Damaged Petals.

[Soapy]

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

It's still fuck Skylar where I'm from

I see both sides. On one hand, with the context of everything else going on, probably was the final straw. On the other, I think as a friend, you should at least have a conversation about it once you've found these things

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 mad because her tactics failed.

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

game gotta respect game

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?

very graphic lmao

[Soapy]

Season 6, Episode 18
The bench was cold enough to feel through her jeans. Nia sat with her spine pressed against the wooden slats, her headphones in but no music playing. Just the white noise of the park. Kids on the playground screaming. A dog barking somewhere behind her. The occasional car passing on the street beyond the trees.

Three days. Seventy-two hours, give or take. The longest she'd gone since she'd started.

Her hands sat in her lap, fingers interlaced, thumbs rubbing against each other in a rhythm she didn't control. The craving sat in her chest like a weight, not overwhelming but present, always present, reminding her it was there.

She'd avoided Brian's place. Avoided Zack's texts. Avoided the spots where she knew people would be, where someone would offer her something, where saying no would feel impossible.

Three days felt like three years.

"Look who's alive."

Nia's head turned. Amber stood a few feet away, still wearing her work uniform of black pants with a black shirt underneath a puffy black jacket, the only time most of her body was covered up, even in the dead of winter.

"Hey," Nia said.

Amber moved closer, dropping onto the bench beside her without asking. The wood creaked under her weight. She smelled like fryer grease and the last vestiges of her perfume, the combination oddly comforting.

"You been ghost," Amber said, pulling out her phone, aimlessly scrolling through Instagram. "Thought maybe you got scared off."

Nia didn't answer. She pulled one earbud out, letting it dangle against her chest.

"I'm just saying," Amber continued, "You don't gotta hide. He’s not going to be around anymore, that’s for sure."

"It's not about him."

"Then what's it about?"

Nia looked out at the playground. A little girl was climbing up the slide the wrong way, her mother calling after her to be careful. The girl ignored her, kept climbing.

"I just needed a break," Nia said finally.

"From what?"

"Everything."

Amber nodded slowly, still scrolling. "I get that."

They sat in silence for a moment. Nia put her earbud back in even though nothing was playing. Amber kept scrolling, occasionally liking something or typing a comment Nia couldn't see.

"You know what's funny?" Amber said, breaking the quiet.

"What?"

"Everybody always gives girls shit for hanging with guys. Like we're doing something wrong or we're thirsty or whatever." Amber locked her phone, setting it face-down on her thigh. "But nobody ever talks about why we do it."

"Why do we do it?"

"Because girls are fucking exhausting," Amber laughed. "Like, I love my girls, don't get me wrong. But the drama? The talking behind each other's backs? The way you gotta watch what you say because somebody's always getting offended? Fuck that. Guys are just easier."

Nia found herself nodding. She'd never thought about it like that, why Jimmy was her best friend growing up.

"Plus," Amber continued, "It’s just more fun, more laidback. They're not worried about if their outfit is cute or if their makeup looks good. They just show up and have a good time. No judgment."

"Except they all want to fuck you," Nia said.

"Well, yeah," Amber laughed. "But that's manageable if you know how to handle it."

"Is there? A way to handle it?"

Amber smiled. "You have to let them know from the jump what’s what and what’s not. I think you smart people call that shit boundaries or whatever. Like, real ones. Not the fake 'we're just friends' bullshit where you're still leading them on."

Nia thought about Damien. She pushed the memory away before it could fully form.

"What if they don't respect the boundaries?" she asked.

"Then you need a guy like Brian around." Amber shrugged. "Someone who'll check motherfuckers when they get out of line."

"Zack's not exactly prince charming."

Amber laughed again, louder this time. "Girl, you don't need Zack. Brian's enough man for more than one woman and not enough of a man to have just one woman, trust me."

The words hung in the air between them. Nia processed what Amber was saying, what she was offering without actually offering it.

Amber stood up, stretching her arms over her head. Her shirt rode up slightly, showing a strip of skin above her waistband. "I'm just saying there's options if you know where to look."

…

The house was warm when she walked in, the smell of garlic and ginger welcoming her into the home a she dropped her bag by the door. Connie found her mother at the stove, stirring something in a large pot. Hannah turned, smiled, wiped her hands on a towel tucked into her waistband.

"How was your week?" Hannah asked.

"It was okay."

"Eli?"

"He's good too."

Hannah nodded, returning her attention to the pot. Connie moved to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water, leaning against the counter.

"Where's Dad?" Connie asked.

"He’s at Donnie’s. Should be home soon."

Connie took a sip of water, watching her mother work.

"Need help?" Connie offered.

"You can set the table."

Connie gathered plates and silverware, moving into the dining room. The table was already covered with a cloth, the centerpiece her mother had bought years ago still sitting in the same spot. She arranged the plates, the forks and knives, the napkins folded the way her mom liked.

The front door opened. Her father's voice carried through the house, talking to her mother about something Connie couldn't make out. They appeared in the dining room a moment later, her father still in his work clothes.

"Con," Landry said, pulling Connie into a hug. "How you doing?"

"I'm good, Dad."

"Good is good."

They gathered around the table once her father returned from his shower. Hannah brought out the food, setting serving dishes in the center. Mapo tofu. Garlic green beans. Rice. The kind of meal that made Connie remember why she came home every week.

Conversation flowed easily. Landry talked about work, some project that was running behind schedule. Hannah asked about Connie's classes, her social life, whether she was getting enough sleep.

Connie answered on autopilot, her responses practiced from weeks of similar dinners. She was doing fine. Classes were manageable. Yes, she was eating. Yes, she was sleeping enough.

The food disappeared from the serving dishes. Hannah helped herself to seconds. Landry told a story about something that happened at the office that made her mother laugh. Connie picked at her rice, her mind elsewhere.

The image from her phone kept surfacing. That bathroom floor. Skylar's arm around her shoulders. The test in her hands. She pushed it away, focused on her father's story, laughed when everyone else laughed.

Dinner wound down. Landry started gathering plates, carrying them to the kitchen. Hannah stood, stretching, about to follow him.

"Mom," Connie said, her voice casual.

Hannah paused, looking at her. "Yes?"

Landry was still in the kitchen, the sound of running water indicating he'd started on the dishes. Connie waited until she heard him loading the dishwasher before speaking again.

"I was just curious," she kept her tone light, conversational. "Did you ever talk to like the family, you know, that took the baby?"

Hannah's expression shifted slightly. Nothing dramatic, just a small change in her eyes, the way her mouth tightened almost imperceptibly.

"What do you mean?" Hannah asked.

"Just like, if you’ve ever spoken to them," Connie trailed off, realizing she didn't know how to finish the sentence without giving herself away.

Hannah studied her face for a long moment. The kitchen sounds continued in the background. Landry humming something off-key. The dishwasher door closing.

"Why are you asking?" Hannah's voice was careful.

"I don't know. Just curious, I guess. We were watching some documentary that was talking about this kid that was adopted and I realized I don't really know how it works."

Hannah's eyes didn't leave Connie's face. The silence stretched between them, heavy with things neither of them was saying.

Connie forced a laugh, waving her hand dismissively. "Not like that. Just something that came up. I was just curious."

"Connie—"

"Actually, you know what?" Connie stood up, grabbing her water bottle from the table. "I should probably get my laundry started. I have a ton of stuff."

"Connie."

"Yeah?"

Hannah opened her mouth, closed it. Whatever she'd been about to say remained unspoken. Instead, she just shook her head slightly.

"There’s more detergent in the closet," Hannah said finally, "The open one is almost done."

"Right. Thanks."

Connie moved past her mother, into the kitchen where her father was wiping down the counters. She grabbed her laundry bag from near the door, headed down to the basement where the washer and dryer sat.

The basement was cool and quiet. She dumped her clothes into the washer, added detergent, started the cycle. The machine hummed to life, water rushing in, the drum beginning its rotation.

Connie sat on the bottom step, her phone in her hand. She opened her photos again, scrolling past recent pictures until she found that bathroom floor. Stared at it for a long moment. Then she locked her phone and set it beside her.

Upstairs, she could hear movement. Her parents talking in low voices. The sounds of a normal evening in a normal house with a normal family.

Connie closed her eyes and tried to remember what normal felt like.

…

"So," LaPenna said, not looking up. "Three weeks."

"Yeah."

"That's a long time to miss."

Brice didn't respond. His eyes tracked the movement of LaPenna's pen, watching the way it moved across the page in careful strokes.

"I understand things have been complicated," LaPenna continued, finally looking up. "But we had an agreement about consistency."

"I know."

"And?"

Brice shifted in his seat, uncrossing his legs and crossing them the other way. The leather creaked under him. "Yeah, I know."

LaPenna set his pen down, folding his hands on top of the notepad. "Brice, these sessions only work if you show up. And when you do show up, they only work if you engage. I can't help you if you're not here."

"I'm here now."

"Are you?"

The question hung between them. Brice looked at the diplomas on the wall, at the bookshelf in the corner, at anything except LaPenna's face. LaPenna watched him for a long moment. His expression was careful, measured, like he was calculating something in his head. Then he leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxing slightly. Silence filled the room. The clock kept ticking. Brice's leg started bouncing, that nervous energy needing somewhere to go. He forced it to stop.

"How's the team looking?" LaPenna asked after what felt like several minutes.

Brice blinked. "What?"

"The team. How are you guys looking this week?"

"I don't—" Brice paused, trying to figure out where this was going. "We're alright."

"Just alright?"

"I mean, we're 7-1. Can't complain too much."

LaPenna nodded, picking up his pen again but not writing anything. Just holding it. "Ohio State's a big game."

"Yeah."

"Biggest of the season so far?"

Brice considered that. "Probably. I mean, Oregon was huge but this one matters more."

"Right. Playoffs. Big Ten Championship."

"Exactly," Brice felt himself relaxing. "We win this, we're basically walking into the Big Ten Championship Game."

"And if you lose?"

"Then we're probably out."

"Their defense is pretty good this year, right?" LaPenna asked.

"They're always good. But yeah, this year especially. Their defensive line is probably the best we'll face all season."

"How are you preparing for that?"

Brice found himself leaning forward slightly, his elbows on his knees. "A lot of quick game stuff. Getting the ball out fast. They're going to bring pressure, we know that, so we can't hold onto it too long."

"Makes sense."

"And we're working on our run game more. If we can establish that early, keep them honest, it opens up everything else."

LaPenna nodded, still just listening.

"We’ve got some matchups we like on the outside though," Brice continued, the words coming easier now. "If we can protect long enough to let our guys get into their routes, there's plays to be made there."

"You sound confident."

"I mean, I don't know about confident. But we've got a chance. A real chance."

"That's something."

"When's the last time Purdue beat Ohio State?"

"2018. That was a big upset too. They were ranked like second in the country."

"So there's precedent."

"Exactly." Brice's hands had unfolded now, one resting on the arm of the chair, the other gesturing as he talked. "And that team wasn't even as good as we are this year. We've got more weapons and obviously, me."

LaPenna let out a laugh, "Yeah, they do have you."

They sat in the quiet again, but it was comfortable now, the tension that had filled the room at the start of the session mostly dissipated. Brice's leg was still bouncing but slower, less frantic.

"What's your preparation like this week?" LaPenna asked. "Keeping it the same or switching it up?"

"A little. More film study, obviously. Ohio State runs a lot of different looks so we need to be ready for anything. And we're doing more situational stuff in practice. Third downs, red zone, two-minute drill. All the critical moments."

"Sounds intense."

"It is. But it's good. Keeps you focused."

"And that's what you need right now," LaPenna said. It wasn't quite a question.

Brice met his eyes. "Yeah. That's what I need."

…

The guest room was on the first floor now, converted from what used to be Skylar's father's study. Liz stood in the doorway with a paper bag from the taco truck, the same one where she and Skylar used to meet for lunch.

Skylar sat in the rocking chair near the window, James cradled against her chest. She looked up when Liz entered, her face brightening with what appeared to be genuine pleasure.

"Liz," Skylar said, her voice warm. "Come in."

Liz stepped inside, setting the bag on the dresser that now doubled as a changing table. The room had been transformed completely. A crib sat against the far wall. A diaper pail occupied the corner. Baby clothes were folded neatly in an open drawer.

"I brought lunch," Liz said. "Figured you might be hungry."

"You're amazing. Thank you."

Skylar's mother appeared in the doorway behind Liz, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She smiled at Liz, polite but cautious.

An awkward silence settled over the room. Skylar shifted James slightly in her arms. The baby made a small noise, his face scrunching up before relaxing again.

"Mom," Skylar said, not taking her eyes off James. "Could you run to the store? We're almost out of the sensitive wipes. The ones in the blue package."

Skylar's mother looked at Liz, then back at her daughter. Something passed between them, some silent communication that Liz could only observe from the outside.

"Alright," her mother said finally. "I'll be back in about an hour."

They waited until the sound of the front door closing echoed through the house. Then it was just the two of them, and James, who had fallen back asleep against Skylar's chest.

Liz moved closer, looking down at the baby. He was bigger than she remembered from the hospital. His cheeks had filled out, his body longer, more substantial.

"He's getting so big," Liz said.

"I know. The doctor says he's in the ninetieth percentile for weight."

"That's good."

"Yeah."

Liz studied James's face, looking for traces of Brice in the tiny features. The nose, maybe. Something about the shape of his mouth. Or maybe she was just seeing what she wanted to see, what the DNA test had confirmed.

"He looks like Brice did," Liz said. "At this age."

Skylar's smile widened. "You think so?"

"The eyes especially. Same shape."

"I think so too."

Liz pulled the rocking chair from the corner closer to where Skylar sat, settling into it.

"How are you feeling?" Liz asked. "Physically, I mean."

"Better. The stitches are healing. Everything's going back to normal."

"That's good."

"Well, mostly normal," Skylar laughed lightly. "Some things take longer than others."

Liz nodded, her expression sympathetic. "It's hard on your body. People don't talk about that enough. The recovery."

"Yeah."

"I remember after Brice, I couldn't sit comfortably for weeks. And the weight..." Liz trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air.

Skylar's hand moved to her stomach, an automatic gesture.

"How much did you gain?" Liz asked, her tone casual, conversational.

"About twenty-five pounds."

"That's actually not bad. I gained forty with Brice. Took me almost a year to lose it all."

"My doctor says I'm doing fine."

"Of course you are," Liz said quickly. "You look great. Really. Considering what your body just went through."

The qualifier landed exactly as Liz intended it to.

"James was nine pounds, three ounces," Skylar said, redirecting. "Big baby."

"Very big."

"The doctor said that's probably why labor was so difficult."

"Makes sense," Liz paused, her eyes moving over Skylar's body. "I'm sure they have surgeries for that now. If things don't bounce back the way you want."

Skylar's hand stilled on her stomach. "I'm not worried about it."

"No, of course not. You're young. Your body will recover."

"It already is."

"Absolutely."

James stirred, his face scrunching up. Skylar adjusted her hold, rocking slightly, and he settled again without waking.

"You're good with him," Liz observed.

"Thank you."

"Natural."

"I'm trying."

"It shows."

Liz watched Skylar rock James.

"Can I hold him?" Liz asked.

"Of course."

Skylar stood carefully, moving toward Liz with measured steps. She transferred James into Liz's arms, her hands lingering for a moment to make sure the handoff was secure before pulling away.

The baby was heavier than Liz expected. Solid. Real. She adjusted her hold, supporting his head, settling him against her chest. He made a small sound but didn't wake.

"He's beautiful," Liz said.

"Thank you."

Liz looked down at James's face, at the tiny features that would grow and change, that would become someone entirely his own. Her grandson. Jimmy's namesake. Brice's son.

"Have you been getting enough sleep?" Liz asked, still looking at the baby.

"Some. He wakes up every few hours to eat."

"That's normal."

"I know."

"Are you breastfeeding?"

"Trying to. It's harder than I thought it would be."

"It usually is," Liz shifted James slightly, his weight settling more comfortably in her arms. "Don't feel bad if you need to supplement with formula. Fed is best."

"That's what the doctor said."

"They're right."

Skylar moved to the dresser, pulling out the takeout Liz had brought. She opened the bag, the smell of the food filling the room more strongly now. She unwrapped a taco, taking a bite, chewing slowly.

"These are so good," Skylar said. "I've been craving them."

"I remembered you liked them."

"Thank you for bringing them."

"Of course."

Liz watched Skylar eat, noting the way she stood, the slight wince when she shifted her weight. The recovery was harder than Skylar was letting on. Liz could see it in the careful way she moved, the way she braced herself against the dresser.

"You should sit," Liz said.

"I'm fine standing."

James stirred in Liz's arms, his eyes opening slightly. They were unfocused, barely seeing, just registering light and shadow. He made a small noise, not quite a cry, just a sound that indicated he was waking.

"He's probably hungry," Skylar said, setting down her taco.

"How can you tell?"

"He does this thing with his mouth. Like he's searching for something."

Liz looked down. James's mouth was indeed moving, his head turning slightly, rooting against her chest.

"You're right," Liz said, standing carefully. She moved toward Skylar, transferring James back into her arms, "No more milk in these boobies, baby."

Skylar let out a small chuckle as she settled into the rocking chair, adjusting her shirt. She positioned James, helping him latch, her movements practiced despite only having done this for a few weeks. The baby latched on, his small hand curling against Skylar's chest.

Liz sat back down in the other chair, watching. The scene was almost domestic, almost normal. Two women, a baby, an afternoon visit. If you didn't know any better, you might think they were just family.

"He's good. Easy," Liz observed.

"When he wants to be."

"That's babies."

"Yeah."

The room fell quiet except for the small sounds James made while nursing.

"How's school?" Liz asked.

"I'm taking the rest of the semester off."

"That's probably smart."

"I'll go back in the summer, maybe. Online classes, probably. I don’t know yet."

"Whatever works."

Skylar nodded, her eyes on James. Her hand moved over his back in slow circles, soothing, maternal. The perfect picture of a young mother adapting to her new reality.

"Your mom seems like she's been helpful," Liz said.

"She has. I don't know what I'd do without her."

"That's good. You need support."

"Yeah."

"Is your dad helping too?"

"In his way. He's not great with babies but he's trying."

"Most men aren't."

Skylar smiled slightly. "That's what my mom says."

Liz leaned back in her chair, her eyes moving around the room again. Taking in the details. The diaper pail. The changing table. The crib. Everything in its place. Everything organized. Everything under control.

"You've got a good setup here," Liz said.

"It works for now."

"For now?"

"I mean, eventually I'll need my own place. But for now, this is good."

"Makes sense."

James pulled away from Skylar's breast, his eyes closing again. She adjusted her shirt, then lifted him to her shoulder, patting his back gently. After a moment, a small burp escaped him.

"Good boy," Skylar murmured, kissing the top of his head.

Liz watched the gesture.

"Thanks for the tacos," Skylar said, breaking the silence. "I definitely miss our spot."

"I thought you might appreciate it."

"I do."

"We should do it again sometime. When you're feeling up to it."

"I'd like that."

[redsox907]

Nia trying to get away and Amber tries to pull her into a Thruple lmao

Liz still playing the long game

[Captain Canada]

Liz playing a weird ass game, but maybe this is her weird way of connecting? Idk

[Caesar]

Connie trying to find who got her baby so she can go steal it back.

[djp73]

Just caught up, lots of developments over the past few pages. Hope ohio doesn’t kill Brice

[Soapy]

Nia trying to get away and Amber tries to pull her into a Thruple lmao

Liz still playing the long game

She said she wants a piece of that action lol

Liz playing a weird ass game, but maybe this is her weird way of connecting? Idk

like Redsox said, she's still playing the long game (albeit desperate at this point since the baby here and she ain't given it up now) by continuing to seed doubt into Skylar's head (commenting on her body, how hard motherhood is, etc.)

Connie trying to find who got her baby so she can go steal it back.

sir, that is a crime

Just caught up, lots of developments over the past few pages. Hope ohio doesn’t kill Brice

about to play it now, wish me luck

[djp73]

[Soapy]

thanks for bump

[Soapy]