Day By Day
Royce’s feet pounded the pavement, each step sending a jolt of pain through his healing leg. The sun beat down on him, sweat streaming down his face and soaking his shirt. He gritted his teeth, focusing on the rhythm of his breathing and the steady cadence of his footfalls.
It’d almost been a month since he’d started running, a couple weeks since he’d run on the field for the first time, and while the pain he was feeling was lessening each day, it still felt as if he was starting all over again with his conditioning. This time last year, he could run for miles. Now, a few miles would have his legs shot and his lungs burning.
As he rounded the corner of the park, he slowed to a stop near the bench he’d begun his run at. He crouched over, breathing heavily.
Tyrell came to a stop alongside him, holding on to the back of the bench as he struggled to catch his breath as well.
“You out of shape, dawg,” Royce said through gasped breaths as he looked up at Tyrell. “How you getting outrun by a motherfucker with one leg?”
Tyrell tried to laugh but winced when it caused a stitch in his side to develop. “Blame Rana. You know how good her cooking is. You can’t stay in shape when it’s collards and fried chicken to eat every day. If I was still eating like I was back in the day, I would’ve lapped your ass a couple times.”
“Rana ain’t know how to cook nothing but Ramen noodles a few years ago so I think she be buying that from the store,” Royce said as he straightened up, wiping sweat from his brow. “Just give her less money and she’ll have to buy salad.”
“I can tell your ass has never gone grocery shopping. Healthy food is more expensive than the good stuff, young brother,” Tyrell said. He walked around the bench and sat down, rubbing his knee.
Royce sat on the ground to stretch his legs, learning that he’d become more prone to cramping after runs. His phone vibrated in his pocket, but he ignored it as he had been doing for weeks once he’d left practice each day. His focus had solely been on getting stronger and increasing his stamina, everything else was feeling secondary.
“You going a little too hard with this, huh?” Tyrell asked. “Going zero to a hundred?”
Royce shook his head. “Doctor told me as long as I don’t have any crazy pain that I can’t handle that I can keep pushing, but ain’t you the one that was telling me that I needed to find another doctor if I didn’t get cleared to train?”
“Hey, I’m just saying,” Tyrell said, holding his hands up. “You’re clearly getting there even though I let you run ahead of me to get your confidence up—”
“You ain’t let me do shit, old timer,” Royce cut him off.
“Let you,” Tyrell repeated. “I meant what I said, but you can’t be going from not working out at all to running six times a week and lifting five. You push yourself too hard and your ass will be back in a cast on some crutches. You still gotta take that shit one day at a time.”
“The season start in like two months. If I’m going to get on the field as a senior, I probably need to be going harder, but ain’t enough time in the week for that,” Royce said.
Tyrell slouched back on the bench as he nodded his head, thinking about his next words. The pause in the conversation had Royce glancing up from his stretch, waiting for a response to fill the growing awkward silence.
“When you’re right you’re right,” Tyrell finally said. “You should probably talk to the coaches about letting you get on the field soon then. You’re going to want to get as much game speed practice in as possible. It’ll be easy for me to claim I don’t know you if you get run over by some hundred-pound scatback on your first snap. I’m not married to Rana, yet.”
“I ain’t never been trucked in my life,” Royce said, sucking his teeth.
Tyrell laughed. “I know you’re lying. There is no way you made it this far in the game and haven’t been run over by some big 300-pound motherfucker that has no business being in the backfield.”
“They don’t put big boys in the backfield down the bayou, and if they are strong enough to do it, they’re going to try to juke you anyway. I got juked plenty. Trying to rock something when I ain’t had the right angle. Rome probably ain’t never lowered his shoulder once. He thought he was Reggie Bush, though.”
Tyrell didn’t say anything as Royce continued.
“I remember when we were playing for Houma Junior High, eighth grade. Playing Oaklawn. This nigga took a toss to the sideline then started running straight backward instead of just pushing forward for a yard or two. Shit looked like something off Madden. He’s running and everyone’s chasing him. Coach was mad as fuck, screaming, spit flying everywhere,” Royce said.
He switched to stretching his other leg as he continued. “Of course, the dudes on the other team don’t know how to keep their lanes and shit so they’re all just in a straight line behind him. He loops around the other sideline. Hits that bitch and he’s gone. Touchdown. Runs over to the sideline, coach still screaming at him and he’s just laughing his ass off.”
“Yeah, I heard he was good,” Tyrell said, nodding.
Royce nodded as well, his voice quiet when he spoke. “Yeah, he was nice out there.” He stood up and slapped Tyrell on the knee. “Come on, bruh. We got another lap to do.”
“Nah, you got another lap,” Tyrell said, shaking his head. “I’ll be right here waiting for you unless you fall out on the other side the park.”
“Boy, your old ass ain’t never going to live this down,” Royce said, laughing as he started to jog down the pathway.
~~~~~~~~~~
The whistle blew, sharp and piercing, cutting through the chaos on the field. Royce stood on the edge of the sidelines, his hands behind his back as he watched the action in front of him. He’d abandoned his usual place on the bench between reps to get a closer look at things, drawn to the field like a moth to the flame.
He frowned as he watched the younger linebackers run through the reps, incorrectly, consistently overpursuing on anything to the boundary. A lot of them had the speed and athleticism, but the football IQ was lacking. They’d end up out bounds more often than they found their way to the ball carrier.
If they were running at 100%, a savvy running back would be exploiting those gaps mercilessly, taking all of those runs for chunks or straight to the house.
Without thinking, he took a step forward, opening his mouth to shout a correction. He caught himself just in time, remembering his place. He wasn’t a player anymore, not really.
The thought sent a familiar pang of frustration through him, but he pushed it aside. Instead, he focused on the plays unfolding before him, mentally noting each mistake, each missed opportunity. It was a bittersweet exercise, reminding him of everything he was missing while simultaneously proving that his football brain was as sharp as ever.
As the practice wore on, Royce found himself drawn more and more into the action. He began to anticipate the plays before they happened, his body tensing instinctively as if he were about to spring into action himself. Every so often, he’d shift his feet with an interior linebacker’s assignment.
“He crossed your face, run with him,” he would mutter under his breath. Other times, it would be, “You gotta make that play.”
The sound of Zach’s voice brought him back to reality and out of his thoughts.
“Royce, we need your help, man. Why do you do this every day?” Zach asked, frustration evident in his voice.
Shaking his head, Royce turned toward the bench and walked over to a cooler. “You got it, bruh. You’d probably get some bitches to take the edge off if you’d stop complaining so fucking much, you know?”
“Just fill the cups, man,” Zach said.
“Just fill the cups, man,” Royce mocked as he slapped the cooler to busy himself with the task, mostly because he knew he was on thin ice with Coach Cunningham after his last transgression.
Whistles blew on the field and the players jogged to the sideline to grab some water during a break in the action. Royce actually handed a few cups to the players for once, drawing a sarcastic thank you from the other managers as they struggled to keep up.
Anthony and Jacob, two freshmen linebackers, stood near the back of the crowd of players talking among themselves.
“Yo, come here,” Royce called to them, waving them over.
They walked over, confused looks on their faces.
“Y’all gotta stop overrunning the play. If the motherfucker going to the outside, you expect the cut back,” Royce said, using his hands to make his point. “If you crash down and get caught up on a block, he cutting that bitch back inside and now you relying on corners to make open field tackles. You’re the help. Just keep forcing him to the sideline until someone else can bring him down, he gets forced to go back inside to you or he runs out of bounds.”
He continued, slapping one of them in the chest. “And if you on the short side of the field and they run it to the long side of the field, you can’t just take off running over there. What if it’s a reverse? Now, they housing that shit. When you know it’s not, then run over there and play the backside of the play. You’re not going to be making the tackle every single time. You can’t.”
They both nodded dumbly as they tried to take in all he said.
The coaches called the players back onto the field.
Royce watched the next set of reps and nodded to himself as he watched Anthony correctly defend the next toss, guarding against a potential cutback.
Now, if only he could get his body to catch up to his mind so he could find his way back onto the field.
Dying to Live
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16864
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
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djp73
- Posts: 13184
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 13:42
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16864
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Ghosted
The sun cast long shadows across the backyard as Royce and Malik sat at the table on Rana’s back porch, a space that was quickly becoming Royce’s go-to place to be when he was home other than the guest room that he hadn’t begun calling his own room yet.
The two of them nursed small bottles of alcohol, bought from a hood cornerstore that was willing to hook them up because the cashiers knew Malik. It reminded Royce of the store in the old neighborhood, Vanessa turning a blind eye to things he’d buy even if he was bit too underaged to be doing so.
Of course, there were other reasons that Vanessa did that for Royce that he assumed Malik didn’t do for the cashiers at the store they’d just left – on account of those cashiers being men.
Another long week of practice had been completed and as those practices grew in intensity, it only seemed right to treat each week as a reason for celebration.
“Bro, it’s times like this that I wished I played fucking baseball or something,” Malik said as he took a swig from the bottle in his hand. “Don’t have to do summer workouts, no matter how hard they go, the shit’s going to be easier than football, and I could sit on the bench and shoot the shit with my boys for half the game? Sign me up.”
Royce downed the rest of the alcohol he had and placed the tiny bottle on the table. “You sit on the bench half the game now, don’t you? Put in a few more practices like today and they’ll replace your ass with Seth and you’ll be over there with me.”
Malik sucked his teeth. “Nigga, Seth slow. That boy ain’t got no business at safety and Coach Cunningham know that.”
“Yeah, y’all lucky they ain’t letting y’all hit yet though because Seth be ready to kill one of y’all out there. Shit kinda feel like a hate crime,” Royce said.
“Dawg,” Malik said, leaning forward and laughing. “I ain’t never seen someone have CTE before they turned 18. Bro be on some Tim Riggins shit. No concern for human life.”
“Every defense need a crazy white boy.”
“No doubt.”
The two lapsed into silence for a moment, Malik answering a text while Royce made it a point to keep his phone in his pocket despite the periodic texts he got every few hours. They were all from the same person, had been for weeks, but he refused to even look at them.
Malik tossed his phone on the table, breaking the silence. “Bro, this recruiting shit is insane. All the NIL and shit? Even at these small schools, they talking good money to try to get a nigga to give them a look.”
“I wouldn’t know. I never got to the point that coaches were talking dollars and cents with me. They might’ve talked to Rome about that shit, but he never mentioned it.”
“Man, I got Oregon State and Fresno State in my phone talking about a hundred bands if I commit right now, and that’s just the start. I could get more once I’m on campus. Shit, even A&M who don’t even seem like they really want me saying 25, 30.”
“Texas A&M?”
“No, nigga. Alabama A&M. Yes, Texas A&M,” Malik said, shaking his head.
Royce held his hands up. “I just had to make sure. If Alabama A&M had $30,000 for you then shit, they can give me 10 and I’ll come be a camp body, energy guy, the dude on TV flexing on receivers who get pushed out of bounds.”
“HBCUs might not have $30 to give you, forget $30,000,” Malik laughed. “I ain’t mad at it. These colleges been making big bucks off athletes’ backs for centuries. Now, they gotta come out their pockets a little bit.”
“Facts. They sit up there and talk about free educations and then make you take classes that’s gonna have you selling insurance in Grosse Tete when you graduate.”
“Nah, I’ll sell rock before I do anything that got me going to Grosse Tete, nigga.”
Royce laughed. “I don’t know why. You love you some white women. Ain’t got nothing but that out there, huh?”
“You bring your ass out there to the Basin and see what those women look like then come tell me that’s the same as white girls here. People in the Basin like people in North Louisiana, all they asses fucking they cousins.”
“Chill out. Tyrell from up there,” Royce said, gesturing over his shoulder toward the house.
Malik panned his hand around the backyard. “And look where he live. He came down here because he didn’t want to fuck his cousins.”
Royce thought about it for a moment then shrugged. “I can’t argue with that.”
“Exactly. On the real, though,” Malik started, his tone turning serious. “What would you do with this NIL shit? I ain’t gonna be getting the big stupid money like them boys going to Alabama and shit, but I could get enough.”
“I’d take whoever gave me the most, shit. Easy as that. I’d even tell they asses. ‘Say, Oregon State giving me 250. What can you do for me?’ They ain’t got no problem letting your ass go if it doesn’t work out. Might as well rob their asses on the front end. Worst case scenario, you don’t like the school and you hop your ass in the transfer portal and do it all over again. That’s what I’d do if I had another chance anyway.”
“That make sense,” Malik said before reaching over to shove Royce. “And what you mean if you had another chance? You don’t think the coaches see you over there on the sideline telling these niggas how to play? You might as well just lace ‘em up Monday and get it over with. You know that’s where it’s headed.”
“Talking to motherfuckers about how to play and playing is two different things. Doctor’s still not sure I can play again.”
“Tell that lie to someone else. Like I said, we all know your ass gonna be on the field sooner than later.”
Royce shook his head and stood up from the table. He pointed toward the house. “You want something to eat? I think Rana got some ribs in there or something.”
Malik hopped up out of his chair. “I don’t turn down no free food, but don’t think you slick. I know you just avoiding the conversation.”
“A nigga just hungry, damn,” Royce said, walking toward the house.
“Need to be hungry to get on the field and get this money,” Malik laughed as he followed him inside.
~~~~~~~~~~
The persistent buzz of Royce’s phone on the nightstand cut through the stillness of his bedroom. He reached over, blindly grasping for the device as he slid across the wood and teetered on the edge of falling to the floor.
He caught it just in time, not bothering to look at the screen as he swiped his thumb across it to answer the call.
“Hello?” he asked, his voice groggy from sleep.
“Royce?” Alix’s voice came through, a mix of determination and vulnerability. “I need you to come over.”
He pulled the phone away from his ear to look at the time. 12:36 a.m. sat at the top of the screen. He sat up, rubbing his hand over his face. He sighed before bringing the phone back to his ear. “It’s late. We can talk in the mo—”
“Now, Royce,” she interrupted, her tone firm but softening slightly. “Just come. Please. We need to talk.”
The line went dead before he could respond. Royce stared at his phone for a long moment, his thoughts a jumble as he debated his next move. Part of him wanted to ignore the call, to roll over and pretend it never happened. That part of him was probably right. At the same time, something urged him to go.
Finally, with a resigned sigh, he threw the covers aside and got up. He threw on a shirt and grabbed his keys, heading for the door. He paused before opening the door, remembering the commands he needed to press on the alarm system’s control panel to temporarily disable the alarm.
He’d have to remember to thank Tyrell for showing him that later.
…
Thirty minutes later, Royce stood in front of Alix’s house. He looked around the door, wondering if they had cameras, too, not wanting to alert her stepfather to his presence like he did the last time he was there. The night was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic and the chirping of crickets.
He sent Alix a text to let her know he was outside. Moments later, she opened the door a crack and then. She wore an oversized t-shirt, her hair pulled back into a messy bun. Royce couldn’t help glancing down at her legs.
“You came,” she said, her voice tinged with surprised and, maybe, relief.
Royce nodded, “Yeah, you asked.”
He turned toward the driveway expecting her to step outside, but instead she moved aside.
“Come on,” she said, waving him inside.
He hesitated for a moment, and she must’ve have noticed.
“My parents are in Biloxi,” she said.
He took one last look around the door for a camera before stepping inside. He followed her up the stairs toward her room. Royce felt the need to look down at the steps as he did, suddenly remembering that she was Malik’s ex.
He sat in a pink, plush chair in the corner, noting how uncomfortable it was after he’d done so, but he remained where he was as there were few other options that weren’t her bed.
As soon as she closed the door behind them, she turned to face him, arms crossed defensively across her chest.
“It’s been fucking weeks, Royce,” she said, her voice quiet but intense. “Weeks of ignoring me when I didn’t do a God damn thing to you. That’s some pretty fucked up shit in my fucking opinion.”
He scratched his forehead. “Yeah, it is, but I ain’t know what you say to you after … you know. I don’t get emotional in front of people.”
“So, I open up and tell you some shit from my past, let you open up to me and you freeze me out after?” Her voice cracked slightly. “If you were going to do that, you could’ve done before and everything would’ve been fucking fine.”
His jaw clenched, a familiar tension building in his shoulders. “Man, what do you want from me? I ain’t good at this feelings and caring shit. I ain’t grow up somewhere you could be emotional. That’s how you got beat up on your way to school everyday. This who I am, and I ain’t apologizing for that shit.”
“You’re a fucking liar. You care. You wouldn’t be sitting here if you didn’t. You wouldn’t even be in Baton Rouge if you didn’t,” she shot back. “Besides, I didn’t exactly grow up with fucking puppy dogs and rainbows. Let me tell you, it’s not fun eating the fancy cereal for your birthday because your mama can’t afford a fucking muffin. Then she gets married and they have a kid and they forget you exist.”
The revelation hung in the air between them, a shared understanding of childhood trauma.
“Look, I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have ghosted you. I just… I just didn’t know how to handle it. That was some new shit for me. All this shit is new. I ain’t have a brother to cry over a year ago.”
Alix walked over to where he was sitting, his fingertips brushed against her leg as she stood next to him. “No one is expecting you to be a stone cold killer, Royce. I’m not anyway. It’s okay to feel shit. You can act tough when you’re around the guys, but if you want to ignore me then you can tell me now and we can pretend nothing happened.”
He gave her a once over as they fell into silence. She stared down at him and it was unnerving, unfamiliar. It reminded him of the first time he’d gone to a girl’s house, unsure.
He stood up, wanting to change the dynamic, but it only made it worse as they were occupying the same bit of space, their bodies almost pressed against each other. The two of them looked at one another, neither speaking. The only sound in the room that of them softly breathing.
Shaking his head, he finally spoke. “You’re right. I won’t ghost you again, but I ain’t cry—"
Alix leaned up, her lips meeting his in a soft, tentative kiss. It was gentle, almost chaste, a test. He pulled back for a moment before kissing her, more passionately. He found the hem of her shirt and tugged it up, but she stopped him and pushed him back, toward the door.
He rubbed his lips with one hand, adjusting his sweatpants with his other, confused about what had just happened. Alix walked over to him with a mischievous glint in her eye. He licked his lips, the fog of confusion dissipating.
“And now,” she said, a small smile playing on her lips. She reached around him and opened the door. “You get the fuck out.”
Royce blinked, the confusion back. “What?”
She grinned, putting her hands on his chest and lightly pushing him toward the door. “You decided to disappear on me for weeks. Who knows what we’d be doing right now if you hadn’t.”
“I mean, we could,” he said, gesturing to the bed.
“Nope, out.” Alix said, shifting around him to leave the room and pointing downstairs.
Shaking his head, Royce made his way down the stairs, Alix walking behind him. As he stepped back out onto the porch, he turned back to her.
“You sure about this?” he asked.
Her smile softened, a hint of vulnerability showing through her confident exterior. “As sure as you are. Goodnight, Royce. Drive safe.”
“Night,” he said.
The door closed, leaving Royce alone with his thoughts. As he got into his car, he put his hands on the steering wheel and looked up at the house.
“Fuck,” he said to himself as he put the key in the ignition.
He was in too deep.
The sun cast long shadows across the backyard as Royce and Malik sat at the table on Rana’s back porch, a space that was quickly becoming Royce’s go-to place to be when he was home other than the guest room that he hadn’t begun calling his own room yet.
The two of them nursed small bottles of alcohol, bought from a hood cornerstore that was willing to hook them up because the cashiers knew Malik. It reminded Royce of the store in the old neighborhood, Vanessa turning a blind eye to things he’d buy even if he was bit too underaged to be doing so.
Of course, there were other reasons that Vanessa did that for Royce that he assumed Malik didn’t do for the cashiers at the store they’d just left – on account of those cashiers being men.
Another long week of practice had been completed and as those practices grew in intensity, it only seemed right to treat each week as a reason for celebration.
“Bro, it’s times like this that I wished I played fucking baseball or something,” Malik said as he took a swig from the bottle in his hand. “Don’t have to do summer workouts, no matter how hard they go, the shit’s going to be easier than football, and I could sit on the bench and shoot the shit with my boys for half the game? Sign me up.”
Royce downed the rest of the alcohol he had and placed the tiny bottle on the table. “You sit on the bench half the game now, don’t you? Put in a few more practices like today and they’ll replace your ass with Seth and you’ll be over there with me.”
Malik sucked his teeth. “Nigga, Seth slow. That boy ain’t got no business at safety and Coach Cunningham know that.”
“Yeah, y’all lucky they ain’t letting y’all hit yet though because Seth be ready to kill one of y’all out there. Shit kinda feel like a hate crime,” Royce said.
“Dawg,” Malik said, leaning forward and laughing. “I ain’t never seen someone have CTE before they turned 18. Bro be on some Tim Riggins shit. No concern for human life.”
“Every defense need a crazy white boy.”
“No doubt.”
The two lapsed into silence for a moment, Malik answering a text while Royce made it a point to keep his phone in his pocket despite the periodic texts he got every few hours. They were all from the same person, had been for weeks, but he refused to even look at them.
Malik tossed his phone on the table, breaking the silence. “Bro, this recruiting shit is insane. All the NIL and shit? Even at these small schools, they talking good money to try to get a nigga to give them a look.”
“I wouldn’t know. I never got to the point that coaches were talking dollars and cents with me. They might’ve talked to Rome about that shit, but he never mentioned it.”
“Man, I got Oregon State and Fresno State in my phone talking about a hundred bands if I commit right now, and that’s just the start. I could get more once I’m on campus. Shit, even A&M who don’t even seem like they really want me saying 25, 30.”
“Texas A&M?”
“No, nigga. Alabama A&M. Yes, Texas A&M,” Malik said, shaking his head.
Royce held his hands up. “I just had to make sure. If Alabama A&M had $30,000 for you then shit, they can give me 10 and I’ll come be a camp body, energy guy, the dude on TV flexing on receivers who get pushed out of bounds.”
“HBCUs might not have $30 to give you, forget $30,000,” Malik laughed. “I ain’t mad at it. These colleges been making big bucks off athletes’ backs for centuries. Now, they gotta come out their pockets a little bit.”
“Facts. They sit up there and talk about free educations and then make you take classes that’s gonna have you selling insurance in Grosse Tete when you graduate.”
“Nah, I’ll sell rock before I do anything that got me going to Grosse Tete, nigga.”
Royce laughed. “I don’t know why. You love you some white women. Ain’t got nothing but that out there, huh?”
“You bring your ass out there to the Basin and see what those women look like then come tell me that’s the same as white girls here. People in the Basin like people in North Louisiana, all they asses fucking they cousins.”
“Chill out. Tyrell from up there,” Royce said, gesturing over his shoulder toward the house.
Malik panned his hand around the backyard. “And look where he live. He came down here because he didn’t want to fuck his cousins.”
Royce thought about it for a moment then shrugged. “I can’t argue with that.”
“Exactly. On the real, though,” Malik started, his tone turning serious. “What would you do with this NIL shit? I ain’t gonna be getting the big stupid money like them boys going to Alabama and shit, but I could get enough.”
“I’d take whoever gave me the most, shit. Easy as that. I’d even tell they asses. ‘Say, Oregon State giving me 250. What can you do for me?’ They ain’t got no problem letting your ass go if it doesn’t work out. Might as well rob their asses on the front end. Worst case scenario, you don’t like the school and you hop your ass in the transfer portal and do it all over again. That’s what I’d do if I had another chance anyway.”
“That make sense,” Malik said before reaching over to shove Royce. “And what you mean if you had another chance? You don’t think the coaches see you over there on the sideline telling these niggas how to play? You might as well just lace ‘em up Monday and get it over with. You know that’s where it’s headed.”
“Talking to motherfuckers about how to play and playing is two different things. Doctor’s still not sure I can play again.”
“Tell that lie to someone else. Like I said, we all know your ass gonna be on the field sooner than later.”
Royce shook his head and stood up from the table. He pointed toward the house. “You want something to eat? I think Rana got some ribs in there or something.”
Malik hopped up out of his chair. “I don’t turn down no free food, but don’t think you slick. I know you just avoiding the conversation.”
“A nigga just hungry, damn,” Royce said, walking toward the house.
“Need to be hungry to get on the field and get this money,” Malik laughed as he followed him inside.
~~~~~~~~~~
The persistent buzz of Royce’s phone on the nightstand cut through the stillness of his bedroom. He reached over, blindly grasping for the device as he slid across the wood and teetered on the edge of falling to the floor.
He caught it just in time, not bothering to look at the screen as he swiped his thumb across it to answer the call.
“Hello?” he asked, his voice groggy from sleep.
“Royce?” Alix’s voice came through, a mix of determination and vulnerability. “I need you to come over.”
He pulled the phone away from his ear to look at the time. 12:36 a.m. sat at the top of the screen. He sat up, rubbing his hand over his face. He sighed before bringing the phone back to his ear. “It’s late. We can talk in the mo—”
“Now, Royce,” she interrupted, her tone firm but softening slightly. “Just come. Please. We need to talk.”
The line went dead before he could respond. Royce stared at his phone for a long moment, his thoughts a jumble as he debated his next move. Part of him wanted to ignore the call, to roll over and pretend it never happened. That part of him was probably right. At the same time, something urged him to go.
Finally, with a resigned sigh, he threw the covers aside and got up. He threw on a shirt and grabbed his keys, heading for the door. He paused before opening the door, remembering the commands he needed to press on the alarm system’s control panel to temporarily disable the alarm.
He’d have to remember to thank Tyrell for showing him that later.
…
Thirty minutes later, Royce stood in front of Alix’s house. He looked around the door, wondering if they had cameras, too, not wanting to alert her stepfather to his presence like he did the last time he was there. The night was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic and the chirping of crickets.
He sent Alix a text to let her know he was outside. Moments later, she opened the door a crack and then. She wore an oversized t-shirt, her hair pulled back into a messy bun. Royce couldn’t help glancing down at her legs.
“You came,” she said, her voice tinged with surprised and, maybe, relief.
Royce nodded, “Yeah, you asked.”
He turned toward the driveway expecting her to step outside, but instead she moved aside.
“Come on,” she said, waving him inside.
He hesitated for a moment, and she must’ve have noticed.
“My parents are in Biloxi,” she said.
He took one last look around the door for a camera before stepping inside. He followed her up the stairs toward her room. Royce felt the need to look down at the steps as he did, suddenly remembering that she was Malik’s ex.
He sat in a pink, plush chair in the corner, noting how uncomfortable it was after he’d done so, but he remained where he was as there were few other options that weren’t her bed.
As soon as she closed the door behind them, she turned to face him, arms crossed defensively across her chest.
“It’s been fucking weeks, Royce,” she said, her voice quiet but intense. “Weeks of ignoring me when I didn’t do a God damn thing to you. That’s some pretty fucked up shit in my fucking opinion.”
He scratched his forehead. “Yeah, it is, but I ain’t know what you say to you after … you know. I don’t get emotional in front of people.”
“So, I open up and tell you some shit from my past, let you open up to me and you freeze me out after?” Her voice cracked slightly. “If you were going to do that, you could’ve done before and everything would’ve been fucking fine.”
His jaw clenched, a familiar tension building in his shoulders. “Man, what do you want from me? I ain’t good at this feelings and caring shit. I ain’t grow up somewhere you could be emotional. That’s how you got beat up on your way to school everyday. This who I am, and I ain’t apologizing for that shit.”
“You’re a fucking liar. You care. You wouldn’t be sitting here if you didn’t. You wouldn’t even be in Baton Rouge if you didn’t,” she shot back. “Besides, I didn’t exactly grow up with fucking puppy dogs and rainbows. Let me tell you, it’s not fun eating the fancy cereal for your birthday because your mama can’t afford a fucking muffin. Then she gets married and they have a kid and they forget you exist.”
The revelation hung in the air between them, a shared understanding of childhood trauma.
“Look, I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have ghosted you. I just… I just didn’t know how to handle it. That was some new shit for me. All this shit is new. I ain’t have a brother to cry over a year ago.”
Alix walked over to where he was sitting, his fingertips brushed against her leg as she stood next to him. “No one is expecting you to be a stone cold killer, Royce. I’m not anyway. It’s okay to feel shit. You can act tough when you’re around the guys, but if you want to ignore me then you can tell me now and we can pretend nothing happened.”
He gave her a once over as they fell into silence. She stared down at him and it was unnerving, unfamiliar. It reminded him of the first time he’d gone to a girl’s house, unsure.
He stood up, wanting to change the dynamic, but it only made it worse as they were occupying the same bit of space, their bodies almost pressed against each other. The two of them looked at one another, neither speaking. The only sound in the room that of them softly breathing.
Shaking his head, he finally spoke. “You’re right. I won’t ghost you again, but I ain’t cry—"
Alix leaned up, her lips meeting his in a soft, tentative kiss. It was gentle, almost chaste, a test. He pulled back for a moment before kissing her, more passionately. He found the hem of her shirt and tugged it up, but she stopped him and pushed him back, toward the door.
He rubbed his lips with one hand, adjusting his sweatpants with his other, confused about what had just happened. Alix walked over to him with a mischievous glint in her eye. He licked his lips, the fog of confusion dissipating.
“And now,” she said, a small smile playing on her lips. She reached around him and opened the door. “You get the fuck out.”
Royce blinked, the confusion back. “What?”
She grinned, putting her hands on his chest and lightly pushing him toward the door. “You decided to disappear on me for weeks. Who knows what we’d be doing right now if you hadn’t.”
“I mean, we could,” he said, gesturing to the bed.
“Nope, out.” Alix said, shifting around him to leave the room and pointing downstairs.
Shaking his head, Royce made his way down the stairs, Alix walking behind him. As he stepped back out onto the porch, he turned back to her.
“You sure about this?” he asked.
Her smile softened, a hint of vulnerability showing through her confident exterior. “As sure as you are. Goodnight, Royce. Drive safe.”
“Night,” he said.
The door closed, leaving Royce alone with his thoughts. As he got into his car, he put his hands on the steering wheel and looked up at the house.
“Fuck,” he said to himself as he put the key in the ignition.
He was in too deep.
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 7870
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Dying to Live
Knew that nigga couldn't help himself. Hopefully he doesn't Kam himself.
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16864
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Y'all gotta stop leaving out context.Captain Canada wrote: ↑21 Oct 2024, 23:29Knew that nigga couldn't help himself. Hopefully he doesn't Kam himself.
1) Royce ain't no cuck like Kam so don't do that.
2) She's single.
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Soapy
- Posts: 16614
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Dying to Live
horny ahh nigga
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16864
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Just wait.-
Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16864
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Man Up
“We got Donovan out with COVID. No telling when he’s coming back. Justin’s got that ankle problem, but he can still do something out there. The worst of it, though, is that I talked to Nyheim’s mom today and he’s transferring to Catholic,” Coach Vaughn said, reading from a handwritten list in a tattered notebook.
Coach Cunningham sat at the head of a long table, flanked by his assistants as they went through the status of the team as the season drew closer. The team had started to suffer the typical training camp niggles that would hamper their preparations for the upcoming campaign if it got out of control.
“How much did they give her?” Coach McDaniels asked, tapping his pen against the table.
Vaughn shrugged. “I don’t think they gave her money, but she did just get a new job with the parish so make of that what you will.”
“You’d think they’d have some kind of morals and at least poach him before we start camp and not a month before the damn season,” Coach Foster said. He leaned over to another of his counterparts, Coach Smith. “I say we get in touch with that Jackson kid over there. What’s his name? Jalen? Jerrod?”
“Jamar,” Coach Smith said.
“Yeah, him. Tell him that his coaches are out here looking for his replacement and mention that there’s a home for him here.”
Coach Vaughn clicked his tongue and shook his head. “We made a run at him when he was still at Woodlawn. Dad’s a basket case, wanted us to get him a new BMW to even have the conversation. Southern Lab had even worse luck and ended up having him arrested on campus.”
“Shit, I’ll buy him a BMW if we can get his son here. That kid’s what? Two stars? Three stars? Probably better than Nyheim,” Foster said.
Coach Cunningham cleared his throat and leaned forward. “None of this sounds like a solution for right now. We can’t have those freshmen and sophomores out there with the ones if we don’t know if they’re going to be playing come September. What we need to know, right now, is if we can wait on Donovan and Justin or if we need to start preparing with someone like Tyler in mind.”
“Tyler can play, but he’s getting swallowed up at the line every rep,” Coach Vaughn said. “We can work with him, but the problem is that it’s a big drop off from him to what’s behind him. We might need to think about getting Seth or Cory some reps there instead.”
“None of them have the size to be in the box,” McDaniels said.
“What about that waterboy? We got him on the roster for a reason, right?” Foster said.
“The kid can’t even run,” McDaniels shot back.
“He looks like he’s been bulking up a bit. He might be doing something,” Coach Vaughn said. “I mean, Royce was a starter down in Houma. He clearly could play before … everything. It’s just a big question mark as to if he’s still that guy.”
Coach Smith held his phone up. “Guy’s got some pretty nice highlights on Hudl.”
“He can’t run,” McDaniels repeated.
“What’s the worst that happens? He doesn’t pan out and we have to look at Tyler, Seth and Cory anyway?”
A heavy silence fell over the room as the assistants all looked toward the head coach for his take on the options.
Coach Cunningham sat back in his chair, staring at the opposite wall as he weighed the pros and cons in his head. Finally, he said, “Let’s give it until the end of the week. Donovan might be back by then and this is a moot point. We can just work with what we have for now.”
The coaches all nodded in agreement before moving to the next position group.
~~~~~~~~~~
Royce sat at the kitchen table, a freshly made sandwich sitting in front of him as he scrolled through the various social media apps. His legs ached from his latest run and his arms were like jelly from the earlier workout. It was part of the reason he was limiting his movement to what he could do with his fingers instead of eating the sandwich.
Rana and Roni walked into the house, back from a trip to the science museum, a free perk of Tyrell’s job.
“Go wash up. I’ll be making dinner in a couple hours,” Rana said to their little sister.
Roni nodded, shouting a quick “Hey, Royce” as she sprinted toward her room.
Rana reached for the plate that Royce had in front of him. “I know you heard me just say I’ll be making dinner in a couple hours.”
Royce reached over and put his hand on top of the sandwich. “I heard you, but I’m hungry now and you wasn’t even home when I made this so none of that matter. Besides, you acting like I ain’t gonna eat later, too.”
She sighed but didn’t press the issue as she walked into the kitchen, putting her purse down on the counter. She started to go through the cabinets, collecting the pots and pans she would need for later.
But Royce could tell she had something on her mind.
“You might as well just say what you want to say,” he said as he kept scrolling through TikTok.
“I don’t want to say anything,” she shot back.
“Bruh, I can hear you grinding your teeth over here. Just gone on and say it.”
She all but slammed a pan down on the counter. “You don’t think you’re overdoing it with all this working out? The doctors haven’t even told you that you could do whatever you want yet and you spend more time running or at the gym than you do at home.”
He looked up from his phone, leaning back in the chair. “The doctor ain’t been telling me not to do whatever I wanted either. I’m straight. I get some pains here or there, but that ain’t different than no one else who works out. Ask Tyrell, he comes hobbling in here whenever he comes run with me.”
“Tyrell isn’t recovering from being shot.”
“It’s almost been a year, Rana. I gotta do something to shake back. I’m running out of time to get back on the field, and if you want me to go to college then I gotta get back on the field ASAP.”
“You can go to college without football,” Rana said, sighing as she opened the freezer to retrieve a pack of chicken thighs.
“No, I can’t go to college without football. I’m a C student. Ain’t nobody college want me bringing down their rankings. I don’t get what the issue is. You wanted me to get back to normal and this is getting me back to normal,” Royce said, his hand chopping at the table to punctuate his words.
“So, what happens if you can’t play? Are you ready to confront that as a possibility?”
“That’s foul, Rana. How you, of all people, gonna not be in my corner?”
She sighed. “Who said I wasn’t in your corner? You just need to think about the very real chance that you’re doing all this, and you end up not being able to play. Have you thought about mentally preparing for that, too?”
He sucked his teeth and reached for the sandwich, picking it up to take a bite. “Here she go with that therapy stuff again.”
“I’m just saying that if you really want to ‘get back to normal’ then you should probably go talk to someone. You know, man up and take hold of your future because it might not be the one you think it’ll be.”
“I can’t think of anything further from being a man than going lay on some white woman couch and cry,” he laughed. “I’m dealing with shit just fine. If I do all this and can’t play football then shit, guess I better pick up a baseball bat or something.”
“Sports aren’t the end-all, be-all for your life, Ro. Even if that is a part of your life, it’s not going to be forever anyway.”
He put the sandwich down. “C’mon, Rana. What you want from me, man? I’m just taking it a day at a time. I’ll let you know if I want to go jump off the bridge and then you can bring me to a therapist.”
“That’s not funny,” Rana snapped.
“My bad, but can I just eat my sandwich in peace?” he asked. “I’m not going to no therapy. Pull for me to get back on the field. I’ll figure out what else if I gotta figure out what else. Tell me about y’all trip to science museum or some shit.”
Rana shook her head as she put the chicken into a pot to defrost, realizing that she wasn’t going to get anywhere pushing the subject. “You’d know how the science museum was if you’d come with us. I seem to remember some white girl getting you to go to the zoo with her kid, though.”
“Wasn’t her kid, and y’all left before I came back from practice.”
“You just make sure you don’t make any kids with her white ass,” Rana said, pointing an accusatory finger in Royce’s direction.
“Ain’t even like that. That’s the homie,” Royce said, shaking his head.
“Uh huh.” Rana’s tone was anything other than convinced.
“We got Donovan out with COVID. No telling when he’s coming back. Justin’s got that ankle problem, but he can still do something out there. The worst of it, though, is that I talked to Nyheim’s mom today and he’s transferring to Catholic,” Coach Vaughn said, reading from a handwritten list in a tattered notebook.
Coach Cunningham sat at the head of a long table, flanked by his assistants as they went through the status of the team as the season drew closer. The team had started to suffer the typical training camp niggles that would hamper their preparations for the upcoming campaign if it got out of control.
“How much did they give her?” Coach McDaniels asked, tapping his pen against the table.
Vaughn shrugged. “I don’t think they gave her money, but she did just get a new job with the parish so make of that what you will.”
“You’d think they’d have some kind of morals and at least poach him before we start camp and not a month before the damn season,” Coach Foster said. He leaned over to another of his counterparts, Coach Smith. “I say we get in touch with that Jackson kid over there. What’s his name? Jalen? Jerrod?”
“Jamar,” Coach Smith said.
“Yeah, him. Tell him that his coaches are out here looking for his replacement and mention that there’s a home for him here.”
Coach Vaughn clicked his tongue and shook his head. “We made a run at him when he was still at Woodlawn. Dad’s a basket case, wanted us to get him a new BMW to even have the conversation. Southern Lab had even worse luck and ended up having him arrested on campus.”
“Shit, I’ll buy him a BMW if we can get his son here. That kid’s what? Two stars? Three stars? Probably better than Nyheim,” Foster said.
Coach Cunningham cleared his throat and leaned forward. “None of this sounds like a solution for right now. We can’t have those freshmen and sophomores out there with the ones if we don’t know if they’re going to be playing come September. What we need to know, right now, is if we can wait on Donovan and Justin or if we need to start preparing with someone like Tyler in mind.”
“Tyler can play, but he’s getting swallowed up at the line every rep,” Coach Vaughn said. “We can work with him, but the problem is that it’s a big drop off from him to what’s behind him. We might need to think about getting Seth or Cory some reps there instead.”
“None of them have the size to be in the box,” McDaniels said.
“What about that waterboy? We got him on the roster for a reason, right?” Foster said.
“The kid can’t even run,” McDaniels shot back.
“He looks like he’s been bulking up a bit. He might be doing something,” Coach Vaughn said. “I mean, Royce was a starter down in Houma. He clearly could play before … everything. It’s just a big question mark as to if he’s still that guy.”
Coach Smith held his phone up. “Guy’s got some pretty nice highlights on Hudl.”
“He can’t run,” McDaniels repeated.
“What’s the worst that happens? He doesn’t pan out and we have to look at Tyler, Seth and Cory anyway?”
A heavy silence fell over the room as the assistants all looked toward the head coach for his take on the options.
Coach Cunningham sat back in his chair, staring at the opposite wall as he weighed the pros and cons in his head. Finally, he said, “Let’s give it until the end of the week. Donovan might be back by then and this is a moot point. We can just work with what we have for now.”
The coaches all nodded in agreement before moving to the next position group.
~~~~~~~~~~
Royce sat at the kitchen table, a freshly made sandwich sitting in front of him as he scrolled through the various social media apps. His legs ached from his latest run and his arms were like jelly from the earlier workout. It was part of the reason he was limiting his movement to what he could do with his fingers instead of eating the sandwich.
Rana and Roni walked into the house, back from a trip to the science museum, a free perk of Tyrell’s job.
“Go wash up. I’ll be making dinner in a couple hours,” Rana said to their little sister.
Roni nodded, shouting a quick “Hey, Royce” as she sprinted toward her room.
Rana reached for the plate that Royce had in front of him. “I know you heard me just say I’ll be making dinner in a couple hours.”
Royce reached over and put his hand on top of the sandwich. “I heard you, but I’m hungry now and you wasn’t even home when I made this so none of that matter. Besides, you acting like I ain’t gonna eat later, too.”
She sighed but didn’t press the issue as she walked into the kitchen, putting her purse down on the counter. She started to go through the cabinets, collecting the pots and pans she would need for later.
But Royce could tell she had something on her mind.
“You might as well just say what you want to say,” he said as he kept scrolling through TikTok.
“I don’t want to say anything,” she shot back.
“Bruh, I can hear you grinding your teeth over here. Just gone on and say it.”
She all but slammed a pan down on the counter. “You don’t think you’re overdoing it with all this working out? The doctors haven’t even told you that you could do whatever you want yet and you spend more time running or at the gym than you do at home.”
He looked up from his phone, leaning back in the chair. “The doctor ain’t been telling me not to do whatever I wanted either. I’m straight. I get some pains here or there, but that ain’t different than no one else who works out. Ask Tyrell, he comes hobbling in here whenever he comes run with me.”
“Tyrell isn’t recovering from being shot.”
“It’s almost been a year, Rana. I gotta do something to shake back. I’m running out of time to get back on the field, and if you want me to go to college then I gotta get back on the field ASAP.”
“You can go to college without football,” Rana said, sighing as she opened the freezer to retrieve a pack of chicken thighs.
“No, I can’t go to college without football. I’m a C student. Ain’t nobody college want me bringing down their rankings. I don’t get what the issue is. You wanted me to get back to normal and this is getting me back to normal,” Royce said, his hand chopping at the table to punctuate his words.
“So, what happens if you can’t play? Are you ready to confront that as a possibility?”
“That’s foul, Rana. How you, of all people, gonna not be in my corner?”
She sighed. “Who said I wasn’t in your corner? You just need to think about the very real chance that you’re doing all this, and you end up not being able to play. Have you thought about mentally preparing for that, too?”
He sucked his teeth and reached for the sandwich, picking it up to take a bite. “Here she go with that therapy stuff again.”
“I’m just saying that if you really want to ‘get back to normal’ then you should probably go talk to someone. You know, man up and take hold of your future because it might not be the one you think it’ll be.”
“I can’t think of anything further from being a man than going lay on some white woman couch and cry,” he laughed. “I’m dealing with shit just fine. If I do all this and can’t play football then shit, guess I better pick up a baseball bat or something.”
“Sports aren’t the end-all, be-all for your life, Ro. Even if that is a part of your life, it’s not going to be forever anyway.”
He put the sandwich down. “C’mon, Rana. What you want from me, man? I’m just taking it a day at a time. I’ll let you know if I want to go jump off the bridge and then you can bring me to a therapist.”
“That’s not funny,” Rana snapped.
“My bad, but can I just eat my sandwich in peace?” he asked. “I’m not going to no therapy. Pull for me to get back on the field. I’ll figure out what else if I gotta figure out what else. Tell me about y’all trip to science museum or some shit.”
Rana shook her head as she put the chicken into a pot to defrost, realizing that she wasn’t going to get anywhere pushing the subject. “You’d know how the science museum was if you’d come with us. I seem to remember some white girl getting you to go to the zoo with her kid, though.”
“Wasn’t her kid, and y’all left before I came back from practice.”
“You just make sure you don’t make any kids with her white ass,” Rana said, pointing an accusatory finger in Royce’s direction.
“Ain’t even like that. That’s the homie,” Royce said, shaking his head.
“Uh huh.” Rana’s tone was anything other than convinced.
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 7870
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Dying to Live
Even Rana knows that look in his eyes. Nasty man.
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Soapy
- Posts: 16614
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Dying to Live
Thank you coach McDaniels. ya know how sorry ya team gotta be to rely on a cripple?