Damaged Petals.

Post by **Soapy** » 03 Mar 2026, 19:09

Caesar wrote: ↑
03 Mar 2026, 16:51
You's the pappy buddy

ball up top

Post by **Soapy** » 03 Mar 2026, 19:09

► Show Spoiler

Post by **redsox907** » 03 Mar 2026, 19:17

Coach Leon ain't walking thru that door

Post by **Captain Canada** » 03 Mar 2026, 19:43

That fourth quarter garbage time touchdown was heinous :drose:

Those run lanes on those QB scrambles was insanity.

Post by **Caesar** » 03 Mar 2026, 19:56

Four sacks? Processing speed of an IBM in 1980. Defenses be having Brice like motherfuckers at Ball State probably had his baby mama

Post by **Soapy** » 04 Mar 2026, 07:58

redsox907 wrote: ↑
03 Mar 2026, 19:17
Coach Leon ain't walking thru that door

would have given him belt too

Captain Canada wrote: ↑
03 Mar 2026, 19:43
That fourth quarter garbage time touchdown was heinous

Those run lanes on those QB scrambles was insanity.

our boy needed that release (ayo)

Caesar wrote: ↑
03 Mar 2026, 19:56
Four sacks? Processing speed of an IBM in 1980. Defenses be having Brice like motherfuckers at Ball State probably had his baby mama

we try to convert our 3rd and longs here, my boy

Post by **Soapy** » 04 Mar 2026, 08:00

Season 6, Episode 17
The morning air carried a bite that made Tom pull his jacket tighter as he and Liz walked through the front gates.

St. Frances spread out before them, quiet on a Sunday morning. Red brick buildings with white trim lined pathways that curved between manicured lawns. A few joggers passed by, earbuds in, breath visible in the October cold. The football field sat to their left, the bleachers empty, the scoreboard dark.

Tom had been on campus three years ago, when they'd toured it with Jimmy. The buildings looked the same. The paths unchanged. But everything felt different now.

Liz walked beside him, her hands in her coat pockets, her eyes moving across the campus with careful observation. She hadn't said much on the drive over. Tom hadn't pushed.

They passed the main academic building, its entrance flanked by two stone panthers. A banner hung above the doors announcing the upcoming homecoming game.

"I think he would have liked it," Tom said, "It’s different but a bit of the same."

Liz nodded but didn't respond.

They continued walking, following the path toward the athletic complex. The football field came into fuller view now.

"I think it's nice," Tom started, then stopped, "That she named him James."

"Of course you do."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you see the best in people even when they don't deserve it," Liz scoffed. "There’s only one reason she named that baby that and it’s to tug on Brice’s heart and apparently yours too."

"You don't know that."

"Tom, come on."

They walked past the bleachers, their footsteps the only sound besides the distant traffic from the main road.

"Even if that's true," Tom said finally, "Still a nice gesture. Shows she’s willing to make it work, not be contentious all the time."

"It means she's smarter than I gave her credit for," Liz stopped walking, turning to face him. "I'm not saying it wasn't a good move. It was. It was a brilliant move, actually. Naming the baby after the dead brother? After the person Brice loved most in the world? That's elite level manipulation. I respect the effort."

"That's cold, Liz."

"That's reality," she started walking again. "Skylar knew exactly what she was doing."

"So what if it worked?" Tom asked, catching up to her. "At the end of the day, the baby is here and it’s his. All of that posturing and all of that bullshit that went on between them is in the past. Brice is a dad now so however we get there, he knows what he needs to do now and that’s a good thing."

"Is it?"

They'd reached the end zone of the football field now, the grass pristine, the yard lines freshly painted. Liz stood at the edge, looking out across the field like she could see something he couldn't.

"What do you mean is it a good thing?" Tom asked. "Of course it is. That's his son."

"And you think Brice is ready to be a father?"

"Nobody's ready. You just figure it out as you go."

Liz turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised. "Is that what you did?"

"Yeah, that's what I did. That's what everyone does. I was twenty-two years old with a baby and a wife and no fucking idea what I was doing," Tom heard his voice rise slightly, pulled it back down. "But I figured it out. I provided. I took care of my family."

Liz made a sound, something between a laugh and a scoff.

"What?" Tom asked.

"Nothing."

"No, what? You got something to say, say it."

Liz looked back at the field.

"I provided too," Liz offered. "In case you forgot."

"I didn't forget."

"You sure? Because the way you talk about it, you make it sound like you did everything. Like you were the one carrying the weight."

Tom shook his head. "That’s what you heard, that’s not what I said. I was working my ass off."

"Driving a truck."

"Yeah, driving a truck," he said, his voice tight. "That's what I was doing. Driving a truck sixty hours a week so we could pay rent and buy diapers and keep the lights on."

"And I appreciate that, you know I do, but come on, I was making twice that working at the DA office with Britney."

Tom turned away from her, looking out at the field, at the empty bleachers, anywhere but at his wife's face.

"I know what you made," Tom said.

"Do you? Because sometimes I don't think you do. That the seed money for your business came from me."

"Of course I know that, Liz," Tom said.

"Good. Because that's what made it hurt so much when you cheated on me."

Tom turned to look at her.

"With my boss," Liz continued. "I'm not trying to fight. I'm just stating the facts and what actually happened. So no, you didn’t just figure it out. This isn’t the success story that you think it is in your mind."

Tom opened his mouth to argue, to push back, to say something that would make this conversation go a different direction. But he couldn't.

The business had taken off faster than he'd expected. Within two years, he'd gone from one truck to five. Within four years, he had fifteen trucks and a small office staff. The money started coming in, real money, more than Liz made, more than he'd ever imagined making. And with that money came something else. Confidence maybe. Ego definitely. The feeling that he'd earned it all, that he'd built it all, that he was finally the man he was supposed to be.

He'd forgotten about the seed money. Or maybe he'd just stopped letting it matter.

"You're right," Tom said quietly.

Liz let the silence linger.

"I think every man wants to be self-made and yeah, maybe I need to give you more credit but that’s not why I cheated on you, Liz, if we’re really going to talk about this. I cheated because you don't listen to me. Because you don't show me love. Because you don't want me. Not really. Not the way Britney wants me."

Liz's eyes sharpened, focusing on him with sudden intensity.

"Wanted," he corrected quickly. "

Liz held his gaze for another long moment, then looked away.

"I don't want you," Liz repeated, her voice quiet. "That's what you think?"

Tom swallowed. "Sometimes, yeah. Sometimes it feels like you're just going through the motions. Like you're with me because that’s who you picked twenty something years ago and things are well enough."

"That's not fair."

"Maybe not. But it's how I feel. At least sometimes I do."

They stood in silence, the cold air pressing against them. A jogger passed by on the track, oblivious to their conversation. The scoreboard flickered once, then went dark again.

"I know I'm not easy," Liz said finally. "I know I don't always show you what I'm feeling. But that doesn't mean I don't feel it."

"I know."

"Do you?"

Tom looked at her. Really looked at her.

"Yeah," Tom said. "I do."

Liz nodded once, a small movement. She turned back to the field, her arms still crossed, but her shoulders had dropped slightly.

"Brice isn't ready to be a father," she said, returning to where they'd started.

"Maybe not but it doesn’t matter now, does it?"

…

"Brice," someone said, their voice carrying surprise and something else he couldn't quite identify. "What’s up, man?"

A few others echoed the greeting. Someone stood to give him a hug, then another. The welcomes felt genuine, warm even, like they were actually happy to see him after months of absence.

His eyes found Mel across the circle. She was looking down at her phone, never once looking up.

Brice made his way to an empty chair, accepting more greetings, more handshakes, more statements about how good it was to see him. He sat down, his legs aching from the punishment sprints coach had handed out for changing the play late in their blowout win against Maryland, pilling on the score with a late touchdown.

"We were just about to start," the group facilitator said. "Brice, welcome back. It's good to have you here."

"Thanks," he managed.

Mel stood up. The movement was abrupt, her chair scraping against the floor. She shoved her phone into her pocket and grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair.

"Mel?" the facilitator asked. "Everything okay?"

"I need to go," Mel said, not looking at anyone in particular. She moved toward the door.

Brice was on his feet before he'd decided to stand. "Mel."

She didn't stop. Just kept walking, pushing through the door into the hallway.

Brice followed, his legs carrying him after her automatically, not caring that they were causing a scene, all eyes fixated on them as he followed her out the room. "Mel, wait."

The hallway was empty except for them. Mel was already halfway to the exit, her black boots hitting the tile with purpose.

"Mel," he called again, louder this time.

She kept walking.

"Mel, come on."

Nothing.

"Mel!"

She stopped. Didn't turn around, just stood there with her back to him, her hand on the door handle that led out onto campus.

Brice closed the distance between them. "Can I get like ten seconds? Please?"

Mel turned slowly. Her expression was hard, closed off, nothing like the playful sarcasm he'd gotten used to. "What do you want?"

"I want to explain. I want to apologize."

"For what?"

The question caught him off guard. He opened his mouth, closed it again. "For... I don't know exactly. For whatever I did to upset you."

Mel's laugh was sharp and bitter. "You don't even know."

"No, I don't. That's why I'm trying to—"

"You're selfish," she cut him off. "You're egotistical. You're an abuser. And you don't even fucking realize it."

Brice’s faces scrunched up. "Wait, what? Mel, I don’t know what you heard or saw on the internet but—"

"There’s a fucking police report, Brice," Mel's voice rose. "This isn’t some Tik Tok lore."

"I never hurt her, okay? Not physically, at least. I never laid a hand on her. I swear to God, on my brother’s life."

"Oh, well that makes it so much better," Mel sucked her teeth. "You’re such a fucking piece of shit you don’t even realize it, do you?"

"I'm not saying I'm a good guy. I'm saying I'm not what you're calling me."

"You are a piece of shit, Brice."

Brice felt something in him deflate, all the fight draining out at once. He nodded slowly.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Maybe I am or what. I’m just trying to figure this shit out, like everyone else."

Mel stared at him for another long moment, like she was trying to decide if she had more to say. Then she shook her head, turned, and pushed through the door.

Brice stood alone in the hallway, watching through the glass as she walked away.

…

Skylar sat on the couch with James cradled in her arms, his tiny body warm against her chest. Her mother was in the kitchen, washing bottles and arranging them on the drying rack.

The stitches pulled when she shifted position. Everything still hurt, her body recovering from what it had been through, like a boxer after a fight and the championship belt was cradled in her arms.

James made a small noise, his face scrunching up. Skylar adjusted her hold, rocking slightly, and he settled again. His eyes were closed, his breathing steady, his fingers curled into tiny fists.

"You need to sleep when he sleeps," her mother called from the kitchen. "That's the only way you'll get any."

"I know, Mom."

"I'm serious, Sky. You look like shit."

"I'm fine."

Skylar looked down at James instead of responding. His face was peaceful, unbothered by the adult conversations happening around him. She traced one finger along his cheek, marveling at how soft his skin was.

Skylar leaned back into the couch cushions, careful with how she moved, the stitches protesting even that small adjustment. James stayed nestled against her chest, his weight solid and real. She closed her eyes and the hospital room came back to her.

The contractions had started around midnight. She'd thought she could handle it, thought she'd wait until morning to call anyone. By two AM she'd been in the bathroom, gripping the sink, breathing through waves of pain that made her legs shake. Her mother had found her there, had taken one look at her face and called the hospital.

The drive was a blur. The check-in was a blur. Then came the waiting, hours of it, the pain building and building until it didn't feel like waves anymore, just one continuous assault on her body. The nurses kept checking her dilation. Two centimeters. Three. Four. The numbers crawled upward while the pain exploded.

They'd offered her an epidural. She'd refused at first, wanting to do it naturally, wanting to prove something to herself or to Brice or to whoever was keeping score. By hour six she'd been begging for it, all pride abandoned, just wanting the pain to stop.

The epidural had helped. For a while. Then came the pushing, and nothing helped with that. Forty-five minutes of bearing down, of feeling like her body was being torn apart from the inside, of nurses telling her to push harder, harder, one more time.

Then James had arrived. Small and purple and screaming, covered in vernix and blood and everything that came with being born. They'd placed him on her chest immediately, his tiny body hot against her skin, and all the pain had vanished into something else entirely.

Skylar opened her eyes, looking down at him now, clean and swaddled and peaceful. Worth it, she told herself. All of it worth it.

Her phone sat on the coffee table, screen dark. She'd sent the photos yesterday. Three of them, carefully selected from the dozens she'd taken. James in his hospital blanket. James with his eyes barely open, looking at the camera. James being held by her mother, both of them smiling.

No response.

The road ahead stretched out in her mind. Sleepless nights. Diaper changes. Feeding schedules. Doctor's appointments. All the mundane, exhausting work of keeping a human alive. And beyond that, the bigger things. School. Sports. Teenage years. College applications. A whole life that she'd be responsible for shaping.

Post by **Captain Canada** » 04 Mar 2026, 09:10

I can't believe this is my stance, but I don't know how much of a right Mel has to lambast Brice like that. Sure, she saw the police report, and can really turned off by it but we as the reader clearly knows she's not lashing out on pure principle here. Real concern on the maturity level there (even though Brice truly is a piece of shit).

Liz putting Tom in his place was wild :drose:

It's still fuck Skylar where I'm from

Post by **Caesar** » 04 Mar 2026, 09:35

Captain Canada wrote: ↑
04 Mar 2026, 09:10
I can't believe this is my stance, but I don't know how much of a right Mel has to lambast Brice like that. Sure, she saw the police report, and can really turned off by it but we as the reader clearly knows she's not lashing out on pure principle here. Real concern on the maturity level there (even though Brice truly is a piece of shit).

Quite the concerning stance to take. Mel is right. #BelieveVictims.

Liz just made because her tactics failed.

Skylar needs to go get herself a brother to step up.

Post by **redsox907** » 04 Mar 2026, 11:16

I think Mel's hurt/anger is because she was letting her guard down ( I don't remember if she ever said he wasn't her type, but he was quiet persistent for a while regardless) and is now mad at herself for not seeing the signs earlier. He has all the traits of a manipulator and whether or not the police report is true - where there is smoke there is usually fire

I can't decide if I like Liz, or hate Liz, but either way I fucks with her

whatchu think was gonna happen Sky? You'd pop something out instead of getting something punched in and suddenly Brice would turn into father of the year?

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