Litany for Survival

[Caesar]

Twin flame shit huh? Putting these people threw the poverty blender from the get-go.

Pressure makes diamonds

Beau on some good ol boy type shit eh

gonna have them beefing eventually like Jenkins and King

The system was in place long before Beau

[Caesar]

1.3 Day Rate

Saint sat on the edge of the flower bed in Remy's backyard with a plate balanced on his knees, the paper bowing under the weight of ribs, a chicken thigh quarter, mac and cheese, potato salad and rice dressing, the juices from the meat already soaking through the bottom and warming his jeans. He ate with his fingers, pulling the meat off a rib in one long strip, chewing it while he reached for the mac and cheese with a plastic fork in his other hand.

Darryl stood at the grill with two men from his crew flanking him, the smoke rolling off the grate in thick white sheets that climbed straight up in the still air before the wind caught them and pushed them sideways across the yard. One of the men said something about the Cowboys' offensive line and Darryl shook his head, his tongs pointing at the man's chest, his voice carrying the easy authority of someone who had been wrong about this every September for twenty years and planned to be wrong again.

Jolie sat at the patio table with three other women, their chairs pulled close, their voices layered on top of each other, hands moving as they talked. Julien lay in a lounger off to the side with his Switch held up above his face, his thumbs working the buttons, his mouth hanging open. Rene leaned against the fence at the far end of the yard, talking to one of the other couples' daughters, his arm resting on the top rail above her head, his body angled in.

Remy came out the back door carrying two cans of Coke, one in each hand. He crossed the yard to where Saint was sitting, sat down on the flower bed beside him and held one out.

Saint took it, set it on the ground on the other side of him. "Appreciate it."

Remy popped the tab on his own and took a sip. "My mama said to let her know what all you want to take with you. My pops bought extra for you if they eat everything."

Saint nodded, his jaw working through a piece of rib meat. "I will."

"I been trying to get them to make some gumbo for a lil' minute."

Saint snorted a laugh. "You know you ain't getting the ingredients you need for gumbo out here."

"You could get close enough."

"Close enough is how you end up with stew."

Remy shrugged, his Coke resting on his thigh. "Gotta take what you can get."

Saint lifted a rib off the plate and held it up. "That's why I stick to this."

Remy laughed. The sound settled and he looked down at his Coke, turning the can once in his hand, his thumbnail picking at the edge of the tab. He looked back over at Saint.

"You ever think about making a trip back home?"

Saint shook his head as he picked up the leg quarter and bit into it, the skin crackling between his teeth. "Ain't nobody back home I know. They all dead."

"Thought you had some aunts and uncles and cousins out there."

"Might as well be dead then. They ain't checking on me and I ain't worried about them."

Remy nodded. "Fair enough."

Saint pulled another strip of meat off the rib and chewed it. He set the bone down on the edge of the plate.

"Can Brynn use your studio equipment?"

Remy looked over at him. "Yeah, man. She got my number. She could've asked me."

"You know how she is."

"I ain't go—"

"You know how she is."

Remy held his hands up, the Coke tilting in his grip. "Just let me know when then."

Saint nodded and picked up another rib.

The bar sat off the highway in Garden City in a building that looked like it had been a feed store once, the walls paneled in dark wood, the ceiling low, a pool table under a hanging light near the back with the felt worn thin at the break spot. A jukebox played something with a steel guitar in it that nobody was listening to. The lunch crowd was five men spread across the bar and two more at a table near the door, all of them in work clothes, all of them drinking like they had somewhere to be in an hour.

Brynn sat at a table along the far wall with Wes and Dakota, an empty chair between her and Wes, Dakota next to her. The pitcher of beer sat in the center of the table, the glass sweating, the foam gone flat across the top. Wes picked it up and poured into Dakota's glass first, then Brynn's, then his own, filling each one to the same line.

"Y'all not gonna find much better in here so might as well decide you okay with the beer."

Dakota picked up her glass and took a sip, her eyes pinching as the taste hit her tongue. "Then we should've at least gone to Big Spring."

Brynn sipped from hers, pulled the glass away from her mouth and looked down into it. "It tastes like the keg needs to be changed."

"Probably so." Wes set the pitcher back down and looked at Dakota. "Well, I ain't welcome in my favorite bar in Big Spring right now so we here. Ain't too many places gonna look the other way about you two."

Dakota rolled her eyes. "I can charm my way into any bar." She elbowed Brynn in the side. "This one can, too, when she wants to."

"Too bad for you, it ain't often I want to do that."

Wes leaned back in his chair, his arm draped over the back of it, the toothpick turning once between his teeth. "Ain't nothing wrong with making your looks work for you, Brynny Brynn."

Brynn shook her head and took another sip from her glass.

A man walked over to the table and stopped next to Wes, standing close enough that his belt buckle was at Wes's eye level. He looked down at him. He had twenty years and forty pounds on Wes, his arms thick through the forearms, a line of dirt pressed into the creases of his knuckles.

Wes tilted his chair back on two legs and looked up at him. "Can I help you, buddy?"

"Ain't you Wes Cody?"

Wes nodded. "That's what my mama named me. Who asking?"

"You hustled my brother out of three-fifty."

"I ain't do nothing of the sort. I'm an honest man when it come to betting."

The man pointed at Dakota and Brynn, his finger moving between them. "My brother said you had two young looking girls with you, said they distracted him when y'all were shooting pool."

Dakota tipped her glass back and set it down. "Sound to me like your brother ain't too good if some ass and tits make him lose."

Brynn shook her head.

The man's jaw tightened. "Shut up, girl. This man business."

Wes held his hands up. "I don't want no trouble. Just enjoying a drink with my friends here. But I ain't got no money to give you if that's what you're looking for."

The man reached across the table, picked up Wes' Twister by the crown and held it at his side. "I'm gonna take this here hat as repayment."

Wes shrugged. "Do what you gotta do."

He pushed his chair back from the table, the legs scraping across the floor, and looked at Dakota and Brynn. "I don't think we welcome here right now."

Dakota and Brynn stood up. Dakota went first, stepping wide around the man and heading for the door. Brynn came behind her and the man held his arm out across her path, his forearm at the level of her chest.

She stopped. "Excuse me."

He held there, his arm steady, his eyes on her face. A second passed. Then he dropped his arm, leaving the gap between his body and the edge of the table narrow enough that she had to turn sideways to pass. Her shoulder brushed his chest and her hip caught the table's edge as she squeezed through, her hands pulling in close to her body. She cleared him and kept walking, her stride even, her eyes on Dakota's back ahead of her.

They pushed through the door into the parking lot. The sun hit them hard after the dark of the bar, the highway shimmering beyond the gravel lot, the truck parked at the far end in the only strip of shade a mesquite tree threw.

Wes nodded to the man through the doorway. "Enjoy that hat now."

He walked across the lot and got into the truck. Dakota slid across the bench seat to the middle and Brynn pulled herself in against the passenger door, her hand finding the handle and pulling it shut. Wes started the engine, backed out onto the highway, dropped it into drive and reached for his phone. Music came through the speakers, the bass rattling in the door panels.

They were a quarter mile down the road when Brynn reached into her pocket and pulled out a wallet, brown leather, worn soft at the fold. She held it up where Dakota could see it.

Dakota's smile spread slow across her face. She took it from Brynn's hand and flipped it open. "William Barlowe." She read the name off the license and looked over at Brynn. "How much money did you have, William?"

She opened the money side and pulled the bills out one at a time, counting them flat against her thigh. Four twenties and a five. She set the cash in her lap, went through the rest of the wallet, the cards, the receipts, a gas station punch card, and handed the empty leather back to Brynn.

Brynn took it, rolled the window down and flicked it out into the wind. It tumbled once across the asphalt and disappeared into the brush along the shoulder.

Wes looked over at them and smiled, the toothpick shifting to the other side of his mouth. He looked up at the rearview mirror. The man stood in the highway behind them, his body small and getting smaller, his arm raised, his finger pointed in their direction.

Travis Meeks sat across from his wife in a booth at the back of the restaurant with a steak in front of him and a glass of sweet tea sweating on the table next to his plate. Erika had a salad with the dressing on the side and a glass of white wine she'd been working on since they sat down. The restaurant was half full, the noise level low enough that the country playing through the speakers could be heard between conversations.

Erika set her fork down and leaned back against the booth. "I think we should put a spool in our backyard."

Travis looked up from his steak. "What the fuck is a spool?"

Erika shook her head. "You gotta get with the times, honey. It's a spa pool. One of those little pools like they got at all those fancy hotels."

"Why would you want a little pool?"

"'Cause I ain't doing nothing but working on my tan and taking a little dip. I don't need no Olympic size pool in Odessa. They gonna run us out of town if we use up all the water."

Travis cut into his steak, the knife pressing through the meat into the plate. "They might run us out of town when they find out I let you get a fucking spool like you live in Dallas."

"You know they say happy wife, happy life."

Travis snorted a laugh. He was opening his mouth to say something when two men walked up to the edge of the booth, their bodies blocking the aisle, their hands already coming forward. Joe Rutherford and Derek Vance. Boosters.

Joe held his hand out. "How you doin', coach?"

Travis shook it, then gestured across the table with his fork. "Just enjoying dinner with my wife. What can I do for you, boys?"

Derek nodded to Erika. "Ma'am." He looked back at Travis. "Y'all gotta get that colored boy on defense, Travis."

Travis raised an eyebrow. "And which one is that?"

Joe stepped in closer to the booth, his hand resting on the back of the seat. "That boy from Louisiana. That nigger can run fast but he scared to get hit. Tell Kendrick to put that boy on defense where he can shine and get that boy up out of the JV to run behind Beau." He looked at Derek. "What's his name? That big Mexican boy."

"Jose," Derek said.

"Put Jose in there."

Travis set his fork down. "I think his name's Eduardo."

Derek waved the correction off, his hand turning once in the air. "I just know that boy's two-fifty of tacos and he runs in a straight line."

Travis nodded, then held up his hand. "I appreciate the tips, fellas. We'll take a look at it."

Joe tapped the back of the booth with his knuckles. "You do that. I'd hate to see something happen to Beau and then you got a nigger back there doing a two step while the defense hang him up."

Derek nodded to Erika again. "Ma'am."

The two of them walked off toward the front of the restaurant, Joe clapping a hand on someone's shoulder at another table as they passed.

Erika picked up her wine and took a sip, her eyes following them over the rim of the glass. "They always got such a way with words around here."

Travis picked his fork back up and cut another piece of steak. "They ain't wrong that Saint needs to stop dancing in the backfield."

"Ain't that what they call a change of pace back, coach?"

Travis shook his head, chewing. "I think I'm the one coaching the offense, bae."

Erika shrugged, her wine glass tilting in her hand. "I might do it better." She smiled at him across the table, the smile holding for a beat before she set the glass down. "So about that spool?"

The house was full and loud, the bass coming through the walls from a speaker somewhere in the living room, bodies packed into the kitchen and the hallway and spilling out through the back door into the yard. Red cups on every surface, a folding table set up for beer pong near the sliding glass door, the overhead light turned off and a string of Christmas lights taped along the ceiling throwing everything in a dim, uneven glow.

Beau stood in the kitchen with a beer in his hand, punctured at the bottom, the can tilted up above his mouth. He drained it in one pull, crushed it and threw it on the floor. He grabbed another from the counter, pulled his key from his pocket, stabbed the can near the base, put his mouth over the hole, popped the tab and drained that one too. The beer ran down his chin and into the collar of his shirt. He crushed it, threw it, grabbed a third. The same motion. Stab, mouth, tab, drain. He threw the third can down on top of the other two and raised both arms above his head.

"Fuck yeah! We're getting fucking drunk tonight, boys!"

Saint snorted a laugh, shaking his head as he looked at Cruz. Cruz cracked open his own beer and took a sip from it, his eyes still on Beau.

Beau turned away from two guys trying to talk to him and threw his arms around Saint and Cruz's shoulders, pulling them in, the weight of him hanging between them, his breath hot and sour with beer.

"Boys, let's go find some pussy." He looked over at Saint then nodded toward Cruz. "We know he ain't got none since Jessica stopped fucking with him."

Saint laughed. "I'm going to hope he fucked Tiffany."

Beau tilted his head, his lips pushed out, considering. He turned to Cruz. "You fucked your Pepette, bro?"

Cruz sucked his teeth. "She talking about she's trying to save herself for marriage."

Beau's eyebrows pulled together. "Then why the fuck would she want to be a Pepette?"

"That's what I'm fucking saying."

Beau shoved both of them forward, his palms flat against their backs, then grabbed two more beers off the counter, one in each hand, and slid between them. He pushed through the crowd toward the back of the house, his shoulders turning sideways to fit through the bodies, his voice calling out to people as he passed.

Saint and Cruz followed him toward the back door. Addison stepped into Saint's path before he reached it, her hand landing on his chest, her body close enough that he could smell the vanilla in whatever she was wearing. Her eyes stayed on his face.

Behind them Beau turned in the doorway, a beer in each hand, and pointed one at Saint. "Fuck her in the ass, Saint!" He disappeared through the door. Cruz shook his head and followed him out.

Addison kept her eyes on Saint. She pressed in closer, her hand still flat against his chest.

"You been hiding from me, Saint?"

Saint shook his head. "I just got here like twenty minutes ago."

She smiled. "Well, I'm glad you came. I was beginning to think you didn't like me."

"Why would you think that?"

"Because you've never asked me to come over."

Saint shrugged, his beer hanging at his side. "My mama don't really like white girls coming to her house."

Addison raised an eyebrow. "Oh, she's one of those mamas."

"Yep, one of those. And I don't want to find out what she gonna do if she catch you there."

"I guess you'll just have to come over to mine."

"Guess so."

Addison looked around the room, her eyes scanning the crowd, then looked back at Saint and nodded toward a hallway leading to another part of the house. "You want to make up for that then?"

"Yeah, we can do that."

Her smile widened. She reached down and took his hand, her fingers lacing through his, and pulled him forward through the crowd toward the hallway.

[Captain Canada]

Oh damn, Saint REALLY gonna fuck her in the ass huh.

[redsox907]

wait I thought Saint was with Brynn? not even three chapters in and you've had two mains cheat on their ladies

wouldn't be a Caesar production without it, I suppose

sounds like Brynn had something happen to her in the system, eh?

[Caesar]

Oh damn, Saint REALLY gonna fuck her in the ass huh.

She seems open to the possibility.

wait I thought Saint was with Brynn? not even three chapters in and you've had two mains cheat on their ladies

wouldn't be a Caesar production without it, I suppose

sounds like Brynn had something happen to her in the system, eh?

Did he cheat? The specifics of their relationship will be revealed in due time, but the chaotic nature of their lives (i.e. potentially being placed somewhere else with little to no notice) surely would make it difficult to fully commit to a typical relationship

Beau definitely did, though, but it's the #culture. Paisley's his Pepette. Can't be breaking tradition. (The same logic could be applied to Saint in that he's just participating in the culture to fit in since Addison's his Pepette and we see how Cruz was mocked for not cracking his, but we'll just leave that thread out.) Gracie understands tradition!

The system's a dangerous place for young girls.

[Caesar]

1.4 Whipstock

Brynn sat on the bench outside the main building at Midland Lee with her legs pulled up and her arms around her knees, her chin resting on the flat of her forearm. Harper sat cross-legged next to her with a bag of chips open between them, her hands moving as she talked, the words coming fast and running together.

"He picked me up in his daddy's truck and I swear to God he didn't say a single word the entire drive. Like nothing. I'm sitting there talking about whatever and he's just nodding."

"Maybe he was nervous."

"Nervous is one thing. This boy was like a hostage. I thought he was gonna pass out when I touched his arm."

Brynn snorted a laugh.

"And then he tried to pay for everything with a gift card that didn't have enough on it, so I had to Venmo the girl at the counter the difference while he just stood there."

"That's rough."

Harper shook her head, her ponytail swinging behind her. "It was so bad, Brynn. Like I wanted to text my mom from the bathroom and tell her to come get me." She reached into the chip bag and pulled out a handful, eating a few then held the bag out toward Brynn. Brynn took one chip and ate it. Harper pulled the bag back into her lap. "You ever been on a date that bad?"

Brynn shrugged, her arms still wrapped around her knees. "I don’t know. Maybe?"

Harper rolled her eyes. "I'm talking about a real date. Like someone picks you up, takes you somewhere, the whole thing."

"Then no."

Harper leaned her shoulder into Brynn's, the bump gentle, her body settling back after. "Speaking of, did you ever go out with Reid again? He's been asking about you."

Brynn shook her head. "No."

"Why not? He's cute. And he's actually nice, which is rare around here."

"I just didn't."

Harper waited. When nothing else came she shrugged and reached for the chip bag. "Well, he's still asking. Just so you know."

Brynn nodded.

Harper looked at her for a beat then went back to the chips, launching into a story about her older sister getting into a fight with their mom over borrowing the car, her voice picking up speed again, her hands working through the details. The keys on the counter, the door slamming, the text her sister sent afterward that their mom screenshot and sent to their dad. Brynn listened, her chin on her knees, putting in a "that's crazy" or a nod at the right moments, her eyes on the parking lot past the walkway where kids were cutting across the grass toward the gym.

The bell rang and Harper crumpled the chip bag then stuffed it into her backpack, standing up. She looked down at Brynn.

"You coming to Ashley's thing on Friday?"

"Maybe."

"That means no."

"It means maybe."

Harper shook her head, smiling, and started walking toward the building. Brynn stood up, grabbed her backpack by the strap and followed her in.

Saint sat in the chair across from Yolanda Marsh's desk with his bag between his feet and his hands resting on his knees. The desk was covered with stacked folders rising in uneven columns, a half-eaten sandwich on a napkin pushed to one corner, a coffee mug with a ring dried brown inside it. A framed photo of two kids sat near the edge of the desk, angled toward her.

Yolanda had a form in front of her and a pen in her hand, her eyes scanning the page as she worked through the questions.

"How's the placement going? Any issues with Gary or the other kids?"

"It's fine."

Yolanda looked up at him over the form, waiting.

"Gary's cool. No problems."

She wrote something down and moved on. "School?"

"It's school."

Yolanda set her pen down and leaned back in her chair, rubbing the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. "Saint, I been doing these with you since you were nine. You know what I'm asking and I know what you're giving me. Can we just skip the part where I ask you twenty questions and you say 'fine' to all of them?"

Saint shrugged. "I don't know what you want me to say. Everything fine."

"I want you to tell me the truth so I can do my job."

"I am telling you the truth."

Yolanda looked at him for a beat then picked the pen back up. "Alright."

She went through the next few questions: is he eating enough, does he feel safe, does he need anything. Saint answered each one short. Yes. Yes. No. Yolanda wrote it all down. She flipped the form over and set it on top of one of the stacks on her desk, the paper settling into the pile. She folded her hands together and looked at him.

"Football going good?"

Saint nodded. "Yeah."

"I heard you got into it with somebody at practice."

Saint's jaw shifted. "Who told you that?"

"I'm your caseworker, Saint. People tell me things."

"It wasn't nothing. I handled it."

Yolanda nodded. "I know you handled it. I'm asking if you're okay."

"I'm straight."

Yolanda held his eyes for a second then nodded again and leaned forward, pulling another folder from the stack and opening it. "I need you to do me a favor."

Saint paused as he was standing up.

"Can you tell Brynn to stop rescheduling her assessments? I've been trying to get her in here for three weeks. She cancels every time."

"I'll tell her."

"I'm not trying to make her life harder. I just need her to come sit in this chair for twenty minutes so I can check the boxes and make sure nobody moves her again."

Saint nodded.

Yolanda looked at him. "Thank you."

Saint finished standing up, grabbing his bag from the floor by the strap and swinging it onto his shoulder.

"Saint."

He stopped at the door with his hand on the knob.

"If something ain't fine, you can tell me. That's what I'm here for."

Saint nodded. "I know."

The offense lined up in a single back formation, Saint alone in the backfield behind Tanner, his hands on his knees, his weight forward on the balls of his feet. Tanner took the snap, turned and pitched it to Saint running to his right, the ball spiraling in a tight arc before Saint caught it against his hip. Danny pulled across the formation ahead of him, his pads low, his feet working the turf in short heavy steps. Trevon sealed the backside.

Saint got to the edge and Wyatt filled the alley, squaring his shoulders, his feet chopping the turf as he broke down into position. Saint planted his outside foot, stuttered once, shifted his hips left and cut back against the grain, Wyatt's hands grabbing at the space where Saint had been a half second before. He slipped past Hector at the second level with a shoulder dip, found the open field beyond him and took it, his legs stretching into a full sprint, the turf opening up ahead of him for twenty yards before Andres angled him toward the sideline.

Meeks blew the whistle. He pulled the visor off his head and held it at his side, pointing at Saint with his other hand as Saint jogged back toward the huddle.

"You had the fucking edge, Bazile. Danny's out there busting his ass to give you a lane and you cut back into the God damn traffic. You got lucky."

"I got twenty yards."

"You got twenty yards because Hector fell on his damn ass. You do that shit in a game and you're getting hit in the fucking backfield for a loss."

Saint shook his head.

Meeks pointed to the sideline. "Get out. Beau."

Beau jogged onto the field, slapping Saint on the shoulder pad as they passed. Saint walked to the sideline, turned around and stood there with his helmet in his hand.

Beau took the handoff on the same play, got behind Danny, hit the hole, shoulders square, pad level low, north and south. Damion met him two yards past the line and Beau ran through him, his legs churning, his pads grinding against Damion's chest until Damion's feet gave and his body went sideways. Beau picked up six before Wyatt and Cruz brought him down together.

Meeks clapped his hands once. "That's the damn play. Same play, six yards, nobody guessing."

Saint stood on the sideline, watching.

After two more reps with Beau, Meeks waved Saint back onto the field. The offense lined up. Tanner took the snap, turned and put the ball into Saint's stomach. Saint took it with both hands and hit the line. Cole got a clean block on Damion, drove him back and held him. Marco walled off the backside and the hole opened, wide and clear, the kind of lane Meeks drew on whiteboards and talked about in meetings.

Saint hit it for a step. Then he felt DeShawn crashing down from the second level, the vibration of his weight coming through the turf, and Saint cut to the outside, spinning off the contact as Deshawn's arm brushed across his back, his feet finding the space where the bodies weren't. He picked up eight yards before Lane pushed him out of bounds.

Meeks ripped the visor off again and slammed it against his thigh. "What did I just fucking tell you? The hole was right fucking there! You had five easy yards and you go spinning off to the outside for what?"

"I got eight."

Meeks stepped toward him, his finger up. "I don't give a shit about eight. I give a shit about you doing what I told you to do. You think you're smarter than the play? You think you see something I don't see? You want to coach the fucking team?"

Saint reached up, taking his mouthpiece out before popping it back between his lips to chew on it.

"When I tell you to hit the hole, you hit the fucking hole. Period. Get off the field."

Saint pulled his helmet off and walked to the sideline.

On the far side of the field Kendrick stood with his arms folded, his whistle hanging from his neck, his hat pulled low. He watched Meeks wave Beau back onto the field, his expression blank.

Kaitlyn pulled into the driveway of her house on Maple and killed the engine, a bag of takeout from Rosa's sitting on the passenger seat, the grease already darkening the bottom of the paper. She got out, grabbed the bag and her work bag from the back seat and started up the walk.

Her next door neighbor, Darlene, was sitting in a lawn chair on her own porch with a glass of iced tea, her legs crossed at the ankle, the evening settling in around her.

"Working late again?"

Kaitlyn shifted the bags on her shoulder. "Grading night."

Darlene shook her head. "You need a nice man over there to have dinner waiting on you when you get home."

Kaitlyn smiled. "I don't think I'm fit for an Odessa man, Darlene."

Darlene waved her hand at that, the gesture loose and final. "Go to Midland then. They got a little more culture over there."

Kaitlyn laughed. "I'll think about it."

Darlene lifted her tea glass toward her. "You do that, sweetheart. Goodnight now."

"Goodnight."

Kaitlyn went inside and locked the door behind her. She dropped her work bag by the couch, took the takeout to the kitchen and set it on the counter. She walked back to her bedroom, pulled her shirt over her head, stepped out of her jeans, kicked her shoes into the closet and changed into a t-shirt and a pair of shorts. She came back to the living room, grabbed her work bag and the takeout, sat down on the couch and opened the food on the coffee table in front of her.

She picked up the remote and turned on the TV, scrolling through Netflix until she found something and let it play. She pulled the stack of color studies out of her bag, a pen and her grade book, and started working through them as she ate.

She went through the stack one at a time, writing grades on the back, flipping to the next. Most of them got a glance and a number. She held a few for a second longer before marking them and moving on.

She got to Saint's. She stopped chewing and held it up, turning it in the light from the TV. The composition, the layering, the way he'd built depth out of cheap colored pencils by working one color over another until the pigment held weight it shouldn't have been able to hold. She looked at it for a long moment then shook her head.

"He's wasting all of that on football."

She turned it over, wrote 100 on the back and set it on the graded pile.

Saint and Brynn walked along the shoulder of the road with the sun low behind them and their shadows stretching long across the asphalt, the light catching the tops of the pump jacks in the fields on both sides, the mesquite throwing crooked lines across the dirt. Saint had his bag over one shoulder while Brynn walked beside him with her hands in the pockets of her jacket.

"You need to get another guitar."

Brynn shook her head. "So somebody can steal it again? I only had the one in Spring three weeks before someone took it."

"You could keep it at Gary's. Or at Remy's. Ain’t nobody gonna mess with it."

Brynn shrugged.

Saint looked over at her. "I just want to hear you sing again."

Brynn looked at him. A small smile crossed her face but it faded before it settled and she looked back at the road ahead of them.

A truck slowed behind them, the engine dropping into a low idle as it pulled alongside. The window came down and Holt Breckenridge leaned across the center console, his elbow resting on the passenger seat, his sunglasses pushed up into the salt and pepper hair above his forehead.

Brynn stepped to the side, shifting her body so that Saint was between her and the truck.

Holt's eyes moved to her for a beat then came back to Saint. "Saint. Where you headed, son?"

"Home."

Holt looked up the road in the direction they were walking then back at Saint. "That's a long walk. You need a ride?"

Saint shook his head. "Nah, I'm straight. Appreciate it though."

Holt nodded, his hand resting easy on the steering wheel. "You know, I been meaning to talk to you. I know your situation ain't easy. I could help you out. Got a spare room at one of my properties, nice neighborhood, close to the school. You'd have your own space, your own bed. Wouldn't have to worry about where you're sleeping " He paused. "Just something to think about."

"Yeah, appreciate it, Mr. Breckenridge. I'm good though."

Holt held for a second then nodded, tapping the steering wheel once with his palm. "Alright. You change your mind, you know where to find me." He lifted two fingers off the wheel at Brynn. "Ma'am."

The window went back up and the truck pulled forward down the road, the taillights shrinking in the dusk until it turned off at the intersection ahead of them.

Saint and Brynn started walking again.

"Who was that?" Brynn asked.

"A booster."

Brynn nodded.

They walked in silence for a few steps, the air cooling around them. Saint reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out an oatmeal creme pie, the wrapper crinkling as it came free.

"I forgot I took this off one of the coaches."

He held it out to Brynn and she took it, the corners of her lips tipping up ever so slightly.

[Captain Canada]

I'm sure there's some sorted, tragic reason for it, but Brynn one of the weirdest characters I think you've written yet. I acknowledge we're only 4 chapters in thus I will not press, but let this be known.

Coach just hating on Saint at this point. Production is production.

[Soapy]

Feels like a bootleg FNL so far

Definitely some intriguing characters

Hopefully this weird dynamic doesn’t come between Beau and Saints friendship

[redsox907]

Hopefully this weird dynamic doesn’t come between Beau and Saints friendship

they definitely gonna be fighting by the end. Beau a good ol boy thru and thru.

Saint needs to just bulk up and hit the hole

CC ain't wrong. Brynn weird. But I think it's more sheltered from the system weird than rainbow weird like Saint