Invictus

[Captain Canada]

Season VI | Episode 14 - No Heart

The cold hit differently in Ann Arbor than it did back home in Pittsburgh.

It wasn't necessarily harsher, but it carried a sharper edge, one that found the exposed skin around Zane's jaw and slipped beneath the collar of his jacket. Snow lined the walkways in neat piles where it had been shoveled aside, and students bundled in maize and blue hurried between buildings with their heads down against the January wind.

Zane walked through the center of campus with his hands tucked into the pockets of his black varsity jacket, taking everything in with a pair of eyes that had seen far more since the last time he had stood here.

He remembered that first visit vividly.

Back then, he had been nothing more than a rising high school recruit trying desperately to convince himself he belonged among the country's elite prospects.

He had spent most of the weekend with Cam, trying to fit into a crowd that never really felt like his. Everyone had seemed louder than necessary, more interested in appearances than conversations. The coaching staff had barely looked his way outside of the scheduled recruiting events, and it had become painfully obvious that he wasn't the priority. He had felt more like an extra body invited to help fill out a summer training camp than someone Michigan genuinely wanted to build around.

The memories only got worse from there.

He remembered the expensive restaurant where every plate looked like a work of art but somehow tasted forgettable. He remembered the party afterward, where the music shook the walls and alcohol flowed like water.

It had been the wildest environment he'd experienced at 18 years old. People stumbled through crowded hallways, strangers disappeared upstairs together, and someone had nearly started a fight in the backyard before campus police showed up. He'd left feeling exhausted more than impressed.

Michigan had expected that weekend to sell itself.

It hadn't.

Now everything felt different. He had changed. Life had changed him.

In a little over a year, he had lost both of the people who had raised him. He had watched his grandmother die after days spent clinging to hope in a hospital room. He had learned that his father had taken another man's life in revenge for his grandfather's murder. He had moved on from falling in love for the first time while still carrying pieces of someone he had once foolishly believed he would spend forever with. Somewhere in the middle of all that, he had become the most coveted wide receiver in the transfer portal.

The winner of the Shaun Alexander Freshman of the Year Award.

And suddenly, Michigan wanted him.

Really wanted him.

The difference had started before he had even landed.

Last year they had flown him in economy, squeezed between strangers on a commercial flight before ushering him toward a fancy dinner and assuming the rest would take care of itself.

This time, Tyson had texted him his itinerary the night before. First class. Private transportation.

A personal meeting with head coach Kenny Dillingham before anything else.

No waiting around or wondering where he stood. Coach Dillingham had been direct from the moment they sat down together.

He had spread out depth charts, offensive metrics, and recruiting boards without overwhelming him with numbers.

"We're loaded," he had said matter-of-factly. "Quarterback. Offensive line. Running backs. Defense."

Then, he tapped the receiver column.

"This." Another tap. "This is what's missing."

He leaned back in his chair, a grin building on his face. "You ever watch the 2007 Patriots?"

Of course Zane had. Coach Dillingham hadn't waited for an answer.

"Tom Brady was already Tom Brady." He pointed across the desk. "But when Randy Moss showed up, the offense absolutely erupted" He spread his hands.

The comparison had been ridiculous.

It had also been effective.

Tyson had echoed much of the same afterward, telling Zane that Michigan's NIL package wasn't just competitive - it was among the best they'd received.

"You told me they weren't on your list," Tyson had reminded him over the phone.

"They weren't."

"But?"

"But they're making me think."

Now those thoughts lingered in the back of his mind as he walked beside Bryce Underwood through campus.

Bryce had his hands shoved into the pockets of a thick Michigan jacket, his breath visible every time he spoke. He looked every bit like the face of the program.

After several quiet minutes, Bryce finally broke the silence.

"So."

He glanced sideways.

"You really considering it this time?"

There was something about the way he asked. Zane couldn't quite place it. The words themselves weren't unusual but the tone felt somewhat off.

Last year Bryce had been composed and measured. Similar to how he was in the pocket - impossible to rattle. It was something Zane had grown to expect and appreciate about him.

Today, there was something tighter beneath the surface. Impatience. Cracks in the armor.

Zane decided not to read into it. "Yeah," he answered honestly. "I'm considering Michigan."

Bryce nodded slowly.

"Where else you been?"

Zane shrugged.

"Penn State."

"Texas."

Another.

"Miami."

Bryce nodded again. "And after here?"

"Two more visits."

"The Zane Jones tour keeps rolling." The sarcasm was impossible to miss this time.

Zane glanced at him but said nothing. Bryce looked straight ahead as though he hadn't said anything unusual.

He chose to let it go until about ten seconds later Bryce muttered again, just loud enough for Zane to catch it again.

"Hope you ain't wasting my time again."

Zane stopped walking. His boots crunched into the snow. Bryce took another step before realizing Zane wasn't beside him anymore.

He turned.

"What?"

Zane looked at him evenly. “You got a problem, bro?”

Bryce frowned. “Fuck you talking about?”

Zane shrugged. “You doing too much right now, man. If you got something to say, say it with your chest.”

Bryce let out a short scoff, his eyebrows lifted. "Don't start thinking just because you Freshman of the Year and everybody bigging you up that you can't get checked."

Zane held both hands up.

"It ain't even about that." His voice stayed calm. "I'm asking if there's an issue."

Bryce stared at him for several seconds, his jaw flexed. Eventually he exhaled through his nose.

"You doing too much." He looked away. "Let's just keep it moving."

The answer wasn't really an answer. It was clearly avoidance.

Zane studied him for another moment, trying to understand where the hostility was coming from.

After another long moment, he gave a small nod.

"Aight."

Bryce returned the nod, and without another word the two resumed walking through Michigan's snow-covered campus, the silence between them far heavier than the winter air.

***

The knock at Bianca's door was so soft that she almost convinced herself she had imagined it.

She lifted her head from the pillow and listened. Beyond the window, thick snow drifted lazily beneath the amber glow of the campus streetlights, muting the usual sounds of Ann Arbor into something peaceful.

Her phone rested forgotten beside her, the screen dark after another evening spent pretending to read while her thoughts wandered somewhere hundreds of miles away. She inhaled deeply through her nose, steadying herself before swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

The hardwood floor was cold beneath her feet as she crossed the room. Before reaching the door, she caught her reflection in the narrow mirror mounted beside it. Black sweatpants. An oversized Michigan hoodie. Her hair had been tied back loosely, though several dark strands had escaped and framed her face. She brushed them behind her ear with one hand, exhaled, and pulled open the door.

Her breath caught.

Zane stood in the hallway, his broad frame nearly filling it. Snowflakes clung to the shoulders of his black jacket before slowly melting into dark patches. His locs had grown considerably since she'd last really looked at him, now hanging just above his shoulders, giving him an older, rougher appearance than the boy she remembered. The grief etched into his features hadn't disappeared, but it had settled into something quieter, something heavier.

For several seconds neither of them spoke.

Bianca simply stepped aside.

Zane nodded once in silent thanks before ducking inside. The room suddenly felt much smaller with him in it. His eyes wandered slowly across the space - the bookshelf crammed with textbooks, medals hanging from a hook near the closet, framed family photographs resting atop her dresser, and the string lights stretched across the far wall that cast the room in a warm amber glow.

"So," he finally said, turning back toward her with the faintest hint of amusement, "this is the dorm room I've heard such good things about?"

A reluctant smile found Bianca's lips.

"I didn't expect you to actually show up."

He shrugged casually before walking over and lowering himself onto the edge of her bed, his hands resting together between his knees.

"You asked me to stop by while I was visiting." He looked up at her. "So, here I am."

Bianca remained standing for a moment, studying him. Even sitting down he looked enormous in the tiny dorm room. The silence between them wasn't awkward. It was familiar. It reminded her of all the afternoons they'd spent together where words hadn't been necessary.

She folded her arms lightly across her chest.

"How are you doing?"

The question lingered.

Zane let out a long breath, his shoulders sinking.

"You know me - just trying to survive, as per usual."

There wasn't any dramatics in the way he said it. No attempt to earn sympathy. It sounded like simple fact.

Bianca nodded slowly. "I figured."

He rubbed his palms together before looking back up.

"What about you? How's Michigan? Getting ready for the season?"

She leaned back against the bookshelf, crossing one ankle over the other.

"It's been alright, I guess. Don’t love having to wait all year to compete.."

He waited.

"Katie and I have actually been doing a lot of research."

"About?"

She smiled faintly. "Where we're transferring after the semester."

Zane's eyebrows shot upward.

"You're transferring?"

"You didn't know?"

He shook his head.

“Why would I know that?"

Her smile widened just enough to tease him.

"I suppose we would actually have to talk every once in a while for you to find things like that out."

Zane couldn't help laughing quietly.

"Fair enough." He lifted both hands in surrender. "You got me there."

The tension eased for the first time since he had arrived. Silence settled over them again, softer now.

Outside, snow continued drifting past the window while distant laughter echoed somewhere down the hallway before fading away completely.

Zane stared down at his hands for several moments before finally asking the question that had clearly been sitting inside him.

"Do you think-" He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Do you think we could ever just be friends?"

Bianca's smile disappeared.

She looked toward the window instead of him. Her chest rose and fell once before she slowly shook her head.

"No."

The answer came so gently that it almost hurt more.

She looked back at him. "I don't think I could."

Zane watched her quietly.

"No matter what I've done," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper, "no matter how much I've tried to move forward, no matter where I've been or who I've spent time around."

Her eyes found his.

"It's always been you."

Neither of them moved.

After a long pause, Zane tilted his head slightly.

"Who have you been spending time around?"

A laugh escaped Bianca despite herself.

"There was a brief thing with Bryce Underwood." She shrugged. "It never became anything."

Understanding flickered across Zane's face as pieces of his visit to Michigan suddenly fell into place.

"So that's why he was acting weird."

Bianca gave a tiny nod. "I guess."

She pushed herself away from the bookshelf and slowly crossed the room until she stood directly in front of him.

For a moment she simply looked down at him.

The months apart. The missed phone calls. The breakup.

The funeral.

Everything they had lost and everything neither of them had found the courage to say seemed to fill the tiny dorm room.

Very gently, she lifted both hands and cupped his face.

He reached up slowly and rested one hand over hers, his thumb brushing lightly across her fingers.

She searched his face for another long moment before whispering, "I've missed you for so long."

Zane swallowed hard.

"I've missed you too."

The words were quiet, but they carried every mile that had separated them.

Bianca leaned down slowly. Their foreheads brushed first.

Then, with all the hesitation of two people carrying far more history than certainty, she kissed him.

It was gentle. Familiar.

A moment suspended between everything they had been and everything they still hadn't figured out.

***

The house greeted Zane with a silence that had become impossible to get used to. After two relentless weeks of airports, rental cars, hotel rooms, and football facilities spread across the country, the old Jones home should have felt comforting.

Instead, the quiet pressed against him the moment he stepped through the front door, as though the walls themselves remembered who was missing.

He let out a slow breath and closed the door behind him, lingering there for a second while the familiar scent of old wood, laundry detergent, and the faint remnants of Mary's cooking seemed to exist only as ghosts.

His shoulders sagged beneath the weight of travel. His body ached from sleeping in airplane seats and unfamiliar beds, and all he wanted was to shower, climb into his own bed, and stop making decisions for a few hours.

He dropped his keys into the bowl beside the entrance and stood there with one hand gripping the handle of his duffel bag, allowing himself to replay everything that had happened over the last fortnight.

Penn State had offered him home. Coach Campbell had spoken about legacy, about staying close to family, about carrying Pennsylvania football forward in front of people who had watched him grow up. It had been emotional in ways Zane hadn't expected.

Texas had been something entirely different. Austin had overwhelmed him from the second he'd stepped onto campus, the scale of everything making Syracuse feel microscopic by comparison. Coach Sarkisian had barely bothered discussing contracts or NIL figures because Texas knew money wasn't the selling point. They had sold him a lifestyle, a vision, a chance to become larger than life in the heart of the SEC.

Michigan had stirred up feelings he thought he'd buried months ago. Walking through Ann Arbor again had felt like reopening a scar that had never completely healed. He had imagined wearing winged helmets long before Syracuse had ever entered the picture. Now the Wolverines suddenly wanted him more than almost anyone in the country. Their College Football Playoff run had only reinforced how dangerous they were becoming, especially with Bryce Underwood commanding the offense. Even without Bianca, it was difficult not to imagine what catching passes in the Big House would feel like.

Miami had offered something similar to Texas - sunshine, confidence, swagger - but it also carried something Texas couldn't provide. Malik was there. Having someone who knew him as well as Malik did mattered more than Zane had realized before the visit.

He still had two official visits remaining, and despite how exhausted he was, he had promised Tyson he would see every school before making a decision. He owed himself that much.

Still lost in thought, he hauled his duffel bag toward the staircase, each step echoing throughout the house. He had only reached the first stair when a soft clink of glass drifted from somewhere deeper inside the home.

He froze.

The sound was unmistakable.

Not the settling of the house. Not the heater kicking on.

Glass.

His eyebrows knit together. Slowly, he lowered the duffel bag back onto the hardwood floor. Every muscle in his body tightened as he quietly made his way toward the kitchen.

The room beyond sat almost entirely in darkness, only a sliver of pale moonlight slipping through the window above the sink. Zane reached around the doorway and flicked the light switch.

The kitchen exploded into warm yellow light.

Rasheed sat alone at the table.

His father winced immediately, lifting one hand toward his face against the sudden brightness. A nearly empty bottle of Jameson rested beside him, only about a third of the amber liquid still remaining.

A rocks glass sat in front of him with a few melting cubes of ice drifting lazily around another pour. Judging by the bottle, he hadn't just started drinking.

He had been sitting there for quite a while.

Rasheed grimaced.

"Did i ask to have the damn light on?"

Zane stared at him for a second before letting out an incredulous breath through his nose.

"It's weird drinking in the pitch black."

Rasheed simply shook his head as though that explanation bored him. He picked up the Jameson, tilted it over his glass, and let another measure splash over the ice. The cubes cracked sharply beneath the whiskey before settling again.

Rather than continue the argument, Zane walked past him toward the sink. He opened the faucet and held a crystal glass beneath the stream of cold water. The rushing sound briefly drowned out the silence between them.

As the glass filled, something caught his eye.

One porcelain teacup still rested inside the sink.

A faint pink smudge of lipstick marked the rim.

The sight hit him harder than he expected.

His chest tightened so suddenly he forgot to breathe. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, gripping the edge of the counter while memories assaulted him without warning - his grandmother carrying that same cup through the house every morning, steeping tea while humming old gospel songs, laughing with friends over the phone while absentmindedly washing dishes. Somehow no one had cleaned that final cup.

Or maybe no one had wanted to.

The water continued overflowing into the sink until he finally reached forward and shut the tap off.

He stared into the now motionless glass. Without turning around, he spoke quietly.

"Are we ever going to fix things?"

Behind him came the sound of Rasheed lifting his drink. He took a long swallow before placing the glass back onto the table with enough force to make it knock against the bottle.

"Fix what things?"

Zane remained facing the sink.

"Our relationship, Dad." He swallowed. "What the hell are we? Roommates until I ship back off to college?"

Rasheed shrugged so casually it almost looked rehearsed.

"Might as well."

Zane's jaw flexed.

He tightened his grip around the glass until his knuckles turned white.

"So what are you gonna do?" he asked, finally turning around. "Keep murdering people around the city while I'm gone? Hole up in your parents' house until somebody puts two through your temple?"

Again, Rasheed shrugged.

He leaned farther back in his chair now, facing his son directly. His eyes had become glassy from the whiskey, but they remained alert.

"I stand on my belief system," he answered evenly. "At least I don't tie my whole personality to whoever happens to be standing closest to me."

Zane frowned.

"What the hell does that mean?"

A dry, humorless chuckle escaped Rasheed.

"The last thing I thought I'd ever raise was a son with no damn sense of self."

That finally pulled Zane's attention completely away from his own anger.

Rasheed leaned forward slightly.

"I've watched you," he continued. "All these little friends. All these girls you've had around you. Them boys know exactly who the fuck they is. Those girls too. Maria or Mariah, whatever her name is. She ain’t over here waiting on your ass to figure shit out."

His finger slowly pointed toward Zane.

"But you?"

He narrowed his eyes.

"You're a mirror."

Zane didn't interrupt.

"You reflect whatever you think the person in front of you needs you to be. Around one person you're this. Around somebody else you're something different."

Rasheed stared directly into him now.

"So tell me."

His voice lowered.

"Who the fuck are you?"

Silence filled the kitchen.

"At the core of what makes a man a man," Rasheed continued, "who are you?"

Zane slowly set his glass down on the counter. He crossed his arms tightly across his chest.

"So that's your defense?"

Rasheed lifted an eyebrow.

"You choosing to be a gangbanger and standing on it somehow makes what you do okay?"

A smirk tugged at one corner of Rasheed's mouth.

"No." He shook his head. "It doesn't make it okay."

His expression flattened again.

"But it's who I am."

He tapped his own chest. "For better or worse, this is the road I chose."

His gaze drifted briefly toward the hallway, toward the rooms where Felix and Mary had once lived.

"Your granddad was stubborn as a damn goat," Rasheed muttered. "Wouldn't bend for anybody. Your grandma was a pacifist. Tried to keep peace wherever she went."

He looked back toward Zane.

"But both of them stood on who they were."

He paused.

"You stepped to me at that hospital because you thought that's what you were supposed to do."

Another pause.

"Not because it's what you actually wanted."

Zane felt irritation flare hotter inside his chest.

He shook his head slowly.

"It's incredible you think you know me at all." His voice hardened. "You spent the last decade failing at being a father."

He took one deliberate step closer.

"And before that?"

Another step.

"You failed at being a son."

Something shifted across Rasheed's face.

His mouth opened.

Then closed again.

For the first time since Zane had walked into the kitchen, the older man seemed unsure of himself.

Zane bent forward until they were nearly eye level despite Rasheed remaining seated.

"Killing Grandpa's killer doesn't erase 20-plus years of being a disgrace of a son."

Every word landed deliberately.

"It doesn't absolve you."

His voice softened - not with forgiveness, but disappointment.

"I was just hoping-"

He swallowed.

"-that you'd use whatever time we still had together to at least try being my father."

Neither man spoke. The heater kicked on somewhere inside the walls.

Its familiar rattle echoed through the kitchen.

Zane held his father's gaze for another long second before straightening back up.

He turned toward the doorway.

"I guess I was wrong to think that."

Without waiting for an answer, he walked away, leaving Rasheed alone beneath the harsh kitchen light with nothing but a half-empty bottle of Jameson, the untouched silence of the house, and words that lingered long after Zane's footsteps disappeared upstairs.

[Caesar]

She searched his face for another long moment before whispering, "I've missed you for so long."

Zane swallowed hard.

"I've missed you too."

The words were quiet, but they carried every mile that had separated them.

Bianca leaned down slowly. Their foreheads brushed first.

Then, with all the hesitation of two people carrying far more history than certainty, she kissed him.

It was gentle. Familiar.

A moment suspended between everything they had been and everything they still hadn't figured out.

Never wrong.

Just early.

[Captain Canada]

She searched his face for another long moment before whispering, "I've missed you for so long."

Zane swallowed hard.

"I've missed you too."

The words were quiet, but they carried every mile that had separated them.

Bianca leaned down slowly. Their foreheads brushed first.

Then, with all the hesitation of two people carrying far more history than certainty, she kissed him.

It was gentle. Familiar.

A moment suspended between everything they had been and everything they still hadn't figured out.

Never wrong.

Just early.

God forbid a man has a moment of weakness amidst a period of turmoil

[Caesar]

God forbid a man has a moment of weakness amidst a period of turmoil

[redsox907]

She searched his face for another long moment before whispering, "I've missed you for so long."

Zane swallowed hard.

"I've missed you too."

The words were quiet, but they carried every mile that had separated them.

Bianca leaned down slowly. Their foreheads brushed first.

Then, with all the hesitation of two people carrying far more history than certainty, she kissed him.

It was gentle. Familiar.

A moment suspended between everything they had been and everything they still hadn't figured out.

Never wrong.

Just early.

we both been saying that shit for a minute.

Zane and Bianca either go to Texas or Miami. He ain't going to the Big House with Bryce lurking over his shoulder

[Captain Canada]

God forbid a man has a moment of weakness amidst a period of turmoil

She searched his face for another long moment before whispering, "I've missed you for so long."

Zane swallowed hard.

"I've missed you too."

The words were quiet, but they carried every mile that had separated them.

Bianca leaned down slowly. Their foreheads brushed first.

Then, with all the hesitation of two people carrying far more history than certainty, she kissed him.

It was gentle. Familiar.

A moment suspended between everything they had been and everything they still hadn't figured out.

Never wrong.

Just early.

we both been saying that shit for a minute.

Zane and Bianca either go to Texas or Miami. He ain't going to the Big House with Bryce lurking over his shoulder

Y'all been saying a lot of shit for a minute, if we keeping it a bean

[Captain Canada]

Season VI | Episode 15 - Man In The Mirror

Zane sat behind the wheel of his car, one hand draped lazily across the top of the steering wheel while the other rested against the center console. The engine idled beneath him with its familiar, steady purr, the heater finally beginning to push warm air into the cabin after fighting against another bitter Pittsburgh morning.

Snow from the previous night's storm had been plowed into uneven piles along the edge of the convenience store parking lot, their dirty white mounds already beginning to melt beneath the pale winter sun.

He watched customers come and go through the glass storefront without much interest, occasionally glancing at the clock on the dashboard before returning his attention outside.

This had quietly become part of his routine over the past couple of weeks. Wake up. Lift. Eat. Help Cam train. Answer Tyson's calls. Lift again. Sleep. Repeat. It wasn't glamorous, but routine had become one of the few things holding him together after everything that had happened.

The front door of the convenience store swung open, and Cam stepped outside carrying a white plastic bag that clinked softly with every stride.

The outlines of several Gatorade bottles bulged against the thin plastic. He made it only a few steps before abruptly slowing to a stop. His eyes swept across the parking lot in quick, nervous movements, lingering on an older pickup truck idling near the pumps before darting toward the road and then behind him again.

His shoulders visibly tightened beneath his hoodie. For a brief second, he looked like someone expecting bad news to emerge from any direction. Then, after taking what looked like a deliberate breath to steady himself, he hurried toward the passenger side of Zane's car.

The door flew open, allowing a gust of freezing air to spill into the cabin before Cam quickly climbed inside and shut it behind him. He dropped the plastic bag onto the floorboard between his feet, where the bottles shifted noisily against one another.

Zane didn't put the car into gear.

Instead, he looked over.

"What the hell's been going on with you?"

Cam blinked, genuinely caught off guard.

"What you mean?"

Zane tilted his head toward the windshield.

"You."

Cam frowned.

"What about me?"

Zane let out a quiet scoff.

"You look like a damn deer caught in headlights every time we're out somewhere."

Cam gave an awkward laugh that sounded more forced than amused.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Zane didn't answer immediately. Instead, he took a slow breath through his nose before letting it escape just as gradually. He had spent enough time around athletes to recognize nerves. He had spent enough time around grief to recognize fear. Whatever was happening with Cam wasn't normal.

He turned slightly in his seat. "You in some kind of trouble?"

Cam shrugged without meeting his eyes.

"Nah."

Zane continued watching him.

"I know things were rough when you came back from Purdue."

Still nothing.
"So if something's going on, bro," Zane continued carefully, "it's alright to say it."

Cam's jaw tightened.

"There ain't nothing fucking going on." His voice bounced harder off the windshield than either of them expected.

Silence immediately filled the car.

Zane simply leaned back into his seat.

Outside, another customer crossed the parking lot carrying a coffee in one hand and a breakfast sandwich in the other. Somewhere near the gas pumps, a car horn chirped twice before falling silent again.

Cam closed his eyes. His fingers curled loosely around one of the Gatorade bottles still inside the plastic bag.

He inhaled slowly enough that Zane could hear it. Then he let the breath escape just as audibly.

"That’s my bad, bro. I shouldn’t take my shit out on you."

He rubbed both hands over his face before speaking again.

"The pressure's getting to me."
Zane stayed quiet.

Cam stared down at the floorboard.

"Leaving Purdue was such a fucking shitshow. It’s left me in real bad shape trying to get back in the game"

He swallowed.

"It's just been a lot, you know?"

Zane nodded once.

"I get pressure."

Cam barked out a short laugh.

"Shit, I bet you know all about that," He shook his head with a crooked grin. "The reigning Freshman of the Year."

He emphasized the title dramatically.

"Every damn school in America trying to throw money at you."

He gestured toward Zane.

"You got the pick of the litter."

Zane smiled faintly before looking back through the windshield.

"Yeah," He shrugged. "And all that shit just comes with more problems."

Neither of them spoke after that.

The heater hummed steadily, finally chasing away the cold that had entered when Cam climbed inside. After another few seconds, Zane shifted the transmission into reverse.

His eyes kept darting toward each side window, then to the rearview mirror, then back toward the windshield. Every passing vehicle seemed to catch his attention. Every person walking through the parking lot made his shoulders stiffen ever so slightly. It wasn't subtle anymore.

It was instinct.

Zane frowned to himself but didn't say anything.

Instead, he backed carefully out of the parking space before shifting into drive. The tires crunched through slushy snow as they pulled onto the road toward the Upper St. Clair gym.

Beside him, Cam finally reached into the plastic bag, unscrewed the cap off one of the blue Gatorade bottles, and took a long drink.

Neither of them noticed the dark sedan parked across the street.

Or the pair of eyes watching Zane's car disappear into traffic.

***

The university library had settled into the peculiar quiet that only arrived after sunset. The rush of students trying to secure the best study spots had long since dissipated, leaving behind scattered pockets of people hunched over textbooks beneath pools of warm yellow light.

Outside the towering windows, another layer of snow drifted lazily across Ann Arbor, coating the walkways in fresh white and muting the sounds of the city beyond campus. Tucked away in one of the library's more secluded corners, shielded by rows of towering bookshelves that had not been reorganized in decades,

Bianca and Katie had effectively claimed an entire table for themselves. It no longer resembled a place to study so much as the headquarters of a small operation. Two open laptops sat opposite one another, their screens littered with tabs comparing athletic facilities, academic rankings, transfer eligibility requirements, scholarship opportunities, and housing options.

Printed spreadsheets were spread haphazardly between them alongside handwritten notes, highlighters missing their caps, half-empty coffee cups, and protein bar wrappers that testified to just how long the two women had been sitting there.

Hours had slipped away almost unnoticed.

Bianca leaned back until the old wooden chair creaked beneath her weight before folding both hands behind her head. She stared toward the ceiling for several long seconds, following the geometric pattern of the fluorescent light fixtures overhead before releasing a slow, exhausted sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the entire afternoon with it.

Across the table, Katie mirrored her almost perfectly, stretching her own shoulders until they popped before dropping back into her chair.

"I ain't gonna lie," Katie muttered, rubbing both hands down her face. "I didn't think this was gonna take this much damn mental fortitude."

Bianca let out a tired laugh through her nose without taking her eyes off the ceiling.

"I know."

Her hands remained locked behind her head as she searched for the right words.

"It's one thing trying to decide where you want to go to school."

She gestured vaguely toward the chaos spread across the tabletop.

"But then you've gotta think about the coaching staff - the team culture, where you're gonna live, whether the academics make sense, where you're actually gonna graduate from." She shook her head slowly. "Every answer just creates another question."

Katie nodded thoughtfully, absently spinning a pen between her fingers.

"Pretty much."

Silence settled comfortably between them for a few moments. Neither girl rushed to fill it. They had been talking almost nonstop for the better part of four hours, and eventually even the best conversations ran out of momentum.

Katie's eyes drifted across Bianca's laptop before lifting toward her friend.

A mischievous grin slowly tugged at the corner of her mouth.

"You know..." she began carefully.

Bianca immediately recognized the look.

"What?"

Katie shrugged innocently.

"It probably doesn't help..." She paused just long enough to enjoy herself. "...that we don't know where Zane's going."

Bianca let out a single dry laugh.

"Of course." She slowly lowered her hands from behind her head before resting them flat against the edge of the table. "Now you're a comedian."

Katie held both hands up in surrender.

"I'm just saying."

Bianca rolled her eyes so dramatically that Katie couldn't help laughing.

"It would've made things easier."

Katie smirked.

"I knew it."

Bianca pointed a finger across the table.

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to."

Bianca shook her head, unable to stop a reluctant smile from appearing despite herself.

"It was nice seeing him."

The humor softened from her voice almost immediately.

"It just - I don’t know - it felt like old times again.”

She looked down at the papers scattered across the table instead of meeting Katie's eyes.

Her fingers absentmindedly traced the corner of one of the spreadsheets.

"But every time I start thinking about what it'd look like if we actually got back together," She gave a quiet, humorless chuckle. "it just becomes another complication."

Katie watched her for a long moment before folding her own hands together atop the table.

"So what're you gonna do?"

Bianca thought about the question longer than she expected.

Outside, another gust of wind pushed snow against the library windows. Students passed by their corner carrying backpacks and winter coats, oblivious to the conversation unfolding only a few feet away.

Finally, Bianca spoke.

"I think all I can do is trust that if we're supposed to find our way back to each other,” She smiled faintly. "the universe will figure it out before we do."

Katie understood immediately that Bianca wasn't trying to convince herself anymore.

She was trying to prepare herself.

There was a difference.

Katie reached across the table and gave Bianca's forearm a gentle squeeze.

"I think that's probably the healthiest thing you've said in months."

Bianca snorted.

"I hate when you're emotionally mature."

"I know," Katie smiled proudly. "It's exhausting."

The tension broke almost instantly, both girls laughing just enough to let the heaviness pass.

Katie leaned back before grabbing the top of her laptop screen.

"Alright," She rubbed her palms together dramatically. "Enough therapy."

Bianca raised an eyebrow.

"What now?"

Katie's grin widened.

"We've both spent all afternoon pretending we're general managers."

She pointed toward Bianca's computer.

"You've got your pick."

"I've got mine."

Bianca immediately straightened in her chair.

"So?"

Katie's eyes sparkled.

"Ready?"

Bianca rolled her shoulders once before nodding.

"Ready."

Katie held up three fingers.

"Three..."

Bianca wrapped both hands around her laptop screen.

"Two..."

They exchanged one last amused glance.

"One."

Simultaneously, they turned their laptops around to face one another.

Both girls froze.

Their eyes immediately widened.

Katie looked from Bianca's screen back to her own before an enormous smile spread across her face.

"No damn way."

Bianca blinked. Slowly, an equally surprised smile overtook her own face.

Katie slapped the tabletop.

"We finally picked the same school!"

A laugh burst out of Bianca before she could stop it.

Hours of arguing over coaching staffs, academics, climate, facilities, championship opportunities, and life after sports.

Only to arrive at exactly the same destination.

She looked back down at the logo glowing from the center of her laptop screen, letting herself study it for another few quiet seconds.

Her fingertips brushed lightly against the edge of the computer.

A strange calm settled over her.

"So..." she murmured, almost to herself.

Katie leaned forward, still smiling.

"So?"

Bianca nodded slowly, never taking her eyes off the emblem.

"I guess this is where we're going next."

***

The familiar sounds of an NFL broadcast echoed through the house before Zane even stepped fully inside. The muffled roar of a crowd bled out from the living room, accompanied by the steady drone of the commentators breaking down the previous drive.

It was one of the few noises that still made the house feel lived in. Ever since Felix and Mary had passed, silence had become the home's default language. The television now filled that void more often than conversation ever did.

Zane rounded the corner into the living room and found Rasheed exactly where he expected him to be.

His father sat sunk into the worn recliner that had once belonged to Felix, one ankle resting across the opposite knee while a half-finished bottle of beer hung lazily from one hand. Rather than drinking it, Rasheed simply swished the amber liquid around inside the bottle every few moments, his attention never wavering from the television.

On the screen, the Pittsburgh Steelers trailed the Cincinnati Bengals by 10 entering the fourth quarter, and the tension inside Acrisure Stadium practically seeped through the broadcast.

Zane folded his arms across his chest and lingered near the entrance to the room, watching Joe Burrow take the snap before firing a quick out route toward Ja'Marr Chase.

Chase secured the football near the Steelers' thirty-five-yard line and smartly stepped out of bounds after picking up another first down. Rasheed sucked his teeth in quiet annoyance, the sound carrying through the room before he finally glanced upward.

His eyes met Zane's for only a second, and he gave a brief nod in acknowledgment. Zane returned the gesture without saying anything, his attention drifting back toward the game as Burrow barked adjustments at the line of scrimmage and the broadcast cut to a close-up of T.J. Watt crouching into his pass-rushing stance.

For another minute neither of them spoke. Father and son simply occupied the same space, united by football if nothing else. It had always been the easiest language they shared. Finally, Rasheed cleared his throat, never taking his eyes off the television.

"You good?" he asked casually.

Zane nodded almost automatically before realizing he actually had something to say. His gaze lingered on the screen another moment before he answered. "I think I'm gonna announce my commitment."

That finally pulled a genuine response from Rasheed. He nodded once, slower this time, before leaning toward the small table beside his chair.

Sitting there was another beer, still unopened, condensation beading down the brown glass. Without making a production of it, Rasheed picked it up and extended it toward his son.

Zane hesitated. He looked at the bottle, then at his father, almost surprised by the gesture. After a second he accepted it, twisted the cap free with a sharp crack, and stepped farther into the room.

Rather than disappearing upstairs like he might have weeks earlier, he lowered himself onto the couch beside the recliner. It wasn't an embrace or forgiveness. But it was something.

The Bengals continued their drive while the room settled back into silence. Burrow calmly marched Cincinnati downfield, picking apart Pittsburgh's secondary with the efficiency that had frustrated AFC North defenses for years. Neither Jones man commented on the game. They simply watched, occasionally taking a sip from their beers as the broadcast filled the empty spaces between them.

Eventually Rasheed spoke again, his tone quieter this time. "You nervous?"

Zane rolled the bottle between his palms before taking a drink. The cold bitterness lingered on his tongue as he considered the question more carefully than he expected. "A little," he admitted. "I just - I wanna make sure I'm not making another mistake."

Rasheed's eyes remained fixed on the television, but Zane could tell he was listening.

"You think Syracuse was really that bad?"

The Bengals' field goal unit jogged onto the field after the Steelers stiffened inside the red zone, and Zane watched absentmindedly as the kicker began taking warm-up swings. He thought about Syracuse for longer than he thought about the game. When he finally answered, his voice carried more reflection than regret.

"No," he said honestly. "I don't think it was bad." He took another sip before continuing.

"I think it was safe."

The words surprised even him.

"I knew I could play there. Hell, I knew I could play in the ACC before I ever stepped on campus. It wasn't really about proving anything. It was close enough that if Grandma needed me or if you ever got yourself into something, I could get back home pretty quick."

Rasheed gave a slow nod, acknowledging the point without interrupting.

"But looking back," Zane continued, “I think I would've grown more if I'd challenged myself. Bigger program. Bigger expectations. Bigger competition. Somewhere that forced me to become better every single day."

The Bengals' kicker drilled the field goal straight through the uprights, extending Cincinnati's lead. Rasheed barely reacted beyond another dissatisfied grunt before speaking again.

"You think you can handle that now?"

This time Zane answered immediately.

"Yeah."

He smiled faintly.

"I figure if I survived being your son," he joked, "I can survive whatever school I picked."

For the first time all evening, the corner of Rasheed's mouth twitched upward. He tried to suppress it, but the smile won anyway. It was brief - gone almost as soon as it appeared - but Zane caught it. It was strange seeing his father smile without bitterness attached to it.

Another stretch of silence passed between them. The Steelers offense finally took the field again, and the camera followed Cade Klubnik jogging into the huddle. Rasheed took a long drink from his bottle before setting it on the armrest with a dull clink. When he spoke again, his voice had lost the casualness from earlier.

"I meant what I said the other night."

Zane turned slightly toward him.

"In the kitchen."

Rasheed still hadn't looked away from the television.

"Everything you've been through this past year," He paused. "I expect it to turn you into a whole different beast."

The statement hung in the room. It wasn't sympathy or comfort. It sounded more like a challenge.

Zane slowly nodded.

"I don't really feel like I got another choice."

"Nah," Rasheed agreed quietly. "You don't."

He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully before finally turning toward his son. His expression had hardened again, but not with anger. It looked more like conviction.

"And I meant the rest of it too."

Zane met his gaze.

"I want you to figure out who the hell you are."

Rasheed leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees as his eyes locked onto Zane's with an intensity that made it feel like he was trying to peel back every layer of his son.

"You've spent too much of your life becoming whatever everybody else needed you to become. Your grandparents needed one version of you. Coaches needed another. Your girls needed another. Friends needed another." He shook his head slowly. "Enough of that shit."

Zane listened without interrupting.

"I don't care where you go," Rasheed continued. "I don't care how much money they hand you. I don't care how many people tell you you're the greatest receiver walking God's green earth."

He jabbed a finger toward Zane's chest.

"Know who the fuck you are."

The room fell silent again.

"You're my boy," Rasheed said, his voice lowering. "Don't let anybody play you."

Zane swallowed against the unexpected lump in his throat. There was something oddly reassuring about hearing approval from the man who so rarely offered it.

"I got you," he said quietly.

Rasheed studied him another second before giving a single nod.

"Good."

The conversation ended as naturally as it had begun. Neither man seemed interested in forcing anything beyond that. The Steelers mounted another drive while the fourth quarter clock continued bleeding away, and father and son settled back into watching the game. The house didn't feel quite so empty anymore.

After several more minutes, Rasheed scratched absentmindedly at his beard before clearing his throat once again.

"So..." Zane glanced over. "Just how rich is my son about to be?"

The question caught him so off guard that he barked out a laugh before he could stop himself. He shook his head, pointing the neck of the beer bottle toward his father.

"Quit pocket-watching."

Rasheed laughed too - an honest laugh this time - and for the first time since Mary and Felix had been buried, the sound of laughter echoed through the Jones household louder than the television.

[redsox907]

slow walking this shit huh

Y'all been saying a lot of shit for a minute, if we keeping it a bean

ayy gotta cover all the bases

[Soapy]

"Tom Brady was already Tom Brady." He pointed across the desk. "But when Randy Moss showed up, the offense absolutely erupted" He spread his hands.

[Caesar]

Can't wait to see them SEC corners make Zane grab his ankles. WCW, too (consensually of course).