Dying to Live
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 17041
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
****Character List: https://dynastysports.net/viewtopic.php?p=69562#p69562****
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 17041
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Disaster
The restaurant buzzed softly with low conversation and the occasional clink of glasses. Royce adjusted his watch, glancing across the table at Alix, who was perusing the menu with a practiced ease that made him smile. Her hair framed her face perfectly, and the soft lighting gave her an almost ethereal glow. She caught him staring and raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.
“See something you like?” she teased, setting the menu down.
“Maybe,” Royce said, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “Depend on if you gonna be a bitch tonight or not.”
Alix chuckled, shaking her head. “Depends on if you deserve it.”
Their banter was effortless, but beneath the playful surface, Royce felt the familiar weight of uncertainty. He hadn’t planned much for the night—dinner at a spot Alix had mentioned liking, then maybe drinks afterward—but he knew it wasn’t just about the plans. It was about them.
As the waiter arrived and took their orders, Royce couldn’t help but notice how easily Alix moved through the motions, her confidence undeniable. When the waiter left, Royce folded his hands on the table, his expression softening.
“So,” he began, his voice low, “are we gonna talk about what I asked you the other day or we gonna keep dancing around it?”
Alix tilted her head, swirling her glass of water. “I figured that’s why you brought me here. Trying to get me liquored up so I got a loose tongue.”
Royce laughed, though it lacked his usual swagger. “You know how I do.”
“Well?” she prompted, leaning forward slightly. “Go ahead.”
Royce hesitated, his gaze dropping to the table for a moment before meeting hers. “I’m just trying to figure out why you do all this kind of shit with me, but when I bring up trying to make this into something real you clam up. It’s clear you fuck with me heavy. We wouldn’t be doing this still after all this time. I mean, I know I ain’t one of them lame ass niggas you can take home to your parents, but c’mon. I ain’t got that much drama in my life for you to be embarrassed by me.”
Alix’s eyes widened slightly, surprise flashing across her face before she softened. “Is that what you think? That I want some drama-free, picture-perfect life?”
Royce shrugged, his jaw tightening. “I’m just saying. It seem like that. Look at Dominic, Alix. That boy just scream two-parent, suburban upbringing. I’m over here all scarred up from getting gunned down next to my brother. It’s two whole different types of dude and to me, it feels like you want to be with the one that ain’t with the shits.”
Alix’s lips parted, and for a moment, she looked as though she might argue. Instead, she leaned back, her expression thoughtful. “You really don’t get it, do you? That isn’t the fucking issue, Royce. It’s never been about that.”
“Then what is it?” he asked, leaning back, his tone more insistent than he intended.
“It’s about you deciding what you want,” she said simply, her gaze unwavering. “Because I’m not going to keep guessing.”
Royce nodded slowly, her words hitting harder than he expected. “I told you what I want, though.”
Alix lifted her glass to her lips. “You haven’t shown me anything, though. Baton Rouge and LSU aren’t that big, Royce.”
The tension between them hung in the air for a moment before the waiter returned with their food, breaking the spell. The conversation shifted to lighter topics as they ate, and Royce was reminded of why he liked being around Alix so much. She made him laugh, made him think, and, despite the unresolved tension, made him feel like himself.
After dinner, they lingered outside the restaurant, the cool night air wrapping around them. Royce glanced at his watch, then at Alix. “You trying to sip something?”
“I don’t know,” she said, a teasing edge in her voice. “Are you paying for my drinks?”
Royce laughed. “I know you ain’t got no money in that purse. Yeah, I got you. Or you can pull that top down a little and get some other motherfucker to hook you up.”
Alix laughed, shaking her head. “Sounds like you’re trying to pawn me off on someone else so you can find another bitch to take home.”
“Could be,” Royce said, offering her his hand. “But I’m really just trying to get some vodka in you because you do that thing I like when you drunk.”
Alix hesitated for a moment before slipping her hand into his. “I’ll be drinking water then,” she said, though the smile on her face suggested she was ready for more.
.
…
The neon lights of the bar flickered in rhythm with the pounding bass, bathing the room in a kaleidoscope of colors. The air was thick with the mingling scents of spilled beer, cheap perfume, and the faint tang of sweat. Royce and Alix were pressed close together in the corner of the room, her arm draped lazily over his shoulders while his hand rested on her waist. They swayed together to the music, their laughter spilling out over the cacophony of voices and clinking glasses.
“I can’t believe you dragged me to this shit hole again,” Alix teased, her voice slightly slurred as she leaned closer, her lips brushing Royce’s ear.
“Ain’t nothing but white girls in here. Y’all love this fucking place,” Royce shot back with a smirk, his hand giving her waist a playful squeeze.
She rolled her eyes but didn’t move away. “Because the bartenders give heavy pours.”
The moment felt easy, light, as though the rest of the world had melted away. But when Alix’s drink ran low, Royce leaned down to whisper, “I’ll get us another round.”
Alix nodded, her fingers lingering on his arm as he pulled away and made his way to the bar. The crowd thickened as he approached, people pushing and jostling, but Royce moved through them with practiced ease. Reaching the bar, he flagged down the bartender and waited.
While he waited, a girl slid up beside him, her smile wide and unmistakably flirtatious. She had curly hair that bounced when she moved and a confidence that was hard to ignore.
“Hey,” she said, leaning close enough for Royce to hear her over the music. “You look familiar. You play for LSU, right?”
Royce nodded. He glanced at her and shrugged to himself, thinking she was pretty enough. “Yeah, something like that.”
“I thought so.” She batted her lashes, her fingers brushing his forearm. “You’re even cuter in person.”
Royce opened his mouth to respond, but before he could speak, a sharp voice cut through the din.
“Excuse me, bitch,” Alix said, appearing beside him, her expression steely. “This isn’t a fucking buffet. Go find some other dick.”
The girl turned, her smile fading into a smirk. “And who are you? I think he can speak for himself.”
“I’m the person telling you to go the fuck away. He’s out of your league anyway,” Alix snapped, stepping closer, her eyes flashing with the kind of fire Royce had seen before.
The girl’s smirk widened as she tilted her head. “How cute. Why don’t you fuck off?”
Royce stepped between them, his hands out in a calming gesture. “Alright, be cool, man. It ain’t that serious.”
But Alix wasn’t listening. “You need to learn some fucking respect,” she said, her voice rising.
The girl laughed, tipping her drink back mockingly before Alix’s patience snapped. In one swift motion, Alix threw the contents of her glass in the girl’s face. The girl gasped, water and ice dripping from her hair, and then lunged forward, shoving Alix back.
Chaos erupted.
The girl’s friends, having seen the commotion from a nearby table, rushed over. Royce moved quickly, stepping between Alix and the oncoming group. He caught a flailing slap meant for her, his jaw tightening as he used his body to shield her.
“Fucking stop!” Royce barked, grabbing Alix by the arm and pulling her toward the door.
“Let me fucking go!” Alix yelled, her voice thick with anger and alcohol. “She started it!”
“You finished it,” Royce snapped, his tone sharp as he pushed her through the crowd. Bouncers were already closing in, their burly frames cutting through the chaos. Royce didn’t look back, shoving Alix out into the cool night air before the situation could escalate further.
Outside, Alix stumbled, her heels clicking against the pavement. She was still fuming, her words tumbling out in an incoherent mix of anger and indignation. Royce let her vent, his chest rising and falling as he tried to calm himself.
“You didn’t have to pull me away!” Alix said finally, glaring at him. “She deserved it.”
“You lucky I did,” Royce replied, his voice low but firm. “You want to spend the night in the parish? Them bitches in there gonna shove all types of shit in you.”
Alix crossed her arms, still glaring at the ground. “I didn’t need you to save me.”
Royce sighed, running a hand over his hair. “The fuck I didn’t. You were about to get jumped by them chicks. Let’s just go home, Alix.”
She looked up at him, her anger dimming slightly as the reality of the situation settled in. With a frustrated sigh, she nodded, allowing Royce to guide her toward his car. The buzz of the night had soured, leaving both of them in tense silence as they walked away from the chaos they left behind.
The restaurant buzzed softly with low conversation and the occasional clink of glasses. Royce adjusted his watch, glancing across the table at Alix, who was perusing the menu with a practiced ease that made him smile. Her hair framed her face perfectly, and the soft lighting gave her an almost ethereal glow. She caught him staring and raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.
“See something you like?” she teased, setting the menu down.
“Maybe,” Royce said, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “Depend on if you gonna be a bitch tonight or not.”
Alix chuckled, shaking her head. “Depends on if you deserve it.”
Their banter was effortless, but beneath the playful surface, Royce felt the familiar weight of uncertainty. He hadn’t planned much for the night—dinner at a spot Alix had mentioned liking, then maybe drinks afterward—but he knew it wasn’t just about the plans. It was about them.
As the waiter arrived and took their orders, Royce couldn’t help but notice how easily Alix moved through the motions, her confidence undeniable. When the waiter left, Royce folded his hands on the table, his expression softening.
“So,” he began, his voice low, “are we gonna talk about what I asked you the other day or we gonna keep dancing around it?”
Alix tilted her head, swirling her glass of water. “I figured that’s why you brought me here. Trying to get me liquored up so I got a loose tongue.”
Royce laughed, though it lacked his usual swagger. “You know how I do.”
“Well?” she prompted, leaning forward slightly. “Go ahead.”
Royce hesitated, his gaze dropping to the table for a moment before meeting hers. “I’m just trying to figure out why you do all this kind of shit with me, but when I bring up trying to make this into something real you clam up. It’s clear you fuck with me heavy. We wouldn’t be doing this still after all this time. I mean, I know I ain’t one of them lame ass niggas you can take home to your parents, but c’mon. I ain’t got that much drama in my life for you to be embarrassed by me.”
Alix’s eyes widened slightly, surprise flashing across her face before she softened. “Is that what you think? That I want some drama-free, picture-perfect life?”
Royce shrugged, his jaw tightening. “I’m just saying. It seem like that. Look at Dominic, Alix. That boy just scream two-parent, suburban upbringing. I’m over here all scarred up from getting gunned down next to my brother. It’s two whole different types of dude and to me, it feels like you want to be with the one that ain’t with the shits.”
Alix’s lips parted, and for a moment, she looked as though she might argue. Instead, she leaned back, her expression thoughtful. “You really don’t get it, do you? That isn’t the fucking issue, Royce. It’s never been about that.”
“Then what is it?” he asked, leaning back, his tone more insistent than he intended.
“It’s about you deciding what you want,” she said simply, her gaze unwavering. “Because I’m not going to keep guessing.”
Royce nodded slowly, her words hitting harder than he expected. “I told you what I want, though.”
Alix lifted her glass to her lips. “You haven’t shown me anything, though. Baton Rouge and LSU aren’t that big, Royce.”
The tension between them hung in the air for a moment before the waiter returned with their food, breaking the spell. The conversation shifted to lighter topics as they ate, and Royce was reminded of why he liked being around Alix so much. She made him laugh, made him think, and, despite the unresolved tension, made him feel like himself.
After dinner, they lingered outside the restaurant, the cool night air wrapping around them. Royce glanced at his watch, then at Alix. “You trying to sip something?”
“I don’t know,” she said, a teasing edge in her voice. “Are you paying for my drinks?”
Royce laughed. “I know you ain’t got no money in that purse. Yeah, I got you. Or you can pull that top down a little and get some other motherfucker to hook you up.”
Alix laughed, shaking her head. “Sounds like you’re trying to pawn me off on someone else so you can find another bitch to take home.”
“Could be,” Royce said, offering her his hand. “But I’m really just trying to get some vodka in you because you do that thing I like when you drunk.”
Alix hesitated for a moment before slipping her hand into his. “I’ll be drinking water then,” she said, though the smile on her face suggested she was ready for more.
.
…
The neon lights of the bar flickered in rhythm with the pounding bass, bathing the room in a kaleidoscope of colors. The air was thick with the mingling scents of spilled beer, cheap perfume, and the faint tang of sweat. Royce and Alix were pressed close together in the corner of the room, her arm draped lazily over his shoulders while his hand rested on her waist. They swayed together to the music, their laughter spilling out over the cacophony of voices and clinking glasses.
“I can’t believe you dragged me to this shit hole again,” Alix teased, her voice slightly slurred as she leaned closer, her lips brushing Royce’s ear.
“Ain’t nothing but white girls in here. Y’all love this fucking place,” Royce shot back with a smirk, his hand giving her waist a playful squeeze.
She rolled her eyes but didn’t move away. “Because the bartenders give heavy pours.”
The moment felt easy, light, as though the rest of the world had melted away. But when Alix’s drink ran low, Royce leaned down to whisper, “I’ll get us another round.”
Alix nodded, her fingers lingering on his arm as he pulled away and made his way to the bar. The crowd thickened as he approached, people pushing and jostling, but Royce moved through them with practiced ease. Reaching the bar, he flagged down the bartender and waited.
While he waited, a girl slid up beside him, her smile wide and unmistakably flirtatious. She had curly hair that bounced when she moved and a confidence that was hard to ignore.
“Hey,” she said, leaning close enough for Royce to hear her over the music. “You look familiar. You play for LSU, right?”
Royce nodded. He glanced at her and shrugged to himself, thinking she was pretty enough. “Yeah, something like that.”
“I thought so.” She batted her lashes, her fingers brushing his forearm. “You’re even cuter in person.”
Royce opened his mouth to respond, but before he could speak, a sharp voice cut through the din.
“Excuse me, bitch,” Alix said, appearing beside him, her expression steely. “This isn’t a fucking buffet. Go find some other dick.”
The girl turned, her smile fading into a smirk. “And who are you? I think he can speak for himself.”
“I’m the person telling you to go the fuck away. He’s out of your league anyway,” Alix snapped, stepping closer, her eyes flashing with the kind of fire Royce had seen before.
The girl’s smirk widened as she tilted her head. “How cute. Why don’t you fuck off?”
Royce stepped between them, his hands out in a calming gesture. “Alright, be cool, man. It ain’t that serious.”
But Alix wasn’t listening. “You need to learn some fucking respect,” she said, her voice rising.
The girl laughed, tipping her drink back mockingly before Alix’s patience snapped. In one swift motion, Alix threw the contents of her glass in the girl’s face. The girl gasped, water and ice dripping from her hair, and then lunged forward, shoving Alix back.
Chaos erupted.
The girl’s friends, having seen the commotion from a nearby table, rushed over. Royce moved quickly, stepping between Alix and the oncoming group. He caught a flailing slap meant for her, his jaw tightening as he used his body to shield her.
“Fucking stop!” Royce barked, grabbing Alix by the arm and pulling her toward the door.
“Let me fucking go!” Alix yelled, her voice thick with anger and alcohol. “She started it!”
“You finished it,” Royce snapped, his tone sharp as he pushed her through the crowd. Bouncers were already closing in, their burly frames cutting through the chaos. Royce didn’t look back, shoving Alix out into the cool night air before the situation could escalate further.
Outside, Alix stumbled, her heels clicking against the pavement. She was still fuming, her words tumbling out in an incoherent mix of anger and indignation. Royce let her vent, his chest rising and falling as he tried to calm himself.
“You didn’t have to pull me away!” Alix said finally, glaring at him. “She deserved it.”
“You lucky I did,” Royce replied, his voice low but firm. “You want to spend the night in the parish? Them bitches in there gonna shove all types of shit in you.”
Alix crossed her arms, still glaring at the ground. “I didn’t need you to save me.”
Royce sighed, running a hand over his hair. “The fuck I didn’t. You were about to get jumped by them chicks. Let’s just go home, Alix.”
She looked up at him, her anger dimming slightly as the reality of the situation settled in. With a frustrated sigh, she nodded, allowing Royce to guide her toward his car. The buzz of the night had soured, leaving both of them in tense silence as they walked away from the chaos they left behind.
-
Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 17041
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Damage Control
The early morning light seeped through the cracks in Royce’s blackout curtains, casting muted rays across his room. The faint smell of alcohol and perfume lingered in the air, remnants of the chaotic night before. His head throbbed, each pulse reminding him of just how much he’d had to drink. The sharp trill of his phone dragged him from the fog of sleep.
Groaning, Royce reached out blindly, fumbling for the vibrating device on his nightstand. When his fingers finally found it, he turned onto his back, dislodging Alix’s arm draped over his chest. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake. Squinting at the screen, Royce saw Billy’s name flashing.
“What?” he mumbled groggily, pressing the phone to his ear.
“Royce, you seen the news?” Billy’s voice was sharp, cutting through the haze of Royce’s hangover.
“What news?” Royce asked, his voice raspy as he rubbed his temple. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his head hanging as he tried to piece himself together. “It’s not even eight, man.”
“It’s about you,” Billy said flatly. “Listen, BRPD’s coming to your place this morning. Let them in. Don’t give them any trouble.”
The words snapped Royce out of his haze. His spine straightened as his grip on the phone tightened. “The fuck you mean about me? Why are the fucking cops coming here?”
Billy exhaled loudly, frustration and urgency mingling in the sound. “Some girls at the bar last night are claiming you hit them during the fight. There’s video floating around, but it doesn’t show you throwing hands. Still, this thing’s already spiraling, and we’re gonna have to play cleanup. I’m working on it with LSU and the NIL folks. For now, you just stick to class, meetings, and practice. Nothing in bars for damn sure. Got it?”
Royce ran a hand over his face, his pulse spiking. “They fucking lying. Billy, I ain’t fucking hit no bitches. I was trying to stop a fight. I was trying to be the fucking good guy.”
“Doesn’t matter right now,” Billy snapped. “It’s about perception. Stay calm, Royce. I’ll handle this.”
The line went dead before Royce could respond. He lowered the phone, staring at the screen like it might give him answers.
“What’s wrong?” Alix’s sleepy voice came from behind him. She sat up, her hair tousled and her eyes half-closed. The concern in her tone matched the furrow in her brow as she studied his expression. “Who was that?”
Royce didn’t answer immediately, his mind racing. “Billy,” he said finally, his voice tight. “It’s nothing.”
But the words barely left his mouth when a loud knock echoed through the apartment. The sound was firm and deliberate, reverberating in the silence. Both Royce and Alix froze.
“BRPD!” a voice called from the other side of the door. “Come to the door!”
Alix’s eyes widened, and she whispered, “What the fuck is going on?”
Royce stood, his chest tight as he pulled on a shirt. “Stay in here,” he muttered to Alix, his tone sharp but more to mask his own nerves than to reprimand her.
The knock came again, louder this time, as Royce crossed the living room to the door. His hand hovered over the handle for a moment before he took a steadying breath and opened it.
Two officers stood on the other side, their expressions unreadable but professional. Royce felt the weight of their presence immediately.
“Royce Lafitte? We’d like to ask you a few questions,” one of them said, his tone formal but calm.
Royce nodded, his voice steady despite the storm brewing in his chest. “Alright. C’mon then. Let’s get this shit over with.”
Royce stepped aside, gesturing for the officers to enter. The last thing he wanted was the spectacle of being paraded out of his building in cuffs or being the subject of neighbors’ prying eyes. The officers nodded their thanks and stepped in, their presence immediately making the apartment feel suffocating. Royce shut the door behind them, his jaw clenched tight.
“Take a seat, Mr. Lafitte,” one of the officers said, motioning toward the couch.
Royce moved slowly, lowering himself onto the cushions. He felt the weight of their gazes, scrutinizing his every move.
The older officer, a tall man with a graying beard, pulled out a notepad. “We need to ask you some questions about the altercation at Fred’s last night. You were there?”
Royce nodded. “Yeah, I was there.”
The officer scribbled something down. “In the video, it looks like you shoved one of the women involved in the fight. Can you explain that?”
“If you seen the damn video then why the fuck are you in my living room?” Royce snapped, his frustration getting the best of him.
“If you want to get combative, we can have this conversation downtown. We’re doing you a favor by speaking with you here.”
Royce sighed and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he tried to find the right words. “I wasn’t shoving nobody. I was trying to break up the fight. That wasn’t just any girl,” he said, his tone steady but strained. “That was Alix. My… friend. She was in the middle of it, and I was trying to get her out before it got worse. But I ain’t hit nobody.”
The younger officer, a stocky man with a sharp, no-nonsense demeanor, raised an eyebrow. “And how do you know this Alix?”
Royce hesitated, the question throwing him. Before he could answer, the door to his bedroom creaked open, and Alix stepped out, her hair still slightly messy from sleep and her expression a mix of defiance and concern.
“He knows her because she’s me,” Alix said, her voice steady as she crossed the room to stand beside Royce. Her gaze darted between the two officers, her hands resting on her hips. “And he didn’t shove me. He was protecting me. I was drunk and picking a fight I shouldn’t have. If you’re looking for someone to blame, it’s me, not him.”
The older officer exchanged a glance with his partner before addressing Alix. “Miss, we’ll need to take your statement as well.”
Alix opened her mouth to argue, but Royce shook his head, the look in his eyes telling her not to fight this. “Just go with them, Alix,” he said quietly. “They were going to come looking for you anyway.”
She hesitated, her defiance faltering as she searched his face for reassurance. “Royce—”
“Just fu—Just do it,” he interrupted, his voice firm but not unkind. “Just go.”
Reluctantly, Alix nodded and turned toward the officers. The younger one gestured for her to follow, and she glanced back at Royce one last time as they walked out the door. The sound of it closing behind them felt deafening, leaving Royce alone in the oppressive silence of the room.
He sank back into the couch, staring at the empty space where Alix had been standing moments before. His thoughts spiraled, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. The image of her leaving with the police played over and over in his mind, each loop bringing with it a new wave of dread.
His phone buzzed on the coffee table, but he ignored it. It could have been Billy with updates or the school asking questions about the video, but he didn’t have the energy to deal with it.
For the first time, Royce allowed himself to think about the worst-case scenario. If this blew up any further, if the story twisted into something beyond his control, it could all be over. The career he’d worked so hard to build, the life he was trying to forge for himself—it could all go up in smoke because of one drunken night.
The early morning light seeped through the cracks in Royce’s blackout curtains, casting muted rays across his room. The faint smell of alcohol and perfume lingered in the air, remnants of the chaotic night before. His head throbbed, each pulse reminding him of just how much he’d had to drink. The sharp trill of his phone dragged him from the fog of sleep.
Groaning, Royce reached out blindly, fumbling for the vibrating device on his nightstand. When his fingers finally found it, he turned onto his back, dislodging Alix’s arm draped over his chest. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake. Squinting at the screen, Royce saw Billy’s name flashing.
“What?” he mumbled groggily, pressing the phone to his ear.
“Royce, you seen the news?” Billy’s voice was sharp, cutting through the haze of Royce’s hangover.
“What news?” Royce asked, his voice raspy as he rubbed his temple. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his head hanging as he tried to piece himself together. “It’s not even eight, man.”
“It’s about you,” Billy said flatly. “Listen, BRPD’s coming to your place this morning. Let them in. Don’t give them any trouble.”
The words snapped Royce out of his haze. His spine straightened as his grip on the phone tightened. “The fuck you mean about me? Why are the fucking cops coming here?”
Billy exhaled loudly, frustration and urgency mingling in the sound. “Some girls at the bar last night are claiming you hit them during the fight. There’s video floating around, but it doesn’t show you throwing hands. Still, this thing’s already spiraling, and we’re gonna have to play cleanup. I’m working on it with LSU and the NIL folks. For now, you just stick to class, meetings, and practice. Nothing in bars for damn sure. Got it?”
Royce ran a hand over his face, his pulse spiking. “They fucking lying. Billy, I ain’t fucking hit no bitches. I was trying to stop a fight. I was trying to be the fucking good guy.”
“Doesn’t matter right now,” Billy snapped. “It’s about perception. Stay calm, Royce. I’ll handle this.”
The line went dead before Royce could respond. He lowered the phone, staring at the screen like it might give him answers.
“What’s wrong?” Alix’s sleepy voice came from behind him. She sat up, her hair tousled and her eyes half-closed. The concern in her tone matched the furrow in her brow as she studied his expression. “Who was that?”
Royce didn’t answer immediately, his mind racing. “Billy,” he said finally, his voice tight. “It’s nothing.”
But the words barely left his mouth when a loud knock echoed through the apartment. The sound was firm and deliberate, reverberating in the silence. Both Royce and Alix froze.
“BRPD!” a voice called from the other side of the door. “Come to the door!”
Alix’s eyes widened, and she whispered, “What the fuck is going on?”
Royce stood, his chest tight as he pulled on a shirt. “Stay in here,” he muttered to Alix, his tone sharp but more to mask his own nerves than to reprimand her.
The knock came again, louder this time, as Royce crossed the living room to the door. His hand hovered over the handle for a moment before he took a steadying breath and opened it.
Two officers stood on the other side, their expressions unreadable but professional. Royce felt the weight of their presence immediately.
“Royce Lafitte? We’d like to ask you a few questions,” one of them said, his tone formal but calm.
Royce nodded, his voice steady despite the storm brewing in his chest. “Alright. C’mon then. Let’s get this shit over with.”
Royce stepped aside, gesturing for the officers to enter. The last thing he wanted was the spectacle of being paraded out of his building in cuffs or being the subject of neighbors’ prying eyes. The officers nodded their thanks and stepped in, their presence immediately making the apartment feel suffocating. Royce shut the door behind them, his jaw clenched tight.
“Take a seat, Mr. Lafitte,” one of the officers said, motioning toward the couch.
Royce moved slowly, lowering himself onto the cushions. He felt the weight of their gazes, scrutinizing his every move.
The older officer, a tall man with a graying beard, pulled out a notepad. “We need to ask you some questions about the altercation at Fred’s last night. You were there?”
Royce nodded. “Yeah, I was there.”
The officer scribbled something down. “In the video, it looks like you shoved one of the women involved in the fight. Can you explain that?”
“If you seen the damn video then why the fuck are you in my living room?” Royce snapped, his frustration getting the best of him.
“If you want to get combative, we can have this conversation downtown. We’re doing you a favor by speaking with you here.”
Royce sighed and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he tried to find the right words. “I wasn’t shoving nobody. I was trying to break up the fight. That wasn’t just any girl,” he said, his tone steady but strained. “That was Alix. My… friend. She was in the middle of it, and I was trying to get her out before it got worse. But I ain’t hit nobody.”
The younger officer, a stocky man with a sharp, no-nonsense demeanor, raised an eyebrow. “And how do you know this Alix?”
Royce hesitated, the question throwing him. Before he could answer, the door to his bedroom creaked open, and Alix stepped out, her hair still slightly messy from sleep and her expression a mix of defiance and concern.
“He knows her because she’s me,” Alix said, her voice steady as she crossed the room to stand beside Royce. Her gaze darted between the two officers, her hands resting on her hips. “And he didn’t shove me. He was protecting me. I was drunk and picking a fight I shouldn’t have. If you’re looking for someone to blame, it’s me, not him.”
The older officer exchanged a glance with his partner before addressing Alix. “Miss, we’ll need to take your statement as well.”
Alix opened her mouth to argue, but Royce shook his head, the look in his eyes telling her not to fight this. “Just go with them, Alix,” he said quietly. “They were going to come looking for you anyway.”
She hesitated, her defiance faltering as she searched his face for reassurance. “Royce—”
“Just fu—Just do it,” he interrupted, his voice firm but not unkind. “Just go.”
Reluctantly, Alix nodded and turned toward the officers. The younger one gestured for her to follow, and she glanced back at Royce one last time as they walked out the door. The sound of it closing behind them felt deafening, leaving Royce alone in the oppressive silence of the room.
He sank back into the couch, staring at the empty space where Alix had been standing moments before. His thoughts spiraled, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. The image of her leaving with the police played over and over in his mind, each loop bringing with it a new wave of dread.
His phone buzzed on the coffee table, but he ignored it. It could have been Billy with updates or the school asking questions about the video, but he didn’t have the energy to deal with it.
For the first time, Royce allowed himself to think about the worst-case scenario. If this blew up any further, if the story twisted into something beyond his control, it could all be over. The career he’d worked so hard to build, the life he was trying to forge for himself—it could all go up in smoke because of one drunken night.
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djp73
- Posts: 13293
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 13:42
Dying to Live
royce on some kam shit
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 8025
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Dying to Live
He ain't wrong. This some Kam shit fr 
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Soapy
- Posts: 16919
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Dying to Live
Y'all putting smut on Kam's name. ROYCE HAS A WEIRD CASE, WHY IS HE AROUND?
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 17041
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
He ain't even do anything!
Weird case? Royce's attorneys will be sending you a cease and desist. He didn't touch anyone that wouldn't be okay with him touching them.
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 17041
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Clear Eyes
The meeting room at LSU’s football operations center buzzed with a subdued energy as players filed in, taking their seats in the tiered rows that faced the podium. Royce sat near the middle, his usual air of confidence tempered by the tension that clung to the room. The murmurs of conversation among teammates drifted around him, but he kept his focus straight ahead, his mind still replaying the events of the past week.
Dan Lanning, LSU’s newly appointed head coach, entered the room with the poise and presence that had made him one of the most respected coaches in the country. Fresh off leading Oregon to a national championship, he exuded authority as he stepped to the podium, his crisp LSU polo perfectly tucked into khaki slacks. The room quieted immediately.
“Alright, gentlemen,” Lanning began, his voice steady but commanding. “First, let me say how excited I am to be here. LSU is one of the premier programs in college football, and I don’t take the responsibility of leading this team lightly.”
A smattering of nods rippled through the room, but Royce could feel the eyes of a few teammates glancing in his direction. He didn’t meet their stares, instead staring straight at Lanning as the coach continued.
“Now,” Lanning said, his tone sharpening, “let’s talk about what’s expected. This isn’t just about football. It’s about how you carry yourself off the field, in the classroom, and in this community. This program has a legacy, and every single one of you represents it every time you step outside these walls.”
Royce shifted in his seat, the weight of the words settling heavily on his shoulders. Lanning’s eyes swept across the room, pausing just long enough on Royce to make it clear the message wasn’t random.
“We all make mistakes,” Lanning continued, his gaze moving on. “But part of being a leader—part of being a man—is learning from those mistakes and not letting them define you. You can’t put yourself in situations that jeopardize your future, this team, or this program. That’s non-negotiable.”
The room was silent, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Royce clenched his fists, his jaw tightening as he fought the urge to react. He knew Lanning wasn’t calling him out directly, but the implication was there, hanging in the air for everyone to interpret.
“We’re building something here,” Lanning said, his voice softening just slightly. “And it’s going to take all of us. Accountability starts now.”
He paused, letting the words sink in before moving on to logistical details about the spring practice schedule and the expectations for offseason training. The tension in the room began to dissipate, but Royce couldn’t shake the unease that had settled deep in his chest.
As the meeting wrapped up, Royce stayed seated, waiting for the room to empty out a bit before making his way to the exit. J.J. and Dewon lingered nearby, giving him knowing looks but saying nothing. He appreciated their silence; the last thing he needed was another reminder of what had happened.
Outside the operations center, Royce leaned against the wall, pulling his phone from his pocket. A text from Billy sat unread, the preview reading, “Call me when you’re done with your meeting.” He sighed, running a hand over his face before pocketing the phone again.
As the meeting room emptied, Royce stayed behind, leaning against the back wall, his arms crossed. He’d hoped to slip out unnoticed, but when he caught sight of Coach Lanning standing near the podium, speaking quietly with defensive coordinator Tosh Lupoi, he knew he wasn’t getting off that easy.
Lanning glanced his way, and with a subtle nod to Lupoi, motioned for Royce to approach. Royce’s stomach tightened, but he kept his expression neutral, pushing off the wall and strolling over as casually as he could manage.
“Royce,” Lanning said, his tone measured, offering a brief but firm handshake. “Glad you could stick around for a minute.”
“Coach,” Royce replied, meeting Lanning’s steady gaze.
Lupoi stepped in, his hulking frame and sharp eyes adding weight to the moment. “You’ve had quite the freshman season,” he said, his voice tinged with approval. “Breaking records, making plays. You’re going to be a key part of this defense moving forward.”
“Appreciate that,” Royce said, nodding.
Lanning’s lips curved into a faint smile, but his eyes remained serious. “We’re not here to talk about stats, though, Royce. You’ve got the talent—no one’s questioning that. But talent only gets you so far.”
Royce stiffened slightly, his hands slipping into his pockets. He knew where this was going.
Lanning exchanged a glance with Lupoi before continuing. “We’re building something bigger here, and you’re part of that foundation. That means leadership, accountability, and making smart choices on and off the field.”
Lupoi crossed his arms, his gaze sharp. “And off the field matters just as much, if not more. You’ve got eyes on you now, Royce. Fans, media, people who want to see you succeed—and others who’d be happy to see you fail.”
Royce swallowed, his jaw tightening. “I get it, Coach. And about the—”
Lanning held up a hand, cutting him off gently but firmly. “We’re not here to rehash what happened. I’ve seen the reports, and I’ve watched the video. I don’t know what went down entirely, but I’ll take your word that it wasn’t what it looked like.”
“It wasn’t,” Royce said quickly, his voice firm but low. “I told the cops the truth. I was just trying to get my friend out of there before it turned into something else.”
Lanning nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. “Good. Because the last thing you need is for a situation like that to define you. You’ve got a target on your back. Not just from opposing teams, but from anyone who sees an opportunity to drag you down. You’ve got to keep your head on a swivel.”
Lupoi leaned forward slightly, his presence commanding. “You’ve got the potential to be great, All-American, first-round draft pick—great. But all it takes is one bad decision, one wrong move, to lose everything.”
Royce nodded again, the weight of their words settling heavily on him. “I hear y’all, Coach. I’ll do better.”
Lanning’s expression softened just slightly. “We’re not here to come down on you, Royce. We’re here because we believe in you. But belief isn’t enough. You’ve got to believe in yourself and the path you’re on—and protect it.”
“Understood,” Royce said, his voice steady.
Lanning stepped back, offering a small, encouraging smile. “Good. Now get to work. Spring practice is just around the corner, and we’ve got a lot to do.”
As Royce left the room, the weight of the conversation hung heavy in his chest. The praise from two of the most respected coaches in the game should have felt good, but the subtle reminder of how quickly it could all unravel left him uneasy. Outside, the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the campus, and Royce paused, looking out up the hill.
The words replayed in his mind: You’ve got a target on your back.
He took a deep breath and headed back toward the dorms, determined to keep moving forward, even as the shadows of the past loomed behind him.
~~~~~~~~~~
The faint hum of the TV provided the only sound in the dorm room as Donovan scrolled through his phone, sprawled across the second-hand futon they’d crammed into their shared space. Malik sat at the small desk by the window, staring at the open textbook in front of him but not actually reading.
“Yo, dawg,” Donovan called, his voice tinged with something Malik couldn’t quite place. “You seen this shit?”
“What?” Malik replied, not looking up.
Donovan leaned forward, his phone screen glowing brighter as he turned it to face Malik. “This video, man. It’s your boy Royce.”
Malik frowned, swiveling his chair to look at the screen. Donovan hit play, and the familiar chaos of a college bar filled the tiny room. The shaky footage showed Royce standing near a bar, hands raised as he tried to intervene in a heated argument between two women. The scene turned chaotic as drinks flew, bouncers rushed in, and Royce shielded one of the girls—Alix.
Malik’s jaw clenched, his stomach tightening as the pieces fell into place. Royce wasn’t just trying to help Alix out of a fight—he was protecting her. The way his hands lingered on her shoulders, the way she leaned into him before the video cut off—it all screamed intimacy.
“See,” Donovan said, sitting up and smirking. “I told you that nigga was hitting that shit. That boy was taking all kinds of rights and lefts to make sure them chicks ain’t bat the piss out her ass. Who do that shit if they ain’t fucking? I would’ve dipped.”
Malik sucked his teeth and forced a laugh, waving Donovan off. “Man, I ain’t about neither one of they asses. That’s high school shit. Ain’t like they ain’t got fine shit out here.”
But the tightening in his chest betrayed him. He couldn’t stop watching the loop of Royce and Alix on the screen. Every movement felt like a punch to the gut, and his mind raced with questions: How long has this been going on? Did Royce ever even tell me?
“You sure you don’t care?” Donovan pressed, his tone light but probing. “’Cause I ain’t gonna clown you about it or nothing. I know you were close to her and shit.”
“I’m straight, man. I don’t care about that shit,” Malik said sharply, swiveling back toward his desk. He stared down at the textbook again, but the words were meaningless now. “Ain’t nobody worried about what’s going on back in no fucking Baton Rouge.”
Donovan raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further. “Alright, my nigga. Just thought you’d want to see it.”
As Donovan went back to scrolling, Malik’s hand tightened into a fist beneath the desk. The anger simmered just below the surface, threatening to boil over. It wasn’t just about Alix—it was about trust, loyalty. Royce was supposed to be his boy, and now it felt like everything between them had been a lie.
He leaned back in the chair, staring at the ceiling, the fluorescent light buzzing faintly above him. His jaw clenched as he tried to push the thoughts away, but they refused to leave. Royce and Alix—two people he thought he knew—had been hiding something, and Malik couldn’t shake the feeling that it had started long before the video made its way to Reno.
The meeting room at LSU’s football operations center buzzed with a subdued energy as players filed in, taking their seats in the tiered rows that faced the podium. Royce sat near the middle, his usual air of confidence tempered by the tension that clung to the room. The murmurs of conversation among teammates drifted around him, but he kept his focus straight ahead, his mind still replaying the events of the past week.
Dan Lanning, LSU’s newly appointed head coach, entered the room with the poise and presence that had made him one of the most respected coaches in the country. Fresh off leading Oregon to a national championship, he exuded authority as he stepped to the podium, his crisp LSU polo perfectly tucked into khaki slacks. The room quieted immediately.
“Alright, gentlemen,” Lanning began, his voice steady but commanding. “First, let me say how excited I am to be here. LSU is one of the premier programs in college football, and I don’t take the responsibility of leading this team lightly.”
A smattering of nods rippled through the room, but Royce could feel the eyes of a few teammates glancing in his direction. He didn’t meet their stares, instead staring straight at Lanning as the coach continued.
“Now,” Lanning said, his tone sharpening, “let’s talk about what’s expected. This isn’t just about football. It’s about how you carry yourself off the field, in the classroom, and in this community. This program has a legacy, and every single one of you represents it every time you step outside these walls.”
Royce shifted in his seat, the weight of the words settling heavily on his shoulders. Lanning’s eyes swept across the room, pausing just long enough on Royce to make it clear the message wasn’t random.
“We all make mistakes,” Lanning continued, his gaze moving on. “But part of being a leader—part of being a man—is learning from those mistakes and not letting them define you. You can’t put yourself in situations that jeopardize your future, this team, or this program. That’s non-negotiable.”
The room was silent, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Royce clenched his fists, his jaw tightening as he fought the urge to react. He knew Lanning wasn’t calling him out directly, but the implication was there, hanging in the air for everyone to interpret.
“We’re building something here,” Lanning said, his voice softening just slightly. “And it’s going to take all of us. Accountability starts now.”
He paused, letting the words sink in before moving on to logistical details about the spring practice schedule and the expectations for offseason training. The tension in the room began to dissipate, but Royce couldn’t shake the unease that had settled deep in his chest.
As the meeting wrapped up, Royce stayed seated, waiting for the room to empty out a bit before making his way to the exit. J.J. and Dewon lingered nearby, giving him knowing looks but saying nothing. He appreciated their silence; the last thing he needed was another reminder of what had happened.
Outside the operations center, Royce leaned against the wall, pulling his phone from his pocket. A text from Billy sat unread, the preview reading, “Call me when you’re done with your meeting.” He sighed, running a hand over his face before pocketing the phone again.
As the meeting room emptied, Royce stayed behind, leaning against the back wall, his arms crossed. He’d hoped to slip out unnoticed, but when he caught sight of Coach Lanning standing near the podium, speaking quietly with defensive coordinator Tosh Lupoi, he knew he wasn’t getting off that easy.
Lanning glanced his way, and with a subtle nod to Lupoi, motioned for Royce to approach. Royce’s stomach tightened, but he kept his expression neutral, pushing off the wall and strolling over as casually as he could manage.
“Royce,” Lanning said, his tone measured, offering a brief but firm handshake. “Glad you could stick around for a minute.”
“Coach,” Royce replied, meeting Lanning’s steady gaze.
Lupoi stepped in, his hulking frame and sharp eyes adding weight to the moment. “You’ve had quite the freshman season,” he said, his voice tinged with approval. “Breaking records, making plays. You’re going to be a key part of this defense moving forward.”
“Appreciate that,” Royce said, nodding.
Lanning’s lips curved into a faint smile, but his eyes remained serious. “We’re not here to talk about stats, though, Royce. You’ve got the talent—no one’s questioning that. But talent only gets you so far.”
Royce stiffened slightly, his hands slipping into his pockets. He knew where this was going.
Lanning exchanged a glance with Lupoi before continuing. “We’re building something bigger here, and you’re part of that foundation. That means leadership, accountability, and making smart choices on and off the field.”
Lupoi crossed his arms, his gaze sharp. “And off the field matters just as much, if not more. You’ve got eyes on you now, Royce. Fans, media, people who want to see you succeed—and others who’d be happy to see you fail.”
Royce swallowed, his jaw tightening. “I get it, Coach. And about the—”
Lanning held up a hand, cutting him off gently but firmly. “We’re not here to rehash what happened. I’ve seen the reports, and I’ve watched the video. I don’t know what went down entirely, but I’ll take your word that it wasn’t what it looked like.”
“It wasn’t,” Royce said quickly, his voice firm but low. “I told the cops the truth. I was just trying to get my friend out of there before it turned into something else.”
Lanning nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. “Good. Because the last thing you need is for a situation like that to define you. You’ve got a target on your back. Not just from opposing teams, but from anyone who sees an opportunity to drag you down. You’ve got to keep your head on a swivel.”
Lupoi leaned forward slightly, his presence commanding. “You’ve got the potential to be great, All-American, first-round draft pick—great. But all it takes is one bad decision, one wrong move, to lose everything.”
Royce nodded again, the weight of their words settling heavily on him. “I hear y’all, Coach. I’ll do better.”
Lanning’s expression softened just slightly. “We’re not here to come down on you, Royce. We’re here because we believe in you. But belief isn’t enough. You’ve got to believe in yourself and the path you’re on—and protect it.”
“Understood,” Royce said, his voice steady.
Lanning stepped back, offering a small, encouraging smile. “Good. Now get to work. Spring practice is just around the corner, and we’ve got a lot to do.”
As Royce left the room, the weight of the conversation hung heavy in his chest. The praise from two of the most respected coaches in the game should have felt good, but the subtle reminder of how quickly it could all unravel left him uneasy. Outside, the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the campus, and Royce paused, looking out up the hill.
The words replayed in his mind: You’ve got a target on your back.
He took a deep breath and headed back toward the dorms, determined to keep moving forward, even as the shadows of the past loomed behind him.
~~~~~~~~~~
The faint hum of the TV provided the only sound in the dorm room as Donovan scrolled through his phone, sprawled across the second-hand futon they’d crammed into their shared space. Malik sat at the small desk by the window, staring at the open textbook in front of him but not actually reading.
“Yo, dawg,” Donovan called, his voice tinged with something Malik couldn’t quite place. “You seen this shit?”
“What?” Malik replied, not looking up.
Donovan leaned forward, his phone screen glowing brighter as he turned it to face Malik. “This video, man. It’s your boy Royce.”
Malik frowned, swiveling his chair to look at the screen. Donovan hit play, and the familiar chaos of a college bar filled the tiny room. The shaky footage showed Royce standing near a bar, hands raised as he tried to intervene in a heated argument between two women. The scene turned chaotic as drinks flew, bouncers rushed in, and Royce shielded one of the girls—Alix.
Malik’s jaw clenched, his stomach tightening as the pieces fell into place. Royce wasn’t just trying to help Alix out of a fight—he was protecting her. The way his hands lingered on her shoulders, the way she leaned into him before the video cut off—it all screamed intimacy.
“See,” Donovan said, sitting up and smirking. “I told you that nigga was hitting that shit. That boy was taking all kinds of rights and lefts to make sure them chicks ain’t bat the piss out her ass. Who do that shit if they ain’t fucking? I would’ve dipped.”
Malik sucked his teeth and forced a laugh, waving Donovan off. “Man, I ain’t about neither one of they asses. That’s high school shit. Ain’t like they ain’t got fine shit out here.”
But the tightening in his chest betrayed him. He couldn’t stop watching the loop of Royce and Alix on the screen. Every movement felt like a punch to the gut, and his mind raced with questions: How long has this been going on? Did Royce ever even tell me?
“You sure you don’t care?” Donovan pressed, his tone light but probing. “’Cause I ain’t gonna clown you about it or nothing. I know you were close to her and shit.”
“I’m straight, man. I don’t care about that shit,” Malik said sharply, swiveling back toward his desk. He stared down at the textbook again, but the words were meaningless now. “Ain’t nobody worried about what’s going on back in no fucking Baton Rouge.”
Donovan raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further. “Alright, my nigga. Just thought you’d want to see it.”
As Donovan went back to scrolling, Malik’s hand tightened into a fist beneath the desk. The anger simmered just below the surface, threatening to boil over. It wasn’t just about Alix—it was about trust, loyalty. Royce was supposed to be his boy, and now it felt like everything between them had been a lie.
He leaned back in the chair, staring at the ceiling, the fluorescent light buzzing faintly above him. His jaw clenched as he tried to push the thoughts away, but they refused to leave. Royce and Alix—two people he thought he knew—had been hiding something, and Malik couldn’t shake the feeling that it had started long before the video made its way to Reno.
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Soapy
- Posts: 16919
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Dying to Live
les miles ahh beat
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 8025
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Dying to Live
Malik going through it over two people he barely been in contact with in over a year? Soft.