The first thing Ramon felt was the bed moving like somebody was trying to shake him out of it.
Nina kept tossing beside him, sheets rasping, a soft little sound catching in her throat every few seconds.
He dragged one eye open. The room sat in that thin blue before sunrise, the blinds leaking streetlight and the ghost of morning. Nina’s shoulders jerked once, then again. Her hand fisted in the sheet like she was holding onto something that was trying to pull away. A whisper slipped out of her, not a word he could catch, just breath and fear.
“Nina,” he said, voice rough, still half in his own sleep.
She didn’t wake up. Her body tightened instead, knees pulling up, heel knocking against his shin hard enough to make him wince. Her breath came faster, little broken pulls that had nothing to do with the heat.
Ramon pushed himself up on one elbow, then sat all the way up, mattress dipping under his weight. He blinked the grit from his eyes and reached for the lamp on the nightstand. The switch clicked and the room snapped into yellow. The light hit her face and showed the sheen of sweat at her hairline, the way her brow pinched like she was bracing for a hit.
“Hey,” he said, leaning over to shake her shoulder. “Nina. Wake up.”
She jerked under his hand, eyes flying open wide. For a second, she just stared past him, chest still working fast, trying to figure out where she was. Then the room seemed to settle around her.
“You was having a bad dream again,” he said. His palm stayed on her arm, thumb rubbing once without him thinking about it. “I told you about that. You gotta stop letting that shit run you in your sleep.”
She pulled away from his touch. The movement wasn’t big, but it was enough. She scooted over, dragging the sheet with her until there was a strip of mattress between them. Her back almost touched the cool of the wall. She kept her eyes on the opposite corner, jaw working.
Ramon exhaled through his nose, tired already. “You gotta stop thinkin’ about that shit, Nina,” he said. “Ain’t neither of us had anything to do with that nigga getting got.”
Nina sucked her teeth, the sound cutting right through the hum of the fan. She stayed turned away, staring at the paint.
“You put that into the universe and the universe answered,” she said. Her voice was steady now, even if it came out smaller than usual. “If you had just gone to the police—”
He cut her off before she could finish the thought he’d already heard too many times. “I’d be back behind them walls right now,” he said, words coming harder. “Every time you say that goofy ass shit, you forgettin’ that I’m a fucking street nigga, too.”
The line sat between them like another body in the bed. Nina turned over onto her back, then her side again so she could see him. The lamp light picked up the tight pull at the corner of her mouth, the way her eyes shined without spilling over.
“It’s not goofy if it’s the fucking truth,” she said. “You wanted something to happen to him, and now something did.”
He shook his head and looked away from her, up at the ceiling. The conversation had a groove now, worn in over the last few nights. He rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the stubble scratch his palm, then reached past her to snap the lamp off.
The room fell back into blue and shadow. He let his body drop down to the mattress again, arm behind his head, eyes on the dark.
“Uh uh,” Nina said after a breath. Her voice cut through the dark, clearer now. “Go get on the sofa.”
Ramon blinked up at the ceiling. “Are you fucking serious?” He pushed himself back up on his elbows, trying to see her face in the dim.
“Yes,” she said. No tremble in it. “I don’t want to be around you right now.”
Heat crawled up the back of his neck, part anger, part disbelief. He sat all the way up, the mattress springs complaining under the shift of weight. For a second, he just sat there, breathing, then he yanked the covers off his legs.
“Aight,” he said finally, voice flat. He swung his feet over the edge of the bed. He stood, joints popping, and reached back to snatch his pillow from where it had slumped against the headboard.
He paused at the foot of the bed, pillow tucked under one arm. The streetlight slipping through the blinds put a thin line across his face. He pointed at her with his free hand, not loud, but clear.
“I’m giving you another month of this shit before you gotta let it fucking go,” he said. “If you ain’t want nothing to happen to that nigga, then you shouldn’t have told me. You know how I feel about niggas like that.”
Nina didn’t answer. She didn’t even look at him. She just pulled the blankets higher, up to her neck, fingers clutching the edge tight enough to wrinkle the fabric. Her eyes went back to the wall, away from him, away from the space he’d left on the mattress.
The fan kept turning. Outside, a truck rolled down the block, bass low and steady. The house held its breath.
Ramon sucked his teeth once, more out of habit than anything, and turned away from the bed. The living room met him in a square of dark and the faint glow from the street through the curtains.
He threw the pillow down, the muffled thump loud in the quiet room, and eased himself onto the sofa, stretching out as much as the short length would let him. He lay back, eyes on the ceiling, the hum of the city pressing in through the walls and let his body sink into the cushions.
~~~
Mireya lay stretched across the couch, her spine pressed into the cushions and her head tilted toward the armrest so the cooling plastic of the iced coffee could rest on her stomach without spilling. Her legs were laid over Jaslene’s lap, her calves settling comfortably across Jaslene’s thighs.
Jaslene sat sideways, her back anchored in the corner of the couch, one arm tucked along the cushion behind her. Her legs were stretched out straight on the coffee table.
Her hand traced slow circles along Mireya’s calf, rubbing without thought, fingers moving in long strokes that followed the shape of her muscle. Every minute or so she slid her touch downward, rubbing along the back of Mireya’s ankle or pressing the heel of her hand into the arch of her foot.
The TV played low, muted colors flickering against the wall. Sunlight pooled in thin lines across the floor.
A soft clatter came from Camila’s room down the hall — a toy shifting against another. Mireya’s eyes snapped open. Her head angled toward the hallway, body going still. She waited.
No shuffle of feet. No whine. No call of “Mami.”
She let out a quiet breath and closed her eyes again.
The ice in her cup clicked softly when it moved. Jaslene’s thumb worked a little deeper into her calf, kneading a knot and smoothing it out.
“You have finals soon, no?” Jaslene asked after a while. Her voice carried the soft rasp of someone who had only half woken up.
Mireya nodded lazily, the cup on her stomach shifting with her breath. “In a few weeks.”
A smile curved at Jaslene’s mouth. Mireya felt the small shift of it in the way Jaslene’s hands moved. “Look at you,” she murmured, “surviving a semester of college without going jump off the Causeway.”
Mireya let out a laugh. Tired, amused, half-hidden. She opened her eyes a sliver. “It wouldn’t be college that would’ve had me jumping off the Causeway.”
Jaslene’s own laugh followed, low and warm. “What would it have been? Dancing?”
“Yeah,” Mireya said, lips lifting, “because I’m surrounded by annoying putas all night every night.”
Jaslene made a scoffing sound and pinched the soft side of her calf in retaliation. Mireya jolted her leg once, then let it fall back across Jaslene’s lap.
The two of them fell quiet again. The light changed a little as a cloud passed. Jaslene adjusted her weight under Mireya’s legs, settling them more comfortably across hers. Mireya’s free hand loosened on the iced coffee, her grip shifting into something lazy, half-asleep.
The stillness held.
Then came a knock, sharp, quick, three taps against the front door.
“Fuck,” Mireya breathed, her head lifting an inch off the armrest. She closed her eyes and cursed under her breath. “I forgot I told Angela and Paz they could come by to bring a shirt back to me that I let Angela borrow.”
Jaslene didn’t sigh, didn’t roll her eyes. She simply slid Mireya’s legs gently off her lap, stood, and padded to the door with the quiet steps of someone comfortable where they were.
She unlocked it and pulled it open.
Angela stood there holding a folded shirt in her hands. Paz stood just behind her, not entering the threshold, gaze darting past Jaslene immediately, toward the couch, toward Mireya stretched out across it, toward the reshaped cushion where Jaslene had clearly been sitting moments before.
The morning heat of the hallway pushed into the living room as they stepped inside.
Jaslene walked back to the couch, no hesitation, no stiffness in her steps. She sat in the exact spot she had left, lifted Mireya’s legs again, and draped them across her lap, her hands resuming their place on Mireya’s skin.
Angela blinked. Confusion crept over her features, the little pinch between her brows tightening as she took in the position of the two of them.
Paz didn’t bother hiding her reaction. She stayed planted near the door, eyes sliding between their legs, the closeness of their bodies, the way Jaslene’s fingers ran lightly across Mireya’s shin.
Angela lifted the shirt a little, holding it in both hands. “I didn’t wear it, but I washed it anyway.”
Mireya reached her free hand toward her. “Didn’t like it on?”
Angela stepped forward and handed it to her. “I didn’t realize it was backless when I saw you wearing it.”
Jaslene gave Angela a once-over. “Girl, you could’ve worn something backless. Feel a little sexy.”
Angela scoffed and shook her head. “Not me.”
Mireya’s eyes cut to Paz. Paz still hadn’t moved farther into the apartment. She stood stiff, her back nearly brushing the door. Her eyes kept flashing between their legs on the couch, Jaslene’s posture, Mireya’s relaxed sprawl.
Mireya tapped the lid of her iced coffee with her finger. “Me and Jas were going to go get brunch when Camila gets up. Y’all wanna come?”
Angela turned automatically to Paz, waiting for her read of the situation. Paz shook her head before Angela even finished turning, her mouth tightening.
Angela shrugged lightly. “Maybe next time.”
Paz finally spoke, her voice flat. “We’re going to the Tulane game.”
Mireya nodded. “Alright. Text me then.”
That was it. Angela nudged Paz’s arm and turned toward the door again. She opened it, letting a wave of warm hallway air roll into the room as the two of them stepped out. The door shut behind them with a dull thud.
The apartment settled back into its earlier quiet. The AC hummed. The TV flickered. Camila’s room stayed still.
Jaslene stared at the closed door a moment longer, the shape of her mouth tightening into a knowing line. Her hand on Mireya’s shin gave a small, absent stroke, down to her foot and back.
“La flaquita realmente no le gustas,” she said.
Mireya rested her head back against the armrest and closed her eyes. “No, ya no.”
~~~
Caine licked his fingertips as he settled into his stance, cadence coming out loud over the din of the crowd in Bobcat Stadium. He stepped forward, pointing out blitzers, making line adjustments.
“Seeeeet. Hut, hut, go!”
Chandler snapped the ball cleanly. Caine dropped back, spinning the ball in his hands to get the laces. His arm was going through the motion of throwing as soon as he hit the top of his drop.
Josh planted his foot in the ground, head turned toward the sideline, body already moving toward the inside.
Caine fired the ball down the field before Josh had come out of his break. As soon as the receiver whipped his head around, he only had a few seconds to bring his hands up to make the catch.
Leather smacked leather as Josh hauled it in. He turned up field immediately, slipped between the safeties and into the endzone, the ball held out in front of him.
Caine threw one arm up, hopped by a Texas State defensive lineman, nodding his head then jogged to the endzone to join the celebrations.
….
“That’s another completion from Caine Guerra and the freshman has been dealing early on in this game.”
“I don’t know if it’s Texas State’s defense being too slow to keep up with Georgia Southern’s receivers or if Guerra is simply seeing things in slow motion but he surely can’t keep this up for an entire 60 minutes, right?”
“Only two incompletions so far, Greg. And both of them were drops by the receiver.”
“Crazy, crazy stuff.”
…
“Guerra rolls to his right. Directing traffic. Green, his favorite target, is open and he throws a laser, low and fast through the defense and… TOUCHDOWN EAGLES! Georgia Southern is going up 14-0 here, pending the extra point!”
“Guerra can spin it, ladies and gentlemen. That was the kind of pass that Chris Collinsworth would be talking about from Patrick Mahomes for the next year! Side-armed fast ball. Get in the way of it if you want and you’re going to have a broken finger or two.”
“And he still only has those two incompletions now in the second quarter.”
…
Caine called for the snap, holding the ball in David’s gut as he kept his eyes on the edge rusher to his right. The read man crashed down toward the middle of the line, looking to make a big stop near the goal line.
Caine pulled the ball at the last moment and took off towards the endzone. The safety read the play too late and was nowhere near it to stop it as Caine walked across the goal line, flipping the ball to the back judge.
He turned around ran toward his offensive linemen, jumping up as celebrating with them as the smattering of fans who’d made the trip from Statesboro broke into cheers.
The blowout was only getting worse.
…
“Third and seven after two runs by the Eagles. Javis Mynatt on the stop on that last play. Georgia Southern comes out with three out wide, Green on the line, Mbadinga in the backfield with Guerra. Here’s the snap. The Bobcats are bringing five.
“Guerra steps to his left to avoid a pass rusher and buy himself some time, throws it right over the linebackers in zones. Dallas is there to catch it and no one’s going to catch him with a full head of steam! TOUCHDOWN EAGLES! 27-3 Georgia Southern!”
“That was another anticipation thrown, Mike. When Caine Guerra threw that ball, Josh Dallas was on the left hash and only a step off his man. He caught it on the right hash with at least a yard of separation. Remember, he’s doing this as a true freshman.”
“He’s scored all four of Georgia Southern’s touchdowns so far, three through the air and one on the ground.”
…
“Landry has Guerra wrapped up in the backfield and—Guerra breaks out of the sack! He sprints out to the right. Floats it up. Gray has it! That’s another touchdown for Caine Guerra. His fifth of the day!”
“Mike, that’s pure refusal to get brought down in the backfield. Listen to this, people. Jo’Laison Landry is 257 pounds. Caine Guerra? 188. I don’t know what this kid did before this game but he’s playing on another level right now!”
“The Bobcats have messed up his stat line a little bit here in the fourth quarter. He now has five incompletions on 26 attempts. Only one of those was a pass that was underthrown to Josh Dallas. The other four? Drops by receivers that hit them in the hands.”
“It’s as close to a perfect game as we’re going to see.”
…
Caine walked up to his spot in the shotgun after breaking the huddle. He glanced up at the scoreboard, just a little over two minutes remaining in the game, a game that had been well in hand for the better part of proceedings.
“If you see it, take it,” Coach Fatu’s voice crackled over the headset with the last few seconds of communications he had.
The Bobcats’ defense crept down toward the line of scrimmage, stacking the box with only a handful of yards between Georgia Southern and another touchdown.
“Check! Check! Casino! Casino!” Caine shouted, stepping up to the line to make adjustments.
He didn’t waste any time calling for the snap.
He caught the ball cleanly. An all-out blitz coming at him. He didn’t even drop back. Simply turned to his right and flicked the ball out to Ewan over the outstretched arms of a defensive lineman.
Ewan was dragged into the endzone, the referees’ arms went up, the boos rained down from the fans still left in the stadium.
Caine looked down as his hand in a celebration. Dwight jogged over and held his own out. They slapped their hands together five times, once for every touchdown Caine had thrown. Caine turned around to jog off the field then turned back, slapping Dwight’s hand once more.
“Fucking forget the rushing one,” Caine said, humor in his voice.
Dwight laughed as the team jogged off the field. Weston and the second team offense stood ready at the edge of the sidelines if Georgia Southern got the ball back again.
~~~
Laney shifted the basket with her hip and fed another armful of damp clothes into the washer. The overhead light in the laundry room buzzed, throwing a flat yellow over the tile. The house was quiet in that way it only got at night, the TV off, the fields outside pressed close against the walls.
The side door creaked open off the kitchen. A draft of colder air moved through, bringing the smell of woods and gunpowder and sweat. Laney glanced down at her phone on the shelf by the detergent, checked the time, then slid it back where it was.
Boots thudded against the floor. The boys’ voices hit first, bright and tripping over each other.
“Mama!”
They burst past the doorway in a knot, cheeks red from the cold, faces split open in grins. Braxton reached her first and wrapped his arms around her waist. Knox hooked around from the side, and Hunter had to squeeze between his brothers to get his own hug in.
Laney braced herself on the edge of the washer and let them mash up against her, the basket digging into her hip.
“We got back quicker than you thought, huh?” Braxton said, breath puffing warm through her shirt.
She smoothed a hand over the back of his head, fingers catching in his hair. “Mm-hm,” she said. “Y’all tracked mud all the way through my kitchen quicker than I thought, too.”
Braxton leaned back enough to see her face, eyes shining. “I got a deer,” he said, chest pushing out a little under his jacket.
Laney’s mouth softened. “Good job, baby,” she said, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “I knew you was gon’ get one this time.”
Knox tipped his chin up, mouth twisting. “I missed mine,” he said.
She reached over and ruffled his hair, the ends stiff from dried sweat. “You’ll get it next time,” she said. “Ain’t nobody hittin’ everything the first few tries.”
She looked down at Hunter, who still had his arms around her middle. His eyes slid away from hers.
“What’d you do?” she asked him, voice easy.
Before he could answer, Braxton spoke up, grin widening. “He was scared to shoot,” he said.
Knox barked a laugh, nodding along with his brother. Hunter’s mouth pulled into a pout. He dropped his eyes to the floor, boots turned in toward each other.
Laney shifted her weight and brought one hand up to Hunter’s cheek, thumb rubbing over the skin there. “You’ll be brave next time,” she said, softening her tone. “It’s okay.”
His shoulders loosened a little under his jacket. He nodded once, still not looking all the way up at her.
“Alright,” she said, her voice returning to its usual strength. “Y’all go on and get ready to take baths. You smell like outside.”
All three of them groaned in the same breath.
“Mama,” Knox dragged out.
“Go on,” she said, tipping her head toward the hall. “Before I hose you off on the porch.”
That got a small laugh out of Braxton. He peeled away from her, Knox right behind him, their boots thumping a trail down the hallway. Hunter gave her one last quick look, then turned and ran after his brothers, his smaller steps pattering over the wood.
The house settled again in their wake. Laney turned back to the washer and shook the rest of the clothes from the basket, pushing them down so the drum would take them. She twisted the knob, heard the click and the rush of water start, then shut the lid. The sound of it filling bled into the quiet.
She wiped her damp hands on the front of her T-shirt and made her way toward the kitchen.
Tommy stood in the dining room, between the table and the doorway, his back to her. He had already stacked some of the gear in rough lines. A pack slumped against one chair. Orange vests lay folded on the table. One long rifle bag stretched across the wood, zipper glinting under the overhead light.
Laney’s bare feet took the last few steps slow. The smell in the room was stronger here. Cold night air clung to Tommy’s jacket. There was a trace of oil and spent powder hanging over everything.
He unzipped the bag in one smooth pull. The teeth rattled all the way down. He slid the rifle out and set the bag aside, the gun landing on the table with a dull, careful weight. The barrel pointed toward the corner. The stock angled back toward him.
He heard the shift of her steps and did not turn yet. His jaw moved once, tight at the edges. Then he lifted his head.
“Laney,” he said. “Come here.”
She stepped in closer, stopping at the edge of the table. The wood pressed against the fronts of her thighs. She kept her hands loosely clasped in front of her and looked at him.
Tommy tapped two fingers against the top of the rifle. “You moved this one yesterday,” he said. “I almost gave it to Blake, but it’s a good thing something told me to check it first.”
Laney’s eyes dropped to the gun for a second, then came back up to his face. “It needed to be cleaned and oiled,” she said.
He drew in a breath, shoulders lifting once. For half a heartbeat she thought he might nod. Instead he turned toward her full on, the air in the room shifting with him.
“You incompetent, stupid bitch,” he snapped, the words cracking through the quiet. “You knew the gun needed to be cleaned and didn’t fucking say anything?”
Laney’s spine pressed back into the table edge. Heat flashed up her neck. Tommy stepped in, closing the space between them until his chest almost brushed hers, his face bent down over hers, voice raised the way he used it on soldiers.
“I gave this to my God damn brother,” he went on, spit catching at the corner of his mouth. “Why didn’t you say shit? Huh?”
Laney swallowed. The lights over the table felt hotter. “I ain’t want to say somethin’ you probably knew,” she said. The sound of her own voice came out thinner than she wanted, words small under his.
“Ain’t want to say anything?” he repeated, louder. His hands lifted in a brief, jagged motion before he planted them on the table edge on either side of her hips, caging her in. “Every time you try to help, you fuck it up. You don’t think. You never fucking think!”
Her gaze dropped to a knot in the wood. She didn’t answer. Her fingers curled against her palms, knuckles whitening.
“Well, fucking speak,” he shouted. “You got a fucking tongue, don’t you? You ain’t got much of a brain, but you can use your words. Even fucking dogs know how to speak.”
Laney’s head tipped down farther. Her hair slid forward, screening part of her face. She let it. The table dug into the backs of her thighs as she edged back that last inch, but he moved with her, closing the space again so there was nowhere else to go.
“I ain’t…” she started, then let the rest die in her throat. There was nothing she could say that would slow him down.
“You stand in my kitchen and decide what I need to know about my weapons?” he went on. “Sometimes, Laney, I think I made the worst mistake of my fucking life marrying your stupid ass.”
The words rang off the walls and hung there. Her chest rose once, sharp. Her eyes stayed on the table.
From the hallway came a small, shaking “Mommy?”
Laney’s head snapped toward the sound. Hunter stood at the corner where the hall opened into the kitchen, one hand braced on the wall. His eyes were glassy, catching the light. His bottom lip trembled.
She looked from Hunter back up at Tommy’s face. “Tommy, stop,” she said quietly.
He didn’t move back. If anything his jaw set harder. He tore his hands off the table and grabbed one of the chairs instead, yanking it out so it scraped loud against the floor.
“Since you wanna fuck with shit and not use your peanut brain when you see a problem,” he said, kicking the chair into position in front of the table, “sit the fuck down and clean this so we know it’s clean next time.”
Laney’s eyes went back to Hunter for a beat. He was still at the corner, small and unsure, taking in every raised word. Then she looked at Tommy again. The anger on his face gave her nowhere to stand.
She sat down in the chair, shoulders rounding in. If she went along, maybe he would stop.
He planted one hand on the back of the chair and shoved it forward. The motion jolted her toward the table. Her hands flew up, palms catching the edge in time to keep her from hitting it with her ribs.
“Go on,” he said.
Her breath came shallow for a second. She turned her head enough to see the hallway. Hunter’s eyes met hers. Then he turned and disappeared back down the hall, feet retreating in small, quick steps.
Laney faced the table again. The rifle lay stretched out in front of her, metal catching the kitchen light. With shaky hands, she reached for the rifle.
