Damaged Petals.

[Soapy]

Season 7, Episode 7
Brice shifted in the metal chair, its cold edges digging into his leg.

“Just to clarify here, Mr. Colton,” Detective Rampart leaned forward, her elbows on the table. “When was the last time you spoke with Skylar?”

Brice glanced at his lawyer. Gregory nodded slightly.

“Like I said,” Brice cleared his throat, "A few days before."

“What was the call about?"

Brice shrugged. "Probably the next custody exchange or something or locking down our schedule for the next few months."

Detective Mills, the older one with the salt-and-pepper beard, slid a folder across the table. “We have phone records showing a twenty-three minute call between you and Skylar three days before her death. What was that one about?”

“I just told you,” Brice sighed. “I’ve been thinking of going on a trip. I wanted to check with her, see if it was cool for us to flip around a couple of weekends or whatever."

Gregory cleared his throat. “My client has been very cooperative. He’s answered these questions multiple times now.”

"So," Rampart continued, keeping his attention on Brice, "You said you were at Purdue last Friday?"

"Yeah," Brice scratched the back of his head, "Like I told you. I had a scrimmage, practice in the morning. I hung out with some friends afterwards and then went home."

"With your girlfriend?" Rampart asked.

"Friend," Brice clarified.

"I’m sorry to fan out here," Rampart butted in, causing Brice to whip his neck back around to him, "Is it true that you signed a ten million dollar deal to come back to Purdue?"

Gregory held his hand in front of Brice, "Relevancy here, detective?"

"I’m just saying," Rampart played with a pen in his right hand, "Ten million dollars goes a long way."

"Money can buy a lot of things," Miles added.

"Come on, guys," Gregory scoffed.

Mills pulled out his phone, tapped the screen a few times, then set it on the table facing Brice. “These are messages we recovered from Skylar’s phone. Would you care to read them aloud?”

Brice only needed a glance to figure out what they were.

“Those are old,” he said, pushing the phone away.

“You wrote, and I quote, ‘I don’t want this baby and I don’t want you. Nothing you do will change that and certainly not a stupid fucking test.’” Mills reclaimed his phone.

“I was nineteen,” Brice’s voice cracked slightly. “I obviously didn’t want a kid at the time."

“And yet here we are,” Rampart spread her hands. “Looks like you got your wish."

“I didn’t—“ Brice started, but Gregory’s hand clamped down on his forearm.

“My client has been more than forthcoming,” Gregory said, rising from his chair. “He’s devastated by these events and concerned for his child’s welfare, including putting up his own money as reward for information. But this interview is over. If you have actual evidence linking Mr. Colton to any crime, charge him. Otherwise, we’re leaving.”

“We’re not done here,” Mills looked up at Gregory.

“Yes,” Gregory instructed Brice to stand up, “We are. Come on, Brice.”

…

The front desk seemed impossibly high from where he stood, or maybe it was just the weight pressing down on his shoulders making him feel small.

“Our daughter, Nia,” Mr. Hill said, his voice tight. “She’s been missing for a couple of days now.”

The officer behind the desk barely looked up from his computer screen. “Age?”

“Seventeen,” Mrs. Hill answered.

That got the officer’s attention, but only briefly. “Any history of running away?”

Mrs. Hill glanced at her husband, then back at the officer. “Yes, but this is different. She left her clothes, her laptop, her tablet. She wouldn’t leave those things."

“Ma’am,” the officer cut her off, sliding a clipboard across the counter. “I understand you’re concerned, but with teenagers, especially ones with a history of running away, they usually turn up within a week.”

Mr. Hill felt his jaw tighten. “We got the speech last time but this is different. Something’s wrong. Our calls are going straight to voicemail."

The officer finally looked up, but his eyes drifted past them to the television mounted in the corner of the waiting area. The news was showing footage of police vehicles outside a house, the caption reading “SEARCH CONTINUES”.

“Look,” the officer sighed, “Just write down her name and your contact information. Include any places she might go, friends she might stay with.”

Mrs. Hill took the clipboard with trembling hands. “You guys are going to look for her, right? Like check her phone and stuff."

The radio on the officer shoulder crackled to life. He held up a finger as he listened to the transmission, then stood abruptly.

“Fill out the form,” he said, already moving away from the desk. “Leave it with reception. Someone will contact you if we get any information.”

…

“They interviewed me yesterday,” Connie said. “About Skylar.”

Dr. Mendel nodded, her pen poised above her notepad. “That must have been difficult.”

“I think they were just ruling me out as a suspect,” Connie gave a humorless laugh.

“How did that make you feel?"

"I guess it makes sense," Connie’s gaze drifted to the window, "It’s South Bend, everyone knows everyone. I’m sure they knew that Brice was my ex, for obvious reasons. He has a baby with his new whatever. Crazy ex kills her for revenge and steals her baby? Sounds like a Connie Gardner special."

Dr. Mendel’s face didn’t budge.

"Not even a smile?" Connie scoffed, "I’m just saying, I get it. I would rule me out as a suspect as well."

"You have a tendency to carry a lot of guilt, Connie," Dr. Mendel observed, "About things that aren’t your fault."

"You mean the whole I-threw-away-my-baby-thing-and-now-have-sellers-remorse thing? Don’t your worry, Doc," Connie let out a dry chuckle, "Pretty much hit a dead end there."

Dr. Mendel kept watching her. "We’ve spoken about this before."

“I know, I know,” Connie waved her hand dismissively. “Mental health and shit. Have you considered maybe that not finding her is what is bad for my mental health? Like not everyone’s the same, not everyone has the same needs in life. I just want to make sure she’s okay. I’m owed that much, aren’t I?"

“Is that really all you want?” Dr. Mendel set her notepad aside, giving Connie her full attention. “Because from our previous conversations, it seems like you’re looking for something more... a connection, perhaps even a relationship.”

Connie looked down at her hands. “Would that be so wrong?”

“It’s not about right or wrong.” Dr. Mendel answered with a small shrug. “It’s about expectations versus reality. This child has a life, a family, an identity that doesn’t include you. Disrupting that could cause harm to everyone involved, including yourself.”

“So I’m just supposed to what? Forget? Move on?” Connie’s voice cracked. “I’ve tried that for years. It doesn’t work.”

“No, not forget,” Dr. Mendel leaned forward. “Process. Accept. Find healthy ways to honor that part of your life without upending hers.”

Connie felt tears prickling behind her eyes. “I feel bad. For Skylar. It’s like…I was so angry when I found out that she was having a kid, especially with Brice. It’s like she got to have something that I didn’t, you know? I don’t know, I guess in the end it doesn’t fucking matter. We all lose in a way. Somehow. Well, everyone except him."

…

Britney flipped through the case file, her eyes slowly scanning each crime scene photos. The knock on her door came just as she was about to reach for her coffee.

“Come in,” she called, straightening her posture and setting the file aside.

Detectives Rampart and Mills entered, both looking exhausted.

“Tell me you’ve got something,” Britney said, gesturing for them to sit.

Rampart took the chair closest to the desk. "No hits."

“None?” Britney raised an eyebrow.

“Not one,” Mills confirmed, settling his bulky frame into the other chair. "His alibi checks out too. I guess those boys left quite an impression in that restaurant."

“Multiple witnesses,” Rampart added.

Britney leaned back, tapping her pen against the desk. “What about the baby? Any leads?”

“Nothing concrete,” Rampart said. “We’ve got AMBER alerts across three states, border patrol is aware, and we’ve been checking every hospital and urgent care within a hundred-mile radius.”

“I still think Colton’s involved,” Mills interjected. “Kid’s got fuck you money. Kill you money. He could easily hire someone.”

"I need this to be clean," Britney reminded them, "You understand?"

Mills shrugged. “Look, all I’m saying is the kid clearly hated that girl. We haven’t even gotten to his phone and we can tell that just from the messages he sent her. Can you imagine the shit we’re going to find on his phone?"

“I need more than that,” Britney sighed. "What about the Ring camera footage from the neighbors?”

Rampart shifted in her seat. “We’re still processing it. The neighbor’s from across the street didn’t pick up anything. The one’s next to them, the Anderson’s, we’re still waiting on Ring to provide us the footage since they didn’t have the cloud whatever subscription."

“How long?” Britney pressed.

“They said twenty-four hours, but that was yesterday,” Mills grumbled. “I’ll follow up."

[Captain Canada]

That's how you kill her? you a sick nigga fr

[Caesar]

Dead? From getting kicked once in the dome? What'd Nia kick her with? A steel toed boot? Too bad she getting the needle because she needs to hit up the UFC with that kind of kicking power. Would've had 'em looking like Maycee Barber after them question mark kicks. man cleaning up the cast to end this. He ain't slick.

Brice walks because he wasn't involved. Connie goes off the deep end. Ups that FYE on him because he always walks.

[djp73]

who doesnt have cameras with a baby in the house?

[Soapy]

That's how you kill her? you a sick nigga fr

Dead? From getting kicked once in the dome? What'd Nia kick her with? A steel toed boot? Too bad she getting the needle because she needs to hit up the UFC with that kind of kicking power. Would've had 'em looking like Maycee Barber after them question mark kicks. man cleaning up the cast to end this. He ain't slick.

Brice walks because he wasn't involved. Connie goes off the deep end. Ups that FYE on him because he always walks.

typical black man wants more violence smh

who doesnt have cameras with a baby in the house?

they weren't on sale

[Soapy]

Season 7, Episode 8
Brice could feel their stares piercing through his skin. He kept his eyes fixed on the contents of his locker, methodically pulling out his practice gear. He unzipped his bag, pulled out his cleats, set them on the bench. One, then the other. He reached for his compression shorts next.

“Hey, man,” Shane’s voice broke the silence as he approached. “Good to see you back.”

Brice nodded without turning around, focusing on folding his clothes. “Thanks.”

Shane hesitated, then extended his fist for a dap.

“They’re gonna find him,” Shane said, his voice lowered. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Brice replied then wiped his nose.

Corey appeared next, followed by Jesse and Abdul, almost forming semicircle around him, as if their bodies were shielding him from the curious eyes of teammates still lingering by their lockers.

“Whatever you need, bro,” Abdul said, his hand firm on Brice’s shoulder.

“Appreciate it,” Brice said, pulling his practice jersey over his head.

Jesse cleared his throat. “My mom’s church group got a prayer line going right now. I think the last call had like fifty people in that joint."

Brice nodded again. His teammates exchanged glances over his head, a silent conversation about what else they could say.

“How you holding up?” Corey finally asked, leaning against the adjacent locker.

“I’m fine,” Brice replied, tying his cleats.

A freshman offensive lineman walked past, staring openly before ducking his head when Brice caught his eye. Brice couldn’t help but wonder how many of them were in the locker room.

The locker room door swung open, and a student assistant poked his head in. “Brice? Coach wants to see you in his office.”

Brice stood, adjusting his practice jersey. "Alright."

As he made his way across the locker room, conversations stopped mid-sentence. Players moved aside, creating a path like he was contagious. Some nodded awkwardly. Others couldn’t meet his eyes. At least half of them, he answered himself.

The hallway to Coach Odom’s office felt longer than usual. Brice’s cleats clicked against the polished floor, each step echoing in the empty corridor. He paused outside the door, took a deep breath, and knocked.

“Come in,” Coach Odom’s voice called from inside.

Brice pushed open the door to find Coach sitting behind his desk, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose as he reviewed what looked like practice notes. He glanced up, removing his glasses as Brice entered.

“Colton,” he said, gesturing to the chair across from him. “Have a seat, son.”

Brice sat, back straight, hands resting on his thighs. Coach Odom studied him for a moment/

“I didn’t expect to see you today,” Odom said finally.

“Got tired of sitting around,” Brice replied.

Odom nodded slowly. “I understand that feeling. You’re welcome to be around the team, if that helps, I just want to make sure that you’re not rushing back thinking you owe us something. We’ll be here, Brice. Whenever you’re ready."

“I appreciate that, Coach,” Brice nodded, "But I’m here. Waiting at home next to the phone ain’t bringing him back, is it?"

…

Liz paced across the kitchen, phone pressed to her ear. “Make sure everyone brings water. It’s going to be a little hoter today."

She ended the call and glanced at Tom, who was adjusting his polo collar in the hallway mirror. His reflection caught her eye, but he didn’t turn around.

“I can’t believe Brice,” she said, setting her phone down on the kitchen counter. “What the fuck is so important he can’t be here? What kind of message does that send?"

Tom stuck his head into the fridge, taking out a Pyrex container. “He’s dealing with it the best way he knows how.”

“Dealing with it?” Liz’s voice rose. "He didn’t pick up crabs from some fucking skank. His son is missing."

Tom reached for his keys. “What do you want him to do? Sit by the phone all day?”

"He needs to show that he gives a fuck about finding his son," Liz grabbed her tote bag from the counter and began filling it with supplies for the day. “People are watching. The media is watching. You can already tell which direction the narrative is heading towards."

Tom checked his watch. “I have to go, Liz. We have a new trailer getting dropped off at nine that I need to finish the paper work on."

“Of course you do,” Liz muttered. She zipped the tote bag closed with a sharp tug.

“The police have professionals handling this,” he sighed. “You should let them do their job.”

“That might work for you and your son but it doesn’t for me,” Liz pulled her hair back into a ponytail. "We’re going to search the park. We’re going to search the trail."

“The police already searched that park.”

“They aren’t mothers,” Liz shot back. “They don’t know what to look for like we do.”

Tom sighed, hand on the doorknob. “I’ll be home by six. Do you want me to grab dinner?”

“We’ll see if her mother shows up today,” Liz ignored him, "She missed the last one."

Tom turned slightly. “What?"

“Who the fuck doesn’t have cameras in their house in 2028?” Liz shook her head, "Your son sure knows how to pick them."

…

“I appreciate you making time today,” LaPenna said, settling into his chair.

“Yeah,” Brice nodded, running his palm along the armrest. He’d been counting down the days since he had received the news, the irony not lost on him that he used to dread coming in here.

LaPenna watched him for a moment. “How are you sleeping?”

“Not much,” Brice admitted. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Between the constant calls and texts from people, mostly my mom really, and when I finally do have a moment, it’s hard not to let my imagination run wild, you know?"

“That’s understandable,” LaPenna said. “This is a traumatic situation.”

Brice let out a harsh laugh. “Yeah, well. It doesn’t help that everyone thinks you’re like this monster. Again."

"We spoke about that before," LaPenna nodded, "In one of our earlier sessions."

"The good old days," Brice scoffed, "I don’t know, I’m getting real tired of people’s perception about me, you know? Obviously the shit with Connie was serious but this? This is like completely different, you know? I don’t know, I guess people can think what they want to think. I can’t police that, can I?"

"You mentioned before feeling like you’re being unfairly painted as a villain,” LaPenna said, crossing one leg over the other. "Do you feel that way now? About this situation?"

"Yeah, obviously," Brice shifted in his seat, "What, what does that mean?"

“I’m just curious about the pattern,” LaPenna said. “With Skylar, with Connie before her, with the various women you’ve been involved with since. There seems to be a recurring theme where you feel misunderstood or unfairly characterized.”

“That’s because I am,” Brice said, a defensive edge creeping into his voice. “Look, I wouldn’t hurt a woman. I wouldn’t hurt most people but certainly not a woman. I don’t know, I guess when you’re someone like me, people have expectations or whatever about my views towards women and yeah, I fuck around, you know, who doesn’t or wouldn’t if they were in my shoes but that doesn’t mean…I’m just saying, I like women, alright?"

“Define ‘like,’” LaPenna said.

Brice sighed. “What?”

“When you say you ‘like’ women, what does that mean to you?”

“I mean, I enjoy their company,” Brice shrugged. “I respect them.”

“Do you?” LaPenna’s voice remained neutral.

“Of course I do,” Brice said quickly. Was LaPenna one of those people? “Why would you ask me that?”

"I think we should focus on that word respect,” LaPenna said. “Do you feel like you’ve respected your partners?"

Brice shook his head, "Come on, bro. I was in fucking high school, okay? I was good to Connie, okay? Don’t let the bullshit fool you. We didn’t work out, it probably wasn’t going to work out but what we had was real, okay?"

“I’m sure it was,” LaPenna nodded. “But I want to explore how you approach those connections, those relationships. When you’re with a woman, whether it’s fucking around like you call it or in a relationship with someone, how do you see her?”

“What do you mean, how do I see her?”

“Do you see her as a complete person with her own desires, fears, and needs that exist independent of you? Or is she primarily defined by her relationship to you: what she can give you, how she makes you feel?”

Brice opened his mouth to respond, then closed it. The question wasn’t one he’d considered before.

“I don’t think about it like that,” he said finally, "Who the fuck does?"

“Let’s try a different angle,” LaPenna suggested. “Tell me about the women in your life who aren’t romantic or sexual partners. Female friends, family members.”

Brice thought for a moment. “There’s Sophie, my sister. And... I mean, there are girls on the athletic training staff I’m cool with.”

“Anyone else?”

The silence stretched as Brice tried to come up with names. “I don’t know. Abdul’s girlfriend is alright."

“What about your mother?” LaPenna asked. “How would you describe your relationship with her?”

“She’s my mom,” Brice shrugged. “She’s always been... a lot. Overbearing mom types. I’m sure you’ve made a fortune from those."

“Do you respect her?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Brice offered.

“You guess?” LaPenna raised an eyebrow.

“She’s my mother,” Brice said, as if that explained everything.

“That’s not what I asked.”

"What do you want me to say? That I think she’s manipulative? That everything she does has some ulterior motive? That she cares more about how things look than how they actually are?”

“Is that how you feel?”

“Sometimes,” Brice admitted. “She’s always been like that."

LaPenna made a note. “When did you first notice that quality in her?”

“I don’t know. Always.”

“Try to think of a specific instance,” LaPenna pressed gently. “A memory where you became aware of this aspect of her personality.”

Brice’s eyes drifted to the corner of the room, focusing on nothing in particular as his mind reached back. “I was pretty young, maybe nine or something. Dad was working late a lot. If it wasn’t practice or a game, didn’t see him much around that time."

“Go on,” LaPenna encouraged when Brice fell silent.

“I don’t know, I think I was on my dad’s phone, probably trying to watch a game or play a video,” Brice lowered his voice, "I just remember getting this notification and it just seemed weird, you know, even as a kid. I didn’t say anything but then like a few days later, I saw them."

“Who?"

“I didn’t know then,” Brice shrugged. “But I found out she was my mom’s boss, I guess. He had dropped me off at the park with my friends and I don’t know but something made me follow him, you know. He was pretty sloppy, to be honest. Right there in the parking lot, kissing her."

LaPenna remained silent, letting Brice continue at his own pace.

“I must have made a noise or something because he eventually looked over,” Brice shook his head. “I don’t know if he saw me, we never talked about it. I always assumed he did."

“Did you tell your mother?”

“Fuck no,” Brice said. “I couldn’t. But I think she found out anyway. The house was... different a little bit after that. That uneasy feeling? Like you’re on pins and needles? Yeah, they barely spoke to each other for weeks. Mom would smile and act normal when other people were around, but as soon as they left, it was like all the warmth drained out of her.”

“And then?”

“And then nothing,” Brice shrugged. “Eventually, things went back to normal. Or what passed for normal, anyway. It was like it never happened.”

“But it did happen,” LaPenna said. “And you witnessed it.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“How did that change how you saw your parents?”

Brice hadn’t thought about it in those terms before. “I don’t know. I guess I started seeing through the act. The happy family routine.”

“And your mother specifically? How did it change how you viewed her?”

“I...” Brice hesitated. “I started noticing how much effort she put into making everything look perfect. I don’t know, it’s like knowing wrestling is fake. Once you know that, you can’t really unsee it, can you?"

“Did you respect her for that?”

Brice sat back.

“No,” he said finally. “I thought she was... weak. For staying with him. For pretending nothing had happened. I don’t know, I always thought of her as this badass and I guess she wasn’t."

“And is that still how you see her?”

Brice nodded slowly. “I guess part of me does.”

“And other women?” LaPenna asked. “Do you think that impacted how you view them?"

Brice thought about his relationships.

“Probably,” he admitted. “I mean they say you marry your mom or some shit like that, right? I guess I figure out what the game is, you know?"

"The game?"

"Yeah," Brice laughed, "We’re all playing a game, aren’t we? Getting what we want out of life, out of other people."

“And so you beat them to the punch,” LaPenna suggested. “You use them before they can use you.”

Brice didn’t answer.

“Brice,” LaPenna leaned forward, “Have you considered that by approaching relationships this way, you’re recreating the very dynamic you resented in your parents’ marriage? The dishonesty, the emotional distance, the performance?”

“I’m not like my dad,” he said, but the words lacked conviction.

“No, you’re not,” LaPenna agreed.

Brice stared at his hands. “So what am I supposed to do? Just trust that women won’t fuck me over? Look where the fuck we are. Literally. I’m here because of Connie. I’m here because of Skylar."

[Caesar]

Brice stared at his hands. “So what am I supposed to do? Just trust that women won’t fuck me over? Look where the fuck we are. Literally. I’m here because of Connie. I’m here because of Skylar."

Spoken like someone who would pay someone to punt their baby mama's melon into Illinois.

[redsox907]

Brice stared at his hands. “So what am I supposed to do? Just trust that women won’t fuck me over? Look where the fuck we are. Literally. I’m here because of Connie. I’m here because of Skylar."

little boy trying to play a man game

Nia hit Skylar with that Randy Orton type punt. Now the question is, does Jimmy Part Deux make it or we killing babies in this bih?

also, Brice ain't out there looking for his baby? way to look guilty bruh

[Captain Canada]

Brice's whole ass son is missing and he's going to practice and therapy.

Not even fighting the allegations at this rate.

[Soapy]

Brice stared at his hands. “So what am I supposed to do? Just trust that women won’t fuck me over? Look where the fuck we are. Literally. I’m here because of Connie. I’m here because of Skylar."

Spoken like someone who would pay someone to punt their baby mama's melon into Illinois.

Libel.

Brice stared at his hands. “So what am I supposed to do? Just trust that women won’t fuck me over? Look where the fuck we are. Literally. I’m here because of Connie. I’m here because of Skylar."

little boy trying to play a man game

Nia hit Skylar with that Randy Orton type punt. Now the question is, does Jimmy Part Deux make it or we killing babies in this bih?

also, Brice ain't out there looking for his baby? way to look guilty bruh

Little Jimmy's fate is up to Yahweh

Brice's whole ass son is missing and he's going to practice and therapy.

Not even fighting the allegations at this rate.

like his father, he is distracting himself with work and routine (message)