Season 6, Episode 4
Rasheem's palms grew clammy as he waited for someone to speak. The tick of the clock on the wall seemed to grow louder with each passing second. Finally, Coach Stoops leaned forward, his weathered face creased with what looked like regret.
"Rasheem, we've been watching you closely these past few weeks," he began, his voice low and gravelly. "You've shown tremendous improvement, and your dedication to the team is commendable."
Rasheem sat up straighter, hope blooming in his chest. But then he caught the glance exchanged between Coach Stoops and Coach Hamdan, and his stomach dropped.
"However," Coach Stoops continued, the word hanging heavy in the air, "we've decided to go with Cole as our starting quarterback."
The words hit Rasheem like a tackle he never saw coming. He blinked, trying to process what he'd just heard. Cole was a senior but he had just arrived as a transfer, achieving minimal success at his last stop.
"I... I don't understand," Rasheem stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Like, what did I do wrong?”
Coach Stoops stepped forward; his usually booming voice uncharacteristically soft. "It's not about what you did or didn't do, Rasheem. Cole right now is just a better fit for what we want to do as an offense, as a program. You’re still our guy at the position, just not right now. We don’t even know where our best player is and that ain’t the situation we want to roll you into and get you killed. Cole’s an older guy, he’s been there and right now we need someone to stabilize that offense, with or without Kam.”
Rasheem nodded numbly, the words washing over him without really sinking in. He felt as if he were underwater, everything muffled and distant. The coaches continued talking, explaining their decision, but Rasheem barely heard them. His mind raced, replaying every practice, every drill, searching for where he'd gone wrong.
…
Kam leaned against the chain-link fence, his fingers curled through the cool metal as he watched the familiar rhythms of practice unfold before him. The air hummed with the sounds of cleats digging into turf, the sharp whistle blasts of coaches, and the grunts and calls of players as they ran through drills.
There was Coach Johnson, always pacing the sidelines, clipboard in hand as he barked out instructions. And there was D.J., Kam's old roommate, streaking down the field to snag a perfectly thrown pass.
But he wasn't out there. He was here, on the outside looking in, separated from the world he once belonged to by more than just a fence. The weight of expectations, the pressure of performance, the constant scrutiny - all of it felt a million miles away as he watched his former teammates laugh and jostle each other between plays.
A lump formed in Kam's throat as he realized how much he missed this - not the games, not the yards but these simple moments. The camaraderie, the shared purpose, the pure joy of playing a game he loved without the burden of what came after. Here, in the fading light of a fall afternoon, there was just football. No agents, no contracts, no disappointed fans or critical commentators. Just young men chasing a ball and each other across a field, their futures still unwritten.
…
Yassy sat curled up on the worn leather couch, her dark curls spilling over her shoulders as she scrolled through her phone. She looked up as Kam entered, her eyes softening with concern. "How was your walk?" she asked, setting her phone aside.
Kam shrugged, sinking into the armchair across from her. "Same as always," he mumbled, his gaze fixed on the faded carpet beneath his feet.
Yassy leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees. "Kam, I love having you here, I really do and I wish there was a way for you to stay here but, what are you doing? Like, where are you going with this?”
He looked up, ready to argue, but the words died on his lips when he saw the earnest worry in her eyes. Yassy had been his rock these past few months, offering a sympathetic ear and a place to crash when everything fell apart. But now, as the silence stretched between them, he sensed a shift in the air.
"I think," Yassy began slowly, choosing her words with care, "that it's time for you to go back to Kentucky."
Kam felt his jaw clench. "For what?" he asked, his voice low and bitter, “It ain’t nothing but bullshit over there.”
"That's not true, and you know it," Yassy countered gently. "You got into a fight, so what? I’m sure you guys get into fights all the time.”
“It’s not about no fucking fight,” he sucked his teeth.
“So, let’s talk this out,” she sighed, “You stay here and what, re-enroll at Ball State? Where you couldn’t wait to leave?”
She understood the practical nature of the matter at hand, putting aside the compliance nightmare that a transfer this late would entail. The apartments, the cars, the monthly allowed which afforded the chains around his neck, the diamonds in her ears, it all came with a price.
“I don’t know why you stay on that shit,” he shook his head, “You act like I fucking hated this place or some shit.”
“You were here for like six months, Kam, how else am I to interpret that?”
“I found a better situation for me, like football wise,” he explained, “It don’t have nothing to do with here or how I feel about you or wanting to be with you. I’ve been told you that we can set something up for you at Kentucky or wherever the fuck else you want to go, you’re the one that wanted to stay here.”
“Yes because here is for me and over there is for you,” she said with conviction, “You jeopardized our future together to go play over there and now because you made a mistake or whatever, you’re going to throw it all away to come back here to do what exactly?”
"What if they don't want me back?" he whispered, voicing the fear that had haunted him for days.
Yassy squeezed his shoulder, “Babe, I don’t need to know much about football to know that you’re that motherfucking nigga and that they’ll take you back in a fucking second.”
Season 6, Episode 5
Kam's lungs burned as he sprinted across the field for what felt like the hundredth time. The late afternoon sun beat down mercilessly, turning the turf into a shimmering mirage. Sweat poured down his face, stinging his eyes and leaving salty trails on his cheeks.
"Again!" Coach Boulware bellowed from the sideline, his gravelly voice carrying across the empty stadium.
Gritting his teeth, Kam turned and started another grueling sprint. His legs felt like lead, muscles screaming in protest with each pounding step. But he pushed on, knowing this was the price he had to pay.
Each transgression flashed through Kam's mind as he ran, fueling a toxic mixture of shame and appreciation, wishing this had been the outcome back at Howard Blake High School. Maybe he’s never in that apartment with Marcus and Johnny, maybe he’s already enrolled at UCF or USF, maybe Marcus and Johnny are still here.
As he neared the end of the sprint, the maybes weighed more on his mind than the running did on his legs.
"You want to throw away everything you've worked for, son?" Coach asked as Kam gasped for air, snapping him back into his reality. "This team needs you. Your family needs you. But most of all, you need this."
Kam nodded wordlessly, too winded to speak. He had grown to appreciate Coach Boulware, revealing to him some of the aspects of his life that he shielded from everyone, including some of his closest teammates.
"One more set," Coach said, his tone softening slightly. "Then hit the showers and get some rest. We've got film study at 6 AM sharp."
As Kam took off for another punishing round of sprints, his mind once again drifted to the land of maybes.
…
"Come on in, son," Coach English said, gesturing to the empty chair. "Have a seat."
Jamal lowered himself into the chair, the fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting harsh shadows across the room.
Coach English leaned forward, his face creasing into a smile. "Jamal, we've been watching you closely these past few weeks. Your dedication in the weight room, your intensity on the practice field - it hasn't gone unnoticed."
Jamal nodded as he thought of the countless hours he'd spent studying playbooks, the bruises that littered his body from tackling drills, the sacrifices he'd made in the adjustment to a new position.
"We're impressed with how quickly you've adapted to the linebacker role," Coach Ivey, the linebacker’s coach, chimed in. "Your instincts are sharp, and you've got the speed to cover sideline to sideline."
Coach English nodded in agreement. "You've shown real leadership potential too. The way you communicate on the field, how you help the younger guys - that's exactly what we need."
Coach English continued as he leaned back into his chair, "You’re going to be part of the rotation at WILL next Saturday, I just want to make sure you’re ready for that."
The words hit Jamal like a freight train, as he had walked into the office expecting to be told that he’d be going back on offense now that the newcomers — both freshmen and transfers — had acclimated themselves and his services would no longer be needed. He had moved to the position in the spring as a temporary tourniquet due to the attrition at the position brought on by injuries and the transfer portal. A few practices turned into weeks and then the entire spring period, bleeding into the offseason workouts and now fall camp.
Jamal straightened in his chair, realizing the amount of dead air he had allowed to pass, “Thank you coach, really appreciate the opportunity.”
…
Ashley zipped up her duffel bag, the sound echoing in the quiet of Kam's apartment. Soft evening light filtered through the blinds, casting long shadows across the lightly furnished room. She glanced at her watch, knowing she needed to leave soon, but something held her back.
Kam remained in the bed, scrolling through his phone.
"Listen, don’t make this weird,” she began, meeting his gaze, “But Kyrie and I broke up. I know we don’t talk about each other’s person but I felt like I should tell you in case it comes up so there’s no like weird signals or vibes or anything.
Kam's expression shifted, surprise and confusion flickering across his face. "I... I'm sorry," he said, unsure of how to respond.
Ashley shook her head, a forced smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Don't be. It was a long time coming." She paused, then added, "And it had nothing to do with... us. With what happened between us, or is happening."
“So, we’re still good?” he inquired, a bit embarrassed by the selfish nature of his ask given the news she had just shared.
“If you’re okay with it,” she stammered, “I don’t see why not? At least not for me.”
Her answer landed with realization for Kam, faced with the fact that he was now the only one actually doing something wrong. She was free to date and mingle with whoever she wanted now, he still wasn’t.
“I know you said it had nothing to do with us,” Kam prodded, “But like…”
“It really didn’t,” she reassured him, “Ky and I, we should have done this way before you even came into the picture.”
“I just want to make sure that like we all know what this is,” he continued, fearing the dynamic of their relationship might change, “Like, I still got a girl and shit.”
“Kam, I like fucking you but no,” she scoffed, “You don’t have to worry about me trying to sneak my way into a relationship with you and if you worried about that, we can just dead this shit.”
“I ain’t saying all that,” he had access to other women but Ashley was the lowest of risk, always discreet and prior to this revelation, was no threat to ‘come to Yassy as a woman’, revealing her shared experiences with Kam.
She was also at the top of his list for other reasons, and by other reasons, a body that was country fed yet track toned.
“I just don’t want shit to change, is all,” Kam shrugged, now sitting up on the bed.
“Be for real, Kam, do you really think I want a relationship with you?” she shot back, seemingly offended by Kam’s assertion.
“What does that mean?” Kam scoffed, now equally offended, “You was with that lame ass nigga Kyrie.”
“Ain’t that your friend?”
“He was my roommate that was assigned to me,” he explained, “And he plays my position, not like I went out of my way to be cool with that nigga.”
“Listen, I’m not going to stand here and defend a nigga that I literally just dumped,” she grabbed her keys, “But at least that nigga know who the fuck he is and doesn’t have to get half-drunk just to get through the fucking day.”
“Aight,” Kam sucked his teeth, waving her off.
“No, for real Kam. It ain’t my place so I haven’t said anything but what the fuck are you doing, seriously? You sleep with a fucking gun on the nightstand like you’re some young nigga on a street corner, missing practice and shit like you’re begging to be kicked off the team.”
“Bitch, you don’t know what the fuck I’ve been through.”
“You’ve lost people, Kam, and so has everybody fucking else,” she scoffed, “It ain’t a fucking excuse to be a crash out your entire life when you’ve got it fucking made right now. Them NIL people practically suck your dick and ask if you want some ass with it too and you’re still throwing that shit away. Fucking useless.”
