Set It Off
Royce stood in front of the mirror in the locker room, his shoulders tense, fingers tapping idly against the edge of the sink. His reflection stared back, hardened and distant, dressed in crisp black and gold. The hum of his usual pregame playlist pulsed through his headphones, familiar beats hitting him with memories of long-forgotten adrenaline highs.
”You wanna talk shit? You wanna run your mouth? You want some gangstas front your motherfuckin’ house? We’ll set this bitch off, set this bitch off. We’ll set this bitch off, set this bitch off. Let’s get these niggas mind right.”
He could almost see himself from last year – smiling, bouncing along with Romeo and the others as they hyped each other up. But today, his face was like stone, his eyes focused.
He adjusted his gloves, pulling them taut over his fingers, and checked the tape wrapped around his wrist. Everything felt the same yet completely different. The sounds of his teammates, laughing and shouting, bounced off the lockers around him, but he was somewhere else entirely.
”I set it off in this motherfucker. Don’t make me let if off in this motherfucker. And you gon’ respect a dog up in this motherfucker. “Cause I’ll set it off.”
He inhaled slowly, steeling himself, and with one last look at his reflection, he clapped his hands and let his headphones slip down to his neck.
As he stepped out onto the field, the cacophony of the game met him in a rush: the marching bad’s drumline rolling through rhythms, the cheerleaders chanting, fans buzzing with energy. The lights were bright, nearly blinding against the dusk, but Royce kept his focus straight ahead, his cleats digging into the grass as he strode toward the endzone.
The team hyped themselves around him, preparing to run out on the field. The anticipation of the preseason bubbling to the edge and ready to be let loose on their opponents. When Coach Cunningham gave them the go, they burst out onto the field.
Royce, however, stopped at the goal line and bowed his head. Romeo should’ve been here. Romeo would’ve been here. Royce pressed to fingers to his lips and then to his chest, feeling the weight of the old Terrebonne P.E. shirt he wore beneath his jersey.
As he stood in silence, his teammates passed by, some calling his name, but he stayed rooted to that spot just for a few moments longer.
“Am I my brother’s keeper?” Royce whispered, the weight of the words pressing into his chest, reminding him of why he was here, why he had pushed himself through grueling rehab sessions, day after day. His voice was barely audible, but he felt it, the way the words tightened in his throat. “Yes, I am. Yes, I am.”
He looked up at the sky and headed to the sideline.
…
“TOOOOOOOOOOOOOUCHDOWN CUBS!”
Royce stood on the sideline, his hands holding onto his collar as he watched the offense run off the field in celebration. They’d put up two quick touchdowns on Woodlawn, coming out the gates swinging.
The stadium was rocking, energy threatening to burst out the seams as they seemed to force the breath out of the lungs of the visiting players with the roar after every big play.
Coach Cunningham shouted instructions to the defense before the next drive, instructing them to get the ball back so they can start to open up a bigger lead and make it an early night for their starters.
…
“Jackson and Williams combine on that stop and Woodlawn is going to have to punt it away again.”
Royce dapped up a few of the guys as they ran off the field, but the short drives were killing him. Donovan, Justin and Tyler weren’t spending enough time on the field to get remotely tired, and when one of them came out of the game, it was for a cornerback or a lineman.
His hands were remained clenched at his collar, itching to be out there himself, his body practically vibrating with anticipation. He was a ball of nervous energy and each blast of sound from the crowd for a big play on managed to heighten that.
He turned around to listen to Coach Vaughn as he gave some additional instructions to the defense for their next time out on the field.
…
Midway through the second quarter, with their lead widening, the Panthers finally started to move the ball forward.
“A gain of 7 by Harris. First down, Woodlawn.”
The opposing running back was a bruiser, pounding his way through the middle of the line of scrimmage to try to get yards. It hadn’t worked for the first quarter of the game and most of the second, but the punishment had started to take its toll on UHigh’s front seven, the strain beginning to show in their slower movements back to their feet.
Donovan looked over to the sideline and tapped the top of his helmet.
“Lafitte! Go in for Donovan!” Coach Cunningham shouted down the sideline.
Royce nodded as the old coach gave him the next play call, buckled his chin strap and jogged out onto the field, dapping up Donovan as the two of them passed one another. Adrenaline surged through him as he stood in the huddle, in a real game, for the first time since the previous October.
The huddle broke and he walked into position, crouching low, creeping toward the line. Woodlawn’s quarterback went through his cadence, the team lined up in an I-formation. Royce backed away from the line, shouting an adjustment to his teammates.
The ball was snapped and Royce took a step toward the line as the quarterback turned and held the ball out to his left for the running back. Royce burst forward, angling his run toward the left side of the field as the back took the run toward the sideline.
Royce swam through a block attempt, lining himself up with the running back. The back lowered his shoulder as they came together. Royce went low, wrapping up his legs. He felt the impact reverberate through his body, a shock of familiarity, the running back tried to keep his feet churning but Royce spun him down to the turf in the backfield for a loss.
The crowd roared as Royce sprung up to his feet, wagging a finger in the back’s face.
Pat slapped Royce on the back of the helmet in celebration. “Let them niggas know!” he shouted.
The jitters were gone.
…
“Liz! Liz! Liz!” Royce shouted over the din of the crowd toward both sides of the field as the tight end moved in motion to the left side of the formation.
The quarterback stood in shotgun, hands at his sides as he surveyed the defense. He checked with the sideline before settling in to receive the snap.
Royce crept toward the line of scrimmage in an effort to disguise his assignment and confuse the quarterback.
“I want you, bitch!” he shouted, pointing at the quarterback, who tried his best to make it seem as if he was ignoring all the trash talk being hurled in his direction from UHigh’s linebackers.
The quarterback called for the ball. Royce dropped back into coverage, getting depth. He scanned the field and saw a receiver running a shallow crossing route. The quarterback turned toward that receiver and drew his arm back.
Royce broke into a sprint, heading straight for the receiver.
He didn’t see the hit coming as he turned his head to make the catch. Royce’s shoulder connected squarely with the receiver’s chest, stopping him dead in his tracks with a force that sent a collective “oooh” cascading around the stadium.
The ball popped loose on impact, tumbling to the turf, but the referees blew the play dead before anyone jumped on it, ruling it incomplete.
Royce popped up to his feet, slapping his helmet with both hands, roaring as Malik jumped on his back. He was feeling it now, that unmistakable electricity that had eluded him all these months.
…
Royce looked up at the scoreboard, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. The 40 under University Lab loomed large alongside the six for Woodlawn. It was late in the fourth quarter and the Panthers were finally threatening to score a touchdown, finding themselves on the ten yard line with a fourth and three.
They were going for it, hoping to salvage some pride.
Royce walked to his right, lining up on the inside shoulder of the tackle. The quarterback barked out his cadence, attempting to draw the Cubs offside with a hard count, but no one bit, remaining disciplined.
The ball was snapped. Royce surged forward, heading for the gap between the center and guard. The guard’s hands shot out, engaging him. Royce shoved his arms to the left and then spinning back to the right, slipping back the tackle as he tried to block two players.
He shot through the gap, the distance between him and the quarterback shrinking rapidly. The quarterback looked over his shoulder and immediately tried to run to keep the play alive, but it was too late.
Royce wrapped him up and brought him down for the sack, sending the still capacity crowd into a frenzy.
He jumped up to his feet, mimicking eating as his teammates swarmed him, slapping his helmet and shoulders, shouting his name in triumph.
…
When the final whistle blew, the game ending 40-6, Royce exhaled, allowing himself a moment of release. He took his helmet off and crouched on the sideline, closing his eyes as the band cranked up the fight song for the last time that night.
As he stood up, Coach Vaughn wrapped an arm around his shoulders and tapped him on the top of his head in celebration.
“Good shit out there, kid. I knew you had it in you!” the coach shouted before running off to congratulate other players.
Royce nodded, walking toward the middle of the field to shake Woodlawn’s players’ hands.
And for the first time in months, things felt right.
Dying to Live
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16858
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
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djp73
- Posts: 13184
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 13:42
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 7866
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Dying to Live
In Romeo's name 
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Soapy
- Posts: 16608
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Dying to Live
good game little nigga
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16858
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Sloppy
The morning after the game felt quieter than he’d remembered. The usual buzz that lasted well after the game into the wee hours of the A.M. was replaced by the typical sounds of late night Baton Rouge, most people not caring what happened at football stadiums around the city unlike back in Houma.
Royce was still processing it all – the hits, the roar of the crowd, the way time always slowed right before he made a tackle. He lingered in that space, reveling in not feeling the depression that was always threatening to drag him back in.
He heard a knock at the door before his phone pinged with a text. Slowly siting up in his bed, he peeked out the window, seeing Malik standing in front of the door. Both Tyrell’s truck and Rana’s car were gone.
Throwing on a shirt and pair of sweatpants, Royce went to let Malik in. He all but burst into the house, all high energy as if he hadn’t just played a game of football the night before.
“My nigga, what you even doing up this early?” Royce asked as Malik walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. “And who told your ass you could just go up in my sister’s refrigerator like you pay bills here?”
Malik took two water bottles out and slid one over toward Royce before leaning on the counter. “Nigga, we practically family now that you showed you actually kinda nice on the field. Against motherfuckers that were getting blown out, but still kinda nice.”
Royce grabbed the bottle before sitting at the dining room table. “Didn’t I finish the game with more tackles then your ass?”
“I’m Ed Reed, bruh. What I look like going in the box when they had that big 350 pound nigga toting the rock out the backfield? I ain’t trying to get no CTE.
“You just scared to get ran over,” Royce laughed.
“You God damn right I’m not trying to get trucked,” Malik said, shaking his head. “So, a nigga got the call last night. Baylor wants me to come through next Saturday and see what’s up.”
“Ain’t that where them white folks got shot up by the government?”
Malik waved his hand dismissively. “The government don’t shoot white people. You saw how they were shitting in the Capitol and walked out there like they’d been shopping at Tanger on a Sunday.”
Royce leaned back in the chair, shrugging. “I think that is where that happened. Anyway, what’s the numbers they talking?”
“Hundred, hundred fifty over a couple years. It’s the Big 12 though and in Texas so you know a bag just on the other side of them couple years. I ain’t going to say if because you already know I’m the truth.”
“Or you end up like that big motherfucker they had there with the full cage and shit. You should tell them you want to bring your boy along because they could get a two for one package, get their foot in the door in Baton Rouge.”
Malik laughed. “Nigga, you love saying you not from here. What you mean get their foot in?”
“They don’t need to know that. I’ll be from Anacoco if they give me a fucking scholarship. Shit, motherfucking Iowa if they slide me some money.”
“Ain’t none of us in either of them places so they’re going to know you playing in their faces,” Malik walked over to the table and sat down across from Royce. “I’ll let ‘em know to check you out though, but we gotta see if you more than a one hit wonder against Rummel next week.”
“Man, we ain’t losing to no fucking religious school. We ain’t playing no fucking lacrosse,” Royce said, laughing.
Malik shook his head as he took a swig of water. “What the fuck is Catholic? A fucking religious school. I been telling you that these not no down the bayou private schools. When one of them big white boys they got on the line throw your ass into the bleachers, don’t come to me crying.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“Gonna be seeing it from your fucking back,” Malik laughed then his expression turned thoughtful. “On some serious shit, though. I can’t wait to get this money. Finally, be able to give back to my people, you know?”
Royce nodded, thinking about his own situation. He hadn’t spoken to anyone in his family other than Rana, Roni, Toni, Arianna and Mike Mike since Romeo’s death – save for the brief interaction with Reg. He’d love to say that any potential future earnings would end up helping his family, but most of them behaved as if he was dead, too.
“Definitely going to cop my mama and grandma new cars. Shit, my mama been riding in a bucket for a couple years because she gave me her car instead of giving me that fucking jalopy,” Malik continued.
“Gonna get ‘em out the hood, for real. Can’t do nothing but respect that,” Royce said, dapping up Malik.
“No doubt, bruh. But hey, ain’t you supposed to be with Sadie today? Fuck is you doing at home?” Malik asked, changing the subject, humor in his tone.
Royce sucked his teeth. “Man, she told me she got some church shit to go to, some kind of benefit. Tried to get me to come to that shit with her.”
“You should’ve brought your ass on and sold them plates,” Malik laughed. “Now, the head deacon son gonna be fucking that when it could’ve been you. Couldn’t’ve been me.”
“Don’t worry about me, nigga. I got this handled.”
“Don’t look like it to me. She too much woman for you with all that ass anyway. Just tell her to hit me up instead.”
Royce waved his hand dismissively. “You fuck skinny white girls. You can’t say a damn thing about ‘too much ass.’ Any ass is too much ass when you fucking bitches with less meat than a vegetarian cookout.”
“Oh, he got jokes. Comedian ass negro,” Malik said, shaking his head.
~~~~~~~~~~
Royce walked through the crowd of people, noticing the way more people’s eyes followed him. For months, he’d gone to parties with his friends and no one had paid any mind to him, a ghost in the corner. Now, there seemed to be more eyes on him, more people paying attention to him.
He was leaning against the wall, trying to stay out of the way and just vibe when he noticed a girl moving toward him. She was cute, with dark curls framing her face and a confidence in her stride. Her eyes met his and she offered a smile. Royce brought the beer bottle in his hand up to his mouth.
“Hey, you’re Royce, right?” she asked, resting her hand on his arm and leaning up to be heard over the music.
“Yeah, I’m Royce,” he replied. “But I don’t think we’ve met.”
“We haven’t,” she said, a playful glint in her eyes. “I’m Rachael. I was over there talking to, what’s his name? Donovan?”
Royce looked over her shoulder to where she’d come from, finding Donovan and Justin chatting up a couple of girls. “Yeah, that’s Donovan.”
“Thought I had his name, right. My friends are way more into them than I am so when they said they knew you I came over,” she leaned a bit closer. “If you ask me, I think I got the better end of the deal.”
“I think you did, too,” he laughed.
“You want to go somewhere a little quieter?” she asked, holding his gaze.
Royce felt the offer hang in the air between them. He let it linger for a second before smiling. “Maybe later. Before I get drunk though. If you see me starting to throw them back, come pull me away.”
She laughed, a light and teasing sound. “Don’t take too long, Royce.” With that she slipped back into the crowd, leaving behind a hint of her perfume.
He watched her go, nodding to himself as he took in her backside, appreciating the view.
…
The party was getting louder, the music thumping in sync with the buzz of conversation. Worst of all, he was quickly growing tired of the looks he was getting from people. He preferred being in the back before everything, it’d only gotten worse since. He stepped outside to get some air, grabbing an extra bottle of beer to tide him over while he did.
Alix stood a few feet away, talking and laughing with Vic. He seemed to be doing his best to keep her attention, gesturing animatedly. He was clean-cut, a far cry from the guys he’d typically seen Alix interested in, including Royce himself.
Royce pulled out his phone, sending her a text. ’Look to your right’
She glanced down, shaking her head when she read the message. She looked over to where Royce was standing and seemed like she was going to ignore him for a moment, before shaking her head. She excused herself from Vic, placing her hand on his arm and offering him a quick smile before making her way over.
“What?” she asked, putting a hand on her hip, but there was an amused glint in her eyes. “Can’t you see I was having a conversation?”
Royce shrugged. “Yeah, I see you talking to that Poindexter ass nigga.” He held out the extra beer to her which she took. “Tell him you gotta leave because Darius needs you.”
“Why would I do that?” She brought the beer to her lips, taking a long sip from the bottle.
“You know why.”
Alix laughed and shook her head. “Either you’re addicted or you’re jealous and just trying to get me away from him. You know I could just say no and get that from Vic tonight, right?”
He leaned closer to her, looking at Vic over her shoulder. He was looking at his phone, probably scrolling through the weather app. “You’re not gonna say no.”
A grin slowly spread across her face. “I’ll meet you in five minutes.”
…
They found an empty room at the back of the house, a dimly lit bedroom with soft light filtering in from the street. Alix shut the door behind them, pressing her back against it.
Royce reached for her, pulling her close. For a moment, they didn’t speak, letting the silence stretch, the tension lingering just long enough. He guided her a step forward until their faces were inches apart.
“You can’t quit me, huh?” she asked, her voice breathy.
He smirked. “Don’t ruin it.”
They closed the space between them. The energy was reckless, a mix of frustration and a pull they couldn’t seem to ignore. It felt like it would last forever until –
Voices and footsteps suddenly echoed in the hallway outside, close enough to shatter the moment. They both paused, listening.
“Yeah, over here,” the sound of Malik’s voice floated through the door just before the sound of someone putting their hand on the doorknob seemed to crack through the room.
“Get in the fucking closet,” Alix whispered.
“What? Just lock the fucking door,” Royce said in hushed tones, reaching for the door.
“I gotta get him to go away.” She shoved him toward the closet, moving out of the way of the door.
He barely had time to squeeze inside and close the door before Malik burst in, a girl laughing and clinging to his arm. They stumbled toward the bed, Malik’s eyes landing on Alix standing in the room.
“Alix?” he asked, confusion in his voice. “The fuck are you doing in here?” He looked around the room, accusations in his eyes.
Alix put on a feigned look of exhaustion, pressing a hand to her hand. “I was feeling kinda sick. That time of the month. You know how it hits me like a ton of bricks. I came in here to lie down for a sec.”
He frowned, concerned. “You good? I can take you home.”
“What the fuck?” the girl with him snapped. “What do you mean you can take her home?”
“Man, chill out,” Malik said, swiping his hand across his neck.
“No, I’m good. I just need a couple minutes and then I can manage. I don’t want to make you leave,” she said.
Malik’s eyes softened, though he still looked a bit skeptical. He walked further into the room and looked down on the other side of the bed before walking back toward the door. “Alright. But just shoot me a text if you need a ride. And lock this door, I don’t want no one just busting in on you.”
“If you want her ass, don’t let me get in the way!” the girl shouted, storming out of the room.
Malik shook his head before following behind her, closing the door as he left.
Royce waited another minute or so before poking his head out of the closet. He held up a hoodie. “This shit nice. I might take it.”
Alix rolled her eyes, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “You’re going to get us into some shit.”
“Me? This all you, sha,” he said, sitting down next to her. “We’re gonna have to tighten up though. Can’t be going get all sloppy.”
“You’re right,” she nodded.
They sat in silence for a moment, both of them taking in the tension and thrill of their close call. Alix got up and locked the door, turning to Royce with a smile on her face.
“We’ll have to be quick,” she said, crossing the room back to the bed, already reaching for the hem of her shirt. “And don’t make too much noise.”
“I can say the same thing to you,” Royce said as she straddled him.
The morning after the game felt quieter than he’d remembered. The usual buzz that lasted well after the game into the wee hours of the A.M. was replaced by the typical sounds of late night Baton Rouge, most people not caring what happened at football stadiums around the city unlike back in Houma.
Royce was still processing it all – the hits, the roar of the crowd, the way time always slowed right before he made a tackle. He lingered in that space, reveling in not feeling the depression that was always threatening to drag him back in.
He heard a knock at the door before his phone pinged with a text. Slowly siting up in his bed, he peeked out the window, seeing Malik standing in front of the door. Both Tyrell’s truck and Rana’s car were gone.
Throwing on a shirt and pair of sweatpants, Royce went to let Malik in. He all but burst into the house, all high energy as if he hadn’t just played a game of football the night before.
“My nigga, what you even doing up this early?” Royce asked as Malik walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. “And who told your ass you could just go up in my sister’s refrigerator like you pay bills here?”
Malik took two water bottles out and slid one over toward Royce before leaning on the counter. “Nigga, we practically family now that you showed you actually kinda nice on the field. Against motherfuckers that were getting blown out, but still kinda nice.”
Royce grabbed the bottle before sitting at the dining room table. “Didn’t I finish the game with more tackles then your ass?”
“I’m Ed Reed, bruh. What I look like going in the box when they had that big 350 pound nigga toting the rock out the backfield? I ain’t trying to get no CTE.
“You just scared to get ran over,” Royce laughed.
“You God damn right I’m not trying to get trucked,” Malik said, shaking his head. “So, a nigga got the call last night. Baylor wants me to come through next Saturday and see what’s up.”
“Ain’t that where them white folks got shot up by the government?”
Malik waved his hand dismissively. “The government don’t shoot white people. You saw how they were shitting in the Capitol and walked out there like they’d been shopping at Tanger on a Sunday.”
Royce leaned back in the chair, shrugging. “I think that is where that happened. Anyway, what’s the numbers they talking?”
“Hundred, hundred fifty over a couple years. It’s the Big 12 though and in Texas so you know a bag just on the other side of them couple years. I ain’t going to say if because you already know I’m the truth.”
“Or you end up like that big motherfucker they had there with the full cage and shit. You should tell them you want to bring your boy along because they could get a two for one package, get their foot in the door in Baton Rouge.”
Malik laughed. “Nigga, you love saying you not from here. What you mean get their foot in?”
“They don’t need to know that. I’ll be from Anacoco if they give me a fucking scholarship. Shit, motherfucking Iowa if they slide me some money.”
“Ain’t none of us in either of them places so they’re going to know you playing in their faces,” Malik walked over to the table and sat down across from Royce. “I’ll let ‘em know to check you out though, but we gotta see if you more than a one hit wonder against Rummel next week.”
“Man, we ain’t losing to no fucking religious school. We ain’t playing no fucking lacrosse,” Royce said, laughing.
Malik shook his head as he took a swig of water. “What the fuck is Catholic? A fucking religious school. I been telling you that these not no down the bayou private schools. When one of them big white boys they got on the line throw your ass into the bleachers, don’t come to me crying.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“Gonna be seeing it from your fucking back,” Malik laughed then his expression turned thoughtful. “On some serious shit, though. I can’t wait to get this money. Finally, be able to give back to my people, you know?”
Royce nodded, thinking about his own situation. He hadn’t spoken to anyone in his family other than Rana, Roni, Toni, Arianna and Mike Mike since Romeo’s death – save for the brief interaction with Reg. He’d love to say that any potential future earnings would end up helping his family, but most of them behaved as if he was dead, too.
“Definitely going to cop my mama and grandma new cars. Shit, my mama been riding in a bucket for a couple years because she gave me her car instead of giving me that fucking jalopy,” Malik continued.
“Gonna get ‘em out the hood, for real. Can’t do nothing but respect that,” Royce said, dapping up Malik.
“No doubt, bruh. But hey, ain’t you supposed to be with Sadie today? Fuck is you doing at home?” Malik asked, changing the subject, humor in his tone.
Royce sucked his teeth. “Man, she told me she got some church shit to go to, some kind of benefit. Tried to get me to come to that shit with her.”
“You should’ve brought your ass on and sold them plates,” Malik laughed. “Now, the head deacon son gonna be fucking that when it could’ve been you. Couldn’t’ve been me.”
“Don’t worry about me, nigga. I got this handled.”
“Don’t look like it to me. She too much woman for you with all that ass anyway. Just tell her to hit me up instead.”
Royce waved his hand dismissively. “You fuck skinny white girls. You can’t say a damn thing about ‘too much ass.’ Any ass is too much ass when you fucking bitches with less meat than a vegetarian cookout.”
“Oh, he got jokes. Comedian ass negro,” Malik said, shaking his head.
~~~~~~~~~~
Royce walked through the crowd of people, noticing the way more people’s eyes followed him. For months, he’d gone to parties with his friends and no one had paid any mind to him, a ghost in the corner. Now, there seemed to be more eyes on him, more people paying attention to him.
He was leaning against the wall, trying to stay out of the way and just vibe when he noticed a girl moving toward him. She was cute, with dark curls framing her face and a confidence in her stride. Her eyes met his and she offered a smile. Royce brought the beer bottle in his hand up to his mouth.
“Hey, you’re Royce, right?” she asked, resting her hand on his arm and leaning up to be heard over the music.
“Yeah, I’m Royce,” he replied. “But I don’t think we’ve met.”
“We haven’t,” she said, a playful glint in her eyes. “I’m Rachael. I was over there talking to, what’s his name? Donovan?”
Royce looked over her shoulder to where she’d come from, finding Donovan and Justin chatting up a couple of girls. “Yeah, that’s Donovan.”
“Thought I had his name, right. My friends are way more into them than I am so when they said they knew you I came over,” she leaned a bit closer. “If you ask me, I think I got the better end of the deal.”
“I think you did, too,” he laughed.
“You want to go somewhere a little quieter?” she asked, holding his gaze.
Royce felt the offer hang in the air between them. He let it linger for a second before smiling. “Maybe later. Before I get drunk though. If you see me starting to throw them back, come pull me away.”
She laughed, a light and teasing sound. “Don’t take too long, Royce.” With that she slipped back into the crowd, leaving behind a hint of her perfume.
He watched her go, nodding to himself as he took in her backside, appreciating the view.
…
The party was getting louder, the music thumping in sync with the buzz of conversation. Worst of all, he was quickly growing tired of the looks he was getting from people. He preferred being in the back before everything, it’d only gotten worse since. He stepped outside to get some air, grabbing an extra bottle of beer to tide him over while he did.
Alix stood a few feet away, talking and laughing with Vic. He seemed to be doing his best to keep her attention, gesturing animatedly. He was clean-cut, a far cry from the guys he’d typically seen Alix interested in, including Royce himself.
Royce pulled out his phone, sending her a text. ’Look to your right’
She glanced down, shaking her head when she read the message. She looked over to where Royce was standing and seemed like she was going to ignore him for a moment, before shaking her head. She excused herself from Vic, placing her hand on his arm and offering him a quick smile before making her way over.
“What?” she asked, putting a hand on her hip, but there was an amused glint in her eyes. “Can’t you see I was having a conversation?”
Royce shrugged. “Yeah, I see you talking to that Poindexter ass nigga.” He held out the extra beer to her which she took. “Tell him you gotta leave because Darius needs you.”
“Why would I do that?” She brought the beer to her lips, taking a long sip from the bottle.
“You know why.”
Alix laughed and shook her head. “Either you’re addicted or you’re jealous and just trying to get me away from him. You know I could just say no and get that from Vic tonight, right?”
He leaned closer to her, looking at Vic over her shoulder. He was looking at his phone, probably scrolling through the weather app. “You’re not gonna say no.”
A grin slowly spread across her face. “I’ll meet you in five minutes.”
…
They found an empty room at the back of the house, a dimly lit bedroom with soft light filtering in from the street. Alix shut the door behind them, pressing her back against it.
Royce reached for her, pulling her close. For a moment, they didn’t speak, letting the silence stretch, the tension lingering just long enough. He guided her a step forward until their faces were inches apart.
“You can’t quit me, huh?” she asked, her voice breathy.
He smirked. “Don’t ruin it.”
They closed the space between them. The energy was reckless, a mix of frustration and a pull they couldn’t seem to ignore. It felt like it would last forever until –
Voices and footsteps suddenly echoed in the hallway outside, close enough to shatter the moment. They both paused, listening.
“Yeah, over here,” the sound of Malik’s voice floated through the door just before the sound of someone putting their hand on the doorknob seemed to crack through the room.
“Get in the fucking closet,” Alix whispered.
“What? Just lock the fucking door,” Royce said in hushed tones, reaching for the door.
“I gotta get him to go away.” She shoved him toward the closet, moving out of the way of the door.
He barely had time to squeeze inside and close the door before Malik burst in, a girl laughing and clinging to his arm. They stumbled toward the bed, Malik’s eyes landing on Alix standing in the room.
“Alix?” he asked, confusion in his voice. “The fuck are you doing in here?” He looked around the room, accusations in his eyes.
Alix put on a feigned look of exhaustion, pressing a hand to her hand. “I was feeling kinda sick. That time of the month. You know how it hits me like a ton of bricks. I came in here to lie down for a sec.”
He frowned, concerned. “You good? I can take you home.”
“What the fuck?” the girl with him snapped. “What do you mean you can take her home?”
“Man, chill out,” Malik said, swiping his hand across his neck.
“No, I’m good. I just need a couple minutes and then I can manage. I don’t want to make you leave,” she said.
Malik’s eyes softened, though he still looked a bit skeptical. He walked further into the room and looked down on the other side of the bed before walking back toward the door. “Alright. But just shoot me a text if you need a ride. And lock this door, I don’t want no one just busting in on you.”
“If you want her ass, don’t let me get in the way!” the girl shouted, storming out of the room.
Malik shook his head before following behind her, closing the door as he left.
Royce waited another minute or so before poking his head out of the closet. He held up a hoodie. “This shit nice. I might take it.”
Alix rolled her eyes, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “You’re going to get us into some shit.”
“Me? This all you, sha,” he said, sitting down next to her. “We’re gonna have to tighten up though. Can’t be going get all sloppy.”
“You’re right,” she nodded.
They sat in silence for a moment, both of them taking in the tension and thrill of their close call. Alix got up and locked the door, turning to Royce with a smile on her face.
“We’ll have to be quick,” she said, crossing the room back to the bed, already reaching for the hem of her shirt. “And don’t make too much noise.”
“I can say the same thing to you,” Royce said as she straddled him.
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 7866
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Dying to Live
We ... hiding in closets now??
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16858
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Step Back Forward
Royce darted forward when the ball was snapped, reading the gaps and slicing between the offensive linemen. He met the running back head-on, the impact echoing through the stadium, the collision sending a jolt through his body.
He stayed low, he and the back both driving their feet to push the other one back, until his teammates piled on to complete the stop.
Rolling from under the pile of bodies, Malik helped Romeo to his feet, slapping him on the helmet in a muted celebration as they jogged off the field, having finally managed to force Archbishop Rummel’s offense off the field in less than a dozen plays.
He glanced up at the scoreboard which read 14-3 in favor of the Raiders midway through the third quarter. He walked over to the bench and fell back onto the metal seat, snatching a bottle of water out of Zach’s hand, a scowl beginning to form on his face.
…
“Lewis bounces it to the outside and picks up a gain of six on that play. This Cubs offense has been really struggling tonight, but they’re showing some signs of life on this drive.”
…
“Gautreaux drops back but the pocket is collapsing around him. Takes it himself up the middle, picks up a block! And that’s going to be a touchdown! UHigh is back in the game!”
…
The Raiders sent a receiver in motion across the field. Royce pointed to him frantically, signaling for Tyler to shift over, finally pushing his teammate into action to get him to realign his coverage to account for the receiver.
The quarterback snapped it and dropped back. Royce dropped into a zone, his eyes darting between the quarterback and the receivers coming off the line. The quarterback turned to his left and drew his arm back. Royce spotted the tight end settling down between the zones, turning to the line and preparing to catch the ball.
Royce broke into a dead sprint, running at the tight end, closing the gap in an instant.
The Rummel player barely had time to secure the ball before Royce crashed into him, lowering his shoulder into the tight end’s back. The sound of pads colliding rang in the air, drawing cheers from the Cubs’ sideline as the referees signaled no catch.
Royce sprang up to his feet, standing over the tight end. An offensive lineman ran over and shoved him away, sparking a small scrum, the tension in the game beginning to boil over.
“Do something about it then, nigga!” Royce shouted to the lineman as Pat held him back. He shoved Pat away and got in the lineman’s face, their helmets clashing into each other as they pushed one another away.
The referees eventually regained control of the two teams and sent them off to their respective sidelines.
Coach Vaughn threw an arm around Royce’s shoulder to guide him off the field. “I like that intensity, son, but don’t go out there and get yourself a penalty. Hell of a hit, though.”
“Got it, coach.”
…
“Lafitte and Jackson combine on that stop and the Raiders are going to send out their kicker to attempt the 32-yard kick.”
…
“Lewis powers his way into the endzone and touchdown Cubs! We have a tie ballgame pending the extra point! Time’s running out, but we’re going to have a thrilling finish here in Metairie!”
…
Rummel methodically moved the ball down the field, working the sideline to keep the clock stopped as they went, saving their final timeout for a potential game-winning field goal attempt.
The quarterback dropped back for a pass, eyes scanning the field. Royce read the play, breaking to the right to cover a crossing route. The quarterback released the ball and Royce saw his chance, lunging forward. His fingertips grazed the ball and tipped it just enough to send it spiraling out of reach. The receiver dove for the ball, but missed, the crowd letting out a collective groan.
Royce jumped up to his feet, rushing to get reset as the offense called in their next play from the sideline.
…
“Trahan drops back and completes the quick out to Williams. He’s out of bounds at the 45 yard line with about 34 seconds left. Rummel will want to get to the 25 if they want to put the ball somewhere their kicker is likely to hit it!”
…
Royce shuffled back into his assignment, watching as the tight end burst off the line and turned to look for the ball. The quarterback, though, was flushed out of the pocket and took off running toward the sideline.
Royce hesitated, taking a step to run to cut the quarterback off but deciding to stay with the tight end and he turned and started running up the field. Royce looked back over his shoulder, watching as the quarterback approached the line of scrimmage.
Shouts erupted from the sideline as the coaches pointed at the quarterback.
Royce broke off from the tight end and turned back toward the line, sprinting at full speed.
He could only watch as the quarterback drew his arm back and flicked the ball out just as he went out of bounds to avoid taking a hit. Royce slipped as he attempted to turn around, falling to the turf, scrambling to get back to his feet.
The tight end reeled the ball in before getting hit out of bounds by Malik. The ball was spotted at the 21.
Royce stood up and snapped his chin strap off as he trudged off the field, being replaced by Cory.
…
“Gonzalez lines up for the kick from the 19. Here’s the snap. Hold is good. Kick is up! It’s good! Archbishop Rummel wins! 20-17! What a ball game!”
~~~~~~~~~~
“Them niggas not even in the district. We still gonna win state,” Malik said to Royce as the two of them left the locker room and headed for the buses, ready to take them back to Baton Rouge to lick their wounds after the loss.
“Not in our division either,” Andre added as he walked back, overhearing their conversation.
“Yeah, still sucks to lose to them buster ass niggas,” Royce said.
As Royce stood next to the bus, waiting to board, a tall man in a green polo strode over, weaving through the milling players. He had a confident, measured step, eyes set on Royce.
“You’re Royce, right?” the man asked, extending a hand.
Royce nodded, taking it, the exhaustion of the night’s game starting to wear on him especially with the long trip back ahead of them.
“Name’s Nick Coleman. Coach over at UAB. We came out here to take a look at Rummel’s quarterback, but after watching you out there, I know Coach Kitna would kick my ass if I didn’t at least talk to you. You ever been to Birmingham, son?”
Royce shook his head. “No, sir.”
“Well, let me talk to the staff back home because I think we’d love to get you out there and see what we can make happen. You play with that fire that a lot of fans in Birmingham will love. It’s a real lunchpail type of city, you know?”
“Thanks, Coach,” Royce said, standing up a little straighter. “I just go out there and try to do the best I can.”
“Your ‘best’ is pretty damn good, son. You’ve got a good eye for what’s going on out there. A real good base as a player that I know we can work with and turn you into a top tier backer. We’re building something and it’s only up from here,” Coleman said. “And I know you think about playing in the league, all young guys do. We can get you in front of the folks that will be making that decision in three or four years.”
“To be honest with you, Coach. I ain’t been thinking too far in the future lately. Just figuring out next year.”
Coleman clapped Royce on his shoulder. “Nothing wrong with not counting your chickens before they hatch, but look, take my card and we’ll be in touch. I’m sure they’d like to sit down with you and your family and discuss this. I really think you got what it takes to succeed in Birmingham.”
Royce took the coach’s business card and shoved it into his bag. “Sounds good.”
Coleman offered one last handshake. “Good luck with the rest of the season, Royce. We’ll be in touch. Don’t let losses like tonight get you down. You’re not playing the game if you’ve never been on the wrong end of one, huh?”
As the man walked away, Malik walked over to where Royce was standing, glancing back at the Coach Coleman’s departing figure.
“Damn, my nigga. Only two games in and you already getting coaches to catch you before you get on the bus,” Malik laughed.
“It was just UAB,” Royce said, shrugging.
“Yeah, UAB today. All these schools know who’s looking at who. Louisiana, Texas and Mississippi schools ain’t letting UAB come from Alabama and piss on their yard without knowing it’s happening.”
“I guess.”
Malik shook his head as the players started getting on the buses. “Talking about he guess. I can’t with this man.”
As Royce got on the bus, shuffling down the aisle to a seat toward the back, he thought back on his journey so far. Maybe Malik was right, maybe he wasn’t. Either way, getting back in front of coaches and programs was only the beginning. The first step.
Royce darted forward when the ball was snapped, reading the gaps and slicing between the offensive linemen. He met the running back head-on, the impact echoing through the stadium, the collision sending a jolt through his body.
He stayed low, he and the back both driving their feet to push the other one back, until his teammates piled on to complete the stop.
Rolling from under the pile of bodies, Malik helped Romeo to his feet, slapping him on the helmet in a muted celebration as they jogged off the field, having finally managed to force Archbishop Rummel’s offense off the field in less than a dozen plays.
He glanced up at the scoreboard which read 14-3 in favor of the Raiders midway through the third quarter. He walked over to the bench and fell back onto the metal seat, snatching a bottle of water out of Zach’s hand, a scowl beginning to form on his face.
…
“Lewis bounces it to the outside and picks up a gain of six on that play. This Cubs offense has been really struggling tonight, but they’re showing some signs of life on this drive.”
…
“Gautreaux drops back but the pocket is collapsing around him. Takes it himself up the middle, picks up a block! And that’s going to be a touchdown! UHigh is back in the game!”
…
The Raiders sent a receiver in motion across the field. Royce pointed to him frantically, signaling for Tyler to shift over, finally pushing his teammate into action to get him to realign his coverage to account for the receiver.
The quarterback snapped it and dropped back. Royce dropped into a zone, his eyes darting between the quarterback and the receivers coming off the line. The quarterback turned to his left and drew his arm back. Royce spotted the tight end settling down between the zones, turning to the line and preparing to catch the ball.
Royce broke into a dead sprint, running at the tight end, closing the gap in an instant.
The Rummel player barely had time to secure the ball before Royce crashed into him, lowering his shoulder into the tight end’s back. The sound of pads colliding rang in the air, drawing cheers from the Cubs’ sideline as the referees signaled no catch.
Royce sprang up to his feet, standing over the tight end. An offensive lineman ran over and shoved him away, sparking a small scrum, the tension in the game beginning to boil over.
“Do something about it then, nigga!” Royce shouted to the lineman as Pat held him back. He shoved Pat away and got in the lineman’s face, their helmets clashing into each other as they pushed one another away.
The referees eventually regained control of the two teams and sent them off to their respective sidelines.
Coach Vaughn threw an arm around Royce’s shoulder to guide him off the field. “I like that intensity, son, but don’t go out there and get yourself a penalty. Hell of a hit, though.”
“Got it, coach.”
…
“Lafitte and Jackson combine on that stop and the Raiders are going to send out their kicker to attempt the 32-yard kick.”
…
“Lewis powers his way into the endzone and touchdown Cubs! We have a tie ballgame pending the extra point! Time’s running out, but we’re going to have a thrilling finish here in Metairie!”
…
Rummel methodically moved the ball down the field, working the sideline to keep the clock stopped as they went, saving their final timeout for a potential game-winning field goal attempt.
The quarterback dropped back for a pass, eyes scanning the field. Royce read the play, breaking to the right to cover a crossing route. The quarterback released the ball and Royce saw his chance, lunging forward. His fingertips grazed the ball and tipped it just enough to send it spiraling out of reach. The receiver dove for the ball, but missed, the crowd letting out a collective groan.
Royce jumped up to his feet, rushing to get reset as the offense called in their next play from the sideline.
…
“Trahan drops back and completes the quick out to Williams. He’s out of bounds at the 45 yard line with about 34 seconds left. Rummel will want to get to the 25 if they want to put the ball somewhere their kicker is likely to hit it!”
…
Royce shuffled back into his assignment, watching as the tight end burst off the line and turned to look for the ball. The quarterback, though, was flushed out of the pocket and took off running toward the sideline.
Royce hesitated, taking a step to run to cut the quarterback off but deciding to stay with the tight end and he turned and started running up the field. Royce looked back over his shoulder, watching as the quarterback approached the line of scrimmage.
Shouts erupted from the sideline as the coaches pointed at the quarterback.
Royce broke off from the tight end and turned back toward the line, sprinting at full speed.
He could only watch as the quarterback drew his arm back and flicked the ball out just as he went out of bounds to avoid taking a hit. Royce slipped as he attempted to turn around, falling to the turf, scrambling to get back to his feet.
The tight end reeled the ball in before getting hit out of bounds by Malik. The ball was spotted at the 21.
Royce stood up and snapped his chin strap off as he trudged off the field, being replaced by Cory.
…
“Gonzalez lines up for the kick from the 19. Here’s the snap. Hold is good. Kick is up! It’s good! Archbishop Rummel wins! 20-17! What a ball game!”
~~~~~~~~~~
“Them niggas not even in the district. We still gonna win state,” Malik said to Royce as the two of them left the locker room and headed for the buses, ready to take them back to Baton Rouge to lick their wounds after the loss.
“Not in our division either,” Andre added as he walked back, overhearing their conversation.
“Yeah, still sucks to lose to them buster ass niggas,” Royce said.
As Royce stood next to the bus, waiting to board, a tall man in a green polo strode over, weaving through the milling players. He had a confident, measured step, eyes set on Royce.
“You’re Royce, right?” the man asked, extending a hand.
Royce nodded, taking it, the exhaustion of the night’s game starting to wear on him especially with the long trip back ahead of them.
“Name’s Nick Coleman. Coach over at UAB. We came out here to take a look at Rummel’s quarterback, but after watching you out there, I know Coach Kitna would kick my ass if I didn’t at least talk to you. You ever been to Birmingham, son?”
Royce shook his head. “No, sir.”
“Well, let me talk to the staff back home because I think we’d love to get you out there and see what we can make happen. You play with that fire that a lot of fans in Birmingham will love. It’s a real lunchpail type of city, you know?”
“Thanks, Coach,” Royce said, standing up a little straighter. “I just go out there and try to do the best I can.”
“Your ‘best’ is pretty damn good, son. You’ve got a good eye for what’s going on out there. A real good base as a player that I know we can work with and turn you into a top tier backer. We’re building something and it’s only up from here,” Coleman said. “And I know you think about playing in the league, all young guys do. We can get you in front of the folks that will be making that decision in three or four years.”
“To be honest with you, Coach. I ain’t been thinking too far in the future lately. Just figuring out next year.”
Coleman clapped Royce on his shoulder. “Nothing wrong with not counting your chickens before they hatch, but look, take my card and we’ll be in touch. I’m sure they’d like to sit down with you and your family and discuss this. I really think you got what it takes to succeed in Birmingham.”
Royce took the coach’s business card and shoved it into his bag. “Sounds good.”
Coleman offered one last handshake. “Good luck with the rest of the season, Royce. We’ll be in touch. Don’t let losses like tonight get you down. You’re not playing the game if you’ve never been on the wrong end of one, huh?”
As the man walked away, Malik walked over to where Royce was standing, glancing back at the Coach Coleman’s departing figure.
“Damn, my nigga. Only two games in and you already getting coaches to catch you before you get on the bus,” Malik laughed.
“It was just UAB,” Royce said, shrugging.
“Yeah, UAB today. All these schools know who’s looking at who. Louisiana, Texas and Mississippi schools ain’t letting UAB come from Alabama and piss on their yard without knowing it’s happening.”
“I guess.”
Malik shook his head as the players started getting on the buses. “Talking about he guess. I can’t with this man.”
As Royce got on the bus, shuffling down the aisle to a seat toward the back, he thought back on his journey so far. Maybe Malik was right, maybe he wasn’t. Either way, getting back in front of coaches and programs was only the beginning. The first step.
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Soapy
- Posts: 16608
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Dying to Live
this hoe ahh nigga ain't never gonna stand on bidness
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 7866
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Dying to Live
Goddamn, tough way to drop the game because of a suspect secondary
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djp73
- Posts: 13184
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 13:42
Dying to Live
All that work just to lose 