Season 6, Episode 19
Sophie woke to the sound of screaming and chanting. She blinked against the streetlights flooding through the truck's rear window, her neck stiff from the angle she'd been sleeping at. The campus had transformed into something unrecognizable. Students packed every available space, their phones raised, their voices building on top of each other until individual words became meaningless.
Sophie sat up, pressing her palm against the cold window. A group of girls ran past wearing Purdue jerseys, their screams piercing even through the glass. Someone had climbed a lamppost, waving a flag she couldn't quite make out.
Her mom turned in the passenger seat, that smile still plastered on her face. The same smile she'd been wearing since the fourth quarter, since it became clear Purdue was actually going to pull this off. Sophie had watched that smile form in real time, watched her mother's careful composure crack just enough to let something genuine slip through.
"You okay?" Liz asked.
"Yeah."
The truck crawled forward, joining a line of vehicles all trying to navigate the same clogged streets. Her dad's phone buzzed in the cupholder. He glanced at it while they idled behind a minivan.
"Brice says to park near the athletic facility," Tom said. "Lot C."
They inched forward. The crowd grew denser the closer they got to the heart of the campus. Someone banged on the hood of the truck as they passed, not aggressive, just caught up in whatever collective insanity had taken hold. Her dad didn't flinch, just kept driving with that same smile her mom wore.
Sophie watched them both. Watched the way they sat straighter in their seats. Watched the way they nodded at each other when another group of students ran past. This was what they'd wanted. This exact moment.
The parking lot appeared on their left. A attendant in a reflective vest waved them toward an open spot. Her dad pulled in, the truck settling with a small bounce. He killed the engine and the sounds of campus rushed in to fill the silence.
"Mr. Colton," the attendant said as Tom rolled down his window. "Your boy is one bad mother-sucker."
"Appreciate it," Tom laughed.
"Team bus should be here any minute."
They climbed out of the truck. Sophie's legs felt stiff, her whole body protesting the hours of sitting. The fall air bit at her face, cold enough to make her pull her jacket tighter. Around them, other families were doing the same thing, emerging from vehicles, stretching, gathering their things, all moving in the same direction.
Her dad's phone buzzed again. He checked it, then gestured toward a path leading away from the lot. "This way."
They walked. Her parents led, Sophie trailing a few steps behind. The crowd thickened with each step, students and families mixing together in a mass of bodies all flowing toward the same destination. Someone had set up speakers somewhere, blasting the fight song on repeat.
The day replayed in her head without permission. Waking up at six AM because her parents had begged her to come, actually begged, her mom using loaded words like "family" and "support" and "memories." The drive to Columbus, four hours of her dad listening to podcasts about the upcoming game while her mom scrolled through her phone. The stadium, massive and red and so loud it hurt. The game itself, four quarters of watching Brice do what he'd always done.
She hadn't been sure who to root for at kickoff. Hadn't been sure she wanted to root for anyone. But then the fourth quarter came. His third touchdown of the day. The one that put Purdue ahead for good.
And Sophie had felt it, that pull toward the winning side. That instinct to celebrate with everyone else, to be part of the moment instead of watching it from the outside. She'd caught herself smiling. Caught herself on her feet with everyone else in their section. Caught herself, for just a second, forgetting to be angry.
The crowd opened up ahead. They'd reached a clearing near the athletic facility, a space cordoned off with barriers where the bus would arrive. Hundreds of people already waited, pressed against the barriers, their phones out and ready. Her parents found a spot near the edge. Sophie stood beside them, her hands in her pockets.
"This is insane," her dad said to no one in particular.
Her mom just nodded, that smile still fixed in place.
Sophie looked at the crowd. Really looked at it. These people were here because Brice had thrown three touchdowns. Because he'd led an upset win over Ohio State. The Ohio State. Because he'd done something that mattered in a way Sophie couldn't quite grasp but could see reflected in every face around her.
Headlights appeared down the street. The crowd's volume doubled, then tripled. The bus rolled toward them, slow and deliberate, its destination clear. It pulled up to the facility entrance, air brakes hissing as it came to a stop.
The door opened. Players started filing out, each one greeted by screams that built on themselves until the noise became physical. Sophie watched them emerge one by one, watched them wave and smile and soak it all in.
Then Brice stepped off.
The sound hit a new level. People were jumping, crying, screaming his name. He raised one hand, that easy smile on his face, and the crowd ate it up. Ate him up. Her parents were clapping beside her, her dad's hands coming together hard enough to hurt, her mom's face bright with something Sophie recognized and hadn’t seen in a while.
Brice moved through the crowd, stopping to sign things, to pose for photos, to accept congratulations from people he'd never met and would never see again. He was good at this. Had always been good at this. Knew exactly how to hold his body, how to smile, how to make people feel like they mattered even when they didn't.
Sophie's chest tightened.
Not because of Brice. Not because of what he'd done or who he was or how everyone here worshipped him. At least not this time but because she was standing here watching it happen and all she could think about was Jimmy.
Jimmy, who should've been the one stepping off that bus. Who should've been the one with their parents beaming beside him. Who should've been here instead of wherever he was now.
The anger rose in Sophie's chest, hot and familiar. She swallowed it down, forced her face into something neutral, kept her hands in her pockets so no one could see them shaking.
Brice was still working the crowd. Still being everything everyone wanted him to be. And Sophie stood there watching, hating him for it, hating herself for hating him, wishing with everything she had that this moment belonged to someone else.
…
Brice's living room was quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. Sophie had folded herself into the corner of the couch, her head tilted at an angle that would hurt when she woke up, her breathing deep and even.
Brice emerged from his bedroom holding a blanket. He unfolded it as he walked, shaking it out once before draping it over her body.
"You guys should stay the night," Brice said, turning toward his parents in the kitchen. "Sophie’s knocked out and you won't get home until the morning anyway."
Tom glanced at Liz, who was leaning against the counter with her arms crossed. She shrugged, not quite agreement but not refusal either.
"Alright," Tom said, returning his attention to the pan. "Appreciate it."
Brice moved to the small dining table, pulling out a chair and dropping into it. His body felt heavy, that post-game exhaustion settling into his muscles now that the adrenaline had finally worn off.
"I'm surprised," Tom said, his back still to Brice as he worked at the stove. "Figured you'd be out celebrating with your boys. Not in your pajamas with your family."
Brice shrugged his shoulders. "This is celebrating."
Liz made a sound, something between a laugh and a scoff. "Probably better this way. At least you're not out making another co-ed a millionaire."
Brice didn't look at her, just kept his eyes on the table, on the wood grain pattern.
Tom plated the food, carrying it over to the table. Steak and pasta, nothing fancy, just what he'd thrown together from what Brice had in his fridge. He set a plate in front of Brice, then returned to get his own.
"Thanks," Brice picked up his fork, cutting into the steak.
"Have you been to see Skylar?" Liz asked.
Brice swallowed. "No."
"No?"
"I haven't seen her since that day."
Tom sat down across from him, his own plate in front of him. He didn't eat, just sat there with his fork in his hand, waiting.
"I'll probably see her when I'm in town next week," Brice continued, cutting another piece of steak. "For the thing."
He didn't say it. Didn't need to. They all knew what next week was.
"It's not a dog, Brice."
Brice's fork stopped halfway to his mouth. He set it back down on his plate, the metal clinking against the ceramic.
"You can't just sned money and think that's enough," Liz said. "Money isn't the same as being a father."
Brice picked up his fork again, spearing a piece of pasta. "Come on Mom, she knew what it was. I'm not going to pretend to play house with her just because—"
The slap came fast, her palm connecting with his cheek hard enough that his head turned with the impact. The sound echoed in the small space, sharp and final.
Brice's face burned where she'd hit him. He didn't move, didn't bring his hand up to touch it, just sat there with his head turned, his eyes fixed on the wall.
Tom looked away, his shoulders rigid, his hands gripping his fork and knife like they were the only things keeping him in his chair.
"You think this is a fucking game?" Liz's voice was controlled. "
Brice's shoulders hunched forward, his spine curving inward. He looked smaller suddenly, like someone had let the air out of him.
"I have worked too fucking hard," Liz continued, her words precise, measured, each one landing like another slap. "Too fucking hard to preserve this family's legacy. The legacy of your last name. And you're going to sully it because you can't control yourself. Just like your fucking father."
Tom flinched. His eyes stayed on his plate, his jaw working, but he didn't speak.
"I mean fucking Skylar, Brice? Really? That’s the best you can fucking do?" Liz asked. "You’re so fucking pathetic sometimes."
Brice still wasn't looking at her.
"None of what happened today is going to mean shit if you keep this shit up."
"I know—" Brice started.
"You don't know shit," Liz cut him off. "If you knew, it wouldn’t have happened. If you knew, she wouldn’t have you by the balls right now. You completely fucked this."
The living room was silent except for Liz's voice. Tom sat frozen at the table. Brice had shrunk further into himself, his broad shoulders curved inward, his head down like a child being scolded.
"That baby has your fucking last name," Liz said. "My last name, our last name. It ha your blood. Your fucking DNA. Court signed. There’s no getting around it now, asshole. He’s yours so he’s mine and no child of mine is going to turn into some fucking meth smoking, trailer park living white trash because you can’t keep your fucking dick in your pants."
A sound came from the couch. Small at first, just a shift in breathing. Then Sophie sat up, the blanket falling from her shoulders. Her eyes were open, focused, watching.
Liz didn't stop. "You're going to be a father to that boy. We’re not living it up to fucking Skylar to raise that boy. You understand me?"
Brice nodded once, barely a movement.
"I asked you a question."
"Yes," Brice said, his voice small.
"Yes what?"
"Yes, I understand."
"Good." Liz stepped back from the table, her arms crossing over her chest again. "Because if you don't, if you keep acting like this doesn't matter, like you can just walk away, then everything we've built, everything we've worked for, it's gone. All of it. You’re not some fucking NBA player with six baby mommas, you’re a fucking Colton. Start acting like it."
Sophie right to be mad, especially with everything going on. But got a feeling that's going to satiate her anger for a bit, seeing Brice get put in his place. But Liz 100% right, now that he's outside the moment he's just acting like he can funnel money and call it good. Skylar seems to have cooled off on the Brice Colton BM line now that the baby is here, so maybe she'd be cool with it
Sophie right to be mad, especially with everything going on. But got a feeling that's going to satiate her anger for a bit, seeing Brice get put in his place. But Liz 100% right, now that he's outside the moment he's just acting like he can funnel money and call it good. Skylar seems to have cooled off on the Brice Colton BM line now that the baby is here, so maybe she'd be cool with it
this is a racial slur. 
