Dying to Live
-
Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 17038
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
****Character List: https://dynastysports.net/viewtopic.php?p=69562#p69562****
-
Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 17038
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
The Bing
Royce laid back on the couch in his apartment, still covered with the few boxes that he’d brought from the spot on campus, the faint hum of mid-day life of downtown Baton Rouge filtering through the windows. He was scrolling absentmindedly through social media, barely processing the posts, when his phone buzzed in his hands. The number flashing on the screen was one he recognized but one he rarely received calls from.
And never made calls to.
He stared at it for a moment, debating whether to let it go to voicemail. With a sigh, he picked it up. “I accept the charges,” he said with a practiced tone.
“Royce,’ his father’s voice came through, steady and deep despite the static. There was an unmistakable authority in it as usual, the kind that always managed to unsettle Royce, no matter how much time had passed and how old he’d gotten. “Took you long enough to answer, boy.”
Royce sighed, swinging his feet off the couch to sit up. He rubbed his hand over his face. “Yeah, I was in the shower. What’s up?”
“What’s up? I don’t know, you tell me.”
“Ain’t shit, I guess,” Royce said, confusion clouding his mind.
Kevon chuckled though the sound carried a slight edge. “What’s up, boy, is you ain’t but thirty-five, forty minutes from Jackson now, been there for two years now, and I ain’t seen you yet. You scared to come out here?”
Royce frowned, resting his elbows on his knees. “Nah, it ain’t nothing like that,” he replied, his voice tinged with frustration. “I just been busy with shit. Football and all, you know? And I ain’t never gone up there by myself before.”
His father’s tone shifted, the warmth evaporating. “You ain’t no little boy no more, Royce. You a grown ass man, ain’t you? I know you grown when you getting that money from them white folks. Grown men handle they business. Face they responsibilities. And last I checked, you’re the only son I got left with my name.”
Royce’s grip on the phone tightened. The words stung, even if he didn’t want to admit it, especially the mention of Romeo. “Alright,” he said finally, his voice low. “I’ll make some time to come up there.”
“Today,” Kevon said, his tone not leaving any room for argument. “We need to talk.”
Before Royce could respond, the line went dead. He pulled the phone away from his ear, staring at the blank screen for a moment before tossing it onto the couch. Running a hand over his face, he leaned back, his mind already racing.
He glanced at the half-packed boxes scattered around his apartment, completing the move to his new downtown place delayed for the day. He pulled himself off the couch, grabbed his keys from the counter, and headed for the door.
~~~~~~~~~~
Malik dragged his suitcase down the narrow hallway of an older dorm building on the University of Nevada’s campus. The faint smell of cleaning supplies mingled with the lingering scent of sweat and old carpet, reminding him of a high school locker room. He glanced at the faded numbers on the doors as he passed, each one identical to the next.
Finally, he reached the room he’d been assigned and knocked lightly before jabbing the key into the door. He swung the door open to find Donovan leaning back in a chair looking like it was struggling under his weight as he played a game of Madden.
“What up, bro?” Donovan said, a wide grin spreading across his face as he stood up to dap Malik up. “Shit about to be a movie now that you’re out here.”
The room was modest, the kind of space that spoke of functionality over comfort. Beds were pushed up against opposite walls, separated by a narrow walkway that led to two simple desks. A shared dresser sat under the window, its chipped edges a testament to years of use. Malik set his suitcase down by the bed on the left, his eyes scanning the plain white walls.
“Shit ain’t much, but it’s hard as fuck to get into Canada even for niggas playing sports,” Donovan admitted. “For all the money we bringing it, huh? And forget about off-campus. These apartments renting for stupid money.”
Malik chuckled, sitting down on the bed. “Ain’t like I ain’t live in smaller rooms before. Just make sure you don’t bring no ugly ass hoes here without telling me. Fat bitches, too.”
Donovan laughed, punching Malik in the shoulder. “Man, you new to this. I got fine shit lined up at all times. You the one gonna be fucking them whale ass bitches.”
Malik snorted. “Pussy’s pussy. I remember you being the main one saying that shit back in BR.”
“We grown now,” Donovan said, grinning as he shoved his feet into a pair of slides by the door. “Come on, I was waiting for you to go grab something to eat.”
They made their way down the hall, Donovan’s energy grounding Malik in his new surroundings, his transfer counselor’s plan of pairing the two Baton Rouge guys together working as intended. He knocked on another door, which opened to reveal Willie and Xavier, two athletes who shared a room down from theirs.
They both dapped up Donovan and then Malik.
“This the new guy?” Xavier asked as Malik took note of the Nevada football hoodie he wore.
“Yeah, that’s him,” Donovan said, gesturing toward Malik. He turned to him and pointed to Xavier. “This lil’ bitch got a green light on him at all times in practice. Every time he come across the middle, light his ass up.”
“You gotta let that shit go,” Xavier laughed. “She ain’t want you.”
Willie shoved his way out into the hall, noticeably taller than the other three. “Y’all acting like Erika ain’t touched more balls at this bitch than every motherfucker playing ball put together. Just circle back, D. She’s going to let you hit.”
“That’s nasty, bro,” Malik said to Donovan, laughing.
“Man, you supposed to be on my side.” Donovan smacked Malik in the chest with the back of his head. “Come on. Let’s go.”
…
The four of them made their way to a nearby fast-food joint just off campus. The walk was brisk, the cool Reno air biting at their cheeks. The neon lights of the restaurant flickered against the darkening sky, and the smell of grease and grilled burgers greeted them as they stepped inside. The line stretched almost to the door, a mix of students chatting and laughing, their energy filling the small space.
As they shuffled forward in line, Donovan gave Malik the lay of the land, correcting anything he’d been told about the coaching staff during his visit and giving him the rundown of the places he wanted to be when football wasn’t top of mind.
“This ain’t no Waco, bruh. We not out here praying and shit when we not playing,” Donovan said, laughing at his own joke.
“I ain’t even really go out like that at Baylor. Shit was weird. They watched us like hawks on some shit if I’m keeping it a buck.”
“That’s ‘cause them dudes back in the day was doing that foul shit. But anyway, probably gonna be dead for a couple weeks but it’ll be live closer to the semester.”
Malik shrugged. “You know I ain’t got no problem drinking.”
“Already,” Donovan said, grinning and dapping up Malik. “Yo, you been keeping up with Royce? He’s the only one that never answers the group chat. I know we ain’t really know know him, but he was still one of the guys.”
Malik scratched his chin, glancing at the menu overhead. “That boy at LSU. That shit different. But yeah, I kicked it with him a bit when I went back to BR before I came out here. He got a spot down on Lafayette. Pent house shit.”
“Downtown? I knew that nigga was balling, but I ain’t know he had it like that,” Donovan said, whistling.
“LSU, man. You know how that motherfucker Gordon McKernan be throwing that money around.”
Donovan nodded before raising an eyebrow, his expression curious. “Don’t your girl Alix go there, too? She still close to Royce?”
The question gave Malik pause. He glanced at Donovan, his mouth tightening slightly. “I think so.”
Donovan nodded slowly as he looked up at the menu for a moment before looking over at Malik out of the corner of his eye.
“What?” Malik asked.
“Come on, bruh. You know.”
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you, nigga.”
Donovan held his hands up. “If you don’t see it then I ain’t gonna say nothing about nothing. I don’t know her like that and Royce probably swimming in it anyway.”
Malik didn’t respond to Donovan and just stepped forward to the counter to order, the implications of what he was suggesting clear.
“Get the Mexican burger,” Willie suggested, pointing to the menu over Malik’s shoulder. “That bitch be hitting.”
Malik nodded, weighing the options—in more ways than one.
~~~~~~~~~~
Royce sat stifling in the visitation room at Dixon, his hands resting uneasily on the metal table. The room smelled faintly of disinfectant and something else Royce couldn’t quite place, the fait hum of vending machines adding to the buzz of low, murmured conversations. The fluorescent lights overhead cast a harsh glare, making the already worn floors seem even more scuffed. He shifted in his seat, his eyes darting around the room.
He couldn’t help but notice a few people sneaking glances at him. Some whispered, their expressions tinged with curiosity, others just stared. Recognition flickered in their eyes, and while he was starting to get used to being noticed on campus or around town, here it felt different—sharper, heavier.
The door at the far end of the room opened with a loud clank. Royce glanced up as Kevon emerged, walking with a deliberate stride ahead of a corrections officer. His fact was set in an expression that was hard to read. His shoulder we broad, his presence commanding despite the faded green jumpsuit he wore with a number emblazoned above a chest pocket.
This was the first time Royce had seen his father in person since he was a child, and it hit him harder than he expected. He looked older than Royce remembered, the lines on his face deeper, weathered by years inside. But there was still a strength in his gait, a confidence that made Royce feel like a kid again—both intimidated and defiant.
Royce stood up and Kevon pulled him into a hug, slapping Royce roughly on the back before sitting down across from him, his movements deliberate and unhurried. He leaned back slightly, his gaze steady as he sized Royce up. “Look at my boy. A fucking Lafitte,” he said, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Got my name up on billboards down there in Baton Rouge.”
Royce shrugged, leaning back in his chair as well, his mannerisms very much similar to his father’s. “They put them shits up in New York, too. When they were trying to get me the Bednarik.”
Kevon nodded, his expression softening just slightly. “Shit, that’s the closest I’m ever gonna get to going anywhere but rec. We watch all the games, you know. I let them motherfuckers know every time you make a play out there. That’s my fucking son out there. These other niggas’ sons out here doing fucking TikTok dances like some bitches. Tooting it up like they trying to get fucked. Not my boy, though. He going to the fucking league.”
Royce’s throat tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t know how to respond. His father’s words carried a strange mix of pride and ownership, and Royce wasn’t sure how to feel about it. He forced a small nod. “Shit, I hope. Appreciate it, though.”
The room buzzed around them, but their table felt like its own little bubble. The silence stretched for a beat too long, and Royce could feel his father’s eyes studying him, peeling back layers he didn’t want exposed.
Finally, Kevon leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “When you are able to, I need you to get your brother buried somewhere else. They be burying niggas on top of each other at New Rising Sun.”
“Alright,” Royce nodded, knowing that to be true.
“You been talking to your ma? Or Reg?”
Royce shook his head, his jaw tightening. “They told me not go around there no more so I don’t.”
Kevon’s gaze hardened, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face. “You need to make that right.”
Royce scoffed, his arms crossing over his chest. “She blame me for Romeo. Reg, too. What you want me to do with that? I can’t change their fucking minds.”
Kevon’s jaw twitched, and his voice sharpened. “Tell them that that’s settled. It don’t matter what they think or what they said. You the man of the house out there. You gotta take care of the family. Ain’t nobody else gonna do it.”
Royce’s anger bubbled just beneath the surface. “Tell that crackhead ass nigga Reg to take care of the family. He the oldest.”
Kevon leaned closer, his voice dropping but losing none of its intensity. “I’m telling you. You want me to have Reg out there spreading my name? A nigga that been down on his dick since before I came here? You making money. I’m not about to have motherfuckers in the bricks talking about the Lafittes this and the Lafittes that. I know how Beulah be talking about me. But where her sons at? In the fucking dirt most of them. Don’t be no fake ass nigga. I ain’t raise no niggas like that.”
“You saying this shit like you not hearing what I’m telling you,” Royce shot back. “She think I killed Romeo basically. She always loved him more than me.”
“Welcome to being a man, lil’ nigga,” Kevin said, his voice softening but no less firm. “Rana done threw away my name and shit. Roni probably gonna, too. You all we got.”
Royce looked away, his gaze fixed on a crack in the floor tile. His father’s words hung heavy in the air, cutting deeper than he wanted to admit. A part of him wanted to push back, to say Kevon didn’t know the full story, didn’t know the weight Royce carried every day. But another part of him—the part that still sought his father’s approval, no matter how much he hated to admit it—felt the truth in his words.
Kevon leaned back, letting the silence settle. “You balling out there, man. Doing real good. But this game a mean’s to an end. Whatever the game is. Whether that’s playing ball or moving packs. You just won’t end up in here with me if them white folks get tired of you taking all their money. Time to step up for the family, Royce.”
Royce nodded stiffly. He wasn’t ready to make promises, but the seed of Kevon’s words had been planted. He just wasn’t sure what he’d do with it yet.
When the guard called time, Royce stood. Kevon rose too, pulling Royce in for another hug. His expression was unreadable as he gave Royce one last look. “Don’t disappoint me, son,” he said simply, before turning and walking back through the door.
As Royce made his way out of the prison, the weight in his chest felt heavier than when he’d arrived.
Royce laid back on the couch in his apartment, still covered with the few boxes that he’d brought from the spot on campus, the faint hum of mid-day life of downtown Baton Rouge filtering through the windows. He was scrolling absentmindedly through social media, barely processing the posts, when his phone buzzed in his hands. The number flashing on the screen was one he recognized but one he rarely received calls from.
And never made calls to.
He stared at it for a moment, debating whether to let it go to voicemail. With a sigh, he picked it up. “I accept the charges,” he said with a practiced tone.
“Royce,’ his father’s voice came through, steady and deep despite the static. There was an unmistakable authority in it as usual, the kind that always managed to unsettle Royce, no matter how much time had passed and how old he’d gotten. “Took you long enough to answer, boy.”
Royce sighed, swinging his feet off the couch to sit up. He rubbed his hand over his face. “Yeah, I was in the shower. What’s up?”
“What’s up? I don’t know, you tell me.”
“Ain’t shit, I guess,” Royce said, confusion clouding his mind.
Kevon chuckled though the sound carried a slight edge. “What’s up, boy, is you ain’t but thirty-five, forty minutes from Jackson now, been there for two years now, and I ain’t seen you yet. You scared to come out here?”
Royce frowned, resting his elbows on his knees. “Nah, it ain’t nothing like that,” he replied, his voice tinged with frustration. “I just been busy with shit. Football and all, you know? And I ain’t never gone up there by myself before.”
His father’s tone shifted, the warmth evaporating. “You ain’t no little boy no more, Royce. You a grown ass man, ain’t you? I know you grown when you getting that money from them white folks. Grown men handle they business. Face they responsibilities. And last I checked, you’re the only son I got left with my name.”
Royce’s grip on the phone tightened. The words stung, even if he didn’t want to admit it, especially the mention of Romeo. “Alright,” he said finally, his voice low. “I’ll make some time to come up there.”
“Today,” Kevon said, his tone not leaving any room for argument. “We need to talk.”
Before Royce could respond, the line went dead. He pulled the phone away from his ear, staring at the blank screen for a moment before tossing it onto the couch. Running a hand over his face, he leaned back, his mind already racing.
He glanced at the half-packed boxes scattered around his apartment, completing the move to his new downtown place delayed for the day. He pulled himself off the couch, grabbed his keys from the counter, and headed for the door.
~~~~~~~~~~
Malik dragged his suitcase down the narrow hallway of an older dorm building on the University of Nevada’s campus. The faint smell of cleaning supplies mingled with the lingering scent of sweat and old carpet, reminding him of a high school locker room. He glanced at the faded numbers on the doors as he passed, each one identical to the next.
Finally, he reached the room he’d been assigned and knocked lightly before jabbing the key into the door. He swung the door open to find Donovan leaning back in a chair looking like it was struggling under his weight as he played a game of Madden.
“What up, bro?” Donovan said, a wide grin spreading across his face as he stood up to dap Malik up. “Shit about to be a movie now that you’re out here.”
The room was modest, the kind of space that spoke of functionality over comfort. Beds were pushed up against opposite walls, separated by a narrow walkway that led to two simple desks. A shared dresser sat under the window, its chipped edges a testament to years of use. Malik set his suitcase down by the bed on the left, his eyes scanning the plain white walls.
“Shit ain’t much, but it’s hard as fuck to get into Canada even for niggas playing sports,” Donovan admitted. “For all the money we bringing it, huh? And forget about off-campus. These apartments renting for stupid money.”
Malik chuckled, sitting down on the bed. “Ain’t like I ain’t live in smaller rooms before. Just make sure you don’t bring no ugly ass hoes here without telling me. Fat bitches, too.”
Donovan laughed, punching Malik in the shoulder. “Man, you new to this. I got fine shit lined up at all times. You the one gonna be fucking them whale ass bitches.”
Malik snorted. “Pussy’s pussy. I remember you being the main one saying that shit back in BR.”
“We grown now,” Donovan said, grinning as he shoved his feet into a pair of slides by the door. “Come on, I was waiting for you to go grab something to eat.”
They made their way down the hall, Donovan’s energy grounding Malik in his new surroundings, his transfer counselor’s plan of pairing the two Baton Rouge guys together working as intended. He knocked on another door, which opened to reveal Willie and Xavier, two athletes who shared a room down from theirs.
They both dapped up Donovan and then Malik.
“This the new guy?” Xavier asked as Malik took note of the Nevada football hoodie he wore.
“Yeah, that’s him,” Donovan said, gesturing toward Malik. He turned to him and pointed to Xavier. “This lil’ bitch got a green light on him at all times in practice. Every time he come across the middle, light his ass up.”
“You gotta let that shit go,” Xavier laughed. “She ain’t want you.”
Willie shoved his way out into the hall, noticeably taller than the other three. “Y’all acting like Erika ain’t touched more balls at this bitch than every motherfucker playing ball put together. Just circle back, D. She’s going to let you hit.”
“That’s nasty, bro,” Malik said to Donovan, laughing.
“Man, you supposed to be on my side.” Donovan smacked Malik in the chest with the back of his head. “Come on. Let’s go.”
…
The four of them made their way to a nearby fast-food joint just off campus. The walk was brisk, the cool Reno air biting at their cheeks. The neon lights of the restaurant flickered against the darkening sky, and the smell of grease and grilled burgers greeted them as they stepped inside. The line stretched almost to the door, a mix of students chatting and laughing, their energy filling the small space.
As they shuffled forward in line, Donovan gave Malik the lay of the land, correcting anything he’d been told about the coaching staff during his visit and giving him the rundown of the places he wanted to be when football wasn’t top of mind.
“This ain’t no Waco, bruh. We not out here praying and shit when we not playing,” Donovan said, laughing at his own joke.
“I ain’t even really go out like that at Baylor. Shit was weird. They watched us like hawks on some shit if I’m keeping it a buck.”
“That’s ‘cause them dudes back in the day was doing that foul shit. But anyway, probably gonna be dead for a couple weeks but it’ll be live closer to the semester.”
Malik shrugged. “You know I ain’t got no problem drinking.”
“Already,” Donovan said, grinning and dapping up Malik. “Yo, you been keeping up with Royce? He’s the only one that never answers the group chat. I know we ain’t really know know him, but he was still one of the guys.”
Malik scratched his chin, glancing at the menu overhead. “That boy at LSU. That shit different. But yeah, I kicked it with him a bit when I went back to BR before I came out here. He got a spot down on Lafayette. Pent house shit.”
“Downtown? I knew that nigga was balling, but I ain’t know he had it like that,” Donovan said, whistling.
“LSU, man. You know how that motherfucker Gordon McKernan be throwing that money around.”
Donovan nodded before raising an eyebrow, his expression curious. “Don’t your girl Alix go there, too? She still close to Royce?”
The question gave Malik pause. He glanced at Donovan, his mouth tightening slightly. “I think so.”
Donovan nodded slowly as he looked up at the menu for a moment before looking over at Malik out of the corner of his eye.
“What?” Malik asked.
“Come on, bruh. You know.”
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you, nigga.”
Donovan held his hands up. “If you don’t see it then I ain’t gonna say nothing about nothing. I don’t know her like that and Royce probably swimming in it anyway.”
Malik didn’t respond to Donovan and just stepped forward to the counter to order, the implications of what he was suggesting clear.
“Get the Mexican burger,” Willie suggested, pointing to the menu over Malik’s shoulder. “That bitch be hitting.”
Malik nodded, weighing the options—in more ways than one.
~~~~~~~~~~
Royce sat stifling in the visitation room at Dixon, his hands resting uneasily on the metal table. The room smelled faintly of disinfectant and something else Royce couldn’t quite place, the fait hum of vending machines adding to the buzz of low, murmured conversations. The fluorescent lights overhead cast a harsh glare, making the already worn floors seem even more scuffed. He shifted in his seat, his eyes darting around the room.
He couldn’t help but notice a few people sneaking glances at him. Some whispered, their expressions tinged with curiosity, others just stared. Recognition flickered in their eyes, and while he was starting to get used to being noticed on campus or around town, here it felt different—sharper, heavier.
The door at the far end of the room opened with a loud clank. Royce glanced up as Kevon emerged, walking with a deliberate stride ahead of a corrections officer. His fact was set in an expression that was hard to read. His shoulder we broad, his presence commanding despite the faded green jumpsuit he wore with a number emblazoned above a chest pocket.
This was the first time Royce had seen his father in person since he was a child, and it hit him harder than he expected. He looked older than Royce remembered, the lines on his face deeper, weathered by years inside. But there was still a strength in his gait, a confidence that made Royce feel like a kid again—both intimidated and defiant.
Royce stood up and Kevon pulled him into a hug, slapping Royce roughly on the back before sitting down across from him, his movements deliberate and unhurried. He leaned back slightly, his gaze steady as he sized Royce up. “Look at my boy. A fucking Lafitte,” he said, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Got my name up on billboards down there in Baton Rouge.”
Royce shrugged, leaning back in his chair as well, his mannerisms very much similar to his father’s. “They put them shits up in New York, too. When they were trying to get me the Bednarik.”
Kevon nodded, his expression softening just slightly. “Shit, that’s the closest I’m ever gonna get to going anywhere but rec. We watch all the games, you know. I let them motherfuckers know every time you make a play out there. That’s my fucking son out there. These other niggas’ sons out here doing fucking TikTok dances like some bitches. Tooting it up like they trying to get fucked. Not my boy, though. He going to the fucking league.”
Royce’s throat tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t know how to respond. His father’s words carried a strange mix of pride and ownership, and Royce wasn’t sure how to feel about it. He forced a small nod. “Shit, I hope. Appreciate it, though.”
The room buzzed around them, but their table felt like its own little bubble. The silence stretched for a beat too long, and Royce could feel his father’s eyes studying him, peeling back layers he didn’t want exposed.
Finally, Kevon leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “When you are able to, I need you to get your brother buried somewhere else. They be burying niggas on top of each other at New Rising Sun.”
“Alright,” Royce nodded, knowing that to be true.
“You been talking to your ma? Or Reg?”
Royce shook his head, his jaw tightening. “They told me not go around there no more so I don’t.”
Kevon’s gaze hardened, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face. “You need to make that right.”
Royce scoffed, his arms crossing over his chest. “She blame me for Romeo. Reg, too. What you want me to do with that? I can’t change their fucking minds.”
Kevon’s jaw twitched, and his voice sharpened. “Tell them that that’s settled. It don’t matter what they think or what they said. You the man of the house out there. You gotta take care of the family. Ain’t nobody else gonna do it.”
Royce’s anger bubbled just beneath the surface. “Tell that crackhead ass nigga Reg to take care of the family. He the oldest.”
Kevon leaned closer, his voice dropping but losing none of its intensity. “I’m telling you. You want me to have Reg out there spreading my name? A nigga that been down on his dick since before I came here? You making money. I’m not about to have motherfuckers in the bricks talking about the Lafittes this and the Lafittes that. I know how Beulah be talking about me. But where her sons at? In the fucking dirt most of them. Don’t be no fake ass nigga. I ain’t raise no niggas like that.”
“You saying this shit like you not hearing what I’m telling you,” Royce shot back. “She think I killed Romeo basically. She always loved him more than me.”
“Welcome to being a man, lil’ nigga,” Kevin said, his voice softening but no less firm. “Rana done threw away my name and shit. Roni probably gonna, too. You all we got.”
Royce looked away, his gaze fixed on a crack in the floor tile. His father’s words hung heavy in the air, cutting deeper than he wanted to admit. A part of him wanted to push back, to say Kevon didn’t know the full story, didn’t know the weight Royce carried every day. But another part of him—the part that still sought his father’s approval, no matter how much he hated to admit it—felt the truth in his words.
Kevon leaned back, letting the silence settle. “You balling out there, man. Doing real good. But this game a mean’s to an end. Whatever the game is. Whether that’s playing ball or moving packs. You just won’t end up in here with me if them white folks get tired of you taking all their money. Time to step up for the family, Royce.”
Royce nodded stiffly. He wasn’t ready to make promises, but the seed of Kevon’s words had been planted. He just wasn’t sure what he’d do with it yet.
When the guard called time, Royce stood. Kevon rose too, pulling Royce in for another hug. His expression was unreadable as he gave Royce one last look. “Don’t disappoint me, son,” he said simply, before turning and walking back through the door.
As Royce made his way out of the prison, the weight in his chest felt heavier than when he’d arrived.
-
Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 17038
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
No Longer Twice
Mike-Mike sat on the edge of the worn couch in his living room, staring at the laptop open on the coffee table. Coach Grady Simmons’, the head football coach at Belhaven University, face filled the screen, the faint hum of static underlining his words. The room was quiet except for their conversation, the only other sound the distant rumble of cars passing up and down the street.
Coach Simmons, a wiry mane with graying hair and a kind but intense demeanor, leaned slightly toward the camera. Behind him, Mike-Mike could make out of the backdrop of his office: walls with photos of past teams and family, a faded championship banner, and a cluttered desk filled with playbooks and files. Even over a video call, the coach’s passion was palpable.
“So,” the coach began, folding his hands and resting them on his desk. “you’ve got potential, Michael. We’ve seen your film, and you’ve got the kind of drive we look for at Belhaven.”
Mike-Mike nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line. He wasn’t sure what to say. The reality of this conversation—the acknowledgment that he wasn’t on the radar of bigger programs—settled heavily on him, making the room feel smaller than it was.”
“Here’s the thing,” the coach continued, his voice steady but firm. “We’re Division III, so we can’t offer athletic scholarships. But with your grades and circumstances, you’re in a good position to get financial aid. We’ve got programs that can help cover costs, and most importantly, you’ll have the opportunity to keep playing football at the college level.”
Mike-Mike leaned back slightly, crossing his arms over his chest. He glanced out the window, where the sun cast long shadows across the yard, and then back at the screen. “Coach, I appreciate the offer, but… I always thought I’d end up somewhere bigger. Somewhere that feels, you know, worth it.”
The coach didn’t flinch, clearly used to hearing this kind of reaction. He nodded sympathetically. “I get it. Everyone dreams of playing DI ball, maybe even making it to the league. But not everyone’s path looks the same. Sometimes, the smaller programs give you the space to grow into the player you’re meant to be. If you’re serious about the game, this could be your shot.”
Mike-Mike chewed on the inside of his cheek, his mind racing. The idea of Belhaven didn’t sit right with him. It felt like settling, like admitting that he wasn’t good enough to reach the heights he’d always envisioned. But the coach’s words carried weight, planting a small seed of doubt about his reluctance.
“I’ll think about it,” he said finally, his tone polite but noncommittal. He straightened up and extended his hand to the camera, as if the coach could somehow shake it through the screen.
The coach smiled. “Good. Take your time, but don’t take too long. We’d love to have you come check out the campus, Michael.”
When the call ended, Mike-Mike closed the laptop with a sigh and slumped back against the couch. The room felt too quiet now, the absence of the coach’s voice amplifying his frustration. He glanced toward the kitchen as Laila walked in, holding two bottles of water.
She placed one in front of him and sat down beside him, tucking her legs beneath her. “How’d it go?”
Mike shrugged, picking at the wrapper of the water bottle. “He wants me to play for them. Says they can’t give scholarships, but they’d help with financial aid.”
Laila tilted her head, watching him closely. “That’s not bad, right? You’d still get to play football.”
“Yeah, but it’s Belhaven. You even know where that shit at?” Mike asked. Her silence was answer enough. “I don’t think I’m about to go to Alabama or anything like that, but damn. I thought I was better than that shit.”
Laila frowned, her tone gentle but firm. “It’s college wherever you go. College that you don’t have to pay for.”
“Yeah,” Mike said, his voice trailing off. After a moment, he asked suddenly, “You think I should ask Rana if I can go live with her in Baton Rouge?”
Laila glanced up, surprised. “Like Royce did?”
“Yeah,” he said, leaning back. “I don’t really know her like that, though. Like I know we family and all, but she’s so much older than me, and it feels… weird. Like it ain’t asking your big cousin for a favor, you’re asking a mom or some shit.”
Laila shrugged. “You’ve been there before, though. I mean, it’s not a bad idea. With everything going on here? You just have to go somewhere to stick it out for one year and then you can go wherever you want for college.”
Mike sighed, running a hand over his face. “What if ‘wherever’ is some other BFE ass place like Belhaven? If that’s all I’m going to get is small time offer then I don’t even know if it’s worth it.”
“Why don’t you talk to Royce?” Laila asked. “He has to have some tips on how to get noticed. He did, right?”
“That’s different. Him and Rome were playing ball from when they were little. I started like four years ago. Plus, Ro was playing for UHigh getting on TV and shit. I ain’t like him.”
“Exactly,” Laila smiled, leaning her head on his shoulder. “But that doesn’t mean that he can’t help you. You know he’s willing to. It’s just a start.”
“You’re right,” Mike said, nodding to himself.
…
Mike-Mike stood in the cramped kitchen of his house, staring at the contents of his backpack. The small plastic packages stared back at him, a silent reminder of the choices he’d made to get into this situation. He zipped the bag shut and slung it over his shoulder, heading out into the humid night.
He and Laila drove over to the Lafitte’s, a silent tension between them as they made the short drive. The porch light flickered as Mike-Mike knocked on the door, his heartbeat echoing in his ears. Reg opened it, his frame filling the doorway as he looked Mike-Mike up and down.
“Took you long enough,” Reg said as he brought a ham sandwich up to his mouth. He stepped aside to let Mike-Mike into the house.
He ignored the comment, dropping the bag onto the kitchen table and unzipping it. He pulled out the small packages, lining them up neatly. “You got the money?”
Reg chuckled as he finished chewing the chunk of bread and ham in his mouth. “I should just rob your little ass and let whoever you moving this pack for ask you what happened to the money.”
“C’mon, man. It’s not even that much.”
“Bitch, you ain’t no kind of salesman. How the fuck you gonna tell me what’s too much?” Reg shook his head before walking over to the refrigerator. He pulled an old, tatter box from the top of it. Glancing back at Mike-Mike, he hid it on the side of the fridge to open and pulled a wrinkled pile of bills from it before placing it back on top of the fridge. “Here, but next time, I’m expecting a family discount.”
Mike-Mike frowned as he took the money from Reg, counting it. “Ain’t no discounts. This ain’t a favor.”
Reg chuckled, a grin spreading across his face. “You got some nerve, lil’ nigga. I’m helping you out so you ain’t gotta stand on the corner and slang rock. You think your soft ass could handle a couple years doing a bid if you get caught with this shit?”
“I’m serious, man,” Mike-Mike said, his voice steady despite the knot forming in his stomach.
Reg’s grin faded, replaced by something harder, darker. He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. “You in my house, selling dope because some young niggas got some shit on you, and you think you can decide how this go? Nigga, I’ll beat your ass in here and take my money back. I don’t care if your ass get shot behind it. You hung around that nigga Royce too much anyway. Just like his bitch ass.”
Mike-Mike’s chest tightened, and he forced himself to hold Reg’s gaze. “You wouldn’t do that.”
Reg sucked his teeth and took another bite of his sandwich. “Don’t be so sure. Acting grown and still calling yourself Mike-Mike like we called you when you were still shitting in diapers. Pussy ass nigga. Get out my fucking house.”
Mke-Mike swallowed hard, his fists clenching at his sides. He didn’t say anything, just nodded and grabbed his empty bag before heading for the door.
Laila was waiting outside in her car, the engine idling as Mike-Mike slid into the passenger seat. She glanced at him, her brow furrowing when she saw the tension in his face.
“What happened?” she asked softly.
“Nothing,” Mike said, staring straight ahead.
Laila’s eyes didn’t leave him. “Mike, come on. What’s going on?”
Mike hesitated, his grip tightening on the bag in his lap. “Reg said some stuff. Tried to scare me or some shit.”
“Scare you how?”
“Talking about he was gonna rob me. Let Treg handle it when I don’t bring the money back.”
Laila’s face darkened, her hands gripping the steering wheel. “You think he’d actually do that?”
Mike shook his head, but the doubt lingered in his mind. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. He’s been on that shit my whole life and you know you can’t really trust anyone like that.”
Laila exhaled, her knuckles white against the wheel. “Yeah, but he’s family. I can’t believe your own family would—”
“Just how it is,” Mike said, cutting her off. “It’s not a big deal.”
But as they drove off into the night, the weight in his chest refused to lift.
Mike-Mike sat on the edge of the worn couch in his living room, staring at the laptop open on the coffee table. Coach Grady Simmons’, the head football coach at Belhaven University, face filled the screen, the faint hum of static underlining his words. The room was quiet except for their conversation, the only other sound the distant rumble of cars passing up and down the street.
Coach Simmons, a wiry mane with graying hair and a kind but intense demeanor, leaned slightly toward the camera. Behind him, Mike-Mike could make out of the backdrop of his office: walls with photos of past teams and family, a faded championship banner, and a cluttered desk filled with playbooks and files. Even over a video call, the coach’s passion was palpable.
“So,” the coach began, folding his hands and resting them on his desk. “you’ve got potential, Michael. We’ve seen your film, and you’ve got the kind of drive we look for at Belhaven.”
Mike-Mike nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line. He wasn’t sure what to say. The reality of this conversation—the acknowledgment that he wasn’t on the radar of bigger programs—settled heavily on him, making the room feel smaller than it was.”
“Here’s the thing,” the coach continued, his voice steady but firm. “We’re Division III, so we can’t offer athletic scholarships. But with your grades and circumstances, you’re in a good position to get financial aid. We’ve got programs that can help cover costs, and most importantly, you’ll have the opportunity to keep playing football at the college level.”
Mike-Mike leaned back slightly, crossing his arms over his chest. He glanced out the window, where the sun cast long shadows across the yard, and then back at the screen. “Coach, I appreciate the offer, but… I always thought I’d end up somewhere bigger. Somewhere that feels, you know, worth it.”
The coach didn’t flinch, clearly used to hearing this kind of reaction. He nodded sympathetically. “I get it. Everyone dreams of playing DI ball, maybe even making it to the league. But not everyone’s path looks the same. Sometimes, the smaller programs give you the space to grow into the player you’re meant to be. If you’re serious about the game, this could be your shot.”
Mike-Mike chewed on the inside of his cheek, his mind racing. The idea of Belhaven didn’t sit right with him. It felt like settling, like admitting that he wasn’t good enough to reach the heights he’d always envisioned. But the coach’s words carried weight, planting a small seed of doubt about his reluctance.
“I’ll think about it,” he said finally, his tone polite but noncommittal. He straightened up and extended his hand to the camera, as if the coach could somehow shake it through the screen.
The coach smiled. “Good. Take your time, but don’t take too long. We’d love to have you come check out the campus, Michael.”
When the call ended, Mike-Mike closed the laptop with a sigh and slumped back against the couch. The room felt too quiet now, the absence of the coach’s voice amplifying his frustration. He glanced toward the kitchen as Laila walked in, holding two bottles of water.
She placed one in front of him and sat down beside him, tucking her legs beneath her. “How’d it go?”
Mike shrugged, picking at the wrapper of the water bottle. “He wants me to play for them. Says they can’t give scholarships, but they’d help with financial aid.”
Laila tilted her head, watching him closely. “That’s not bad, right? You’d still get to play football.”
“Yeah, but it’s Belhaven. You even know where that shit at?” Mike asked. Her silence was answer enough. “I don’t think I’m about to go to Alabama or anything like that, but damn. I thought I was better than that shit.”
Laila frowned, her tone gentle but firm. “It’s college wherever you go. College that you don’t have to pay for.”
“Yeah,” Mike said, his voice trailing off. After a moment, he asked suddenly, “You think I should ask Rana if I can go live with her in Baton Rouge?”
Laila glanced up, surprised. “Like Royce did?”
“Yeah,” he said, leaning back. “I don’t really know her like that, though. Like I know we family and all, but she’s so much older than me, and it feels… weird. Like it ain’t asking your big cousin for a favor, you’re asking a mom or some shit.”
Laila shrugged. “You’ve been there before, though. I mean, it’s not a bad idea. With everything going on here? You just have to go somewhere to stick it out for one year and then you can go wherever you want for college.”
Mike sighed, running a hand over his face. “What if ‘wherever’ is some other BFE ass place like Belhaven? If that’s all I’m going to get is small time offer then I don’t even know if it’s worth it.”
“Why don’t you talk to Royce?” Laila asked. “He has to have some tips on how to get noticed. He did, right?”
“That’s different. Him and Rome were playing ball from when they were little. I started like four years ago. Plus, Ro was playing for UHigh getting on TV and shit. I ain’t like him.”
“Exactly,” Laila smiled, leaning her head on his shoulder. “But that doesn’t mean that he can’t help you. You know he’s willing to. It’s just a start.”
“You’re right,” Mike said, nodding to himself.
…
Mike-Mike stood in the cramped kitchen of his house, staring at the contents of his backpack. The small plastic packages stared back at him, a silent reminder of the choices he’d made to get into this situation. He zipped the bag shut and slung it over his shoulder, heading out into the humid night.
He and Laila drove over to the Lafitte’s, a silent tension between them as they made the short drive. The porch light flickered as Mike-Mike knocked on the door, his heartbeat echoing in his ears. Reg opened it, his frame filling the doorway as he looked Mike-Mike up and down.
“Took you long enough,” Reg said as he brought a ham sandwich up to his mouth. He stepped aside to let Mike-Mike into the house.
He ignored the comment, dropping the bag onto the kitchen table and unzipping it. He pulled out the small packages, lining them up neatly. “You got the money?”
Reg chuckled as he finished chewing the chunk of bread and ham in his mouth. “I should just rob your little ass and let whoever you moving this pack for ask you what happened to the money.”
“C’mon, man. It’s not even that much.”
“Bitch, you ain’t no kind of salesman. How the fuck you gonna tell me what’s too much?” Reg shook his head before walking over to the refrigerator. He pulled an old, tatter box from the top of it. Glancing back at Mike-Mike, he hid it on the side of the fridge to open and pulled a wrinkled pile of bills from it before placing it back on top of the fridge. “Here, but next time, I’m expecting a family discount.”
Mike-Mike frowned as he took the money from Reg, counting it. “Ain’t no discounts. This ain’t a favor.”
Reg chuckled, a grin spreading across his face. “You got some nerve, lil’ nigga. I’m helping you out so you ain’t gotta stand on the corner and slang rock. You think your soft ass could handle a couple years doing a bid if you get caught with this shit?”
“I’m serious, man,” Mike-Mike said, his voice steady despite the knot forming in his stomach.
Reg’s grin faded, replaced by something harder, darker. He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. “You in my house, selling dope because some young niggas got some shit on you, and you think you can decide how this go? Nigga, I’ll beat your ass in here and take my money back. I don’t care if your ass get shot behind it. You hung around that nigga Royce too much anyway. Just like his bitch ass.”
Mike-Mike’s chest tightened, and he forced himself to hold Reg’s gaze. “You wouldn’t do that.”
Reg sucked his teeth and took another bite of his sandwich. “Don’t be so sure. Acting grown and still calling yourself Mike-Mike like we called you when you were still shitting in diapers. Pussy ass nigga. Get out my fucking house.”
Mke-Mike swallowed hard, his fists clenching at his sides. He didn’t say anything, just nodded and grabbed his empty bag before heading for the door.
Laila was waiting outside in her car, the engine idling as Mike-Mike slid into the passenger seat. She glanced at him, her brow furrowing when she saw the tension in his face.
“What happened?” she asked softly.
“Nothing,” Mike said, staring straight ahead.
Laila’s eyes didn’t leave him. “Mike, come on. What’s going on?”
Mike hesitated, his grip tightening on the bag in his lap. “Reg said some stuff. Tried to scare me or some shit.”
“Scare you how?”
“Talking about he was gonna rob me. Let Treg handle it when I don’t bring the money back.”
Laila’s face darkened, her hands gripping the steering wheel. “You think he’d actually do that?”
Mike shook his head, but the doubt lingered in his mind. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. He’s been on that shit my whole life and you know you can’t really trust anyone like that.”
Laila exhaled, her knuckles white against the wheel. “Yeah, but he’s family. I can’t believe your own family would—”
“Just how it is,” Mike said, cutting her off. “It’s not a big deal.”
But as they drove off into the night, the weight in his chest refused to lift.
-
Captain Canada
- Posts: 8018
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Dying to Live
That Reg overdose is going to go crazy... you ain't slick
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The JZA
- Posts: 9445
- Joined: 07 Dec 2018, 13:10
Dying to Live
Mike-Mike need to take that D3 offer & build off that
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 17038
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
It Gets Raggedy
The thumping bass of speakers vibrated through Royce’s apartment, the fact the dishes weren’t rattling another example of the quality he’d paid for. The space was packed after Khalil and Marcus had texted Royce and asked him to head out to the bars with them. What he didn’t expect was a handful of freshmen who’d decided to honor their commitments to LSU despite Brian Kelly’s firing.
Marco, Jay, Duke, Casey and Emmett had gotten to campus a couple of weeks ago and they were already settling into the team dynamic. They joked and trash-talked like they’d known each other for years, their laughter and banter bouncing off the walls.
As the upperclassmen, Khalil and Marcus were hyping up the freshmen, handing out cans of cheap beer and pressuring them into copious amounts of shots from the harder stuff Royce had stocked the pantry with.
Royce leaned on the opposite end of the kitchen island, nursing a drink that was stronger than it needed to be. His grip on the cup tightened as he scrolled through his phone. He wasn’t really reading the texts or notifications that lit up the screen; his mind was somewhere else entirely.
”Don’t disappoint me, son,” His father’s words echoed in his head, sharp and unrelenting. The voices of his family had a way of cutting through Royce’s defenses. Between the constant nagging at the back of his mind about Romeo, the specters that taunted him in his sleep and now his father’s expectations, he felt a different pressure on his shoulders.
He shifted his focus back to his phone, opening a text thread with Alix that he’d checked more times than he cared to admit. His last message hung there, unanswered:
’What you doing tonight?’
The little “read” receipt sat at the bottom like a taunt. He knew where she was—probably with Dominic. Her Instagram stories earlier in the day had made that clear. It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure out he’d taken her on a date, one of those corny all day type of outings that a corny motherfucker like Dominic would plan.
It wasn’t jealousy, he told himself. It was the principle. She blurred the lines between the two of them more often than not. Yet, there was a certain type of guy that she would ignore him for. The thought soured his mood further, and he took a long drink, the burn of the alcohol barely registering.
“Yo, Royce,” Khalil’s voice cut through the haze. “You good over there, or being a six figure nigga make you too good to chill with us field types?”
Royce forced a smirk, raising his cup in mock surrender. “Nah, I’m just making sure I’m sober enough to throw y’all asses in the elevator if y’all start throwing up in my shit. I don’t know if these young niggas can hold their liquor.”
Duke laughed, his deep voice booming over the music. “You ain’t gotta worry about me, O.G. I don’t know about the rest of ‘em though.”
“We gonna find out,” Marcus said, filling another round of shots and passing them around. He slid a glass down to Royce as well. “One of the host since without all that money he getting we’d be up in here drinking Taaka.”
Royce took the shot and held it up in a toast before downing it. “Shoutout to my guy Billy, you mean. I just put my name where he tells me to and then he tells me to check my bank account. Best job I’ve ever had.”
“Shit, I’m trying to get like you,” Jay said. The stocky linebacker leaned against the counter with a bottle of beer in his hand. “They told me they were going to get me like 10 or 20 bands when I got here. How long it take for that to come in?”
Khalil shook his head. “Don’t look at me, bruh. I ain’t got nothing but a couple hundred dollars here or there from some bullshit cryptocurrency shit. And I thought those motherfuckers were going to take my identity.”
Casey nodded, already needing to lean on Emmett to keep himself upright. The wiry receiver grinned to himself. “Because ain’t no fucking loyalty in this game no more, man. But it’s all good, either they gonna pay up or someone else will.”
Royce chuckled. “Look, if y’all want to get paid. Get on the field. Ball. That’s all there is to it. Gordon will kick y’all a few thousand just for getting out there and putting the jersey on.”
“You right,” Marcus said, snapping his fingers. “Gordon McKernan be paying LSU athletes like he fucking ‘em. Money on the night stand type shit.”
“Fucking who?” Royce asked. “You must be thinking about what your mama be doing because ain’t nobody fucking me. He might be fucking you, nigga.”
Marcus sucked his teeth. “It was a simile.”
“It’s euphemisms, you dumb motherfucker,” Khalil laughed.
The freshman joined in on the laughter and bantered, their youthful bravado filling the room. Royce’s phone buzzed again, and he glanced down, expecting an answer to his text to Alix but only found responses to other messages.
He exhaled, draining the rest of his drink in one gulp and setting the empty cup on the island. “Alright, let’s go,” he pointed to the freshmen as he grabbed his keys. “I need all you motherfuckers to pool y’all money for my drinks since y’all drank up my shit here.”
“How we gonna buy drinks?” Emmett asked, confusion on his face.
Khalil threw an arm around his shoulder and laughed. “You gon’ see.”
…
The bar they’d ended up in in Tigerland was a sensory overload the moment they stepped inside. The bass was deafening, the air thick with the smell of beer and sweat, and the crowd a swirling mix of college students packed shoulder to shoulder. Royce led the way, his presence commanding as bounced nodded him through without even glancing at IDs.
Inside, the group quickly claimed a spot near the bar, and it didn’t take long for Royce to start drawing attention. Drinks were thrust into his hands almost immediately, accompanied by slaps on the back and compliments from strangers.
“Bro, you had a crazy fucking season last year!” one guy shouted over the music leaning in to clap Royce on the shoulder. “You gonna take us to the natty, man.”
Royce nodded, accepting the drink with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. The buzz in his head grew with every sip, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the lingering frustrations bouncing around in his mind.
The freshmen scattered, soaking in the energy of the bar like kids let loose in a candy store once they’d realized their status as LSU football players granted them some additional privileges and exempted them from some rules. Marco was already chatting up a group of girls, while Casey and Jay were going shot for shot. Royce hung back near the bar, his eyes scanning the room out of habit more than interest.
That’s when he saw her. Dark hair, confident smile, moving like she owned the room. She’d do for a distraction for the night. Royce pushed off the bar and made his way over, cutting through the crowd with the ease of someone who knew exactly where he was going.
“What’s up, love?” he said smoothly, leaning against the table where she stood. “You look like you having a time, but I know I can make your night better.”
She laughed, her eyes sparkling as she tilted her head. “Bold. You always this confident?”
“Shit, yeah. I got good reason to be,” Royce replied, flashing a grin.
“And what would that reason be?”
Before the conversation could go any further, a guy appeared at her side, his arm sliding around her waist in a move that was more possessive than affectionate. His glare was sharp as he sized Royce up. “You got a problem, man?”
Royce didn’t even look at him, keeping his eyes on the girl, his confidence unshaken. “Nah, we ain’t got no problem,” he said evenly. “I was just talking to…”
“Sarah,” the girl said as if she wasn’t standing next to the guy.
“Yeah, Sarah,” Royce repeated.
“It’s about to be a problem if you don’t leave.” The guy’s grip on Sarah tightened, his jaw clenching as he glanced over Royce’s shoulder. Royce looked back to see Khalil, Marcus, Marco and Jay closing in behind him, their imposing presence enough to make the guy hesitate.
“Let’s go,” the guy muttered.
“Find me on IG, love,” Royce said to Sarah as the guy pulled her away. He turned back to his friends. “Guess it wasn’t no problem.”
“All this ass in here and you go looking for a bitch that got her man in here with her?” Marcus asked, shaking his head. “These young boys gonna think that’s normal shit. Corrupting these young minds early on.”
“She was fine shit, though,” Royce said, raising his drink. “Besides, bro wasn’t really about to fight over her. She ain’t give a fuck at all.”
Khalil laughed, clapping Royce on the back. “That’s the ones they fight the faster over.”
Royce laughed as his phone dinged in his pocket. He took it out and glanced at the text, shaking his head as he decided not to answer it instead letting the energy of the night carry him away.
The thumping bass of speakers vibrated through Royce’s apartment, the fact the dishes weren’t rattling another example of the quality he’d paid for. The space was packed after Khalil and Marcus had texted Royce and asked him to head out to the bars with them. What he didn’t expect was a handful of freshmen who’d decided to honor their commitments to LSU despite Brian Kelly’s firing.
Marco, Jay, Duke, Casey and Emmett had gotten to campus a couple of weeks ago and they were already settling into the team dynamic. They joked and trash-talked like they’d known each other for years, their laughter and banter bouncing off the walls.
As the upperclassmen, Khalil and Marcus were hyping up the freshmen, handing out cans of cheap beer and pressuring them into copious amounts of shots from the harder stuff Royce had stocked the pantry with.
Royce leaned on the opposite end of the kitchen island, nursing a drink that was stronger than it needed to be. His grip on the cup tightened as he scrolled through his phone. He wasn’t really reading the texts or notifications that lit up the screen; his mind was somewhere else entirely.
”Don’t disappoint me, son,” His father’s words echoed in his head, sharp and unrelenting. The voices of his family had a way of cutting through Royce’s defenses. Between the constant nagging at the back of his mind about Romeo, the specters that taunted him in his sleep and now his father’s expectations, he felt a different pressure on his shoulders.
He shifted his focus back to his phone, opening a text thread with Alix that he’d checked more times than he cared to admit. His last message hung there, unanswered:
’What you doing tonight?’
The little “read” receipt sat at the bottom like a taunt. He knew where she was—probably with Dominic. Her Instagram stories earlier in the day had made that clear. It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure out he’d taken her on a date, one of those corny all day type of outings that a corny motherfucker like Dominic would plan.
It wasn’t jealousy, he told himself. It was the principle. She blurred the lines between the two of them more often than not. Yet, there was a certain type of guy that she would ignore him for. The thought soured his mood further, and he took a long drink, the burn of the alcohol barely registering.
“Yo, Royce,” Khalil’s voice cut through the haze. “You good over there, or being a six figure nigga make you too good to chill with us field types?”
Royce forced a smirk, raising his cup in mock surrender. “Nah, I’m just making sure I’m sober enough to throw y’all asses in the elevator if y’all start throwing up in my shit. I don’t know if these young niggas can hold their liquor.”
Duke laughed, his deep voice booming over the music. “You ain’t gotta worry about me, O.G. I don’t know about the rest of ‘em though.”
“We gonna find out,” Marcus said, filling another round of shots and passing them around. He slid a glass down to Royce as well. “One of the host since without all that money he getting we’d be up in here drinking Taaka.”
Royce took the shot and held it up in a toast before downing it. “Shoutout to my guy Billy, you mean. I just put my name where he tells me to and then he tells me to check my bank account. Best job I’ve ever had.”
“Shit, I’m trying to get like you,” Jay said. The stocky linebacker leaned against the counter with a bottle of beer in his hand. “They told me they were going to get me like 10 or 20 bands when I got here. How long it take for that to come in?”
Khalil shook his head. “Don’t look at me, bruh. I ain’t got nothing but a couple hundred dollars here or there from some bullshit cryptocurrency shit. And I thought those motherfuckers were going to take my identity.”
Casey nodded, already needing to lean on Emmett to keep himself upright. The wiry receiver grinned to himself. “Because ain’t no fucking loyalty in this game no more, man. But it’s all good, either they gonna pay up or someone else will.”
Royce chuckled. “Look, if y’all want to get paid. Get on the field. Ball. That’s all there is to it. Gordon will kick y’all a few thousand just for getting out there and putting the jersey on.”
“You right,” Marcus said, snapping his fingers. “Gordon McKernan be paying LSU athletes like he fucking ‘em. Money on the night stand type shit.”
“Fucking who?” Royce asked. “You must be thinking about what your mama be doing because ain’t nobody fucking me. He might be fucking you, nigga.”
Marcus sucked his teeth. “It was a simile.”
“It’s euphemisms, you dumb motherfucker,” Khalil laughed.
The freshman joined in on the laughter and bantered, their youthful bravado filling the room. Royce’s phone buzzed again, and he glanced down, expecting an answer to his text to Alix but only found responses to other messages.
He exhaled, draining the rest of his drink in one gulp and setting the empty cup on the island. “Alright, let’s go,” he pointed to the freshmen as he grabbed his keys. “I need all you motherfuckers to pool y’all money for my drinks since y’all drank up my shit here.”
“How we gonna buy drinks?” Emmett asked, confusion on his face.
Khalil threw an arm around his shoulder and laughed. “You gon’ see.”
…
The bar they’d ended up in in Tigerland was a sensory overload the moment they stepped inside. The bass was deafening, the air thick with the smell of beer and sweat, and the crowd a swirling mix of college students packed shoulder to shoulder. Royce led the way, his presence commanding as bounced nodded him through without even glancing at IDs.
Inside, the group quickly claimed a spot near the bar, and it didn’t take long for Royce to start drawing attention. Drinks were thrust into his hands almost immediately, accompanied by slaps on the back and compliments from strangers.
“Bro, you had a crazy fucking season last year!” one guy shouted over the music leaning in to clap Royce on the shoulder. “You gonna take us to the natty, man.”
Royce nodded, accepting the drink with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. The buzz in his head grew with every sip, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the lingering frustrations bouncing around in his mind.
The freshmen scattered, soaking in the energy of the bar like kids let loose in a candy store once they’d realized their status as LSU football players granted them some additional privileges and exempted them from some rules. Marco was already chatting up a group of girls, while Casey and Jay were going shot for shot. Royce hung back near the bar, his eyes scanning the room out of habit more than interest.
That’s when he saw her. Dark hair, confident smile, moving like she owned the room. She’d do for a distraction for the night. Royce pushed off the bar and made his way over, cutting through the crowd with the ease of someone who knew exactly where he was going.
“What’s up, love?” he said smoothly, leaning against the table where she stood. “You look like you having a time, but I know I can make your night better.”
She laughed, her eyes sparkling as she tilted her head. “Bold. You always this confident?”
“Shit, yeah. I got good reason to be,” Royce replied, flashing a grin.
“And what would that reason be?”
Before the conversation could go any further, a guy appeared at her side, his arm sliding around her waist in a move that was more possessive than affectionate. His glare was sharp as he sized Royce up. “You got a problem, man?”
Royce didn’t even look at him, keeping his eyes on the girl, his confidence unshaken. “Nah, we ain’t got no problem,” he said evenly. “I was just talking to…”
“Sarah,” the girl said as if she wasn’t standing next to the guy.
“Yeah, Sarah,” Royce repeated.
“It’s about to be a problem if you don’t leave.” The guy’s grip on Sarah tightened, his jaw clenching as he glanced over Royce’s shoulder. Royce looked back to see Khalil, Marcus, Marco and Jay closing in behind him, their imposing presence enough to make the guy hesitate.
“Let’s go,” the guy muttered.
“Find me on IG, love,” Royce said to Sarah as the guy pulled her away. He turned back to his friends. “Guess it wasn’t no problem.”
“All this ass in here and you go looking for a bitch that got her man in here with her?” Marcus asked, shaking his head. “These young boys gonna think that’s normal shit. Corrupting these young minds early on.”
“She was fine shit, though,” Royce said, raising his drink. “Besides, bro wasn’t really about to fight over her. She ain’t give a fuck at all.”
Khalil laughed, clapping Royce on the back. “That’s the ones they fight the faster over.”
Royce laughed as his phone dinged in his pocket. He took it out and glanced at the text, shaking his head as he decided not to answer it instead letting the energy of the night carry him away.
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Soapy
- Posts: 16919
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Dying to Live
Another girl that has a man. The noticer is noticing hmm
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 17038
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 8018
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Dying to Live
The last but not only. We all remember that lady at Bama, my boy.
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 17038
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47