know you could do like most of the other guys on the team and just find some sorority girl to go take maths exams for you. You don’t even have to worry about a girl walking into the testing center saying she’s ‘John.’”

“I wasn’t aware that was an option. Seems that’s a mistake on your part considering you work with the team.”

She laughed, sitting back in the chair. “I work with the SIDs. We don’t care who stays eligible. They have boilerplate statements for someone being suspended for grades. That’s easy stuff.”

“I bet. Problem is I don’t know too many sorority girls, so I’ll be the one failing that trig final in a couple weeks.”

“You won’t fail. Why are you in here anyway? I wish I could be so lucky to not have take my finals this week. I definitely wouldn’t be in here studying if I were you. You could be out there looking for your Tri-Delta.”

It was Devin’s turn to laugh. “I don’t have anything better to do. You’d think at a school like Tulane that I’d be getting praised for spending some time on coursework when I don’t have to.”

She began clapping sarcastically. “The administration will be very happy that one of their star players actually has his nose in the books.”

“Star is a little much, don’t you think? They’ve been showing me get burnt on highlights for the last three.”

“Oh, that’s why you’re hiding away in here. You’re still feeling down about last Saturday. You know you remind me of someone.”

“If you say one of your brothers, I might have to go take a plunge in the Mississippi.”

She didn’t speak for a few seconds, only staring at him with a slight smile playing at her lips. “No, not my brothers. A friend of the family I guess you could say. His name is Edison, but they call him Jeronimo. He played futebol, for Corinthians like Josue, but he’s my age. Josue was still in the academy when Edison was there.”

“I don’t know how I would remind anyone of someone called Geronimo.”

“Geronimo is how the Spanish say it, Devinho. Jeronimo,” she corrected.

He had half a thought to say it incorrectly again, because he liked the way it sounded coming out of her mouth, but he only held his hand up.

“My bad,” he said.

“Edison is a defender, a fullback. They were against Palmeiras in the state championship.”

“And we don’t like Palmayrahs?”

She laughed at Devin’s attempt at a Brazilian accent. “Absolutely not. They’re traitors. But Edison had just started working with his agent to get a move to Europe. Everyone knew that match would be his last for the club. He was so good. They’d say that he was Roberto Carlos reborn. Long story short, he ended up heading it into their own net, and Corinthians lost one-nil. Palmeiras won the championship that year by one point.”

“Then what happened to him?”

“He signed for a club in Greece,” she said, shrugging. There was a hint of sadness in her eyes. “He was so angry at himself, though. He’s the type of person who’d get so angry they start crying. He said that he let the entire club down. He even did an apology video to all the fans. But the reason I bring him up is because life goes on. He lost a match. They lost a championship. He got his move to Europe and everything turned out fine. It’ll turn out fine for you, too.”

Devin nodded slowly, thinking about what she said.

Her phone buzzed and she glanced at the screen, standing up. “So, go out and enjoy your free days. You don’t want to go to Atlanta still thinking about Baton Rouge.”

“Are you a psych major? Giving pep talks?”

She only smiled as she headed for the door. Her badge caught on the door frame, being pulled from a belt loop and falling to the floor.

Devin wouldn’t have been ashamed to admit he enjoyed the view as she bent over to scoop it up before disappearing down the hall.

Rubbing his hand across his face, he opened his laptop and prepared to get back in the world of trigonometry.

-*****-

Caesar pressed his hands together against his forehead, his eyes closed in an almost praying gesture, feeling as though divine intervention was needed to sort out the argument that he and Gia were currently having outside of her dorm.

“I don’t know how many more times I have to tell you that my bed is broken. I’m not trying to fuck you while I’m sliding off the fucking bed,” Caesar said, his eyes still closed and hands still pressed against his forehead.

“Then I guess we aren’t fucking, because no one told you to break your bed fucking fat bitches,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

He pointed to the building behind her. “You have a perfectly good bed in there. You wouldn’t have told me you were free if you didn’t want dick so what are we doing? Other than burning daylight and wasting time?”

“I told you why we aren’t going in there.”

“The reason you gave is stupid. Trying to keep something from someone who knows that the thing is happening is stupid, and if you haven’t figured out some kind of sign that you’re getting fucked with your roommate after a whole semester then that’s on you.”

Her face scrunched into a frown. “What’s the sign that you have with your roommate to let him know that you’re having sex in the room?”

“I don’t talk to that bitch. I don’t care what he has a problem with seeing. My point is Kaley knows we’re fucking. Or she should because you say that you couldn’t not tell her because she’s your friend or whatever.”

“Or whatever?”

“Or whatever. Gia, I don’t have all day. I have shit to do. If you don’t want it, I can find someone who does.”

She pressed her lips together before taking a deep breath. “Wait here. I’m going to go see if she’s in the room.”

“You just came out of the fucking room.”

“Just wait here.”

He threw his hands up and walked over to a nearby bench to sit down as she went back into the building.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone, peeling the plastic protectors off the front and back, tossing them on the ground. A small smattering of notifications greeted him which he swiped away without looking at.

Scrolling through his social media pages, his eyebrows furrowed as he saw that people were still sharing the picture of him on the turf from the LSU game. Everyone was a comedian when they were sitting in their CDL classes, he thought to himself.

But his response to Emma Sunday morning had taught him to ignore them instead of engaging for the sake of not going viral for that, too.

A text from Gia popped up on the screen: ’Go through the door on the other side’

’No. Just come open the door for me.’ he sent back.

He shoved his phone back into his pocket, standing up from the bench and leaning back to stretch his back. He walked over to the door to wait for Gia to come down and open it but was almost hit in the face by the door when someone walked out of it.

His hand shooting out to grab the door was the only thing that prevented it from hitting him.

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t see—”

He looked down to see Kaley standing in front of him. His eyebrow raised as he stepped back to allow her to walk out of the doorway. His other eyebrow raised when he saw a guy walking out of the building behind her, the realization of why Gia told him to go through the other door hitting him. He quickly composed himself.

“What’s up, bruh?” the guy, standing a little shorter than Caesar, said with a head nod.

Caesar returned the gesture but was staring at Kaley.

She turned to her friend, putting her hand on his arm. “Hey, I’ll catch up to you. I forgot my wallet in my other purse.”

“It’s a date. I’m paying for you.”

“I have my fake ID in there,” she said. “I’ll just be a second.”

He nodded, eyeing Caesar for a moment before heading for the parking lot.

“You don’t have a fake,” Caesar said.

“You don’t know what I do and don’t have,” she said. “Are you doing alright? I know things probably aren’t easy with everything with your brother and losing to LSU. Your dad never struck me as the soothing type.”

He ignored her question. “So, you’re switching from white frat boys to Black frat boys? Or are you still fucking that other dude? I know the Ques I know wouldn’t be too happy that they were sharing pussy with the men of the Old South.”

She opened her mouth for a moment before shutting it and running her hand through her hair. “I’m sorry that y’all lost Saturday. I know y’all had a lot riding on that game. Hopefully, you can win Saturday. I’ll be rooting for y’all.”

Before he could say anything else, she turned her heel and headed for the parking lot.

“Fucking bitch,” he said under his breath before entering the dorm.

At the end of the hall, Gia stepped out of the elevator with her keycard in hand. She’d changed out of the jeans she was wearing a few minutes ago, now sporting a loose fitting pair of shorts. She spotted Caesar walking toward her and stopped to wait for him.

“When you tell someone to do something, you should probably tell them why you’re telling them to do it,” he said to her.

“You’re the one that wanted to come in here, Caesar.”

He didn’t respond as the two of them got on the elevator to head upstairs. A part of him wanted to leave, feeling the sudden urge to be alone, but that was quickly overruled by the part of him that just wanted to bust a nut.

[Agent]

I feel Caesar here. Used to just pretend to be asleep when the homie brought a shordy through & vice versa.

[Caesar]

One Way to Go

Denver Shuman sat at the front of the large hotel banquet hall that had been converted into a cafeteria for his team as they had their final meal together before the next day’s conference championship game against Florida. He tapped the old, battered hat he’d worn since he’d gotten his first head coaching job many years ago on his knee, listening to the chatter of the young men in the room.

Almost three decades since he’d found himself running a program on his terms, he’d finally made it to the precipice of the mountain every coach climbed as they attempted to leave a lasting legacy behind when they hung up their whistles and tablets.

In 24 hours, he’d be coaching Tulane in its first SEC championship game, its first attempt at winning the sport’s premier conference since rejoining it after a stint more than 100 years ago. A win would be the culmination of everything that he’d worked for, his first conference championship crown at any of his head coaching stops.

It would justify all the abrupt moves that he’d put his family through, all the missed dance recitals and tee ball games.

Sighing, he pushed himself up from the chair, his old bones protesting against the sudden movement as they seized up from the change in weather from New Orleans to Atlanta.

“James,” he said, attempting to get his offensive coordinator’s attention over the din of voices in the room. He shook his head when the younger man didn’t hear him and stepped closer, motioning with his hand. “James!”

The second call got his attention, and he stood up abruptly. He whistled to get the attention of the rest of the coaching staff and beckoned for them to follow Coach Shuman as they all walked out of the banquet hall.

-*****-

Junie leaned over and looked at Caesar’s phone as he flicked through social media photos.

“Trying to line you up some celebratory pussy after we win tomorrow?” he asked, trying to catch a glimpse of the young woman in the pictures.

Caesar shoved Junie back with his elbow and flipped his phone face down on the table before picking up a fork to poke at the pasta on the plate in front of him.

Tyrone picked up the phone for a moment before Caesar slapped it back down. The junior laughed, shaking his head. “Can’t be lookin’ for no new pussy when he’s up here lookin’ at his ex’s social media like he ain’t the reason she left his stupid ass.”

“That boy in love,” Darren said from the opposite side of the table. “You better get your head in the game, rook. You don’t want to be out there tomorrow thinking about who she’s fucking when we got conference on the line.”

“When have y’all ever known me to be worried about who someone fucking? Y’all talking like I’m one of these motherfuckers who couldn’t get pussy in a brothel,” Caesar said, pointing to Junie, Sonny and Jacobi who were sitting near them. “I’m just bored and tired of this team bonding meal shit. Half of you motherfuckers aren’t going to be here next year anyway.”

“Shit, I might run it back. This NIL money too good to pass up when the NFL stopped showin’ love to running backs back in the ‘20s,” Tyrone said. He held up his wrist and pointed at a new watch that he’d bought with some of his earnings. “Not gonna be gettin’ no shit like this when I’m on a league minimum.”

Junie leaned forward to look at the watch. “That shit look fake.”

“It is fake. Don’t make no sense to buy a hundred thousand dollar watch when I can buy a thousand dollar one that look just like it. Bitches ain’t gonna know the difference. Gone ‘head and learn you somethin’, youngster,” Tyrone said, laughing along with their teammates in earshot.

Caesar sat back in his chair, shaking his head as he placed the fork down again. He nodded in Darren’s direction. “I know you aren’t goofy enough to stick around here when the NFL comes calling.”

He shrugged. “I haven’t thought about it. We got until January to decide. I got to sit down with my family and Ramona and decide what’s best for all of us.”

“I know you weren’t trying to clown me just a minute ago, but you’re letting this man say that he has to talk to his girlfriend about going to the league,” Caesar said to Tyrone.

“They married.”

“What’s there to talk about? You go up to your family and Ramona and you tell them that you’re going to the pros to make millions of dollars and they’re going to have everything they could ever dream of. And if they want you to get your degree, you can just go ahead and donate a few thousand dollars to the university, and they’ll comp you one.”

“You think this is a conversation to have before a championship game?” Jacobi asked.

Caesar stared at Jacobi, not responding for a few moments. The two receivers, both freshmen, hadn’t shared many words over the last six months – mostly because Caesar was still annoyed Jacobi was the one who got the praise for filling in for him when he was suspended.

“Bro, shut the fuck up,” he finally said. “You’re not even going to get into the fucking game.”

“Anyway,” Darren said, interjecting before an argument could start between the two. “I’m just trying to enjoy this good ass food right now, get a good night’s sleep in and then go out there and try to win a football game. You’re thinking too far in the future anyway. You ain’t declaring anytime soon. Just enjoy the ride, bruh.”

Shaking his head as he checked out of the conversation, Caesar picked up his phone. He took a long look at the profile he’d pulled up. After a few moments, he blocked it and tossed his phone back on the table, listening to the guys talk about random nothings.

-*****-

“All I’m saying is that I definitely could’ve finished at least fifth in the hundred,” K.J. said, drawing laughter from his teammates. “Those dudes from Zimbabwe and shit ain’t that fast. They just faster than the motherfuckers from Austria or whatever.”

“You’re talking about the fucking Olympics, bruh. Do you know how fast those people are?” Quenshan asked. “If you think you can not only keep up with them but finish fifth then I need whatever it is you’re smoking because that’s some good shit.”

“You’ll see me in ’56 and remember this.”

“See you on the couch next to me watching them fast ass sons of bitches on the TV.”

While the table laughed at Quenshan’s quip, Christian jabbed Devin with his elbow, making him look up from his phone.

“You good, bruh?” Christian asked. “You been quiet all week. I mean, quiet for regular people’s standards, because you’re always the quiet one.”

Devin placed his phone on the table, exiting out of the news clippings from Houma’s scant media presence. “Nah, I’m good. I’m just trying to focus on the game. I don’t want to be the reason that we lose again.”

“Didn’t know we played tennis. This is a team game, man. How many times I got to tell you that?”

“I heard you. I’m just saying that if I didn’t allow that touchdown then we would been talking about something completely different right now.”

“You’re going to fuck up tomorrow if you keep thinking about that shit.”

“Christian’s right, lil’ brother,” Quenshan said, always the elder statesman. “Let that shit go. Everybody in this room came here not knowing how to lose football games. Ask ‘em how many of them know how to do that shit now.”

“I just get on CFB ’53, put that bitch on easy and run the score up against whoever we lost to. I put at least 400 on LSU,” K.J. said, laughing.

“So, you telling me that all I need to do if we lose tomorrow is get a PS8 delivered and beat the shit out of Florida virtually?” Devin asked.

“My question is why you don’t have that shit already. You know you can get a branded one for free from EA if you send an email to one of their community people. That’s how I got mine.”

“If you spent less time trying to hustle video game systems, you wouldn’t be up here thinking that you can run with world class sprinters. Them video games frying your damn brain,” Quenshan said.

Christian shook his head. “This ain’t the pep talk our guy was looking for.” He turned to Devin. “It’s just football, man. We’re going to win games and we’re going to lose games. It’s not the end of the world if we lose tomorrow. I mean, I want to win, but you got three more years here. You can get back to this spot.”

“I guess. I’d just feel like I let the seniors and shit down. They spent years trying to get here and then I go and lose the game for them. That’s shitty no matter how you try to spin it,” Devin said.

K.J. waved his hand. “We’re playing with house money, bruh. No one in here came to Tulane expecting to win national championships if we keeping it a buck. Like, you’ll say that shit, of course, but you gotta be realistic, too. SEC’s too good to be thinking about that. So, I been loving this shit all season.”

“I’ll take a natty this season, personally. But it ain’t on you if we don’t get there,” Quenshan said.

“I don’t like to get cocky, but Florida’s not even that good if we’re being honest with ourselves. They just got lucky,” Christian said. “If we play how we did in the first eleven games this season, we’re going to win. Hell, we didn’t even play that bad against LSU.”

Devin shrugged. “LSU wasn’t that good they said.”

“Bro, stop being defeatist.”

“What the fuck defeatist mean?” K.J. asked.

“Brain rot. What I said?” Quenshan said, laughing.

Christian ignored them. “Just focus on doing your job out there like you’ve done all season and you’ll be alright.”

Devin nodded, letting the conversation move to other topics. He picked his phone up from the table and went back to reading the news articles he’d pulled up.

-*****-

“Hey! Y’all quiet down for a bit!” Coach Chavis shouted as the coaching staff returned to the banquet room.

The players’ conversations slowly came to a halt as they all turned their attention to the coaches standing at the front of the room. Coach Shuman took his hat off, scratching at his forehead as he waited for complete silence.

“I’m going to make this short and sweet,” the weathered coach said. “I want y’all to hear this from me instead of from some reporters or on social media.”

There was a ripple of murmurs through the team as their coach paused.

“This will be my last season here with Tulane. I got an opportunity somewhere else. I discussed it with my family, and we decided that it’s too good to pass up. I know it’s not the greatest timing, but I don’t want this coming out in the morning and it throwing y’all off your game. Anyway, let’s go out there and win tomorrow. This will be something to be talked about more after we get the championship.”

The coaching staff sat back down at their tables at the front of the room as the players all sat staring at one another in confusion.

[Captain Canada]

Coach doing the dash to the league or LSU, you ain't slick

[Caesar]

New Version

The packed press room buzzed with anticipation as the cameras clicked and reporters murmured among themselves. All eyes were on the stage where a single podium stood. The presser had been called abruptly, outside of the normal media hours for the Big 12’s coming championship game the following day.

The air was thick with tension, a strange blend of excitement and uncertainty and everyone waited to find out what was important enough for an impromptu announcement.

Ron sat in the front row, dressed in a sharp suit, a departure from his usual athletic wear that he’d donned all week for the numerous interviews he’d done all week for TCU’s game against Oklahoma State. Beside him, Anna clutched his hand tightly, her fingers laced with his. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with concern, the only one in the room knowing the weight of what he was about to say.

An SID nodded to Ron and gestured to the podium.

“You ready?” Anna whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the room.

Ron nodded. “Yep.”

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze as he stood up. The room fell into silence as they watched one of college football’s best players ascend the steps onto the stage, moving with the same confidence he’d shown since he stepped on the field for the Horned Frogs for the first time.

Reaching the podium, he adjusted the microphone and took a deep breath. He waited a moment, his media training kicking in to allow the reporters to get the right balance on their cameras. He scanned the room, taking in the faces of the coaches and a few of his teammates. He’d told Coach Griffin about his decision only hours ago, and his expression was unreadable now.

“Thank you all for coming back out. I know we had our media avail earlier today,” Ron began, his voice steady. “I’m not going to take up too much of y’all’s time, but this needed to be announced. Ever since I was a little kid, throwing the ball in the backyard against the fence with the ugliest spiral, I’ve dreamed of playing professional football. I came here, to TCU, to play with some of the best players that the nation had to offer. We’ve done it all together, going undefeated last season and winning it all. Now, we’re back to do it again, back-to-back.”

He paused, flicking the screen on his phone to scroll up his notes.

“For 20 years, I’ve given everything I have to this game. For the last two years, I’ve given my everything to this team, and this university. It’s been an honor to play for this great university and with my brothers in the locker room,” he continued.

His thumb rubbed against the national championship ring on his finger. “But after a lot of thought and discussion with my family, I’ve decided that it’s time for me take a different path. As much as I love football, I’ve always felt there was a greater calling for me. So, at the end of the season – which will hopefully be in January, I’ll be enlisting in the United States Marine Corps.”

The reporters seemed to jump out of their chairs with questions, murmurs rippling across the room. Ron waited a moment.

“I know in my heart that this is the right choice for me. I’ll always be a Horned Frog, and I’ll always have my guys’ backs, but it’s time for me a serve a different way. Thank you all for coming out, again. Give ‘em hell, TCU,” he said, making the Horned Frogs’ sign with his hand and stepping away from the podium.

Coach Griffin made his way to the front of the room as Ron stepped off the stage. The two shared a hug and a handshake.

Anna stepped up to him, wiping tears from her eyes, a small smile on her lips. Ron wrapped his arm around her and headed for the exit as the reporters began shouting questions, trying to make sense of the announcement.

-*****-

Hasan sat slouched on the edge of the sofa, his laptop sitting on the coffee table that was held up with a bucket after one of their parties got a little too raucous and ended with a 370-pound man falling on it. The screen glowed with the open tabs. The soft hum of the air conditioner was the only sound in the apartment, a stark contrast to the entire semester’s lively atmosphere.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard as he stared blankly at the screen, trying to make sense of the stats, the rankings, the endless list of potential landing spots that could offer him a fresh start.

His freshman season hadn’t gone the way he’d hoped, buried on the depth chart behind two, arguably three, other running backs. The glory days of high school, gone like a distant memory, buried under the weight of the harsh reality of college football. Coaches who once showered him with praise to get him to sign for the school now barely acknowledged him. Every day felt like a battle to stay motivated and keep pushing, but it seemed like no one believed in him anymore – including himself.

Hasan barely glanced up as Erik and Denyse walked from Erik’s room at the back of the apartment.

“Hey, we about to go to the Blue Store and get some chicken. You wanna roll?” Erik asked, grabbing his jacket from a kitchen chair and his keys from the counter.

“Nah, I’m good. I ain’t tryin’ to go up to the Bluff right now,” Hasan said, faking a laugh.

“You not still worried about that girl’s baby daddy,” Denyse said.

Hasan looked up. “Ain’t nobody worried about no niggas from Louisiana. Y’all forgettin’ I’m from Miami or somethin’?”

“I think she said he was from Mississippi, though,” Erik said as he pulled his jacket on. “You sure you don’t wanna come? Ain’t got nothing but a couple slices of ham in the refrigerator. You know your ass always be hungry.”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Don’t go calling that girl to come over. I don’t want my man getting shot up because you fucking with someone’s baby mama,” Denyse said as she walked out of the door.

“I got shooters, too,” Hasan said, a half-hearted attempt at being funny. His attention had already gone back to the screen.

The door clicked shut and the sound of their voices drifted away as they walked to the parking lot next to the apartment. Once they were out of earshot, silence filled the room once again.

Hasan dropped his head into his hands, rubbing at his forehead as he peered up through his fingers at the list of schools he’d made. Entering the portal wouldn’t be an easy choice with Coach Justice not viewing such actions kindly. And it wasn’t a choice that he’d ever thought he would have to make. However, the thought of staying at LSU, of continuing to struggle in a place where he felt like he was drowning, seemed even harder.

He sighed, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. His brain leaned toward a fresh start being what he needed, a chance to find a program that believed in him, but what did that mean in practice. Leaving the SEC to play football somewhere like New Mexico? That sounded less than ideal to say the least.

Closing the laptop, he sat back on the sofa and stared up at the ceiling, further away from a decision than when he’d begun on his list.

-*****-

Students, teachers and local reporters filed into Mater Dei’s gym as their top football players prepared to make their decisions on where they would be playing college football.

Mikale Sante sat behind the table that had been placed on the gym’s floor, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. The 6’4”, muscular wide receiver exuded a calm confidence, an attitude that had propelled him to the top of the recruiting rankings for the 2053 class.

His parents sat either side of him, his mother pumping her fist in time with the school’s band, his father keeping a firm, reassuring hand on his son’s shoulder. The rest of his family, aunts, uncles, cousins and a few childhood friends, filled the front rows, their faces beaming with pride.

The row of hats before him was a who’s who of the country’s most elite programs. Everyone wanted Sante, arguably more than they wanted the country’s number one receiver, Karter Gale out of Ohio. But the number two designation never bothered Mikale. It gave him something to keep fighting for when he got to his college destination.

The Monarch’s coach stood at a podium, a wide smile on his face as he addressed the crowd and teed up what would be a long line of players announcing their decisions. “We’ve all had the privilege of watching Mikale grow into one of the best players in the country, but more importantly, into a young man of character and integrity. We couldn’t be prouder of him and can’t wait to see all that he’ll accomplish in the years to come.”

The coach stepped aside, and all eyes turned to Mikale. His father gave a squeeze of his shoulder, and his mother started clapping, prompting the people in the gym to do the same.

He took a deep breath. “First, I want to thank the Almighty God and our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, for blessing me with the talent to play this game. Through Christ, all things are possible.”

“Amen,” his mother said, nodding in agreement.

“I also want to thank my parents, who have always been there for me, who sacrificed so much to make sure I had everything I needed to succeed. And to my family, my coaches, and my friends, I wouldn’t be here without you,” he continued.

He paused, his gaze shifting to the row of hats before him. The cameras zoomed in, capturing every detail as he reached his hand out, hovering over hats with the logos of the likes of Ohio State, USC, Oregon, Texas, Miami, Michigan and Alabama. The gym seemed to hold its breath, the anticipation building to crescendo.

“I’ve thought long and hard about this decision. Prayed on it with my family,” he said, his hand moved to the olive hat with an angry wave on it that sat at the end of the row. He picked it up and put it on. “And I’ve decided to take my talents from the West Coast to Gulf Coast and continue my academic and athletic career at Tulane University.”

Mikale stood up with his parents as his family and friends rushed up to the table for the pictures. He pulled each of his parents into a tight embrace, the next three to four years of his life finally decided.

-*****-

Carla sat at the round library table, her laptop open in front of her, but her focus was elsewhere. The pile of notes that she’d scribbled down, feeling the need to go old school for this marketing course, remained untouched. Her friends chatted quietly, their voices blending with the soft hum of the fluorescent lights above them.

Her phone buzzed again, lighting up with a text from Devin. She glanced at the screen, reading the preview of the text that he’d sent, an answer to her previous text asking how he was liking Atlanta so far. It was the typical plain chit-chat between them whenever he was in the middle of preparing for a game – which felt like every day for the last six months. And now, his focus was completely on the championship game.

But it wasn’t just Devin distracting her from ROIs and KPIs.

Jai, sitting directly across from her, was leaning back in his chair, a playful smirk on his face as he watched her. He’d been flirting with her subtly all evening, dropping hints, making jokes, and finding every excuse to catch her eye.

“You’ve been staring at that screen for five minutes. If you don’t stop, the screen might melt,” he said, his tone light and teasing. He reached across the table, flipping her phone over. “How about we grab some coffee after this? You look like you could use a pick-me-up.”

Carla started to agree, but guilt quickly followed. She forced a smile, trying to keep things friendly. “Thanks, but I’ve got a lot to get through tonight and the fucking final is Monday.”

“Just a quick break won’t hurt. I’ll have you back here in five to ten minutes,” he said, his smile widening.

She laughed, but it felt hollow. The sexual innuendo in his time frame wasn’t lost on her. She could feel his eyes on her, so she picked up her phone and tapped out a quick reply to Devin, wishing him good luck and telling him that she’d be watching him and that she loved him.

“I’m good. Maybe another time?” she said, trying to keep her voice neutral.

His expression faltered slightly, but he quickly recovered, shrugging it off with a casual grin. “Well, it’s a standing offer.”

She forced another smile, fingers tightening around her phone. Jai went back to his notes, but the tension in her chest remained. She knew his flirting was harmless, just friendly banter, but that didn’t change that she was allowing it while in a relationship. Especially with Devin preparing for one of the biggest games in his life.

Her phone vibrated with another text from Devin: ’Love you, too

Her heart clenched. Jai stole another glance at her, heightening the creeping sense of disloyalty. Sighing, she picked up the stack of papers and tried to distract herself with studying.

[Captain Canada]

The calm before the storm, solid update

[Caesar]

Flat

“The teams are ready and we’re moments away from the opening kickoff of the 2052 edition of the Southeastern Conference’s championship game. Nolan, the Florida Gators, who are about to receive the ball first, come into this game as heavy underdogs against a Tulane team that is 11-1 on the season and looking to get one back after falling to their rivals, LSU, last week. What are the Gators going to have to do to stay in this game and give themselves a chance to win?”

“They’re going to have to come out swinging from the opening bell. The Tigers, as much as they hate them, gave them the blueprint last week. This is a team that is used to being out in front in a big way. If they’re within striking distance, then you have a shot. They’ll definitely need to get points on this opening drive. At least a field goal.”

“For those who may have forgotten, the Green Wave went into halftime with a 17-7 lead in last week’s Battle for the Rag before going on to lose 31-27. Their last touchdown of the game was scored on the opening drive of the second half. Meanwhile, the Gators dealt with their rivals, Florida State, beating the Seminoles 49-10.”

“Sophomore quarterback Trey Lawson had a big game last week, too. He’ll need to be at the top of his game tonight.”

“Everyone’s ready to get underway now. Neal Cooper will be kicking off for the Green Wave and Zay Carter is back to receive for the Gators.”

…

The opening kickoff hung in the air, a high, spiraling kick that seemed to hover for an eternity before it began its descent. Tulane’s sideline was alive with anticipation, coaches and players alike shouting instructions, clapping their hands, and craning their necks to see how the guys on the field would respond to the opening salvo of the title game.

As the ball descended into the waiting arms of Florida’s Zay Carter, a collective breath was held. Carter caught the ball cleanly at the two-yard line and immediately took off, darting toward the right side of the field. The Green Wave’s coverage unit sprinted downfield, each player locked in on his lane, focused on making the first big hit of the game and set the tone.

Then, everything began to unravel.

The returner cut back to the left, finding a seam between two would-be tackles. He accelerated, and suddenly, there was green grass ahead of him. A devastating block took out a Tulane gunner and another leveled a linebacker, sending him sprawling to the turf. On the sideline, coaches erupted, their voices rising in a cacophony of urgency and alarm.

“Contain! Contain!” the Green Wave’s coaches seemed to shout in unison, but Carter had already slipped through the first wave of defenders, sprinting down the sideline with only the kicker left to beat.

The sidelines became a frenzy. Players shouting, leaping into the air, trying to will their teammates on. Miles, one of Tulane’s backup safeties, took a step onto the field, helmet in hand, forgetting he wasn’t in the game. A coach yanked him back just as Neal dove at the returner’s legs.

Carter sidestepped him with ease, barely breaking stride.

“God fucking damn it!” Coach Shuman shouted, slamming his tablet and playcard on the turf, getting tangled in his headseat as that went flying as well.

The sideline grew even more chaotic as Carter streaked into the endzone, the crowd on the opposite side of the stadium roaring in approval. Players on Tulane’s side of the field slammed their helmets into the turf or buried their heads in their hands.

“Did you fucking forget what time kickoff was?!” Tulane’s coach shouted at his players’ trudging off the field as the scoreboard changed to reflect Florida’s touchdown.

…

“Junior signal caller Darren Reyes sets up in the shotgun as Tulane tries to respond after that surprise return touchdown to open the game.”

“I’m hearing from our stats folks that that was the first kickoff return touchdown the Green Wave have given up all season.”

“What a time to get it if you’re the Gators.”

…

“Just out of reach of Caesar Jenkins and it falls incomplete.”

…

“A bruising run from Tyrone Frazier, but he only picks up a handful on that run.”

…

“The pocket is collapsing and Reyes is forced to take it himself. He’s brought down by Bryce Mitchell, and it doesn’t look like they’re giving him the first down.”

…

“Lawson drops back to pass, and he hits Myles Grayson across the middle to move the chains on the first play from scrimmage.”

…

“Lawson finds his tight end, Cam Davis, and that’s good for seven or eight on the play.”

…

“Here’s Dre Williams’ first run of the game. He takes it off-tackle, makes a man miss and he’s off to the races! Forty, thirty, twenty, ten, TOUCHDOWN FLORIDA! No penalties on the play and the Gators are up two touchdowns in a hurry!”

“A lot of finger pointing going on down there on the field for the Green Wave. I don’t think they’ve shaken off last week’s loss. They’re sleeping walking through the early goings of this one.”

“Logan Scott boots it through the uprights and makes it 14-nothing to the underdogs!”

…

Caesar lined up at the line of scrimmage, staring across at the cornerback. He could already feel the frustration gnawing at him as he glanced up at the scoreboard, a slow burn that made his hands tighten until he could feel his nails digging into his hands through his gloves.

Darren snapped the ball and Caesar exploded off the line with a quick jab to the outside before cutting back in. But the cornerback was with him step for step, his hand on Caesar’s hip, just enough to let him know he was right there.

Caesar pushed across the field, trying to separate but the corner stayed glued to him, matching him stride for stride. Caesar threw his hand up for the pass, but Darren looked away from him as he slipped out of the pocket to extend the play.

Frustration boiling over, Caesar slowed, his feet dragging as he eased up on the route, his eyes no longer looking for a gap in the defense.

It wasn’t until he heard the gasp, a collective intake of breath, that he looked up. The ball was sailing toward him. He reached up, but it was too late. The ball skimmed over his fingertips before bouncing harmlessly out of bounds.

Snapping his chinstrap off, Caesar jogged off the field, coming face to face with Coach Harley.

“If you can’t get up for a fucking championship game then I’ll find someone who can!” Coach Harley shouted, grabbing Caesar by the collar of his jersey. “Get your fucking head out of your ass and into the fucking game!”

He shoved Caesar toward the bench.

…

“Tulane punts it away and it’s just going from bad to worse for the Green Wave right now.”

…

Devin crouched in his stance, eyes locked on the receiver in front of him, but his peripheral vision was tuned into the backfield. The Gators were on the ten, and about to go up 21-0, making the air in the stadium thick with tension.

The quarterback barked out the cadence, and Devin’s instincts kicked in as the ball was snapped. The receiver in front of him took off, but it was clearly meant to run him away from the line of scrimmage. Devin didn’t bite, his eyes darting back to the running back who had just taken the handoff.

A hole opened up in the middle of the line, as if Moses himself was parting the sea of defenders in front of the back.

Devin’s feet were in motion, abandoning the receiver and running toward the middle of the field. The running back wrapped both arms around the ball, lowering his shoulders as he ran into the second level of Tulane’s defense. He plowed right through Blair, bouncing off De’Anthony as he came in to clean up the tackle.

A slight shove in the side blunted Devin’s momentum and sent him stumbling to the turf.

He could only watch as Hayden’s last-gasp attempt to punch the ball out of the running back’s arms only caused the Gators’ back to spin into the endzone. The back jumped up and began celebrating with his teammates, the offensive line joining him in the signature “Gator Chomp.”

…

“The Green Wave finally get on the board as Reyes dives for the pylon to make it 21-6 midway through the second quarter.”

…

“Florida is finally forced to punt, but that drive took a lot of time off the clock.”

…

“The snap is too high! It’s over Reyes’ head and into the endzone! Tulane’s going to recover it, but that’s going to be a safety!”

…

“Scott’s on to attempt this kick from 54 yards away. His career best is 48 yards, so this is a bold decision by Florida head coach Nate Harper. If he misses, Tulane will have good field position to cut into this lead and spark a second half comeback.”

“Tulane’s been stuck in neutral all night. I could see why Coach Harper is willing to roll the dice here to extend the lead.”

“The hold is good. The kick is solid. It’s got the height. Does it have the distance? Yes! Logan Scott hits from a career long 54 yards to make it 26-7, Florida.”

…

“Lawson finds Brooks and this game is turning into a blowout! Touchdown Gators!”

“The Green Wave just haven’t shown up tonight. It’s a huge indictment on this team and this coaching staff that they’ve come out this flat. They’ve been playing with house money all season, but it looks like the house has finally decided to show that they always win.”

“Scott’s extra point is good and they’re absolutely rocking on Florida’s half of this stadium. On the other side of it, Tulane fans are heading for the exits as we are set to begin the fourth quarter after this short break.”

…

“Frazier powers his way through a couple of would-be tacklers to make 33-13 here in the waning minutes of the game. No celebrations from Tulane as they know Florida can run out the clock once they get the ball back.”

“The Green Wave came into this game ranked 11th in the country after falling from 2nd last week. You have to think they’re going to be well out of playoff contention after this game. Even if Florida was better than 8-4, this performance won’t impress any pollsters.”

…

Caesar jogged off the field, his stride lazy, like he was just coming off a practice rep instead of the final drive of an SEC Championship game. The scoreboard glowed with the harsh reality of the situation: Tulane was down and Florida was already starting to celebrate.

As he neared the bench, the energy around him was chaotic – teammates pacing, some shouting at each other, others with their heads in their hands, helmets still on as if they couldn’t face reality without some kind of barrier. Coaches were barking orders, trying to rally whatever was left for some miracle 19-point comeback in two minutes with no timeouts.

He slipped his helmet off as he sat down, placing it on the post behind him. He grabbed a cup of Powerade from a trainer, lounging back against the bench. A few of his teammates glanced at him as he sipped from the cup, one arm draped over the backrest as if he were just hanging out on a lazy afternoon.

They searched his face for something – anger, disappointment, anything – but his expression was flat, his gaze distant.

He looked up at the scoreboard and then onto the field between his teammates as the Gators jogged onto the field to run out the clock, a finality that should have made his heart race, but all he felt was a dull, almost comfortable numbness.

One catch for thirteen yards. That’s what would go down on the stat sheet for him, a Bilenitkoff finalist, in a championship game.

As his teammates watched Florida set the clock toward zero, beginning the slow, painful process of accepting the loss, Caesar stayed on the bench, uneffaced, almost bored.

He was the last one to leave the bench when the game ended, Florida’s players running onto the field to celebrate. His walk was the same as it had been coming off the field, slow and easy like there was no rush to get anywhere at all.

…

Devin stood on the sideline, his helmet hanging loosely from his fingers, staring out at the field with a hollow gaze. The scoreboard loomed large above the stadium, the numbers ticking down with a finality that made his stomach churn.

Florida lined up in the victory formation, their players jumping around on the field and sideline in celebration, coaches struggling to contain the joy that was threatening to break loose on the opposite sideline. The quarterback dropped to one knee and the players were released onto the field, the stadium erupting into cheers.

It was over.

Devin’s mouth twisted in anger, at anything, at everything. He sniffed, rubbing the back of his hand under his nose.

His teammates around him were silent, their heads hanging low, their shoulders slumped in defeat. Some had their hands on their hips, others had taken a knee, unable to watch the final moments unfold. The coach stood with crossed arms, expressions grim.

His fingers tightened around the facemask, feeling an urge to fling his helmet at the turf in anger. Instead, he closed his eyes and pulled it back on. He looked up at the scoreboard one last time. For a moment, he didn’t move. He couldn’t. His feet felt rooted to the ground, his heart heavy with the weight of what could have been.

Christian gave him a reassuring pat on the back of the helmet as he trudged by, shaking him from his thoughts.

As the Gators’ celebration continued, Devin finally turned and started the slow walk back to the locker room. Eventually, the cheers faded into the background, replaced by the hollow sound of cleats clacking on concrete with not a sound from the defeated Tulane players.

[Caesar]

The Lull

Devin lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling of his dimly lit dorm room. Days had passed since the team’s loss to Florda in the championship game, but the weight of it continued to press on him like a heavy blanket.

Carla was next to him, her voice a soft murmur as she talked about something—he wasn’t even sure what. He nodded occasionally, but his mind was somewhere else, replaying the game in endless loops, each mistake magnified, each missed tackle a sharp jab to his already battered spirit.

“Devin!” Carla shouted, smacking his chest to get his attention. Her voice was sharp with irritation. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Yeah, yeah. I heard you,” he said, knowing that his response wasn’t convincing. He glanced over at her, trying to muster a smile, but it felt forced.

She sighed, sitting up on the edge of the bed, her back to him. She snatched up her shirt from the floor and pulled it over her head. “No, you’re not. I don’t know why I even bothered coming over here. I could’ve just gone home. You’ve been a dickhead all semester and it’s been worse since you got back from Atlanta.”

He frowned, sitting up as well, feeling a bit of guilt but also defensive. “How have I been a dickhead? You’re acting like I’ve just been ignoring you. My entire life is planned out for me down to the minute. What do you want me to do? I can’t just skip class and go run around the Marigny like you can. I’ve made time for you when I had it.”

“Oh, please,” she said, turning to face him, her eyes a mixture of concern and frustration. “You act like y’all are the only people playing sports in college. Plenty of athletes make time for their significant others. I mean, shit, Caesar is a worthless piece of shit who should be thrown in jail to protect society, but he made time for Kaley.”

“Kaley stays in a building that is walking distance from here. Besides, he also cheated on her with her roommate. So, which would you rather?”

“I’d rather the guy you were when we first started dating. Not whatever you are now.”

“I’m the same fucking guy. I have no idea what you’re talking about or what you think is going on, but nothing about me has changed except that I’m busy all the damn time. You knew what you were getting into,” he said, a hint of irritation creeping into his voice.

Carla shook her head, her voice rising slightly as she stood up from the bed. “I don’t think you realize it, but you’re different. You don’t even listen to the shit I’m telling you anymore. Now, you’re ‘Mr. Football Star.’ You went fucking viral for being the ‘most likeable freshman in the country’ or some shit like two weeks ago. You might not think all that is going to your head, but it is. And it’s only a matter of time before some other bitch catches your eye trying to get some of that money they throw at y’all.”

“Where is this even coming from? You’re ranting and raving at me for some shit that you convinced yourself is happening. I can’t help it if people talk about me online. I don’t ask for any of it. I’m just trying to live my life.”

“I’m ranting?! I don’t see anyone else getting praised for not doing something. It’s just you. A guy I know who plays baseball at UNO said that y’all get managers to deal with all that NIL stuff. You might not be pushing anything, but your manager definitely is.”

Devin snorted as he scooted off the bed to stand up as well. “I don’t have a fucking manager. And I’m sure some dude playing baseball at UNO knows all about what’s going on at an SEC school. Maybe I should be questioning you in this relationship since you’re over there on Lakeshore cuddling up with baseball motherfuckers.”

“It’s not even like that, but this is what I’m talking about. You were quick to diminish someone else’s accomplishments because,” she paused to throw her hands up with mocking air quotes. “You’re at an SEC school.”

“It’s fucking different. I’m not trying to shit on anybody, but it is. This is the NFL minor leagues. There are guys who are getting millions of dollars here.”

“But I’m wrong for saying that I don’t know if I can trust you because you’re suddenly America’s Golden Retriever boyfriend?”

His frustration bubbled over, and he grabbed his phone from his desk, holding it up so she could see. “If I’m so famous, why don’t I have brand deals flooding into my DMs like some of the guys on the team? I’m not out here trying to be something I’m not.”

He swiped open a social media app, clicking on the messages, intending to show her how empty it was. But as he opened the screen, well over a thousand message requests were waiting to be approved by him.

Her eyes widened, her face falling as she stared at the screen. “Wow, what a way to rub that in my face.”

“Carla, I didn’t know this shit was like this. I don’t look at this. I just go to class, go to practice, the shit I’m tol--”

She raised her hand to cut him off. “Told to do, right. You don’t even realize how much you’ve changed. I can’t do this. You’re so wrapped up in this football shit that you’ve pushed me out of your life and you don’t even realize it.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Carla? I love you,” he said, reaching out to her.

She pulled away. “Devin, I love you, but I can’t compete with the entire world for your attention. I can’t do that. I’m sorry.”

Before he could say anything else, she was already back in her pants and slipping her feet into her shoes. She walked out of the door, leaving Devin alone.

He stared at the door, his heart heavy and his mind spinning. It seemed like everything was falling apart over the course of the last month.

-*****-

Caesar’s car rolled slowly to a stop in front of Dante’s house, the engine idling softly as he took off his sunglasses and threw them haphazardly toward the passenger seat. He grabbed his phone from the center console and tapped out a response to a text from Gia, demanding he make good on his promise to do more than just fuck her.

He put the phone down and sat up, drumming his fingers on his leg as his mind drifted to the weekend’s trip to New York. He’d expected his father to change his mind about bringing the bastard and his mother along with them, but he was sticking to his guns – as Deion Jenkins was prone to do.

Back-to-back losses would take the gloss off things for him. Erik wouldn’t have that problem as LSU’s signature win was against them. Hopefully, they’d be staying at some motel in Jersey instead of the usual swanky digs the Jenkins family – the real Jenkins family – were used to.

He sighed, cutting the engine off and stepping out of the car. As he walked toward the house, Alysa walked out of the side door, heading for her car. Caesar didn’t hide that he was checking her out as he walked up the driveway, admiring the way her clothes hugged her body.

He leaned against the passenger side door of her car, waiting for her.

“I was hoping you’d finally listened and stopped coming around here, but I guess I should’ve knocked on wood when I had that thought,” she said, fishing her keys out of her purse.

He smiled, turning on the charm. “I came back to try to run into you. We don’t have ‘em built like you over at Tulane. I figured I needed to spread my wings a little bit and see what’s going on over here with you.”

“Built like me? You mean Black? I know you athlete types tend to go running to the nearest white girl as soon as y’all get to college.”

“I’ll have you know the last chick I invited over to my room was Black.”

“I’m sure she was,” she said, rolling her eyes. “And if she actually was. I’m sure she was one of those Republican ones. Those seem more your speed.”

He grabbed at his heart, faking pain. “You wound me. Anyway, why don’t you let me take you out? I can take you to that new concept spot they opened in the CBD. I got an in with one of the silent investors and he can get me moved up the reservation list.”

“Take me out? Really? You can’t be serious.”

“I’m deathly serious. What’s the worst that could happen? You fall in love with me, but realize that we could never be anything more than a quality situationship? It’s worth the risk, don’t you think?”

She sucked her teeth and unlocked her car, shaking her head. “I’m not interested. You’re not exactly the kind of guy that I’m into.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t even really know me.”

“I know enough,” she said, gesturing to the house behind her. “Not to mention, New Orleans big, but it ain’t that big. I know some people who know some people and those people say that you’re a piece of shit. No offense.”

“I’m not a nice guy. I admit it. That doesn’t mean we’re going to have any problems. We just gotta set it up right,” he said.

She pulled a pair of sunglasses out of her purse and slipped them onto her face. “I’m good. You better get in there before Dante comes outside looking for you. I’m sure he told you to get here at a specific time.”

“Well, you know where to find me if you change your mind.”

“I won’t,” she said, getting into the car and shutting the door, cranking the engine.

Caesar stepped back slowly, shaking his head, a little pissed off. He wasn’t exactly used to getting rejected.

Shaking it off, he walked up to the door and knocked, waiting for Dante to answer. A moment later, Dante opened the door, his expression unreadable as he started at Caesar while cutting into a papaya. He stepped aside to let Caesar in.

“What’s up, man?” Caesar asked as he followed Dante into the living room.

Dante didn’t respond right away, sitting down on the couch and eating the piece of fruit that he’d cut off.

“Hey, we good?” Caesar asked, looking around, feeling a little uncomfortable.

Dante set the knife and papaya down on the coffee table. He leaned back on the couch, his arms stretched out on the back. “What I told you, bruh?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t been here in months.”

“You should’ve studied up like you be studying over at that school,” Dante said. “I told you I had two rules, and you only got one chance to break them. Here we are and I catch you talking to my sister outside and shit. The fuck is wrong with you?”

Caesar held his hands up. “It was just polite conversation.”

“I don’t give a fuck if you were asking her for directions. I told you not to talk to my family. You’re done. Don’t come here for shit anymore. If I catch you even up the street, I’m going to put your ass on the injured reserve for good if you catch my drift.”

“My money not good? I already sent you the money for the shit. Give me my fucking pills.”

Dante raised an eyebrow. “You better take some of that bass out of your voice. You’re just going to have to take this L, boss. Better yet, go run tell NOPD that I stole your money. I know that’ll go over real well with those Tulane boosters.”

Caesar clenched his jaw, his lips pressed into a line. Shaking his head, knowing not to press his luck, he turned on his heel and headed for the door.

As he got to his car, slamming the door shut behind him, he began trying to figure out a way to get around Dante.