Caine lay on his back with one arm folded behind his head, eyes on the ceiling tiles. The hotel room held the hum of the AC unit under the window and nothing else. Dillon had gone down to the lobby an hour ago, left his key card on the dresser and his suitcase open on the other bed with a wrinkled polo spilling out of it. The blackout curtains were drawn but the edges leaked a strip of light that had shifted from the far wall to the carpet since he’d come upstairs.
His playbook sat closed on the nightstand next to his phone. He’d gone through the install twice already, walked the route concepts in his head until they felt less like memorization and more like reflex. There was nothing left to do with it until they got on the field for the walkthrough tonight.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Caine reached over without sitting up, fingers closing around it. He lifted the screen to his face and checked the number. California area code.
He tapped the speaker icon and set the phone on his chest.
“What’s good?”
“When y’all go from one middle of nowhere town to another, do you have to check in with the local hillbillies?” Tatum’s voice filled the room, clean and bright.
Caine laughed. “Someone gotta give up their cousin for them to let us through. You just start with the walk-ons and work your way up the depth chart.”
“Guess you’re a lucky one at QB1.”
“Good for the team, too, because I ain’t got too many of age cousins.”
“I don’t think they care about that, kid.” A car horn sounded faint on Tatum’s end, then smoothed away. “Anyway, as much as I want to know where not to go when I’m traveling the country, I called you for a reason. You got a minute?”
Caine let his free hand rest on his stomach. “Yeah, we just waiting for the walkthrough tonight.”
“Sounds good. Look, Miami? They’re still in. Big time. Judd Anderson ain’t it. The boosters like the thought of a Spanish speaker in at quarterback. Michigan, Ohio State, Alabama, all still there.”
“I don’t know if Michigan or Ohio State my type of school,” he said.
“If they pay you a few million dollars, that’ll change real quick.”
Caine’s mouth pulled at one corner. He shifted the phone on his chest, the case warm against his shirt.
“Who else?”
“USC I think is gonna come calling, Texas, Oklahoma. I’m trying to get LSU to put something on the table.”
“Going home the last thing mi mama wants me to do,” he said.
“Well, you tell Ms. Guerra that I’m just gonna use LSU to get more money from everyone else.”
Caine laughed again, louder this time.
A knock came at the door. Two quick raps, confident.
Caine lifted his chin toward it. “It’s open.”
The handle turned and Matt pushed through, one hand on the frame. He was already dressed for the walkthrough, team polo tucked in, lanyard swinging against his chest. He looked at Caine spread out on the bed with the phone glowing on his sternum and raised an eyebrow.
“Walkthrough time, big bro.”
Caine held a finger up. “Alright, I’m on my way.”
Matt nodded once, tapped the doorframe with his palm, and stepped back into the hallway. The door eased shut behind him. Footsteps faded down the carpet toward the elevators.
Tatum’s voice came through again, already shifting gears. “Make sure you ball tomorrow, kid.”
“Ain’t no other option.”
He picked the phone off his chest and ended the call. The screen went dark. He held it there for a beat, thumb resting on the edge, then set it on the nightstand next to the playbook.
Caine swung his legs off the bed and sat on the edge. He reached down, set his slides flat, and slipped his feet in. Then he stood, rolled his neck once, and pulled his shirt straight where it had bunched at the waist.
The hallway outside held the low murmur of teammates moving between rooms, doors opening and closing in uneven rhythm. Someone laughed two doors down. A vending machine hummed from the alcove near the stairwell.
Caine pulled the door shut behind him and started toward the elevators.
~~~
Mireya sat in the third pew from the back with one leg crossed over the other, her heel resting against her calf, phone flat in her palm. The church had been gutted years ago. Half the pews were missing and the ones that remained had been shoved toward the walls to open the floor. Plywood covered the windows on the east side. The ones on the west had their glass still intact but hadn’t been cleaned in long enough that the streetlight outside came through gray and milky. No altar cloth. No candles. The cross that had hung behind the pulpit left a shadow on the drywall where the paint had faded around it.Trell stood near the front with two men. One of them was short and wide through the chest, gold chain resting flat against a black hoodie. The other was taller, leaner, arms folded, head nodding at whatever Trell was saying. Their voices carried in pieces. Numbers. Dates. Trell’s hands moved when he talked, slow and measured, fingers pointing at nothing and everything at once.
Mireya glanced down at her phone. The screen showed 11:47. She sighed, quiet enough that nobody heard it, and shifted her weight against the hard back of the pew. The wood bit into her spine. She pressed her lips together and swallowed a yawn before it could form, jaw tight.
Her eyes roamed the room. Other men stood in loose clusters between the stripped pews, some leaning against the walls, some with drinks in their hands, all of them talking with the same low energy that said this was routine. A card table had been set up near the side entrance with bottles and a sleeve of plastic cups. One of the men at the table poured something brown into a cup and knocked it back, then poured again for the man beside him. Two others sat in a pew across the aisle, phones out, thumbs moving.
Three women walked through the front entrance. The door scraped on its hinges. They came in talking among themselves, voices clipped and fast, hands moving. One of them wore a denim jacket with patches on the sleeves. Another had her hair pulled into a bun so tight it stretched the skin at her temples. The third was shorter, curvier, dark lipstick catching what light came through the windows.
The one in the denim jacket noticed Mireya first. She slowed half a step, said something to the other two with her chin dipped, her finger lifting and pointing toward Mireya’s pew. The other two glanced over. The one with the bun shrugged. The shorter one looked and kept walking.
Denim jacket peeled off from them and crossed the floor, her steps steady on the cracked tile. She slid into the pew in front of Mireya and turned around, arm draped over the back of the seat. She looked Mireya up and down once.
“Hola, chica. What brings your pretty ass to the Chi?”
Mireya looked at her, then let her gaze drift across the gutted church, the men at the card table, the plywood windows, the stripped walls, then back. She gestured loosely at the room with the hand holding her phone.
“Why would anyone be in here?”
The woman’s lips tipped down as she shrugged, one shoulder rising and dropping. “Can’t say you too wrong about that.”
She turned her head toward the front and pointed at Trell, who still had his back to them, one hand pressed flat against the top of a pew while he leaned toward the shorter man.
“I’m guessing you with him? Since I ain’t never seen him either.”
“Yeah, I am,” Mireya said.
The woman whistled, low and quick, air slipping between her teeth. Her eyes went from Trell back to Mireya. “That’s your man or you with the mob?”
“He’s my man.”
“Oooh, you lucky, chica.” She leaned back a little, the pew creaking under the shift of her weight. “Ain’t have to get jumped in or nothing. I’m kind of jealous.”
“I don’t think that’s something they do down where we from,” Mireya said.
The woman sucked her teeth. “Like I said, lucky.” She rubbed the edge of her thumb across her bottom lip, eyes drifting toward the far wall for a second before coming back. “I had to set my homegirl up for the vatos to run a train on her. But it was worth it, you know?”
Mireya raised an eyebrow.
The woman held the silence for a beat, reading Mireya’s face, then moved on from it.
She looked back at Trell and the men at the front, then at Mireya again. “So, what is it you do if you not affiliated? Just here to look pretty?”
Mireya shrugged. “Something like that.”
The woman laughed. The sound bounced off the bare walls and the stripped ceiling. “Something like that.” She repeated it under her breath, shaking her head, a grin still pulling at her mouth.
She pushed up to her feet with both hands on the pew back, the wood groaning under her palms. She smoothed the front of her jacket, gave Mireya one last look, then turned and walked across the open floor toward the pews where the other two women had settled. They shifted to make room for her without looking up. One of them said something that made her laugh again, quieter this time.
Mireya watched her go. The woman dropped into the pew and leaned into the one with the bun, already talking. Their voices folded back into the low noise of the church.
Mireya shook her head once, small, and looked back down at her phone.
~~~
Saul sat on the porch with Angel against his chest, the baby’s cheek pressed flat over his heart, one small fist curled near the collar of Saul’s shirt. The weight of him barely registered. Still weeks old and still light enough that Saul had to keep checking he was there. Angel’s breathing had slowed ten minutes ago, mouth open, the smallest thread of spit darkening the cotton under his chin.Ava sat in the chair beside him with her legs pulled up, bare feet on the edge of the seat, her phone resting face down on her knee.
The air had started to cool but hadn’t committed to it. Gnats circled the porch light even though it wasn’t on yet. A truck passed on the road, tires hissing over loose gravel at the shoulder, and Angel’s fingers twitched once against Saul’s chest, then stilled.
A car turned into the driveway, headlights cutting low across the yard. The engine rattled once before it shut off. Both doors opened. Javi climbed out from the driver’s side, shoving the door shut. Trent came around the front, hands in his pockets.
Saul carefully pulled one hand from under Angel’s back, keeping the other pressed firm so the baby didn’t shift. He lifted his hand and waved it once, low, catching their attention.
The two of them crossed the yard and came up the porch steps. Trent took them slow, his eyes going to the baby first, then to Ava.
“Hey, Ava. You doing alright?”
Ava smiled, small and tired. She nodded. “Hey, Trent. Just tired but I manage.”
Javi stopped at the top of the steps and pointed at Saul, a grin already breaking across his face. “You just need to teach him how to breastfeed and then you can get some more sleep.”
Saul’s jaw tightened around the laugh that tried to get out. He kept his voice flat so the vibration in his chest didn’t carry. “Fuck off, man.”
Ava cut her eyes over to him, fast and sharp. “Didn’t I tell you stop cursing around him?”
“He don’t know what I’m saying.”
“Yet.”
Saul shook his head and looked down at Angel. The baby’s lips moved once, a reflex, sucking at nothing. Saul adjusted his hand on the small back, fingers spread wide enough to cover most of it.
“You gonna curse just like your daddy, ain’t you, mijo?”
Javi leaned against the porch railing, arms crossed, his weight making the wood creak. He looked at Saul and the baby.
“It’s so weird seeing you with a kid, man.”
Trent looked at Saul, then at Ava, then back at Saul.
“Which is why we came up here to talk to you.”
Saul’s eyes came up from Angel. He held Trent’s gaze for a beat. Trent looked at him and then at Ava, the shift deliberate, his mouth pressing flat.
“I’m not hiding nothing from her,” Saul said.
Ava was already pushing up from her chair. She bent forward and held her hands out, palms open, fingers waiting. “But I still don’t want to hear it.”
Saul leaned forward and eased Angel into her arms, his hand cupping the back of the baby’s head until Ava had him settled against her shoulder. Angel made a sound, high and thin, then buried his face in her neck and went back under. Ava pressed her lips to the top of his head and turned for the door. The screen creaked open. She stepped through and pulled it shut behind her.
Javi spoke first. “Mia said Zoe looking for you, bro. Said you set her man up.”
Saul’s hands hung between his knees. He rubbed his palms together once, slow, the calluses catching. “It ain’t exactly like that.”
Trent crossed his arms and shifted his weight off the post. “She think it is. Her man, too, apparently.”
Saul’s jaw worked. He stared out at the driveway. “I’m not fucking with that shit no more, man. I ain’t know shit was going to go down like that.”
Javi turned from the railing to face him, arms still crossed. “What did you think was going to happen when you got your cousin and his friends involved? Those dudes are real gangsters.”
Saul’s mouth tightened. He sat back in the chair and let his head rest against the siding. “Caine plays football, man.”
Trent shook his head. “We all watched him beat Pedro’s ass and we all know he been in jail, bro.”
Saul waved the comment off with one hand.
Trent didn’t let it go. He kept his eyes on Saul, steady. “You need to figure out the shit with Zoe, though. Before it blow up.”
Javi pushed off the railing and took a step closer, pointing at Saul with his index finger. “He just gonna hide here until it blows over.”
Saul laughed. “Pretty much.”
Trent shook his head, a slow drag left and right. Javi kept his finger aimed at Saul, his grin widening.
“Fucking knew it.”
~~~
Rylee had her arms above her head and her hips locked into the bass that shook through the floor from a speaker someone had wedged between the couch and the wall. Bodies pressed on every side, the living room shrunk down to just heat and noise and the smell of spilled beer and vape clouds that hung at shoulder level. Amie danced beside her, cup raised high to keep it from getting knocked, her hand catching Rylee’s elbow every few bars when the crowd surged.Brice came through the gap between the kitchen doorway and the arm of the couch. He had a red cup in one hand and the other closed in a loose fist. He leaned in close enough that his mouth was near Rylee’s ear, his shoulder bumping hers to get her attention. He opened his hand, palm flat.
A small white pill sat in the center of it.
Rylee looked down at it, then back up at him. “What’s this?”
Brice shrugged, pulling his hand back just enough to keep the pill from rolling. “Coop brought them and he’s been having the time of his life all night.”
Rylee glanced across the room. She could see Coop on the far side near the sliding door, head tipped back, laughing at nothing, one arm slung over a girl. His jaw was working even when he wasn’t talking.
She shrugged, plucked the pill from Brice’s palm with her thumb and forefinger, and tossed it into her mouth. She lifted her cup and washed it down, the liquor warm and sharp against her throat. She swallowed and licked her bottom lip.
Amie had stopped dancing. She looked at Rylee with her eyebrows pulled together, cup lowered to her side. “Girl, that shit could fucking kill you.”
Rylee tilted her head, unbothered. “Brice know how to get me to the hospital.”
Brice pointed at her. “As long as you don’t start throwing up on my sheets again, because then I’m gonna leave your ass on the side of the road.”
Rylee rolled her eyes and shoved him in the chest with the flat of her hand. He stumbled back a step into someone behind him, laughing, and she turned back to the music. Her body found the beat again, shoulders rolling, weight shifting from one foot to the other. Brice shook his head, grin still stuck on his face and disappeared into the crowd toward the kitchen.
The song bled into the next one. The bass dropped harder and the room answered, voices rising, feet stamping, the floor vibrating under her sneakers. Amie had gone back to dancing too, her worry already folded away somewhere behind the drink in her hand. Rylee closed her eyes for a second and let the music fill the space behind them.
A hand settled on her waist from behind. Fingers spread across the curve of her hip, firm, and a body stepped in close enough that she felt the heat of his chest against her back.
Rylee opened her eyes and looked back over her shoulder. The guy was taller than her by half a foot, dark hair, a smile already sitting on his mouth.
“You gonna do some askin’ or you just assumin’ I want you touchin’ me?”
The guy’s smile didn’t drop. He leaned closer so she could hear him over the music. “I’m Will.”
Rylee shook her head, turning a little more toward him without pulling away. “That ain’t what I asked you.”
Will kept his hand on her hip. His thumb shifted once under the fabric of her shirt. “We can talk and dance.”
Rylee looked at him for a beat, her eyes running his face, his jawline, the way he held himself. She turned forward again.
“Fine but give me your drink.”
Will reached up with the hand on her waist and caught her wrist, loose, just enough to steady her cup. His other hand came around her, tilting his own cup. The liquor poured over the ice in hers, the plastic rims clicking together. A few drops splashed over the edge and hit her fingers.
Rylee brought the cup to her mouth and took a sip. The mix was stronger now, whatever he’d been drinking cutting through hers. She swallowed and pressed back into him, finding the beat again. His hand settled back on her hip. She rolled against him, slow, letting the bass do the work.
~~~
Trell sat on the edge of the bed, bent forward, working the laces on his left shoe. San Diego sat dark and lit beyond the glass, the skyline broken into squares of yellow and white against a sky that had gone full black an hour ago.Mireya sat in the armchair across the room with her laptop open on her thighs, the screen casting a blue glow up her face and neck. Her thumb scrolled the trackpad. She clicked, read, clicked again. The exam timer ran in the corner of the browser, red numbers counting backward toward midnight. She had twenty-two questions left and forty minutes to answer them.
Trell pulled the lace tight and started on the right shoe. “When we see Gustavo again tomorrow, I need you to speak to him in that Spanish shit. He like that.”
Mireya’s eyes stayed on the screen. She clicked an answer and moved to the next question. “Uh huh.”
Trell’s fingers paused on the lace. He looked up at her. “I’m serious, Mireya. I need this shit to keep flowing so I ain’t gotta worry about more niggas turning on me with this Meechie shit going on.”
She scrolled down to read the full question. Her lips moved once as she worked through the wording. “Yeah, I hear you.”
Trell let go of the shoe. He straightened and set both hands on his knees, watching her. The screen light moved across her face as she clicked again.
“Get off that fucking shit and listen to me.”
Mireya held up one finger without looking at him. “Hold on. I’m almost done. I just got like 10, 15 questions left.”
Trell pushed up from the bed. Two steps brought him to her. His hand closed around the top of the laptop screen, fingers curling over the edge, and he ripped it from her lap. He turned and drove it into the TV stand. The screen cracked on impact, the hinge snapping, pieces of the keyboard scattering across the carpet and the base of the stand. The TV rocked but held. A shard of plastic skidded under the desk.
Mireya’s mouth opened. She stared at the broken laptop, at the pieces on the floor, at the dent in the TV stand’s edge where the screen had hit.
Trell tossed the piece still in his hand. It landed on the carpet with the rest, screen side down. He turned around and reached for her face, his thumb and fingers gripping her chin, tilting it up toward him.
“You here to get fucked, not do fucking school shit. I’m tired of you making me compete with this other shit. You not gonna be a fucking nurse. You a fucking stripper and a fucking ho.”
Mireya’s jaw tightened against his grip. Her eyes held his, flat and direct. “Trell, stop.”
His fingers didn’t move. “Say it. You a fucking stripper and a fucking ho.”
She looked at him. He looked back. Neither of them blinked. The AC hummed. A car horn sounded somewhere below, faint through the glass.
Her lip pulled slightly to the side. “I’m a fucking stripper and a fucking ho.”
Trell let go of her chin. He stepped back and pointed at the floor, at the scattered pieces of laptop and broken plastic. “Clean that shit up.”
Mireya stood from the chair, slow, and lowered herself into a squat over the mess. Her fingers found the first piece, a key that had popped loose, and she set it on the carpet beside her knee.
Trell’s hand landed on her shoulder. He pressed down, firm, pushing her from the squat to her knees. A sharp edge of broken plastic bit into her kneecap and she hissed through her teeth, her face tightening for a second before she adjusted her weight.
“You need to remember this where you at,” he said. “You my fucking bitch. You gonna stop making me second in your life to stupid shit.”
Mireya didn’t say anything. Her fingers kept moving across the carpet, collecting pieces, stacking them in a small pile.
“Apologize to me, bitch.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, voice quiet.
Trell sucked his teeth. He walked back to the bed and put his foot on the chair beside it, retying the shoe he’d left loose. He pulled the lace tight and dropped his foot. The keycard sat on the counter near the bathroom door. He grabbed it, slid it into his back pocket, and crossed to the door. He pulled it open and stepped through. The door swung shut behind him hard enough that the deadbolt rattled in its frame.
The suite went still. The AC pushed cold air across the back of Mireya’s neck. She stayed on her knees for a beat, hands flat on the carpet, listening to his footsteps fade down the hallway until there was nothing left.
She pushed herself up and crossed the room to where her phone sat charging on the nightstand. She unplugged it and dropped onto the edge of the bed, thumbs already moving. She opened Safari, typed the Canvas URL, and logged in. The exam sat at the top of her dashboard. She tapped it. The screen loaded, spun once, and then a red banner filled the top of the page.
This exam was submitted incomplete.
Mireya rolled her lips into her mouth and pressed them together. She set the phone down on the mattress beside her and ran her hand through her hair. She sat there for a moment, palm resting on the back of her neck.
Then she turned around, got off the bed, and squatted back down over the pieces of the laptop. Her fingers picked through the mess, separating keys from casing, stacking what could be stacked, gathering what couldn’t into a pile against the base of the TV stand.
~~~
Laney pulled into the church lot, her phone still warm in her lap from the alarm notification. The gravel popped under her tires. Two Bulloch County cruisers sat nose-out near the front steps, light bars dark, engines running. Their headlights threw long shapes across the brick and the sidewalk and the edge of the fellowship hall. Four deputies moved around the property in pairs, flashlight beams sweeping the doors and the windows and the bushes along the foundation.She put the SUV in park and killed the engine. She sat for a second, then pushed the door open and stepped out into the air. It held a chill that hadn’t been there when she’d gone to bed. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the side of the SUV.
One of the deputies looked back from the far corner of the building and spotted her. He said something to the man beside him, then broke off and walked toward her, flashlight aimed at the ground in front of his boots. He was tall, broad through the shoulders, hat pushed back a little on his forehead.
“Hey, Laney.”
Laney nodded at him. “Hey, Evan. Y’all see anythin’ wrong out here?”
Evan shook his head. He clicked the flashlight off and held it at his side. “A couple doors were open, but it ain’t look like nothing was missing. We made a couple passes just in case whoever broke in hadn’t run off.”
Laney shifted her weight against the SUV, arms still folded. “We always got some dumbass kids messin’ ’round with the doors, thinkin’ that they doin’ somethin’ cool.”
Evan huffed a short laugh and hooked his thumb into his belt. “Yeah. Nothing we didn’t do growing up. Boys will be boys and all.”
Laney snorted a laugh. “Right.”
Evan pointed over his shoulder toward the building. “You want us to stick around while you look and see if anything gone?”
Laney shook her head. “I ain’t see anythin’ on the cameras either. I’ll just lock the doors back and head back home.”
Evan nodded. He turned around, put two fingers to his mouth, and whistled. The sound cut across the lot. He raised his hand and circled it over his head once. The other three deputies looked up from their positions around the building and started moving toward the cruisers. Evan turned back to Laney.
“Have a good night, Laney.”
He walked to his cruiser and pulled the door open. The other three deputies passed Laney on their way across the lot. Each one tipped his hat. The last of them, younger, clean-shaven, dipped his chin and said, “Night, Mrs. Matthews.”
Laney gave him a small nod and watched them climb into their cruisers. Doors shut in succession. She pushed off the SUV and walked across the lot toward the side entrance where one of the doors sat propped open, a wedge of light from the hallway spilling onto the concrete. She pulled the door shut, tested the handle until it caught, and turned the lock. The bolt slid home with a dull thud.
She walked back to the SUV, gravel crunching under her sandals. She pulled the driver’s door open, climbed in, and started the engine. The headlights lit up the empty lot. The cruisers rolled past her, one after the other, taillights blinking at the road before they turned and disappeared.
She picked up her phone and unlocked it, thumb navigating to the alarm app to re-arm the system.
The passenger door opened.
Laney screamed. Her hand shot under the seat, fingers reaching.
Caine dropped into the passenger seat and pulled the door shut behind him. He looked at her, one hand resting on the console between them.
“Don’t shoot, killer.”
Laney pressed her hand flat against her chest. Her breath came fast. She stared at him, eyes wide, mouth open. “What the fuck you doin’, Caine? Where did you even come from?”
Caine nodded over his shoulder, toward the back of the building.
Laney closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the headrest. A long breath pushed out of her. “You were the one who tripped the damn alarm.”
“We just got back from Virginia, and I wanted to see you.”
She opened her eyes and turned her head toward him. “You ain’t think a text message or somethin’ was enough?”
“Could’ve been, but this worked too.”
Laney’s jaw set. She looked at him for another beat, her pulse still visible at her throat. “How you even hide from them deputies?”
“A magician never tell his secrets.”
Laney shook her head, slow, her hand still pressed to her sternum. She dropped it to the gear shift and put the SUV in drive.
Caine raised an eyebrow. “Where we going?”
Laney pointed through the windshield, past the front of the church, toward the back of the fellowship hall. “Behind the hall so if they circle back when we fuckin’ they don’t come check on me.”
Caine laughed, his head tipping back against the headrest. He held both hands up, palms out. “You the boss.”
Me the whole time. 