Zane letting this Bianca shit cook to long. Can't wife your first brodie
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Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 7951
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
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Luckily, girl didn't follow him to Purdue, but he may be having some buyers remorse huh?
Zane just got a lot on his plate right now. So much for young love, right?
Is that why Brice did Connie like that?
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Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 7951
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Invictus
Season V | Chapter IV - Someday, I’ll get it
Rasheed sat in the waiting room of UPMC Mercy, one of the top hospitals in the Pittsburgh area, the fluorescent lights overhead casting a sterile glow across the rows of molded plastic chairs. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant and stale coffee. Somewhere down the hall, a monitor beeped in a slow, steady rhythm.
He flipped through a glossy pamphlet, the paper soft and overhandled at the edges. It described how UPMC Mercy was the first and only Catholic hospital in the region, dedicated to providing compassionate and quality health care to all. Rasheed’s eyes skimmed the words without really taking them in. After a moment, he kissed his teeth and let the pamphlet fall into his lap before tossing it onto the empty chair beside him.
Across the room, a door clicked open.
A woman stepped out.
Rasheed’s eyes lifted immediately, locking onto her. Her shoulders sagged slightly, like something heavy was pressing down on them. Her face held that same expression he had seen too many times - tight around the mouth, eyes glassy but refusing to break. Someone bracing themselves against what they already believed was coming.
He had seen that look before.
Rasheed leaned forward, planting his hands on his knees before pushing himself up to his feet. As he straightened, his eyes flicked briefly down the hallway. A uniformed police officer stood near one of his rooms, arms folded, posture rigid. To anyone passing by, it might have looked routine. But Rasheed knew better.
That room was being guarded.
He shifted his gaze back to the woman and began walking, keeping a few paces behind her as she moved down the corridor. His steps were measured, quiet against the polished tile floor.
She didn’t look back. At the end of the hall, she turned right. Rasheed followed.
The hum of a vending machine filled the small alcove she stepped into. Its bright display lit up rows of snacks and drinks behind glass. She stopped in front of it, staring at the options without reaching for anything.
Rasheed slowed a few feet behind her. Before he could say anything, she spoke.
“I don’t enjoy being followed, sir.”
Her voice was tired and flat, but steady.
Rasheed paused. She turned slowly.
The light from the vending machine washed over her face, and Rasheed took her in fully now. Grief had carved itself into her features. Her eyes were sunken, dark circles heavy beneath them. Her skin looked drawn, like sleep had been avoiding her for weeks - maybe months. Her hair was pulled back loosely, strands slipping free, a faint sheen of grease catching the light. She looked like someone who had stopped going home.
Or stopped caring to.
Rasheed lifted his hands slightly, palms open in a gesture of surrender that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m just here for information,” he said.
The woman’s expression hardened.
“How did you find me?” she asked.
Rasheed lowered his hands. “Traded for it,” he said simply. “Someone who’s tapped in.”
Her jaw tightened. She shook her head, already stepping past him. “I’m tired of this,” she muttered. “You fucking reports keep coming around, asking questions. My family’s been through enough. My daughter’s been through enough.”
She brushed past him, intent on leaving.
Rasheed turned slightly, his voice cutting through the space before she could take more than a step.
“Whoever did this to your daughter killed my father.”
The words landed heavy. She stopped.
Her back stiffened as she stood there for a moment, the hum of the vending machine filling the silence between them. Slowly, she turned back around, her eyes scanning him now with a different kind of focus.
She looked him over carefully.
“I thought they mentioned that Felix’s son was in prison,” she said.
Rasheed nodded once. “I was,” he answered. “Not anymore.”
The woman hesitated. Her eyes darted briefly briefly down the hallway, toward the guarded room, then back to him. There was something unsettled in her gaze now - uncertainty, maybe even calculation.
After a moment, she took a small breath.
“Heather,” she said.
Rasheed gave a slight nod. “Rasheed.”
He stepped a little closer, keeping his tone even. “I just need a moment of your time,”
Zane stood in the filming studio, the bright overheard lights washing everything in a sharp white glow. A backdrop with Syracuse branding stretched across the far wall, and a camera rig sat mounted on a rolling track in front of it. Wires snaked across the floor, taped down in long strips, and a couple production assistants hovered near a monitor, watching the live feed.
He adjusted the hem of his jersey, glancing down at the bold orange #7 stitched across his chest. It still felt unfamiliar. For as long as he could remember, he had won #1. Seeing something different on his body should’ve felt wrong - but it didn’t. Not entirely.
He turned slightly, catching a glimpse of himself in one of the reflective panels set up near the lights. The nameplate across his shoulders read “JONES”.
That part felt right.
A voice cut through the room.
“Alright, roll it again!”
Zane looked up toward the set. Johntay stood front and center, wearing the #1 jersey now, completely in his element. He bounced on the balls of his feet, arms waving wildly as he leaned toward the camera.
“LET’S GO!” Johntay shouted, his voice echoing off the studio walls.
Behind the camera, Ajani - wearing #14 - doubled over laughing, one hand braced on his knee. Next time him, Malachi, thicker through the shoulders and legs, shook his head with a grind, clearly entertained. Malachi had been tearing through training camp at running back alongside Yassin, and he carried himself like he knew it.
Zane stood off to the side, waiting his turn, hands resting loosely at his hips. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, watching the chaos unfold in front of him.
“Man, this dude stays doing the most,” Ajani muttered, still laughing.
Johntay kept going, pointing at the lens, hyping himself up like it was a packed stadium instead of a studio with a handful of guys and a camera crew.
After another take, the cameraman finally raised his hand.
“Cut!”
Johntay let out a satisfied breath, stepping back as the energy in the room settled.
“Alright, bring the rest of you in,” the cameraman called out. “Let’s get a group shot.”
Zane exhaled quietly, the tightness in his stomach easing just a bit. He stepped forward, joining the rest of the group on set. Ajani slung an arm loosely around Malachi’s shoulders, still chuckling, while Johntay bounced in place like he hadn’t burned off any of the energy yet.
Zane slid into position with them, rolling his shoulders once before facing the camera.
“Action!”
The group erupted. Voices layered over each other - shouts, laughs, random hype phrases. Zane forced a grin, raising his hands and nodding along, doing his best to match their energy. He leaned into it just enough to blend in, even if it didn’t come as naturally.
It didn’t take long. “Cut!” That’s good,” the cameraman said, lowering his hand. “Appreciate it, fellas. We’re gonna check everything over real quick before we let you go.”
The tension in Zane’s shoulders loosed immediately The guys began to break formation, some stepping off set, others lingering and talking.
Zane felt a vibration in his pocket. He reached down, pulling out his phone.
Bianca’s name lit up the screen. For a second, everything else in the room dulled. The chatter, the movement, the hum of equipment - it all faded behind the sound of his own heartbeat picking up.
He stared at the screen. Didn’t move.
Next to him, Johntay leaned over slightly, catching a glimpse.
He let out a low whistle. “Boy, I ain’t know you had a bad one like that.”
Zane nodded absentmindedly, his eyes still locked on the phone as it continued to ring.
He didn’t answer. The call slipped to voicemail. Zane’s thumb hovered over the screen for a moment before he lowered his phone slightly.
Johntay gave a knowing nod. “Yeah,” he said. “I been in those situations once or twice.”
Zane glanced at him. “Oh yeah?”
Johntay shrugged, stuffing his hands into his shorts. “Man, going to a different school than you girl? Shit’s always tough.” He tilted his head slightly, thinking. “Even tougher when you got some motion like we do. Everybody wants something from you. You getting attention from everywhere.”
Zane exhaled quietly. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m starting to pick up on that.”
He looked back down at his phone for a brief second before sliding it into his pocket.
“I’ll call her later,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
Around him, the studio buzz picked up as the crew reviewed footage, and his teammates drifted into their own conversations.
Bianca held her phone up to her ear, listening as the call rang out again. The quiet, automated click came, followed by Zane’s voicemail greeting - his voice sounding distant and pre-recorded, like it belonged to someone she hadn’t spoken to in weeks.
She didn’t wait for the tone. Her thumb tapped the screen, ending the call.
Again.
She lowered the phone slowly, her jaw tightening as she stared at the blank screen for a second before letting it fall onto the table in front of her. Her textbooks were spread open, highlighter caps scattered, her laptop dimmed from inactivity. Words filled the pages in front of her, but none of them stuck.
She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms.
They had talked - what, three times since he got to Syracuse?
Three sounded about right.
Her eyes drifted to the tall windows lining the library wall, sunlight pouring through and stretching across the carpet in long, warm rectangles. Students moved quietly between aisles, the occasional shuffle of paper or muted cough breaking the silence.
She tried to reason with herself.
Training camp. New team. New city. Everything was different for him now. He was busy - busier than he had ever been. She knew that.
But still. Her fingers tapped lightly against her arm.
He could make time. He always used to.
Her lips pressed into a thin line as her thoughts shifted, uninvited, to the decision he had made months ago. Syracuse. Not Michigan.
Not her.
She knew she shouldn’t look at like that. She knew it wasn’t fair. He had to do what was best for him. She had when she had picked Michigan.
But that didn’t stop the feeling from creeping in anyway.
Her gaze dropped back to the table, then shifted slightly - and paused.
A guy sat a few tables over, his body angled toward her, eyes clearly fixed in her direction.
Bianca blinked once, caught off guard. Her first instinct was to ignore it, to look back down at her work and pretend she hadn’t noticed.
But she didn’t. Instead, she held his gaze for a second longer. Something small shifted in her expression. A flicker of something lighter.
She smiled. It wasn’t big. Just enough.
The guy nodded in response, almost like he’d been waiting for that confirmation. Bianca gave a small, casual wave before looking away, pretending to gather her things.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him stand. Her stomach tightened slightly as he started walking over. From a distance, she hadn’t really registered him. Just another guy in the library.
But as he got closer, details sharpened - the confident stride, the familiar face.
Her brows lifted slightly.
Bryce Underwood.
He stopped at her table, a faint grin on his face. “Long time no see.”
Bianca sat up a bit straighter in her chair. “Yeah,” she said, a small laugh slipping out. “It has been.”
Bryce pulled out the chair across from her without asking, setting a thick textbook down on the table as he sat. The cover thudded softly against the wood.
“Didn’t expect to run into you here,” he said, leaning back slightly.
“Library’s kind of the spot,” Bianca replied, gesturing vaguely around them.
Bryce nodded, glancing at her open books before looking back at her. “Still,” he said. “Small world.”
There was a brief pause before he added, “It’s a shame we couldn’t get Zane to commit to the Wolverines.”
Bianca’s fingers lightly traced the edge of her notebook. She nodded once. “He made the best choice for him.”
Bryce tilted his head, studying her for a moment. His eyes scanned her face, like he was trying to read something underneath the surface.
“Was it the best choice for you?” he asked.
Her eyebrows narrowed immediately, the shift in her expression sharp.
Bryce raised his hands slightly, a quick grin breaking across his face. “Hey - relax,” he said. “I’m not flirting. I’m not trying to step on anything.”
Bianca didn’t respond right away, her gaze steady on him.
He gestured loosely between them. “I don’t want to intrude on Zane’s territory.”
Her posture straightened, and her tone firmed. “I’m not territory,” she said. “I’m not owned by anyone.”
Bryce blinked once, then let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “That’s not what I meant,” he said quickly. “At all.”
The tension eased just a notch, though Bianca didn’t fully relax.
Bryce reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. His eyes flicked to the screen, and his expression shifted slightly.
“Damn,” he muttered. “I gotta be somewhere.”
He pushed his chair back, standing and grabbing his textbook. “It was good seeing you though,” he added. “For real.”
Bianca gave a small nod. “Yeah,” she said. “You too.”
He hesitated for a half-second, then smiled. “Hope I see you around.”
“See ya,” Bianca replied.
Bryce turned and walked off, weaving through the tables and disappearing between the shelves.
Bianca watched him go for a moment before her gaze dropped back to her phone.
It sat there, silent.
She didn’t pick it up.
Rasheed sat in the waiting room of UPMC Mercy, one of the top hospitals in the Pittsburgh area, the fluorescent lights overhead casting a sterile glow across the rows of molded plastic chairs. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant and stale coffee. Somewhere down the hall, a monitor beeped in a slow, steady rhythm.
He flipped through a glossy pamphlet, the paper soft and overhandled at the edges. It described how UPMC Mercy was the first and only Catholic hospital in the region, dedicated to providing compassionate and quality health care to all. Rasheed’s eyes skimmed the words without really taking them in. After a moment, he kissed his teeth and let the pamphlet fall into his lap before tossing it onto the empty chair beside him.
Across the room, a door clicked open.
A woman stepped out.
Rasheed’s eyes lifted immediately, locking onto her. Her shoulders sagged slightly, like something heavy was pressing down on them. Her face held that same expression he had seen too many times - tight around the mouth, eyes glassy but refusing to break. Someone bracing themselves against what they already believed was coming.
He had seen that look before.
Rasheed leaned forward, planting his hands on his knees before pushing himself up to his feet. As he straightened, his eyes flicked briefly down the hallway. A uniformed police officer stood near one of his rooms, arms folded, posture rigid. To anyone passing by, it might have looked routine. But Rasheed knew better.
That room was being guarded.
He shifted his gaze back to the woman and began walking, keeping a few paces behind her as she moved down the corridor. His steps were measured, quiet against the polished tile floor.
She didn’t look back. At the end of the hall, she turned right. Rasheed followed.
The hum of a vending machine filled the small alcove she stepped into. Its bright display lit up rows of snacks and drinks behind glass. She stopped in front of it, staring at the options without reaching for anything.
Rasheed slowed a few feet behind her. Before he could say anything, she spoke.
“I don’t enjoy being followed, sir.”
Her voice was tired and flat, but steady.
Rasheed paused. She turned slowly.
The light from the vending machine washed over her face, and Rasheed took her in fully now. Grief had carved itself into her features. Her eyes were sunken, dark circles heavy beneath them. Her skin looked drawn, like sleep had been avoiding her for weeks - maybe months. Her hair was pulled back loosely, strands slipping free, a faint sheen of grease catching the light. She looked like someone who had stopped going home.
Or stopped caring to.
Rasheed lifted his hands slightly, palms open in a gesture of surrender that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m just here for information,” he said.
The woman’s expression hardened.
“How did you find me?” she asked.
Rasheed lowered his hands. “Traded for it,” he said simply. “Someone who’s tapped in.”
Her jaw tightened. She shook her head, already stepping past him. “I’m tired of this,” she muttered. “You fucking reports keep coming around, asking questions. My family’s been through enough. My daughter’s been through enough.”
She brushed past him, intent on leaving.
Rasheed turned slightly, his voice cutting through the space before she could take more than a step.
“Whoever did this to your daughter killed my father.”
The words landed heavy. She stopped.
Her back stiffened as she stood there for a moment, the hum of the vending machine filling the silence between them. Slowly, she turned back around, her eyes scanning him now with a different kind of focus.
She looked him over carefully.
“I thought they mentioned that Felix’s son was in prison,” she said.
Rasheed nodded once. “I was,” he answered. “Not anymore.”
The woman hesitated. Her eyes darted briefly briefly down the hallway, toward the guarded room, then back to him. There was something unsettled in her gaze now - uncertainty, maybe even calculation.
After a moment, she took a small breath.
“Heather,” she said.
Rasheed gave a slight nod. “Rasheed.”
He stepped a little closer, keeping his tone even. “I just need a moment of your time,”
***
Zane stood in the filming studio, the bright overheard lights washing everything in a sharp white glow. A backdrop with Syracuse branding stretched across the far wall, and a camera rig sat mounted on a rolling track in front of it. Wires snaked across the floor, taped down in long strips, and a couple production assistants hovered near a monitor, watching the live feed.
He adjusted the hem of his jersey, glancing down at the bold orange #7 stitched across his chest. It still felt unfamiliar. For as long as he could remember, he had won #1. Seeing something different on his body should’ve felt wrong - but it didn’t. Not entirely.
He turned slightly, catching a glimpse of himself in one of the reflective panels set up near the lights. The nameplate across his shoulders read “JONES”.
That part felt right.
A voice cut through the room.
“Alright, roll it again!”
Zane looked up toward the set. Johntay stood front and center, wearing the #1 jersey now, completely in his element. He bounced on the balls of his feet, arms waving wildly as he leaned toward the camera.
“LET’S GO!” Johntay shouted, his voice echoing off the studio walls.
Behind the camera, Ajani - wearing #14 - doubled over laughing, one hand braced on his knee. Next time him, Malachi, thicker through the shoulders and legs, shook his head with a grind, clearly entertained. Malachi had been tearing through training camp at running back alongside Yassin, and he carried himself like he knew it.
Zane stood off to the side, waiting his turn, hands resting loosely at his hips. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, watching the chaos unfold in front of him.
“Man, this dude stays doing the most,” Ajani muttered, still laughing.
Johntay kept going, pointing at the lens, hyping himself up like it was a packed stadium instead of a studio with a handful of guys and a camera crew.
After another take, the cameraman finally raised his hand.
“Cut!”
Johntay let out a satisfied breath, stepping back as the energy in the room settled.
“Alright, bring the rest of you in,” the cameraman called out. “Let’s get a group shot.”
Zane exhaled quietly, the tightness in his stomach easing just a bit. He stepped forward, joining the rest of the group on set. Ajani slung an arm loosely around Malachi’s shoulders, still chuckling, while Johntay bounced in place like he hadn’t burned off any of the energy yet.
Zane slid into position with them, rolling his shoulders once before facing the camera.
“Action!”
The group erupted. Voices layered over each other - shouts, laughs, random hype phrases. Zane forced a grin, raising his hands and nodding along, doing his best to match their energy. He leaned into it just enough to blend in, even if it didn’t come as naturally.
It didn’t take long. “Cut!” That’s good,” the cameraman said, lowering his hand. “Appreciate it, fellas. We’re gonna check everything over real quick before we let you go.”
The tension in Zane’s shoulders loosed immediately The guys began to break formation, some stepping off set, others lingering and talking.
Zane felt a vibration in his pocket. He reached down, pulling out his phone.
Bianca’s name lit up the screen. For a second, everything else in the room dulled. The chatter, the movement, the hum of equipment - it all faded behind the sound of his own heartbeat picking up.
He stared at the screen. Didn’t move.
Next to him, Johntay leaned over slightly, catching a glimpse.
He let out a low whistle. “Boy, I ain’t know you had a bad one like that.”
Zane nodded absentmindedly, his eyes still locked on the phone as it continued to ring.
He didn’t answer. The call slipped to voicemail. Zane’s thumb hovered over the screen for a moment before he lowered his phone slightly.
Johntay gave a knowing nod. “Yeah,” he said. “I been in those situations once or twice.”
Zane glanced at him. “Oh yeah?”
Johntay shrugged, stuffing his hands into his shorts. “Man, going to a different school than you girl? Shit’s always tough.” He tilted his head slightly, thinking. “Even tougher when you got some motion like we do. Everybody wants something from you. You getting attention from everywhere.”
Zane exhaled quietly. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m starting to pick up on that.”
He looked back down at his phone for a brief second before sliding it into his pocket.
“I’ll call her later,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
Around him, the studio buzz picked up as the crew reviewed footage, and his teammates drifted into their own conversations.
***
Bianca held her phone up to her ear, listening as the call rang out again. The quiet, automated click came, followed by Zane’s voicemail greeting - his voice sounding distant and pre-recorded, like it belonged to someone she hadn’t spoken to in weeks.
She didn’t wait for the tone. Her thumb tapped the screen, ending the call.
Again.
She lowered the phone slowly, her jaw tightening as she stared at the blank screen for a second before letting it fall onto the table in front of her. Her textbooks were spread open, highlighter caps scattered, her laptop dimmed from inactivity. Words filled the pages in front of her, but none of them stuck.
She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms.
They had talked - what, three times since he got to Syracuse?
Three sounded about right.
Her eyes drifted to the tall windows lining the library wall, sunlight pouring through and stretching across the carpet in long, warm rectangles. Students moved quietly between aisles, the occasional shuffle of paper or muted cough breaking the silence.
She tried to reason with herself.
Training camp. New team. New city. Everything was different for him now. He was busy - busier than he had ever been. She knew that.
But still. Her fingers tapped lightly against her arm.
He could make time. He always used to.
Her lips pressed into a thin line as her thoughts shifted, uninvited, to the decision he had made months ago. Syracuse. Not Michigan.
Not her.
She knew she shouldn’t look at like that. She knew it wasn’t fair. He had to do what was best for him. She had when she had picked Michigan.
But that didn’t stop the feeling from creeping in anyway.
Her gaze dropped back to the table, then shifted slightly - and paused.
A guy sat a few tables over, his body angled toward her, eyes clearly fixed in her direction.
Bianca blinked once, caught off guard. Her first instinct was to ignore it, to look back down at her work and pretend she hadn’t noticed.
But she didn’t. Instead, she held his gaze for a second longer. Something small shifted in her expression. A flicker of something lighter.
She smiled. It wasn’t big. Just enough.
The guy nodded in response, almost like he’d been waiting for that confirmation. Bianca gave a small, casual wave before looking away, pretending to gather her things.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him stand. Her stomach tightened slightly as he started walking over. From a distance, she hadn’t really registered him. Just another guy in the library.
But as he got closer, details sharpened - the confident stride, the familiar face.
Her brows lifted slightly.
Bryce Underwood.
He stopped at her table, a faint grin on his face. “Long time no see.”
Bianca sat up a bit straighter in her chair. “Yeah,” she said, a small laugh slipping out. “It has been.”
Bryce pulled out the chair across from her without asking, setting a thick textbook down on the table as he sat. The cover thudded softly against the wood.
“Didn’t expect to run into you here,” he said, leaning back slightly.
“Library’s kind of the spot,” Bianca replied, gesturing vaguely around them.
Bryce nodded, glancing at her open books before looking back at her. “Still,” he said. “Small world.”
There was a brief pause before he added, “It’s a shame we couldn’t get Zane to commit to the Wolverines.”
Bianca’s fingers lightly traced the edge of her notebook. She nodded once. “He made the best choice for him.”
Bryce tilted his head, studying her for a moment. His eyes scanned her face, like he was trying to read something underneath the surface.
“Was it the best choice for you?” he asked.
Her eyebrows narrowed immediately, the shift in her expression sharp.
Bryce raised his hands slightly, a quick grin breaking across his face. “Hey - relax,” he said. “I’m not flirting. I’m not trying to step on anything.”
Bianca didn’t respond right away, her gaze steady on him.
He gestured loosely between them. “I don’t want to intrude on Zane’s territory.”
Her posture straightened, and her tone firmed. “I’m not territory,” she said. “I’m not owned by anyone.”
Bryce blinked once, then let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “That’s not what I meant,” he said quickly. “At all.”
The tension eased just a notch, though Bianca didn’t fully relax.
Bryce reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. His eyes flicked to the screen, and his expression shifted slightly.
“Damn,” he muttered. “I gotta be somewhere.”
He pushed his chair back, standing and grabbing his textbook. “It was good seeing you though,” he added. “For real.”
Bianca gave a small nod. “Yeah,” she said. “You too.”
He hesitated for a half-second, then smiled. “Hope I see you around.”
“See ya,” Bianca replied.
Bryce turned and walked off, weaving through the tables and disappearing between the shelves.
Bianca watched him go for a moment before her gaze dropped back to her phone.
It sat there, silent.
She didn’t pick it up.
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Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 7951
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Invictus
Ain't build Ford tough, that one
Y'all really go DEFCON1 whenever a male is around this woman huh
Malik, then Darius, now Bryce.
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redsox907
- Posts: 6303
- Joined: 01 Jun 2025, 12:40
