“Hut. Hut. Go!”
Caine received the snap from Chandler, spinning the ball to find the laces. He dropped back. One, two, three. Eyes reading the Kansas State defense.
Trey’Dez came open over the middle. Caine stepped up and threw the ball out in front of him, giving his tight end a chance to run under the ball and keep his momentum for some yards after.
He watched as Trey’Dez hauled it in and turned up field, getting spun to the turf by a Kansas State defender after a big gain.
Caine pumped his fist as he walked down the field to the new spot.
…
“Second and 22 from their own 33 here after that sack. Guerra’s in the shotgun, his favorite targets so far this season Green and Sahara to his right.
“Guerra sends Folau in motion. Not many plays to get a first down in this situation so expect the Eagles to just try to make the third down manageable. Here’s the snap. Guerra drops back, clean pocket.
“Guerra steps up and fires it to Sahara on the out route. Perfectly placed out in front of him! And that’s a gain of 23 on the play. Forget everything I said about not having a way to get that first down because Georgia Southern’s has Caine Guerra in the backfield!”
…
Caine dropped back then went to his right to avoid the pass rush, dipping his shoulder down as an edge rusher reached out to grab his pads.
He kept his shoulders squared down the field as he continued drifting to the right. A linebacker ran toward him, breaking from his spy to try to get the sack.
Caine bounced back onto his back foot then stepped forward and launched the ball down the field toward Javier. The linebacker got there just a second too late, wrapping him up but only shoving him away.
Caine watched as the ball arced over Javier’s shoulder and he brought the ball in. The cornerback wrapped him up almost immediately, but Javier popped up with the ball, shouting into the Kansas sky as the chains moved.
…
“Georgia Southern going with tempo after that big gain on the last play. Kansas State trying to make substitutions. Caine Guerra hustling his team back to the line of scrimmage, shouting directions.
“Guerra calls for the snap as soon as the referee gets out of the way. A Wildcat might’ve been caught offside there. Guerra flicks it out quickly to Femi Folau and that’s a touchdown for the Eagles!
“Seven-all pending the extra point here in the Little Apple and we might have ourselves a ball game!”
…
Caine walked out of the huddle, rubbing his hands together, glove to skin as he glanced up at the scoreboard. It had been a back-and-forth game through the first half, the Eagles trailing by four with a little under five minutes to go in the second quarter.
He settled into his stance and barked out his cadence.
Then he called for the snap.
Almost immediately, he was flushed out of the pocket, the pass rush blowing through the offensive line.
Caine escaped out of the pocket of it, whipping his shoulders around to find some space down the field to run if he needed to.
Jeremiah had a step on his man. His hand went up.
Off platform, Caine drew his arm back and fired, sending the ball cutting through the air. Jeremiah reached out for it on the run, stumbling a bit as he pulled it in but keeping his balance and sprinting into the endzone.
Caine looked at the nearest Kansas State defender, pointing at him, nodding his head then said, “What’s up, bitch? Ain’t y’all supposed to be Big 12, motherfucker? You can’t fucking stop me! None of y’all can fucking stop me!”
Dwight ran over to Caine, wrapping him up in a bear hug and lifting him off his feet for a moment before the two of them jogged down the field to celebrate with Jeremiah and the rest of the team.
…
“First and ten on Kansas State’s 28 for the Eagles. A score on this drive would be crucial for them, putting them up by at least six. Guerra’s in the shotgun as usual, Bradley offset to his left, Ware, Folau, Sahara and Ejiofor split out wide, two by two.
“Guerra calls for the snap. It’s clean. Looks like they’re running an RPO. Guerra leaves it with Bradley. Bradley hits the hole… and he’s gone! There isn’t a purple jersey anywhere near him!
“The 20, the 10, touchdown Georgia Southern! What a play by J.J. Bradley. That’s what you call some solid running back play. See hole, hit hole, touchdown. Nothing flashy, nothing but fundamentals. The Eagles are about to go up 24-14 here in Manhattan!”
…
Caine settled into his stance. Coach Aplin had sent them out with one goal—burn the clock and get out of there with a win.
“Hut, hut, hut!” Caine shouted, attempting to get the defense to jump and gift them a free first down. They didn’t bite.
He stood and reset, scanning the defense before stepping toward the line and shouting an adjustment.
Caine called for the snap, turned, shoved the ball into J.J.’s waiting arms. Caine sprinted out as if rolling out, hoping to draw a couple defenders away from the middle of the field. He turned around and saw J.J. break the second level.
He snorted a laugh before starting toward their sideline, unhooking his chin strap. Caine reached the sideline just as the smattering of Georgia Southern fans who’d made the trip erupted into cheers.
Coach Aplin pointed at Caine, a bit of a smile on his face. “You kids call that aura farming, huh?”
Caine shook his head and laughed as Aplin slapped him on the back of the helmet. “Gotta give the PR guys something to put on social media, Coach.”
~~~
Saul grabbed another T-shirt from the top of the dresser drawer and shoved it into the backpack on his bed. The bag was already more full than it should’ve been for a couple days in Gonzales. He pressed down on the pile with one forearm and yanked the zipper closed with his other hand.Saul slung the backpack over one shoulder. He checked his phone on the dresser. No new notifications, just Ava’s last text sitting at the top of the screen with a picture of Angel’s tiny hand wrapped around her finger.
He picked the phone up, slid it into his pocket, and left the room
Heat met him on the porch. He hit the screen door with his shoulder and stepped out, the mesh giving under the push.
He started down the steps at a jog, backpack bumping against his spine.
Zoe was already halfway up the driveway coming from the curb, keys in her hand. Her car door was shut, the thunk already done. Her jaw was tight.
“I’ve been texting you,” she said. “Why the fuck haven’t you answered me?”
Saul came to a stop on the last step. The backpack strap slid a little and he hooked his thumb under it, hiking it back onto his shoulder. His eyes flicked past her to the street, then back.
“I been in Gonzales,” he said. “My kid was born the other day.”
Zoe’s face shifted, the anger cracking just enough for something else to show. Her mouth eased. Her eyes moved over his face, taking in the tired set there.
“Congratulations,” she said.
The word hung between them for a second. Saul nodded once, the corner of his mouth pulling up.
Zoe rolled her lips together, then blew out a breath through her nose.
“Kayjuan been looking for you, though,” she said.
Saul shut his eyes for half a second. The sound of a truck passing at the end of the block filled the space between them. He dragged a hand through his hair, fingers pushing hard at his scalp.
“Shit,” he said. “I kinda forgot about all of that with everything going on.”
Zoe’s head snapped slightly to the side. “You forgot?” she said, voice jumping. “About the money you owe him? Ain’t it a few thousand dollars?”
Saul shifted his weight, the gravel of the drive crunching under his shoe. “I know,” he said. “But he ain’t reach out to me. Maine neither. So, I figured I still had some time to, you know—”
“These niggas gonna kill you over that,” Zoe cut in.
Her hand came up to her head, fingers sliding into her hair. She pressed her palm down, tugging at the roots. She stood there a second, breathing through it, eyes on his.
She sighed. “Do you need help selling it?” she asked.
Saul looked down at the driveway, then hooked his hand into the front pocket of his jeans and rocked back on his heel. He shook his head once, then nodded.
“I already did,” he said. “Kinda.”
Zoe’s eyebrows lifted. “What do you mean kinda?”
Saul exhaled, slow. The backpack felt heavier all of a sudden. He slid it off his shoulder and let it hang from his hand by the strap, the canvas resting just above the ground.
“Well, I texted Caine like you said I should,” Saul said. “And he sent some of his friends to help me. Buy the stuff from me.”
Zoe’s expression went flat. Her mouth opened, then closed. Her gaze dropped to the concrete for a beat, then came back up.
“So, bring the fucking money to Kayjuan,” she said.
Saul shifted the bag to his other hand, fingers tightening around the strap.
“They didn’t give me all of it,” he said.
Zoe stared at him, eyes narrowing. “You let some niggas your cousin know run off on you?”
Saul shook his head sharp enough that his hair moved. “No,” he said. “They told me to tell Kayjuan that I got robbed and to meet him to give him what I got.”
Zoe went still. The only movement was the flex of her fingers around her keys. For a moment, she just looked at him, eyes narrowed, jaw working.
“You’re a fucking idiot, Saul,” she said finally. “They’re trying to set Kay up.”
Saul lifted both hands from the strap, palms out, the backpack swinging slightly.
“I’m not trying to get involved in any of that,” he said.
“You already are,” Zoe said.
Saul dropped his hands and rubbed his chin, thumb dragging along the roughness there.
“That’s why I been trying to figure out what to do,” he said.
Zoe stared at him another beat, then stuck her hand out between them, palm up.
“Give me what you got from those dudes your cousin sent,” she said. “And I’m gonna try to get Kayjuan to give you some more time.”
Saul glanced at her hand, then back at her face. He shook his head, a short, helpless motion.
“I already gave that to Ava,” he said. “Baby shit is expensive.”
Zoe’s hand dropped to her side. A laugh snorted out of her.
“Of course,” she said.
She shook her head, eyes cutting away toward the street for a second before she looked back at him.
“Look, I’m gonna try to get him to give you more time anyway,” she said. “But he’s gonna be looking for you either way. You got to stop dodging him.”
Saul nodded, jaw tight.
“I know,” he said.
For the first time since she’d stepped out of the car, Zoe’s mouth softened into a real smile, small but there.
“Congrats, for real, on becoming a dad,” she said. “I know you’ll be a great one.”
The corner of Saul’s mouth lifted again, this time reaching his eyes.
“Thanks,” he said.
Zoe turned away and walked back down the driveway toward her car. Her keys jingled once when she hit the unlock. The driver’s door squeaked as she pulled it open and got in. She started the engine and backed out, tires crunching over the broken shell and gravel as she turned into the street.
Saul stood on the last step and watched her taillights until they disappeared around the corner. Then he adjusted the backpack strap back over his shoulder, walked to his own car parked at the curb, and got in.
~~~
The door of the wing spot pushed open on a rush of fryer heat and loud conversation. Ramon came out first with a Styrofoam box in one hand, drink in the other, shoulder nudging the door wider. Tyree followed behind him with his own box stacked on top of a second one, cup wedged between his fingers and the foam.
Grease clung to the air. The sun bounced off windshields and the hood of Ramon’s car parked in the row closest to the street. Asphalt radiated up through the soles of their shoes, soft from the heat.
An engine’s growl pulled both their heads to the entrance of the lot.
Ant’s car swung in off the street, cutting across two empty slots before straightening out. The paint caught the light, then dulled when he eased off the gas. He pulled up at the edge of the row, nose angled toward the building and let the car settle into a low idle.
A beat later, a second car turned in behind him and rolled up alongside, tires crunching through loose gravel that had slid off the curb. Four dudes sat inside, silhouettes shifting.
Ramon watched Ant kill the engine and push his door open. Ant stepped out e, head turning once across the lot and once toward the storefront. He shut the door with a firm push and started their way.
The second car’s doors opened almost in sync. Four young faces stepped out, all of them in sneakers, T-shirts, chain here, watch there.
Ramon and Tyree met Ant halfway between the cars. They dapped one another up.
“What’s good, big brudda,” Tyree said to Ant.
Ramon pulled Ant in a half-hug with the dap, then stepped back, eyes passing quick over the four who’d come with him. “Ain’t never known for you to ride with backup.”
Ant’s mouth twitched. He nodded back at the second car with his chin. “These some new niggas I’m showing the ropes,” he said. “Foot soldiers.”
Tyree set his boxes down on the hood of a parked car beside them, popped the lid on the top one, and snapped a flat out. Sauce already stained his fingers. He took a bite, chewing while he gave the new guys a longer look.
“Look like some out the East ass nigga,” he said around the chicken, smirking.
One of the young ones heard him and laughed, stepping up half a pace. “You already fucking know, lil’ bitch,” he said, grin wide.
Tyree snorted, licking sauce off his thumb. “Alright, lil’ brudda,” he said. “We gon’ see.”
The other three new boys kept their eyes moving between Ant, Ramon, and Tyree, hands in pockets or hooked in waistbands, nodding along.
Ramon shifted his box to his other hand. “Y’all getting ready for war or something?”
Ant rolled a shoulder and let it drop. “Or something,” he said. He dragged his hand over his beard once, then let it fall. “We still got spots for y’all two niggas, too. Yo the only nigga at that lieutenant spot for real. Since Boogie got packed up.”
Ramon’s jaw worked once, then eased. He glanced past Ant toward the four new ones again and then shook his head.
“You already know where I stand on that,” Ramon said.
Tyree wiped his fingers on the cardboard edge, then held up three of them, knuckles bent. “It’s that three for life, nigga,” he said. “’Til death do me part. Ten toes down behind that bitch.”
Ant let both arms fall open for a second, palms out. “That’s why we need niggas like y’all,” he said.
He jerked his chin back toward the new group. They’d started talking low among themselves, checking their phones, one of them pulling a lighter out and flicking it dead.
“These niggas still green,” Ant said. “Just got off the porch. Ready to get active, but still gotta figure out the rules of the game, you heard me?”
Ramon sucked his teeth once. “Or it’s time for y’all to get Dez off the bench,” he said. “He been in that shit since he was a lil’ nigga.”
Tyree reached back into his box, hand hovering over the wings like he was deciding if he wanted another. He made a face. “Been a lil’ bitch since he was a juvie, too.”
Ant laughed through his nose. “Nah,” he said. “That nigga compromised. He in love with Trell bitch. On top of him being soft? Can’t trust him that nigga. Nigga’s do wild things for pussy.”
Tyree’s eyebrows climbed. He picked up the wing anyway and took a bite, chewing while he talked. “She bad like that?” he asked. “For niggas to be fiending for her and can’t even have her?”
Ant shrugged, one shoulder up, one down. “She ain’t my type,” he said, eyes cutting to Ramon for a half second and back. “But I can see it. Lil’ Latina bitch. Nice ass on her.”
Ramon paused with his cup halfway to his mouth. The pieces had already lined up. He swallowed his drink and snorted a short laugh.
“Would’ve thought Trell would’ve been for the sisters,” Ramon said.
Ant’s teeth flashed once. “I don’t get into the business of policing another nigga dick.”
Tyree pointed at him with the chicken bone, grease shining on his knuckle. “Facts,” he said. “Good pussy is good pussy and bad bitches is bad bitches.”
Ramon shook his head, a small, steady motion. The corner of his mouth tugged up and then dropped. He pointed the box toward Tyree. “We got business to get to,” he said. “Y’all niggas be easy out here.”
Ant stepped in to dap them up again, hand slapping against Ramon’s, then Tyree’s. The four new dudes lifted their chins in nods, silent acknowledgment.
“We gonna fuck with you,” Ant said. He started backing toward the restaurant. “Need y’all to run to Atlanta next week.”
“Bet,” Ramon said.
They broke off then. Ant turned away, calling something short to the new boys as he walked.
Ramon and Tyree headed for their own car. Tyree scooped his boxes off the neighboring hood and popped the passenger door, sliding in with the food balanced on his lap. Ramon opened the driver’s side and dropped down into the seat, setting his box on the dashboard for a second so he could dig the keys out of his pocket.
Tyree had the lid open before his door even shut. He grabbed another flat, snapping the container closed with his wrist.
“I ain’t gonna lie to you, son,” he said, mouth already full. “I’m trying to see what kind of bitch that nigga Trell got who got a street nigga, even a bitch like Dez, wilding to the point niggas say they can’t trust him.”
Ramon picked his box up off the dash. He shook his head once.
“Must be bad as fuck,” he said.
~~~
Mireya danced at the side of the living room with a plastic cup in her hand, shoulders loose, hips moving easy to the bass rattling the walls. The air was thick from too many bodies and cheap liquor, heat rolling off the crowd in waves. Someone yelled the hook of the song from the other side of the room. Another voice answered back. The floor had a slight tack under her heels every time she shifted her weight.Frankie was right in front of her, cup raised, laughing at something Mireya barely heard over the music. They moved together, , just catching the beat. Frankie tipped her head back and let the last sip of her drink slide down, then dropped the empty cup to her side and clapped once on the downbeat.
Mireya turned around, put one hand on her knee, and started twerking. Her jeans hugged her hips, the denim stretching and snapping with each move. She felt the way people behind her shifted, the small pocket of space forming.
“Aye. Get it, bitch!” Frankie hollered, voice cutting through. She slapped Mireya twice on her ass.
Mireya laughed, the sound bright, and straightened up. She rolled her hips once more, then let them settle into an easy sway. She brought the cup to her lips and took a sip, liquor burning warm on the way down.
Frankie stepped in closer. “See, bitch,” she said, grin wide. “I knew you was wild on the slick. Ain’t no one dress like you do and can’t throw no ass.”
Mireya sucked her teeth, still smiling. She tipped her head toward Frankie, earrings catching the light. “I ain’t never said I couldn’t,” she said. “You assumed, and you know what they say about assumptions.”
Frankie waved the comment off with a flick of her wrist, already shaking her empty cup so the ice clinked. “I gotta get a refill,” she said. “Because we getting drunk tonight.”
Mireya rolled her eyes. She finished what was left in her cup and grabbed Frankie’s wrist, letting Frankie lead as they pushed into the crush of people. Shoulders brushed theirs. Somebody’s sweat-damp arm bumped Mireya’s back. The smell of weed drifted through as they squeezed past a knot of guys shouting along with the song.
They broke into the main room where the crowd opened up just enough to see what was happening in the center. A circle had formed. Frat bros were stomping, boots hitting the floor in hard unison. Purple shirts and camo shorts flashed between moving bodies. Someone barked a call. The whole room answered with a roar.
Frankie nodded toward the circle, mouth close to Mireya’s ear so she could be heard. “They probably think ‘the hoes gonna love this’ as soon as they start that shit,” she said.
Mireya watched one of the Ques drop low and come up slow, shoulders rolling, tongue out. She smiled into her cup.
“They’re not wrong,” she said. “The hoes do love that shit.”
Frankie laughed and bumped her hip into Mireya’s. “If you want you a Bruh, girl, go get one,” she said.
Mireya laughed with her, head tilting. She scanned the room once, eyes sliding over faces and shirts and chains, then came back to Frankie. “You say that like I couldn’t have any man I wanted in here.”
Frankie tilted her head to the side then shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. “They probably got some gay guys and DL niggas in here.”
Mireya lifted her cup, staring at the last two drops rolling around the bottom. “Them, too.”
Frankie stared at her, then broke into another grin. “I like this side of you.”
Mireya just smirked and nudged Frankie’s shoulder with her own. They turned and kept pushing through the bodies, following the faint pull of air toward the kitchen. The music was duller in the hallway, but the bass still carried through the drywall. Someone brushed past them with a plate balanced in one hand. Another girl leaned against the wall, texting, her drink held loosely at her side.
They stepped into the kitchen where the lights were brighter and the air felt a little clearer. A long counter held scattered bottles, half-melted ice in a cooler, a stack of plastic cups leaning against the backsplash. Liquor rings dotted the laminate.
Frankie stepped up to the bottles and set her empty cup down with a soft tap. She grabbed the Casamigos, uncapped it, and poured until her cup was damn near full. The clear stream glugged against the plastic. She stopped only when it threatened to spill.
She glanced at Mireya’s cup and reached for it. “Come here, bitch,” she said, already tipping the bottle.
Mireya held her cup out, letting Frankie fill it to match. The tequila climbed almost to the rim. Mireya raised her eyebrows but didn’t tell her to stop.
Two frat bros walked into the kitchen, the party’s noise folding around them. Both wore purple shirts and camo, chains reflecting the overhead light.
One of them stepped behind Mireya, hand finding her lower back, fingers pressing against her skin. He leaned down so his mouth was near her ear, voice dropping low to cut under the music. “I heard you just say you could have any nigga you want in here when you was passing by, huh?”
She looked back over her shoulder at him, taking him in, then leaned toward him. Her lips curved.
“Yeah,” she said. “That mean you, too.”
The other frat bro slid up beside Frankie, close enough that their arms brushed. He carried cologne over the sour edge of Hennessy on his breath. “Y’all spoken for for the night?”
Frankie looked him up and down in one slow pass, eyes catching on his chain, his jawline. She let the pause sit, then lifted one shoulder.
“No,” she said. “But you’ll do for me.”
The one with his hand on Mireya’s back grinned, teeth flashing. “My name Coco,” he said. He jerked his chin toward the other guy. “That’s my bruh, Neesh.”
Mireya laughed, the sound soft but real. She shifted so she was more fully turned toward him, his hand still on her lower back. “That’s what your mama named you?”
Coco shrugged, pulling her a little closer. His grip at her back firmed. He dipped his head so his mouth was near hers, voice dropping even more. “I’ll let you know my government name when you let a nigga see what you hiding under them jeans,” he said.
Mireya let him keep her close. Her free hand rested against his chest for balance, fingers splaying over the fabric of his shirt. She smiled up at him, the tequila warm in her system, the party noise pushing on all sides.
“We can arrange that, papi,” she said.
Coco’s eyes lit. He laughed once under his breath. “Shit, I like that Spanish shit,” he said. “Say it again.”
Neesh leaned in toward Frankie, voice wrapping around them. “Y’all down for a little two-man?” he asked. “We got rooms upstairs.”
Frankie tilted her head toward Mireya, then lifted her chin at her, palm turned up. “That depend on my girl.”
Mireya dragged her hand down Coco’s chest slowly, nails tracing the front of his shirt until her fingers brushed his stomach and stopped at his belt. She looked up at him through her lashes, mouth curved.
“I’m down, baby,” she said.
“C’mon, then,” Coco said.
He grabbed Mireya’s hand, fingers closing around hers with easy confidence, and stepped back from the counter to lead her out of the kitchen. Neesh reached behind Frankie, arm stretching past her to snag a bottle of Hennessy off the counter. He hooked it by the neck, then nodded toward the doorway, leading Frankie to follow Coco and Mireya.
Woman can't enjoy herself now?