Requiem for a Broken Dream.

[Caesar]

That boy retconning Kam's relationship with Lana!

Yassy gonna crack on the stand. We see the vision.

[Captain Canada]

That snitching on the stand is going to shake foundations all around the world

[djp73]

did Dave dirty! Slander! Defamation!

(i dont actually know shit about dude, not a barstool guy)

[Soapy]

Season 7, Episode 11
Kam stood in the middle of his new apartment, surrounded by stacks of cardboard boxes and half-assembled furniture. Mark was to eager to loan him some money to help him get put up at one of the nicer spots overlooking Bayside as he ironed out the final details of Kam’s next stop. The smell of fresh paint lingered in the air, mingling with the scent of the pizza they'd ordered for lunch.

"Where do you want this shelving unit?" Jamal called from the doorway, his arms straining under the weight of the large wooden piece.

Kam pointed to the far wall. "Wherever bro, I don’t even know where Mark got half of this shit.”

As Jamal maneuvered the shelf into place, Kam's eyes drifted to his phone on the kitchen counter. The housewarming party was supposed to be his chance to reconnect with old friends, to show her how much he'd grown since high school. But her last-minute cancellation had left a hollow feeling in his chest.

"She really think she’s a superstar or some shit," Kam muttered, shaking his head. "Since when does she go to fucking Los Angeles?”

Jamal grunted as he set down the shelf. "You know how she gets with a new guy." He shot Kam a knowing look. "I can’t even give you the run down on this new nigga, still ain’t meet the motherfucker."

Kam shook his head, “A white boy?”

"He feeding her lobster,” he shrugged as he walked over to the kitchen and grabbed a slice of cold pizza. "Look, man, I know shit ain’t worked out the way you wanted it to with Lana flaking and Yassy’s flight getting cancelled but we can still turn up tonight."

Kam nodded, trying to push away the disappointment. He busied himself with unpacking a box of kitchen supplies, the clinking of glasses and plates filling the silence. As he arranged mugs in the cabinet, his mind wandered to the last time he'd seen Lana. It had been nearly two years, standing in that gymnasium as he announced his decision to go to Kentucky. So much would change, so much had changed.

“Now,” Jamal snapped him out of it as they finished unloading the last of the boxes, “This is supposed to be Strip Club City, right?”

…

"Y’all need to hire some of these bitches!" Malik shouted over the music, his eyes gleaming.

“That’s what you like?” Sandra teased, pressing up against him and grabbing his crotch area, "She don’t even got ass, for real.”

“You just hating because she white,” Malik laughed, elbowing the nearby Snow.

Snow nodded, forcing a smile. His gaze kept drifting to Ravie, who sat stiffly next to Sandra. She hadn't looked at him once since they'd arrived, her eyes fixed on her phone or the stage, anywhere but him. They had hung out a few times and while the initial iciness had thawed out, there was still a clear barrier.

Ravie shifted uncomfortably in her seat. The music was too loud, the air too thick with hookah smoke. She didn't want to be here, surrounded by half-naked women and men throwing money like it was nothing. It was bad enough that she had to be in that environment at her job, let alone her free time. But Sandra had insisted, practically dragging her out the door.

"Come on, girl," Sandra had said, applying another coat of lipstick in the mirror. "They pay good and you don’t even have to fuck them.”

The words had stung, but Ravie knew there was truth to them. Still, being here, in the same room as Snow, made her stomach churn. She couldn't look at him without seeing Marcus' face, without hearing the gunshots that had shattered her world.

Sandra returned from the bar and took her seat next to Ravie, two brightly colored cocktails in hand. "Drink up," she said, pushing one towards Ravie. "You know these niggas paying.”

Ravie eyed the drink warily. "I don't know, I think I’m going home."

Sandra rolled her eyes. "And do what? Sit alone in your apartment, playing with your pussy?”

Ravie looked towards Snow and then back towards Sandra, shaking her head.

“Bitch, I was the one fucking him and I don’t care, I got over it. Marcus knew what he was getting into, fucking with them like that. You can't blame Snow for that. Best believe if some bitch smoked my ass over some dumb shit, he’d be fucking that bitch if the pussy was hitting.”

She drifted into her own world as she finished her drink, the loud music fading away. Her eyes lit up as she caught sight of a familiar face across the dimly lit club. Through the haze of smoke and the flashing lights, she saw Kam leaning against the bar, deep in conversation with Jamal. Her heart skipped a beat, a mixture of relief and nervousness washing over her.

"I'll be right back," she mumbled to Sandra, who was too engrossed in Malik to notice.

Ravie weaved her way through the crowded club, dodging gyrating bodies and spilled drinks. The bass thumped through her chest, matching the quickening of her pulse. As she approached, Kam's eyes met hers, and a flicker of recognition passed over his face.

"Ravie?" he called out, his voice barely audible over the music. "You work at every damn club?”

She laughed, leaning in for a quick hug, “I’m not working tonight, just hanging out with my homegirl.”

Jamal raised an eyebrow, looking between the two of them before excusing himself to the bathroom.

"Sandra dragged me out," Ravie explained, gesturing vaguely towards her friend. "I didn't really want to come, but..." she trailed off, shrugging.

Kam nodded, understanding in his eyes. "Yeah, I feel that. Jamal convinced me to come out tonight, was supposed to be a housewarming but plans got moved, flights got cancelled."

A small smile tugged at Ravie's lips. "New place? You moved back?"

"Yeah, just got settled in today actually. It's over in Bayside. I don’t know how long but we’ll see.”

“Bayside,” she said with a mocking tone, “You really are boujie now, aren’t you?”

“Just a little something,” Kam laughed it off.

The conversation flowed easier than Ravie had expected. They continued to reminisce about old times, drunken parties, carefully avoiding any mention of Marcus or the events that had torn their friend group apart. As they talked, Ravie felt some of the tension leave her body. The club faded into the background, and for a moment, it was just the two of them.

"So, what have you been up to?" Kam asked, his eyes searching her face. "Besides frequenting every strip club in this fucking city.”

“You’re not one to talk,” she raised her eyebrow, “If you’re seeing me there, you’re there too.”

“Touché, touché,” Kam smiled, taking another sip from his drink.

“You want another drink?" a voice interjected as Snow appeared from the mass of bodies. His eyes flickered briefly to Kam before settling back on Ravie, not registering Kam’s face nor placing it.

Kam's body tensed, his breath catching in his throat as he recognized Snow. He had only seen him once but his face was forever etched in his memory. His heart began to race, pounding so hard he could feel it in his ears, nearly drowning out the thumping bass of the club.

Ravie glanced between the two men, her eyes wide with concern. "I’m good, thanks.”

Kam's vision began to blur around the edges, the club's flashing lights becoming a dizzying kaleidoscope. His palms grew clammy, and he gripped the edge of the bar to steady himself. The air felt thick, suffocating, as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.

"I... I gotta go," Kam stammered, his voice barely audible over the pulsing music. He stumbled backward, nearly knocking over a nearby patron.

Ravie reached out, her fingers grazing his arm. "Kam?”

But Kam was already moving, pushing his way through the crowd with frantic energy. Bodies pressed against him from all sides, faceless figures in the smoky haze. The club seemed to stretch endlessly before him, the exit a distant mirage.

His chest tightened, each breath becoming more labored. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he finally burst through the club's doors, the cool night air hitting him like a slap to the face.

Kam stumbled down the sidewalk, his legs weak and unsteady. He braced himself against a nearby building, trying to regain his composure. The street spun around him, neon signs blurring into streaks of light. As he slid down the rough brick wall, his back scraping against it, Kam closed his eyes tightly. He focused on his breathing, trying to slow it down, trying to push away the panic that threatened to overwhelm him. The image of Snow's face, oblivious and carefree, burned behind his eyelids, a stark contrast to the haunting memories of that fateful day.

He could hear his name like a faint echo that got louder with every moment that passed. He kept his eyes closed, wishing it would go away.

“Kam? Kam?”

It got louder, louder and louder until he finally opened his eyes.

“Jasmine?”

[Soapy]

Season 7, Episode 12
Lana stared at the whiteboard, her eyes glazing over as the writers tossed around ideas for the pilot. She'd been here for hours, her notebook filled with scribbles she could barely decipher that would never make it to the board anyway.

She glanced at her phone, the screen dark and silent. No messages from Richie. He'd been so excited when he helped her land this internship, grateful that his connections could open doors for her. But now, surrounded by the frenetic energy of the writers' room, Lana felt more alone than ever.

The head writer, a man with salt-and-pepper hair and permanent circles under his eyes, called out for more coffee. Lana jumped up, eager for a chance to escape the suffocating atmosphere. As she navigated the narrow hallways of the production office, she caught glimpses of other rooms buzzing with activity. Everywhere, people seemed to move with purpose, fueled by a passion she couldn't quite grasp.

In the break room, Lana's hands shook slightly as she filled the coffee pot. The aroma of fresh grounds filled her nostrils, but instead of invigorating her, it only reminded her of endless nights ahead. She leaned against the counter, closing her eyes for a moment. The muffled sounds of laughter drifted from a nearby room, accentuating her feeling of being an outsider.

When she returned with the coffee, the writers barely acknowledged her presence. They were deep in discussion about the tone of the opening scene, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of creativity that left Lana feeling overwhelmed. She retreated to her corner, sinking into her chair and picking up her pen. The weight of it felt foreign in her hand, another reminder that she was just playing a part here.

…

Yassy fidgeted with her chai latte, her dark eyes darting between the two officers. The smell of freshly baked scones and espresso filled the air, a stark contrast to the tension that hung between them. Outside, students hurried past, their backpacks bouncing as they rushed to class, oblivious to the intense conversation taking place inside.

"We appreciate you meeting with us," Detective Alderman began, his voice low and gravelly. He'd driven all the way from Lexington for this, the miles of highway blurring together as he and Turk had discussed the case. "We know it's not easy to talk about what happened."

Yassy nodded, her fingers tracing the rim of her mug. "I still don't understand why you came all this way," she murmured, her voice barely audible above the whir of the coffee grinder behind the counter.

"There’s not much to tell you,” she told them, “Like I told you before, Kam came home when I was already asleep, I just remember him being in bed with me at some point that night. When I woke up, he was gone, you guys had picked him up.”

"Actually, Yasmine," Turk began, barely able to contain his glee, "we're the ones with new information. That's why we made the trip."

Yassy's eyes widened, her grip tightening on the mug.

Alderman cleared his throat, the sound seeming to echo in the sudden silence that had fallen over their corner of the café. "We need to ask you something. Do you know someone named Ashley?"

Yassy's brow furrowed, confusion evident in her dark eyes. "Ashley? Yeah, I've met her once or twice. She's Kyrie's girlfriend. Why?"

The detectives shared another look, laden with unspoken meaning. Turk reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small digital recorder.

"We interviewed Ashley," Alderman explained, his tone measured. "There's something you need to hear."

With a click, Turk started the recording. Ashley's voice, tinged with nervousness and a hint of defiance, filled the air between them.

"Look, I wouldn’t say it was anything serious but, Kam and I, we were seeing each other…while I was still with Kyrie. I’m not saying that either of them did anything but…I don’t want it to come out later and look bad on Kyrie…or Kam.”

Yassy's face drained of color, her chai forgotten as she listened, transfixed. The bustling sounds of the café faded into the background, drowned out by the weight of Ashley's words.

"It was just a dumb, college hookup," Ashley's recorded voice continued, wavering slightly. "Kyrie found out, they got into it but I think they were over it…as much as you can over that kind of thing. I just feel awful…I’ve met Darius…he was a nice guy, he didn’t deserve that…not saying that Kam had anything to do with or our relationship did…I don’t know what I’m saying."

The recording clicked off, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. Outside, the wind had picked up, rattling the café's windows and sending clouds scudding across the sky. Yassy sat frozen, her eyes unfocused, staring at some point beyond the detectives.

Alderman leaned forward, trying not to pounce, “We thought you deserved to know. This guy you’re covering for, Yasmine, he’s not a good guy. He’s a liar, he’s a manipulator, we know he’s aggressive and not above resorting to violence, which I’m sure you’ve seen up close and personal.”

Yassy's world seemed to tilt on its axis, the café around her blurring into a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds. She could feel the rough texture of the wooden table beneath her fingertips, anchoring her to reality as her mind reeled from the revelation. She felt angry, sad, confused and for a brief moment, relief. A familiar sense of relief that she hadn’t brought another live into this world, into their world of lies, deceit and mischief.

And then came the shame, the shame that always followed the feeling of relief.

She wiped away the tears with the back of her hand, the gesture both defiant and vulnerable. When she looked up at the detectives, her gaze was steady, despite the storm of emotions raging within her.

"I understand what you're trying to do," Yassy said, her voice low but firm. "And I appreciate you telling me about... this." She swallowed hard, pushing down the lump in her throat. "But it doesn't change what happened that night. It doesn't change what I know."

She leaned back in her chair, her posture straightening as she found her resolve. The wooden seat creaked slightly, a sound that seemed to underscore the tension in the air. "I'm upset, yes. I'm hurt. But that doesn't mean I'm going to say something that isn't true. My account of what happened that night remains the same."

…

Jasmine's bleached blonde hair caught the light, reminding Kam of lazy summer days by the lake. Those memories felt like they belonged to someone else now, a version of himself that no longer existed. He fidgeted with his water glass, condensation leaving a wet ring on the table.

"I was worried you were going to flake on me," Jasmine said softly, her eyes filled with warmth and concern. "I know with everything going on, it must be crazy. I can only imagine."

Kam nodded, his throat tight. The memory of that panic attack outside the club was still raw, the feeling of suffocation and dread threatening to overtake him even now. "Yeah, that wasn't my finest moment," he muttered, forcing a weak smile.

Jasmine reached across the table, her fingers brushing his hand. The touch was electric, a connection to a simpler time. "Hey, no judgment here. It would be more peculiar if you weren’t impacted by this.

"Kam, I know we haven't been close in years, but I want you to know... I believe you. I've heard the rumors, seen the news, but I know in my soul that you're innocent."

He'd grown accustomed to suspicious glances and whispered accusations. Jasmine's words were like a lifeline, pulling him back from the brink of despair.

"I really appreciate that," he managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper. "I was worried you might not show up either…because of…you know.”

She shook her head, “I’m sure, you’re tired of talking about that stuff. Fill me in, what’s up with you? Besides that, obviously.”

Kam took a deep breath, his eyes scanning the restaurant before settling back on Jasmine's expectant face.

"Well," he began, his voice hesitant as he regaled her in his journey to this point.

Jasmine nodded encouragingly, her eyes never leaving his face. Kam felt a flicker of pride as he continued, "But then I got this opportunity to play at Kentucky and you know, we’ll see what’s next, maybe the NFL, maybe another college."

For a moment, Kam felt a surge of accomplishment. She was the one helping him cram for the standardized tests, finishing up his exams and applying to different colleges. Back then, he’d have happily accepted playing a single snap of college football.

"Actually met Yassy at Ball State," he remember, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

But as Kam looked at Jasmine, really looked at her, he felt a twinge of shame creeping in. Besides football, and Yassy, not much had changed with him. She sat across from him, poised and put-together in a crisp blouse and tailored blazer. Her nails were perfectly manicured, a far cry from the chipped polish and callused hands of his high school days.

"What about you?" he asked, suddenly eager to shift the focus. "Still at UT?”

Jasmine's face lit up, and Kam felt his heart sink a little. "Oh, it's been a whirlwind," she said, her voice filled with enthusiasm. "I graduated last year, actually. Got my real estate license right after and am with this really amazing firm, they were on that television show on Netflix."

She paused, taking a sip of her latte before continuing, "But I missed being around kids, you know? So I started teaching part-time at Westfield Prep. It's this fancy private school, but the kids are great. It's been challenging, balancing both careers, but I love it."

As Jasmine spoke, Kam felt the gap between them widening. Here she was, already a college graduate with not one, but two successful careers. And him? His future was once more in the hand of others, just like it was in the hands of those coaches at Boston College with Ball State being a late lifeline. She didn’t need a lifeline, she had built her own damn beat.

[Caesar]

Hopefully Yassy realizes that she too good for Kam's bum ass. But also this how she gonna be on that stand when she learn Kam was clapping Ashley's cheeks when she was miscarrying

[djp73]

Yassy a real one even if Kam ain’t.

[Soapy]

Hopefully Yassy realizes that she too good for Kam's bum ass. But also this how she gonna be on that stand when she learn Kam was clapping Ashley's cheeks when she was miscarrying

Yassy loyal to the cause

Yassy a real one even if Kam ain’t.

They never talk about Kam saving Marlon's ass smh

[Soapy]

Season 7, Episode 13
Mark shifted in his seat, the leather creaking beneath him as he leaned forward, elbows on the polished oak table. The conference room buzzed with a nervous energy, faces both eager and apprehensive turned towards him.

"You already passed on him once," Mark began, his voice low and steady, "I know the number being tossed around is intimidating. One million dollars isn't pocket change, especially for a program like Rutgers." He paused, letting his gaze sweep across the room, meeting the eyes of each staff member in turn. "But Kam would love to come home, play for his hometown team with his best friend. I already delivered you Jamal, at a discount I might add.”

The name hung in the air, heavy with promise and potential. The staff was already buzzing from excitement when they managed to lure Jamal away from Louisville but adding Kam to ignite their offense while Jamal steadied the ship on defense was a coaching staff’s wet dream.

One of the top assistant staffers leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowed. "The talent is undeniable, Mark. But even if we can come up with the money and lean on our collective for it, we’re still talking about someone we’re not even sure is going to be able to play.”

Mark nodded, understanding his concerns, having had to answer similar questions from different schools.

"The case is a non-factor,” Mark held his index finger out, “He’s not charged, he’s not a suspect, he’s not an official persons of interest. He’s in fucking Tampa right now, working out. You think they let murder suspects do that, hundred miles away?”

"But more than that," Mark continued, “You have a rare opportunity to sign a player like Kam. I love Jamal, I love all of my clients but let’s be real. Guys like Kam don’t come to Rutgers, they leave Rutgers after the success Kam has had.”

The room fell silent, the only sound the gentle hum of the air conditioning.

The same staffer leaned forward, his eyes narrowed in thought. "It's a gamble, Mark. A big one.”

Mark nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "The biggest gambles often lead to the greatest rewards. And sometimes, you've got to risk it all to change the game."

…

"So, Rasheem," Alderman began, his voice gravelly from years of cigarettes and late nights. "We heard about that little dust-up you had with Kam last season. Care to enlighten us?"

Rasheem's fingers tightened around the edge of the bench, his knuckles whitening. He took a deep breath, wishing he had followed his father’s advise and hired an attorney. "Look, it was just football, you know? Things get heated on the field."

Turk's eyebrow arched skeptically. "Heated enough to throw punches? Maybe carry it into the locker room? On campus?”

Rasheem's eyes darted between the two officers, then focused on a point just over Alderman's shoulder. "Kam... he can be off sometimes, yeah. Confrontational. Sometimes he takes things too far, gets in your face, pushes buttons."

Alderman nodded slowly, his pen scratching across his notepad. "Borderline violent, would you say?"

Rasheem hesitated, weighing his words carefully. The room seemed to close in around him, the harsh lights buzzing overhead like angry wasps. "I wouldn't say violent, exactly. Just... passionate. Competitive. He's got a fire in him, you know?"

"And this fire," Turk pressed, her voice sharp. "Did it ignite during that locker room incident with Kyrie?"

Rasheem's shoulders tensed, a muscle in his jaw twitching. "That... that was different," he said slowly. "Kyrie, and I got love for him…for both of them…he started that one. Kam was just running at the mouth.”

Alderman's pen paused mid-stroke. "You're sure about that?"

Rasheem nodded, meeting the detective's gaze steadily. "Kam and Kyrie had…differences."

“Ashley?” Turk raised an eyebrow, “We know all about it.”

“Exactly,” Rasheem explained, “I mean, the guy who had sex with the other guy’s girl ain’t usually the mad one, you feel me? Don’t get me wrong, Kam was wrong for that and as a team, we should have done a better job of policing that but…I don’t know, I thought they were over it.”

The officers exchanged a glance, a silent communication passing between them. Turk leaned forward, his voice softening slightly. "We’re seeing a pattern here with Kam and we just want to hear your side of things. It seems to always be someone’s fault, not his. Was it your fault that you guys got into a fight? What are you saying here, we should be arresting you for battery?”

“No, no, not at all,” Rasheem stammered through a forced laugh, “If you’re asking me if Kam is capable of beating someone up, yeah, of course. But shooting someone? Kyrie? I don’t see it, respectfully, officer.”

[Caesar]

Kam really about to skate with a body on his jacket. Ray Lewis ass nigga