Season 8, Episode 19
The late afternoon sun beat down on the practice field as the tired bodies labored to the line of scrimmage. Jamal crouched into his stance, muscles coiled and ready to explode at the snap of the ball. Sweat trickled down his spine, soaking into the fabric of his practice jersey.
Trevor got into his cadence as Jamal examined the formation, cracking his knuckles against his palm as he stretched his neck. The ball was snapped and he exploded out of his stance towards the gap he was supposed to blitz into but noticed the play side guard was pulling, which stopped him in his tracks.
Jamal tensed, waiting for the familiar shout from Dennis, his cornerback teammate. "Crack! Crack!" The warning call that never came.
Dennis had seen the play develop, the receiver’s stance and alignment giving away his responsibility. Partially out of laziness, partially out of the fact that they had lost two straight games and were out of the playoff contention, he never made the call. But mostly, he simply didn’t fuck with Jamal. Nobody did, not after he picked a side that wasn’t theirs.
The impact, when it hit, was like a freight train. Jamal's world exploded in a burst of pain and disorientation as the receiver’s shoulder pad connected with his ribcage. The sound of pads colliding echoed across the field, followed by a collective gasp from his teammates.
Jamal crumpled to the ground, struggling to draw breath into lungs that felt suddenly empty. Through the haze of pain, he caught sight of Dennis standing nearby, an unreadable expression on his face. Their eyes met for a brief moment before Dennis looked away, jogging back to his position without a word.
…
Kam leaned against the chipped drywall of the cramped dorm room, his eyes drifting between Nate's eager face and the girl perched on the edge of the unmade bed as he was amused by his unrelenting efforts that had lasted weeks. Music thrummed softly from a Bluetooth speaker, the low bass vibrating through the flimsy walls.
Nate stood up and walked over to Kam, keeping a low voice as he leaned in closer. "Hey man, let me holler at you." He jerked his head towards the hallway, eyes darting back to the girl who was scrolling absently through her phone.
Kam nodded, following Nate into the narrow corridor. His backup's usually cocky grin was tinged with a hint of desperation.
"Look, I need a favor," Nate said, turning around to make sure they were alone. "I’m this fucking close, bro.”
“Yeah, aight,” Kam scoffed.
“I’m for real, she is ready to go right now,” he paused, “It’s just that the way my dorm is right now…and you know how weird Trey ass be.”
“I actually don’t know that,” Kam raised the can of Liquid Death Sparkling Water to his lips, “Why would I know that?”
“He’s a peeker,” Nate explained.
“A what?”
“The nigga tries to watch and shit, man,” Nate shook his head, “Look, it don’t matter anyway. I’m just saying that it would be real…mentor shit to let a young nigga have the crib for the night.”
“Nigga, you got me fucked up!”
“Chill, bro,” Nate pleaded, “Just a couple of hours, let me do my thing.”
“A couple of hours? Who are you lying to, nigga?”
“I can’t rush the bitch out the crib,” Nate continued, “Your shit nice and shit, she’s probably going to want to snap a picture or something.”
“Nigga, if you get me in trouble with my bitch for a girl I didn’t fuck, I’m going to kill you. Literally.”
“I’m fucking with you. It’s going to be real lowkey, in and out type shit.”
“Where am I going to be?” Kam asked, halfway enjoying the torture he was putting his young mentee through.
“Nigga, you at a party,” Nate pointed back towards the dorm, “Just hang out, do your thing, I’ll be back and you got it.”
“So you want my car, too?”
Nate's eyes widened, a hint of pleading creeping into his voice. "Come on, bro. I'd do the same for you. It's just for a little while. I'll have it back before you know it."
Kam pulled the keys out of his pocket, snatching it back as he dangled it, “You’re cleaning my shit, by hand, tomorrow morning. You got it? I mean, every fucking thing. And the car too, you freaky ass nigga.”
…
Kyrie shifted uncomfortably on the hard plastic chair, his jumpsuit a stark reminder of his current reality. Across the table sat his uncle Ray, aunt Lena, and brother Caleb, their faces etched with concern.
"How you holding up, nephew?" Uncle Ray asked, his deep voice tinged with worry.
Aunt Lena reached across the table, her hand stopping short of touching Kyrie's. "We're working on getting you out of here, baby. Just hang in there."
Caleb, usually full of energy, sat uncharacteristically quiet, his eyes darting around the room as if taking in every detail of his brother's confinement.
"Mom and Pops couldn’t make it?" Kyrie asked, already knowing the answer.
The silence that followed was deafening. Uncle Ray cleared his throat. "They’ll come around, you know how they are."
Kyrie nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. He'd known his parents wouldn't come, but the confirmation still stung.
"Any word on where your money is at?" Caleb piped up, speaking for the first time since they'd arrived.
Kyrie shook his head. "Nah, I mean, anyone that would know ain’t going to tell me now. That money’s long spent by now anyway.”
"We've been thinking about organizing a fundraiser," Uncle Ray explained. "Maybe a barbecue or a car wash. Get the community involved."
"The church has offered to help too," Aunt Lena added. "Pastor Williams said we could use the fellowship hall for an event if we need to."
Kyrie listened as his family laid out their plans, a mix of gratitude and shame washing over him.
"What about my college fund?" Kyrie asked suddenly. "Can't we use that since I got a scholarship anyway?"
The adults exchanged glances. "Your parents..." Uncle Ray began, then paused. "They're not willing to touch that money, Kyrie. They say...they say it’s not for this."
Kyrie laughed bitterly. "Not for what? My fucking life?”
"Hey," Caleb said sharply, leaning forward. “Don’t worry about that, man, we’ll come up with the bread.”
“Easy for you to say, you’re not the one locked up.”
“Nobody told you to do that dumb ass shit,” Caleb fired back, “Stupid motherfucker crashed out and wanna get mad.”
“Bitch, fuck you,” Kyrie sucked his teeth as he pushed himself away from the table, ignoring his uncle and aunt’s pleas as he called for the guard to take him back to his cell.
…
“I did not hate you.”
“Yes, you did,” Kam shook his head, tilting it back as he finished off another can of sparkling water, “Anybody not on the football team fucking hated my ass before I started playing.”
“I resent that,” Zoe held up a finger, “I don’t even care about football, not like that.”
“I’m just saying,” Kam shrugged, “I haven’t seen no posters, no protests, no rallies, no nothing. The only thing that changed was them touchdowns and them yards.”
“I get no credit for this?” Zoe raised an eyebrow.
“Fuck no,” Kam laughed, “All that community kumbaya shit was a disaster. I should have known better anyway, once a motherfucker gets to balling, none of that other shit matter.”
“They were definitely trashed,” Zoe blushed, laughing as she reminisced, “They really did hate you, you’re right.”
The night had grown late, the dorm's common area now empty except for them two as they shared a laugh. Kam had been blowing Nate’s phone up, asking for his car back when she appeared in the pod, joining by a few friends. The small talk was initially a welcomed distraction to bide time while Nate finished his business but it had turned into a conversation that had flowed effortlessly for hours.
Kam found himself suddenly aware of the time as he looked at his phone, “This motherfucker is still not answering.”
Zoe leaned in closer, her eyes sparkling with a mix of alcohol and something more. "You know," she said, her voice low and inviting, "my room's just down the hall. We could hang out there while you wait.”
Kam felt a jolt of panic shoot through him. He'd been so caught up in their conversation, in the easy back-and-forth they'd developed over the course of the evening, that he hadn't noticed the shift in Zoe's demeanor. Her touch, the invitation in her eyes - it all clicked into place.
“Thanks but I really should get going,” he stammered.
An awkward silence settled between them, the easy rapport of earlier evaporating. Kam cleared his throat. "Nate ain’t getting off that easy, I owe him this ass whipping.”
Zoe laughed, the tension breaking. "Ain’t that what got you in trouble?”
Kam raised an eyebrow. "Ms. Zoe with a jokey joke? I don’t know if the student body would appreciate you making light of such serious matter.”
"Oh god," she scoffed playfully, "Don’t remind me, they’re the worst. If you think fans are bad, wait until you have to sit in on those meetings week after week, hearing to people bitch moan and complain.”
“I hope we were able to help,” Kam quipped, “With the season and all.”
“As long as you beat Ohio,” she held her cup up, “The president’s cabinet would very much appreciate that.”
They both chuckled, the awkwardness dissipating. Kam glanced at his phone once, loading up a ridesharing app. "My ass is going to regret staying out this late.”
Zoe nodded, standing up and stretching. "Yeah, same here and you didn’t even drink. Early class tomorrow and all that responsible student bullshit."
As they gathered their things, Kam paused. "I’m not going to lie, from the first day we met, I did not have us being friends.
“Yeah,” she forced a smile, “These things tend to sneak up on you.”
One hell of a season though. 