Nina crossed the living room and stopped at the end of the couch where Ramon's feet hung off the armrest. His arm was draped across his face, his breathing slow and deep, his other hand resting on his chest with his phone balanced on his sternum.
She hit the bottom of his foot with her palm, a flat smack that echoed off the walls.
Ramon opened one eye. His arm stayed where it was, covering the rest of his face. He looked at her through the narrow gap between his bicep and the cushion.
"What?"
Nina planted one hand on the armrest near his feet.
"I need you to get up and get all the shit that you got up in here that could be a problem for Asia and take it somewhere else."
Ramon closed the eye. His thumb found the edge of the phone on his chest and tapped it once, the screen lighting up and going dark again under his fingernail. "I ain't got shit here that would be a problem for Asia."
Nina folded her arms across her chest. Her weight shifted to one hip and she stood over him, chin tipped down so she could look at him full. "I ain't stupid, Ramon. I know you got drugs and shit under the house."
Ramon sat up and threw his feet to the floor, the bare one pressing flat against the wood. He rubbed a hand across his face, pulling the skin under his eyes down before letting go. "It ain't drugs under the house. It's guns. The drugs in the shed."
Nina palmed her face, her fingers pressed into her forehead and dragged down slow, pulling at the bridge of her nose before her hand dropped to her side. She shook her head, one long turn that she held at the end. "Just get it all and bring it somewhere else. We have to make sure that where Asia is living is conducive to her sobriety."
Ramon raised an eyebrow and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, hands hanging loose between them. "Why you agreed to let her live here again?"
"Same reason I let your ass stay here." Nina's voice held steady, even. "I got a problem with taking in stray dogs."
Ramon's mouth pulled at the corner. "Yeah, but I ain't got no fleas."
Nina sucked her teeth as she stepped forward and picked up his phone from where it had slid between the couch cushions when he sat up. She held it out to him, arm extended, her eyes still on his face.
Ramon took it and shoved it into his pocket. He scratched the back of his neck with two fingers, his eyes moving from Nina's face to the front door and back.
"Unless you want all that money you spent for that rehab center to go to waste, I'm telling you that you need to make this a safe place for her." Nina's hand came up, one finger extended, tracing a small circle in the air between them. "No guns. No drugs. No nothing that she could get into or that could bring the wrong people to my front door."
Ramon pushed to his feet. He held his hands up, palms out. "I'm going. You ain't gotta keep saying it."
"And your homeboys need to stop coming around here."
Ramon stopped mid-step. "I feel like you using this as a reason to put your foot down again."
Nina smiled. Her teeth showed for a second before she pressed her lips together, the expression settling into pure satisfaction. She shrugged, one shoulder lifting and falling, and said nothing.
Ramon held the look for a beat, then shook his head and turned toward the front door. His slides sat by the threshold, one flipped over, the other pressed against the baseboard. He stepped into the first one, then kicked the other right side up with his toe and slid his foot in.
"You know, there's a gun buyback program at the NOPD substation down the way," Nina said.
Ramon's hand was already on the door handle. He turned his head back toward her, his face flat. "You pushing it. I ain't dealing with no fucking pigs. I'll get rid of it, though."
Nina held her hands up, palms forward, mirroring the gesture he'd given her a moment before. Her eyebrows lifted and she kept her mouth shut. She lowered her hands and folded them across her stomach, leaning her hip against the arm of the couch.
"Hurry up," she said. "I want to go get some oxtail for lunch."
Ramon snorted a laugh. The sound came out through his nose, short and quick, and he pulled the door open. Light fell across the floor in a hard rectangle. He stepped through it and pulled it shut behind him, already crossing the yard toward the side of the house where the lattice met the foundation.
~~~
Cass sat at Jay's kitchen table with her elbows on the wood and her chin resting in her palm. The table was small, pressed against the wall under a window that let in flat gray light. Snow had been sitting on the ground outside for days, old, packed and dirty at the edges where the plow had pushed it up against the curb.
Jay stood at the stove with her back to Cass, one hand on the handle of a pan, the other holding a wooden spoon. She stirred twice, adjusted the flame with a quick turn of the dial, and glanced back over her shoulder.
"You got Alden signed up for school here yet?"
Cass sucked her teeth. She shifted her chin in her palm, her nail tracing a scratch in the table's surface. "Ain't nobody call him Alden, Jay."
Jay shook her head. The spoon tapped the rim of the pan and she set it on the counter beside the stove, reaching for a plate from the cabinet above her. "I ain't calling that boy no damn Peanut. Mama told your ass years ago not to lay down under that man and make no baby and now you calling him Lil' Peanut."
Cass rolled her eyes. She sat back in the chair, one arm folding across her stomach, the other still on the table, fingers drumming once. "He's a junior so it don't make no difference. Either you calling him Lil' Peanut or you calling him Lil' Alden. Either way, you calling him Peanut name."
The oil popped in the pan. Jay pressed down on whatever she had in there with the flat of the spoon, the sizzle climbing for a second before it settled.
Cass's fingers stopped drumming. She looked past Jay toward the window over the sink where a row of small plants sat in mismatched pots along the sill, green against the gray outside. Her mouth opened and then closed, the words finding their footing before she let them out.
"I don't know if I'm gonna put him in school. We might go somewhere else." She pulled her arm off the table and crossed it over the other. "It's too country here."
Jay turned around. The spoon came with her, grease shining on its edge, and she pointed it at Cass, the tip angled at her chest. "That's always been your damn problem, even back to when we was kids. You want too damn much." She let the spoon hang in the air between them. "First, you run to Chicago then you run to New York then New Orleans. Working at the damn booty club. Laying with drug dealers."
Cass's jaw shifted. She held Jay's stare from across the room, her back pressing into the chair. "Ain't like your husband much better."
Jay pulled the spoon back and pointed it at the ceiling for a second before she brought it down to her side. Her chin lifted. "Rondell a working man. A hard working, God fearing man." Her voice stayed level. "He ain't perfect, but at least he ain't dead because someone shot him in the back of the head while he was watching cartoons."
The kitchen held the sound of the oil working in the pan and nothing else. Heat from the stove pushed into the room in waves that carried grease and steam. Cass's throat moved once. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest, fingers gripping the fabric of her sleeves.
"You always thought you were better than me," Cass said.
Jay set the spoon on the counter. She wiped her hands down the front of her apron, slow, the cloth bunching under her fingers. "What you sitting in my kitchen, sleeping in my guest room for again?"
Cass's mouth pressed flat and her arms tightened across her chest. She looked at the table, at the scratch her nail had been tracing, at the grain running through the cheap wood.
"Right," Jay said. She picked the spoon back up and turned it between her fingers. "Because some nigga in New Orleans wants to kill you and your son."
A car passed outside, tires hissing through the slush on the street, the sound moving from one side of the house to the other before it faded. Jay took a breath and held it for a second, then let it go.
"If you had any damn sense, you'd put that boy in school, go get you a real job in town and settle your ass down." She stepped back toward the stove, her free hand finding the handle of the pan again. "Let this be a lesson for you. God don't give you too many of them."
Cass sucked her teeth. Her fingers dug deeper into her sleeves. Her eyes stayed on the table, on the scratch, on the wood grain, on the row of plants by the sink. The oil hissed and Jay's spoon scraped the bottom of the pan, and Cass sat there with her jaw locked and her arms folded.
~~~
Mireya pressed her thumbnail into the skin of the orange and dragged it around the circumference. The peel broke in a clean line, juice seeping out and running down her knuckle. She pulled the first section free, the white pith clinging to the fruit before tearing away, and set it on the plate in front of her.
Camila stood beside her chair, both hands on the edge of the table, chin lifted so she could watch. Her eyes followed each piece as Mireya pulled them apart, separating the sections along their seams, laying them in a circle on the plate with their curved sides facing out.
Mireya held the plate out to her. "Here you go, baby."
Camila smiled, her whole face pulling up with it. "Gracias, mami."
"De nada, mi amor." Mireya let the plate settle into Camila's grip, watching her wrap both hands around the edges, fingers spread wide. "Be careful you don't drop it carrying it back over there."
Camila nodded once, serious, and turned with the plate held at chest height. She walked heel to toe across the kitchen floor and through the doorway into the living room, each step measured, the orange slices shifting on the plate but staying put. She reached the spot in front of the couch and lowered herself to the floor, crossing her legs and setting the plate between her knees. A cartoon played colors across her face.
Mireya wiped the juice from her fingers onto her jeans and dropped the orange peel into the trash can beside the counter. She pulled a paper towel from the roll and ran it over her hands, pressing the damp from between each finger, then balled it up and tossed it after the peel. Her hands came back to the table. She set them flat against the wood and stared at the grain.
Sara walked out of her bedroom, pulling the door behind her. She glanced over at Camila on the living room floor, watching her pop an orange slice into her mouth, and her expression softened for a second before she kept moving. She came into the kitchen and pulled the chair out beside Mireya and sat.
"¿Qué vas a hacer en Navidad, mija?"
Mireya shrugged, one shoulder lifting and falling. "Just working since Caine wants Camila with him when he goes to all these schools."
Sara shook her head. She reached out and ran her hand over Mireya's hair, her palm moving from the crown toward the back of her head, slow and steady.
Mireya's shoulders pulled up. Her fingers pressed harder into the table. Then the muscles along her spine let go and she settled back into the chair, her chin dropping a fraction.
"I want you to come with us," Sara said. Her hand stayed in Mireya's hair for another pass before she brought it back to her own lap. "No one should be alone for Christmas."
Mireya's jaw tightened. "I ain't going on Caine's world tour to find out where he's going to be a fucking millionaire for throwing a God damn football."
The words hit the air and sat there. Mireya heard them land and closed her eyes for a second, her mouth pulling into a line.
"Sorry," she said.
Sara's hand rested on the table between them. She turned it palm up, then back over, her fingers curling once before they opened again. "It's not about Caine. It's about you. With everything with your family and whatever's happened recently—”
"I'm fine."
Sara paused. Her eyes stayed on Mireya's face, moving from her jawline to the set of her mouth to her hands pressed flat and still on the table. She took a breath and held it, then let it go through her nose.
"And whatever's happened recently," Sara continued, her voice carrying the same even tone she'd started with, "I don't want you by yourself for a holiday like Christmas. You need to be surrounded by people who love you just like everyone else."
Mireya snorted, the sound pushing through her nose, sharp and small. "Camila? Yes. You? Yes." She turned her head toward Sara, her eyes flat and steady. "Caine? Caine doesn't love me. Ya no. Se está cogiendo a esa guerita." Her fingers lifted from the table and spread. "Then he'll go to one of these fucking schools and be around women a million times better than me."
Sara smiled. The corners of her mouth rose but the rest of her face held something else, something heavier, that pressed down against the expression. "Eso no es cierto, mija."
"Nada es más cierto."
Sara let the words sit. She looked toward the living room where Camila had another slice in her hand, turning it over and studying the membrane before she bit into it. Sara watched her for a moment and then turned back to Mireya.
"Okay, we'll say just me and Camila then." Her voice shifted, steadying. "Camila needs to experience all these new places with you as much as she does with Caine. More so I'd say." She tipped her head toward the living room. "You're her mother."
Mireya stared at Sara. Her eyes moved across Sara's face, tracing the lines there, searching for whatever lived underneath the words. Her lips pressed together and then parted, and she nodded once, her chin dipping and coming back up slow.
"Fine. I'll come."
"Gracias, mija."
Sara turned in her chair, looking through the doorway at Camila eating her orange slices on the floor, legs still crossed, the plate balanced on one knee now, her attention locked on the screen. Sara folded her hands in her lap.
"If they lose today, we're going next week. He's coming back to New Orleans on Sunday and we'll fly out Monday morning." She counted them off with a lift of her chin. "Miami, Los Angeles and Ann Arbor."
Mireya's fingers curled on the table. Her thumb pressed into the side of her index finger, the nail going white at the tip. Miami. Los Angeles. Her breathing pulled shallow for a beat before she forced it back into rhythm. She kept her face still.
Sara looked back at Mireya. Her eyes moved over Mireya's expression once, quick, and then she turned toward the living room again. "I'm kinda hoping they do lose so we'll get a white Christmas in Ann Arbor."
Mireya's lips turned up. The smile rose and then fell and then rose again, settling into something small that held. "Yeah," she said. "That'll be fun for Camila."
~~~
Pastor Hadden sat in his chair with the remote balanced on the armrest, his hand resting over it without gripping. Marianne was beside him in hers, ankles crossed, a glass of sweet tea on the coaster at her elbow. The pre-game analysts filled the screen, a split panel of faces talking over each other about the day's matchups, graphics sliding in behind them every few seconds.
Caleb had the recliner tilted back, one shoe crossed over the other, his arm draped across the side. Rylee sat on the floor against the wall near the TV, her knees drawn up, phone angled low in her lap. Jesse sat on the edge of the fireplace hearth with his elbows on his thighs, watching the screen from beneath the bill of a cap he kept pulling lower. Tommy was on the couch with Knox, Braxton, and Hunter on the floor beside him, the three of them arranged in a loose line, their legs tangled with each other's as they pushed and shoved over floor space.
Laney and Gabrielle stood off to the side of the room near the doorway to the kitchen, each holding a glass. The analysts cycled through previews, scores from earlier bowl games scrolling across the bottom of the screen. Laney took a sip of her tea and lowered the glass, holding it against her hip with both hands.
"I been thinkin' 'bout goin' back to school," Laney said. "Takin' some online classes."
Gabrielle smiled, the expression full and immediate. "That's what I'm talking about. Do it, girl. I support you." She shifted her glass to her other hand. "You won't get the whole experience but it's honestly overrated. Drunk frat bros groping you and shit every weekend gets old."
Laney tipped her glass of sweet tea in Caleb's direction, the ice shifting. "Ain't that how you met Caleb?"
Gabrielle laughed, her head tipping back before she brought it down. "Yeah, but Caleb's cute so I was okay with him copping a drunken feel."
Laney snorted. "I don't know if I'd describe him like that. Got a lotta words for him but ain't none that kind."
"That's because you knew him when he was still the annoying little brother."
"He always gonna be my annoyin' little brother 'til the day we go meet the good Lord himself."
Gabrielle nodded, glass tipping toward Laney. "Can't argue there."
Across the room, Tommy picked up a beer can from the floor beside the couch. He tilted it up to his mouth and brought it back down. He looked inside it, turning it once, then looked over at Laney. He snapped his fingers, the sound sharp enough to cut through the analysts' voices, and held the can out toward her, shaking it.
Gabrielle looked at Tommy, then at Laney. Her mouth tightened. She leaned closer to Laney, her voice dropping to a register only the two of them could reach. "Fucking pig."
She pulled back, turned, and walked across the room to the recliner where Caleb sat. She lowered herself onto the armrest and then slid into the seat beside him, his arm shifting to make room without him taking his eyes off the screen.
Laney walked into the kitchen. The fridge door opened and the seal pulled with a soft pop. She reached in and grabbed a beer from the shelf, the can cold against her fingers, and shut the door with her hip. She carried it back into the living room and sat down on the couch next to Tommy.
Tommy took the can from her. He looked at it, his thumb running over the top where the pull tab sat and then held it back out to her.
"Open it."
Laney shook her head once, a small motion she swallowed before it could become more. She set her glass of sweet tea on the end table, took the beer from his hand, and popped the tab. The hiss cut through the room for a second. She leaned over as she handed it back to him, her shoulder brushing his, her mouth near his ear.
"You're bein' a little extra today, huh?"
Tommy took the can from her. He brought it to his mouth and took a long pull, his throat working twice before he lowered it. His eyes stayed forward on the TV, but his voice came back low, pitched for her alone.
"Yeah because I just wanted to watch football, but I forgot that coon you been fucking played for this school."
The broadcast had shifted. Caine's face filled the screen, game film cutting between his throws as the analysts talked through his season numbers. His jersey moved across the frame in slow motion replays, the name and number clear.
Laney nodded toward the screen, her chin lifting a fraction. "I bet it makes you mad that he'll be more than you ever will."
Tommy's jaw set. His thumb pressed into the side of the beer can, the aluminum denting under the pressure. "And how low does that make you?"
"Fuck you, Tommy."
The two of them turned back toward the screen. The analysts moved on to playoff scenarios, voices layered over graphics and brackets. Pastor Hadden adjusted the volume up a notch with the remote. Hunter pulled at Braxton's sleeve about something and got shoved off. Rylee scrolled without looking up.
Tommy turned back to Laney. His body shifted toward her, his shoulder angling so the conversation stayed between them, his voice carrying that same controlled register that kept the words inside the space of the couch.
"Guerra, huh?" He let the name sit. "I didn't expect him to be a nigger and a spic." His mouth pulled at the corner. "I'd ask which one's his daddy but I doubt he knows."
Laney's hand found her glass on the end table. She picked it up and brought it to her mouth, the tea cold against her lips. She swallowed.
"Again, fuck you, Tommy."
Tommy snorted a laugh, the sound pushed through his nose and turned back to the TV. His beer rested on his knee, his thumb still pressed into the dent he'd made.
Laney took another sip of her tea and set the glass back down. She crossed her arms over her chest, her fingers gripping the fabric at her elbows, and kept her eyes on the screen.
~~~
Caine jogged out of the tunnel with his teammates packed tight around him, cleats hitting concrete then turf, the sound swallowed by eighty thousand people who had come to watch them lose.
The rain met them at the mouth of the tunnel, steady and cold, soaking through his jersey before he reached the 50. The field was already chewed up from warmups, divots filling with water under the lights. He could feel it under his cleats, the grass giving more than it should, the footing soft and unreliable.
The noise was different than anything he'd played in. Heavy, coming from above and from every side, a sound that didn't pulse or rise and fall but just sat on top of everything, constant, pressing down like the rain itself. Oklahoma's fans packed the stands in crimson and creme, the upper decks disappearing into the dark and the weather, and the few sections of blue and white Georgia Southern fans were buried in the corners, barely visible.
Caine scanned the field as his teammates spread out toward their sideline. The video board at the far end cycled through graphics, Oklahoma's logo dissolving into playoff branding, the colors bleeding in the rain. Across the field, the Sooners' sideline was already full, players bouncing, coaches pacing, the home team moving with a looseness that came from playing in their own stadium in front of their own people.
Caine caught a football from a team manager, bringing his arm through his throwing motion. He gestured to Javier, walking out onto the field to begin warming up.
…
"Third and eight from the Oklahoma 27. Williams drops back, pocket holds, he's looking, looking, and throws it away. Nobody was open and he wisely gets rid of it. That'll bring up fourth down and the Sooners will punt it away.
"Not the start Oklahoma was looking for, but Georgia Southern's defense came to play on that opening series."
…
Caine caught the snap, rain slicking the leather before he could spin it to the laces. He dropped back, feet finding the wet turf, and went through his reads.
Trey'Dez broke inside on the slant, a step and a half on the linebacker. Caine planted and threw it low, keeping it out of the safety's range.
Trey'Dez caught it at his hip and turned upfield, picking up a couple extra yards before being dragged down past the markers.
Caine clapped once and jogged forward to the new line of scrimmage.
…
"First and ten from the Oklahoma 37. Guerra in the gun, four wide. Takes the snap and the pocket breaks down on the left side. Guerra pulls it and takes off, finds a lane up the middle and he is moving! Slides down at the 18 after a gain of 19 yards!"
"This kid can fly when he wants to and look at him fired up with his teammates on the sideline. Georgia Southern is in business here deep in Oklahoma territory on their opening drive."
…
Caine leaned into Javier so he could be heard over the rain and the din of the crowd as they walked to the line. "Make sure you pull that corner away. They’re going straight man every time."
Javier nodded once.
Caine settled into the gun at the ten. The Sooners stacked the box, selling out to stop the run on second and short.
He called for the snap. The ball was wet, heavy in his hands. He rode the mesh with J.J. for a beat, watching the linebacker crash down toward the line.
Caine pulled the ball and came up throwing. Trey'Dez had slipped behind the linebackers over the middle of the field, turning his shoulders to Caine with his hands up.
Caine put it on him. Trey'Dez caught it against his chest and held it there, rain running down his facemask.
Caine pointed at him as the offensive line jogged toward the endzone. He turned and found the nearest Oklahoma safety and pounded his chest twice.
…
"Third and five from their own 40. Williams needs to get something going here after that Georgia Southern touchdown. He takes the snap, steps up and fires it over the middle to Spivey. Spivey hauls it in and picks up 20 on the play down to the Georgia Southern 40."
"That's the first real completion for Williams tonight and that's exactly what Oklahoma needed. The Sooners can't afford to go three and out again trailing seven nothing."
…
Caine stood on the sideline with his helmet hanging from his fingers, watching Oklahoma's offense line up at the 40.
Williams took the snap and rolled to his right, buying time. Carlos had his hips turned the wrong direction, feet heavy on the wet turf, and Thomas blew past him on a deep post. Williams set his feet and threw it, the ball cutting through the rain in a tight spiral that covered forty yards like it was nothing.
Thomas caught it in stride at the 15. Nobody within ten yards of him. He jogged into the endzone untouched, tossing the ball to the back judge before his teammates reached him.
The stadium shook. Eighty thousand people standing, the noise rolling down from the upper deck in waves that pressed against Caine's chest. Rain caught the light from the video board as it cycled through replays, the same image over and over, Thomas running free, Carlos five yards behind him with his arm stretched out toward nothing.
Caine watched the celebration unfold in the endzone. He looked at Carlos still standing at the 40, hands on his knees, head between his shoulders. Then at the Kylen who had been late rotating over, already getting an earful from Coach Aplin on the sideline.
Caine sucked his teeth and put his helmet on.
…
"Third and goal from the ten. Williams takes the snap, looks left, comes back right and hits Spivey on the out. Spivey catches it but Jackson is right there to bring him down at the three. That'll be fourth and goal for the Sooners."
"Great tackle by the senior Jackson. Spivey had a step on him, but Jackson closed that gap in a hurry. Oklahoma is going to have a decision to make here, take the field goal and go up 10-7 or try to punch it in."
…
"Oklahoma elects to take the points here. Evans lines up from 20 yards out, the snap and hold are clean and Evans puts it through. Sooners take a 10-7 lead."
"I think you have to go for it there if you're Oklahoma. You're at home, you've got the talent advantage, and Georgia Southern's defense just made a stand. Three points instead of seven could come back to haunt you."
…
Caine caught the snap and the pocket caved immediately, both edges folding inward. Nothing was open downfield. He pulled the ball down and saw the middle of the field open up, both linebackers having crashed toward the edges on the blitz.
He took off up the middle, cleats chewing through the wet grass. The first down marker sat fifteen yards away. He locked onto it and accelerated, tucking the ball against his ribs.
He got to the marker and kept going instead of sliding. A linebacker met him at the sticks, shoulder pad driving into his chest. Caine absorbed it, still pushing forward, legs churning. A safety arrived from the other side, helmet slamming into the ball. Then a third body, a defensive end who had chased the play from behind, piled on and drove all of them into the turf.
Caine felt the ball come loose before he landed. It bounced once on the wet grass, spinning sideways. The safety dove on it, pulling it into his chest and rolling onto his back.
The stadium erupted.
The linebacker who had hit him first stood over Caine, beating his chest. "That sorry ass shit don’t work here, nigga! This ain’t Old Dominion!"
Caine shoved himself up off the turf, getting in the linebacker's face before the safety stepped between them. "Fuck you, motherfucker. You ain't do shit. That's the ground."
"That's our ball, though," the safety said, grinning.
Caine shoved past both of them, jaw tight, pointing at the linebacker as a referee stepped in. "I got you, bitch. I got you."
The linebacker blew him a kiss.
Caine turned and jogged to the sideline, rain running down his facemask, fists clenched at his sides.
…
"Second and goal from the one. Oklahoma hands it off to High Jr. and he powers through up the middle. Touchdown Sooners! Oklahoma extends the lead to 17-7 after that Georgia Southern turnover."
"That fumble by Guerra has proven costly. The Sooners only had to go 20 yards for that score and they've turned a three point game into a ten point cushion. The rain is not doing the Eagles any favors tonight."
…
"Third and one from their own 46. Guerra needs to get something going here before the half. Takes the snap, fakes the give to Bradley, steps up and fires it out to Green over the middle. Green catches it in stride and picks up 26 before being hauled down at the Oklahoma 28!"
"That's the biggest play of the night for Georgia Southern's passing game and they needed every yard of it. Under two minutes remaining in the half and the Eagles have a chance to cut this lead before the break."
…
Caine jogged toward the huddle, then stopped.
Coach Fatu's voice crackled in his helmet. "Power right, 34 dive. Let's get what we can and kick the field goal."
Caine turned away from the huddle, pressing his hand against his earhole then threw his hands up, turning toward the booth.
"We're in field goal range. Don't need to force something and lose yards."
Caine stood where he was, the hesitation showing Fatu his opposition to the play call.
"And if you take a sack we're out of range and we go into the half down 17-nothing instead of 17-10. Run the ball, take the points."
Caine stared up at the booth, waving his hand through the rain. The rest of the team waited for him in the huddle.
"We'll have fourth down and kick from there. Get in the huddle, Caine."
Caine threw his arms out and stood there for a second, chest rising and falling. He looked at the scoreboard. 17-7. Rain streaking across the lights.
He jogged to the huddle and called the play.
…
"Third and nine from the Oklahoma 27. Guerra hands it off to Bradley up the middle and he's stuffed for a loss of one. That's not going to do it and Georgia Southern is going to have to settle for the field goal."
"I don't love that play call there, Mark. Third and nine and you run the ball? I know the conditions are tough but you've got Caine Guerra back there. Let the kid throw it."
…
"Dempsey comes out for the 45 yard attempt. The snap is down, hold is clean, Dempsey drives it through the rain and it's good! Georgia Southern cuts the lead to 17-10 heading into the final minute of the first half."
"They'll take the points, but you can see Guerra's body language on the sideline. He wanted more there. This Georgia Southern offense has left points on the field tonight between the drops, the fumble, and that play call. They're lucky to only be down seven."
…
The locker room was loud. Coaches barked over each other, voices bouncing off the concrete walls and the metal lockers. Coach Fatu stood at the whiteboard, circling formations, underlining the same words he'd already said twice. Stop the penalties. Secure the ball. Play clean football.
Aplin paced behind him, arms crossed, cutting in between Fatu's sentences. "We're beating ourselves out there. Not them. Us. Every time we get something going, we put the ball on the ground or grab a jersey. That's seven points we gave them and two drives we killed ourselves."
Caine sat on the bench with his elbows on his knees, hands hanging between his legs. Rain still dripped from his hair onto the concrete floor between his cleats. Around him, teammates sat with towels over their heads, leaned back against lockers with their eyes closed, or stared at the floor. Javier sat beside him, pulling tape off his fingers one strip at a time. Dwight stood against the far wall with his arms folded, watching the coaches without expression.
"We gotta be smarter in the second half," Fatu said, tapping the whiteboard. "We can move the ball on these guys. We've shown that. But we can't keep giving them extra chances."
Aplin stopped pacing. "The drops have to stop. Catch the fucking football. It's raining for them too."
Caine stared at the floor. The concrete was scuffed and cracked, years of cleats grinding the same path between the lockers and the door. Someone's water bottle rolled off a bench and clattered on the ground. Nobody picked it up.
He stood up. Pulled his helmet off the shelf above him and put it on, snapping the chin strap without looking. Javier glanced up at him, hands still working the tape. Caine turned and walked toward the door, weaving through the benches and the bodies without stopping.
Nobody called after him.
The tunnel was empty. His cleats echoed off the concrete, each step sharp and alone, the sound fading behind him as he moved toward the rectangle of gray light at the far end. The rain was still falling when he stepped out, lighter now but constant, the field stretching out in front of him under the stadium lights. The grounds crew moved near midfield, smoothing divots and dragging tarps off the logo. A few security guards stood along the track, hands in their pockets.
Caine walked to the sideline and stopped. He stood there with his hands gripping his chestplate, helmet on, rain collecting on the crown and running down the back of his neck.
The stadium was mostly empty. A few fans lingered in the lower sections, stretching their legs or coming back from concessions. Music played over the speakers on a loop.
He watched the grounds crew work. They moved efficiently, practiced, indifferent to the game being played around them. One of them dragged a rake through the torn up section near the 30 where Caine had been hit. The divots filled back in. The turf smoothed over. Like nothing had happened there.
Caine stood on the sideline and stared at the field. The rain kept falling. The clock on the scoreboard counted down toward the second half.
…
"First and thirty here for Georgia Southern from their own 21 after back to back holding penalties. The Eagles have shot themselves in the foot to start this second half."
"First and thirty. That's a hole you don't want to dig yourself into against a team like Oklahoma, especially in these conditions."
"Guerra takes the snap, drops back, steps up and fires it to Ware on the deep out. Ware makes the catch and picks up 18. That helps, but it's still second and twelve from the 39."
"That's a grown man throw right there. Most quarterbacks see first and thirty and check it down. Guerra went and took a chunk of it back in one play."
…
"Third and five from their own 46. Guerra in the gun, takes the snap and throws it out to Green on the comeback. Green hauls it in and turns upfield, picking up 16 before being pushed out of bounds at the Oklahoma 38."
"Guerra is settling in here in the second half. He's completed his last three passes after a rough first half where it felt like everything was either getting dropped or called back."
…
Caine caught the snap and dropped back, rain streaming down his facemask. Third and twenty-two. Another holding penalty had killed the drive's momentum for a second time.
He went through his reads. Everything was covered underneath, Oklahoma sitting in a deep zone, daring him to throw it short and settle for the punt.
Javier broke off his route at fifteen yards, sitting down in a window between the linebackers. Caine planted and threw it, putting it chest high.
Javier caught it and a safety drove him into the turf immediately.
Seven yards short.
An Oklahoma cornerback jogged past Caine as the punt team came out, tapping his own wrist. "Clock's ticking, nigga. Y'all about done out here. Lights too bright, huh?"
Caine pulled his helmet off and walked to the sideline. He sat on the bench and stared at the field, rain running down his face.
…
"Third and nine from their own five. Oklahoma trying to flip the field position after that punt pinned them deep. Robinson takes the handoff up the middle and Pendleton is right there to meet him at the line. No gain. That'll bring up fourth down and the Sooners are going to have to punt from their own endzone."
"August Pendleton has been a monster tonight for this Georgia Southern defense. If the offense can get out of its own way, the Eagles are right there in this game."
…
"Third and four from their own 43. Guerra takes the snap, slides to his left and throws it out to Bradley in the flat. Bradley is wide open with nothing but green grass in front of him and he drops it! He just drops it! Guerra is furious out there, arms in the air, letting Bradley hear it."
"That ball hit him right in the hands. That's a first down and then some if he catches it. You can see Guerra pointing at Bradley, still in his runningback’s face as the punt team comes on. The frustration is boiling over for the sophomore and you can't blame him. That's at least the third wide open drop tonight for this Georgia Southern offense."
…
"Third and two from their own 37. Robinson takes the handoff off the left side and he's got a crease. Robinson breaks a tackle at the 40 and he's still going! Finally dragged down at the Georgia Southern 11 after a gain of 26. That's the biggest run of the night for the Sooners."
"Robinson has been patient all night waiting for those holes to open up and that one was worth the wait."
…
"Fourth and four from the Georgia Southern 31. Evans is going to try a 48 yarder here in the rain. The snap is down, hold is good, Evans gets all of it and it sneaks inside the left upright. Good! Oklahoma extends the lead to 20-10 with less than a minute remaining in the third quarter."
"That's a massive kick in these conditions. Georgia Southern's offense has been going backwards all half with penalties and drops and now they're staring down a two score deficit heading into the fourth."
…
"First and ten from their own 37 with just seconds left in the third. Guerra takes the snap and keeps it. He finds a lane and he's got room, picks up 19 before sliding down at the Oklahoma 44 as the third quarter expires."
"If Georgia Southern is going to make a run at this, it has to start right there. Guerra doing it himself heading into the fourth."
…
Caine settled into the gun at the 43, rain hammering the turf around him. He called for the snap and held the ball out to J.J., eyes locked on the weakside linebacker.
The linebacker stepped toward the line. Caine pulled the ball and came up throwing.
Jeremiah had run the out toward the sideline, cutting sharp and turning back to Caine with his hands ready. Caine put it on him at the 30, low and away from the cornerback trailing behind.
Jeremiah caught it, absorbing the hit from the corner who lunged at his waist. He spun through the tackle, the defender's arms sliding off the wet jersey, and when he came out of the spin there was nothing in front of him but open field.
The 20. The 10. Jeremiah crossed into the endzone and spiked the ball, the sound of it swallowed by the rain and the groan of eighty thousand people going silent.
Caine sprinted down the field, helmet bobbing, and got to the endzone as the rest of the offense piled on Jeremiah. He grabbed Jeremiah by the facemask and pulled him close.
"That's what the fuck I'm talking about. We ain't done."
Jeremiah slapped the side of Caine's helmet. "Feed me, big bro. I ain't dropping shit."
Caine looked up at the scoreboard. 20-16. Ten minutes left.
He pounded his chest twice and jogged toward the sideline.
…
"Second and five from the Georgia Southern 36. Robinson takes the handoff and bounces it outside. He's got a blocker in front of him and he's got daylight! Dragged down after a gain of 20 at the Georgia Southern 16."
"Every time Georgia Southern gets some momentum, Oklahoma answers. Robinson is having himself a night on the ground."
…
"Second and goal from the four. Hunt Jr. takes the handoff and follows his fullback into the endzone. Touchdown Sooners. Oklahoma restores the two score lead, 27-17, with just over eight minutes remaining."
"That's a backbreaker for Georgia Southern. You claw your way back into the game with that Ware touchdown and Oklahoma just marches right back down the field and punches you in the mouth. The Eagles are going to need two scores in the final eight minutes against one of the best defenses in the country."
…
"Second and six from their own 29. Guerra fires it out to Green on the slant. Green picks up 11 and a first down at the 40. Guerra is in a hurry, waving his team up to the line."
…
"Second and twenty-one from their own 37 after another penalty. Guerra drops back, steps up and throws a dart to Ware over the middle for a gain of 13. That gets some of it back but it's still third and eight and the clock is not Georgia Southern's friend right now."
"The penalties have been the story for this Eagles offense all night. Guerra is putting together drives and his team keeps killing them. You can see it wearing on him out there."
…
"Fourth and seven from the Oklahoma 47. Georgia Southern has to have this. Guerra takes the snap, pocket collapses, he rolls out to his right and throws it on the run across his body to Ware. And he makes the catch! Ware hauls it in at the 23 and is knocked out of bounds after a gain of 24!"
"How did he complete that throw? On the run, in the rain, across his body, and he puts it right on Ware's numbers. That is an NFL throw. That is a first round pick throw. Forget everything else on his resume, if you need one play to show a scout what Caine Guerra is, it's that one right there."
"Georgia Southern is alive. First and ten at the Oklahoma 23 with just over five minutes to play."
…
"Fourth and five from the 18. Georgia Southern going for it again. Guerra in the gun, takes the snap, hitches once and throws it to Sahara on the crossing route. Sahara catches it and fights forward for a gain of seven. First down Eagles at the 11."
"Caine Guerra on fourth down is a different animal. We saw it last year in the Sun Belt championship game, we saw it against Marshall, and we're seeing it again right now. This kid refuses to let his season end."
…
Caine caught the snap and slid to his left, the pocket narrowing around him. He kept his eyes on the endzone, scanning through the rain.
J.J. broke off his route at the five, angling toward the middle of the field. The linebacker had overcommitted to the flat, leaving a lane between him and the safety.
Caine threw it low and in front of J.J., leading him toward the goal line. J.J. caught it at the three, his momentum carrying him across the plane. He hit the turf in the endzone with the ball against his chest.
The referee's arms went up.
Caine didn't go to the endzone. He turned and sprinted toward the sideline, ripping his chin strap off, pointing at the defense already standing and waiting to take the field after the kickoff.
"Get me the fucking ball back! Get me the fucking ball back! You hear me? Get me the fucking ball!"
He grabbed Keanon by the shoulder pads. "Get me the ball. That's all I fucking need."
Keanon nodded and kept moving. Caine turned to the field, chest heaving, rain running down his jaw. The scoreboard ticked to 27-24.
Two minutes left.
…
"Third and one from their own 43. Williams takes the snap and keeps it on the sneak. He pushes forward and picks up two. That's a first down Oklahoma, and that is going to be the ball game."
"Georgia Southern has one timeout remaining but with a fresh set of downs and just over a minute to play, the math simply isn't there. What a game we've had here in Norman tonight. The eleventh-seeded Eagles came into this stadium as massive underdogs and took everything Oklahoma had. The rain, the drops, the penalties, all of it working against them, and they still made it a three point game in the fourth quarter."
"Caine Guerra threw for 246 yards and three touchdowns tonight while running for another 61. He put this team on his back in the second half and nearly pulled off one of the great comebacks in College Football Playoff history. That’s why every school in this country is waiting for him to put his name in the portal. If his receivers don't drop those passes in the first half, if those holding penalties don't wipe out three or four first downs, we might be having a very different conversation right now."
"But that's football. And Oklahoma will advance."
…
Williams took the knee and the Oklahoma sideline emptied. Players sprinting onto the field, coaches grabbing each other, the noise from the stands swelling into something Caine couldn't separate into individual sounds anymore. Just a wall of it pressing down on him from every direction.
He stood on the sideline with his helmet held behind his back by the facemask, both hands gripping it. His mouthpiece sat between his teeth, jaw working it slowly. Rain ran down his face and dripped off his chin.
Around him, his teammates started peeling off the sideline. Some of them walked. Some stood for a second before moving. Helmets came off. Heads dropped. The bench emptied in ones and twos.
Aplin walked over and stood next to him. Neither of them looked at each other.
"You played a hell of a game," Aplin said. His voice was low, almost lost under the celebration happening fifty yards in front of them. "Hell of a season. Hell of a career here."
Caine nodded. His jaw kept working the mouthpiece.
Aplin put his hand on Caine's shoulder pad, squeezed once, and let go. He turned and walked toward the field where the rest of the coaching staff was already gathering the team for handshakes.
Caine stayed where he was. The rain kept coming. Oklahoma's fight song blared through the speakers, the band picking it up and carrying it. Their players held each other in the middle of the field, jumping, shouting, living inside something Caine had wanted and couldn't reach.
He tilted his head back and stared up at the sky. Rain hit his face, his eyes, ran into his ears. The lights above the stadium burned through the water in halos that blurred and sharpened with each blink.
He brought his head back down and walked onto the field.
