Nia pressed her fingertips against the glass, leaving faint smudges that marked her visits like breadcrumbs.
James was fussing in his crib, face scrunched up, little fists waving at nothing. Not crying yet, but heading there. The way his mouth would work before the tears came, how his legs would kick harder when he was truly upset.
Nia glanced over her shoulder. The neighborhood sat quiet in the afternoon stillness, everyone tucked away in their lives behind closed doors. The window was cracked open about two inches today. She could hear James’ soft whimpers clearly now.
“It’s okay,” she whispered through the gap.
James’s eyes seemed to find her. His fussing paused for a moment. The room blurred around her. Not the blue walls and cartoon animals anymore. She could see him now, lying on his bed, one hand pressed against his chest. Face pale, lips slightly blue. His breathing was shallow, labored.
“Something’s wrong, Nia.”
She reached toward the window, fingers straining through the gap. “I’m here. I’m here now.”
“Don’t leave me alone.”
“I won’t,” she promised, tears blurring her vision.
…
Brice leaned back in his chair, stomach full and satisfied after demolishing his usual: turkey club with double meat, light mayo. The scrimmage had left him starving, and now the post-meal contentment was setting in.
“I’m telling you,” Shane gestured with a pickle spear, "We’re going to spend at least ten minutes on that rep."
"If I check it down, I’m a check-down merchant,” Brice countered, wiping his hands on a napkin. "Check down merchants don’t get picked number one overall, bro."
Abdul snorted. "We’re going to be playing in the Pop Tarts Bowl with this motherfucker, ain’t we?"
"And that would still be an improvement over where I found y’all."
"Y’all? We came in the same class, nigga," Abdul laughed, "As far as I see it, Purdue ain’t won shit without me either."
"The Gatorades were on point," Corey teased with a smirk.
The bell above the door jingled. Brice glanced up to see Jo’Ziah along with a few other defensive players. It didn’t take them long to spot Brice’s table, throwing a hand up as they walked over.
“What’s good, what’s good?” Jo’Ziah bumped fists with everyone at the table. “Y’all in here licking your wounds or what?”
“Talk to that bitch over there,” Brice leaned back in his chair as he lifted his chin towards Shane. "Second team reps don’t impress me, little bro. That was a nice pick, especially for a G6 corner."
"That get back gonna be a motherfucker, Colton," Jo’Ziah cackled, "Y’all boys did y’all thing today, I can’t front. Shit wasn’t on me, though."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever," one of the younger corners that had been at the scene of several touchdowns sucked his teeth.
"Don’t stress it, Bambi," Brice laughed, "I’ve been doing this shit since you were jacking off into your momma’s underwear."
"What the fuck, Colton?" Shane shook his head as the rest of the group groaned in disgust.
"That was just me?" Brice sarcastically held his hands to his chest, "For real, though. Good work today, rook. I’ve done much worst to better corners than you. You have to stop reaching, that’s where you’re fucking up."
The young cornerback nodded.
"Y’all boys get in on this tab before I change my mind," Brice took a sip from his drink.
Jo’Ziah’s eyebrows shot up. “For real? Shit, I’m about to order everything on the menu then.”
“I know how much you getting paid,” Brice laughed. “Remember that."
“I’m just a G6 corner, remember?” Jo’Ziah shrugged.
The defensive players moved to the counter to order. A few minutes later, they were all crammed around the extended table, extra chairs pulled up from nearby.
“So boom,” Jo’Ziah was saying, mouth half-full, “She was talking cash shit in the DMs but like acting shy and shit in front of me like this bitch don’t be gobbling dick for breakfast. Half the room done hit already."
Jesse shook his head. "It’s mad bitches on campus and you niggas steady rotating the same five bitches."
"Skill issue," Brice chimed in.
"Whatever, nigga," Jo’Ziah waved him off as he set his sandwich down, "I’m thinking this shit finna be trash, if I even get to hit."
"Again, skill issue,” Brice added.
"Trust me, nigga," Jo’Ziah protested, "Ain’t no bitch you hit that I can’t hit."
"We’ll see about that," Brice shrugged.
"Long story short, we get back to her spot and when I tell you this bitch wasn’t lying? I’ve got her like this," he stood up from his chair, gesturing with his hands to demonstrate, "And then her leg is literally up here.”
Corey snorted, the water coming out his mouth sending the table into a laughing fit.
"On my momma, nigga!" Jo’Ziah insisted, still in position, "I’m punching straight dick in this little hoe and she taking that shit. Her walls is through, I’m telling you!”
"This nigga retarded," Corey shook his head.
“You know what the craziest part was?” Jo’Ziah sat back down. “The whole time, her roommate was right there acting sleep on her bed."
…
Skylar took another hit from the blunt as she lounged in the deck chair. The afternoon sun felt amazing on her skin, and she tilted her face toward it, eyes closed behind her sunglasses. She glanced down at her phone, the countdown to her girls' trip to Miami in single digits. But for now, the Indiana sun would have to do.
She exhaled slowly, watching the smoke dissipate into the air. A noise from inside the house cut through her haze. A thump, then what sounded like a voice. Skylar froze, straining to listen.
“Shit,” she muttered, shooting up from the chair. Her parents weren’t supposed to be home until dinner. She looked down at the still-burning blunt between her fingers. “Shit, shit, shit.”
She stubbed it out against the deck railing and flicked it into the bushes. She sniffed her shirt and winced. Skylar hurried inside, heading straight for her bedroom where she kept her perfume. As she passed James’s nursery, a movement caught her eye. She stopped, backing up a few steps.
A woman was standing over James’s crib, holding him against her chest, swaying gently.
“It’s okay, Jimmy,” Nia whispered, stroking his back. “I’m here now. I won’t let anything happen to you this time.”
Skylar’s mouth opened but no sound came out. Her brain couldn’t process what her eyes were seeing. She struggled to remember her name. The park. The grocery story. Jimmy’s friend.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Skylar finally managed, her voice high and tight.
Nia’s head snapped up, eyes wide and unfocused. For a moment, she just stared, like she didn’t recognize Skylar or understand the question.
“Put him down,” Skylar said, stepping into the room. “Put my baby down right now.”
Nia blinked rapidly, looking from Skylar to James and back again. Recognition slowly dawned on her face, followed by confusion, then panic.
“I’m—I’m sorry,” she stammered, still clutching James. “He was crying."
“Put him down!” Skylar screamed, lunging forward. “Put him down or I’m calling the fucking police!”
Nia carefully lowered James back into his crib, hands shaking. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—he just sounded so upset. I thought—“
Skylar rushed to the crib, positioning herself between Nia and James. She pulled out her phone with trembling fingers, frantically tapping the screen.
“You crazy fucking crackhead bitch,” she hissed, dialing 911.
Nia stepped back, hands up in surrender. “Please, don’t. I wasn’t going to hurt him. I would never—“
“911, what’s your emergency?” The dispatcher’s voice cut through the room.
“No, please,” Nia begged, stepping forward. “I can explain—“
“There’s an intruder in my house,” Skylar said, eyes locked on Nia.
Nia lunged forward, slapping the phone from Skylar’s hand. It clattered to the floor, the dispatcher’s voice still audible but distant now.
“Listen to me,” Nia pleaded, her eyes wild. “You don’t understand."
Skylar dove for her phone. As she bent down, a sharp pain exploded in her side. She toppled sideways, gasping.
“I’m sorry,” Nia was saying, her voice cracking. “I’m so sorry, but you don’t understand.”
Skylar tried to push herself up. Another kick caught her in the temple. Pain burst behind her eyes, bright and hot. The room tilted, then darkened around the edges.
“Skylar? Skylar?”
Then nothing.
…
"Y’all always talking down on hoes but y’all sure love them."
"Not I, ma’am."
"Which part?" Serena playfully rose an eyebrow as she held a piece of her salmon to her mouth.
“All of it,” Brice laughed as he cut into his steak. "You know what I was thinking earlier today? When spring practice wraps, we should take a trip."
“A trip?” Serena tilted her head.
“Yeah, maybe somewhere out of the country. You got a passport, right?”
"That feels a bit racist," Serena took a slow sip of her wine.
"Just checking," Brice smiled as he held his hands up, "You never know. Half the team don’t got passports."
"Well, I guess we’ll see."
“We’ll see?” Brice scoffed. “What’s that mean?”
Serena set her glass down carefully. “It means we’ll see. I don’t know what my schedule looks like for this trip that may or may not happen at an unspecified time."
"I guess," Brice shrugged, "You would think I’m asking you to help me move or some shit."
"Remember the whole 'having your cake and eating it too’? That’s what I’m talking about."
Brice groaned, "Oh God, here we go again with this shit. I don’t think we need to be fucking married to go out the country and have some fun."
"Married," Serena scoffed, "How about us actually being together first?"
Brice picked up his water glass. “I was thinking maybe Italy. Or Greece. Somewhere with beaches.”
Serena watched him for a moment, then shook her head with a slight smile.
“Italy would be nice,” she said.
"We could hit a few cities," Brice continued, "Rome, Florence, Venice. I heard Como’s really nice."
“You’ve clearly given this some thought.”
“A little,” he admitted. “Might be my last chance to really travel before next year gets crazy.”
Serena nodded. Next year meant the NFL, the draft, training, a whole new life that might not include her.
“What about Spain?” she asked, redirecting the conversation away from the future neither of them was ready to discuss. “The girlies on Tik Tok love Barcelona."
…
“911, what’s your emergency?”
The line crackled with ragged breathing before a voice broke through, high-pitched and frantic.
“Please, you have to help me! She’s not breathing, oh my god, she’s not breathing! I just came home and found her on the floor in the nursery. Oh my god, Skylar! Skylar! Please, send someone now!”
“Ma’am, I need you to try to stay calm. Help is on the way. Can you check for a pulse?”
“I think—I think I feel something. I don’t know, please hurry!"
“The paramedics have been dispatched. They should be there any minute. Can you tell me what happened?”
“I don’t know! I just came home and found her like this. My daughter was watching the baby. Oh my god, the baby!”
The line went silent for a moment, then the sound of frantic footsteps echoed in the background. The dispatcher called out, trying to maintain contact, but the woman’s voice came back distant, as if she’d moved away from the phone.
“He’s gone!” her voice rose to a scream.
