Damaged Petals.

[djp73]

Damn had a battle with msu
Need a scoring summary in there imho

[Soapy]

Video's private.

I know wear and tear gotta be red for this dude already. And I'm still flabbergasted that his slow ass gets all these rushing yards.

appreciate it, fixed now

Needing overtime for Michigan State is wild. Might get thumped in the playoff with that bummy defense.

Nia’s fingers found the edge of her jacket sleeve, pulling it up without thinking. The marks on her inner arm were visible now. Small red dots, some fresh, some fading to purple. Evidence of the past three days that she couldn’t quite remember.

ngl I must have skimmed over this part

Spartty almost snatched your chain!?

yall told me almost doesn't count.

GET UP, SER BRICE!

Damn had a battle with msu
Need a scoring summary in there imho

respectfully disagree imho

[djp73]

[Soapy]

Season 6, Episode 23
Brice’s hair dripped cold water down the back of his neck, soaking into the collar of his team-issued hoodie. His body ached all over. His throwing shoulder throbbed with each step.

The parking lot was chaos. Families clustered around every available space, players emerging one by one to cheers and congratulations. Kids ran between the groups, their voices shrill with excitement. The energy was electric, celebratory, the kind of atmosphere that came after an overtime win even if it was against a team with three wins on the season.

Brice scanned the crowd for his parents. They were usually easy to spot, his dad’s height making him visible above most of the other families. But the mass of bodies made it harder to—

There. Near the edge of the lot, standing beside Tom’s truck.

His feet slowed. She held the baby against her chest, the infant bundled in a similar fashion at the cemetary. Tom stood to her left, his hands in his jacket pockets. Liz was on her right, leaning in to look at the baby.

Brice’s jaw tightened. He forced his shoulders to relax, rearranged his face into something that might pass for pleased, and closed the distance between them.

His dad pulled him into a hug, another painful reminder of the eight sacks he’d taken.

“What a fucking game,” Tom said, pulling back but keeping his hands on Brice’s shoulders. "That third quarter was fucking special."

“Thanks, Dad.”

Liz was next, her hug briefer but tighter, her hand cupping the back of his head for just a second before releasing him. “You played great."

“Appreciate it, Mom.”

Then there was Skylar. Standing slightly apart from his parents, holding the baby, her eyes on him with an expression he couldn’t quite read. Hopeful maybe. Nervous definitely.

He moved toward her, his body stiff, and wrapped one arm around her shoulders. She leaned into it, her free arm coming up to touch his back, but he was already pulling away. The whole thing lasted maybe two seconds.

"Surprise," she said softly, "You were amazing out there."

“Thanks.”

His eyes dropped to the baby in her arms. He was asleep, his face barely visible under all the blankets, just a small patch of skin and closed eyes. Brice reached out, his hand hovering for a second before his finger touched the baby’s cheek.

“Hey, buddy,” Brice heard himself say, his voice automatic, performing for his mother who was definitely watching.

Brice pulled his hand back. The silence pressed in from all sides, filling the space between them with everything they weren’t saying. His parents stood there. Skylar stood there. The baby slept. And Brice tried to think of something, anything, to break the tension that was making his shoulders creep up toward his ears.

“That comeback though,” Tom said finally, his voice cutting through the quiet. “That’s how you respond.”

Brice nodded, grateful for the redirect. “Defense kept us in it.”

“They did. But you made the plays when it mattered.” Tom’s hand came down on his shoulder again. “Even with that early interception. Shook it off and came back stronger.”

“Had to.”

"And you sure as shit did," Tom nodded. “But you got to remember you’re not a running back. You’re not Lamar Jackson. Those hits pile up."

“Yeah, I know."

“But shit,” Tom’s face broke into a grin again. “Had to put on a show for your son, right?"

Brice’s eyes flicked to the baby, then back to his dad. “Yeah, I guess.”

Liz moved closer, her attention shifting between Brice and Skylar. “You know,” she started, “Your father and I would be happy to watch Jimmy for a bit.”

Brice’s head turned toward her.

“You two should go out,” Liz continued, her smile fixed in place. “Celebrate the win. Hit the town or whatever you kids call it. We can handle the baby for a few hours.”

Skylar’s eyes went wide. She looked at Brice, her expression searching, waiting for him to shut this down, to make an excuse, to do what he’s been doing all along.

“That’s a great idea,” Brice forced out of his mouth.

…

The bar occupied a brick building two blocks from campus, far enough from the main strip that most students forgot it existed. They found a booth near the back. The leather was cracked and peeling, the table scarred with initials carved by people who’d long since graduated or dropped out. Brice slid in, his back to the wall. Skylar sat across from him.

“What do you want?” he asked, already pulling out his phone.

“Just water is fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Skylar wrapped her hands around her glass. The condensation made dark spots on the napkin underneath. She looked at him, then at the table, then back at him. The silence settled between them like a third person at the table. Brice’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it. He typed back a quick response, set the phone face-down.

A guy appeared at their table. “Holy shit, you’re the quarterback, aren’t you?"

Brice looked up. “What’s up, man.”

“Dude, you are what’s fucking up!” he yelled. "Someone get this guy a fucking drink!"

“I’m good, appreciate it though.”

“Come on, just one. I gotta be able to say I bought Brice Colton a drink.”

Brice forced a smile. “Alright, yeah. Thanks. Whatever you’re having”

Skylar watched him go, then turned back to Brice.

“That happen a lot?” she asked.

“Depends on the game."

The guy returned with two shots, setting them on the table. He hovered for a second, clearly wanting to stay and talk, but Brice just nodded his thanks and the guy got the message. He backed away, rejoining his friends at the bar who were all watching.

Brice looked at the shots. He pushed them to the edge of the table.

“You’re not going to drink them?”

“No.”

“So why’d you say yes?”

“Because it’s easier than saying no.”

Another group approached. Two middle aged woman this time, laughing, asking for a photo for their sons. Brice obliged, standing up to take the picture, his arm around both of them. They thanked him profusely, bought him another round, left.

Three more shots joined the first two.

She leaned back against the booth, her eyes moving from the growing collection of glasses to his face. “They just want to be able to say they did it, huh? Bought Brice Colton a drink.”

Brice picked up his water, took a long drink. “I guess. Like a story they can tell. ‘I bought Brice Colton a drink the night he beat Michigan State in overtime.’ Makes them part of it somehow.”

“That’s kind of sad.”

“Is it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Skylar’s fingers traced patterns in the condensation on her glass. “Does it get tiring?”

“What?”

“This. Always having to be on. Even when the game’s over. I feel like it’s always been that way with you, even at St. Joe’s.”

Brice set down his water, suddenly feeling like he was in LaPenna’s office.

“Yeah,” he shruged. “Sometimes.”

“How long have you been doing it?”

“Doing what?”

“Being Brice Colton, quarterback.”

He almost laughed. “Since I was six.”

“Six?”

“That’s when my dad started training me. Real training, not just throwing the ball around. Footwork drills. Watching film when I was in fucking Optimist. I don’t know, I guess he just had it all mapped out.”

“Mapped out how?”

“Every step. What I needed to do at each age to stay ahead. The camps I needed to attend. The coaches I needed to impress. The trajectory.” Brice’s hand moved to his shoulder, rubbing at the ache that wouldn’t go away. “He might have never played but shit, he made it to Notre Dame so that’s something and I guess he just passed it on, everything he learned, everything he did, what he didn’t do."

“So he made sure you made it.”

“Yeah.”

Skylar was quiet for a moment, her eyes on him in a way that made him want to look away. “That’s a lot of pressure."

“I guess.”

“Did you ever want to do something else?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Anything.”

Brice thought about it. Tried to remember a time when football wasn’t the thing. Nothing came.

“No,” he shrugged.

Brice picked up his water again just to have something to do with his hands. The silence stretched, both of them sitting there, waiting for the other person to say something while wishing they didn’t.

The door finally burst open. A group of guys stumbled in, their voices loud, their movements uncoordinated. he bar’s quiet atmosphere shattered under their entrance.

“Fuck,” Brice muttered.

…

Brice’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out. Serena’s name lit up the screen. He stared at the message for a second, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. Justin was still talking, probably about his game winner. Brice knew they would never hear the end of it. Someone else had appeared with more shots, lining them up on the table. Brice shoved the phone back into his pocket without responding.

“Here,” Justin said, pressing the shot glass into his hand.

Brice took it without protest. Justin cheered, already grabbing another shot and pushing it toward him.

“That’s what I’m fucking talking about, nigga!”

Brice took the second one. Then a third when someone else insisted. The warmth in his chest expanded, spreading to his limbs, making everything feel slightly softer around the edges. The noise of the bar became more manageable, the energy infectious rather than overwhelming.

His teammates were telling stories now, reliving plays from the game, arguing about who had the best play, who missed their assignment. Brice found himself laughing at something, the sound coming easier than it had in weeks.

Brice looked across the bar, expecting to see Skylar still sitting there with that careful expression she’d been wearing all night. The seat was empty.

He blinked, his alcohol fueled brain taking a second to process. When had she left? Had she said something? He scanned the immediate area, looking for her, her jacket.

Nothing.

“You good?” Justin asked, noticing his distraction.

“Yeah, just—“ Brice stood up. “I’ll be right back.”

The bar had filled up considerably since they’d arrived. Bodies everywhere, the noise a constant roar. He moved through the crowd, his eyes searching. The alcohol made everything slightly unstable, his balance not quite right.

Skylar stood with her back partially to him, talking to someone. A guy. He was leaning in close, saying something that made Skylar laugh.

Brice stopped moving.

The guy’s hand came up, touching Skylar’s arm. Skylar didn’t pull away. Even from the back, Brice could tell that she was smiling.

His eyes tracked over her. The baby weight had changed her body a bit. Her hips were fuller, rounder, straining slightly against her jeans. Her breasts pressed against her top, more pronounced than he remembered. Her ass had that same fullness.

The guy said something else. Skylar laughed again, her hand coming up to touch his chest.

“Brice!” Justin’s voice cut through the noise.

Brice turned away from the corner, pushing back through the crowd toward the booth. Justin had another shot waiting, holding it up like a trophy.

"Stop running from this smoke, bitch ass nigga!"

Brice took the shot from his hand and downed it without waiting for a toast. Justin whooped, slapping his back. Someone else handed him another shot. Then another.

…

The truck’s cab was dark except for the glow of the dashboard. Brice’s head lolled against the passenger window, his breath fogging the glass. The motion of the vehicle stopping pulled him partially back to consciousness.

His eyelids were heavy. Everything hurt worse than it had after the game. His shoulder throbbed. His back ached. His head pounded with each heartbeat, the alcohol amplifying every injury instead of dulling them like he’d hoped.

The red light reflected off the windshield. He blinked, trying to focus.

“What time is it?”

“Almost two," Skylar replied, resting her hands on the steering wheel.

He shifted in his seat, the movement sending a wave of nausea through his stomach. “Where are we?”

“Ten minutes from your place,” she gestured at the dashboard, the blue line showing their route. “According to this anyway.”

The light turned green. She pressed the gas, the truck moving forward smoothly. Brice closed his eyes again, but that made the spinning worse. He opened them, fixing his gaze on the dashboard to steady himself.

“Your parents got a hotel for the night,” Skylar said, her voice cutting through the quiet. “They offered me the guest room. Took James with them.”

Brice’s brain took a second to process that. “They what?”

“Said they wanted to give me a night off.” Skylar let out a small laugh. “Your mom definitely planned this whole thing.”

Brice found himself laughing too, the sound hollow and bitter. “Of course she did. That’s what she does. She thinks we’re going to be like a real family or some shit.”

The words hung in the air between them. Skylar’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, her knuckles going white in the dashboard light. She didn’t respond. Neither did he. The truck moved through the empty streets, passing darkened buildings and closed businesses.

Brice stared out the window, watching the streetlights blur past.

The silence pressed down on both of them. Skylar made the final turn onto his street, pulling into his driveway, killing the engine. The quiet was deafening.

Skylar’s hands stayed on the wheel for a moment before dropping to her lap. She turned in her seat to face him.

“I know we won’t be a perfect family,” she said quietly. “And definitely not your dream family. If you even want a family.”

Brice kept his eyes on the dashboard.

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t be a real family,” she continued. “For better or worse, he’s here now. We have to make the best of it.”

The nausea in Brice’s stomach twisted tighter. He pressed his palm against his forehead, feeling the sweat that had formed there despite the cold.

“I know,” he managed.

“But?”

“It’s just hard. Coming to grips with it.” his hand dropped to his lap. “After what happened with Connie, I’m just frustrated. Angry. That I still ended up with a baby. Which just makes me feel even more guilty about giving up the one I had with her.”

Skylar let the silence sit.

“This is your second chance at fixing that. You should seize it instead of doubling down on your mistakes.”

“It feels wrong.”

“It is wrong,” Skylar said. “All of it’s wrong. I know how fucked up this is. But James has nothing to do with that. We need to do the best we can for him.”

Brice’s head fell back against the headrest. The truck’s ceiling swam in his vision. He closed his eyes, opened them again, tried to focus on something solid. The silence stretched. Neither of them moved to open their doors. Just sat there in the dark truck, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on them both.

Finally, Skylar reached for the door handle. The click was loud in the quiet. She pushed it open, the cold air rushing in, and stepped out onto the driveway. Brice followed, his movements slower, less coordinated. His feet hit the pavement and he had to steady himself against the truck. The world tilted slightly before righting itself.

They walked toward the house. Skylar pulled her jacket tighter against the cold. Brice fumbled with the keypad, his fingers not quite working right, until he managed to get the combination right.

“Sorry I ruined your night,” Skylar said as he pushed the door open. “I’m sure you wanted to be in some pussy right now.”

“Who says I won’t be?” he heard himself say, his voice taking on that flirtatious tone that came automatically even when his brain was too foggy to mean it.

Skylar rolled her eyes, but a small smile played at the corner of her mouth. “Goodnight, Brice.”

[Captain Canada]

This nigga is a dog for still trying to fuck on Skylar even after being her own personal mental terrorist for months

[redsox907]

Brice stay on demon time, gotta respect it

Liz ain't as slick as she think

also, Skylar intentionally trying to make Brice jealous to win him back hmm

[Caesar]

Brice such a simp, dog. This man get jealous about all these women he be dogging.

[djp73]

Liz is giving Laura Linney in Ozark

[Soapy]

This nigga is a dog for still trying to fuck on Skylar even after being her own personal mental terrorist for months

a dawg gonna bark

Brice stay on demon time, gotta respect it

Liz ain't as slick as she think

also, Skylar intentionally trying to make Brice jealous to win him back hmm

you already know the vibes @ Brice

Brice such a simp, dog. This man get jealous about all these women he be dogging.

he tender with his hoes

Liz is giving Laura Linney in Ozark

that's a good comp. idk that I have a true 1:1 comparison for her but looking at the description I wrote in my earlier outlines of each character, I would also say Gemma from Sons of Anarchy

[Soapy]