Captain Canada wrote: ↑24 Feb 2025, 21:51Only you would wear a story where the father might whack his son
Dying to Live
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 17062
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
-
Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 17062
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Primetime Performer
-
Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 17062
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Gulf of Man
The bar had that familiar low-lit haze, a place meant for people who wanted to be just social enough to not feel alone but not enough to actually be noticed.
Royce didn’t mind it.
It wasn’t one of those campus bars where people were waiting to pounce on him, drunk off wins and hoping to get close to whatever future they thought he was destined for. It was quieter here. More neutral ground.
Across from him, Effie stirred her drink absentmindedly, her nails clicking against the glass. The way she carried herself was so different from most of the girls he usually found himself around. There was no angle with her, no attempt to impress him or pull him into something.
She was just Effie. Unbothered. Cool. And clearly not falling for any of his shit.
"You really let me convince you to come out with me, huh?" Royce smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Thought you was gon’ keep playin' hard to get forever."
Effie let out a dry snort, shaking her head. "It’s not playing hard to get to go out for drinks with your buddies."
Royce grinned, tipping his drink toward her. "Yeah, yeah, buddies. That’s what I would call it, too." He took a sip before setting the glass down. "I just wanna know if your man got hands in case this goes left."
Effie raised a brow, unimpressed. "Chris would beat your ass."
Royce let out a low chuckle. "Be fucking for real. I’ve seen bro before. I don’t think he got it in him. He seem like the ‘talk it out’ type."
"That’s because he’s mature."
"That’s what they call it?" Royce teased, watching as she rolled her eyes.
"This is why I said no for so long," she muttered, shaking her head. "You talk too damn much."
"But it works, though," he said smoothly, flashing that lazy grin. "Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here talking about going out with your ‘buddy.’"
She didn't react immediately, just took another slow sip of her drink. Then, her eyes flicked up at him, something unreadable in her expression.
"You know, you should probably stop running from things you think you shouldn’t have," she said casually.
The change in tone caught him off guard.
His grin didn’t fade completely, but it froze just a little at the edges.
"What?"
She tilted her head, tapping her nails against her glass. "That pretty brunette you’ve been spending time with? What’s her name? Alix?"
Royce kept his expression easy, but there was no denying the flicker of something tightening in his chest.
"Alix, huh?" he repeated, smirking to cover whatever the hell he was actually feeling. "No one’s running from anything."
Effie scoffed. "Y’all are attached at the hip, but you’re hounding me. I would say that’s the exact opposite of what you should be doing."
Royce leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "And what exactly does that mean?"
Effie held his gaze for a beat, then shrugged. "I’m just saying. How’s that saying go? One in hand is better than two in the bush? Y’all clearly have a thing because you don’t have a problem letting people think you do. What is it? Trying to convince her to live the WAG life while you’re out running through the campus?"
Royce exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "I’m as loyal as you are, Effie."
She gave him a look, one that said she wasn’t buying the act, but she let it go.
For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, the noise of the bar buzzing around them.
Then Effie spoke again, her voice softer, more thoughtful.
"I can relate to you, you know."
Royce glanced at her, his curiosity piqued. "How’s that?"
She took a long sip of her drink, her gaze flickering away for a second before returning to his.
She just shrugged. "I can relate."
Royce narrowed his eyes slightly, waiting for her to elaborate.
Effie didn’t talk about herself much. She had always been a little guarded, a little distant in a way that wasn’t standoffish—just deliberate.
She didn’t like to give people too much to hold onto.
And yet, for some reason, she had said that.
"You gon’ leave it at that?" Royce asked, pressing just a little.
Effie smiled, but it wasn’t the playful one from before. It was something smaller, a little worn around the edges.
She shrugged again. "I understand."
Royce let it sit between them for a second, studying her.
She was a hard one to pin down.
It wasn’t that she was hiding something—it was that she had already made peace with not needing to share it.
And for some reason, that stuck with him.
The rest of the night passed easily, both of them falling into the kind of rhythm that made it easy to forget all the things neither of them were saying out loud.
They laughed, they talked, they threw jabs at each other like they had been doing this forever.
But when they left the bar and went their separate ways, Royce couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more under the surface.
And that for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to figure out what it was.
~~~~~~~~~~
Alix sat cross-legged on her bed, her laptop balanced against her thighs, fingers hovering over the keyboard. She had been staring at the same paragraph for the past fifteen minutes, rereading the same sentence, but nothing was sinking in.
The room was warm, the faint scent of Ashlee’s vanilla-scented candles mixing with the artificial heat from the small heater in the corner.
Across the room, Ashlee was curled up in her desk chair, her legs tucked under her as she scrolled through her phone, idly twirling a strand of hair around her finger.
Then came the knock.
Alix didn’t even need to look up to know who it was.
Ashlee’s entire posture shifted.
She sat up straighter, her phone forgotten on her lap as she practically sprang out of her seat. She wasn’t even at the door yet, but her entire face had softened in anticipation.
“Hey, babe,” Ashlee greeted, voice already lighter, full of something warm and familiar.
Alix glanced up briefly as Jason stepped inside.
Tall, broad-shouldered, the kind of guy who always seemed effortlessly put together. Sweatshirt perfectly fitted, sneakers clean, carrying himself like he knew exactly where he belonged.
"Hey, beautiful," he said, his voice warm, easy.
He leaned in, pressing a kiss to Ashlee’s forehead without hesitation, his hands resting on her waist with the kind of casual affection that felt both practiced and instinctual.
Alix immediately looked away.
Not because she minded.
But because it felt too intimate, too natural, like she was seeing something she wasn’t supposed to.
She cleared her throat. “I can leave if y’all want some privacy,” she offered, already reaching to close her laptop.
But Ashlee shook her head. “Oh, no, you don’t have to.”
Jason grinned, sliding onto Ashlee’s bed like it was his second home.
"Yeah, you good, Alix. Unless you’re trying to go see your man."
Alix let out a small, dry chuckle, forcing herself to refocus on her laptop.
"He’s busy."
Jason nodded, but there was something about the way he glanced at her, like he had picked up on something she hadn’t meant to let slip.
"How’s studying going?" he asked, turning his attention back to Ashlee, his arm draping casually around her shoulders.
Alix didn’t mean to watch.
Didn’t mean to notice the way Ashlee leaned into him, the way Jason reached over to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, fingers grazing her jaw like it was second nature.
It was small. Subtle.
But it was the kind of thing Royce never did.
The realization settled heavy in her chest.
Royce wasn’t unkind. He wasn’t cold. But he also wasn’t this.
He didn’t pull her into him absentmindedly when they sat next to each other. He didn’t casually brush his fingers against her skin like he needed to feel her just to remind himself she was there.
Everything with Royce was unspoken, undefined. A tangle of glances, of shared silences, of things not said.
Ashlee laughed at something Jason said, and he grinned, dropping another kiss on her temple like it was nothing.
Alix blinked, forcing herself to focus on her screen.
She wasn’t jealous.
At least, she didn’t think she was.
She just… noticed.
And the fact that she noticed at all bothered her more than she wanted to admit.
She told herself it was because she and Royce weren’t like that.
That what they had—whatever it was—didn’t work like that.
That she didn’t want it to.
But the longer she sat there, half-listening to Jason and Ashlee talk like nobody else in the world existed, the more she wondered if maybe she had just been telling herself that.
That maybe, somewhere in the parts of herself she didn’t want to pick apart, she wanted something more than stolen moments and unanswered questions.
Maybe she wanted someone who held her like they meant it.
Not like it was something they were trying to avoid acknowledging.
The bar had that familiar low-lit haze, a place meant for people who wanted to be just social enough to not feel alone but not enough to actually be noticed.
Royce didn’t mind it.
It wasn’t one of those campus bars where people were waiting to pounce on him, drunk off wins and hoping to get close to whatever future they thought he was destined for. It was quieter here. More neutral ground.
Across from him, Effie stirred her drink absentmindedly, her nails clicking against the glass. The way she carried herself was so different from most of the girls he usually found himself around. There was no angle with her, no attempt to impress him or pull him into something.
She was just Effie. Unbothered. Cool. And clearly not falling for any of his shit.
"You really let me convince you to come out with me, huh?" Royce smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Thought you was gon’ keep playin' hard to get forever."
Effie let out a dry snort, shaking her head. "It’s not playing hard to get to go out for drinks with your buddies."
Royce grinned, tipping his drink toward her. "Yeah, yeah, buddies. That’s what I would call it, too." He took a sip before setting the glass down. "I just wanna know if your man got hands in case this goes left."
Effie raised a brow, unimpressed. "Chris would beat your ass."
Royce let out a low chuckle. "Be fucking for real. I’ve seen bro before. I don’t think he got it in him. He seem like the ‘talk it out’ type."
"That’s because he’s mature."
"That’s what they call it?" Royce teased, watching as she rolled her eyes.
"This is why I said no for so long," she muttered, shaking her head. "You talk too damn much."
"But it works, though," he said smoothly, flashing that lazy grin. "Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here talking about going out with your ‘buddy.’"
She didn't react immediately, just took another slow sip of her drink. Then, her eyes flicked up at him, something unreadable in her expression.
"You know, you should probably stop running from things you think you shouldn’t have," she said casually.
The change in tone caught him off guard.
His grin didn’t fade completely, but it froze just a little at the edges.
"What?"
She tilted her head, tapping her nails against her glass. "That pretty brunette you’ve been spending time with? What’s her name? Alix?"
Royce kept his expression easy, but there was no denying the flicker of something tightening in his chest.
"Alix, huh?" he repeated, smirking to cover whatever the hell he was actually feeling. "No one’s running from anything."
Effie scoffed. "Y’all are attached at the hip, but you’re hounding me. I would say that’s the exact opposite of what you should be doing."
Royce leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "And what exactly does that mean?"
Effie held his gaze for a beat, then shrugged. "I’m just saying. How’s that saying go? One in hand is better than two in the bush? Y’all clearly have a thing because you don’t have a problem letting people think you do. What is it? Trying to convince her to live the WAG life while you’re out running through the campus?"
Royce exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "I’m as loyal as you are, Effie."
She gave him a look, one that said she wasn’t buying the act, but she let it go.
For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, the noise of the bar buzzing around them.
Then Effie spoke again, her voice softer, more thoughtful.
"I can relate to you, you know."
Royce glanced at her, his curiosity piqued. "How’s that?"
She took a long sip of her drink, her gaze flickering away for a second before returning to his.
She just shrugged. "I can relate."
Royce narrowed his eyes slightly, waiting for her to elaborate.
Effie didn’t talk about herself much. She had always been a little guarded, a little distant in a way that wasn’t standoffish—just deliberate.
She didn’t like to give people too much to hold onto.
And yet, for some reason, she had said that.
"You gon’ leave it at that?" Royce asked, pressing just a little.
Effie smiled, but it wasn’t the playful one from before. It was something smaller, a little worn around the edges.
She shrugged again. "I understand."
Royce let it sit between them for a second, studying her.
She was a hard one to pin down.
It wasn’t that she was hiding something—it was that she had already made peace with not needing to share it.
And for some reason, that stuck with him.
The rest of the night passed easily, both of them falling into the kind of rhythm that made it easy to forget all the things neither of them were saying out loud.
They laughed, they talked, they threw jabs at each other like they had been doing this forever.
But when they left the bar and went their separate ways, Royce couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more under the surface.
And that for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to figure out what it was.
~~~~~~~~~~
Alix sat cross-legged on her bed, her laptop balanced against her thighs, fingers hovering over the keyboard. She had been staring at the same paragraph for the past fifteen minutes, rereading the same sentence, but nothing was sinking in.
The room was warm, the faint scent of Ashlee’s vanilla-scented candles mixing with the artificial heat from the small heater in the corner.
Across the room, Ashlee was curled up in her desk chair, her legs tucked under her as she scrolled through her phone, idly twirling a strand of hair around her finger.
Then came the knock.
Alix didn’t even need to look up to know who it was.
Ashlee’s entire posture shifted.
She sat up straighter, her phone forgotten on her lap as she practically sprang out of her seat. She wasn’t even at the door yet, but her entire face had softened in anticipation.
“Hey, babe,” Ashlee greeted, voice already lighter, full of something warm and familiar.
Alix glanced up briefly as Jason stepped inside.
Tall, broad-shouldered, the kind of guy who always seemed effortlessly put together. Sweatshirt perfectly fitted, sneakers clean, carrying himself like he knew exactly where he belonged.
"Hey, beautiful," he said, his voice warm, easy.
He leaned in, pressing a kiss to Ashlee’s forehead without hesitation, his hands resting on her waist with the kind of casual affection that felt both practiced and instinctual.
Alix immediately looked away.
Not because she minded.
But because it felt too intimate, too natural, like she was seeing something she wasn’t supposed to.
She cleared her throat. “I can leave if y’all want some privacy,” she offered, already reaching to close her laptop.
But Ashlee shook her head. “Oh, no, you don’t have to.”
Jason grinned, sliding onto Ashlee’s bed like it was his second home.
"Yeah, you good, Alix. Unless you’re trying to go see your man."
Alix let out a small, dry chuckle, forcing herself to refocus on her laptop.
"He’s busy."
Jason nodded, but there was something about the way he glanced at her, like he had picked up on something she hadn’t meant to let slip.
"How’s studying going?" he asked, turning his attention back to Ashlee, his arm draping casually around her shoulders.
Alix didn’t mean to watch.
Didn’t mean to notice the way Ashlee leaned into him, the way Jason reached over to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, fingers grazing her jaw like it was second nature.
It was small. Subtle.
But it was the kind of thing Royce never did.
The realization settled heavy in her chest.
Royce wasn’t unkind. He wasn’t cold. But he also wasn’t this.
He didn’t pull her into him absentmindedly when they sat next to each other. He didn’t casually brush his fingers against her skin like he needed to feel her just to remind himself she was there.
Everything with Royce was unspoken, undefined. A tangle of glances, of shared silences, of things not said.
Ashlee laughed at something Jason said, and he grinned, dropping another kiss on her temple like it was nothing.
Alix blinked, forcing herself to focus on her screen.
She wasn’t jealous.
At least, she didn’t think she was.
She just… noticed.
And the fact that she noticed at all bothered her more than she wanted to admit.
She told herself it was because she and Royce weren’t like that.
That what they had—whatever it was—didn’t work like that.
That she didn’t want it to.
But the longer she sat there, half-listening to Jason and Ashlee talk like nobody else in the world existed, the more she wondered if maybe she had just been telling herself that.
That maybe, somewhere in the parts of herself she didn’t want to pick apart, she wanted something more than stolen moments and unanswered questions.
Maybe she wanted someone who held her like they meant it.
Not like it was something they were trying to avoid acknowledging.
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 8044
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Dying to Live
The endless "will they, won't they" 
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 17062
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Staying Hot
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 8044
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Dying to Live
Finally Natty season? 
-
Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 17062
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Aren’t As They Seem
The air in Reno had that crisp bite to it, the kind that settled deep in your chest and reminded you that winter wasn’t far away. Malik had gotten used to it, though—it was different from Baton Rouge, but not bad. Nothing felt as bad as it did a few months ago.
Back then, he had felt like a body without a home, bouncing from one school to another, trying to convince himself that he had made the right move. Baylor had been a disaster, and when he first got to Nevada, it felt like another shot in the dark, another stop on a road that had no real direction.
But now?
He was on the field. Making plays. Not just riding the bench, not just hoping for a shot. He was playing.
And after a long-ass season, after all the losing, after every moment he questioned whether this place was right for him—he finally felt like he belonged.
The street outside the bar was alive, buzzing with energy despite Nevada’s losing record. People still found ways to have a good time. Malik wasn’t the biggest party guy, but he liked to get out sometimes, let the night pull him into something different.
Tonight was one of those nights.
He and Donovan, along with a few of their other teammates, had been drinking, talking shit, just letting loose. The game wasn’t on their minds for once, and that was a rare thing.
"I’m telling y’all," Cordell, one of the backup linebackers, was saying, his voice animated. “Coach really thought we was about to stop that run game like we wasn’t getting our asses handed to us. Like, bruh, be serious.”
Malik smirked, shaking his head. "Built like tax fraud."
Donovan barked out a laugh, shaking his head. "Right? I swear, one of them niggas gotta be pushing thirty."
"Thirty-five with three kids and a mortgage," Malik corrected, making the group break into laughter.
He was in a good mood. Really in a good mood.
And then—he saw her.
Sierra.
She was walking with two friends, laughing about something, hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, boots clicking against the pavement.
Malik recognized her instantly. They had a couple of classes together, and he had been meaning to talk to her more, but timing never lined up.
Now?
Now, timing looked real damn good.
Her gaze flicked up, catching his, and he saw the way her smirk deepened, like she had been waiting for this moment too.
“Look at you,” she teased, slowing as she reached him. “Didn’t expect to see you outside of class. Thought you were one of those ‘go to practice, go home’ types.”
Malik grinned, tilting his head slightly. "You don’t know me like that."
"I know you don’t ever talk in class," she shot back.
“Shit, they ain’t paying me to talk. That’s why they got professors and shit.”
She let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “I like your accent.”
Malik smirked. “Yeah? Whazzam, then?”
"Yeah," She looked him up and down, her gaze playful but appraising. "It’s not the one I like best, though."
Malik raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And which one is that?"
She grinned. "New Orleans."
Malik let out a mock-offended scoff, placing a hand on his chest. “Oh, so you just gon’ disrespect Baton Rouge like that?”
She shrugged. “I’m just saying. Something about the way those New Orleans boys talk.”
Malik chuckled, shaking his head. “I can switch it up for you if that’s what it takes.”
Her smile widened. “That so?”
“Shit, yeah, you give me your number, and you’ll see.”
Sierra tilted her head, pretending to think about it. Then, she pulled out her phone, smirking as she handed it over. “I’ll hold you to that.”
Malik put his number in, passing it back smoothly. "I ain’t one to disappoint."
She laughed, shaking her head as her friends started pulling her away. “We’ll see about that.”
Malik watched her go, still grinning as he slid his phone back into his pocket.
Behind him, Donovan was already grinning like he knew what was coming next.
“Damn, my guy really out here.”
Malik just shrugged, playing it cool. “Just a lil’ conversation.”
Donovan laughed. “Yeah, aight. Tell me why your ass smiling like that then?”
Malik smirked, not even bothering to wipe the grin off his face.
“Man, ain’t Reno better than Waco?” Donovan teased, nudging him again.
Malik exhaled, his breath fogging slightly in the cold air.
Back at Baylor, everything had felt wrong. Frustrating. Like he was constantly fighting to prove himself and still coming up short.
But here?
He was playing.
He was making moves—on and off the field.
And for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t thinking about what could’ve been.
He was good where he was.
He looked over at Donovan and shrugged. "Yeah… yeah, it is."
~~~~~~~~~~
The house smelled like something warm, familiar—like home.
Spices simmering low on the stove, fabric softener clinging to the couch, the faintest trace of baby lotion—Rana already preparing for the arrival of their child.
Royce sat on the back porch, his chair tilted slightly, legs stretched out in front of him. His fingers curled loosely around a plastic cup filled with vodka, no ice, no mixer, nothing to dull the burn.
The air outside was thick with the scent of cut grass and damp wood, a reminder that fall had settled in even if Louisiana barely acknowledged the season.
Inside, through the screen door, Rana was moving around the kitchen, hand pressed lightly against her belly as she hummed some song Royce half-recognized. She was getting close.
She barely looked tired, but he knew she was.
Knew she was restless, knew she’d been pushing herself more than she should.
Tyrell had been watching her all night like he was waiting for her to sit her ass down, but even now, he let her be.
Roni had already gone to bed, but not before sneaking outside earlier to press a hand to Rana’s stomach, grinning wide at the movement beneath her palm.
Royce had stood back, watching instead of participating.
The whole thing was still weird to him.
Not bad. Just distant. Like it was happening to someone else, not his sister.
Tyrell was across from him, legs spread wide, one arm draped over the back of his chair. He was holding a beer, but Royce had noticed he hadn’t taken more than a sip.
He wasn’t drinking for real. Not like Royce.
Royce could feel him looking at him, but he didn’t acknowledge it.
Didn’t need to.
He kept his eyes on the yard instead, the grass looking just as uneven as the last time he’d been here.
The night was still, the occasional chirp of crickets filling the silence. Somewhere a few houses down, someone was blasting old blues music low enough to blend into the background.
"You know what you havin’ yet?" Royce finally asked, breaking the quiet.
Tyrell grinned, rocking back slightly in his chair. “A boy.”
Royce smirked, taking another sip. “Y’all gonna have to give him a name that starts with an ‘R.’ Can’t break tradition now. Call ol’ boy, Ray Ray. Ricky. Shit, Ronald. Bring back that Hot Boy Ronald shit.”
Tyrell let out a short laugh. “Fuck no. I’m putting an end to that shit.”
"That’s crazy," Royce said, shaking his head. "You got Rana, Roni, Reg, Royce, Romeo—"
Tyrell held up a hand, grinning. "Exactly. And I ain’t adding to that ridiculous-ass pattern."
Royce chuckled, shaking his head.
Then, the silence crept back in.
It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t easy either.
Tyrell wasn’t one to push when he didn’t need to. He knew Royce well enough to know when something was off, but he also knew Royce well enough to know that pressing too hard would only make him shut down.
Still, after a beat, he tried again.
"You good?"
Royce nodded once, not looking up.
The weight of the night sat between them, stretching out longer than Royce expected.
Tyrell let out a slow breath, drumming his fingers against the arm of his chair.
“I ain’t tryin’ to press you, but,” he said, voice easy, “I can tell when something’s off.”
Royce let out a low scoff, still not looking at him.
"Ain't nothing off."
Tyrell hummed in response like he didn’t believe him, but he didn’t press. Just let the silence settle again, let Royce stew in whatever it was he wasn’t saying.
Inside, Rana was still moving around, slower now, rubbing her belly like she was soothing the baby.
For a second, Royce wondered what it would’ve been like if Romeo was here.
Would he be at LSU? Would he even be playing football? Romeo’s death had sparked his move to Baton Rouge which was the reason that he got a scholarship. If he’d graduated in Houma, he might not be anywhere near where he was...
Anywhere near feeling the crushing pressure of success, of having to live up to expectations that he was never prepared to have, that consumed him at all times.
Maybe, he would've settled down. Started working toward building a family. Went out and gotten a normal 9-5 or gone out to work on a rig in the Gulf. He might've even had a kid on the way by now.
Royce took another sip of his drink, feeling the vodka slide down his throat, warming his chest in a way that didn’t actually help.
He pulled out his phone, scrolling through his notifications without really reading them.
Then, his fingers hovered over the screen for a second before he typed out a message.
’ When am I getting the money from the deal?’
He sat there, staring at the screen, the weight in his chest pressing harder.
He wasn’t sure why he expected Billy to take his time responding.
The reply came quicker than expected.
’ Soon. But Cane’s came through, so you’ll have something to tide you over,’ Billy responded
Royce let out a slow breath, staring at the message.
Cane’s wasn’t a lot, but it was something. A distraction. A reason to not think too hard about the things he didn’t have answers for.
Tyrell looked over at him, watching him just a little too closely.
"You ain’t gotta lie to me," he said finally. "If something’s up, you know this is the place you can say it."
Royce forced a smirk, locking his phone and taking another sip of his drink.
"I’m straight."
Tyrell sighed, shaking his head before muttering, "Yeah. Aight."
He didn’t believe him.
And for the first time, Royce wasn’t sure if he even believed himself.
The air in Reno had that crisp bite to it, the kind that settled deep in your chest and reminded you that winter wasn’t far away. Malik had gotten used to it, though—it was different from Baton Rouge, but not bad. Nothing felt as bad as it did a few months ago.
Back then, he had felt like a body without a home, bouncing from one school to another, trying to convince himself that he had made the right move. Baylor had been a disaster, and when he first got to Nevada, it felt like another shot in the dark, another stop on a road that had no real direction.
But now?
He was on the field. Making plays. Not just riding the bench, not just hoping for a shot. He was playing.
And after a long-ass season, after all the losing, after every moment he questioned whether this place was right for him—he finally felt like he belonged.
The street outside the bar was alive, buzzing with energy despite Nevada’s losing record. People still found ways to have a good time. Malik wasn’t the biggest party guy, but he liked to get out sometimes, let the night pull him into something different.
Tonight was one of those nights.
He and Donovan, along with a few of their other teammates, had been drinking, talking shit, just letting loose. The game wasn’t on their minds for once, and that was a rare thing.
"I’m telling y’all," Cordell, one of the backup linebackers, was saying, his voice animated. “Coach really thought we was about to stop that run game like we wasn’t getting our asses handed to us. Like, bruh, be serious.”
Malik smirked, shaking his head. "Built like tax fraud."
Donovan barked out a laugh, shaking his head. "Right? I swear, one of them niggas gotta be pushing thirty."
"Thirty-five with three kids and a mortgage," Malik corrected, making the group break into laughter.
He was in a good mood. Really in a good mood.
And then—he saw her.
Sierra.
She was walking with two friends, laughing about something, hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, boots clicking against the pavement.
Malik recognized her instantly. They had a couple of classes together, and he had been meaning to talk to her more, but timing never lined up.
Now?
Now, timing looked real damn good.
Her gaze flicked up, catching his, and he saw the way her smirk deepened, like she had been waiting for this moment too.
“Look at you,” she teased, slowing as she reached him. “Didn’t expect to see you outside of class. Thought you were one of those ‘go to practice, go home’ types.”
Malik grinned, tilting his head slightly. "You don’t know me like that."
"I know you don’t ever talk in class," she shot back.
“Shit, they ain’t paying me to talk. That’s why they got professors and shit.”
She let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “I like your accent.”
Malik smirked. “Yeah? Whazzam, then?”
"Yeah," She looked him up and down, her gaze playful but appraising. "It’s not the one I like best, though."
Malik raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And which one is that?"
She grinned. "New Orleans."
Malik let out a mock-offended scoff, placing a hand on his chest. “Oh, so you just gon’ disrespect Baton Rouge like that?”
She shrugged. “I’m just saying. Something about the way those New Orleans boys talk.”
Malik chuckled, shaking his head. “I can switch it up for you if that’s what it takes.”
Her smile widened. “That so?”
“Shit, yeah, you give me your number, and you’ll see.”
Sierra tilted her head, pretending to think about it. Then, she pulled out her phone, smirking as she handed it over. “I’ll hold you to that.”
Malik put his number in, passing it back smoothly. "I ain’t one to disappoint."
She laughed, shaking her head as her friends started pulling her away. “We’ll see about that.”
Malik watched her go, still grinning as he slid his phone back into his pocket.
Behind him, Donovan was already grinning like he knew what was coming next.
“Damn, my guy really out here.”
Malik just shrugged, playing it cool. “Just a lil’ conversation.”
Donovan laughed. “Yeah, aight. Tell me why your ass smiling like that then?”
Malik smirked, not even bothering to wipe the grin off his face.
“Man, ain’t Reno better than Waco?” Donovan teased, nudging him again.
Malik exhaled, his breath fogging slightly in the cold air.
Back at Baylor, everything had felt wrong. Frustrating. Like he was constantly fighting to prove himself and still coming up short.
But here?
He was playing.
He was making moves—on and off the field.
And for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t thinking about what could’ve been.
He was good where he was.
He looked over at Donovan and shrugged. "Yeah… yeah, it is."
~~~~~~~~~~
The house smelled like something warm, familiar—like home.
Spices simmering low on the stove, fabric softener clinging to the couch, the faintest trace of baby lotion—Rana already preparing for the arrival of their child.
Royce sat on the back porch, his chair tilted slightly, legs stretched out in front of him. His fingers curled loosely around a plastic cup filled with vodka, no ice, no mixer, nothing to dull the burn.
The air outside was thick with the scent of cut grass and damp wood, a reminder that fall had settled in even if Louisiana barely acknowledged the season.
Inside, through the screen door, Rana was moving around the kitchen, hand pressed lightly against her belly as she hummed some song Royce half-recognized. She was getting close.
She barely looked tired, but he knew she was.
Knew she was restless, knew she’d been pushing herself more than she should.
Tyrell had been watching her all night like he was waiting for her to sit her ass down, but even now, he let her be.
Roni had already gone to bed, but not before sneaking outside earlier to press a hand to Rana’s stomach, grinning wide at the movement beneath her palm.
Royce had stood back, watching instead of participating.
The whole thing was still weird to him.
Not bad. Just distant. Like it was happening to someone else, not his sister.
Tyrell was across from him, legs spread wide, one arm draped over the back of his chair. He was holding a beer, but Royce had noticed he hadn’t taken more than a sip.
He wasn’t drinking for real. Not like Royce.
Royce could feel him looking at him, but he didn’t acknowledge it.
Didn’t need to.
He kept his eyes on the yard instead, the grass looking just as uneven as the last time he’d been here.
The night was still, the occasional chirp of crickets filling the silence. Somewhere a few houses down, someone was blasting old blues music low enough to blend into the background.
"You know what you havin’ yet?" Royce finally asked, breaking the quiet.
Tyrell grinned, rocking back slightly in his chair. “A boy.”
Royce smirked, taking another sip. “Y’all gonna have to give him a name that starts with an ‘R.’ Can’t break tradition now. Call ol’ boy, Ray Ray. Ricky. Shit, Ronald. Bring back that Hot Boy Ronald shit.”
Tyrell let out a short laugh. “Fuck no. I’m putting an end to that shit.”
"That’s crazy," Royce said, shaking his head. "You got Rana, Roni, Reg, Royce, Romeo—"
Tyrell held up a hand, grinning. "Exactly. And I ain’t adding to that ridiculous-ass pattern."
Royce chuckled, shaking his head.
Then, the silence crept back in.
It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t easy either.
Tyrell wasn’t one to push when he didn’t need to. He knew Royce well enough to know when something was off, but he also knew Royce well enough to know that pressing too hard would only make him shut down.
Still, after a beat, he tried again.
"You good?"
Royce nodded once, not looking up.
The weight of the night sat between them, stretching out longer than Royce expected.
Tyrell let out a slow breath, drumming his fingers against the arm of his chair.
“I ain’t tryin’ to press you, but,” he said, voice easy, “I can tell when something’s off.”
Royce let out a low scoff, still not looking at him.
"Ain't nothing off."
Tyrell hummed in response like he didn’t believe him, but he didn’t press. Just let the silence settle again, let Royce stew in whatever it was he wasn’t saying.
Inside, Rana was still moving around, slower now, rubbing her belly like she was soothing the baby.
For a second, Royce wondered what it would’ve been like if Romeo was here.
Would he be at LSU? Would he even be playing football? Romeo’s death had sparked his move to Baton Rouge which was the reason that he got a scholarship. If he’d graduated in Houma, he might not be anywhere near where he was...
Anywhere near feeling the crushing pressure of success, of having to live up to expectations that he was never prepared to have, that consumed him at all times.
Maybe, he would've settled down. Started working toward building a family. Went out and gotten a normal 9-5 or gone out to work on a rig in the Gulf. He might've even had a kid on the way by now.
Royce took another sip of his drink, feeling the vodka slide down his throat, warming his chest in a way that didn’t actually help.
He pulled out his phone, scrolling through his notifications without really reading them.
Then, his fingers hovered over the screen for a second before he typed out a message.
’ When am I getting the money from the deal?’
He sat there, staring at the screen, the weight in his chest pressing harder.
He wasn’t sure why he expected Billy to take his time responding.
The reply came quicker than expected.
’ Soon. But Cane’s came through, so you’ll have something to tide you over,’ Billy responded
Royce let out a slow breath, staring at the message.
Cane’s wasn’t a lot, but it was something. A distraction. A reason to not think too hard about the things he didn’t have answers for.
Tyrell looked over at him, watching him just a little too closely.
"You ain’t gotta lie to me," he said finally. "If something’s up, you know this is the place you can say it."
Royce forced a smirk, locking his phone and taking another sip of his drink.
"I’m straight."
Tyrell sighed, shaking his head before muttering, "Yeah. Aight."
He didn’t believe him.
And for the first time, Royce wasn’t sure if he even believed himself.
-
Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 17062
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Turning Point
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Soapy
- Posts: 16919
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Dying to Live
all caught up 
can you post his season stats in the game updates plz? thanks
can you post his season stats in the game updates plz? thanks
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 8044
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Dying to Live
Whooped Ole Miss’ ass on that one