Laney stood at her mother's kitchen counter with her back to the living room, pouring vodka from a small bottle into a cup of sweet tea she'd filled from the pitcher that'd been sitting in the fridge since that morning. The game was on in the other room, voices stacking on top of each other, her boys arguing about something on the screen, her father's laugh cutting through all of it the way it always did in this house.
She tipped the bottle until it ran empty, the last of the vodka mixing clear into the brown of the tea, then dipped her finger into the cup and swirled it in slow circles, the ice clinking against the plastic, until the two liquids blended into a single color. She pulled her finger out and licked the sweetness off her knuckle.
Rylee walked into the kitchen and pulled the fridge open, reaching inside for a can. She looked over at Laney and the cup and the empty bottle on the counter and snorted a laugh.
"Ain't that somethin' you was tellin' me that I gotta stop doin'," she said.
Laney picked up her cup and took a sip, testing the ratio. "I can hold my liquor. When you stop embarrassin' yourself then you can do what I do."
She tossed the empty bottle into the garbage can under the sink, pressing it down beneath the other trash, and walked back into the living room with her cup. Tommy sat on the couch with the space beside him open, his ankle crossed over his knee, his eyes on the television where two teams ground through the third quarter. She sat down beside him, her thigh pressing against his, the cup resting on her knee, her back straight against the cushion.
Knox, Braxton, and Hunter sat on the carpet near the television, Knox pointing at the screen every time something proved his point while Braxton shook his head and Hunter tried to get a word in and couldn't.
Laney looked up from them and found her father watching her from his chair across the room, his face carrying an expression she'd been reading since she was old enough to understand what it meant. She leaned over toward Tommy, her mouth near his ear, her voice dropping below the volume of the game.
"I'm supposed to ask you if you need somethin', but I might put bleach in your drink if you tell me to go get you one."
Tommy kept his eyes on the screen for a few seconds, his jaw working, before he turned his head just enough to look at her. "Go get me something to drink. A beer, glass."
Laney shrugged and pushed up from the couch. She walked back into the kitchen, set her cup on the counter, and pulled a beer from the fridge. She popped the cap off against the counter edge, the metal cap spinning across the surface, and got a glass from the cabinet. She poured the beer down the side until the foam climbed near the rim.
She reached down and opened the cabinet under the sink. Cleaning supplies lined the shelf, the bleach bottle near the front, white cap facing her. She wrapped her fingers around the edge of the cabinet door and held it open, her knees pressing into the tile. She held the door another second, then slammed it shut hard enough that the bottles inside knocked against each other.
She stood up and looked at the glass of beer on the counter, the foam settled now, the surface still. She leaned over and spit into it, watched it land and sink, then picked the glass up and swirled it once, slow, the liquid turning in a circle that erased whatever evidence her mouth had left. She grabbed her own cup with her other hand and walked back to the living room.
She held the beer out to Tommy. He took the glass without thanking her and brought it close to his face, tilting it toward the lamp on the end table, his eyes moving across the surface where the foam had thinned to a ring at the edges. He lifted it higher and smelled it, his nose hovering over the rim for a second before he lowered it to his lap. Laney sat down beside him and crossed one leg over the other, her cup on her knee, her hand wrapped around it.
Her father looked over from his chair. He nodded once, then turned back to the television.
Tommy looked at Laney, the glass still in his hand. "You're not that stupid, are you?"
"What do you mean, baby?" Laney asked.
"What'd you do?"
"I ain't do nothin'. Just went get you somethin' to drink like you told me to."
Tommy brought the glass to his lips and took a sip, his eyes on her face the entire time. He swallowed and held her stare for another beat. Then he shook his head and turned back to the television.
Laney swirled her own cup once, the ice shifting against the plastic, and took a long gulp, the vodka burning underneath the sweet tea all the way down.
~~~
Trell sat on the bench in City Park with his legs spread and his elbows on his knees, his hands hanging loose between them. Ant stood behind the bench with his arms at his sides, his weight even on both feet, his eyes on the path that led from the parking area through the trees toward where they waited.
Cass and Tiff came up the path with Smurf trailing a few steps behind them. Tiff had her phone in her hand, held flat against her thigh, the screen dark. Cass walked with her chin up and her shoulders squared, her eyes finding Trell on the bench before she'd cleared the last of the tree cover.
"I'm surprised that you trying to parlay for what you set in motion, bitch," Trell said.
Cass stopped ten feet from the bench, Tiff beside her, Smurf hanging back at the edge of the walkway. "I ain't do nothing. You the one that tried to play Meechie like a ponk and had the nerve to be shocked when that nigga sent a blitz."
Ant's voice came from behind the bench. "Should've did it all at once because now that nigga about to get put in the dirt. Him and all his people."
Tiff held her phone up. "Meechie was the one who wanted to talk. Before things got out of hand."
Trell looked at her. "Shit got out of hand from day one. I'm not trying to hear that shit. Niggas always wanna backpedal once shit get real."
Cass pointed at Tiff. "He on the phone. You can tell him what you gotta say."
Tiff tapped the screen and unmuted the call, holding the phone up between them. The speaker crackled once and Meechie's voice came through, the connection carrying enough distance to flatten his tone but not enough to hide the tension underneath it.
"That shit was foul looking for my baby mama, bruh. We in the streets. They civilians."
"Ain't never been a war that some civilians ain't die in, nigga," Trell said.
The phone sat in Tiff's hand between them. Nobody spoke. Meechie's breathing came through the speaker in short, uneven pulls.
"That's why I'm trying to let shit die down, nigga," Meechie said. "We sent a hit. Y'all sent one back. We even."
Trell looked over his shoulder at Ant. Ant shrugged, one shoulder lifting and dropping.
Trell turned back toward Cass and snorted a laugh, the sound pushing out through his nose. "We up, nigga. That's the problem with you country ass niggas. Y'all slow. Too much fucking y'all cousins." His eyes moved from Cass to Tiff when he said it, holding there. "I talked to Terrence. You out, nigga. He ain't working with you anymore. He cliqued with someone else in Little Rock." He tilted his head back toward Ant. "What's that nigga name?"
"Purnell," Ant said. "Out one of them Blood cliques."
Trell snapped his fingers once. "That's him."
Meechie's voice came through harder this time, the speaker distorting on the consonants. "Man, fuck Purnell. It's been up with him since I came out the womb. I ain't worried about that nigga."
"I know," Trell said. He leaned forward on the bench, his elbows pressing deeper into his knees. "He told me that. That's why I hooked lil' brudda up with some sticks. ARs, Dracs, Tecs, Ks."
Cass's arms crossed over her chest. "Where you got that shit from?"
"Don't worry about that, bitch." Trell's eyes stayed on the phone in Tiff's hand. "Them niggas gonna wipe y'all out, Demetrius."
Tiff looked at Cass and shook her head, a small, tight motion.
Meechie's voice came back through the speaker, louder now. "Alright then, nigga. That's how you want to play it? You not about to play us like we pussy."
"Do what you gotta do, nigga," Trell said. "But you bring your ass back down here and I'm sending Ant to throw your baby boys into the fucking Mississippi on some biblical shit."
"We gonna see, bitch."
The line went dead. The speaker hissed once with static and then Tiff pulled the phone down and locked the screen, her thumb pressing hard against the button.
Cass looked at Trell. "You could've deaded this shit. You always bite off more than you can chew, nigga."
Trell sat back on the bench and stretched his arms out along the backrest, his body opening up, his legs spreading wider, claiming more of the space than he'd been using a minute ago. He looked at Cass and held her eyes.
"When I'm done with these country niggas, I'm killing you, too, bitch. Just like I did your bitch ass baby daddy."
Cass's face hardened, the muscles around her mouth and her jaw pulling tight. She nodded once. "I knew it. I'm gonna enjoy seeing you in the dirt, nigga."
Trell waved the words off with one hand, the gesture loose and unbothered, his arm falling back to the bench rest. "I ain't worried about you. You just a bitch who niggas used to fuck for business. You not no boss."
Cass held his stare for another second. Then she turned and gestured for Tiff to follow, her hand cutting through the air once, sharp and final. Tiff fell into step beside her and the two of them walked back up the path toward the parking area, their shoes crunching against the gravel where the concrete gave way to dirt. Smurf pushed off from where he'd been standing at the edge of the walkway and followed behind them, his hands in his pockets, his head turning once to look back at Trell and Ant on the bench before the trees swallowed all three of them.
~~~
Caine settled into the gun, cleats finding the grass as he read Marshall’s defense, the smattering of fans in the crowd trying to be as loud as possible but failing to do so when their team was expected to lose in a blowout.
The safeties rotated into a two-high look, the corners backing off. Caine looked to Javier, tapping his helmet and giving him an adjustment. Javier nodded then shifted his stance.
Caine called for the snap, the ball hitting his hands cleanly.
The pocket held and Caine stepped up, cycling through his reads before coming back to Javier.
He rocketed the ball toward him, putting the ball chest high.
Javier got both hands on it, but the Marshall corner trailing him reaching around his shoulder and cut down on Javier’s arms.
The ball hit the turf and rolled away. Referees blew the play dead and signaled fourth down as the Herd’s defense celebrated wildly.
Caine dropped his chin for a beat then raised his arms up at his sides in Javier’s direction. Javier only shrugged as the two of them jogged back to the sideline, the punt team heading out onto the field.
…
“Guerra drops back and he’s immediately on the run! He’s going to have to go down to avoid making a bad play worse! That’s a loss of seven on the play and Georgia Southern looks out of sorts here in the first quarter!”
…
“Hand off to Bradley up the middle and he can scoot! Not a green jersey in sight and that’s going to be a touchdown for the Georgia Southern with less than a minute remaining in the first quarter. Some dropped heads down on that Marshall sideline because they were on fire early.”
…
Caine called for the snap and watched as the offensive line immediately crumbled before him, defensive tackles cutting off his ability to step up to avoid the rush.
He rolled out to his right but the edge rusher was already there in his face. He tried to reverse field but the other edge was in the backfield as well. They both wrapped him up, bodies colliding with him in the middle.
The ball shifted in his hands, and it was all he could do to not drop it as his lungs were compressed between two three-hundred-pound men looking to hurt him.
They drove him into the turf, facemask digging into the grass.
One of them shoved up to his feet off Caine’s helmet. “Better get used to being down there, bitch ass nigga.”
…
“Third and 13 here in the second quarter. After that long touchdown, Georgia Southern just hasn’t been able to get anything going and they find themselves trailing 14-7 to the 2-7 Marshall Thundering Herd.
“Some of these fans may have called their buddies because the crowd is fuller now than it was in the first quarter with there being a growing possibility that we could be watching an upset in the making.
“Guerra’s in the gun, four out wide, Bradley to his left. He calls for the snap and drops back, stepping up into the pocket and throwing it out to Green. And he’s overthrown him! That’s not something that you’re used to seeing from this kid. Especially not when he’s throwing to Trey’Dez Green.
“Marshall’s sideline is rapturous as there is some frustration down there for the Eagles!”
…
Caine dropped back, desperate to get something going before the end of the half as it felt like they were beginning to lose control of the momentum.
He went through his reads, scanning right to left.
Trey’Dez got open and he rifled the ball in his direction, giving him some lead so he could run under it and get some extra yardage.
He caught it, turning up field and chewing up yardage before being brought down after a 20 yard gain.
Caine nodded to himself then jogged to the new line of scrimmage.
…
“Guerra hits Sahara and the Eagles may have something going here!”
…
“Another pass from Caine Guerra to his favorite target this season, Javier Sahara, and Georgia Southern is in the redzone for the first time tonight!”
…
“Second and goal from Marshall’s two-yard line coming up. Georgia Southern’s in the I-formation. Ruben Kiernan dotting it. Here’s the snap. Guerra hands it off and Kiernan plows into the endzone to tie the game up at 14!”
…
“Just 39 seconds remaining here in the first half and A.J. Fox has driven Marshall down to the eight. The Herd still have a timeout so they could run it here if they want to keep Georgia Southern guessing.
“Fox is in the shotgun, 3 by 1. He sends Brooks in motion and calls for the snap. Fox sprints out to his right and flicks the ball out to Brooks on the run. He hauls it and turns upfield, diving for the pylon… Touchdown, Montrell Brooks!” Marshall is going to go into halftime up 21-14 on the undefeated Georgia Southern Eagles! What is going on here tonight in Huntington?!”
…
Georgia Southern’s locker room was alive with energy, negative energy. Players shouted at one another for missed assignments. Coaches yelled at players who had already checked out mentally.
Caine stood in front of a whiteboard, pointing at what Coach Fatu had written on it.
“They’re not fucking doing that! Every fucking time we come to the line, they’re stunting the end and the tackle. Every single fucking time!” Caine shouted.
Coach Fatu shook his head. “I can see what’s happening on the field from the booth. If you’re seeing it, why aren’t you making the adjustment?”
Caine tapped the whiteboard, the impact moving it back a couple inches. “I am making the adjustments, but that don’t mean shit if the motherfuckers who supposed to be doing the shit not doing the shit.”
Coach Aplin walked over, arms crossed over his chest. “Caine, you got to settle down, son. We’re in a dog fight that we didn’t expect to be in but this ain’t gonna change nothing.”
Caine sucked his teeth, holding his hands out in front of him, pointing at the concrete floor. “I just need some damn time. We’re not even talking two, three seconds. They’re in the backfield before the ball even touches my hands.”
“You need us to put another back in the backfield?” Coach Aplin asked.
Coach Fatu shook his head. “We gotta keep them spread out. Exploit their lack of speed on the outside.”
“Just get me some fucking time, man,” Caine said, hitting the whiteboard again.
…
Caine settled into the gun, rubbing his hands together, leather against skin. He glanced up at the scoreboard, third and seven on the opening drive of the second half. He shook a thought out of his head before it had a chance to form.
The stadium noise had ratcheted up since the first quarter, the stadium nearly full now, fans having trickled in like zombies with each passing moment that Marshall was still leading.
It had gotten so loud that Caine had to switch to silent snaps.
He lifted his foot and Chandler sent the ball to him.
He rotated it in his hands, finding the laces, as he dropped back. Javier had a step on his man and Caine threw it to him, just past the chains.
The Herd defender behind him dove, getting his fingertips on the ball and knocking it away. The corner rolled to his feet, throwing his arms inward then out.
A defensive lineman shoved Caine from behind and said, “So much for all that money you supposed to be making, bitch.”
Caine shoved him back, “Bitch, I’ll kill you. Fuck out my face.”
The lineman shoved Caine again and both of them went helmet to helmet as the rest of the players and referees ran over to separate the scrum that formed. Marshall’s players jawing and talking shit as they were led back to their sideline.
Dwight grabbed Caine by his jersey, shoving him toward the Eagles sideline. “You gotta calm down, my nigga.”
Caine ripped his jersey out of Dwight’s grasp. “Man, fuck that shit.”
…
“Nathan Totten lines up for the field goal, a chip shot from just 28 yards. The snap and hold are clean and Totten boots it through the uprights. Marshall now leads by 10 here halfway through the third quarter.”
…
“Dempsey’s kick is up and it’s good. Georgia Southern chips into the lead, but time is running out with just two minutes left in the third quarter. We may really be watching one of the biggest upsets in the Sun Belt in recent memory here, folks!”
…
“Guerra drops back, less than a minute remaining in the third quarter. He steps up in the pocket and throws a bomb down the field… AND IT’S CAUGHT! Acrechaederra has it and he’s brought down at the Marshall 24. We haven’t seen Caine Guerra uncork one all night but that’s the arm talent that everyone’s talking about with this sophomore!”
…
J.J. got brought down after a short gain and the referee signaled fourth down. Caine looked to the sideline, seeing Coach Aplin gesture for him to come off the field.
Caine shook his head, throwing his hands in a shooing motion when the kick team started to jog out on the field. Aplin held his hands out at his sides. Caine just shook his head again and kept shooing the special teams back.
Aplin shrugged and Coach Fatu sent in a play which Caine relayed to the team before heading to the line.
Marshall stacked the box, expecting a run up the middle for the one yard the Eagles needed to convert.
Caine called out an audible, gesturing to Jeremiah. Jeremiah nodded then shifted back off the line of scrimmage.
Caine signaled for the snap.
Jeremiah ran a crosser, coming open just after he ran behind a linebacker. Caine flicked the ball out to him, getting the first down and more, finally getting brought down at the Herd’s two.
Caine immediately called for the team to get back on the ball.
“Maverick! Maverick! Maverick!” Caine shouted as he ran down the field, pushing Chandler along in front of him.
As soon as the ball was set, Caine called for the snap and held the ball out for J.J.
J.J. took it and powered forward through the defensive line, falling over the goal line for the touchdown.
Caine punched the air as he jogged off the field.
Coach Aplin slapped him on the helmet. “That was a no, no, no, yes moment, son. Good shit.”
Caine nodded, turning back to the field and grabbing his shoulder pads, ready to get back out on the field, now with the game tied.
…
“That’s a gain of twenty nine on that pass from Guerra to Sahara and Marshall may not have what it takes to weather this fight back!”
…
“Guerra to Sahara again, 12 yards on that one and Georgia Southern is threatening to take the lead here.”
…
“Guerra drops back and throws a laser to Ewan Arechaederra and… that’s a touchdown! From down 10 to up 6 in a little over a quarter, Georgia Southern has come back to take the lead and the Herd is shellshocked!”
…
“Second and nine from their own 21. Fox needs to find just a little bit more magic to tie this game up and force it to overtime. He’s got five out wide, the fans attempting to lend the team their strength.
“Fox calls for the snap. Pendleton is in the backfield in an instant. Fox panics, throws it across his body and… IT’S PICKED OFF!” Elijah Ffrench has it and he’s brought down but that’s Georgia Southern football!
“If there was one thing A.J. Fox couldn’t do, it was turn the ball over there. Fox is distraught down there on the field and his teammates are trying to console him, but that may have been the end of this upset attempt.”
…
Caine stood under the center, leaning forward toward the goalline, the ball on the half-yard mark.
Marshall’s defenders gathered right over Chandler, knowing that a quarterback sneak was coming. Some of them shouted insults and threats at Caine.
Caine snorted a laugh and pointed at a linebacker. “About to punch this shit in like I punch dick in your bitch, motherfucker. Ready. Hut, hut.” He paused. “Go!”
Chandler handed him the ball and then dove forward. Caine drove toward the endzone behind him, diving into the endzone under the defenders trying to get beneath him to shove him back.
Caine popped up and spun the ball on the turf, the offensive linemen gathering around and pretending the ball was a fire to warm their hands.
Snapping off his chin strap, Caine pounded on his chest twice then pointed at a safety, pulling his thumb across his neck as the Eagles jogged off the field, victory now secured.
~~~
Mireya pulled her dress back over her head and worked it down past her hips, tugging the hem straight as she stepped into her heels. Alejandra stood at the mirror near the bathroom door, fixing her lipstick with her pinky finger, her other hand holding her hair back off her face. Bianca sat on the edge of a guest bed zipping her boots up while Hayley zipped up her skirt near the window, the sounds from the patio drifting in through the glass, men's voices and the crackle of the fire pit and the clink of glasses being refilled.
"The one with the bad fake tan?" Mireya said. "He was on some MAGA shit."
Bianca sucked her teeth, pulling the second boot's zipper the rest of its track. "Girl, all of them on some MAGA shit. That one motherfucker wanted to do some race play shit with me. Who the fuck I look like?"
Alejandra capped her lipstick and dropped it into her bag, turning from the mirror. "I'd have done it. I want triple, papi, then I'll call you a cracker."
Mireya snorted a laugh. "I don't think that's how it works."
"Facts," Bianca said. "They want to be racist to you. I'm not with that shit. You ain't calling me no nigga while you fucking me."
"They do it in their head anyway," Alejandra said.
Hayley finished her last button and smoothed her blouse flat against her stomach. "And it's still disgusting."
Bianca tapped her thumb and index finger together, the motion quick and precise. "We love an ally, Haylz."
Hayley looked toward the hallway that led deeper into the house, her chin lifting. "This is one of their houses. The main one? He's married. We can go see what his wife has."
Mireya shrugged. "I'm down for a little jewelry shopping."
Alejandra laughed and pointed at Mireya. "Look at you, Mexicana." She gestured toward Bianca, already heading for the door that opened onto the patio. "C'mon. Let's go get our money and keep them occupied."
Alejandra and Bianca slipped through the door and out onto the patio, their voices shifting into something brighter and warmer as they rejoined the men around the fire pit. Mireya watched through the glass as Alejandra touched one of them on the shoulder and laughed at something he said, Bianca settling into a chair beside another with her legs crossed and a glass already being pressed into her hand.
Mireya tilted her head toward the hallway and Hayley fell into step behind her. The two of them moved through the house in their heels, footsteps muffled by carpet that ran thick and pale down the corridor, passing framed photographs on the walls and a bathroom with the light left on and a home office with the door cracked. The master bedroom sat at the end of the hall, the door open, a king bed made up tight with too many pillows stacked against the headboard.
Mireya walked into the closet on the far side of the bedroom. It was large, two rows of clothes hanging on either side with shelves built into the back wall and a dresser sitting in the center island. She pulled a robe off one of the hooks near the door, bundled it into a loose sack with the sleeves tied together, and set it on top of the dresser. Hayley split off toward the bedroom dresser, her hands already pulling drawers open.
Mireya opened the first drawer on the closet island. Socks, folded and sorted by color. She closed it and tried the next one. Two jewelry boxes sat inside, one leather and one velvet, both hinged. She pulled them out and flipped the leather one open, her fingers moving through the pieces inside, lifting chains and turning them to check the clasps, setting aside the ones with weight and tossing the costume pieces back. She dropped a handful of necklaces and a pair of earrings into the robe bag, then opened the velvet box and worked through it faster, rings and bracelets sliding across the lining as she sorted.
Her fingers stopped on a ring sitting in the corner of the box, set apart from the others in its own slot. She picked it up and held it between her thumb and forefinger, turning it until the stone caught the closet light and threw it back in a sharp flash. She brought it closer to her face, angling it, the diamond sitting high on the band in a setting that looked old enough to have been someone's grandmother's before it ended up in this drawer.
She slipped it onto her ring finger. It was too big, the band sliding down past her knuckle and resting loose against the base of her finger. She held her hand up and closed her other hand around it to keep the ring in place, looking at it there on her finger, the diamond catching the light each time she moved her wrist.
She pulled it off. Held it over the robe bag for a second, her thumb and forefinger pinching the band. Then she dropped it back into its slot in the velvet box, grabbed two more necklaces from underneath where the ring had been sitting, and put both boxes back in the drawer. She tied the robe's sleeves tighter around the bundle and picked it up.
She walked out of the closet as Hayley crossed the bedroom toward the door, her own bag heavier in her hand.
"Anything good in there?" Hayley asked.
"Same old shit," Mireya said.
Hayley shrugged. "We'll sell it."
Mireya laughed. "eBay love to see me coming."
The two of them walked back up the hallway toward the front of the house, the carpet swallowing their footsteps, the men's voices still carrying from the patio through the walls. Mireya looked through the glass door as they passed and caught Bianca's eye. She lifted her chin once. Bianca gave a small nod without breaking from whatever the man beside her was saying. Mireya and Hayley walked out the front door.
