1 billion percent
I know Mr. Character with Complicated Emotions who don't operate on a linear pathway ain't talking about no "why don't he just..."
Invictus
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Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 7950
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Invictus
-
Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 7950
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Invictus
Season V | Chapter V - Less talking More Action
The bass thumped through the JMA Wireless Dome locker room walls, rattling the metal lockers just enough to make them hum. Music blasted from a speaker shoved into the corner, competing with the sharp sounds of pads snapping into place, cleats scraping against the tiled floor, and voices rising over one another.
Zane stood in front of his locker, still for a moment in the middle of all the movement.
His blue Syracuse jersey hung in front of him, clean and crisp. The number 7 stretched bold across the chest, “JONES” stitched across the back. The fabric barely moved, swaying slightly from the air shifting around hm as players brushed past.
He reached out and grabbed it, his fingers pressing into the material.
For a second, everything around him dulled.
He pictured Felix - grease-stained hands, leaning against the frame of the shop, nodding with that quiet approval he never had to say out loud. The kind of look that told you everything.
He would’ve loved this.
Zane exhaled slowly through his nose, rolling his shoulders once before pulling the jersey over his head. THe fabric slid over his pads, settling into place. He tugged it down at the waist, smoothing it out with both hands.
Across the room, a helmet clattered to the floor. Someone shouted. Laughter broke out.
Reality snapped back in.
Mary couldn’t make the trip - he knew that. However, she had made it a point to tell him she would be watching from home. Said she figured out how to subscribe to the Orange TV network bundle just so she wouldn’t miss it. He could still hear her voice on the phone, trying to sound more put together than she felt.
Zane reached down, grabbing his gloves and flexing his fingers inside them.
A hand landed on his shoulder.
“You ain’t nervous, are you?”
Zane turned his head slightly. Ajani stood next to him, already fully suited - helmet tucked under his arm, chinstrap dangling, jersey stretched tight across his pads.
Zane shook his head once. “Nah, never that.”
He rolled his neck, loosening it. “Just get me the ball early and often.”
Ajani gave a quick nod, like that all he needed to hear. “Say less.”
Before he could step away, another voice cut through the noise. Johntay came flying over, already bouncing on the balls of his feet. His eyeblack was laid on perfectly, sharp under the stadium lights that bled faintly through the funnel entrance.
He got right in Zane’s face, shouting with a grin. “We gon’ have them lil New Hampshire niggas tooted up for some belt from the jump, my boy!” he yelled. “I need at least a hunnid yards from you!”
Zane smirked, not even flinching at the volume. He reached down into his locker, grabbed his shoulder pads, and lifted them up in one smooth motion, He slipped his arms through, rolling his shoulders as the pads settled into place, then yanked the straps tight across his chest.
“Bet,” he responded.
Around them, the locker room started to shift. Coaches barked instructions near the front. Players began grabbing helmets, tightening gloves, slapping each other on the pads. The energy changed - less scattered, more focused.
From just beyond the double doors, the sound of the crowd poured in. A low roar at first.
Then louder. Then loud enough that the floor beneath them seemed to vibrate.
The tunnel leading out to the field shook with it - metal railings rattling, the air itself buzzing with anticipation, The season opener against New Hampshire had the building alive, fans packed in tight, waiting for the first look at this team.
Zane grabbed his helmet, holding it by the metal cage just underneath his clear visor.
He stepped into line with the rest of the receivers, the group tightening together as they inched toward the tunnel entrance. Bright white light spilled in from the field, cutting through the darker hallway.
He bounced on his toes, his chest rising and falling steadily, controlled. It had been a long time coming- every practice, every hit, every decision that had pulled him away from everything he knew and dropped him here.
He looked forward, eyes locked on the light ahead.
Everything had led to this. And now, there was nothing left to wait for.
Zane felt the impact of the crowd immediately upon running through the smoke out of the tunnel. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before. Sure, Upper St. Clair had some raucous crowd, but it didn’t even begin to touch what was going on here.
He adjusted the neck of his jersey, pulled on the tight restraint of his shoulder pads as he eyed the opposing team on the other side of the field. A few players on the New Hampshire side of the field looked a tad unsure of themselves, as if they knew they had bit off more than they could chew before the game had even kicked off.
Zane cracked his knuckles before Ajani slid past him, nodding in his direction before motioning to the ball in his hands. Zane nodded back, licking his finger tips and feigning a running motion with his arms before Ajani zipped a ball toward him that he caught effortlessly as the two started to get prepared.
…
“The Orange are going to start at their own 14-yard line. Three receivers set outright with Cook II isolated out left. Yasin Wills gets the ball but he’s swallowed up by the New Hampshire defensive tackle right away.”
“But did you see that raucous block from Zane Jones out wide? That’s a young man in a grown man’s body if I had ever seen one.”
…
Zane set up just outside of the hash marks with the opposing corner playing a soft man coverage look. He peeked inside, noticing Ajani seeing the same thing.
He snapped the ball and Zane took off, taking three hard steps before puncturing the turf with his left foot and pushing towards the sidelines. Ajani threw it just ahead of him, causing Zane to have to reach out and dive towards the sideline to reel the ball in. He landed hard against the turf, but felt the familiar feeling of the football in his grasp.
Zane breathed out, realizing he had been holding his breath in the last few seconds of the rep. He brought himself to his feet, tossing the football to the line judge and made his way back to the huddle.
…
“First and ten on New Hampshire’s 28-yard line and the Orange have been pushing the ball down the field. Sheppard takes the snap and has Jones with a step on his defender and he just sails it out of reach of the freshman wide receiver.”
“Yeah, that’s one Ajani Sheppard is going to want back. Zane Jones has been proving that the Wildcats might want to consider bracketing him.”
…
Zane shook his head, his sight cast down as he walked back to the sideline. Ajani held his head in his hands, in disbelief that he has missed him.
“Fuck, my nigga, that’s on me,” he said, patting Zane on the shoulder pad as he backed away, looking toward the sideline for the next play. He looked at his wristband and called the next play.
“Yo Z, if we get a man look on this, give Jaden room to beat his guy one-on-one. He’s going to hound you after getting beat on that last place.”
Zane nodded, clapping in unison with the rest of the huddle as they broke apart for the next play.
…
“First and ten with only six seconds remaining in the first quarter. The Orange had to settle for only three points in their last go-around. They have Cook and Jones flanking left. Sheppard takes the snap, he has Jones! He sticks him just along the sideline and he’s going to hang on for a big gain!”
“That’ll be a 21-yard gain and Syracuse is starting to gain some momentum here.”
…
Zane was still heaving with anticipation as the offense lined right after his big catch. They knew they wanted to capitalize here. No more field goals.
Zane ripped inside and dragged across the field, seeing daylight as the nickelback struggled to keep up with him. Just as he cast his eyes into the backfield, he saw Ajani shoot one right overtop of him.
He swung his head and saw Johntay with a step or two over his defender, the ball roping easily over his shoulder into his hands for an easy touchdown.
Zane jumped, holding up both his arms as the referee signalled the touchdown.
…
“First and ten once again for the Orange, up by six after the Wildcats punched it into the end zone to finally get on the board. Sheppard in shotgun snaps the ball. He’s got some time. Jones breaks loose on the dig route. He picks up a huge block from Johntay Cook and he’s off to the races!”
“No one is going to catch him! Zane Jones is in for six and his first touchdown of his collegiate career!”
“His takeoff speed is second to none. I haven’t seen anyone run nearly that fast all game long.”
…
“These niggas can’t fuck with you, 7!” Johntay screamed, slapping Zane on the helmet as he had the ball still tucked into his arm once he reached the sideline.
“Shit, you ain’t lying” Zane smirked, handing off the ball to one of the team staffers to hold onto. The stadium was still at a fever pitch after his touchdown, and he was trying to stay in the moment - soaking in all of the admiration.
The tide has begun.
…
The second half had barely registered for Zane. One minute he was jogging back onto the field after halftime, helmet strapped tight, the crowd still buzzing from the first half. The next, he was standing on the sideline with his helmet off, chest still heaving, watching the clock bleed out.
Syracuse had broken the game open.
New Hampshire’s defense had slowed, their pursuit a step late, their tackles softer, their communication unraveling. Zane had felt it immediately. The space came easier. The cuts felt sharper. The ball kept finding him.
Double digit catches. Well over 100 yards. Two touchdowns.
Johntay had matched him - two of his own, both deep balls where he took the top clean off the safeties.
By midway through the third quarter, the coaches had started rotating guys out.
Zane had jogged off after his last catch, slapping hands with teammates as he crossed the sideline. A coach grabbed his facemask briefly, nodding with approval before waving him down the bench. He dropped onto the seat, pulling his helmet off, sweat clinging to his forehead as the cold air hit his skin.
“That’s how you open a season,” Ajani said, shaking his head slightly. Zane let out a small breath through his noise, a hint of a smile forming.
Johntay didn’t sit. He stood just to Zane’s right, still in full gear, pacing a few steps back and forth before stopping and bumping Zane hard in the shoulder.
“Boy,” Johntay said, voice loud over the crowd. “You showed the fuck out today.”
Zane rocked slightly from the contact, glancing up at him.
Johntay pointed down at him, grinning. “You better keep that same energy. Don’t come in here getting comfortable.”
He laughed, stepping back, clapping his hands once before turning back toward the field, yelling something at one of the backups after a decent play.
The scoreboard loomed over the stadium, numbers stacked heavily in Syracuse’s favour. The student section was still on its feet, bodies packed together, arms waving, voices carrying across the dome.
The campus pulsed with noise. Orange flooded every street corner, every patch of grass, every set of stairs leading off campus buildings. Students packed shoulder to shoulder, music blasting from open windows, car horns blaring in uneven rhythm. Somewhere in the distance, someone had already started lighting off fireworks, the crack echoing over the rooftops.
Syracuse had won. No, they had dominated.
And they were going to celebrate it like it meant everything.
Zane’s place had turned into a hub almost immediately after the game. The door had barely stayed shut more than a few seconds at a time as bodies filtered in and out. Post-game Nike slides had been kicked off near the entrance, socks sliding across the hardwood floors, empty water bottles and half-finished Gatorades had been abandoned for bottles of more adult beverages.
Ajani leaned against the counter, still in his Syracuse tracksuit, gesturing with his hands as taled. Demetres sat sprawled across one side of the couch, scrolling through his phone while coming in when he felt like it. Yasin hovered near the fridge, opening it, staring inside, closing it, then opening it again like something new might appear.
Darien sat off to the side in one of the chairs, quieter than the rest but still listening. Tyshawn stood in the middle of it all, clapping his hands like he was calling a huddle.
“Aight, first things first,” he said, voice cutting through the room. “We have to hit Varsity.”
Ajani nodded immediately. “Yeah, that’s a must.”
Zane, standing near the edge of the living room, nursing a pack of ice on his shoulder, furrowed his brows. “What’s Varsity?”
Tyshawn looked at him like he had just admitted he didn’t know what football was.
“Varsity’s Pizza,” he said. “That’s where everybody meets after wins. They flip the banner of whoever we just beat upside down. Whole place go crazy.”
Zane nodded slowly, taking that in. “Sounds sick.”
Darien leaned forward in his chair. “Or,” he cut in, “we could hit a frat house after. That’s where it’s really at.”
Zane’s shoulders tightened just a fraction. His mind flickered to his visit to Michigan - how awful of an experience that was. Too many people. Too much going on at once.
“I don’t know about that,” Zane said, keeping his tone even. “Last time I pulled up to one of those, it didn’t really end well.”
Darien snapped his head toward him, irritation flashing quick.
“Freshmen don’t get opinions,” he shot back. The room shifted for a second. Not loud, not explosive - just a subtle tightening in the air.
Before it could sit too long, Tyshawn barked out a laugh.
“That freshman just had more touchdowns than you had yards today,” he said. ‘So, I don’t know if you got room to talk, gang.”
Yasin let out a yelp, slapping the counter. Demetres laughed, throwing his head back. Ajani chimed in, shaking his head. The tension broke just like that.
Darien sucked his teeth, jaw tightening as he shot Zane a look that lingered a second too long before he dropped his gaze to his phone, thumbs tapping hard against the screen.
Zane didn’t say anything. He just breathed quietly and shrugged.
His phone buzzed in his hand. He glanced down.
Bianca.
For a moment, he just stared at it. Then he pushed himself off the wall. “I’mma take this,” he muttered, already moving.
He slipped up the stairs, the noise from downstairs dulling with each step until it became a low hum. He stepped into his room and shut the door behind him, leaning against it for a second before answering.
“Hey,” he said.
On the other end, music blared - louder, more chaotic than what he had just left behind. Voices shouted over each other, laughter cutting through the background.
Bianca’s face came into view, the lighting dim and shifting. She looked flushed, her eyes a little glossy.
“Hey,” she said back, but there was an edge to it.
Zane pushed off the door, pacing a few steps across the room. “Where you at?”
“Party,” she said simply. “We won too.”
Zane nodded, even though she could see him. “Yeah, I saw him/”
There was a pause. Not long, but heavy.
Bianca tilted her head slightly. “Why you been avoiding me?”
Zane stopped pacing. “Let’s not do this again - I haven’t been avoiding you.”
She scoffed, a quick, sharp sound. “Zane, I’m really not asking for all that much. I’m not needy. A text? A call? That too much for your girlfriend who you claim to love?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Bianca, I literally picked up my entire life and moved states to play college football. I know you know how busy this shit can get.”
“Yeah,” she said, dragging the word out. “My problem is that you’re not busy now, and had I not called you, you wouldn’t have even thought to call me.”
Zane exhaled. “Alright, I’m sorry, okay?”
Bianca looked away from the screen for a second, like she was collecting herself. When she looked back, something softer had crept into her expression - but it didn’t make things easier.
“Do you even want to be with me anymore?” she asked/.
Zane blinked, caught off guard. “Why would you ask that?”
“Zane, the answer is supposed to be yes. Right away,” she said her voice tightening. “I told you months ago what it would take to make this work. Acting intentionally. Actually fucking trying to communicate.”
Zane swallowed, nodding slowly. “Yeah, I remember.”
The music behind her surged louder for a second before dipping again. Someone brushed past her, and shifted slightly out of the way.
The edge in her expression gave way to something more fragile.
“Maybe,” she started, her voice wavering just slightly. “We should take some time.”
Zane’s head snapped up. “Come on, Bianca. Everything is fine.”
“No, it really isn’t Zane. We live hours apart. We barely talk. We’ve made no plans for our future together. And I know you’ve had a devastating year, and I’ll be in your corner. But I think we should revisit our relationship when we’re back for holidays.”
“That’s not what I want,” Zane said immediately.
“I know, it’s not what I want either,” she said, cutting him off gently. “But I don’t want to keep sitting on the sidelines of your life waiting for you to remember I exist. And I’m sure you’re tired of me hounding you for time and energy you just don’t have right now.”
Her eyes glossed over again, but she held his gaze.
“I love you,” she said. “You love me, I know that,” she gestured vaguely between them. “But, right now, that’s not enough for us.”
Zane didn’t respond right away. He just stood there, the noise from downstairs faint beneath the ringing in his ears.
Silence hung between them. Thick. Unavoidable.
And neither of them had anything left to say that could fix it.
Score
Scoring Summary
1st Quarter
(2:34) Jaydn Oh, 25-yard field goal [CUSE 3 - 0 NH]
2nd Quarter
(11:56) Johntay Cook II, 28-yard pass from Ajani Sheppard (Jaydn Oh kick) [CUSE 10 - 0 NH]
(9:01) Jaydn Oh, 40-yard field goal [CUSE 13 - 0 NH]
(6:41) Cooper York, 5-yard run (Andy McFoles kick) [CUSE 13 - 7 NH]
(5:58) Zane Jones, 61-yard pass from Ajani Sheppard (Jaydn Oh kick) [CUSE 20 - 7 NH]
(1:47) Jaydn Oh, 39-yard field goal [CUSE 23 - 7 NH]
(0:06) Gartrell Broussard, 2-yard run (Andy McFoles kick) [CUSE 23 - 14 NH]
3rd Quarter
(3:43) Zane Jones, 12-yard pass from Ajani Sheppard (Jaydn Oh kick) [CUSE 30 - 14 NH]
(2:06) Johntay Cook, 91-yard pass from Ajani Sheppard (Jaydn Oh kick) [CUSE 37 - 14 NH]
(0:00) Malachi James, 46-yard run (Jaydn Oh kick) [CUSE 44 - 14 NH]
4th Quarter
(9:34) Deondrae Riden, 10-yard pass from Luke Carney (Jaydn Oh kick) [CUSE 51 - 14 NH]
(8:19) Chris Gee, 1-yard run (Jaydn Oh kick) [CUSE 58 - 14 NH]
Team Statistics
QB Ajani Sheppard: 22-32, 384 passing yards, 4 touchdowns, 4 carries, 24 rushing yards
QB Luke Carney: 3-3, 54 passing yards, touchdown
HB Malachi James: 5 carries, 60 rushing yards, touchdown
HB Chris Gee: 10 carries, 36 rushing yards, touchdown
HB Yasin Willis: 7 carries, 19 rushing yards
WR Johntay Cook II: 6 catches, 165 receiving yards, 2 touchdowns
WR Zane Jones: 10 catches, 141 receiving yards, 2 touchdowns
TE Daunte Bacheyie: 2 catches, 40 receiving yards
WR Julian McFadden: 1 catch, 28 receiving yards
DT Rashard Perry: 7 tackles, 4 tackles for loss
EDGE Jo'Laison Landry: 6 tackles, tackle for loss
MIKE Fran Brown Jr.: 5 tackles, tackle for loss
CB Demetres Samuel Jr.: 4 tackles, tackle for loss
The bass thumped through the JMA Wireless Dome locker room walls, rattling the metal lockers just enough to make them hum. Music blasted from a speaker shoved into the corner, competing with the sharp sounds of pads snapping into place, cleats scraping against the tiled floor, and voices rising over one another.
Zane stood in front of his locker, still for a moment in the middle of all the movement.
His blue Syracuse jersey hung in front of him, clean and crisp. The number 7 stretched bold across the chest, “JONES” stitched across the back. The fabric barely moved, swaying slightly from the air shifting around hm as players brushed past.
He reached out and grabbed it, his fingers pressing into the material.
For a second, everything around him dulled.
He pictured Felix - grease-stained hands, leaning against the frame of the shop, nodding with that quiet approval he never had to say out loud. The kind of look that told you everything.
He would’ve loved this.
Zane exhaled slowly through his nose, rolling his shoulders once before pulling the jersey over his head. THe fabric slid over his pads, settling into place. He tugged it down at the waist, smoothing it out with both hands.
Across the room, a helmet clattered to the floor. Someone shouted. Laughter broke out.
Reality snapped back in.
Mary couldn’t make the trip - he knew that. However, she had made it a point to tell him she would be watching from home. Said she figured out how to subscribe to the Orange TV network bundle just so she wouldn’t miss it. He could still hear her voice on the phone, trying to sound more put together than she felt.
Zane reached down, grabbing his gloves and flexing his fingers inside them.
A hand landed on his shoulder.
“You ain’t nervous, are you?”
Zane turned his head slightly. Ajani stood next to him, already fully suited - helmet tucked under his arm, chinstrap dangling, jersey stretched tight across his pads.
Zane shook his head once. “Nah, never that.”
He rolled his neck, loosening it. “Just get me the ball early and often.”
Ajani gave a quick nod, like that all he needed to hear. “Say less.”
Before he could step away, another voice cut through the noise. Johntay came flying over, already bouncing on the balls of his feet. His eyeblack was laid on perfectly, sharp under the stadium lights that bled faintly through the funnel entrance.
He got right in Zane’s face, shouting with a grin. “We gon’ have them lil New Hampshire niggas tooted up for some belt from the jump, my boy!” he yelled. “I need at least a hunnid yards from you!”
Zane smirked, not even flinching at the volume. He reached down into his locker, grabbed his shoulder pads, and lifted them up in one smooth motion, He slipped his arms through, rolling his shoulders as the pads settled into place, then yanked the straps tight across his chest.
“Bet,” he responded.
Around them, the locker room started to shift. Coaches barked instructions near the front. Players began grabbing helmets, tightening gloves, slapping each other on the pads. The energy changed - less scattered, more focused.
From just beyond the double doors, the sound of the crowd poured in. A low roar at first.
Then louder. Then loud enough that the floor beneath them seemed to vibrate.
The tunnel leading out to the field shook with it - metal railings rattling, the air itself buzzing with anticipation, The season opener against New Hampshire had the building alive, fans packed in tight, waiting for the first look at this team.
Zane grabbed his helmet, holding it by the metal cage just underneath his clear visor.
He stepped into line with the rest of the receivers, the group tightening together as they inched toward the tunnel entrance. Bright white light spilled in from the field, cutting through the darker hallway.
He bounced on his toes, his chest rising and falling steadily, controlled. It had been a long time coming- every practice, every hit, every decision that had pulled him away from everything he knew and dropped him here.
He looked forward, eyes locked on the light ahead.
Everything had led to this. And now, there was nothing left to wait for.
***
Zane felt the impact of the crowd immediately upon running through the smoke out of the tunnel. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before. Sure, Upper St. Clair had some raucous crowd, but it didn’t even begin to touch what was going on here.
He adjusted the neck of his jersey, pulled on the tight restraint of his shoulder pads as he eyed the opposing team on the other side of the field. A few players on the New Hampshire side of the field looked a tad unsure of themselves, as if they knew they had bit off more than they could chew before the game had even kicked off.
Zane cracked his knuckles before Ajani slid past him, nodding in his direction before motioning to the ball in his hands. Zane nodded back, licking his finger tips and feigning a running motion with his arms before Ajani zipped a ball toward him that he caught effortlessly as the two started to get prepared.
…
“The Orange are going to start at their own 14-yard line. Three receivers set outright with Cook II isolated out left. Yasin Wills gets the ball but he’s swallowed up by the New Hampshire defensive tackle right away.”
“But did you see that raucous block from Zane Jones out wide? That’s a young man in a grown man’s body if I had ever seen one.”
…
Zane set up just outside of the hash marks with the opposing corner playing a soft man coverage look. He peeked inside, noticing Ajani seeing the same thing.
He snapped the ball and Zane took off, taking three hard steps before puncturing the turf with his left foot and pushing towards the sidelines. Ajani threw it just ahead of him, causing Zane to have to reach out and dive towards the sideline to reel the ball in. He landed hard against the turf, but felt the familiar feeling of the football in his grasp.
Zane breathed out, realizing he had been holding his breath in the last few seconds of the rep. He brought himself to his feet, tossing the football to the line judge and made his way back to the huddle.
…
“First and ten on New Hampshire’s 28-yard line and the Orange have been pushing the ball down the field. Sheppard takes the snap and has Jones with a step on his defender and he just sails it out of reach of the freshman wide receiver.”
“Yeah, that’s one Ajani Sheppard is going to want back. Zane Jones has been proving that the Wildcats might want to consider bracketing him.”
…
Zane shook his head, his sight cast down as he walked back to the sideline. Ajani held his head in his hands, in disbelief that he has missed him.
“Fuck, my nigga, that’s on me,” he said, patting Zane on the shoulder pad as he backed away, looking toward the sideline for the next play. He looked at his wristband and called the next play.
“Yo Z, if we get a man look on this, give Jaden room to beat his guy one-on-one. He’s going to hound you after getting beat on that last place.”
Zane nodded, clapping in unison with the rest of the huddle as they broke apart for the next play.
…
“First and ten with only six seconds remaining in the first quarter. The Orange had to settle for only three points in their last go-around. They have Cook and Jones flanking left. Sheppard takes the snap, he has Jones! He sticks him just along the sideline and he’s going to hang on for a big gain!”
“That’ll be a 21-yard gain and Syracuse is starting to gain some momentum here.”
…
Zane was still heaving with anticipation as the offense lined right after his big catch. They knew they wanted to capitalize here. No more field goals.
Zane ripped inside and dragged across the field, seeing daylight as the nickelback struggled to keep up with him. Just as he cast his eyes into the backfield, he saw Ajani shoot one right overtop of him.
He swung his head and saw Johntay with a step or two over his defender, the ball roping easily over his shoulder into his hands for an easy touchdown.
Zane jumped, holding up both his arms as the referee signalled the touchdown.
…
“First and ten once again for the Orange, up by six after the Wildcats punched it into the end zone to finally get on the board. Sheppard in shotgun snaps the ball. He’s got some time. Jones breaks loose on the dig route. He picks up a huge block from Johntay Cook and he’s off to the races!”
“No one is going to catch him! Zane Jones is in for six and his first touchdown of his collegiate career!”
“His takeoff speed is second to none. I haven’t seen anyone run nearly that fast all game long.”
…
“These niggas can’t fuck with you, 7!” Johntay screamed, slapping Zane on the helmet as he had the ball still tucked into his arm once he reached the sideline.
“Shit, you ain’t lying” Zane smirked, handing off the ball to one of the team staffers to hold onto. The stadium was still at a fever pitch after his touchdown, and he was trying to stay in the moment - soaking in all of the admiration.
The tide has begun.
…
The second half had barely registered for Zane. One minute he was jogging back onto the field after halftime, helmet strapped tight, the crowd still buzzing from the first half. The next, he was standing on the sideline with his helmet off, chest still heaving, watching the clock bleed out.
Syracuse had broken the game open.
New Hampshire’s defense had slowed, their pursuit a step late, their tackles softer, their communication unraveling. Zane had felt it immediately. The space came easier. The cuts felt sharper. The ball kept finding him.
Double digit catches. Well over 100 yards. Two touchdowns.
Johntay had matched him - two of his own, both deep balls where he took the top clean off the safeties.
By midway through the third quarter, the coaches had started rotating guys out.
Zane had jogged off after his last catch, slapping hands with teammates as he crossed the sideline. A coach grabbed his facemask briefly, nodding with approval before waving him down the bench. He dropped onto the seat, pulling his helmet off, sweat clinging to his forehead as the cold air hit his skin.
“That’s how you open a season,” Ajani said, shaking his head slightly. Zane let out a small breath through his noise, a hint of a smile forming.
Johntay didn’t sit. He stood just to Zane’s right, still in full gear, pacing a few steps back and forth before stopping and bumping Zane hard in the shoulder.
“Boy,” Johntay said, voice loud over the crowd. “You showed the fuck out today.”
Zane rocked slightly from the contact, glancing up at him.
Johntay pointed down at him, grinning. “You better keep that same energy. Don’t come in here getting comfortable.”
He laughed, stepping back, clapping his hands once before turning back toward the field, yelling something at one of the backups after a decent play.
The scoreboard loomed over the stadium, numbers stacked heavily in Syracuse’s favour. The student section was still on its feet, bodies packed together, arms waving, voices carrying across the dome.
***
The campus pulsed with noise. Orange flooded every street corner, every patch of grass, every set of stairs leading off campus buildings. Students packed shoulder to shoulder, music blasting from open windows, car horns blaring in uneven rhythm. Somewhere in the distance, someone had already started lighting off fireworks, the crack echoing over the rooftops.
Syracuse had won. No, they had dominated.
And they were going to celebrate it like it meant everything.
Zane’s place had turned into a hub almost immediately after the game. The door had barely stayed shut more than a few seconds at a time as bodies filtered in and out. Post-game Nike slides had been kicked off near the entrance, socks sliding across the hardwood floors, empty water bottles and half-finished Gatorades had been abandoned for bottles of more adult beverages.
Ajani leaned against the counter, still in his Syracuse tracksuit, gesturing with his hands as taled. Demetres sat sprawled across one side of the couch, scrolling through his phone while coming in when he felt like it. Yasin hovered near the fridge, opening it, staring inside, closing it, then opening it again like something new might appear.
Darien sat off to the side in one of the chairs, quieter than the rest but still listening. Tyshawn stood in the middle of it all, clapping his hands like he was calling a huddle.
“Aight, first things first,” he said, voice cutting through the room. “We have to hit Varsity.”
Ajani nodded immediately. “Yeah, that’s a must.”
Zane, standing near the edge of the living room, nursing a pack of ice on his shoulder, furrowed his brows. “What’s Varsity?”
Tyshawn looked at him like he had just admitted he didn’t know what football was.
“Varsity’s Pizza,” he said. “That’s where everybody meets after wins. They flip the banner of whoever we just beat upside down. Whole place go crazy.”
Zane nodded slowly, taking that in. “Sounds sick.”
Darien leaned forward in his chair. “Or,” he cut in, “we could hit a frat house after. That’s where it’s really at.”
Zane’s shoulders tightened just a fraction. His mind flickered to his visit to Michigan - how awful of an experience that was. Too many people. Too much going on at once.
“I don’t know about that,” Zane said, keeping his tone even. “Last time I pulled up to one of those, it didn’t really end well.”
Darien snapped his head toward him, irritation flashing quick.
“Freshmen don’t get opinions,” he shot back. The room shifted for a second. Not loud, not explosive - just a subtle tightening in the air.
Before it could sit too long, Tyshawn barked out a laugh.
“That freshman just had more touchdowns than you had yards today,” he said. ‘So, I don’t know if you got room to talk, gang.”
Yasin let out a yelp, slapping the counter. Demetres laughed, throwing his head back. Ajani chimed in, shaking his head. The tension broke just like that.
Darien sucked his teeth, jaw tightening as he shot Zane a look that lingered a second too long before he dropped his gaze to his phone, thumbs tapping hard against the screen.
Zane didn’t say anything. He just breathed quietly and shrugged.
His phone buzzed in his hand. He glanced down.
Bianca.
For a moment, he just stared at it. Then he pushed himself off the wall. “I’mma take this,” he muttered, already moving.
He slipped up the stairs, the noise from downstairs dulling with each step until it became a low hum. He stepped into his room and shut the door behind him, leaning against it for a second before answering.
“Hey,” he said.
On the other end, music blared - louder, more chaotic than what he had just left behind. Voices shouted over each other, laughter cutting through the background.
Bianca’s face came into view, the lighting dim and shifting. She looked flushed, her eyes a little glossy.
“Hey,” she said back, but there was an edge to it.
Zane pushed off the door, pacing a few steps across the room. “Where you at?”
“Party,” she said simply. “We won too.”
Zane nodded, even though she could see him. “Yeah, I saw him/”
There was a pause. Not long, but heavy.
Bianca tilted her head slightly. “Why you been avoiding me?”
Zane stopped pacing. “Let’s not do this again - I haven’t been avoiding you.”
She scoffed, a quick, sharp sound. “Zane, I’m really not asking for all that much. I’m not needy. A text? A call? That too much for your girlfriend who you claim to love?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Bianca, I literally picked up my entire life and moved states to play college football. I know you know how busy this shit can get.”
“Yeah,” she said, dragging the word out. “My problem is that you’re not busy now, and had I not called you, you wouldn’t have even thought to call me.”
Zane exhaled. “Alright, I’m sorry, okay?”
Bianca looked away from the screen for a second, like she was collecting herself. When she looked back, something softer had crept into her expression - but it didn’t make things easier.
“Do you even want to be with me anymore?” she asked/.
Zane blinked, caught off guard. “Why would you ask that?”
“Zane, the answer is supposed to be yes. Right away,” she said her voice tightening. “I told you months ago what it would take to make this work. Acting intentionally. Actually fucking trying to communicate.”
Zane swallowed, nodding slowly. “Yeah, I remember.”
The music behind her surged louder for a second before dipping again. Someone brushed past her, and shifted slightly out of the way.
The edge in her expression gave way to something more fragile.
“Maybe,” she started, her voice wavering just slightly. “We should take some time.”
Zane’s head snapped up. “Come on, Bianca. Everything is fine.”
“No, it really isn’t Zane. We live hours apart. We barely talk. We’ve made no plans for our future together. And I know you’ve had a devastating year, and I’ll be in your corner. But I think we should revisit our relationship when we’re back for holidays.”
“That’s not what I want,” Zane said immediately.
“I know, it’s not what I want either,” she said, cutting him off gently. “But I don’t want to keep sitting on the sidelines of your life waiting for you to remember I exist. And I’m sure you’re tired of me hounding you for time and energy you just don’t have right now.”
Her eyes glossed over again, but she held his gaze.
“I love you,” she said. “You love me, I know that,” she gestured vaguely between them. “But, right now, that’s not enough for us.”
Zane didn’t respond right away. He just stood there, the noise from downstairs faint beneath the ringing in his ears.
Silence hung between them. Thick. Unavoidable.
And neither of them had anything left to say that could fix it.
(0-0, 0-0 FCS) 
@
(0-0, 0-0 ACC)
@(0-0, 0-0 ACC)Orange dominate Wildcats in season debut, Sheppard throws four in debut
‣ Wide receiver Johntay Cook II got right to work this season, dominating with two deep touchdowns against the Wildcats.
‣ Wide receiver Johntay Cook II got right to work this season, dominating with two deep touchdowns against the Wildcats.
Score
| FINAL | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | T |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| Syracuse | 3 | 20 | 21 | 14 | 58 |
| New Hampshire | 0 | 14 | 0 | 0 | 14 |
Scoring Summary
1st Quarter
(2:34) Jaydn Oh, 25-yard field goal [CUSE 3 - 0 NH]2nd Quarter
(11:56) Johntay Cook II, 28-yard pass from Ajani Sheppard (Jaydn Oh kick) [CUSE 10 - 0 NH] (9:01) Jaydn Oh, 40-yard field goal [CUSE 13 - 0 NH] (6:41) Cooper York, 5-yard run (Andy McFoles kick) [CUSE 13 - 7 NH] (5:58) Zane Jones, 61-yard pass from Ajani Sheppard (Jaydn Oh kick) [CUSE 20 - 7 NH] (1:47) Jaydn Oh, 39-yard field goal [CUSE 23 - 7 NH] (0:06) Gartrell Broussard, 2-yard run (Andy McFoles kick) [CUSE 23 - 14 NH]3rd Quarter
(3:43) Zane Jones, 12-yard pass from Ajani Sheppard (Jaydn Oh kick) [CUSE 30 - 14 NH] (2:06) Johntay Cook, 91-yard pass from Ajani Sheppard (Jaydn Oh kick) [CUSE 37 - 14 NH] (0:00) Malachi James, 46-yard run (Jaydn Oh kick) [CUSE 44 - 14 NH]4th Quarter
(9:34) Deondrae Riden, 10-yard pass from Luke Carney (Jaydn Oh kick) [CUSE 51 - 14 NH] (8:19) Chris Gee, 1-yard run (Jaydn Oh kick) [CUSE 58 - 14 NH]Team Statistics
QB Ajani Sheppard: 22-32, 384 passing yards, 4 touchdowns, 4 carries, 24 rushing yards QB Luke Carney: 3-3, 54 passing yards, touchdown HB Malachi James: 5 carries, 60 rushing yards, touchdown HB Chris Gee: 10 carries, 36 rushing yards, touchdown HB Yasin Willis: 7 carries, 19 rushing yards WR Johntay Cook II: 6 catches, 165 receiving yards, 2 touchdowns WR Zane Jones: 10 catches, 141 receiving yards, 2 touchdowns TE Daunte Bacheyie: 2 catches, 40 receiving yards WR Julian McFadden: 1 catch, 28 receiving yards DT Rashard Perry: 7 tackles, 4 tackles for loss EDGE Jo'Laison Landry: 6 tackles, tackle for loss MIKE Fran Brown Jr.: 5 tackles, tackle for loss CB Demetres Samuel Jr.: 4 tackles, tackle for loss
-
Caesar
- Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16946
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Invictus
How Caine get in it
Zane not built like that.Show us you tough against a real opponent then we'll give some praise.
Bianca called that boy to break up with him then was at that party like this
And bout 5-6 brothers was watching her like
And she finished the night like
-
Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 7950
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Invictus
This is all diabolical, anti-woman, and in a way, anti-black as well-
Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 7950
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Invictus
Season V | Chapter VI - Call Me Back
The days after the New Hampshire win had slowed to a crawl.
With the bye week in place, the rhythm Zane had just started to build vanished almost overnight. No game prep urgency. No late-week intensity. Just light practices, shorter meetings, and long stretches of empty time that seemed to stretch even longer inside his condo.
He had kept to himself.
The place was quiet and he wasn’t too fond of it. The high ceilings made every small sound carry, from the hum of the refrigerator to the faint creak of the floors when he shifted his weight. The chandelier above the living room stayed off most of the time, replaced by the dull glow of natural light slipping in through the windows.
Zane spent most of his time in his bedroom.
Covers half-pulled over him, phone in hand, TV on but muted. Sometimes he watched it. Most of the time he didn’t.
The breakup with Bianca had hit him fast. At first, it had felt like something he needed to argue. Fix. Push back on.
But when he let it sit - really sit - it didn’t feel unexpected.
Not really. Ever since his grandfather’s death, things had been off.
He felt it in the quiet moments. In the way conversations felt like work. In how his mind drifted whenever anything didn’t involve football. Motivation came in short bursts, and almost all of them lived on the field.
Outside of that, everything else felt dulled. Numb.
He didn’t text people back like he used to. Didn’t call. Didn’t check in.
Even with Bianca - it had become something he knew he was failing at, even if he didn’t say it out loud.
Now it was over.
Zane stared at the ceiling for a while before shifting onto his side, grabbing his phone off the mattress beside him.
The screen lit up. His lock screen was still her.
Bianca, smiling into the camera, sunlight catching her eyes just right. It was a picture from before everything got complicated - before distance, before missed calls, before silence started creeping in.
He stared at it for a second longer than he meant to. Then he unblocked the phone.
He made a mental note to change it. Not not.
Just at some point.
His thumb hovered for a moment before he opened an app. Uber Eats.
The bright interface filled the screen instantly - rows of restaurants, deals, pictures of food that all started to blur together the longer he looked.
He scrolled slowly. Didn’t really read anything. Just flicked his thumb upward, watching options cycle past. Local spots. Chains. Places with long delivery times. Places promising quick drop-offs.
When he finished, he hit checkout. The confirmation screen popped up.
Estimated delivery time: 32-45 minutes.
Zane locked his phone and let it fall onto the bed beside him. He rolled onto his back again, staring up at the ceiling.
The room stayed quiet. And he stayed there, waiting for the time to move again.
Bianca sat cross-legged near the headboard of her dorm bed, a half-full glass of red wine balanced carefully in her hand. The room was dim, lit mostly by the soft glow of the television across from her. Some reality show played - voices rising and falling in manufactured drama - but she couldn’t have named it if someone asked.
She hadn’t been paying attention.
Her social appetite had dipped to almost nothing. Normally, she would have been out by now. With Kaite. With the team. Somewhere loud, somewhere alive. But tonight, like most nights recently, she had stayed in.
She had already finished everything she needed to do. Training earlier that day had gone smoothly - clean reps, no lingering soreness. Her coursework was caught up too, more than caught up actually. It was still early in the semester, and without distractions, she had moved through assignments faster than she ever had before.
There was nothing pressing. Nothing waiting on her.
That was the problem.
Without constantly checking her phone, without waiting for it to buzz, without trying to carve out time with Zane - her schedule had opened up in ways she hadn’t expected.
Big, empty gaps. Time she didn’t quite know how to fill.
She lifted the wine glass slightly, taking a small sip before letting it rest against her knee again. Her eyes drifted back to the television for a moment, watching people argue over something trivial, before she let out a quiet sigh.
Her gaze shifted. Her phone sat beside her on the bed, screen lighting up faintly from a recent notification.
She stared at it for a second before reaching over and picking it up. The screen came to life. Her lock screen was still Zane.
A picture from one of his Upper St. Clair games - him in full uniform, helmet off, her standing beside him in his jacket, both of them smiling into the camera like everything was simple.
Bianca’s lips pressed together slightly. She made a mental note to change it.
Not right now. Just soon.
She unlocked the phone and opened her messages. There were more than she expected.
At the top, Darous. A short string of texts
You good?
Haven’t heard from you today
Just checking in
Below that, Katie.
A flood.
Messages stacked on top of each other - updates about where she was going, who was going to be there, what she was wearing, and at least three variations of “you need to come out tonight.”
Bianca exhaled softly through her nose. Then her eyes caught something else.
A number she didn’t recognize. Her brows knitted together as she tapped it open.
The message was simple.
Hey this Bryce. I’m boys with Darius and he slid me your number. Just wanted to say what’s good
Bianca stared at the screen for a moment. Her mind flicked back almost immediately - to last year, to the backyard of that crowded house, to him leaning over the railing with a cup in his hand, to the brief interaction they had in the library not that long ago.
She shifted slightly against the headboard, bringing her knees in a bit closer as she reread the message.
Her thumb hovered over the keyboard.
Just long enough for her to think about it. Then she tapped it. The message sent.
Bianca let out a small breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding and set the phone back down on the bed beside her. She picked her wine glass back up, taking a slightly longer sip this time, eyes drifting back to the muted television.
The room stayed still. Her phone sat next to her.
Screen dark - for now.
Mary had moved through the house like a ghost learning how to be human again.
Every action had been deliberate, stripped of instinct. Eat when she remembered. Drink water because she knew she had to. Clean because the silence became unbearable when the house looked as empty as it felt. THe routines weren’t comforting - they were survival. Bare minimums strung together to get her from one hour to the next.
Her outings had been no different. Functional. Necessary.
Grocery store aisles where she stared too long at items Felix used to grab without thinking. The bank, where signatures and paperwork reduced his entire life to numbers, accounts, and finalizations. Errands that forced her into the world just long enough to remind her how detached she felt from it.
Her husband had been killed.
The thought still didn’t sit right in her chest. It never softened. It never dulled. It landed the same way every time - blunt, heavy, suffocating.
Killed.
Not passed. Not lost all of a sudden. Not gone.
Snatched up. Taken.
She exhaled shakily, her hand gripping the edge of the kitchen counter as if the word itself had weight.
Her son was out of prison now. A moment she prayed for nightly suddenly became reality overnight. As if the universe had snatched one man out of her life to pay for the other being returned.
The thought came with its own strange dissonance.
Technically, he lived there again. This was the address on his parole. And when his parole officer stopped by - unannounced as they always did - Rasheed had been present. Sitting at the table. Saying the right things. Playing the part.
But most days?
The chair remained empty.
Mary hadn’t questioned it.
She told herself he was working. Adjusting. Trying to find his rooting in a world that had moved on without him. It made sense. It had to.
Felix would have pressed him. Asked questions. Set boundaries. Watched him closely.
Mary didn’t. She hadn’t when he was a young man.
She had always believed, maybe foolishly, that the people she loved would find their way. That they could take care of themselves.
She had believed that about Rasheed. She had believed that about Felix. She prayed so hard that this would become true for Zane.
Her jaw tightened. That belief hadn’t protected either of them. She feared the day Zane would suffer the same fate.
A knock at the door broke the silence. Mary didn’t react immediately. She stood still for a moment, as if deciding whether the outside world deserved her attention today.
The knock came again. Softer this time.
She moved slowly, her slippers barely making a sound against the hardwood floor. When she opened the door, she already knew who it would be.
The young detective stood there, just as she had the last few times.
Dirty blonde hair pulled tight into a ponytail. Eyes too kind for the job she was doing. A posture that tried to be professional but couldn’t quite hide the uncertainty underneath.
“Mrs. Jones,” she said gently. “Detective Ashlee Draper.”
She always reintroduced herself.
Every time. As if Mary might forget.
Mary gave a small nod and stepped aside, allowing her in without a word.
Ashlee entered carefully, like she was stepping into something fragile.
Her eyes moved around the house - taking in the quiet, the stillness, the absence.
“Is Rasheed home?” she asked.
Mary shook her head faintly. “He’s out. Working, I think. He’ll be back later.”
Ashlee nodded slowly, absorbing that.
“I’m sorry,” she said after a moment. “I was hoping to speak with him. I… also wanted to give you an update.”
Mary closed the door behind her, leaning against it for a brief second before turning back around.
She didn’t bother sitting. Neither did Ashlee.
“There’s not much to update,” Ashlee admitted, her voice careful. “We’re still following leads. Still-”
Mary let out a quiet scoff. Not loud. Not aggressive. Just tired.
Ashlee paused.
Mary’s eyes had already begun to water. They always did. It didn’t matter how composed she tried to be - her body betrayed her every time.
“Hope,” Mary said, almost to herself, like the word didn’t belong in her mouth anymore.
Ashlee straightened slightly. “We’re not giving up,” she said, a bit more firmly now. “I promise you that. We’re pursuing everything we can-”
Mary looked at her then. Really looked at her. There was no anger there.
That was the problem.
“Will that bring him back?” she asked quietly.
Ashlee’s words died in her throat.
Mary took a step forward, her voice still soft - but heavier now.
“If you find whoever did this… if you lock them away…” She swallowed. “Does that bring my husband back?”
Silence stretched between them.
Ashlee’s lips parted, but nothing came out at first.
She looked like she wanted to say something hopeful. Something comforting. Something that would justify all of this.
But she couldn’t.
Finally, she shook her head, just slightly.
“No,” she said.
Mary nodded.
Ashlee tried again, her voice quieter now. “But it’s the least we can do.”
Mary held her gaze for a moment longer. Then she gave a small, distant nod.
She understood what Ashlee meant. She even believed that Ashlee believed it.
But none of it touched the hollow space inside her chest.
That space remained.
Empty.
Untouched.
Unchanged.
The days after the New Hampshire win had slowed to a crawl.
With the bye week in place, the rhythm Zane had just started to build vanished almost overnight. No game prep urgency. No late-week intensity. Just light practices, shorter meetings, and long stretches of empty time that seemed to stretch even longer inside his condo.
He had kept to himself.
The place was quiet and he wasn’t too fond of it. The high ceilings made every small sound carry, from the hum of the refrigerator to the faint creak of the floors when he shifted his weight. The chandelier above the living room stayed off most of the time, replaced by the dull glow of natural light slipping in through the windows.
Zane spent most of his time in his bedroom.
Covers half-pulled over him, phone in hand, TV on but muted. Sometimes he watched it. Most of the time he didn’t.
The breakup with Bianca had hit him fast. At first, it had felt like something he needed to argue. Fix. Push back on.
But when he let it sit - really sit - it didn’t feel unexpected.
Not really. Ever since his grandfather’s death, things had been off.
He felt it in the quiet moments. In the way conversations felt like work. In how his mind drifted whenever anything didn’t involve football. Motivation came in short bursts, and almost all of them lived on the field.
Outside of that, everything else felt dulled. Numb.
He didn’t text people back like he used to. Didn’t call. Didn’t check in.
Even with Bianca - it had become something he knew he was failing at, even if he didn’t say it out loud.
Now it was over.
Zane stared at the ceiling for a while before shifting onto his side, grabbing his phone off the mattress beside him.
The screen lit up. His lock screen was still her.
Bianca, smiling into the camera, sunlight catching her eyes just right. It was a picture from before everything got complicated - before distance, before missed calls, before silence started creeping in.
He stared at it for a second longer than he meant to. Then he unblocked the phone.
He made a mental note to change it. Not not.
Just at some point.
His thumb hovered for a moment before he opened an app. Uber Eats.
The bright interface filled the screen instantly - rows of restaurants, deals, pictures of food that all started to blur together the longer he looked.
He scrolled slowly. Didn’t really read anything. Just flicked his thumb upward, watching options cycle past. Local spots. Chains. Places with long delivery times. Places promising quick drop-offs.
When he finished, he hit checkout. The confirmation screen popped up.
Estimated delivery time: 32-45 minutes.
Zane locked his phone and let it fall onto the bed beside him. He rolled onto his back again, staring up at the ceiling.
The room stayed quiet. And he stayed there, waiting for the time to move again.
***
Bianca sat cross-legged near the headboard of her dorm bed, a half-full glass of red wine balanced carefully in her hand. The room was dim, lit mostly by the soft glow of the television across from her. Some reality show played - voices rising and falling in manufactured drama - but she couldn’t have named it if someone asked.
She hadn’t been paying attention.
Her social appetite had dipped to almost nothing. Normally, she would have been out by now. With Kaite. With the team. Somewhere loud, somewhere alive. But tonight, like most nights recently, she had stayed in.
She had already finished everything she needed to do. Training earlier that day had gone smoothly - clean reps, no lingering soreness. Her coursework was caught up too, more than caught up actually. It was still early in the semester, and without distractions, she had moved through assignments faster than she ever had before.
There was nothing pressing. Nothing waiting on her.
That was the problem.
Without constantly checking her phone, without waiting for it to buzz, without trying to carve out time with Zane - her schedule had opened up in ways she hadn’t expected.
Big, empty gaps. Time she didn’t quite know how to fill.
She lifted the wine glass slightly, taking a small sip before letting it rest against her knee again. Her eyes drifted back to the television for a moment, watching people argue over something trivial, before she let out a quiet sigh.
Her gaze shifted. Her phone sat beside her on the bed, screen lighting up faintly from a recent notification.
She stared at it for a second before reaching over and picking it up. The screen came to life. Her lock screen was still Zane.
A picture from one of his Upper St. Clair games - him in full uniform, helmet off, her standing beside him in his jacket, both of them smiling into the camera like everything was simple.
Bianca’s lips pressed together slightly. She made a mental note to change it.
Not right now. Just soon.
She unlocked the phone and opened her messages. There were more than she expected.
At the top, Darous. A short string of texts
You good?
Haven’t heard from you today
Just checking in
Below that, Katie.
A flood.
Messages stacked on top of each other - updates about where she was going, who was going to be there, what she was wearing, and at least three variations of “you need to come out tonight.”
Bianca exhaled softly through her nose. Then her eyes caught something else.
A number she didn’t recognize. Her brows knitted together as she tapped it open.
The message was simple.
Hey this Bryce. I’m boys with Darius and he slid me your number. Just wanted to say what’s good
Bianca stared at the screen for a moment. Her mind flicked back almost immediately - to last year, to the backyard of that crowded house, to him leaning over the railing with a cup in his hand, to the brief interaction they had in the library not that long ago.
She shifted slightly against the headboard, bringing her knees in a bit closer as she reread the message.
Her thumb hovered over the keyboard.
Just long enough for her to think about it. Then she tapped it. The message sent.
Bianca let out a small breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding and set the phone back down on the bed beside her. She picked her wine glass back up, taking a slightly longer sip this time, eyes drifting back to the muted television.
The room stayed still. Her phone sat next to her.
Screen dark - for now.
***
Mary had moved through the house like a ghost learning how to be human again.
Every action had been deliberate, stripped of instinct. Eat when she remembered. Drink water because she knew she had to. Clean because the silence became unbearable when the house looked as empty as it felt. THe routines weren’t comforting - they were survival. Bare minimums strung together to get her from one hour to the next.
Her outings had been no different. Functional. Necessary.
Grocery store aisles where she stared too long at items Felix used to grab without thinking. The bank, where signatures and paperwork reduced his entire life to numbers, accounts, and finalizations. Errands that forced her into the world just long enough to remind her how detached she felt from it.
Her husband had been killed.
The thought still didn’t sit right in her chest. It never softened. It never dulled. It landed the same way every time - blunt, heavy, suffocating.
Killed.
Not passed. Not lost all of a sudden. Not gone.
Snatched up. Taken.
She exhaled shakily, her hand gripping the edge of the kitchen counter as if the word itself had weight.
Her son was out of prison now. A moment she prayed for nightly suddenly became reality overnight. As if the universe had snatched one man out of her life to pay for the other being returned.
The thought came with its own strange dissonance.
Technically, he lived there again. This was the address on his parole. And when his parole officer stopped by - unannounced as they always did - Rasheed had been present. Sitting at the table. Saying the right things. Playing the part.
But most days?
The chair remained empty.
Mary hadn’t questioned it.
She told herself he was working. Adjusting. Trying to find his rooting in a world that had moved on without him. It made sense. It had to.
Felix would have pressed him. Asked questions. Set boundaries. Watched him closely.
Mary didn’t. She hadn’t when he was a young man.
She had always believed, maybe foolishly, that the people she loved would find their way. That they could take care of themselves.
She had believed that about Rasheed. She had believed that about Felix. She prayed so hard that this would become true for Zane.
Her jaw tightened. That belief hadn’t protected either of them. She feared the day Zane would suffer the same fate.
A knock at the door broke the silence. Mary didn’t react immediately. She stood still for a moment, as if deciding whether the outside world deserved her attention today.
The knock came again. Softer this time.
She moved slowly, her slippers barely making a sound against the hardwood floor. When she opened the door, she already knew who it would be.
The young detective stood there, just as she had the last few times.
Dirty blonde hair pulled tight into a ponytail. Eyes too kind for the job she was doing. A posture that tried to be professional but couldn’t quite hide the uncertainty underneath.
“Mrs. Jones,” she said gently. “Detective Ashlee Draper.”
She always reintroduced herself.
Every time. As if Mary might forget.
Mary gave a small nod and stepped aside, allowing her in without a word.
Ashlee entered carefully, like she was stepping into something fragile.
Her eyes moved around the house - taking in the quiet, the stillness, the absence.
“Is Rasheed home?” she asked.
Mary shook her head faintly. “He’s out. Working, I think. He’ll be back later.”
Ashlee nodded slowly, absorbing that.
“I’m sorry,” she said after a moment. “I was hoping to speak with him. I… also wanted to give you an update.”
Mary closed the door behind her, leaning against it for a brief second before turning back around.
She didn’t bother sitting. Neither did Ashlee.
“There’s not much to update,” Ashlee admitted, her voice careful. “We’re still following leads. Still-”
Mary let out a quiet scoff. Not loud. Not aggressive. Just tired.
Ashlee paused.
Mary’s eyes had already begun to water. They always did. It didn’t matter how composed she tried to be - her body betrayed her every time.
“Hope,” Mary said, almost to herself, like the word didn’t belong in her mouth anymore.
Ashlee straightened slightly. “We’re not giving up,” she said, a bit more firmly now. “I promise you that. We’re pursuing everything we can-”
Mary looked at her then. Really looked at her. There was no anger there.
That was the problem.
“Will that bring him back?” she asked quietly.
Ashlee’s words died in her throat.
Mary took a step forward, her voice still soft - but heavier now.
“If you find whoever did this… if you lock them away…” She swallowed. “Does that bring my husband back?”
Silence stretched between them.
Ashlee’s lips parted, but nothing came out at first.
She looked like she wanted to say something hopeful. Something comforting. Something that would justify all of this.
But she couldn’t.
Finally, she shook her head, just slightly.
“No,” she said.
Mary nodded.
Ashlee tried again, her voice quieter now. “But it’s the least we can do.”
Mary held her gaze for a moment longer. Then she gave a small, distant nod.
She understood what Ashlee meant. She even believed that Ashlee believed it.
But none of it touched the hollow space inside her chest.
That space remained.
Empty.
Untouched.
Unchanged.
