Damaged Petals.

[djp73]

them cats on defense better

[Soapy]

them cats on defense better

Oregon next

[Soapy]

Season 6, Episode 13
Serena stretched, her body pleasantly sore in places that reminded her of last night. The space beside her was empty, the sheets cool to the touch. She rolled onto her back, blinking against the morning light filtering through the half-open blinds.

This was her second straight night here. Not that she was counting. Except she absolutely was counting.

She sat up, running her fingers through her hair. Her phone sat on the nightstand, screen dark. She ignored it, listening instead to the sounds of the house. A voice. Low and quiet, coming from somewhere deeper in the house.

Serena swung her legs out of bed, her feet finding the carpet. She'd left her clothes scattered across the floor. She grabbed Brice's t-shirt from where it hung over the desk chair, pulling it over her head.

She padded toward the door, following the sound of his voice. The hallway was short, opening into the main living area. The kitchen was to the left, separated from the living room by a long counter.

Brice stood at the stove, his back to her, wearing sweatpants. He was talking, his voice carrying that easy rhythm he used when he was relaxed.

"...I don’t know, I’ll guess we’ll see where it goes. Marks doesn’t want me to come but fuck it, you know?"

Serena stopped at the edge of the kitchen, her hand resting on the counter. There was no one else in the room. No phone pressed to his ear. No laptop open on the counter. Just Brice, talking to empty air while scrambling eggs in a pan.

"You talking to yourself now?" she asked with a short laugh, her voice still rough with sleep.

Brice turned, the spatula in his hand. His expression didn't change, no embarrassment or surprise crossing his face. He just looked at her, then back at the eggs, then back at her.

"You hungry?" he asked, ignoring her question entirely.

"Yeah, I can eat."

"Alright," he turned back to the stove, using the spatula to push the eggs around the pan.

Serena moved further into the kitchen, hopping up onto the counter beside the stove. The granite was cold against the backs of her thighs. "You always cook breakfast for your hookups?"

"I don’t know that I would call you a hookup," Brice kept his eyes on the stove.

"Oh yeah? What am I then?"

He glanced at her, something playful in his eyes. "You're the girl wearing my shirt, sitting on my counter, asking me questions this early in the morning."

"That's not an answer."

"Sounded like one to me," he reached past her to grab a plate from the cabinet, his arm brushing against her knee. "Make yourself useful and grab the biscuits out of the oven."

She slid off the counter, opening the oven door. She used the oven mitt hanging from the handle to pull out the baking sheet, setting it on the stovetop.

"How do you like your eggs?" Brice asked.

"However you're making them."

"That's a cop-out answer."

"Fine. Scrambled. With cheese if you have it."

"Who the fuck doesn’t have cheese?" he opened the fridge, pulling out a bag of shredded cheese.

They moved around each other easily, no awkward dancing or bumping into each other. He plated the eggs. She grabbed the toast from the toaster. He poured orange juice into two glasses.

"You do this a lot?" she asked, sprinkling cheese over the eggs on her plate.

"Cook breakfast?"

"Yeah."

"Sometimes," he grabbed forks from the drawer, handing her one. "My dad always liked cooking, I guess he probably still does. Anyway, must have been something I picked up."

"Good man."

"He has his moments."

They carried their plates to the small dining table by the window. Serena sat, tucking one leg under her, watching as Brice settled across from her.

"This is good," she said after the first bite.

"Don't sound so surprised."

"I'm not. I just didn't peg you for the domestic type."

"There's a lot you don't know about me," Brice said, his tone light but something underneath it that she couldn't quite read, "A man that wants to eat has to know how to cook, don’t he?"

"You know how to eat, alright," she smirked as she took another bite.

…

The elevator dinged. They stepped inside, and Paulie pressed the button for the third floor. Skylar watched the numbers light up one by one, her pulse quickening with each floor.

This was the first time they'd be in the same room with Brice's lawyer. The first time things would feel real in a way that phone calls and emails hadn't. She'd prepared for this, rehearsed what she'd say, what she wouldn’t say, how she'd present herself. Confident. Put together. Unshakable.

The doors opened and they walked down a hallway lined with framed diplomas and photos of Wayne Marks shaking hands with various athletes. Paulie knocked on the door marked with Marks' name.

"Come in," a voice called from inside.

Paulie opened the door, holding it for Skylar. She stepped through, her eyes immediately finding Wayne Marks behind a large mahogany desk. He stood, extending his hand.

"Miss Hayes, Mr. Sirico. Thank you for coming."

Then her eyes moved past him to the leather chair in the corner. Brice sat there, one ankle crossed over his knee.

Marks cleared his throat. "My client decided to attend today's meeting."

Paulie's head snapped toward Marks. "That wasn't discussed. We agreed this would be between counsel."

"My client has every right to be present," Marks said smoothly, gesturing to the chairs across from his desk. "Please, have a seat."

Skylar couldn't move. Brice's gaze hadn't left her face, and she felt the facade beginnning to crack. He looked different, taking up more space than she remembered. Or maybe she'd just forgotten what it felt like to be in the same room with him.

"Skylar," Paulie said quietly, touching her elbow.

She forced her legs to move, lowering herself into one of the chairs. Paulie sat beside her, already pulling documents from his briefcase. Skylar kept her eyes on the desk, on the polished wood grain, anywhere but on Brice.

Marks exhaled through his nose, sitting back down. "Well. Since we're all here, let's proceed."

Skylar finally looked up, catching Brice's eye for just a second before looking away. He was studying her, she could feel it, his gaze moving over her face, down to her belly. She'd put on weight everywhere during the pregnancy, her face fuller, her hips wider, her breasts heavy. She caught something flicker across his expression, quick and gone, but she'd seen it.

"The purpose of today's meeting," Marks began, "is to establish the terms for paternity testing following the birth of Miss Hayes' child."

"That's correct," Paulie said, pulling out a folder. "My client has been transparent from the beginning. She's willing to submit to DNA testing immediately upon the birth."

"Good," Marks said. "We propose that both parties collect swab samples on the day of birth. Each party will submit samples to their respective chosen laboratories. The results will be shared simultaneously."

Paulie nodded, making notes. "That's acceptable. We'll need to establish a timeline for—"

"There's one more thing," Marks interrupted.

Skylar's stomach dropped. Paulie's pen stilled on the page.

"My client would like to discuss terms in the event that paternity is established."

The room went silent. Skylar's heart hammered against her ribs. They weren't supposed to discuss this yet. Not until after the test. Not until they knew for certain.

"That's premature," Paulie said, his voice tight. "We haven't even—"

"My client's needs are clear," Marks continued, as if Paulie hadn't spoken. "He wants to be prepared for all possible outcomes. I think that's reasonable."

Paulie looked at Skylar. She couldn't read his expression, couldn't think past the roaring in her ears. Brice still hadn't said anything. He just sat there, watching her, his face unreadable.

"What kind of terms?" Paulie asked finally.

Marks opened a folder on his desk, pulling out a single sheet of paper. "Mr. Colton is prepared to offer Miss Hayes a lump sum payment in exchange for three conditions. One, he will not be listed on the birth certificate. Two, the child will not take the Colton surname. Three, Mr. Colton will be absolved of all parental rights and responsibilities."

Skylar gripped the armrest of her chair, her knuckles going white.

"That's—" Paulie started, but Marks slid the paper across the desk.

"The amount is listed here."

Paulie picked up the paper, his eyes scanning the number. His jaw went slack. He looked at Skylar, then back at the paper, then at Marks.

"This is..." Paulie trailed off.

Skylar didn't look at the paper. She couldn't. She kept her eyes on Brice instead, on the way he sat there so calm, so collected, like he was negotiating a business deal and not the future of a child.

"We should take a recess," Paulie said, his voice unsteady. "My client and I need to discuss—"

"The offer expires the moment you leave this room," Brice finally spoke.

His voice cut through everything, sharp and final. Skylar's breath caught. Those were the first words he'd spoken directly to her in months.

"Skylar, you need to accept," Brice continued, leaning forward slightly, "that no matter what, you have a bastard for a son."

"Brice," Marks said, a warning in his tone.

"The only question the DNA test will answer," Brice kept going, his eyes locked on Skylar's, "is whether you have a bastard son with me as the father, or a bastard son from any of the hundred dicks you've stuffed in your pussy since you were twelve."

Skylar's vision blurred. Her hands shook in her lap.

"Mr. Colton," Marks said, his voice sharp now.

"I'm just telling the truth that we’re all avoiding," Brice said, sitting back. "She wants to play house, wants to act like we're going to be some happy family. Face it, Skylar. I won't raise this kid. I won't be part of his life. The DNA test doesn't change that. The only difference is whether she wants to be a single mom or a single mom with a decent checking account."

Brice paused, letting his words fill the space. "Shit, you always said you wanted those Balenciaga shoes. We can throw some in there for the package. You’re an eight, right?"

The room spun. Skylar's chest tightened, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. She wanted to scream, wanted to throw something, wanted to claw that smug look off his face.

"You're a soulless fucking monster," she heard herself say, the words ripping out of her. "What kind of fucking man are you?"

Brice stood, smoothing his shirt with slow, deliberate movements.

"You know exactly the kind of man I am, Skylar," he said as he walked past her chair. "Better than most."

[djp73]

"How do you like your eggs?" Brice asked.

fertilized is his specialty

[djp73]

Oregon next

[Captain Canada]

As much of a dickhead move that was, Brice ain't wrong. Skylar was trying to play house with a dude she was with under the worst conditions possible. Kind of a dumb play, if we keeping it a buck.

[Caesar]

First of all, I know you not leading this good sister down the path of Yakubian damnation in Black History Month.

Second of all, Brice really embracing that shit father role. Shit teammate. Shit man. Shit father. Shit person. #NotMyQB

[redsox907]

She grabbed the toast from the toaster

"Make yourself useful and grab the biscuits out of the oven."

who the fuck makes biscuits AND toast with eggs

"The only question the DNA test will answer," Brice kept going, his eyes locked on Skylar's, "is whether you have a bastard son with me as the father, or a bastard son from any of the hundred dicks you've stuffed in your pussy since you were twelve."

not the cacophony of cocks

not like we all saw this coming. Brice gonna fit that shit til the end

Sky ain't going to take the deal. She want that Brice fame to ride on the coattails for the rest of her life, she looses that with the deal. Not letting her think the deal through is actually the wrong move imo, cause if she acting on emotion the odds of her telling Brice to fuck off are high. Let her sit on it (not like hasn't already done enough of that), let mama Liz drill more doom and gloom into her, so she eventually caves. That would have been the smart play, but that would be subtle and the long game. We all know Brice ain't got the patience for that

[Soapy]

"How do you like your eggs?" Brice asked.

fertilized is his specialty

pretty good joke from you

8/10

Oregon next

gotta stand in the paint. literally.

As much of a dickhead move that was, Brice ain't wrong. Skylar was trying to play house with a dude she was with under the worst conditions possible. Kind of a dumb play, if we keeping it a buck.

you might be the real villain bro lmao

First of all, I know you not leading this good sister down the path of Yakubian damnation in Black History Month.

Second of all, Brice really embracing that shit father role. Shit teammate. Shit man. Shit father. Shit person. #NotMyQB

She grabbed the toast from the toaster

"Make yourself useful and grab the biscuits out of the oven."

who the fuck makes biscuits AND toast with eggs

"The only question the DNA test will answer," Brice kept going, his eyes locked on Skylar's, "is whether you have a bastard son with me as the father, or a bastard son from any of the hundred dicks you've stuffed in your pussy since you were twelve."

not the cacophony of cocks

not like we all saw this coming. Brice gonna fit that shit til the end

Sky ain't going to take the deal. She want that Brice fame to ride on the coattails for the rest of her life, she looses that with the deal. Not letting her think the deal through is actually the wrong move imo, cause if she acting on emotion the odds of her telling Brice to fuck off are high. Let her sit on it (not like hasn't already done enough of that), let mama Liz drill more doom and gloom into her, so she eventually caves. That would have been the smart play, but that would be subtle and the long game. We all know Brice ain't got the patience for that

I needed to find something for her to do, dawg lmao

[Soapy]

drop ya nuts young man

ayo if needed