WCW took a ski trip
at this point, they both better off doing their own things
Invictus
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Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 7866
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Invictus
She experiments with narcotics twice in her freshman year of college and lies about it and now its fuck her huh? Cold world we live in.
I don't know if its as much as being on her high horse about violence than it is about something more internal
It ain't hard to find
I know the author of the character Nia ain't talking about putting no bitches in rice. That bitch burnt to a crisp. Bianca just trying to let loose a lil'.
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Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 7866
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
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Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 7866
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Invictus
Season IV | Chapter II - Back Down
Cam rolled the condensation of his water glass between his fingers, turning it slowly as he talked. The dim light from the wall lamp cast a soft glow over the table, catching the rim of his glass and the edge of Rebecca’s earrings every time she shifted.
“I’m telling you, Rebecca, this place is insane,” Cam said, leaning forward slightly. Like, I thought I’d seen parties before, but Ann Arbor? Different level. Whole campus feels like one big event.”
Rebecca nodded, resting her chin lightly against her knuckles as she listened. Her eyes stayed on him, attentive, but calm - letting him run.
“They had kegs stacked like - I don’t even know - like a damn warehouse,” Cam continued, a small grin creeping in. “And the players? They just walk in and it’s like everyone knows who they are.”
A serve passed by, setting down a basket of bread between them. Cam barely glanced at it.
“I’m telling you,” he added, taking a quick sip of water, “there’s no parties like that anywhere.”
Rebecca reached for a piece of bread, tearing it cleanly in half. “And that’s what sold you?” she asked, a hint of amusement in her voice.
Cam shrugged. “It’s not just that. The atmosphere, the energy. You can feel it. Like you’re part of something big.”
He set the glass down and leaned back in his chair, loosening his shoulders a bit. “And I’m pretty sure an offer is coming soon,” he added, trying to sound casual, but there was a flicker of anticipation in his eyes. “Coach Moore was talking like it’s just a matter of time.”
Rebecca chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed. “That’s good,” she said. “You seemed pretty excited about it.”
“I am,” Cam replied quickly. “I mean, Big Ten school, big stage. It’s what you work for.”
The lamp light reflected off her earrings again as she tilted her head slightly. “And Zane?” she asked.
Cam’s hand paused halfway to the bread basket. “What about him?”
Rebecca shrugged lightly. “He feeling the same way about it?”
Cam let out a short breath through his nose, grabbing a piece of bread and breaking it apart a little more aggressively than necessary. “I don’t know,” he said. “He’s got a bunch of options. Michigan, probably more coming.”
He dipped the bread into the small dish of oil, watching it soak for a second before bringing it to his mouth. “He does his thing,” Cam added after a beat. “I’ll do mine.”
Rebecca studied him for a moment, then gave a small nod.
“Fair enough.”
A brief silence settled between them, filled by the soft murmur of the restaurant and the clink of glasses from nearby tables.
Cam wiped his fingers on his napkin, then leaned forward again, like he was trying to keep the momentum going. “But yeah,” he said, “once that offer comes through, I’m locking in visits, figuring out where I fit best. I’m not trying to drag this process out forever.”
Rebecca picked up her glass this time, taking a slow sip before setting it down.
“And where do you fit best?” she asked.
Cam opened his mouth, then hesitated.
His eyes drifted for a second—past her, toward the low-lit room, the quiet movement of servers weaving between tables, the faint reflection of himself in the dark window across the restaurant.
Then he looked back at her.
“Somewhere I can run the show,” he said finally. “Not just be another guy, you know?”
Rebecca nodded once, like she expected that answer. “And you think Ann Arbor is that place?”
Cam leaned back again, exhaling. “I think it could be,” he said. “If they let me.”
He reached for his water again, taking another sip as the conversation hovered there - right on the edge of something deeper, but not quite crossing into it yet.
Cam forced a tight smile, lifting his glass just to give his hands something to do.
The restaurant hummed softly around them - low conversation, the clink of silverware against plates, a server passing by with a tray of steaming pasta that smelled like garlic and butter. It should’ve been relaxing. Instead, everything felt a little too sharp, like the edges of the moment were cutting into him.
Rebecca didn’t look away.
She leaned back slightly in her chair, arms loosely folded, studying him like she was trying to figure something out.
Cam set his glass down.
“So that’s what this is?” he asked, his voice quieter now. “You think I’m just riding Zane’s wave?”
Rebecca tilted her head, not immediately answering. She reached for her wine, took a slow sip, then set it down carefully before speaking.
“I think,” she said, measured, “that you don’t know how to separate yourself from him.”
Cam scoffed under his breath, looking off to the side for a second before turning back. “That’s bullshit.”
“Is it?” she shot back, not raising her voice, but there was something firmer in it now. “Every story you’ve told tonight somehow circles back to him. Even when you say it doesn’t.”
Cam opened his mouth, then paused.
He hated that he couldn’t immediately fire something back.
Rebecca leaned forward slightly now, elbows resting on the table.
“You’re good, Cam. Like - actually good,” she continued. “But you walk around like you need to prove it to people who already see it. And then when someone even hints that Zane helped you get somewhere” she shrugged, “…you spiral.”
Cam’s jaw tightened. “I don’t spiral.”
“You’re doing it right now.”
He exhaled sharply through his nose, leaning back in his chair, running a hand over his face.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The server came by, setting down their entrees - Cam barely acknowledged it.
Rebecca picked up her fork, twirling a bit of pasta absentmindedly.
“I’m not saying Zane didn’t help,” she added, softer now. “Connections matter. Exposure matters. That’s football. That’s life.”
Cam looked back at her. “But staying there?” she continued, meeting his eyes again. “That’s you.”
That landed differently. Cam stared at his plate for a second, then finally picked up his fork, pushing the food around more than actually eating it.
“You don’t know what it’s like,” he muttered.
“Then tell me.”
He hesitated.
Cam shook his head.
“It’s just…” he started, then stopped again, frustrated. “Everywhere I go, it’s ‘you and Zane.’ Every coach. Every recruiter. Every conversation.”
Rebecca didn’t interrupt this time.
“I got that call from Purdue,” he continued, finally looking at her again. “You know what the first real question was after all the bullshit?”
He gave a humorless laugh. “‘Think you can bring Zane with you?’”
Rebecca’s expression shifted slightly - not surprised, but understanding.
Cam leaned forward now, voice lower.
“I’m not his sidekick.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“But everybody else does,” he shot back.
Another pause. Rebecca set her fork down. “Then stop acting like you need to outrun him,” she said. “You’re not in a race with him.”
Cam stared at her, something flickering behind his eyes. “It feels like I am.”
She shook her head. “No,” she said simply. “It feels like you think you’ll always be compared to him. That’s different.”
Cam leaned back again, quieter now. “That doesn’t go away,” he said.
“Maybe not,” she admitted. “But how you handle it does.”
Another beat passed.
Rebecca picked her fork back up, taking a bite this time, chewing slowly before speaking again. “And for the record,” she added, more casually, “I wouldn’t be sitting here if I thought you were just ‘Zane’s friend.’”
Cam glanced up at her. She gave him a small, almost teasing smile. “You talk too much,” she said. “But you’re not boring.”
A corner of Cam’s mouth twitched despite himself. “That’s the nicest insult I’ve ever gotten.”
The tension at the table didn’t disappear, but it shifted—less sharp, more grounded.
He finally took a real bite of his food. Rebecca raised her glass slightly.
Cam picked his up too, clinking it lightly against hers. But even as they drank, there was still something sitting underneath it all - a quiet, stubborn weight in Cam’s chest that hadn’t gone anywhere.
Not yet.
The garage hummed with that quiet, end-of-day stillness.
The neon sign had gone dark. One overheard light buzzed faintly, casting long shadows across the concrete floor. The smell of oil and metal still hung in the air as Felix pushed his broom in slow, steady strokes, gathering up the last bits of dust and debris into a neat pile.
In the back office, the soft tapping of keys had stopped. Mariah was still.
The headlights outside cut through the shop like a spotlight. Felix didn’t need to look twice to know this wasn’t a customer rolling in late.
The truck sat too loud. Too aggressive. Engine still rumbling like it didn’t care about the time or the place.
Then the door slammed. Heavy boots hit pavement.
Felix’s grip on the broom tightened slightly as he turned.
The man moved with purpose - broad shoulders, stiff posture, like someone used to being obeyed. The kind of guy who didn’t ask for space, just took it. His flannel stretched across his chest under the leather jacket, tattoos peeking out from his sleeve as his hand flexed.
Another hard knock hit the side door.
Not polite. Not patient. A demand.
Felix walked over, setting the broom aside. He didn’t rush but didn’t hesitate either. Just moved steady, as he had all day.
He cracked the door open just enough to fill the frame.
“We’re closed,” Felix said evenly.
The man didn’t acknowledge it. His eyes flicked past Felix’s shoulder, scanning the shop.
“Where’s Mariah?”
Felix didn’t move. Didn’t turn his head. Just furrowed his brow, feigning confusion.
“Don’t know who you’re talking about,” he replied, just as calm.
The man’s jaw tightened. He took a half step closer, boot pressing against the threshold like he might push his way in. His face drew the expression of man barely hanging onto composure.
“Don’t do that,” he said, voice low but edged. “You know exactly who I’m talking about.”
Felix shifted his stance just enough to block more of the doorway. Inside the office, behind the closed door, there wasn’t a sound.
Not a crack. Not a breath.
Felix kept his eyes on the man. “Shop’s empty,” he said. “You see anyone, you let me know.”
For a moment, neither of them moved. The truck’s engine idled behind him. Music thumped faintly through the speakers, bass vibrating against the metal siding of the garage.
The man exhaled slowly through his nose, eyes narrowing as he studied Felix - trying to read him, measure him.
“You her boss or something?” he asked.
Felix shrugged slightly. “I fix cars. That’s all I do.”
Another beat. The man glanced past him again, then back.
“She owes me a conversation,” he said. “Needs to bring her ass home.”
Felix didn’t blink. The man had barely breathed through Felix’s multiple attempts to shut it down. His eyes drifted past Felix again, this time slower - more deliberate - until they landed on the far side of the lot.
Mariah’s car. Parked crooked near the edge of the building. He let out a short breath through his nose and nodded toward it.
“She’s here,” he said flatly. “That’s her fucking car.”
Felix didn’t even turn to look. “People leave cars here all the time,” he replied. “Lot’s shared. Bus stop’s right up the street. Park-and-ride, ever heard of it?”
The man’s gaze snapped back to him. For a second, it looked like that might be enough.
Then his jaw tightened. He stepped closer. Close enough that Felix could smell the mix of cologne and something harsher - alcohol, maybe. His shoulders squared, chest rising slightly like he was gearing up for something.
Felix didn’t budge. They stood there, inches apart, the tension thick enough to feel in the air.
After a long beat, the man leaned back slightly. “You better not be harboring my girl,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “If I hear from her - if she shows up - I want you telling her to come home.”
Felix shrugged, casual as ever. “Don’t know her,” he said. “Won’t be doing that.”
Then Felix’s tone shifted - just a touch firmer. “Don’t you come around my shop like this ever again,” he added. “You got business, you come during the day. Otherwise, you’re gonna have a problem.”
The man stared at him. “What you gonna do, old ass man?”
Felix didn’t budge. He let his gaze do the talking. Slowly, a smile crept across the man’s face. Not amused. But something darker.
The man held that look for another second, then turned, boots scraping against the concrete as he walked back toward his truck.
The door slammed. Engine roared. Music blasted again as he peeled out of the lot, spitting gravel behind him.
Felix stood there a moment longer, hand still on the door, listening as the sound faded into the distance. Only when it was completely gone did he shut the door and slide the lock into place.
“Alright,” he called, voice steady but lower. “He’s gone.”
Nothing. Then, a soft scrape.
The office door creaked open, just enough for a shadow to slip out. Mariah didn’t step through it. She crawled. From behind the desk, from the floor - like she had folded herself into the smallest space she could find.
When she stood up, her hands were shaking.
Felix crossed the space in a few, hobbled steps. She stepped into him, clutching shirt, and the sob hit her all at once - sharp, uncontrollable.
Felix wrapped his arms around her, one hand steady on the back of head, the other firm across her shoulders.
“It’s alright,” he murmured. “You’re alright.”
But his own body hadn’t caught up to his voice. His heart was still hammering in his chest.
A thin layer of sweat clung to the middle of his back, cooling against the fabric of his shirt. He stared past her shoulder, eyes fixed on the closed door, like he was still expecting it to burst open again.
Zane sat hunched over his desk, papers spread out in uneven stacks, his phone propped up against a water bottle. The glow from the screen lit up his face as he tapped a pen against one of the envelopes.
“Listen to this,” he said, flipping a page. “They’re talking about early playing time if I come in and learn the system quick. Like - not even redshirt.”
On the screen, Bianca shifted on her bed, her laptop resting against her thighs. A document filled with highlighted text sat open, but her eyes weren’t really on it anymore.
“That’s big,” she said, glancing back to him. “You always said you didn’t want to sit. I mean, you wouldn’t sit at Michigan regardless, but.”
Zane nodded, a sheepish grin building on his face. He knew Bianca was Team Michigan regardless. He scanned another sheet.
“Yeah, but then this one,” he held up another letter, squinting at it, “is talking development, weight program, year two breakout type of thing.”
He tossed it lightly onto the desk. “It’s like everyone’s selling something different.”
Bianca hummed in acknowledgement, closing her laptop halfway so she could focus on him.
“What about location?” she asked. “You thinking about that more now?”
Zane leaned back in his chair stretching his legs out under the desk. “A little,” he admitted. “Some of these schools aren’t exactly close by.”
He glanced back at the screen. “What you been up to though?” he asked. “You’ve been kind of off the grid lately?”
Bianca gave a small shrug, adjusting her pillow behind her. “Just classes,” she said. “Training. Keeping busy.”
Zane’s eyes lingered on her a second longer than usual. Not convinced. She caught it immediately.
“What?” she asked, narrowing her eyes slightly. “Why you looking at me like that?”
Zane hesitated, spinning his pen between his fingers. “I just,” he started, then exhaled. “I don’t want to feel like I’m the reason you’re not enjoying your first year.”
Bianca blinked, caught off guard.
“What?”
“I’m serious,” he said. “Like, you’re out there, new place, new people. I don’t want you sitting in your room waiting on my calls or-”
“I’m not,” she cut in, a little quicker than she meant to.
Zane stopped talking. She softened slightly, letting out a breath as she shifted onto her side, facing the screen more directly.
Zane stayed quiet now, giving her the space. Bianca glanced off to the side for a second, then back at him.
“To tell the truth, I’ve just been feeling off since-” she admitted.
“Since I was on my Michigan visit.” Zane jumped in. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk.
“Correlation, not causation, I promise” Bianca insisted. Zane opened his mouth to say something, then closed it.
“I don’t recognize myself sometimes,” she said “Like, I’m just doing stupid shit because that’s what Katie or Darius is doing. Not really thinking about it.”
Zane’s expression didn’t change, but his focus sharpened. Bianca tucked a strand of her behind her ear, continuing.
“And then when you’re playing in Detroit and I get mad at you, and for what?”
Zane frowned slightly. “It was a dumb fight, Bianca. I don’t blame you for getting upset.”
She gave a small, almost embarrassed laugh. “No, Zane, you’re not getting it. You really didn’t give me a reason to be mad,” she said. “And that somehow makes it worse.”
“I love you,” she continued, her voice steadying. “Probably too much for how long we’ve been together. You do things the right way. Your grandparents raised you excellently. That’s not something you should ever be made to feel bad about.”
Zane leaned back again, listening. Bianca exhaled, staring at the ceiling for a moment before looking back at him.
“I need to figure out who I am here. What I actually want outside of being with you.”
Her fingers traced the edge of her laptop absentmindedly. “Because clearly I don’t know now and I’m allowing people to pull me in whatever direction they want. That’s never been me.”
Zane nodded slightly. “That makes sense.” A quiet settled between them, but it wasn’t tense.
Bianca gave a small smile. “I’m going to work on it, Zane, because I want to be more like you.”
Zane took a beat and then chimed in. “And less like Amy Winehouse?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Zane smirked, a laugh building in his chest. “I’m just saying, it didn’t end well for her, Bianca.”
“Who made you like this?”
Zane shrugged. “My grandpa, if I had to guess.”
He glanced down at the stack of offers on his desk, then back at her. She looked longingly at the screen. “Are we okay?”
Zane nodded. “Of course, I just want you to be safe and to be happy - that’s it.”
Bianca nodded approvingly. “Definitely. I’m done with the drug stuff. Going to have to have a real ‘coming-to-Jesus moment with Katie about that shit. She’s been diving deep into the stuff lately.”
“Good luck with that - that’s a girl who doesn’t like the party having to end.”
“You’re telling me.”
Cam rolled the condensation of his water glass between his fingers, turning it slowly as he talked. The dim light from the wall lamp cast a soft glow over the table, catching the rim of his glass and the edge of Rebecca’s earrings every time she shifted.
“I’m telling you, Rebecca, this place is insane,” Cam said, leaning forward slightly. Like, I thought I’d seen parties before, but Ann Arbor? Different level. Whole campus feels like one big event.”
Rebecca nodded, resting her chin lightly against her knuckles as she listened. Her eyes stayed on him, attentive, but calm - letting him run.
“They had kegs stacked like - I don’t even know - like a damn warehouse,” Cam continued, a small grin creeping in. “And the players? They just walk in and it’s like everyone knows who they are.”
A serve passed by, setting down a basket of bread between them. Cam barely glanced at it.
“I’m telling you,” he added, taking a quick sip of water, “there’s no parties like that anywhere.”
Rebecca reached for a piece of bread, tearing it cleanly in half. “And that’s what sold you?” she asked, a hint of amusement in her voice.
Cam shrugged. “It’s not just that. The atmosphere, the energy. You can feel it. Like you’re part of something big.”
He set the glass down and leaned back in his chair, loosening his shoulders a bit. “And I’m pretty sure an offer is coming soon,” he added, trying to sound casual, but there was a flicker of anticipation in his eyes. “Coach Moore was talking like it’s just a matter of time.”
Rebecca chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed. “That’s good,” she said. “You seemed pretty excited about it.”
“I am,” Cam replied quickly. “I mean, Big Ten school, big stage. It’s what you work for.”
The lamp light reflected off her earrings again as she tilted her head slightly. “And Zane?” she asked.
Cam’s hand paused halfway to the bread basket. “What about him?”
Rebecca shrugged lightly. “He feeling the same way about it?”
Cam let out a short breath through his nose, grabbing a piece of bread and breaking it apart a little more aggressively than necessary. “I don’t know,” he said. “He’s got a bunch of options. Michigan, probably more coming.”
He dipped the bread into the small dish of oil, watching it soak for a second before bringing it to his mouth. “He does his thing,” Cam added after a beat. “I’ll do mine.”
Rebecca studied him for a moment, then gave a small nod.
“Fair enough.”
A brief silence settled between them, filled by the soft murmur of the restaurant and the clink of glasses from nearby tables.
Cam wiped his fingers on his napkin, then leaned forward again, like he was trying to keep the momentum going. “But yeah,” he said, “once that offer comes through, I’m locking in visits, figuring out where I fit best. I’m not trying to drag this process out forever.”
Rebecca picked up her glass this time, taking a slow sip before setting it down.
“And where do you fit best?” she asked.
Cam opened his mouth, then hesitated.
His eyes drifted for a second—past her, toward the low-lit room, the quiet movement of servers weaving between tables, the faint reflection of himself in the dark window across the restaurant.
Then he looked back at her.
“Somewhere I can run the show,” he said finally. “Not just be another guy, you know?”
Rebecca nodded once, like she expected that answer. “And you think Ann Arbor is that place?”
Cam leaned back again, exhaling. “I think it could be,” he said. “If they let me.”
He reached for his water again, taking another sip as the conversation hovered there - right on the edge of something deeper, but not quite crossing into it yet.
Cam forced a tight smile, lifting his glass just to give his hands something to do.
The restaurant hummed softly around them - low conversation, the clink of silverware against plates, a server passing by with a tray of steaming pasta that smelled like garlic and butter. It should’ve been relaxing. Instead, everything felt a little too sharp, like the edges of the moment were cutting into him.
Rebecca didn’t look away.
She leaned back slightly in her chair, arms loosely folded, studying him like she was trying to figure something out.
Cam set his glass down.
“So that’s what this is?” he asked, his voice quieter now. “You think I’m just riding Zane’s wave?”
Rebecca tilted her head, not immediately answering. She reached for her wine, took a slow sip, then set it down carefully before speaking.
“I think,” she said, measured, “that you don’t know how to separate yourself from him.”
Cam scoffed under his breath, looking off to the side for a second before turning back. “That’s bullshit.”
“Is it?” she shot back, not raising her voice, but there was something firmer in it now. “Every story you’ve told tonight somehow circles back to him. Even when you say it doesn’t.”
Cam opened his mouth, then paused.
He hated that he couldn’t immediately fire something back.
Rebecca leaned forward slightly now, elbows resting on the table.
“You’re good, Cam. Like - actually good,” she continued. “But you walk around like you need to prove it to people who already see it. And then when someone even hints that Zane helped you get somewhere” she shrugged, “…you spiral.”
Cam’s jaw tightened. “I don’t spiral.”
“You’re doing it right now.”
He exhaled sharply through his nose, leaning back in his chair, running a hand over his face.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The server came by, setting down their entrees - Cam barely acknowledged it.
Rebecca picked up her fork, twirling a bit of pasta absentmindedly.
“I’m not saying Zane didn’t help,” she added, softer now. “Connections matter. Exposure matters. That’s football. That’s life.”
Cam looked back at her. “But staying there?” she continued, meeting his eyes again. “That’s you.”
That landed differently. Cam stared at his plate for a second, then finally picked up his fork, pushing the food around more than actually eating it.
“You don’t know what it’s like,” he muttered.
“Then tell me.”
He hesitated.
Cam shook his head.
“It’s just…” he started, then stopped again, frustrated. “Everywhere I go, it’s ‘you and Zane.’ Every coach. Every recruiter. Every conversation.”
Rebecca didn’t interrupt this time.
“I got that call from Purdue,” he continued, finally looking at her again. “You know what the first real question was after all the bullshit?”
He gave a humorless laugh. “‘Think you can bring Zane with you?’”
Rebecca’s expression shifted slightly - not surprised, but understanding.
Cam leaned forward now, voice lower.
“I’m not his sidekick.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“But everybody else does,” he shot back.
Another pause. Rebecca set her fork down. “Then stop acting like you need to outrun him,” she said. “You’re not in a race with him.”
Cam stared at her, something flickering behind his eyes. “It feels like I am.”
She shook her head. “No,” she said simply. “It feels like you think you’ll always be compared to him. That’s different.”
Cam leaned back again, quieter now. “That doesn’t go away,” he said.
“Maybe not,” she admitted. “But how you handle it does.”
Another beat passed.
Rebecca picked her fork back up, taking a bite this time, chewing slowly before speaking again. “And for the record,” she added, more casually, “I wouldn’t be sitting here if I thought you were just ‘Zane’s friend.’”
Cam glanced up at her. She gave him a small, almost teasing smile. “You talk too much,” she said. “But you’re not boring.”
A corner of Cam’s mouth twitched despite himself. “That’s the nicest insult I’ve ever gotten.”
The tension at the table didn’t disappear, but it shifted—less sharp, more grounded.
He finally took a real bite of his food. Rebecca raised her glass slightly.
Cam picked his up too, clinking it lightly against hers. But even as they drank, there was still something sitting underneath it all - a quiet, stubborn weight in Cam’s chest that hadn’t gone anywhere.
Not yet.
***
The garage hummed with that quiet, end-of-day stillness.
The neon sign had gone dark. One overheard light buzzed faintly, casting long shadows across the concrete floor. The smell of oil and metal still hung in the air as Felix pushed his broom in slow, steady strokes, gathering up the last bits of dust and debris into a neat pile.
In the back office, the soft tapping of keys had stopped. Mariah was still.
The headlights outside cut through the shop like a spotlight. Felix didn’t need to look twice to know this wasn’t a customer rolling in late.
The truck sat too loud. Too aggressive. Engine still rumbling like it didn’t care about the time or the place.
Then the door slammed. Heavy boots hit pavement.
Felix’s grip on the broom tightened slightly as he turned.
The man moved with purpose - broad shoulders, stiff posture, like someone used to being obeyed. The kind of guy who didn’t ask for space, just took it. His flannel stretched across his chest under the leather jacket, tattoos peeking out from his sleeve as his hand flexed.
Another hard knock hit the side door.
Not polite. Not patient. A demand.
Felix walked over, setting the broom aside. He didn’t rush but didn’t hesitate either. Just moved steady, as he had all day.
He cracked the door open just enough to fill the frame.
“We’re closed,” Felix said evenly.
The man didn’t acknowledge it. His eyes flicked past Felix’s shoulder, scanning the shop.
“Where’s Mariah?”
Felix didn’t move. Didn’t turn his head. Just furrowed his brow, feigning confusion.
“Don’t know who you’re talking about,” he replied, just as calm.
The man’s jaw tightened. He took a half step closer, boot pressing against the threshold like he might push his way in. His face drew the expression of man barely hanging onto composure.
“Don’t do that,” he said, voice low but edged. “You know exactly who I’m talking about.”
Felix shifted his stance just enough to block more of the doorway. Inside the office, behind the closed door, there wasn’t a sound.
Not a crack. Not a breath.
Felix kept his eyes on the man. “Shop’s empty,” he said. “You see anyone, you let me know.”
For a moment, neither of them moved. The truck’s engine idled behind him. Music thumped faintly through the speakers, bass vibrating against the metal siding of the garage.
The man exhaled slowly through his nose, eyes narrowing as he studied Felix - trying to read him, measure him.
“You her boss or something?” he asked.
Felix shrugged slightly. “I fix cars. That’s all I do.”
Another beat. The man glanced past him again, then back.
“She owes me a conversation,” he said. “Needs to bring her ass home.”
Felix didn’t blink. The man had barely breathed through Felix’s multiple attempts to shut it down. His eyes drifted past Felix again, this time slower - more deliberate - until they landed on the far side of the lot.
Mariah’s car. Parked crooked near the edge of the building. He let out a short breath through his nose and nodded toward it.
“She’s here,” he said flatly. “That’s her fucking car.”
Felix didn’t even turn to look. “People leave cars here all the time,” he replied. “Lot’s shared. Bus stop’s right up the street. Park-and-ride, ever heard of it?”
The man’s gaze snapped back to him. For a second, it looked like that might be enough.
Then his jaw tightened. He stepped closer. Close enough that Felix could smell the mix of cologne and something harsher - alcohol, maybe. His shoulders squared, chest rising slightly like he was gearing up for something.
Felix didn’t budge. They stood there, inches apart, the tension thick enough to feel in the air.
After a long beat, the man leaned back slightly. “You better not be harboring my girl,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “If I hear from her - if she shows up - I want you telling her to come home.”
Felix shrugged, casual as ever. “Don’t know her,” he said. “Won’t be doing that.”
Then Felix’s tone shifted - just a touch firmer. “Don’t you come around my shop like this ever again,” he added. “You got business, you come during the day. Otherwise, you’re gonna have a problem.”
The man stared at him. “What you gonna do, old ass man?”
Felix didn’t budge. He let his gaze do the talking. Slowly, a smile crept across the man’s face. Not amused. But something darker.
The man held that look for another second, then turned, boots scraping against the concrete as he walked back toward his truck.
The door slammed. Engine roared. Music blasted again as he peeled out of the lot, spitting gravel behind him.
Felix stood there a moment longer, hand still on the door, listening as the sound faded into the distance. Only when it was completely gone did he shut the door and slide the lock into place.
“Alright,” he called, voice steady but lower. “He’s gone.”
Nothing. Then, a soft scrape.
The office door creaked open, just enough for a shadow to slip out. Mariah didn’t step through it. She crawled. From behind the desk, from the floor - like she had folded herself into the smallest space she could find.
When she stood up, her hands were shaking.
Felix crossed the space in a few, hobbled steps. She stepped into him, clutching shirt, and the sob hit her all at once - sharp, uncontrollable.
Felix wrapped his arms around her, one hand steady on the back of head, the other firm across her shoulders.
“It’s alright,” he murmured. “You’re alright.”
But his own body hadn’t caught up to his voice. His heart was still hammering in his chest.
A thin layer of sweat clung to the middle of his back, cooling against the fabric of his shirt. He stared past her shoulder, eyes fixed on the closed door, like he was still expecting it to burst open again.
***
Zane sat hunched over his desk, papers spread out in uneven stacks, his phone propped up against a water bottle. The glow from the screen lit up his face as he tapped a pen against one of the envelopes.
“Listen to this,” he said, flipping a page. “They’re talking about early playing time if I come in and learn the system quick. Like - not even redshirt.”
On the screen, Bianca shifted on her bed, her laptop resting against her thighs. A document filled with highlighted text sat open, but her eyes weren’t really on it anymore.
“That’s big,” she said, glancing back to him. “You always said you didn’t want to sit. I mean, you wouldn’t sit at Michigan regardless, but.”
Zane nodded, a sheepish grin building on his face. He knew Bianca was Team Michigan regardless. He scanned another sheet.
“Yeah, but then this one,” he held up another letter, squinting at it, “is talking development, weight program, year two breakout type of thing.”
He tossed it lightly onto the desk. “It’s like everyone’s selling something different.”
Bianca hummed in acknowledgement, closing her laptop halfway so she could focus on him.
“What about location?” she asked. “You thinking about that more now?”
Zane leaned back in his chair stretching his legs out under the desk. “A little,” he admitted. “Some of these schools aren’t exactly close by.”
He glanced back at the screen. “What you been up to though?” he asked. “You’ve been kind of off the grid lately?”
Bianca gave a small shrug, adjusting her pillow behind her. “Just classes,” she said. “Training. Keeping busy.”
Zane’s eyes lingered on her a second longer than usual. Not convinced. She caught it immediately.
“What?” she asked, narrowing her eyes slightly. “Why you looking at me like that?”
Zane hesitated, spinning his pen between his fingers. “I just,” he started, then exhaled. “I don’t want to feel like I’m the reason you’re not enjoying your first year.”
Bianca blinked, caught off guard.
“What?”
“I’m serious,” he said. “Like, you’re out there, new place, new people. I don’t want you sitting in your room waiting on my calls or-”
“I’m not,” she cut in, a little quicker than she meant to.
Zane stopped talking. She softened slightly, letting out a breath as she shifted onto her side, facing the screen more directly.
Zane stayed quiet now, giving her the space. Bianca glanced off to the side for a second, then back at him.
“To tell the truth, I’ve just been feeling off since-” she admitted.
“Since I was on my Michigan visit.” Zane jumped in. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk.
“Correlation, not causation, I promise” Bianca insisted. Zane opened his mouth to say something, then closed it.
“I don’t recognize myself sometimes,” she said “Like, I’m just doing stupid shit because that’s what Katie or Darius is doing. Not really thinking about it.”
Zane’s expression didn’t change, but his focus sharpened. Bianca tucked a strand of her behind her ear, continuing.
“And then when you’re playing in Detroit and I get mad at you, and for what?”
Zane frowned slightly. “It was a dumb fight, Bianca. I don’t blame you for getting upset.”
She gave a small, almost embarrassed laugh. “No, Zane, you’re not getting it. You really didn’t give me a reason to be mad,” she said. “And that somehow makes it worse.”
“I love you,” she continued, her voice steadying. “Probably too much for how long we’ve been together. You do things the right way. Your grandparents raised you excellently. That’s not something you should ever be made to feel bad about.”
Zane leaned back again, listening. Bianca exhaled, staring at the ceiling for a moment before looking back at him.
“I need to figure out who I am here. What I actually want outside of being with you.”
Her fingers traced the edge of her laptop absentmindedly. “Because clearly I don’t know now and I’m allowing people to pull me in whatever direction they want. That’s never been me.”
Zane nodded slightly. “That makes sense.” A quiet settled between them, but it wasn’t tense.
Bianca gave a small smile. “I’m going to work on it, Zane, because I want to be more like you.”
Zane took a beat and then chimed in. “And less like Amy Winehouse?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Zane smirked, a laugh building in his chest. “I’m just saying, it didn’t end well for her, Bianca.”
“Who made you like this?”
Zane shrugged. “My grandpa, if I had to guess.”
He glanced down at the stack of offers on his desk, then back at her. She looked longingly at the screen. “Are we okay?”
Zane nodded. “Of course, I just want you to be safe and to be happy - that’s it.”
Bianca nodded approvingly. “Definitely. I’m done with the drug stuff. Going to have to have a real ‘coming-to-Jesus moment with Katie about that shit. She’s been diving deep into the stuff lately.”
“Good luck with that - that’s a girl who doesn’t like the party having to end.”
“You’re telling me.”
-
Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 7866
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Invictus
He don't want none of Z. Jones
Keep love alive, good brother. Give them a chance
