Damaged Petals.

[Soapy]

Hopefully Connie goes procure herself a 2A tool and puts Brice in the dirt after that conversation.

Sucks we didn't get that Jimmy 2.0 pack but that Skylar pack still gas.

such a violent group of people smh

liz right about yall

Brice stock so low I'm lowkey surprised that he did the right thing and called the police

I half thought he was going to cover it up in honor of Jimmy

Appreciate y'all giving him credit for this but it's also a matter of self preversation

if he lets Nia go and just shows up with James like "Hey, I found him lol" everyone will think that he is the one that killed Skylar lmao

[Soapy]

Season 7, Episode 12
The ceiling stared back at Brice like an old enemy, familiar yet foreign. Two years yet it might as well have been two decades for how alien his childhood bedroom felt now.

He blinked away the remnants of another restless night. The clock on the nightstand showed 9:37. His feet touched the cold hardwood floor, and he winced. The walk to the bathroom felt like wading through cement.

Brice avoided the mirror as he brushed his teeth, keeping his gaze fixed on the running water instead. The bed called to him as he shuffled back to his room. Maybe he could sleep through this day. His body was halfway to the bed when his mother’s voice pierced the quiet.

“Brice!"

He ignored it, pulling the comforter over his head.

“Brice!"

Her voice had that edge now, the one that had sent him scrambling since childhood. Still, he didn’t move.

“BRICE!”

Brice groaned and pushed himself up. The stairs creaked under his weight as he made his way down, each step heavier than the last.

His mother stood at the stove, spatula in hand, the sight jarring. His father sat at the kitchen table, already dressed for work, scanning something on his tablet while absently lifting coffee to his lips.

“Finally,” Liz said, not turning around.

Brice slid onto a stool at the kitchen island, pulling a plate toward himself.

“Tom, don’t forget your suit,” Liz said, nodding toward the living room. “I laid it out on the sofa.”

Tom glanced up, as if just remembering. “Right. Thanks.”

He drained his coffee, stood, and gathered his things. On his way past Brice, he paused, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder before leaning down to plant a quick kiss on his forehead.

“Good luck today,” he murmured, then he was gone, the front door clicking shut behind him.

Brice pushed eggs around his plate.

“You need to shave,” Liz said, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “You look like you’ve been living in the woods for a month.”

Brice shrugged, not looking up from his plate.

“You look like shit,” she continued. “You walking in there looking like some homeless bum isn’t going to help our case.”

The fork felt heavy in his hand. He set it down.

“Do you understand what’s at stake here?” Liz leaned across the counter, forcing herself into his line of sight.

Brice’s eyes drifted to the window.

“They’ll poison him against you,” Liz continued. "He’ll grow up thinking that—"

“I know, Mom,” Brice cut her off.

That didn’t deter Liz as she launched into the next phase of her lecture. Brice found himself listening to something else: the silence. The blessed, unexpected silence of the house.

The first few days after James had been released from the hospital had been madness. The crying at all hours. The constant need. It came to a merciful end after the emergency hearing, placing James, temporarily, in custody of Skylar’s parents.

And then... silence, finally.

"We don’t know anything about these people,” Liz was saying, her voice rising. "Clearly they’re not fit to raise a child. They let some strung out crackhead take him!"

Brice nodded. Part of him longed for the silence to continue, stretching into days and weeks and years.

…

Mel hustled across the quad, trying to outpace the drizzle that had started falling. She clutched her textbook closer to her chest as the wind picked up, sending droplets sideways into her face.

She cut through the courtyard between the humanities buildings, her sneakers squeaking against the wet concrete. The maintenance workers barely registered in her peripheral vision until she noticed what they were doing.

Mel slowed, then stopped completely.

The workers methodically hung large posters on the columns throughout the quad. Brice’s face stared back at her from every direction, that familiar half-smile, the confident tilt of his chin.

A worker slapped paste onto the back of another poster before pressing it against a pillar. The university waste no time getting their golden boy back on display now.

What if she’d been wrong? All those coffee side talks about Jimmy, about loss, about grief. She remembered the way he’d looked at her across the practice field that day, through the chain-link fence.

The rain fell harder now, but Mel didn’t move. She thought about the text she’d almost sent him a dozen times over the past month. The apology that never made it past her drafts folder.

What was there to be sorry about? Those text messages were still true. The thing with his ex from high school still lingered about. Just because he wasn’t guilty of this doesn’t mean he was innocent.

Does it?

…

“The respondent’s own words reveal his true character, Your Honor.”

The Hayes’ lawyer held up a sheet of paper. Brice shifted uncomfortably in the hard wooden chair.

“I quote: ‘I don’t want this kid. You’re trapping me with this bullshit.’” The lawyer’s voice carried across the courtroom. “And another: ‘Get rid of it or don’t, but leave me out of it.’ These are Mr. Colton’s own words to the mother of his child during her pregnancy.”

Brice stared at his hands, folded neatly on the table in front of him. The suit his mother had picked out felt like armor, but it wasn’t protecting him from the barrage of his own words being hurled back at him. Their lawyer, Gregory, scribbled something on a legal pad beside him, but Brice couldn’t focus on what it said.

“And after James was born,” the Hayes’ lawyer continued, flipping to another page, “Mr. Colton wrote, and I quote: ‘I’m not changing my life for some kid that probably isn’t even mine.’”

The courtroom seemed to shrink around him. He could feel the judge’s eyes on him, could sense the disapproval radiating from the bench.

“Your Honor, we have to ask ourselves: What has fundamentally changed? What evidence do we have that Mr. Colton genuinely wants to be a father now, when he so clearly rejected that role before?”

Brice’s mind drifted, the lawyer’s voice fading into background noise. He thought about Nia sitting on his couch that night, her eyes glassy with tears. The way she’d spoken about Jimmy.

“He made me feel safe,” she’d said. “Like nothing bad could happen when he was around.”

Jimmy. His little brother who’d never even graduated high school. Who’d never had the chance to make the mistakes Brice had made. Who’d never disappointed anyone.

Would Jimmy have sent those texts? Would Jimmy have denied his own child? Even at seventeen, would Jimmy have stepped up in ways that Brice, at twenty with all his resources and advantages, had failed to do?

“Your brother was so special,” Nia had said. “I’ve never met anyone like him.”

No one would ever say that about Brice. No one would ever look at him with that same reverence, that same pure admiration. Certainly no one in this courtroom.

“Furthermore,” the Hayes’ lawyer was saying, “Mr. Colton’s lifestyle is simply not conducive to raising a child.“

Jimmy would have been a better father at seventeen than Brice was now. The statement felt ridiculous and yet true. Jimmy would have shown up. Jimmy would have cared.

“The Hayes family has provided James with stability, with love, with consistency,” the lawyer gestured toward Skylar’s parents, who sat straight-backed and solemn in the front row. “They’ve been there from day one, unlike Mr. Colton who only showed interest once tragedy struck.”

Brice looked at the Hayes. Mrs. Hayes dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. Mr. Hayes had his arm around her shoulders, his face a mask of grief. They’d lost their daughter. And now they were fighting to keep the only piece of her they had left.

“In conclusion, Your Honor,” the Hayes’ lawyer said, gathering his papers, “We ask the court to place James permanently with his maternal grandparents, who have demonstrated their commitment to his welfare from the beginning. Mr. Colton had his chance to be a father. He rejected it then, and the court should be extremely skeptical of his sudden change of heart now.”

…

The heavy wooden doors swung open, and the Coltons filed out of the courtroom. James nestled against Liz’s shoulder, his tiny fingers playing with the collar of her silk blouse. Brice trailed behind his parents, hands shoved deep in his pockets, his mind still processing the judge’s words.

The Hayes family had crumpled at the verdict, Mrs. Hayes sobbing into her husband’s chest. Brice couldn’t bear to look at them.

What would Jimmy do?

The question rose unbidden in his mind, and with it came a strange clarity.

Their lawyer shook Tom’s hand vigorously. "Glad we were able to get it done."

Brice watched the smirk on his mother’s face. "I’ll call Fanello’s, see if that room in the back is available."

What would Jimmy do?

They pushed through the heavy glass doors into the spring sunshine. Brice’s gaze fixed on James, on his golden brown curls and chubby cheeks. Brice reached out and lifted James from his mother’s arms.

What would Jimmy do?

“I’ve got him,” he said quietly.

Liz gingerly handed him over. “Be careful with his head.”

What would Jimmy do?

Brice didn’t respond. He walked ahead to the parking lot, where both his and his father’s cars waited. His mother’s voice trailed behind him.

“I was thinking we could invite Father Mitchell, he’s been so supportive through all this."

What would Jimmy do?

Brice opened the back door of his own car and carefully lowered James into the car seat he’d installed right before the social worker paid them a visit last week, his fingers working the elaborate straps.

“Brice?” His mother’s voice carried a note of confusion. "We don’t mind taking James."

"I’m going home," he finished buckling James in and straightened up.

Liz laughed lightly, glancing at Tom who was watching silently. “Okay. We can go home if you’re not feeling up for it."

“My house,” Brice said, meeting his mother’s gaze. "I’m ready to get back to it."

“Oh,” Liz’s smile faltered slightly. “Well, we can figure all that out. You can visit on weekends during the off-season, and during the season, we’ll make it work.”

“Mom, you’re not listening to me.”

Liz stared at him, her smile frozen in place. “What?”

“I’m his father,” Brice said, to himself as much as to his mother.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Liz scoffed. “You don’t know the first thing about taking care of a baby.”

“Nia figured it out,” Brice shrugged. “I’m sure I can too."

"Who? That fucking crackhead?" Liz sucked her teeth, her eyes darting around to see if anyone was watching their exchange. “You need to do what’s best for James. You’re being impulsive. You haven’t thought this through.”

“Maybe,” Brice reached for his car door, "I just feel like is something I need to do. Something I have to do."

Liz grabbed his arm. “Brice, you’re making a terrible mistake. You can’t just—“

She turned desperately toward Tom. “Tell him.”

Tom stepped forward, moving past them both to the open car door. He bent down and pressed a gentle kiss to James’s forehead, his hand smoothing the baby’s hair. Then he straightened and placed that same hand on Brice’s shoulder.

Their eyes met, and Tom gave a single, solemn nod.

“I’ll call you when we get there,” Brice said, his throat suddenly tight.

He slid into the driver’s seat before his mother could argue further, avoiding her stunned expression in the rearview mirror as he pulled away. In the backseat, James cooed softly, the sound filling the car. No more silence.

Brice glanced back at him at the first stoplight. “What the fuck am I doing?"

[redsox907]

I mean, we all know how lil James would end up with Tom and Liz raising him

ib4 Serena ends up taking care of James for Brice to get that Birkin

[Captain Canada]

Brice versus Fatherhood: The Final Frontier

[Caesar]

Find it hard to believe a judge would award Brice custody but checks out considering he a Yakubian devil. Took those people daughter from them and now their grandchild

[Soapy]

I mean, we all know how lil James would end up with Tom and Liz raising him

ib4 Serena ends up taking care of James for Brice to get that Birkin

A national championship winning quarterback on the brink of generational wealth?

Sounds okay to me

Brice versus Fatherhood: The Final Frontier

I believe mandem like Caesar call this an "arc"

ayo if needed

Find it hard to believe a judge would award Brice custody but checks out considering he a Yakubian devil. Took those people daughter from them and now their grandchild

He's rich as shit, it's his child and the kid got kidnapped in the Hayes' care

[Soapy]

Season 7, Episode 13 (Season Finale)
The ceiling fan spun in lazy circles above Brice’s head, its soft whirring drowned out by the piercing wail that tore through the baby monitor on his nightstand. He blinked away the last remnants of sleep, staring up at the shadows dancing across the popcorn texture of his ceiling.

James’s cry grew more insistent, the volume on the monitor jumping with each desperate sob. Brice turned his head to find Serena beside him, already awake, scrolling through Instagram with headphones jammed firmly in her ears. She didn’t look up as he shifted.

Brice swung his legs over the side of the bed, each step requiring conscious effort as he shuffled toward the guest room. The crying intensified as he pushed open the door. James laid in the portable bassinet, face scrunched and red, tiny fists flailing against the air as if fighting invisible demons. Brice scooped him up, cradling him awkwardly against his chest.

“Come on, man,” he whispered, bouncing slightly in place. “This ain’t what we agreed on, bro."

James responded with another ear-splitting wail.

He grabbed a pre-made bottle from the mini-fridge he’d installed in the room, testing the temperature against his wrist like his mother had incessantly reminded him. James turned his head away, refusing the nipple, his cries only growing more frantic.

Brice laid him on the changing pad, fumbling with the tabs on the diaper. Dry. Clean. Nothing there.

“Come on, broski,” Brice muttered, lifting him again. “Give me something to work with here.”

He tried the pacifier. James immediately spat it out. The stuffed elephant that usually captured his attention didn’t work. The rocking chair by the window didn’t work either. James cried and cried, his tiny body shuddering with the effort, face growing increasingly flushed.

Brice paced the length of the room, then the hallway, then the living room, bouncing and swaying. His arms ached. His head throbbed. His patience frayed with each passing minute.

An hour crawled by. Then another. Somewhere in the second hour, James’s cries began to soften, not because Brice had done anything different but because he’d simply exhausted himself. His eyelids grew heavy, his struggles less pronounced, until finally, mercifully, he drifted into sleep against Brice’s shoulder.

Brice stood frozen in the middle of the living room, afraid the slightest movement might wake him. His own exhaustion pressed down on him like a physical weight, but the relief of silence was worth more than sleep. Carefully, so carefully, he lowered James back into the bassinet, holding his breath as the baby stirred, then settled.

The moment of reprieve was brief. By the time Brice had finished his morning workout in the backyard, sweat cooling on his skin in the spring air, he heard it again, the familiar cry starting soft, then building in intensity. He shoveled the last of his breakfast into his mouth, abandoned his half-empty coffee mug in the sink, and rushed through a shower.

As he emerged from the bathroom, towel around his waist, he nearly collided with Serena in the hallway. She had her bag over her shoulder, keys in hand.

“I’ve got that thing,” she said vaguely, not meeting his eyes. “You good?”

Before Brice could answer, she was already moving past him, the front door closing behind her.

James’s cries had reached their crescendo. He prepared the bottle with one hand, an awkward dance he was still perfecting, and settled into the couch as James sucked greedily.

The doorbell rang just as James was finishing. Brice glanced at his phone. He’d almost forgotten.

The woman at the door was in her fifties, with steel-gray hair and eyes that assessed the house from the moment she walked in.

“Mr. Colton? I’m Sara Winters. We spoke on the phone about the nanny position.”

Brice shifted James to his shoulder, patting his back as he let her in. “Thanks for coming."

The interview was uncomfortable. Sara asked pointed questions about schedules, about Brice’s parenting philosophy, about his expectations, all things he hadn’t fully figured out himself. He fumbled through answers, increasingly aware of how unprepared he was, not just for these interviews but for fatherhood itself.

The second candidate arrived shortly after Sara left. Younger, with a cheerful disposition that seemed forced although it helped the conversation flow better and less like a Q&A. She was pretty, too. Too pretty for Brice to trust himself.

The third interview went no better. By the time the final candidate left, Brice’s head was swimming with qualifications and references and hourly rates. None of them felt right.

Finally, James went down for a nap. Brice collapsed at his desk, pulling his laptop closer and opening the textbook for his Sports Marketing final. The words swam before his eyes, meaningless jumbles of letters that refused to form coherent thoughts in his exhausted brain.

How had she done this? How had she managed to care for James, to feed him and change him, all while her body was still recovering? And she’d done it with the added weight of Brice’s anger, his accusations, his absence.

His phone buzzed on the desk. A text from Serena.

“Hey, something came up. Can’t make it tonight."

Brice had expected this text. They were becoming more frequent. Before he could reply, a cry rose from the baby monitor. Brice closed his eyes, exhaustion washing over him in waves. He sat there, unmoving, as James’s cries grew more insistent.

Finally, he pushed himself up from the chair and made his way to the nursery. James was red-faced again, tears streaming down his cheeks as he worked himself into a frenzy. Brice lifted him, settling him against his chest and bouncing gently.

“Alright,” he murmured, swaying back and forth. "I know, I know. Day’s almost over. We just have to run out the clock, brother."

The crying continued. Brice felt something crack inside him. He looked up at the ceiling, blinking back the sting in his eyes.

“Jimmy,” he whispered. “Come on, now. I need something. Any day now would be great."

James hiccupped against his shoulder, his cries softening momentarily as if startled by the desperation in Brice’s voice. Brice continued to sway, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“I’m trying,” he said softly. “I swear to fucking god I’m trying.”

…

“I went to the agency."

Dr. Mendel’s pen paused over her notepad. “You did.”

“Yeah,” Connie cleared her throat. “The woman was nice. Nice enough. She had this look, you know? She’s good at her job. Knows how to let you down easily, you know?"

“She said it would be ‘disruptive,’” Connie continued. “That the most loving thing I could do now was to ‘respect the boundaries of the gift.’”

Dr. Mendel simply waited, her presence a quiet anchor in the room.

“I think I knew,” Connie said, her gaze drifting to the window. "I think I’ve known for a while. Maybe that’s what makes it hard."

She felt a hollow ache in her chest, a vast and empty space. It wasn’t a sharp pain anymore; just a dull, permanent weight.

“It feels like she died,” Connie slowly nodded to herself. “Again. The first time, I don’t know, at least I got to see her. I got to say goodbye. But this? Just a bunch of names on paper, wondering which one she is, wondering who she will be."

…

Brice settled into the leather chair, adjusting his collar with one hand while subtly checking his watch with the other. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, West Lafayette sprawled beneath a clear blue sky, the campus buildings tiny from this height.

“Water, Mr. Colton?” Someone appeared at his elbow.

“Thanks,” Brice accepted the glass, taking a small sip as the door opened again.

Tom from CAA entered first. Behind him trailed three others.

“Brice!” Tom shook his hand. “Good to see you again. You remember Sarah, of course.”

The woman nodded. “Nice to finally meet you."

Brice shook hands all around, exchanging pleasantries as they settled into their seats.

As they arranged their materials, Brice pulled out his phone. The screen loaded to show his living room, where Mrs. Lafitte was folding laundry while James played on a colorful mat nearby.

“Everything good?” Tom asked, noticing Brice’s attention on his phone.

“Yeah,” Brice pocketed the device. “All good.”

Tom stood at the front of the room once everyone had settled. “First, I want to thank you all for coming today. I know schedules are tight, especially as we head into summer.”

Brice straightened in his chair, forcing himself to focus as Tom launched into his opening remarks.

“Before we dive into specifics,” Tom continued, clicking to the first slide of his presentation, “I want to remind everyone of what we’re building toward. Brice Colton: NCAA Champion, Heisman front-runner, and the number one overall pick in next year’s draft.”

The screen filled with pictures of Brice from the national championship game, the Nike photoshoot, the Chipotle ad they filmed months ago.

“What we’re presenting today is more than a marketing strategy,” Tom looked at Brice.

Brice felt the weight of every gaze in the room.

Tom clicked to the next slide, revealing the bold headline: THE FUTURE IS NOW.

"Our goal isn’t to have you be the first person to shake Roger Goodell’s hands on that stage next year. Our goals are bolder than that, bigger. By pulling on the right levers and maximizing brand synergy with our catalog of great partners, I truly believe that the King of West Lafayette is perfectly equipped to be not only the next face of the NFL but the next face of sports in America. A face that viewers can relate to. A face that viewers can cheer for and most importantly, a face that viewers, and America, have been waiting for since Peyton Manning and Tom Brady."

[redsox907]

Serena bailing lmao

apparently taking care of a baby ain't worth a Birkin. Brice gonna hire the hottest nanny and make James a brother.

Can't believe brady2moss just compared Brice Colton to Tom Brady. you really sold your soul for this trash ass white boy

[Caesar]

As he emerged from the bathroom, towel around his waist, he nearly collided with Serena in the hallway. She had her bag over her shoulder, keys in hand.

“I’ve got that thing,” she said vaguely, not meeting his eyes. “You good?”

Before Brice could answer, she was already moving past him, the front door closing behind her.

PRAISE BE. THE SISTER HAS BEEN RELEASED FROM THE SHACKLES OF THE YAKUBIAN MENACE

[redsox907]

A national championship winning quarterback on the brink of generational wealth?

*also a complete POS who can count the people he can really depend on with one hand...and that's only one

2nd hates her family so much she will probably move across the country and never talk to them again when she graduates

and the third one dead



you sure baby jimmy gonna beat those odds?!