We gotta do a deep-dive on your perceived relations to women, because
Violence only begets more violence, good sir.
Cam a lost soul, fr.
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Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 7225
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
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Violence only begets more violence, good sir.
Cam a lost soul, fr.
-
Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 7225
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Invictus
(4-4, 2-3 ACC) 
@
(2-6, 2-2 ACC)
@(2-6, 2-2 ACC)Jones, Willis star in big Syracuse victory over Boston College
‣ This is Zane Jones's world. We're all just living in it.
‣ This is Zane Jones's world. We're all just living in it.
Score
| FINAL | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | T |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| Syracuse | 10 | 13 | 0 | 17 | 40 |
| Boston College | 3 | 0 | 14 | 3 | 20 |
Scoring Summary
1st Quarter
(11:15) Zane Jones, 76-yard pass from Ajani Sheppard (Jaydn Oh kick) [CUSE 7 - 0 BC] (4:08) Jaydn Oh, 47-yard field goal [CUSE 10 - 0 BC]
(1:03) Kyle Cunanan, 45-yard field goal [CUSE 10 - 3 BC]2nd Quarter
(7:57) Jaydn Oh, 25-yard field goal [CUSE 13 - 3 BC] (3:17) Zane Jones, 10-yard pass from Ajani Sheppard (Jaydn Oh kick) [CUSE 20 - 3 BC] (0:00) Jaydn Oh, 28-yard field goal [CUSE 23 - 3 BC]3rd Quarter
(9:00) Dylan Lonergan, 1-yard run (Kyle Cunanan kick) [CUSE 23 - 10 BC] (3:48) Zeke Moore, 12-yard pass from Dylan Lonergan (Kyle Cunanan kick) [CUSE 23 - 17 BC]4th Quarter
(11:53) Jaydn Oh, 20-yard field goal [CUSE 26 - 17 BC] (9:03) Yasin Willis, 3-yard run (Jaydn Oh kick) [CUSE 33 - 17 BC] (7:18) Kyle Cunanan, 27-yard field goal [CUSE 33 - 20 BC] (3:57) Zane Jones, 5-yard pass from Ajani Sheppard (Jaydn Oh kick) [CUSE 40 - 20 BC]Team Statistics
QB Ajani Sheppard: 28-39, 340 passing yards, 3 touchdowns, interception, 10 carries, 25 rushing yards QB Dylan Lonergan: 18-38, 221 passing yards, touchdown, rushing touchdown HB Yasin Willis: 18 carries, 91 rushing yards, touchdown HB Malachi James: 9 carries, 35 rushing yards HB Laron Hargrave: 14 carries, 47 rushing yards WR Zane Jones: 10 catches, 179 receiving yards, 3 touchdowns WR Johntay Cook II: 8 catches, 71 receiving yards WR Jaedn Skeete: 2 catches, 47 receiving yards TE Daunte Bacheyie: 4 catches, 30 receiving yards WR Reed Harris: 5 catches, 76 receiving yards WR Jamie Kamara: 5 catches, 69 receiving yards TE Zeke Moore: 3 catches, 50 receiving yards, touchdown CB Demetres Samuel Jr: 9 tackles, tackle for loss, pass brrakup DT Markus Samuel: 6 tackles, 3 tackles for loss, 1.5 sacks EDGE King Joseph Edwards: 6 tackles, 2 tackles for loss, 0.5 sack WILL Nick Bryan: 6 tackles, tackle for loss, 0.5 sack SS Omar Thornton: 12 tackles, pass breakup CB Dylan Phelps: 11 tackles CB Braden Awls: 10 tackles, interception, pass breakup MIKE Joey Gerlach: 8 tackles, 2 tackles for loss
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Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 7225
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
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Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 7225
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
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Stinks of hate from over there
Playbook finally opening up
Surviving is more like it.
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Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 7225
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
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Season V | Episode 16 - Plot Twist
Zane sat in the office trying not to look as impressed as he actually was.
The place looked nothing like the cramped athletic department offices he was used to walking through at Syracuse. Everything about it screamed money. Modern art hung along the walls in carefully curated patterns, the abstract pieces splashed with expensive-looking colors Zane could not even begin to identify properly. The furniture looked sleek and untouched, like nobody actually sat in it unless they were closing million-dollar deals.
He stood near the massive window overlooking the city below, his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie as he stared out at the tops of trees painted with deep greens, yellows, and burnt oranges from the thickening fall.
The office door opened behind him.
Zane turned.
Tyson Rashford walked in with the kind of confidence that made the room feel smaller around him.
Tyson was a black man with a perfectly maintained haircut, the kind that looked like it had standing appointments to remain flawless. He wore a slick baby blue suit with a crisp red tie, polished dress shoes clicking softly against the floor as he approached. The first thing that stood out beyond the suit, though, was the smile.
Million-dollar smile. The kind people trusted instantly.
“Zane Jones,” Tyson greeted warmly. “You’ve been an exceptionally hard man to read.”
Zane breathed out a small laugh and crossed the room toward the large mahogany desk separating them. He shook Tyson’s hand firmly.
“My bad,” Zane said. “Sorry I had to reschedule a few times.”
Tyson waved the apology away effortlessly before sitting down in his chair and motioning for Zane to do the same across from him.
“Don’t even worry about it,” Tyson replied. “I’m just glad we could finally make this happen. Johntay speaks very highly of you.”
Zane nodded as he settled into the leather chair.
“He told me you were solid,” Zane admitted. “I wanted representation like he has. I just…” He paused and rubbed his palms together. “I think I’ve been kinda naive about the business side of things up to this point.”
Tyson nodded knowingly while waking up his MacBook with a flick of his mouse.
“That makes sense,” he said calmly. “Honestly, I was curious who negotiated your current NIL deal, it seems as though most of your money is through the university’s collective?.”
Zane shrugged.
“No one,” he admitted. “I kinda just took the package they gave me.”
Tyson’s eyebrows lifted slightly.
Zane continued before Tyson could respond.
“Committing to Syracuse happened fast. Spur of the moment type thing.” His gaze lowered briefly. “I was down in a bad way after my grandfather died. Syracuse just made the most sense from both a life and football standpoint.”
Tyson leaned back slightly.
“What do you mean by that?” he asked. “I only ask that to understand a little bit more about the man in front of me - not just the athlete.”
Zane exhaled slowly before answering.
“Staying in Pennsylvania wasn’t really an option anymore after Coach Franklin got fired from Penn State,” he explained. “And Pittsburgh had already loaded up on receiver recruits. Syracuse felt like the best situation that was still close enough to home if I needed it.”
Tyson folded his hands together thoughtfully.
Then he spoke carefully.
“Well,” he began, “a four-star recruit of your caliber making 150 thousand dollars at a lower-tier school like Syracuse…” He shook his head slowly. “That’s a serious lowball.”
Zane’s brows furrowed slightly.
Tyson held up a hand.
“And I understand why you agreed to it,” he clarified. “You were grieving. You wanted stability. I’m sure the condo, the treatment, all the luxuries they’ve afforded you feel nice and all…”
Then Tyson turned the MacBook around.
A number sat underneath Zane’s name. A massive number.
Zane’s eyes widened immediately. His body actually leaned forward slightly before he caught himself.
Tyson locked eyes with him.
“This,” Tyson said evenly, tapping the screen lightly, “is what you should be making.”
Zane stared at the figure for another moment before finally pulling himself out of the daze.
“It’s about more than money to me though,” he said carefully.
Tyson nodded instantly. “I know that,” he replied. “And trust me, I’m not just trying to throw dollar signs at you. I want to place you in a winning situation.”
He leaned forward now, elbows resting against the desk.
“Tell me the truth, Zane,” Tyson said seriously. “Do you think you can play winning football at Syracuse?”
The question hung in the air heavily. Zane breathed slowly through his nose. His mind flashed through everything. The inconsistency. The losses. The culture Coach Brown kept trying to build. The teammates already accepting mediocrity.
The frustration simmering underneath the surface every single week.
Finally, he shook his head slowly.
“I’m grateful to Coach Brown,” Zane admitted quietly. “And I’ve made some great friends at Syracuse.” His jaw tightened slightly. “But this culture isn’t very conducive to winning.”
Tyson nodded like he had expected the answer already.
Then he extended his hand across the desk.
“If we can build a relationship based on trust,” Tyson said, “I can put you in positions not only to dominate on the field, but to put your best foot forward in things you’re actually passionate about. Showcase who you really are.”
Zane looked at the outstretched hand for a second. Then he looked back up.
“What if I don’t even know who I want to be yet?” he asked honestly.
Tyson smiled again. Warm and patient.
“How about we find that out together?”
Bryce killed the engine to his blacked-out G-Wagon, the deep purr of the vehicle fading into silence at the click of a button. The SUV sat parked along the student parking lot near the Quad, where clusters of students moved through campus in waves. The center of campus buzzed with activity despite the cooling fall air - students laughing loudly, skateboards rattling across concrete pathways, backpacks bouncing against shoulders as everyone hurried somewhere important.
Bianca remained seated in the passenger seat instead of immediately getting out.
Her black tote bag rested against her thigh, stuffed with textbooks, her laptop, and a mess of miscellaneous items she kept insisting she would organize eventually.
Bryce glanced over at her from the driver’s seat, his brows furrowing slightly.
He wore a Michigan football hoodie and gray sweats, clearly on his way to the football facility for film study with teammates. Even dressed casually, there was still something polished about him. Controlled. Put together.
“What’s on your mind?” he asked.
Bianca blinked out of her thoughts and looked over at him.
“Nothing,” she lied automatically before shaking her head lightly. “Well… not nothing.”
She sighed and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“Katie’s been extra weird the last few days,” she admitted. “She’s starting to text me back again, but,” Bianca frowned slightly. “She’s just lacking her typical energy.”
Bryce stayed quiet, listening.
Bianca stared ahead through the windshield.
“Katie’s like the Energizer Bunny,” she continued. “She brings energy everywhere she goes. Even when she’s messy, she’s still...” She searched for the word. “Alive.”
Bryce contemplated his response for a moment, his mouth parting slightly like he was about to speak.
Before he could, Bianca reached over and patted him lightly on the chest.
“I appreciate you trying to think of a response,” she said softly, “but it’s really not something you have to concern yourself with.”
Bryce shrugged easily.
“I’m always here to help,” he replied. “Might be nice to bounce ideas off somebody impartial.”
Bianca smiled sweetly at him. “Thank you.”
Bryce nodded toward her bag.
“So,” he asked, “we getting together tonight?”
Bianca thought for a moment. “I’m gonna see if I can get together with Katie tonight,” she answered honestly. “But if things are still weird and I end up free, I’ll text you.”
Bryce flashed her one of his easy smiles and nodded.
“I’ll take that.”
They exchanged quick goodbyes before Bianca finally opened the passenger door and stepped out into the chilly afternoon air.
She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder and watched Bryce carefully back the G-Wagon out of the parking spot before peeling off toward the football facility.
Bianca stood there for another second longer than necessary before pulling out her phone and beginning the walk toward the student center where she planned on studying for the afternoon.
As she walked, she checked her messages again.
Still nothing from Katie.
The unanswered text asking if she wanted to hang out later that night sat untouched.
Bianca frowned slightly before clicking into another notification.
Darius.
Be there in like ten mins.
Bianca double-tapped the message absentmindedly as she continued walking.
Her thumb drifted lower through her text threads.
Past her Mom. Past random group chats.
Then she saw Zane’s name.
Her chest tightened slightly.
Their last exchange had happened a few days earlier after Syracuse beat Boston College.
She had congratulated him on a great game. He had thanked her and asked how she was doing. Simple and polite.
Careful. A little too careful.
Bianca had responded without giving much away, keeping things vague and surface-level.
At the time, it had felt safer that way. Now, though, looking back at the thread left a pang of guilt sitting heavy in her chest.
Because she knew he was trying. Maybe not perfectly. Maybe not in the exact ways she wanted him to. But he was trying.
And somehow that almost made things harder. Bianca couldn’t even fully articulate what she had expected from him since the breakup.
Did she want him to keep things cordial? Did she want him to fight harder for her? Did she want distance? Did she want reassurance?
Every answer contradicted the last one.
And now Bryce was becoming a bigger and bigger presence in her life, kind and patient and genuine in ways she had not expected.
Still, every time she talked to Zane, it felt like pulling at a thread she could never quite let unravel completely.
She slipped her phone back into her pocket and exhaled slowly as she approached the student center.
One thing had become painfully clear to her, though. An all-important conversation with Zane could not wait until they were face-to-face again.
Rasheed pulled up slowly to the address Mariah had scribbled down for him a few days earlier.
The folded piece of paper sat in the passenger seat beside him, creased from how many times he had checked it over the last forty-eight hours.
Mariah had been fairly certain this was where Tom was hiding out.
Her only hesitation had been the possibility that the police were already closing in on him and he had crossed state lines before they could get there.
But Rasheed knew better.
From everything Mariah had told him, Tom was not the type of man to disappear quietly.
He was too arrogant. Too bold. Too narcissistic to leave things unfinished.
The second he realized Mariah had survived, Rasheed knew Tom would still be somewhere nearby. Because in Tom’s mind, this was not over until he decided it was over.
Rasheed killed the engine and sat in silence for a moment.
The street around him was dark and tired-looking, lined with dilapidated houses that sagged under the weight of neglect. Paint peeled from siding. Porches leaned crookedly toward the street. Dim porch lights flickered weakly against cracked pavement.
It was one of the rougher pockets of Pittsburgh. The kind of neighborhood that had not benefited from the city’s constant attempts at renovation and reinvention.
Rasheed counted house numbers quietly beneath his breath. One. Two. Three.
There.
About three houses down sat a beat-up pickup truck in the driveway. A faint yellow light glowed through the living room window.
Good signs. Very good signs.
Rasheed narrowed his eyes. Then he reached down slowly toward the floorboard of the car.
His fingers wrapped around the familiar cold metal waiting for him there.
Heavy. Comfortingly heavy.
He exhaled slowly through his nose as he lifted the gun into his lap. The weight of what he was about to do settled over him fully now. This was not his first time sliding on somebody like this.
Not even close. But for the first time in a long time, Rasheed found himself desperately hoping it would be his last.
His jaw tightened.
Every time he closed his eyes lately, he saw Felix. Not the larger-than-life version of his father that existed in stories and memories.
The real version. The last version.
Sitting across from him in that prison visitation room. Older. Tired. Still trying to be a father through bulletproof glass and monitored phone calls.
And then Rasheed’s mind shifted again, like it always did. Felix lying on that garage floor. Reaching for air that never came.
Trying to breathe while his life slipped out of him.
All because he took in a young woman who needed help. That thought reignited the fury in Rasheed instantly.
His grip tightened around the gun.
He started reaching for the driver-side door handle-
Then headlights flooded the block. Rasheed froze immediately.
An SUV rumbled slowly down the street before turning into the driveway behind the pickup truck.
The engine idled for a moment before shutting off.
Rasheed leaned forward instinctively, ducking slightly beneath the steering wheel while keeping his eyes locked on the house. The SUV door opened.
A young man stepped out carrying a case of beer against his hip. Rasheed’s brows furrowed immediately.
The kid looked younger than he expected company of someone like Tom to keep. The porch light flickered across his face as he made his way toward the front door.
Then the door swung open from inside. Tom stepped out.
Even from a distance, Rasheed recognized him immediately from Mariah’s description. Shaggy beard. Unkempt hair.
The loose, restless body language of somebody constantly looking over their shoulder. Tom glanced around the street quickly before focusing on the young man approaching him.
Then something shifted in Rasheed’s chest.
A sharp pang. His eyes narrowed harder. Because he recognized the kid now too.
Hadn’t seen him in years. But there was no mistaking him.
He looked older. More worn down. More haggard than Rasheed remembered or could ever expect a good kid like him to look..
But it was him. The blonde kid that used to saddle up to Zane in the pictures Mary would show him. From when they were buck-toothed kids to unsure teenagers.
Zane’s best friend. Or at least, his former best friend, last Zane had updated him.
Cam.
Zane sat in the office trying not to look as impressed as he actually was.
The place looked nothing like the cramped athletic department offices he was used to walking through at Syracuse. Everything about it screamed money. Modern art hung along the walls in carefully curated patterns, the abstract pieces splashed with expensive-looking colors Zane could not even begin to identify properly. The furniture looked sleek and untouched, like nobody actually sat in it unless they were closing million-dollar deals.
He stood near the massive window overlooking the city below, his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie as he stared out at the tops of trees painted with deep greens, yellows, and burnt oranges from the thickening fall.
The office door opened behind him.
Zane turned.
Tyson Rashford walked in with the kind of confidence that made the room feel smaller around him.
Tyson was a black man with a perfectly maintained haircut, the kind that looked like it had standing appointments to remain flawless. He wore a slick baby blue suit with a crisp red tie, polished dress shoes clicking softly against the floor as he approached. The first thing that stood out beyond the suit, though, was the smile.
Million-dollar smile. The kind people trusted instantly.
“Zane Jones,” Tyson greeted warmly. “You’ve been an exceptionally hard man to read.”
Zane breathed out a small laugh and crossed the room toward the large mahogany desk separating them. He shook Tyson’s hand firmly.
“My bad,” Zane said. “Sorry I had to reschedule a few times.”
Tyson waved the apology away effortlessly before sitting down in his chair and motioning for Zane to do the same across from him.
“Don’t even worry about it,” Tyson replied. “I’m just glad we could finally make this happen. Johntay speaks very highly of you.”
Zane nodded as he settled into the leather chair.
“He told me you were solid,” Zane admitted. “I wanted representation like he has. I just…” He paused and rubbed his palms together. “I think I’ve been kinda naive about the business side of things up to this point.”
Tyson nodded knowingly while waking up his MacBook with a flick of his mouse.
“That makes sense,” he said calmly. “Honestly, I was curious who negotiated your current NIL deal, it seems as though most of your money is through the university’s collective?.”
Zane shrugged.
“No one,” he admitted. “I kinda just took the package they gave me.”
Tyson’s eyebrows lifted slightly.
Zane continued before Tyson could respond.
“Committing to Syracuse happened fast. Spur of the moment type thing.” His gaze lowered briefly. “I was down in a bad way after my grandfather died. Syracuse just made the most sense from both a life and football standpoint.”
Tyson leaned back slightly.
“What do you mean by that?” he asked. “I only ask that to understand a little bit more about the man in front of me - not just the athlete.”
Zane exhaled slowly before answering.
“Staying in Pennsylvania wasn’t really an option anymore after Coach Franklin got fired from Penn State,” he explained. “And Pittsburgh had already loaded up on receiver recruits. Syracuse felt like the best situation that was still close enough to home if I needed it.”
Tyson folded his hands together thoughtfully.
Then he spoke carefully.
“Well,” he began, “a four-star recruit of your caliber making 150 thousand dollars at a lower-tier school like Syracuse…” He shook his head slowly. “That’s a serious lowball.”
Zane’s brows furrowed slightly.
Tyson held up a hand.
“And I understand why you agreed to it,” he clarified. “You were grieving. You wanted stability. I’m sure the condo, the treatment, all the luxuries they’ve afforded you feel nice and all…”
Then Tyson turned the MacBook around.
A number sat underneath Zane’s name. A massive number.
Zane’s eyes widened immediately. His body actually leaned forward slightly before he caught himself.
Tyson locked eyes with him.
“This,” Tyson said evenly, tapping the screen lightly, “is what you should be making.”
Zane stared at the figure for another moment before finally pulling himself out of the daze.
“It’s about more than money to me though,” he said carefully.
Tyson nodded instantly. “I know that,” he replied. “And trust me, I’m not just trying to throw dollar signs at you. I want to place you in a winning situation.”
He leaned forward now, elbows resting against the desk.
“Tell me the truth, Zane,” Tyson said seriously. “Do you think you can play winning football at Syracuse?”
The question hung in the air heavily. Zane breathed slowly through his nose. His mind flashed through everything. The inconsistency. The losses. The culture Coach Brown kept trying to build. The teammates already accepting mediocrity.
The frustration simmering underneath the surface every single week.
Finally, he shook his head slowly.
“I’m grateful to Coach Brown,” Zane admitted quietly. “And I’ve made some great friends at Syracuse.” His jaw tightened slightly. “But this culture isn’t very conducive to winning.”
Tyson nodded like he had expected the answer already.
Then he extended his hand across the desk.
“If we can build a relationship based on trust,” Tyson said, “I can put you in positions not only to dominate on the field, but to put your best foot forward in things you’re actually passionate about. Showcase who you really are.”
Zane looked at the outstretched hand for a second. Then he looked back up.
“What if I don’t even know who I want to be yet?” he asked honestly.
Tyson smiled again. Warm and patient.
“How about we find that out together?”
***
Bryce killed the engine to his blacked-out G-Wagon, the deep purr of the vehicle fading into silence at the click of a button. The SUV sat parked along the student parking lot near the Quad, where clusters of students moved through campus in waves. The center of campus buzzed with activity despite the cooling fall air - students laughing loudly, skateboards rattling across concrete pathways, backpacks bouncing against shoulders as everyone hurried somewhere important.
Bianca remained seated in the passenger seat instead of immediately getting out.
Her black tote bag rested against her thigh, stuffed with textbooks, her laptop, and a mess of miscellaneous items she kept insisting she would organize eventually.
Bryce glanced over at her from the driver’s seat, his brows furrowing slightly.
He wore a Michigan football hoodie and gray sweats, clearly on his way to the football facility for film study with teammates. Even dressed casually, there was still something polished about him. Controlled. Put together.
“What’s on your mind?” he asked.
Bianca blinked out of her thoughts and looked over at him.
“Nothing,” she lied automatically before shaking her head lightly. “Well… not nothing.”
She sighed and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“Katie’s been extra weird the last few days,” she admitted. “She’s starting to text me back again, but,” Bianca frowned slightly. “She’s just lacking her typical energy.”
Bryce stayed quiet, listening.
Bianca stared ahead through the windshield.
“Katie’s like the Energizer Bunny,” she continued. “She brings energy everywhere she goes. Even when she’s messy, she’s still...” She searched for the word. “Alive.”
Bryce contemplated his response for a moment, his mouth parting slightly like he was about to speak.
Before he could, Bianca reached over and patted him lightly on the chest.
“I appreciate you trying to think of a response,” she said softly, “but it’s really not something you have to concern yourself with.”
Bryce shrugged easily.
“I’m always here to help,” he replied. “Might be nice to bounce ideas off somebody impartial.”
Bianca smiled sweetly at him. “Thank you.”
Bryce nodded toward her bag.
“So,” he asked, “we getting together tonight?”
Bianca thought for a moment. “I’m gonna see if I can get together with Katie tonight,” she answered honestly. “But if things are still weird and I end up free, I’ll text you.”
Bryce flashed her one of his easy smiles and nodded.
“I’ll take that.”
They exchanged quick goodbyes before Bianca finally opened the passenger door and stepped out into the chilly afternoon air.
She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder and watched Bryce carefully back the G-Wagon out of the parking spot before peeling off toward the football facility.
Bianca stood there for another second longer than necessary before pulling out her phone and beginning the walk toward the student center where she planned on studying for the afternoon.
As she walked, she checked her messages again.
Still nothing from Katie.
The unanswered text asking if she wanted to hang out later that night sat untouched.
Bianca frowned slightly before clicking into another notification.
Darius.
Be there in like ten mins.
Bianca double-tapped the message absentmindedly as she continued walking.
Her thumb drifted lower through her text threads.
Past her Mom. Past random group chats.
Then she saw Zane’s name.
Her chest tightened slightly.
Their last exchange had happened a few days earlier after Syracuse beat Boston College.
She had congratulated him on a great game. He had thanked her and asked how she was doing. Simple and polite.
Careful. A little too careful.
Bianca had responded without giving much away, keeping things vague and surface-level.
At the time, it had felt safer that way. Now, though, looking back at the thread left a pang of guilt sitting heavy in her chest.
Because she knew he was trying. Maybe not perfectly. Maybe not in the exact ways she wanted him to. But he was trying.
And somehow that almost made things harder. Bianca couldn’t even fully articulate what she had expected from him since the breakup.
Did she want him to keep things cordial? Did she want him to fight harder for her? Did she want distance? Did she want reassurance?
Every answer contradicted the last one.
And now Bryce was becoming a bigger and bigger presence in her life, kind and patient and genuine in ways she had not expected.
Still, every time she talked to Zane, it felt like pulling at a thread she could never quite let unravel completely.
She slipped her phone back into her pocket and exhaled slowly as she approached the student center.
One thing had become painfully clear to her, though. An all-important conversation with Zane could not wait until they were face-to-face again.
***
Rasheed pulled up slowly to the address Mariah had scribbled down for him a few days earlier.
The folded piece of paper sat in the passenger seat beside him, creased from how many times he had checked it over the last forty-eight hours.
Mariah had been fairly certain this was where Tom was hiding out.
Her only hesitation had been the possibility that the police were already closing in on him and he had crossed state lines before they could get there.
But Rasheed knew better.
From everything Mariah had told him, Tom was not the type of man to disappear quietly.
He was too arrogant. Too bold. Too narcissistic to leave things unfinished.
The second he realized Mariah had survived, Rasheed knew Tom would still be somewhere nearby. Because in Tom’s mind, this was not over until he decided it was over.
Rasheed killed the engine and sat in silence for a moment.
The street around him was dark and tired-looking, lined with dilapidated houses that sagged under the weight of neglect. Paint peeled from siding. Porches leaned crookedly toward the street. Dim porch lights flickered weakly against cracked pavement.
It was one of the rougher pockets of Pittsburgh. The kind of neighborhood that had not benefited from the city’s constant attempts at renovation and reinvention.
Rasheed counted house numbers quietly beneath his breath. One. Two. Three.
There.
About three houses down sat a beat-up pickup truck in the driveway. A faint yellow light glowed through the living room window.
Good signs. Very good signs.
Rasheed narrowed his eyes. Then he reached down slowly toward the floorboard of the car.
His fingers wrapped around the familiar cold metal waiting for him there.
Heavy. Comfortingly heavy.
He exhaled slowly through his nose as he lifted the gun into his lap. The weight of what he was about to do settled over him fully now. This was not his first time sliding on somebody like this.
Not even close. But for the first time in a long time, Rasheed found himself desperately hoping it would be his last.
His jaw tightened.
Every time he closed his eyes lately, he saw Felix. Not the larger-than-life version of his father that existed in stories and memories.
The real version. The last version.
Sitting across from him in that prison visitation room. Older. Tired. Still trying to be a father through bulletproof glass and monitored phone calls.
And then Rasheed’s mind shifted again, like it always did. Felix lying on that garage floor. Reaching for air that never came.
Trying to breathe while his life slipped out of him.
All because he took in a young woman who needed help. That thought reignited the fury in Rasheed instantly.
His grip tightened around the gun.
He started reaching for the driver-side door handle-
Then headlights flooded the block. Rasheed froze immediately.
An SUV rumbled slowly down the street before turning into the driveway behind the pickup truck.
The engine idled for a moment before shutting off.
Rasheed leaned forward instinctively, ducking slightly beneath the steering wheel while keeping his eyes locked on the house. The SUV door opened.
A young man stepped out carrying a case of beer against his hip. Rasheed’s brows furrowed immediately.
The kid looked younger than he expected company of someone like Tom to keep. The porch light flickered across his face as he made his way toward the front door.
Then the door swung open from inside. Tom stepped out.
Even from a distance, Rasheed recognized him immediately from Mariah’s description. Shaggy beard. Unkempt hair.
The loose, restless body language of somebody constantly looking over their shoulder. Tom glanced around the street quickly before focusing on the young man approaching him.
Then something shifted in Rasheed’s chest.
A sharp pang. His eyes narrowed harder. Because he recognized the kid now too.
Hadn’t seen him in years. But there was no mistaking him.
He looked older. More worn down. More haggard than Rasheed remembered or could ever expect a good kid like him to look..
But it was him. The blonde kid that used to saddle up to Zane in the pictures Mary would show him. From when they were buck-toothed kids to unsure teenagers.
Zane’s best friend. Or at least, his former best friend, last Zane had updated him.
Cam.