Damaged Petals.

[Soapy]

Season 7, Episode 9
The toast crumbs scattered across the kitchen table like evidence at a crime scene as Tom set down his phone. Morning light streamed through the kitchen window, catching the steam rising from his coffee mug.

“Do people even believe this shit?” Liz muttered, her thumb scrolling rapidly through her Facebook feed. Her reading glasses perched low on her nose as she squinted at her phone screen. “A hitman? A fucking hitman?”

Tom grunted, checking his watch.

“Oh, I love this one,” Liz continued, tilting her phone toward him though he made no effort to look, "A satanic ritual."

“I want to go to the funeral.”

Sophie sat at the far end of the table, her cereal bowl pushed aside.

Tom set his coffee down slowly. “I don’t know if that’s not a good idea, Soph.”

“I didn’t ask if it was a good idea,” Sophie shot back. “I said I want to go.”

Liz looked up from her phone, blinking as if Sophie had suddenly materialized at their table. “Honey, I know you want to show support, and that’s... that’s nice. Really. But our family being there would just be a distraction from what the day should be about.”

“I don’t care,” Sophie replied, crossing her arms. “I should be there. I need to be there.”

“It’s a bit complicated, hon,” Tom tried to explain.

"You barely knew her," Liz scoffed, "We’ll send something on behalf of the family, how about that?"

Sophie sighed in frustration, "I’m going."

“The Hayes would be uncomfortable,” Liz said. “We need to respect their grief, give them space to—“

“I’m going,” Sophie repeated.

Tom felt a headache forming behind his eyes.

“Sophie,” Liz’s tone hardened. “They fucking hate us, okay? And you’re part of us, whether you like it or not.”

Sophie stared back, unflinching. “I don’t care. I’m still going.”

Liz’s laugh was sharp. She turned to Tom, eyes wide with disbelief. “Deal with this fucking shit, would you? I need to get out there and help with the search. The only one in this fucking family, by the way.”

…

The metal chair squeaked as Kavern shifted his weight, scanning the quiet diner for familiar faces. The bell above the door jangled, and he tensed until he saw it was just a young couple with a toddler.

He checked his watch. The coffee in front of him had gone cold, but he took another sip anyway, grimacing at the bitter taste. His phone buzzed with a text.

Walking in now. Blue jacket.

Kavern didn’t look up immediately. He waited until he heard footsteps approaching, then raised his eyes to see her sliding into the booth across from him, laptop bag clutched against her chest like a shield.

“Sorry I’m late,” Alicia said, setting her bag beside her. “Traffic on 20 was backed up.”

“It’s fine.” Kavern glanced around the diner again.

The waitress appeared, coffeepot in hand. Kavern covered his mug with his palm and waited until she’d filled Alicia’s and moved away before speaking again.

“I need to be absolutely clear about this,” he said, leaning forward. “My name cannot appear anywhere. Not in your article, not in your notes, nowhere."

“I understand,” Alicia nodded, stirring sugar into her coffee. “Like I said in our emails, you’ll be referred to as ‘a source close to the investigation’ and nothing else. I’m not looking to burn you.”

Kavern’s jaw tightened. “Even after all this, they still have pull with the department. They’ll always have pull."

“I get it,” she said. “You’re providing background, color on Brice’s history with the victim. Nothing directly attributable to you.”

“And her name stays out of it too,” Kavern added. “She’s been through enough.”

Alicia hesitated. “That’s going to be difficult. The charges were public record—“

“I don’t care,” Kavern cut her off.

Alicia studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Fine. I can work around it.”

She pulled out her recorder.

“No recordings,” Kavern said sharply.

“Notes, then?” she asked, already pulling out a small notebook.

Kavern nodded reluctantly.

“So,” Alicia clicked her pen, “What was Connie’s behavior like when you first interviewed her?”

…

Sophie leaned against the oak tree, far enough away that no one would notice her but close enough to see the small gathering around the gravesite. The black dress she’d hidden in her bag that morning felt too tight across her shoulders now, the fabric scratchy against her skin in the midday heat.

The Hayes family huddled together near the casket: mother, father, brother, and what looked like an aunt or maybe a grandmother, her gray head bowed beneath a wide-brimmed hat. Skylar’s friends stood in a loose semicircle behind them, some crying openly, others staring blankly at the polished wood suspended above the open earth.

So few people. Sophie counted twenty. When Jimmy died, the church had overflowed with bodies between teammates, classmates, family friends, even people who barely knew him but wanted to be part of something tragic and important. The reception afterward had filled three rooms at the community center, with casseroles and condolences piling up like snow.

A breeze stirred the branches above her head. Sophie shifted her weight, one shoe digging into the soft ground. She hadn’t known Skylar well, just the occasional interaction when she came to pick up James or drop him off.

But she’d been real. A person. Someone’s daughter. Now she was just another story attached to Brice, another shadow trailing behind his name.

The minister’s voice carried faintly across the cemetery, words about grace and forgiveness that Sophie couldn’t quite make out. Mrs. Hayes swayed slightly, her husband’s arm tightening around her shoulders to keep her upright. Sophie felt a twinge of something, not quite guilt, not quite pity, but something uncomfortable that settled in her chest like a stone.

He couldn’t have, could he? The question had haunted her for days now, creeping into her thoughts when she least expected it.

The ceremony was ending now, people moving forward to place flowers on the casket. Sophie’s hand closed around the small white rose she’d bought from the grocery store on her way here, the stem damp against her palm. She wouldn’t place it with the others. Couldn’t.

The mourners began to disperse, walking back toward their cars in small clusters. Sophie pressed herself against the tree trunk, not wanting to be seen. The rose in her hand felt heavier now, its purpose unfulfilled.

She remained there, watching as cemetery workers appeared from somewhere to begin the final burial process. The Hayes family lingered by their car, accepting final embraces before climbing inside. Soon, Sophie was the only one left, standing beneath the oak tree with her wilting rose, its damaged petals and her questions.

Not quite a Colton in her heart, not quite anything else in the world’s eyes. Just Sophie, watching another life become a footnote in her family’s complicated history.

She dropped the rose onto the grass and turned away.

…

Mel’s laptop screen glowed in her dimly lit dorm, casting a bluish tinge across her face as she scrolled through the Jezebel article. The headline screamed in bold font: “The Predator of Purdue: How a Football Program Protected an Alleged Murderer.”

Her tea went cold beside her as she read, paragraph after damning paragraph. The article laid out Brice’s history with a consistent narrative beat—the assault allegations in high school that were quietly dropped, Notre Dame revoking his offer, Purdue picking him up from the discount bin and reaping the rewards while ignoring the issues.

Then came the text messages, displayed in screenshot form. Mel’s stomach twisted as she read them.

"You’re nothing but a fucking whore.”

"Nobody wants this fucking baby, not even you."

“You’ll be collecting welfare within two years wondering where it all went wrong, you stupid bitch."

“Do whatever the fuck you want but don’t expect me to play daddy to some kid I never wanted.”

Mel’s hand covered her mouth. She’d known about the allegations, of course, everyone on campus did by now. But seeing the raw evidence, the naked hostility in his words, made it real in a way the rumors hadn’t.

The article continued, detailing the police’s investigation into Skylar’s murder and James’s disappearance. The writer didn’t explicitly accuse Brice of killing them both, but the implication hung heavy in every carefully constructed sentence. “Sources close to the investigation” were quoted saying that Brice remained a person of interest despite his alibi. The writer pointed out how convenient it was that his teammates could vouch for his whereabouts.

“Jesus,” Mel whispered, pushing away from her desk.

She paced across her dorm room, arms wrapped around herself. The Brice she knew, the one who’d made her laugh during study sessions, didn’t align with the monster in the article. But wasn’t that always how it worked? The charming facade, the carefully constructed public persona?

“You fucking idiot,” she whispered to herself. “You absolute fucking idiot.”

…

The click of heels echoed in the courthouse hallway as Britney gathered her files, preparing to head back to her office before calling it a day. Her shoulders ached from hours of tension, and all she wanted was a moment of quiet to review the Hayes murder file again.

“Well, if it isn’t our next state senator."

Britney froze, recognizing the voice immediately. She turned slowly to face Liz, who stood blocking her path to the office door, arms crossed over her chest. T

“Liz,” Britney nodded. “How can I help you?"

“I’m so glad you asked. Let’s start with why you’re crucifying my son in the press?” Liz stepped closer. “This witch hunt needs to stop.”

Britney glanced around. “Let’s take this inside my office.”

“No,” Liz planted herself firmly as she looked around and rose her voice, "The people of this county deserve to know what kind of representative they may be getting in you."

“Careful, Liz,” Britney clutched her files tighter.

“Careful? That’s rich coming from you,” Liz’s eyes pierced into Britney’s. “This investigation is baseless and you know it. You’re trying to ruin his life again after failing the first time.”

Britney felt heat rising up her neck but kept her expression carefully controlled. “The investigation is following standard procedure. Brice is the father of a missing child whose mother was murdered. We’d be negligent not to examine all possibilities.”

“And I suppose leaking confidential information to Jezebel is also standard procedure?” Liz shot back. “Those text messages were private communications.”

“My office did not leak anything,” Britney said firmly. “And those messages were part of the victim’s phone records, which are evidence in a murder investigation."

“Evidence of what, exactly? That they had a complicated relationship? Welcome to parenthood.”

Britney took a steadying breath. “Liz, I understand you’re upset. But this is how investigations work. We rule people out, not in. Brice will be ruled out if the evidence supports that.”

“If?” Liz stepped closer. “Listen to me. If you think you can use my son to further your political aspirations—“

“If Brice is charged,” Britney cut in, “I’ll recuse myself from the case entirely, given the nature of my relationship with your family.”

Liz’s lips curved into a cold smile. “The nature of your relationship with my family? Is that what we’re calling it now?”

Britney’s didn’t respond.

“You think I don’t know?” Liz scoffed.

Britney felt the blood drain from her face. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came.

“Oh, don’t look so shocked,” Liz shook her head. "You think his dick goes anywhere I don’t allow it to go? He’s a sad little puppy that needs his leash tugged. You’ve sucked his dick for how many years and you still don’t know that? I guess I can see why he always comes crawling back home.”

…

Brice stared at the microwave as it counted down from two minutes. The plastic container inside rotated slowly, steam fogging up the small window. His phone sat face-down on the counter. He’d stopped checking it hours ago after the hundredth notification.

The microwave beeped. He grabbed the container without bothering with a potholder, wincing as the heat seared his fingertips. The meal, some protein-packed combination of chicken, rice, and vegetables that all tasted the same, steamed as he peeled back the plastic cover.

A knock at the door made him pause, fork halfway to the container. He ignored it, jabbing at a piece of broccoli instead. Whoever it was would go away.

The knock came again, more insistent this time.

“Fuck,” he muttered, dropping the fork with a clatter.

He walked to the door, not bothering to check his Ring notification. When he yanked it open, Serena stood there, several plastic bags hanging from her arms.

“About time,” she said, brushing past him into the apartment. “I was about to use my key.”

Brice closed the door, watching as she moved into his kitchen, setting the bags on the counter and beginning to unpack them. Curry, he guessed, and something with basil.

“I already got dinner,” he said, gesturing toward his meal prep container.

Serena glanced at it, wrinkling her nose. “Put that sad-looking shit away,” she said, pulling containers from the bags.

Brice hesitated, then snapped the lid back on his dinner and shoved it into the fridge. By the time he turned around, Serena had already set two places at the table and was spooning rice onto plates. He sat down across from her, the silence between them stretching. She served him without asking what he wanted, piling his plate high with curry, rice, and pad thai.

“Why are you here?” he finally asked, the words coming out harsher than he’d intended.

Serena looked up from her plate, eyes steady on his. “Because I want to be.”

“And all that other shit?” Brice asked, his hand tightening around his fork.

Serena scoffed, scooping up a bite of curry. “I’m from the west side of Nap, Brice I know how bogus the police can be.”

Brice nodded and took a bite of food, the flavors barely registering.

“Anyway,” Serena continued, "Kennedi is driving me up the fucking wall with this project of ours."

[Caesar]

If Brice and Connie were older, I'd start thinking Sophie was actually their child because she ain't got the full Colton piece of shit gene. But since they're not, Sophie was 100% adopted.

Kavern on a one man crusade over here. Throwing his career away

“Oh, don’t look so shocked,” Liz shook her head. "You think his dick goes anywhere I don’t allow it to go? He’s a sad little puppy that needs his leash tugged. You’ve sucked his dick for how many years and you still don’t know that? I guess I can see why he always comes crawling back home.”

We throw the word cuck around a lot on this board but this is some cuckquean shit. Like verbatim

Serena scoffed, scooping up a bite of curry. “I’m from the west side of Nap, Brice I know how bogus the police can be.”

Nah, Serena on some Miss Mississippi shit (iykyk) at this point because the police are “bogus” but she should also know as a Black woman that the burden of allegations needed for police to go after an affluent, wealthy white man from an affluent, wealthy family in small town America is so many orders of magnitude higher than someone from the westside of Nap that he likely did the shit and if didn’t do that shit, he did some shit.

[Captain Canada]

Sometimes I think its a genuine witch hunt on Brice, but then I remember how shit of a person he is, and I remember he lowkey deserves it.

[redsox907]

Sometimes I think its a genuine witch hunt on Brice, but then I remember how shit of a person he is, and I remember he lowkey deserves it.

I mean, both things can be true.

Liz just trying to bully Britt at this point. We all know she hates Tom stepping out, looks bad on the family if it comes out. So she can front like she ain't give a fuck, but it's just cause she's fronting.

Brice still a POS. Serena still trying to secure the bag at all costs, even her life

Kavern really simping for 19 yo Connie at this point? dear lord

[Soapy]

If Brice and Connie were older, I'd start thinking Sophie was actually their child because she ain't got the full Colton piece of shit gene. But since they're not, Sophie was 100% adopted.

Kavern on a one man crusade over here. Throwing his career away

“Oh, don’t look so shocked,” Liz shook her head. "You think his dick goes anywhere I don’t allow it to go? He’s a sad little puppy that needs his leash tugged. You’ve sucked his dick for how many years and you still don’t know that? I guess I can see why he always comes crawling back home.”

We throw the word cuck around a lot on this board but this is some cuckquean shit. Like verbatim

Serena scoffed, scooping up a bite of curry. “I’m from the west side of Nap, Brice I know how bogus the police can be.”

Nah, Serena on some Miss Mississippi shit (iykyk) at this point because the police are “bogus” but she should also know as a Black woman that the burden of allegations needed for police to go after an affluent, wealthy white man from an affluent, wealthy family in small town America is so many orders of magnitude higher than someone from the westside of Nap that he likely did the shit and if didn’t do that shit, he did some shit.

That's one interpretation of Liz. Another would be Redsox where she's just saving face by saying that. I doubt she WANTS her husband to be stepping out but if he is, at least make it seem like you're in a position of power.

@Serena: he was literally with her that night lmao

Sometimes I think its a genuine witch hunt on Brice, but then I remember how shit of a person he is, and I remember he lowkey deserves it.

Sometimes I think its a genuine witch hunt on Brice, but then I remember how shit of a person he is, and I remember he lowkey deserves it.

I mean, both things can be true.

Liz just trying to bully Britt at this point. We all know she hates Tom stepping out, looks bad on the family if it comes out. So she can front like she ain't give a fuck, but it's just cause she's fronting.

Brice still a POS. Serena still trying to secure the bag at all costs, even her life

Kavern really simping for 19 yo Connie at this point? dear lord

Y'all are way too horny lmao

Kavern is doing what he thinks is right because he thinks its right, not to try to fuck Connie lmao

[Soapy]

Season 7, Episode 10
Brice stared at his kitchen wall while the voices from the conference call droned on, his thumb absently wiping a smudge from his screen. He tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder as he rummaged through his drawer for a clean t-shirt.

“—and while we want to emphasize that this is merely a pause in the campaign rollout, not a termination of our relationship—“ Brandon’s voice had lost that eager edge it had carried in Portland, replaced by something more measured, more corporate.

Brice pulled the shirt over his head, letting Brandon’s carefully constructed corporate speak wash over him. He knew the script. Nike was the fourth sponsor this week. The biggest, though. The one that actually stung.

“We’re fully committed to the partnership long-term,” Brandon continued, “but given the sensitivity of the situation and the ongoing investigation, our marketing team feels this is the most prudent approach.”

Tom from CAA jumped in, his voice overly cheerful. “Completely understandable, Brandon. These things happen, unfortunately. The important thing is that Brice has all of our support during this difficult time, and we appreciate Nike taking such a measured approach rather than making any hasty decisions.”

Brice slid his feet into his sneakers, a pair of Nike Swifts ironically, and bent to tie the laces.

“Brice?” Tom’s voice cut through his thoughts. “You there, buddy?”

Brice cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m still here.”

…

Mel adjusted her grip on the cardboard sign. The sun beat down on her neck as she stood outside the chain-link fence surrounding Purdue’s practice facility. The turnout was a little disappointing, just a handful of students, mostly women, spread out along the fence line with their hastily made signs.

“Hey hey, ho ho, Brice Colton’s got to go!” they chanted.

Mel winced at how pathetic they sounded. She’d hoped for at least fifty people based on the activity in the group chat last night. But once the day actually came, there were suddenly classes that couldn’t be missed, exams that needed to be studied for, labs that needed to be finished and gas money that wasn’t available.

“This is bullshit,” muttered someone next to him. “Where is everyone who said they’d be here?”

“I guess something more important came up,” Mel said, trying to keep the bitterness from her voice. She raised her own sign higher: INVESTIGATE BEFORE YOU CELEBRATE

A ripple of movement caught their attention from the double-doors they’d been watching all morning. Through the diamond pattern of the fence, she spotted them, a line of black and white uniforms filing onto the practice field. Her pulse quickened as she scanned the group, immediately picking out number 5.

She cupped her hands around her mouth. “ACCOUNTABILITY MATTERS!”

The other protesters joined in, their chants growing louder. A few players glanced their way, some nudging each other.

Then Brice turned his head.

Across the distance, through the fence, their eyes locked. Mel felt a jolt in her stomach but kept her chin raised, her gaze steady. For three heartbeats, they stared at each other, challenger and challenged, neither willing to yield. Then Brice’s mouth tightened. He shook his head slightly and looked away, continuing his path onto the field with deliberate slowness.

…

Connie sat with her fingers laced together, squeezing so tightly her knuckles had gone white. Through the window, she could see a cardinal perched on a branch, its red feathers bright against the gray spring sky. She focused on it, finding it easier than meeting her therapist’s gentle gaze.

“So you decided not to attend the funeral,” Dr. Mendel said.

“Didn’t feel right,” Connie replied, her voice cracking slightly. “I know that probably makes me a terrible person, but I just... couldn’t.”

Dr. Mendel shifted in her chair. “There’s no right or wrong way to handle this situation. Funerals are for the living, not the dead.”

Connie scoffed. “That’s what Eli said. He offered to come with me, you know. Said I might regret not going in a couple of years.”

“And what do you think about that?”

The cardinal took flight, disappearing from view. Connie’s eyes followed its path until there was nothing left to see.

“I think it’s complicated,” she said finally. “Part of me wants answers I’ll never get now. Did she wait until after Brice and I broke up? Or was she sleeping with him the whole time we were together? I don’t know, I used to think knowing would help."

“And now?” Dr. Mendel prompted.

“Now I realize it doesn’t matter,” Connie shrugged. “Either way, they both betrayed me. Either way, I trusted people who didn’t deserve it.”

She paused, swallowing hard. “And either way, Skylar is dead."

The silence stretched between them, broken only by the ticking of the clock on Dr. Mendel’s desk.

“I think...” Connie started, then stopped, reconsidering her words. “I think I’m angry that she died before I could... I don’t know... before I could make peace with it all. Does that make any sense?”

Dr. Mendel nodded. “Death has a way of crystallizing our unresolved feelings.”

“It’s just—“ Connie shook her head. “I spent so much time hating her. And now she’s gone, and I’m left holding all this... this stuff that has nowhere to go.”

“Grief is rarely straightforward,” Dr. Mendel said. “Especially when the relationship was complicated.”

“So what do I do with all of this?” Connie asked, gesturing vaguely at her chest. “How do I move forward when there’s no resolution?”

“Perhaps,” Dr. Mendel began carefully, “The resolution isn’t about understanding exactly what happened between Skylar and Brice. Maybe it’s about understanding what happened to you because of it.”

…

“That bitch is out of fucking pocket,” Serena stabbed her fork into her salad, the plastic tines snapping against the ceramic bowl.

Kennedi raised an eyebrow as she sipped her iced coffee. “I mean, you have to admit, the whole situation is messy.”

They were tucked into their usual corner booth, the afternoon crowd creating a comfortable buzz of background noise.

“Messy doesn’t mean guilty,” Serena countered.

Jasmine leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Girl, I’m not saying Brice did anything, but you have to admit it looks a certain way. First his baby mama turns up dead, then the baby goes missing? And the shit with this ex which is how he ended up here in the first place?"

“And the text messages,” Kimmy added, scrolling through something on her phone.

Serena sucked her teeth. “So what are you all saying? That Brice killed Skylar? That he kidnapped his own son? Come on, don’t be fucking stupid.”

“We’re not saying that,” Kennedi placed a hand on Serena’s arm. “Just that it’s... complicated.”

“It’s not complicated,” Serena insisted, pulling her arm away. “It’s people seeing what they want to see because of who he is, because it makes headlines, gets clicks."

Jasmine exchanged glances with Kimmy. “Look, we know that’s your nigga but—"

“Motherfuckers need to mind their fucking business,” Serena cut her off. “Especially that fucking bitch. The nigga don’t want you."

“Hey! I knew that was you!"

The deep voice startled all four women. Serena looked up to see Jo’Ziah standing beside their table.

“Jo’Ziah?” Serena blinked, momentarily thrown. “Hey.”

“I thought that was you the other day, but I wasn’t sure,” he said. “How you been?”

Serena hesitated, then slid out of the booth. “I’m good.”

She moved in for a quick side hug, but Jo’Ziah had already opened his arms for a full embrace. The result was awkward, her arm trapped between them, his hand hovering at her back for a moment before dropping away.

“How y’all ladies doing?” he asked, recovering smoothly.

The three women smiled and offered small waves.

“Nice to meet y’all,” Jo’Ziah said. “I won’t keep you. Just wanted to say hey. You know the home team got to stick together.”

“Good seeing you,” Serena replied, already sitting back down.

“For sure. We should catch up sometime,” Jo’Ziah said, backing away. “Y’all ladies have a good one, alright?"

Serena watched him navigate through the tables toward the door.

“Okay, who the fuck was that?” Kimmy demanded as soon as he was out of earshot.

“And why haven’t we heard about him before?” Jasmine added, eyebrows raised.

“It’s no one,” Serena sighed. “Just someone I knew from high school.”

“Someone you knew very well, based on how he was looking at you,” Kennedi pressed, "That hug was giving more than just someone you knew, bitch."

“It’s nothing,” Serena insisted. “I just didn’t know he was at Purdue, I thought he went somewhere else."

“And now he’s here,” Jasmine noted. "My bitch keep a fine nigga around, don’t she?"

…

Coach Odom folded his hands on the desk, his expression unreadable as the athletic director finished speaking. Brice stared at the grain patterns in the wooden desk.

“We think it’s best for everyone involved if you take some time away from team activities,” the AD said in that tone that was becoming increasingly familiar for Brice. “Just until things settle down a bit.”

“How long?” Brice asked, expecting some version of this conversation from the moment he stepped foot outside the double doors a few hours earlier.

“Let’s just take a breather,” Coach Odom answered. “We’ll reassess after a couple weeks, see where things are at.”

Brice wanted to argue, to remind them of everything he’d done for this program. The Big Ten championship. The national championship. The fucking money he’d brought in. Who the fuck was Purdue football before him? Some upset against Ohio State a decade ago with some sick kid who everyone had forgotten about already? But he caught himself.

“Fine,” he said, pushing back from the chair. “Whatever you need.”

“Brice,” Coach Odom’s voice softened slightly. “This isn’t a punishment. It’s—“

“What’s best for me and the team,” Brice finished for him. “I get it, Coach.”

He stood. Neither man moved to stop him as he headed for the door.

“We’re all hoping for the best outcome with your son,” the AD called after him.

Brice didn’t respond. There was nothing to say.

The locker room had emptied out. Brice grabbed his keys from his locker, not bothering to change out of his practice gear or shower. The hallways felt longer than usual, every step echoing against the polished floor. A few staff members passed him, their eyes skittering away.

His car sat alone in the far corner of the lot. Brice slid behind the wheel, tossing his bag onto the passenger seat. The drive home passed in silence. No music, no podcast, just the hum of the engine and the occasional sound of tires on pavement. Brice’s thoughts drifted, unfocused.

His house came into view, sitting dark and empty at the end of the cul-de-sac. He pulled into the garage and shut off the engine, sitting in the darkness for a long moment before finally stepping out.

The house was too quiet. Brice dropped his keys on the kitchen counter and headed straight for the cabinet underneath the sink. The reposado bottle was still where he’d left it last time, half-full. He grabbed it and a glass, carrying both to the couch.

The first drink burned going down. He poured another, larger this time.

His phone buzzed. Probably his mother. Or CAA. Or someone else who wanted to unfortunately inform him of something.

The second drink went down easier than the first. Brice leaned back, staring at the ceiling. He reached for the bottle again, but his hand stopped midway.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his vision blurring unexpectedly.

The memories came unbidden. Skylar showing up at his dorm after Jimmy died. Bringing him food he never ate. Her bosom being his solace for those couple of weeks after he died. A welcomed distraction.

And how had he repaid her? By pushing her away when she needed him most. By telling her he didn’t want their child. By wishing away the responsibility, the commitment, the future she was offering him.

The first sob caught him by surprise, ripping from his chest with such force that he nearly spilled his drink. Brice set the glass down with shaking hands as the tears came faster now.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out to the empty room, to the ghost of a woman who could no longer hear him. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

He curled forward, arms wrapped around himself as if trying to hold the broken pieces together. The pain was physical, a vise around his chest that made each breath a struggle.

James was gone too. His son. The son he’d wished away before he was even born. Now both of them were gone, and Brice was left alone with the knowledge that he had squandered his chances to make things right.

His phone buzzed again on the table. Brice ignored it, unable to stop the tide of grief that washed over him. The house creaked and settled around him, indifferent to his pain. No one was coming. No one was there to sit with him as he had once sat with him. No one to witness his regret, his shame, his fear.

The shadows lengthened as the afternoon wore on, but Brice remained on the couch, tears eventually giving way to a hollow emptiness that was somehow worse. The tequila sat forgotten on the table, no longer offering the escape he’d sought but just a constant reminder of how little of a man he truly was.

[redsox907]

Brice going through it

maybe he is human after all

[Captain Canada]

“Hey hey, ho ho, Brice Colton’s got to go!” they chanted.

Chant this from the rooftops

I mean, condolences

[Caesar]

Nigga, ain’t nobody trying to hear about this whiny bitch boy being sad. If he would’ve had his baby mama living with him, she wouldn’t have gotten her shit caved in.

All I know is we smoking on that Jimmy pack twice over and the Skylar pack and it’s all gas

[redsox907]

Nigga, ain’t nobody trying to hear about this whiny bitch boy being sad. If he would’ve had his baby mama living with him, she wouldn’t have gotten her shit caved in.

All I know is we smoking on that Jimmy pack twice over and the Skylar pack and it’s all gas

fuck it, I'll put the pack up for Skylar's hoe ass and baby Jimmy that if we keeping it a buck, no one really wanted (Skylar only saw a paycheck and Brice saw a liability)