Caine settled into the shotgun at the six. The defense packed the box, safeties low, corners pressed tight on the outside receivers. He scanned the front, tapped his thigh twice, and called for the snap.
The ball hit his hands clean. He rode the mesh with J.J. for a half second, eyes locked on the linebacker to his right. The linebacker bit down on the run. Caine pulled the ball and came up throwing.
Javier had broken off his route at the back of the end zone, turning his hips and sitting down in the soft spot between the corner and the safety. Caine put the ball on him before the window closed, a quick strike that Javier caught with both hands against his chest.
The referee's arms went up.
Caine pointed at Javier as the offensive line jogged toward the end zone to celebrate. He turned and found the nearest Old Dominion defender, a safety who'd been a step late on the rotation.
"It's gonna be a long fucking day for y'all," Caine said, pounding his chest twice. "Long fucking day, bitch."
…
"First and goal here for the Eagles from the nine. Guerra in the shotgun, Bradley offset to his left. Three receivers to the right side, Green isolated on the boundary.
"Guerra takes the snap, fakes the give to Bradley. The linebackers bite. Guerra rolls to his left, sets his feet and fires it to Green at the pylon. Caught! Touchdown Georgia Southern!
"That's two touchdown passes already for Caine Guerra and we're not even out of the first quarter. Old Dominion's defense has no answer for this kid right now. It's 13-nothing Eagles pending the extra point."
…
Caine stood in the gun at the nineteen, third and seven. The Monarchs showed blitz, both linebackers creeping toward the line, the nickel cheating inside.
He called for the snap.
The blitz came. Caine slid to his right, letting the pressure wash past him. Kenneth had run a post from the outside, stacking the cornerback and breaking toward the middle of the field. The safety had vacated to jump the flat route on the other side.
Nobody was there.
Caine planted and threw it on a line. The ball split the secondary and Kenneth ran under it at the five, pulling it in without breaking stride and crossing into the end zone untouched.
Caine held his arms out wide as he walked down the field, looking at the Old Dominion sideline.
"Y’all got any fucking athletes out here? Who supposed to be covering my dog? You, motherfucker?” He turned to the nearest defender still picking himself up off the turf. "Fuck off my fucking field, sorry ass bitch."
…
Caine took the snap and dropped back, eyes downfield. The pocket held clean. He looked left, then right, cycling through his reads.
Nothing was there. Every receiver had a body on them.
Caine's eyes dropped to the grass in front of him. The middle of the field was wide open, both linebackers having dropped into coverage, the defensive line washed out to the edges by the offensive line's pass protection.
He brought the ball down and took off.
Twenty-two yards of open field. No one reacted fast enough. The cornerbacks were turned with their backs to him, running with receivers. The safety read it too late, taking a bad angle that put him five yards behind.
Caine ran through the end zone untouched and kept going a few steps before flipping the ball to the back judge.
He turned toward the Old Dominion sideline, walking along the end zone with both arms stretched wide. Then crossed them in front of his chest. “It’s over for y’all! Tell y’all bitches to come see us after the game! We punching dick in everybody girlfriend!”
A couple of Monarchs on the sideline looked away. One shook his head. A few shouted some insults back . Caine kept walking, pointing at them, until Dwight grabbed him by the back of his jersey and steered him toward their own sideline, laughing the whole way.
Caine unhooked his chin strap as he reached the bench. Coach Aplin was already there, hand up. Caine slapped it and Aplin pulled him in by the facemask, close enough that their foreheads nearly touched.
"That's my fucking guy," Aplin said, smacking the side of his helmet. "That's my guy. Keep your foot on their neck."
Caine nodded once, pulling his helmet off. “You already fucking know, Coach.”
…
"Second and six from the seventeen for the Eagles. Guerra in the gun, trips right with Green on the boundary again. Bradley in the backfield.
"Guerra takes the snap, hitches once in the pocket. He looks right, comes back left and launches it to the far corner of the end zone. Green goes up and gets it! Toes dragging along the sideline, what a catch! Touchdown Georgia Southern!
"My goodness, that ball had no business being completed. Guerra put that where only his guy could get it, back shoulder, corner of the end zone, and Trey'Dez Green somehow kept both feet in bounds. If you're a defensive coordinator watching this film tomorrow, I don't know what you're supposed to do with that.
"That makes it 48-6 here in the third quarter and this one has been over for a very long time."
…
Caine took the snap and the pocket collapsed immediately, the edge rusher beating the left tackle clean. He pulled the ball down and sprinted to his right, cleats tearing at the turf as he tried to get outside the pressure.
A defensive tackle had fought through the guard and was closing from the inside. Caine felt him coming and accelerated, getting his shoulders past the outstretched arm and buying himself a few more yards of space along the line of scrimmage.
Kenneth had run his route to the goal line and sat down on the comeback, turning back toward Caine with his hands up. The cornerback had overrun it, hips turned the wrong direction. The window was there for a second, maybe less.
Caine planted his back foot on the seven and threw it sidearm, releasing the ball just as the linebacker closed the distance and drove his shoulder into Caine's ribs. The hit bent him sideways, his arm still extended from the throw, and he went down hard on his back. His helmet bounced against the turf and his breath left him in a rush.
He lay there for a second, staring up at the lights.
Then he heard it. The Georgia Southern fans, not many of them but loud enough, breaking through the rest of the noise in the stadium. He lifted his head off the turf and saw Kenneth standing in the end zone with the ball in both hands, teammates already running toward him.
Caine pushed himself up, one hand on the grass, then both feet under him. He put his hand to the side of his helmet, pinky and thumb out, holding it there as he locked eyes with the sideline. Aplin was clapping, both hands above his head. Caine held the pose for another beat, then broke into a sprint toward the end zone. Dwight got there first, wrapping him up and lifting him off his feet. Javier hit him from the side.
Kenneth was underneath all of them somewhere, shouting something Caine couldn't hear over the rest of the noise. Helmets knocked together. Hands slapped at his shoulder pads, his back, the crown of his helmet. The pile of them stood in the end zone, swaying under their own weight, the scoreboard overhead ticking to 54-6.
~~~
Ramon stood at the top of the levee with his hands in his jacket pockets, weight settled on his back foot. The river spread out below them on the far side, black and slow, carrying the smell of mud and fuel oil up the slope. Tyree was to his left, rolling his shoulders against the cold that had started creeping in. Saul stood a few feet off from both of them, arms folded tight across his chest, fingers digging into his own biceps.
Tyree looked at Saul and laughed. "You shaking like a stripper, my nigga. As soon as they pull up, you can shoot out."
Ramon sucked his teeth. "Niggas gonna start a shoot out if he shoots out when they roll up. You know them Byrd niggas pussy."
Saul's arms tightened around himself. He looked from Ramon to Tyree and back. "Y'all got guns on y'all?"
Ramon nodded.
Tyree lifted the front of his shirt with one hand, showing the pistol tucked in his waistband. The grip caught what little light there was from the road behind them. He let the shirt fall back down and adjusted the fabric over it.
Saul swallowed. His throat clicked. "Should I have a gun?"
Ramon's head tilted a fraction. "Are you gonna shoot that bitch?" He let the question hang in the air between them for a second. "If not, you don't need no fucking gun."
"Facts," Tyree said.
The wind came off the river in a low push that bent the grass flat against the slope. Saul shifted his weight from one foot to the other, sneakers pressing into the soft ground. He could hear traffic somewhere far off, the hum of the expressway carrying over the empty lots and dark houses on this stretch of the West Bank. The area was dead at this hour. No porch lights. No voices. Just the three of them and the river and the dark.
Headlights swept across the grass at the base of the levee, cutting white arcs through the weeds. The engine noise came a second later, deep and heavy, the rumble of something big. A Tahoe pulled to a stop at the bottom of the slope, brake lights flaring red and then going dark as the engine idled.
Ramon whistled, short and sharp. He nodded over his shoulder toward Tyree.
Tyree pulled the pistol from his waistband. His thumb found the safety and his hand closed around the grip with the ease of reaching for a phone. The two of them moved together without another word, stepping over the crest of the levee and disappearing down the far side toward the river, their footsteps swallowed by the grass and the slope.
Saul stood there alone at the top. His jaw clenched. He spoke through his teeth, voice barely above a hiss. "Where the fuck y'all going?"
Nothing came back. They were already gone, folded into the dark below the ridgeline where the slope dropped toward the water.
Down at the Tahoe, three doors opened almost at once. Kayjuan stepped out from behind the wheel, his frame catching the dome light for a second before the door swung shut. Maine came from the passenger side, heavy and deliberate, planting his feet on the dirt. Zoe climbed out from the back seat, arms crossed before she was fully standing.
Kayjuan looked up the levee and spotted Saul at the top, a silhouette against the sky. He waved one arm in a wide arc. "Get the fuck down here, man. I ain't walking up there."
Saul let his arms drop from his chest. He sighed, the sound swallowed by the wind, and started down the levee. His feet slid on the damp grass and he caught himself once with a hand against the ground before straightening and continuing the descent. His eyes moved left, then right, scanning the dark on either side for any sign of where Ramon and Tyree had gone.
He reached the bottom and stopped a few feet from the Tahoe. The engine was still running, a low vibration he could feel through the soles of his shoes. Kayjuan stood with his hands loose at his sides, chin up. Maine flanked him to the right, shoulders square, hands flat against his thighs. Zoe stayed near the rear quarter panel.
"Where my money, nigga?" Kayjuan said. "With interest."
Saul held his hands open at his sides, palms out. "Look, I was hoping that we could work something out because I got robbed."
Kayjuan nodded toward Zoe. "That's what my girl told me." He brought his eyes back to Saul. "Why you ain't bang it out with them niggas?"
Maine's voice came flat and bored. "Because he a pussy."
Kayjuan sighed. He shrugged, one shoulder lifting and falling. He shook his head slow, lips pressed together. "You ain't wrong, brudda."
His right hand went behind his back. When it came forward, there was a pistol in it. He raised it and pointed it at Saul's head.
Saul's hands came up, palms forward, fingers spread. His whole body went rigid, feet planted, knees locked.
Zoe's voice cut across the gap. "Kay! I thought you weren't going to do shit!"
Saul's lips moved. "Please, bro."
Kayjuan kept the gun level. "Please? Please what, nigga?"
Zoe stepped forward from the Tahoe, her voice higher now. "He just had a fucking kid."
Kayjuan didn't look at her. His eyes stayed on Saul, the pistol steady. "Plenty of little niggas in the bricks growing up without a daddy."
Saul closed his eyes. His hands stayed up, trembling at the wrists. "Come on, man. It was just a few thousand bucks."
Kayjuan's jaw tightened. "A few thousand bucks? Nah, nigga, you go—"
Footsteps. Fast, hard, coming up from behind the Tahoe. Shoes slapping the dirt in a sprint.
Ramon pressed the barrel of his gun to the back of Kayjuan's skull"You know what the fuck it is, pussy ass nigga." His voice was controlled, not loud, every word placed. "Face down in that dirt."
Maine started to wheel around. Tyree caught his arm with one hand, fingers locking around the bicep, and pressed his gun to the side of Maine's face with the other. The barrel sat against his cheekbone. "Whoa now, bitch. Don't get killed out here."
Maine froze. His breath came fast through his nose. His eyes cut to Kayjuan.
Kayjuan's head moved in a slow shake. The gun in his hand lowered an inch, then another. "You know who we with?"
Ramon smacked the handle of his pistol into the side of Kayjuan's face. The sound was dull, heavy, bone meeting metal. Kayjuan's head snapped to the side and his free hand went to his cheek.
"Ain't nobody worried about Byrd, nigga." Ramon's voice didn't change pitch. "It's 39 over here."
Kayjuan grabbed his face with both hands and lowered himself to the ground, knees first, then stomach. His cheek pressed into the dirt. Maine followed, hands going flat to the earth before his body went down, chest and face against the ground beside Kayjuan.
Tyree swung his pistol toward Zoe. "You, too, bitch."
Zoe shook her head once, something tight in her jaw, and went down. Her knees hit the dirt and she laid forward, arms out in front of her, palms flat.
Ramon stepped over Kayjuan's body and reached down. He picked up the pistol Kayjuan had dropped and tucked it into the back of his waistband. He crouched, one knee on the ground beside Kayjuan's shoulder, gun still pressed to the back of his head. "Where the money at, nigga?"
Kayjuan turned his face in the dirt enough to look at Saul. His eyes were hard and flat. "We gonna kill you, bitch ass nigga."
Ramon pressed the barrel harder into Kayjuan's skull, pushing his face back into the ground. "I'll blow your shit smooth off right here." His voice stayed even, almost conversational. "You forget that lil' nigga ever existed."
Kayjuan sucked his teeth.
Ramon looked up at Saul, who stood rooted where he'd been since the gun first came out, hands still half raised, chest heaving. "Go on and get out of here, bruh."
Saul's eyes moved. He looked at Zoe, face down in the dirt, arms extended. He looked at Kayjuan, pinned under Ramon's knee. He looked at Ramon, crouched over all of it with the gun and the stolen pistol.
"What y'all gonna do?" Saul asked.
Tyree laughed. The sound carried across the empty slope. "Rob these niggas, too."
Saul took a step back. His heel caught on a clump of grass and he steadied himself. He took another step.
Tyree reached down and dug into Maine's pocket. His hand came back with a fold of bills and he straightened, looking at it, then looked down at Maine's face turned sideways in the dirt. He paused.
"Ain't you Coi's brother?" Tyree said.
Maine's eyes moved up to Tyree's face.
Tyree grinned. "Nigga, I was fucking the shit out your sister."
Maine's hands pressed into the dirt. He pushed himself up, shoulder blades pulling together, arms driving. Tyree brought the pistol down on the back of his head. The first hit put Maine's face back in the ground. The second caught the side of his skull. The third landed on his ear and Maine's arms went slack, spreading out in the dirt.
Saul turned and ran. His feet tore at the grass as he went up the street, arms pumping, the slope dragging at his legs. He hit the corner and kept going, shoes slapping the pavement.
Behind him, the sounds of scuffling and shouting rose from the bottom of the levee, voices tangling in the dark, and Saul put his head down and ran harder, his shadow stretching long under the distant glow of a streetlight before the road curved and swallowed it.
~~~
Caine had his arm stretched along the back of the couch, hand resting behind Mireya's shoulder. Camila sat between them with her legs pulled up and her feet tucked under her, leaning into Caine's side. The TV threw shifting light across the room, colors moving over the wall and the carpet and the three of them. Some animated movie Sara had put on before she sat down. Sara was in the armchair to the left of the couch, her legs crossed at the ankle, one hand resting on the arm of the chair.
Mireya had her phone face down on her thigh. Her eyes were on the screen but not locked in. She turned her head toward Caine, chin dipping. "You need to send that money for the daycare. It's going up next week."
Caine reached over to the end table with his free hand and picked up his phone. The screen lit his face as he thumbed it open. "How much was it again?"
"Five."
He looked at her. "For the month?"
Mireya nodded. "They got a lot of little white kids coming there from the North Shore, now."
Sara spoke from the armchair without turning around, her voice carrying over the back of the chair. "It's expensive, mijo."
Mireya pointed toward Sara with one finger, eyes still on Caine.
Caine shook his head. He pulled up Cash App and tapped through the screen, thumb moving over the numbers. He typed in two thousand, found Mireya's name, and sent it. The phone made the small chime and he set it back on the end table.
Mireya's phone buzzed against her thigh. She picked it up and swiped the notification away. "Thank you."
Camila's hands moved between them. Her small fingers found Caine's hand first, wrapping around his index and middle fingers, then reached for Mireya's hand on the other side. She pulled both of their hands together and laced their fingers over each other, pressing them flat. Then she put her own hands on top, palms warm against their knuckles, and held them there.
Caine looked down at her. Mireya did the same. Camila's eyes were on the TV, the colors from the screen playing over her face. She didn't say anything. Her grip was firm.
They looked at each other over Camila's head, held it for a beat, then turned back to the movie.
The room filled with the sound from the TV. Voices from the movie, music swelling under a chase scene. The heater kicked on, a low hum that settled into the background. Camila's thumbs moved in small circles over their joined hands.
Caine's phone dinged on the end table. A text.
He started to pull his hand from Mireya's, fingers loosening. Camila's grip clamped down. Her hands pressed harder on top of theirs, small fingers squeezing.
"No," she said.
Caine looked at her. His eyebrow lifted. She wasn't looking at him. Her eyes stayed on the TV, jaw set, that stubborn line in her mouth that came from Mireya. He kept his hand where it was and reached across his own body with his other hand, picking the phone up off the end table at an awkward angle. He read the text, typed back with his thumb, and set the phone on his leg.
The movie played on. A song came through the speakers and Camila's feet started moving under her, tapping against the cushion in something close to the rhythm. Sara shifted in the armchair, pulling a throw pillow into her lap. The light from the TV dimmed as the scene on screen went to nighttime, and the room went darker with it.
Mireya shifted her weight. She started to stand, pulling her hand up from under Camila's. "I'm gonna get something to drink."
Camila's fingers locked. Both hands clamped down on Mireya's, nails pressing into the skin between her knuckles. Her whole body went rigid against the couch.
"I'll be right back, mi amor," Mireya said. She kept her voice even, already half off the cushion, one foot on the carpet.
Camila screamed. "No!" The word came out sharp and high, filling the room, cutting through the movie's audio. Her fingernails dug harder into Mireya's hand, the small crescents turning the skin white around them.
Mireya hissed through her teeth. Her other hand came up and hovered over Camila's grip. "Camila, you're hurting me."
Camila screamed again. "No!" Louder. Her face turned red under the TV light, her body twisting toward Caine, pulling Mireya's hand with her.
Sara looked back over her shoulder from the armchair. She put her hands on the arms of the chair and started to push herself up.
Caine reached over and took Camila's fingers. He peeled them back one at a time, gentle, his thumb pressing into the pad of each finger to loosen the grip. "Mi vida, le estás haciendo daño a mami."
Camila's fingers uncurled. She released both of their hands and for a second sat there between them with her arms at her sides, breathing hard, her chest rising and falling fast. Then she turned on the cushion and kicked. Her feet hit Mireya's thigh, her hip, her ribs. Small, hard kicks with the heels of her bare feet, one after another, fast and frantic.
Mireya stood up off the couch, stepping back, her hand pulling back, remaining raised for a moment then dropping. "Camila! ¡Basta ya!"
Camila scrambled across the cushion toward Caine. She climbed into his lap, knees pushing into his stomach, and buried her face in his shoulder. Her fingers grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, the cotton bunching in her hands. She pressed her whole body against him, face hidden, breathing hot and fast against his neck.
Mireya's mouth opened. She stood there at the edge of the couch, one hand at her side where Camila's heel had landed on her ribs. Her lips pressed together. Her jaw worked once. She shook her head and turned, walking to the kitchen.
Caine looked at Sara. Sara looked back at him. The look held for two seconds, three. Sara's mouth pulled tight and she gave a small nod, barely there, then got up from the armchair. She crossed the room and followed Mireya into the kitchen.
Caine heard Sara's voice go low behind him, heard the soft press of a hand on a shoulder, heard Mireya exhale.
Camila's grip on his shirt hadn't loosened. Her face stayed buried, her body curled into him, legs folded up, making herself as small as she could against his chest. He could feel her heartbeat through the thin cotton, fast and hard.
He leaned back against the couch, trying to shift her so he could see her face. "Mi vida, look at me."
Camila shook her head. The motion ground her forehead into his shoulder. Her fists pulled tighter on the fabric.
"Okay, okay." He stopped trying to move her. His hand came up and rested on her back, palm flat between her shoulder blades. "We'll talk later."
He ran his hand down her spine and back up, slow, feeling the ridge of each small bone under his palm. The movie kept playing. The colors kept moving across the wall. In the kitchen, Sara's voice was still low, still close to Mireya, and Mireya's breathing had evened out.
Caine sighed. The sound was swallowed by the room. His hand kept moving over Camila's back, steady and slow, and she stayed exactly where she was.
=not gay