Season 6, Episode 27
Brice pushed through the chaos, his eyes scanning the designated family section near the thirty-yard line. The security guards were already overwhelmed, trying to maintain some semblance of order while players’ families poured onto the field.
Tom’s eyes found his at the same moment. His dad’s face did something Brice had never seen before, his mouth opening like he wanted to say something but couldn’t get the words out. His eyes were wet.
Brice closed the distance between them, weaving through bodies, ignoring the hands reaching out to congratulate him. Tom met him halfway, his arms coming around Brice’s shoulders and pulling him in.
The hug lasted. And lasted. Tom’s grip tightened, one hand coming up to cup the back of Brice’s head. His chest rose and fell against Brice’s, his breathing unsteady.
"Holy shit,” Brice started, his own throat constricting.
Tom just shook his head, his hand pressing harder against Brice’s skull. His shoulders trembled slightly. He still hadn’t said anything.
Brice’s eyes burned. He blinked hard, once, twice, trying to force it back.
“You did it,” Tom finally managed, his voice rough and broken. “You fucking did it.”
“I’m so proud of you.”
Liz’s voice cut through, bright and clear. Tom released him, stepping back quickly and wiping at his face with the back of his hand. Liz was already there, her arms wrapping around Brice before Tom had fully let go.
“I’m so proud of you, baby,” she said again, squeezing him tight. “So, so proud.”
Brice let himself lean into it, his chin resting on her shoulder.
“Jimmy would be so proud of you right now,” Liz continued, her voice steady even as her grip tightened. "We all are."
The burning in Brice’s eyes got worse. His throat closed completely. He nodded against her shoulder, not trusting his voice, not trusting anything except the feeling of his mother’s arms around him and the knowledge that somewhere, somehow, Jimmy knew.
Liz pulled back, her hands coming up to cup his face. Her eyes were bright, searching his, seeing everything he couldn’t say.
“I love you,” she said simply.
“I love you too, Mom.”
A hand touched his elbow. Sophie stood beside him, her hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket. She looked uncomfortable, like she wanted to be anywhere else but also like she needed to be exactly here.
“Congrats,” she said, pulling one hand free to offer an awkward side hug.
Brice wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her in briefly. She allowed it for exactly two seconds before stepping back, her eyes already moving away from his face, taking in the chaos around them.
Skylar stood a few feet away, slightly apart from his family, holding something bundled against her chest. The earmuffs on his tiny head looked comically large. His small hands were reaching up, grasping at the confetti that continued to fall around them.
Brice moved toward her as her face arranged itself into a smile, genuine but careful, like she was trying not to expect too much from this moment.
“Hey,” he said when he reached her.
“Hey?” her smile widened slightly. "You just won the championship!"
"Yeah," Brice snorted, "I guess I just did."
James’s face changed. His eyes, unfocused until now, locked onto Brice’s face with sudden clarity. Recognition. His mouth opened into a wide, gummy smile that radiated pure joy. His arms extended toward Brice, his tiny fingers opening and closing, reaching, wanting.
Brice froze.
The baby had never done that before. Had never looked at him like that. Like Brice was someone he knew. Someone he wanted.
“Everyone loves a winner,” Skylar adjusted her grip, already offering James toward him.
Brice’s arms came up automatically, his hands finding the baby’s small body. James was heavier than he remembered. He hadn’t held him since that day in the hospital. The baby settled against his chest, one small hand clutching at Brice’s jersey, the other reaching up toward his face.
“Congratulations,” Skylar said. “Really. You deserve this.”
Brice couldn’t look at her. His eyes stayed fixed on James’s face, on the way the baby was studying him with that intense focus, like Brice was the most important thing in the world.
“Brice?”
A middle-aged woman appeared beside him, a lanyard around her neck identifying her as athletics staff.
“I’m so sorry but we need you up on the stage,” she said, gesturing toward the temporary platform that had been erected at midfield.
“Right,” Brice turned back toward Skylar, already shifting James in his arms, preparing to hand him back.
“You should take him up with you.”
Liz’s voice. She’d moved closer, her eyes on James, that careful smile still in place.
Brice’s hands stilled. “What?”
“Take him up there,” Liz repeated, looking at the athletics rep. “That would be okay, right? Just for the photo?”
The rep’s expression flickered with uncertainty. Her eyes moved from Liz to Brice to the baby, calculating. “I... I’m not sure if—“
“I’m sure it’s fine,” Liz pressed. "I’ve seen other people do it before."
The rep’s mouth opened. Closed. She shrugged helplessly, clearly not wanting to make this decision but also not wanting to say no. Liz had that effect on people, even those she just met.
Brice looked down at James. The baby was still smiling up at him, still clutching his jersey, still completely unaware of the weight Liz was trying to place on this moment.
He shifted James back toward Skylar, carefully transferring the baby’s weight.
“It’s easier this way,” Brice heard himself say, "I got to hold the trophy up, probably get interviewed. I doubt he remembers anyway."
…
The hotel room was dark except for the glow of the city lights filtering through the curtains. Brice laid on his back, staring at the ceiling, his body still humming with exhaustion and adrenaline in equal measure. His shoulder throbbed. His ribs ached. But none of it mattered right now.
Serena shifted beside him. Her leg was draped over his, her head resting in the crook of his shoulder. Her breathing had evened out but she wasn’t asleep.
“I don’t want to be that girl,” she said quietly.
Brice’s eyes stayed on the ceiling. “This should be good."
“I’m just saying. I’m not trying to do the whole ‘what are we’ thing,” Serena continued. “I’m really not. But I don’t know, you are kind of confusing me."
Brice turned his head slightly to look at her. “What do you mean?”
She propped herself up on one elbow, meeting his eyes. “One minute we’re casual. We’re just fuck buddies, which is cool. I’m fine with that. But then you fly me out here. Get me my own hotel room like I’m your girl or something.”
“I thought you’d want to be here,” Brice said.
“I did want to be here. I do.” Her hand moved back to his chest, resting there. “I’m just saying, I’m fine with either. Casual or not casual. It’s like you want to have your cake and eat it too, you know? But you need to decide what you actually want this to be so you don’t take out your confusion on me."
Brice’s brain was too worn down from the game, from everything, to deflect or make a joke. He just laid there, processing.
“I’m receptive,” he said. He had learned that word from LaPenna.
Serena waited, her eyes searching his face in the dim light.
The silence stretched. Brice’s mind reached for something to say, something that would explain what he couldn’t quite articulate. His eyes moved back to the ceiling.
“I never got that,” he said finally.
“Got what?”
“That saying. ‘You want to have your cake and eat it too.’” he scoffed. “No shit, I want to eat it. What the fuck is the point of having a cake if you’re not going to eat it?”
Serena stared at him for a second. Then she laughed, the sound breaking through the tension that had been building. Her head dropped back to his shoulder, her body shaking slightly with laughter.
“You’re so fucking stupid,” she managed between laughs.
“I’m serious though,” Brice said, but he was laughing too now, the exhaustion making everything feel slightly unhinged. “Like, who wants to just look at a cake? That’s fucking weird.”
“You’re so dumb,” Serena said, still laughing.
“I’m just saying—“
She kissed him, cutting off whatever else he was going to say.
“Go to sleep,” she said, settling back against him. “Before you say something else dumb."
…
The mall was relatively empty for a Sunday morning. A few teenagers clustered near the Panda Express. An elderly couple shared a pretzel at a table by the windows.
Officer Kavern appeared at the top of the escalator, his eyes scanning the food court until they found her. He wore jeans and a button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The casual clothes made him look different. Younger. Less imposing than he’d been in the station, in that interrogation room where everything had felt official and final.
He moved toward her table, a manila folder tucked under one arm. His expression was neutral, careful, the same look he’d worn when he’d told her he’d see what he could do.
“Hey,” he said when he reached her.
“Hi.” Connie’s hands tightened around the coffee cup.
Kavern pulled out the chair across from her and sat down, setting the folder on the table between them. He didn’t open it immediately. Just looked at her, his eyes searching her face like he was trying to gauge something.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
“Fine.”
“You sure?”
Connie nodded once, not trusting her voice to say more.
Kavern’s hand moved to the folder, his fingers tapping against it. “I was able to pull some public records. Birth certificates for babies born on the same day as…your daughter.”
Her eyes dropped to the folder.
“My access is limited to Indiana,” Kavern continued, his voice taking on that careful tone again. “So if the adoptive parents moved out of state before filing, or if they filed in a different state entirely, it won’t be in here.”
“Okay.”
“I filtered it down to the hospital where you gave birth. That day. Female births only.” He paused. “It’s about a dozen names.”
Connie reached for the folder. Her hand was shaking.
Kavern’s hand came down on top of the folder, stopping her. “Before I give you this, I need you to understand something.”
She looked up at him.
“There’s always a chance,” he said slowly, “that the adoptive parents generated a new birth certificate. A lot of them do. They’ll use a different state. Sometimes they’ll use the adoption date as the birth date instead of the actual birth date. Change the birth time. It makes the trail harder to follow. Sort of the point."
“But she might be in there."
“She might be.”
“So give it to me.”
Kavern held her gaze for another second, then lifted his hand. Connie grabbed the folder immediately, pulling it toward her and flipping it open.
Papers. Copies of birth certificates, each one showing a name, a date, a time, a weight. Her eyes moved over them quickly, scanning.
Emma Richardson. Born 6:42 AM. 6 pounds, 4 ounces.
Olivia Leonard. Born 8:15 AM. 7 pounds, 2 ounces.
Ava Martinez. Born 9:03 AM. 6 pounds, 8 ounces.
Connie read each name slowly in her mind, like she’d somehow know. Like her body would recognize her daughter’s name the way it had recognized the weight of her in those three minutes before they’d taken her away.
Sophia Johnson. Born 10:27 AM. 5 pounds, 11 ounces.
Mia Williams. Born 11:45 AM. 7 pounds, 6 ounces.
Isabella Davis. Born 1:33 PM. 6 pounds, 9 ounces.
The names blurred together. She flipped to the next page, then the next, reading faster now, searching for something she couldn’t name.
Charlotte Anderson. Born 2:18 PM. 7 pounds, 1 ounce.
Amelia Thompson. Born 3:52 PM. 6 pounds, 7 ounces.
Harper White. Born 4:40 PM. 6 pounds, 3 ounces.
Nothing felt right. Or everything felt right. She couldn’t tell the difference.
Evelyn Harris. Born 5:29 PM. 7 pounds, 4 ounces.
Abigail Clark. Born 6:15 PM. 6 pounds, 6 ounces.
Grace Lewis. Born 7:08 PM. 5 pounds, 9 ounces.
The last page. The last name. Connie stared at it, willing herself to feel something, to know something. The paper trembled in her hands.
Her vision blurred. The tears followed, spilling down her cheek. Her hands shook harder, making the papers rustle.
Kavern shifted in his seat across from her. She could feel his discomfort radiating across the table, could sense him wondering if he’d made a mistake bringing her these names, giving her this hope that might lead nowhere.
Connie set down the papers carefully, pressing her palms flat against the table. She breathed in through her nose, held it, let it out slowly. Once. Twice. Three times. The tears kept coming but her hands steadied.
“Is there any chance,” she started, her voice rough, “that you could get access to the adoption agency’s records?”
Kavern leaned back in his chair. “Connie—“
“I’ve been going through my parents’ email,” she continued. “I know the name of the agency. I know who was assigned to our case. There were emails between my mom and this woman, before I gave birth and after. Patricia Reeves. I checked her LinkedIn and she still works there."
“Those records are sealed,” Kavern said gently.
“I know.”
“Without a court order or a warrant, I don’t have access to them. Nobody does.”
“But you’re a cop.” Connie’s voice cracked. “There has to be something you can do.”
“It doesn’t work like that.”
The tears were coming harder now. Her shoulders shook. Kavern’s hand touched her arm. Light. Gentle. She lowered her hands, looking at him through blurred vision.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said quietly.
…
Brice spotted them as soon as he got off the elevator. Moving between clusters of players like sharks circling prey, their suits varying in price and quality.
One of them approached a group of offensive linemen near the revolving doors, business cards already in hand.
Brice turned away, moving toward the breakfast area which was mostly empty outside of a few support staffers that were sharing a meal together. He grabbed a plate, loading it with eggs and bacon and toast. The coffee station had those single-serve machines that took forever. He pressed the button and waited, watching the dark liquid fill his cup drop by drop.
The corner booth near the back windows called to him. He carried his plate and coffee over, sliding into the seat with his back to the wall. He could see most of the breakfast area from here without being immediately visible to anyone entering.
“So,” he said quietly, cutting into his eggs. “That was fucking insane.”
The coffee was too hot. He set it down, letting it cool.
"I thought it would be a tougher game honestly,” Brice continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking with that last interception, though."
He took a bite of toast.
“I could say the same about Serena,” he shook his head. "Honestly, at that point, I might as well get back with Skylar."
His eggs were getting cold. He ate faster.
“I can tell Mom wants me to make it work. I don’t know, maybe we should. The whole nuclear family thing. And I get it, you know? That’s what we had. We all turned out somewhat okay, right? I mean Sophie’s a little weird but she’s alright."
The coffee was drinkable now. He took a long sip, feeling the warmth spread through his chest.
"I’d like to be a good dad, you know? I like the idea of that. Working out in the garage. Throwing the football around. I don’t know, maybe I wouldn’t want my son to play football. He just has to play something, though. Can’t be one of those losers that don’t do anything."
Brice could sense someone approaching. Brice’s jaw clenched, his eyes staying on his plate, hoping whoever it was would read the room and keep walking.
The man didn’t keep walking.
He appeared at the edge of Brice’s table, his presence impossible to ignore. He didn’t don a suit, didn’t need to, the Rolex Daytona standing out on its own.
“Got a minute?” he asked, already pulling out the chair across from Brice.
“Actually—“ Brice started.
The man sat anyway, settling into the chair like they were old friends.
“I’m not interested,” Brice said flatly.
The man’s smile widened. He reached into his wallet, pulling out a business card, sliding it across the table toward Brice.
“I’m not trying to get you another Chipotle ad, buddy,” the man laughed, "Trust me. You’re interested."
He stood up, gave Brice a small nod, then turned and walked away.
Slowly getting lost on Liz's agenda to tell the truth, but oh well.
Brice is a confusing motherfucker so I get why Serena is a little off-kilter when it comes to him. Of course he doesn't know what the saying means. Kid reads with his finger underlining every word.
“That saying. ‘You want to have your cake and eat it too.’” he scoffed. “No shit, I want to eat it. What the fuck is the point of having a cake if you’re not going to eat it?”
I hate to admit it, but I'm with fuck boy Colton on this one. Gimme that cake bihh
Connie gotta be a bad bitch for Kraven to be risking his life and potentially freedom for her crazy ass. Just tell her to go make another fucking baby if she want a kid so bad. She knows how it’s done.
Brice an annoying motherfucker man. Release that Black woman for the bondage of laying with a slovenly, selfish, self-loathing, shameless, shallow, senseless, spoiled, spiteful, sanctimonious Yakubian Savage.
