Cracked
The roar from the crowd was deafening as the Cubs stormed onto the field for their first playoff game. The energy was electric, a palpable mix of anticipation and confidence. It was Royce’s first time playing in the playoffs, and he couldn’t help feel the nerves bubbling up in his chest.
He bit down on his mouthpiece as he jogged toward the sideline alongside his teammates. Coach Cunningham had been steadfast in his demand of his team, they needed to win the state championship to prove—because anything less could only be seen as a failure.
First up on their run was Patrick Taylor Science and Tech Academy.
…
The Tigers lined up for a critical third-and-four midway through the second quarter. The ball was on the Cubs’ 32-yard line, and the Tigers had been gaining momentum, slowly chipping away at UHigh’s defense with quick passes and power runs. Royce shouted adjustments to his teammates, shifting the formation to match the offense.
He noticed the line loaded with two tight ends to the right. Royce barked another adjustment to the defensive line, shifting the end tighter to seal the edge. He turned around, listening for coverage adjustments from Malik.
The ball was snapped, and the Tigers’ offensive line surged to the right. The running back followed the blockers, aiming for the edge. Royce shot forward, weaving through the chaos at the line of scrimmage.
He collided with a pulling guard, a thunderous crack of pads echoing across the field. The guard stumble, and Royce slipped past him, zeroing in on the running back.
The back tried to bounce it outside, but Royce was too fast. He wrapped him up low, driving his shoulder into the runner’s thighs and dragging him down just shy of the first-drown marker. The crowd erupted, the sound blending with the collective groan from the Lake Charles sideline.
As Royce got to his feet, he pounded his chest and let out a roar, his teammates rushing over the celebrate. The Tigers had no choice but to send on their field goal unit.
…
It was third-and-nine on the Tigers’ 48-yard line, deep in the third quarter. The Cubs were starting to run the score up and things were looking well in hand. Patrick Taylor was down by three scores and lined up in the shotgun, hoping to keep their drive alive with a big play and start cutting into the lead.
As the quarterback called for the snap, Royce hesitate for half a second, letting the play develop. The Tigers’ offensive line shifted right, trying to sell a screen to the running back. But Royce didn’t bite on it. He saw the quarterback glance downfield, searching for a receiver on a deep post.
The play clicked in Royce’s head—a delayed blitz was his opening.
He shot through the B-gap like a cannon, slipping past the right guard who barely had time to turn his head. The running back stepped up to block, but Royce lowered his shoulder, delivering a punishing blow that sent the smaller back stumbling into the quarterback’s path.
With no time to react, the quarterback turned straight into Royce, who wrapped him up and drove him into the turf.
Royce popped up, pointing to the Cubs’ sideline and flexing both arms, his teammates rushing over to pat his helmet and shove him in celebration.
…
“The clock hits zero and UHigh win their first playoff game in dominating fashion, crushing the Patrick Taylor Tigers, 62-6.”
~~~~~~~~~~
“Lisa! Lisa! Lisa!”
It was second-and-7 on the Cubs’ 22-yard line, and the Trailblazers were threatening to score for the first time since the opening drive. The crowd has grown tense as Lake Charles pushed deeper into UHigh territory. Royce lined up just inside the box, his eyes darting between the quarterback and the running back, who had been their go-to target in the passing game all night.
The back motioned out to the slot, the quarterback calling for the snap as soon as he got set. He dropped back, scanning the field while the running back darted across the middle of the field. Royce tracked him, staying a step behind, anticipating the throw.
Then it came—a sharp, low trajectory throw aimed right at the running back’s chest. Royce broke on the ball, planting his foot and lunging forward. He extended his left arm just in time, his fingertips grazing the ball and knocking it off course. The deflection sent the ball spinning wildly into the air, harmlessly hitting the turf several yards behind its intended target.
The stadium erupted as Royce rolled to his feet, shaking his head and clapping his hands. Malik ran over, bumping shoulders with him as the defense celebrated the play.
“Not in my house, bitch!” Royce shouted at the back, wagging his finger.
…
It was early in the fourth quarter, and the Trailblazers were desperate to mount a comeback. Down 31-13, they had driven to midfield, their offense showing signs of life. Royce walked back and forth in the tackle box, jawing with the offense, watching the quarterback bark signals to his teammates. They’d been leaning on their running back all night and Royce could sense another run was coming.
The quarterback called for the ball and handed it off on an inside zone. The back darted toward the left guard, following his blockers. Royce stayed patient, stepping into his gap and reading the flow of the play.
Then he struck.
Royce exploded toward the ball carrier, shooting through a seam between blockers. The running back saw him too late. Royce lowered his shoulder and delivered a crushing hit, his helmet perfectly placed on the ball. The running back spun awkwardly, the ball squirting loose and bouncing toward the sideline.
The stadium erupted in chaos as players dove for the ball. Justin was the first to pounce, smothering it just before it could roll out of bounds.
Royce smashed his helmet against Donovan’s in celebration as the sideline cheered. He pointed to the Trailblazers’ sideline. “Keep that pussy ass shit off my field!”
…
“The Cubs are moving on to the semifinals of the playoffs after beating Lake Charles College Prep, 46-13.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Coach Cunningham stood in the center of the locker room, his hat in his hand and a clipboard tucked under his arm. The team crowded around him, still buzzing with adrenaline from their dominant win over the Trailblazers. The smell of sweat and turf lingered in the air, but all eyes were locked on the coach.
“Fellas,” he started, his voice calm but full of purpose. “that’s how you play championship football. You came out tonight, and you handled your business. We controlled the line, we made plays on defense and we executed when it mattered most. That’s how we win.”
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the room. “But I want you to hear me loud and clear—we’re not done. We’re two games away from history. Two games away from hoisting that trophy, from showing the whole state what this program is all about.”
The players erupted in cheers, but Coach Cunningham raised a hand, silencing them quickly. “Stay hungry. Stay focused. Every snap, every rep, every practice from here on out matters. We don’t let up. Not now, not ever. You want that ring? You gotta earn it.”
He looked around the room, locking eyes with as many players as he could. “Two games, men. Two games to prove that we aren’t just good—we’re great. Let’s get to work.”
The room exploded in applause, helmets clanging against lockers and voices shouting in unison. Royce stood near the center, his jaw set, already thinking about what it would take to finish the job.
Dying to Live
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16902
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 7892
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Dying to Live
Job ain't finished 
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16902
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
It’s Not Me, It’s You
Royce sat in his car, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel. His mind had been flipping between UHigh’s upcoming game against St. Charles Catholic and his need to soon make a decision on where he would be going to college. Each day, the other seniors on the team made their choices, quickly marking him out as the oddball on the team.
He was of the opinion that he needed to just go to the biggest school that was offering him the fastest pathway to starting and getting the most NIL money possible. Everyone else? They were trying to convince him to look toward smaller schools.
But there was one school that was recruiting him harder than the others, size considerations notwithstanding. The answer to the question seemed to be to go where he was wanted the most and there was only one offer that fit that.
Sadie sat in the passenger seat, her hands resting stiffly in her lap. The air between them felt dense, weighed down by the tension Royce could feel radiating off her in waves. He glanced over at her, her jaw was set, her eyes focused straight ahead.
“Hey, you good?” he asked. “You ain’t said much of anything all day. What’s up?”
She didn’t answer right away. She exhaled sharply, then turned to him, her expression unreadable. “Royce, we need to talk.”
Royce’s fingers stopped the erratic rhythm against the steering well. He leaned back in his seat, sighing as he turned toward her. All they did was talk so it didn’t move him to hear that she’d be doing something she always did. “Alright. Let’s talk then.”
Sadie turned in her seat to face him fully. Her voice was low, almost steady, but there was an edge to it that Royce couldn’t ignore. “You know, I’ve been trying to tell myself that things I hear don’t bother me,” she said. “Things about you. The shit I’ve seen with my own eyes. I thought you were serious about this.”
Royce sucked his teeth. “Sadie, what are you talking about? I’m right here, ain’t I? Clearly, I’m serious about this.”
She raised her eyebrows, her gaze sharp and unwavering. “Are you?”
He shrugged. “I mean, fucking yeah. I don’t know what else you want me to do to prove that to you. I don’t know what you think you been hearing or think you been seeing, but you tripping on some shit and we not even really together like that.”
“That’s the problem with y’all, man. You always want to play in somebody face,” Sadie said, throwing her hand up. “Baton Rouge ain’t but so big and we’re at a fucking school with a hundred motherfuckers. So, you want to try that again?”
“Ain’t shit to try again. I been telling you that I’m serious about this shit, been going to church with you, doing everything you ask,” Royce said. “If you want something else then you’re just going to have to come out and say it because I ain’t no detective.”
She scoffed. “You really think you slick, huh? You think no one notices what you and Alix be doing? Well, I say no one, but clearly Malik doesn’t notice with how he flashes out behind her ass.”
“Man, I don’t know what you talking about. That’s the homie. That’s it,” Royce lied easily. “You said it yourself school ain’t but so big. They were the first people to talk to me when I got here so they the people I talk to now.”
“Stop playing with me, Royce. I know you fuck her. Everyone does. Y’all don’t even try that hard to hide it. People just don’t know you to tell to your face. But they talk about her ass, jumping from Malik to you. Shit, she probably still fucking him, too.”
“How a motherfucker know who I’m fucking? Like niggas is in the room with me? If you’re gonna believe whatever someone says about me then what we’re even doing?”
“What about that other white girl at St. Joe’s then? She doesn’t have any problem telling everyone you fucking her. You gonna lie to me about that, too? Seems to me that you got a type and it ain’t me,” Sadie said, leaning forward. “And you think I don’t know what y’all do when you go on them visits?”
Royce threw his hands up. “Fuck you want from me then? If you already know every damn thing. It’s not—"
Sadie held up a hand. “I really thought you were different. But you’re not about to sit here and make me look stupid. You’re not going to have people shooshoo’ing behind my back like you got them doing to Alix. I deserve better than that.”
She paused and the silence quickly stretched into an uncomfortable one. Royce stared at her, deciding between continuing to lie or simply ending it there. He rubbed at his temple, feeling a headache coming on.
“You know what,’ he finally said. “You right. I been messing up lately and that ain’t fair to you at all. That’s my bad.”
Sadie shook her head, her voice trembling with anger. “That’s not good enough. I can’t be with someone who doesn’t know how to be with just one person. You need to figure your shit out, Royce, but you’re not going to do that with me.”
Royce waved his hand dismissively. “I ain’t got shit to figure out. I just shouldn’t have done you like that.”
She studied him for a moment before reaching for the door handle. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
“Yeah, you too,” he said as she got out of the car.
The door clicked shut behind her, and Royce watched her walk across the lot to her own car, he movements deliberate and final. He sat there for a long time, replaying the conversation in his head, trying to figure out if she was being truthful about people knowing about his relationship with Alix or if she was just trying to throw something in his face.
His phone dinged with a message in the cupholder. He picked it up and sighed.
“Speak of the fucking devil,” he muttered to himself.
~~~~~~~~~~
The next day, Royce walked out of the locker room, exhaustion pressing on his shoulders after another one of Coach Cunningham’s grueling practices. St. Charles Catholic wasn’t going to be like their first two opponents in the playoffs. They’d made the semis on merit and not because they lucked up with lesser opposition.
The hint of concern in the coaching staff at practice and in film only heightened Royce’s nervousness about the game. It would be the biggest game that he’d ever played in. It didn’t help that the game would be on the road down in LaPlace. They would have to go into deep waters to pull the win out.
He spotted Meech leaning against a fence, casual and self-assured as when he’d met him weeks ago. He smiled when he was Royce walking down the sidewalk, a glint of gold in it as the fronts on his teeth caught the late afternoon light.
“What’s good, lil’ brudda?” Meech called out, holding his arms out as he stepped away from the fence.
“Ain’t shit,” Royce said, coming to a stop some distance from him. He let his duffel bag fall from his shoulder to his hand.
Meech motioned to the field. “I used to play ball, you know? Basketball though at McKinley. I don’t miss that shit at all. I don’t know how you niggas play football. I wouldn’t want no one hitting me all day.”
“Better getting tackled than getting elbowed in the head.”
Meech smiled, showing every gold he had. “Yeah, you right about that. Say, ain’t y’all got homecoming or prom or some shit coming up?”
Royce shrugged. “I don’t know shit about that. I just go to class, go to practice and go to the games. We had homecoming a couple months ago though.”
“You focused. I feel you,” Meech nodded slowly, reaching in his pocket. He pulled out a roll of cash and peeled off a few hundred-dollar bills. “Here,” he said, holding it out to Royce. “Take your girl out or something. Do something nice for her. I know Tusnami be popping on the weekends.”
Royce stared at the money, then back at Meech. “Nah, I don’t need it. I ain’t got no girl and I don’t know what the fuck Tsunami is, anyway.”
“Then go get you a girl. And then go take her somewhere nice. I know you lil’ niggas don’t do much else besides go to they house and fuck them. You gotta up your game if you want to get the baddest ones,” Meech stretched his hand out closer to Royce. “No strings attached, lil’ brudda. Just trying to pass on some charity. I need to get my good karma up.”
Royce hesitated for a moment before reaching out and taking the money, his mind on upcoming things he needed to pay for like Tyrell and Rana’s wedding. Worst case scenario, he’d just have to pay it back whenever he got to where he was going for college.
Meech smiled again before clapping Royce on the shoulder. “Whole hood gonna be watching y’all Friday. Go down there and show them country river parish boys how we get things popping in the Raggedy.”
“Yeah, good looking out,” Royce said as he walked to his car.
Royce sat in his car, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel. His mind had been flipping between UHigh’s upcoming game against St. Charles Catholic and his need to soon make a decision on where he would be going to college. Each day, the other seniors on the team made their choices, quickly marking him out as the oddball on the team.
He was of the opinion that he needed to just go to the biggest school that was offering him the fastest pathway to starting and getting the most NIL money possible. Everyone else? They were trying to convince him to look toward smaller schools.
But there was one school that was recruiting him harder than the others, size considerations notwithstanding. The answer to the question seemed to be to go where he was wanted the most and there was only one offer that fit that.
Sadie sat in the passenger seat, her hands resting stiffly in her lap. The air between them felt dense, weighed down by the tension Royce could feel radiating off her in waves. He glanced over at her, her jaw was set, her eyes focused straight ahead.
“Hey, you good?” he asked. “You ain’t said much of anything all day. What’s up?”
She didn’t answer right away. She exhaled sharply, then turned to him, her expression unreadable. “Royce, we need to talk.”
Royce’s fingers stopped the erratic rhythm against the steering well. He leaned back in his seat, sighing as he turned toward her. All they did was talk so it didn’t move him to hear that she’d be doing something she always did. “Alright. Let’s talk then.”
Sadie turned in her seat to face him fully. Her voice was low, almost steady, but there was an edge to it that Royce couldn’t ignore. “You know, I’ve been trying to tell myself that things I hear don’t bother me,” she said. “Things about you. The shit I’ve seen with my own eyes. I thought you were serious about this.”
Royce sucked his teeth. “Sadie, what are you talking about? I’m right here, ain’t I? Clearly, I’m serious about this.”
She raised her eyebrows, her gaze sharp and unwavering. “Are you?”
He shrugged. “I mean, fucking yeah. I don’t know what else you want me to do to prove that to you. I don’t know what you think you been hearing or think you been seeing, but you tripping on some shit and we not even really together like that.”
“That’s the problem with y’all, man. You always want to play in somebody face,” Sadie said, throwing her hand up. “Baton Rouge ain’t but so big and we’re at a fucking school with a hundred motherfuckers. So, you want to try that again?”
“Ain’t shit to try again. I been telling you that I’m serious about this shit, been going to church with you, doing everything you ask,” Royce said. “If you want something else then you’re just going to have to come out and say it because I ain’t no detective.”
She scoffed. “You really think you slick, huh? You think no one notices what you and Alix be doing? Well, I say no one, but clearly Malik doesn’t notice with how he flashes out behind her ass.”
“Man, I don’t know what you talking about. That’s the homie. That’s it,” Royce lied easily. “You said it yourself school ain’t but so big. They were the first people to talk to me when I got here so they the people I talk to now.”
“Stop playing with me, Royce. I know you fuck her. Everyone does. Y’all don’t even try that hard to hide it. People just don’t know you to tell to your face. But they talk about her ass, jumping from Malik to you. Shit, she probably still fucking him, too.”
“How a motherfucker know who I’m fucking? Like niggas is in the room with me? If you’re gonna believe whatever someone says about me then what we’re even doing?”
“What about that other white girl at St. Joe’s then? She doesn’t have any problem telling everyone you fucking her. You gonna lie to me about that, too? Seems to me that you got a type and it ain’t me,” Sadie said, leaning forward. “And you think I don’t know what y’all do when you go on them visits?”
Royce threw his hands up. “Fuck you want from me then? If you already know every damn thing. It’s not—"
Sadie held up a hand. “I really thought you were different. But you’re not about to sit here and make me look stupid. You’re not going to have people shooshoo’ing behind my back like you got them doing to Alix. I deserve better than that.”
She paused and the silence quickly stretched into an uncomfortable one. Royce stared at her, deciding between continuing to lie or simply ending it there. He rubbed at his temple, feeling a headache coming on.
“You know what,’ he finally said. “You right. I been messing up lately and that ain’t fair to you at all. That’s my bad.”
Sadie shook her head, her voice trembling with anger. “That’s not good enough. I can’t be with someone who doesn’t know how to be with just one person. You need to figure your shit out, Royce, but you’re not going to do that with me.”
Royce waved his hand dismissively. “I ain’t got shit to figure out. I just shouldn’t have done you like that.”
She studied him for a moment before reaching for the door handle. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
“Yeah, you too,” he said as she got out of the car.
The door clicked shut behind her, and Royce watched her walk across the lot to her own car, he movements deliberate and final. He sat there for a long time, replaying the conversation in his head, trying to figure out if she was being truthful about people knowing about his relationship with Alix or if she was just trying to throw something in his face.
His phone dinged with a message in the cupholder. He picked it up and sighed.
“Speak of the fucking devil,” he muttered to himself.
~~~~~~~~~~
The next day, Royce walked out of the locker room, exhaustion pressing on his shoulders after another one of Coach Cunningham’s grueling practices. St. Charles Catholic wasn’t going to be like their first two opponents in the playoffs. They’d made the semis on merit and not because they lucked up with lesser opposition.
The hint of concern in the coaching staff at practice and in film only heightened Royce’s nervousness about the game. It would be the biggest game that he’d ever played in. It didn’t help that the game would be on the road down in LaPlace. They would have to go into deep waters to pull the win out.
He spotted Meech leaning against a fence, casual and self-assured as when he’d met him weeks ago. He smiled when he was Royce walking down the sidewalk, a glint of gold in it as the fronts on his teeth caught the late afternoon light.
“What’s good, lil’ brudda?” Meech called out, holding his arms out as he stepped away from the fence.
“Ain’t shit,” Royce said, coming to a stop some distance from him. He let his duffel bag fall from his shoulder to his hand.
Meech motioned to the field. “I used to play ball, you know? Basketball though at McKinley. I don’t miss that shit at all. I don’t know how you niggas play football. I wouldn’t want no one hitting me all day.”
“Better getting tackled than getting elbowed in the head.”
Meech smiled, showing every gold he had. “Yeah, you right about that. Say, ain’t y’all got homecoming or prom or some shit coming up?”
Royce shrugged. “I don’t know shit about that. I just go to class, go to practice and go to the games. We had homecoming a couple months ago though.”
“You focused. I feel you,” Meech nodded slowly, reaching in his pocket. He pulled out a roll of cash and peeled off a few hundred-dollar bills. “Here,” he said, holding it out to Royce. “Take your girl out or something. Do something nice for her. I know Tusnami be popping on the weekends.”
Royce stared at the money, then back at Meech. “Nah, I don’t need it. I ain’t got no girl and I don’t know what the fuck Tsunami is, anyway.”
“Then go get you a girl. And then go take her somewhere nice. I know you lil’ niggas don’t do much else besides go to they house and fuck them. You gotta up your game if you want to get the baddest ones,” Meech stretched his hand out closer to Royce. “No strings attached, lil’ brudda. Just trying to pass on some charity. I need to get my good karma up.”
Royce hesitated for a moment before reaching out and taking the money, his mind on upcoming things he needed to pay for like Tyrell and Rana’s wedding. Worst case scenario, he’d just have to pay it back whenever he got to where he was going for college.
Meech smiled again before clapping Royce on the shoulder. “Whole hood gonna be watching y’all Friday. Go down there and show them country river parish boys how we get things popping in the Raggedy.”
“Yeah, good looking out,” Royce said as he walked to his car.
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 7892
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Dying to Live
Broke niggas make the worst decisions 
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16902
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
End of the Road
“Ain’t no creases in my Guccis, I ain’t never running. Ain’t no hoe up in my blood, I never pipe down,” Donovan rapped as the team trudged back into the locker room following practice.
“That’s the only line, you know, bruh?” Malik asked as he dropped down onto the chair in front of his locker. “You been saying that same shit for the last two hours. It’s a whole rest of a song outside of that.”
“He just like that part because he can talk about a pair of Guccis he ain’t never going to own,” Justin said, earning a shove from Donovan.
Royce dropped his helmet in front his locker and started to take off his pads. “Or he done took too many shots to the head to remember the rest of the damn song.”
“Royce got a point. Bro has been leading with the top of his head a little too much in these games lately. Ass probably got CTE’s older brother, DUF.”
Malik and Royce joined Justin in laughing at his joke while Donovan flipped them off. Coach Vaughn walked through the locker room, stopping in front of Royce momentarily.
“Coach Cunningham wants to see you in his office,” he said to Royce.
“What I do?”
Vaughn shook his head and looked around at the players. “Why is it that every time I say that someone wants to talk to one of y’all, y’all immediately think you did something? If y’all wouldn’t be treating these little girls so bad, y’all wouldn’t have to think karma is out to get you.”
“My bad, Coach. I was just asking,” Royce said, holding his hands up in mock surrender as he walked to Coach Cunningham’s office. The door was slightly ajar when Royce reached the office. He poked his head in. “You wanted to see me?”
Coach Cunningham looked up from his computer. “Come on in. Shut the door and sit down.”
Royce did as he was told, sitting in one of the chairs opposite the coach.
“You know why I called you in here?” Cunningham began, his voice measured.
Royce shook his head, not having the vaguest idea. He’d mostly been on his Ps and Qs since Coach Cunningham informed him that they were thinking about benching him—even though he was still struggling with everything. It was just a lot easier to pretend nothing was wrong when everything was at stake.
“Early signing is coming up,” the old man said, leaning forward. “I’ve been checking in with all the seniors to see where they’re at. All of them except you. I know you’ve gone on a couple visits and all. Haven’t really asked for too much advice, but I can’t say that’s unexpected since you’re new.”
Royce had completely ignored the date. When he’d arrived at UHigh, the guidance counselors informed him that he would have to finish a number of courses from Terrebonne after receiving incomplete grades due to the shooting. He’d done about half of them, but graduating in January to enroll at a university early was out of the question.
“I ain’t really been paying attention to that, Coach,” he admitted. “They said I couldn’t graduate early anyway so I figured I’d just take the whole year to figure it out and make my decision in February.”
Cunningham nodded thoughtfully, his brow furrowing. “Yeah, they’ve been telling me about that all semester. Look, son, you’ve had one hell of a season. I can’t lie and say that I’m not surprised. I thought at best you would’ve been an alright rotational piece with your leg and all. But you’ve surprised a lot of people, myself included.
“Thanks, Coach,” Royce said.
“So, what are you thinking? Where’s your head at? If you don’t mind me getting in your business a little bit.”
“I got a lot of good offers on the table. I don’t know which one’s the right move, though. It seems like a lot could go wrong if I pick wrong, you know? Even with the portal, I’d still have to waste a year.”
“You’re right. You want my two cents? As someone who just met you a few months ago?”
“Sure,” Royce nodded.
“It’s a good problem to have choice. There are guys in that locker room who have the options of going to a community college in the middle of nowhere Arkansas if they want to keep playing football or going to find themselves a job. It’s a big decision, though. Bigger than just football. You’re picking a place that’s going to shape you as a man.”
“I ain’t never really think about it like that.”
Cunningham chuckled. “Of course you didn’t. You’re a young man. You’re not looking too far in the future. But I’ll say this—go where you feel you’ll grow the most. That’s not always the biggest school or the one with the flashiest facilities. It’s the one where you feel supported, where you’ll be challenged, and where you’ll be part of something that pushes you forward.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the conversation settling between them. Royce nodded, taking in the words with a decision still far from materializing.
“Take your time, Royce,” the coach added finally. “This isn’t just about next season. It’s about your life. Now, get out of here and get some rest. We’ve got a big game coming up Friday and we’ll need everyone at their best.”
“Will do, coach. Thanks,” Royce said as he got up from the chair, realizing that the end of the road that was his high school football career would be coming one way or another in the next few weeks.
And the decision he faced terrified him.
~~~~~~~~~~
Malik stood outside of Alix’s house, leaning against the siding as he waited for her to answer his text to come down to the door. It’d been weeks without an argument between the two of them and with the approaching end of his time in Baton Rouge, something had spurred him to head over to a house he’d spent a lot of time at in years past.
When Alix opened the door, her expression was unreadable. She stepped outside, shutting the door behind her.
“You not going to let me in?” Malik asked.
“No,” she said, her voice flat.
“Got one of your dudes in there?”
Alix sucked her teeth and turned back toward the door. Malik grabbed her wrist and stopped her from walking away.
“My bad. I’m just messing,” he said, apologizing.
She folded her arms. “What do you want then? You said you wanted to talk. Make it quick. I got a paper to finish before midnight.”
He stared at her for a moment, scrutinizing as he decided whether he wanted to believe that or not. Instead, he shook his head. “Yeah. Look, I know things haven’t been great between us lately. I don’t want to argue or nothing like that. I just… I wanted to tell you something.”
She raised an eyebrow, waiting.
“I’m gonna be heading to Waco in January,” he said, watching her closely. “Decided I need to get up there so I can be there for spring.”
Alix’s face didn’t change, but her arms tightened across her chest. “Good for you, Malik. I hope you kill it out there.”
“Yeah, thanks,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “I was kinda hoping you’d think about going out there, too.”
“Malik, we’re not together,” she said, exasperation in her tone.
He held his hands up. “I’m just throwing an option out there if you haven’t decided where you’re going. It ain’t too bad to have someone you know at the same school as you. Us Louisiana folks gotta stick together.”
Alix shook her head. “You know where I’m going. It’s been the same for years. I made up my mind long ago.”
The words hit him harder than he expected. He nodded slowly, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I get it. I was on some dumb shit. That’s my bad. I was hoping we could at least keep in touch, though. You still cool people and all.”
“We can,” she said, her tone softening slightly. “As friends.”
“Shit, friends fuck, too. I’ll take that,” he laughed.
“You fuck Royce and Jonah? I didn’t know you were so open,” she said, laughing at him as his laughter stopped.
He waved his hand. “That’s different. I mean, men and women friends.”
“Uh huh,” she said before deciding to move on from that line of the conversation. “I really will be rooting for you though. Even if you’re a jackass.”
Malik nodded, forcing a smile. “I know. When I make it to the league, you’ll be able to tell everyone that I was the best dick you ever had, too.”
She rolled her eyes. “You don’t believe that yourself.”
“It’s true. I already know. I can see it on your face.”
“Bye, Malik,” she said, turning back to the door and opening it.
He watched her disappear back inside for a moment before heading back down the driveway to his car.
“Ain’t no creases in my Guccis, I ain’t never running. Ain’t no hoe up in my blood, I never pipe down,” Donovan rapped as the team trudged back into the locker room following practice.
“That’s the only line, you know, bruh?” Malik asked as he dropped down onto the chair in front of his locker. “You been saying that same shit for the last two hours. It’s a whole rest of a song outside of that.”
“He just like that part because he can talk about a pair of Guccis he ain’t never going to own,” Justin said, earning a shove from Donovan.
Royce dropped his helmet in front his locker and started to take off his pads. “Or he done took too many shots to the head to remember the rest of the damn song.”
“Royce got a point. Bro has been leading with the top of his head a little too much in these games lately. Ass probably got CTE’s older brother, DUF.”
Malik and Royce joined Justin in laughing at his joke while Donovan flipped them off. Coach Vaughn walked through the locker room, stopping in front of Royce momentarily.
“Coach Cunningham wants to see you in his office,” he said to Royce.
“What I do?”
Vaughn shook his head and looked around at the players. “Why is it that every time I say that someone wants to talk to one of y’all, y’all immediately think you did something? If y’all wouldn’t be treating these little girls so bad, y’all wouldn’t have to think karma is out to get you.”
“My bad, Coach. I was just asking,” Royce said, holding his hands up in mock surrender as he walked to Coach Cunningham’s office. The door was slightly ajar when Royce reached the office. He poked his head in. “You wanted to see me?”
Coach Cunningham looked up from his computer. “Come on in. Shut the door and sit down.”
Royce did as he was told, sitting in one of the chairs opposite the coach.
“You know why I called you in here?” Cunningham began, his voice measured.
Royce shook his head, not having the vaguest idea. He’d mostly been on his Ps and Qs since Coach Cunningham informed him that they were thinking about benching him—even though he was still struggling with everything. It was just a lot easier to pretend nothing was wrong when everything was at stake.
“Early signing is coming up,” the old man said, leaning forward. “I’ve been checking in with all the seniors to see where they’re at. All of them except you. I know you’ve gone on a couple visits and all. Haven’t really asked for too much advice, but I can’t say that’s unexpected since you’re new.”
Royce had completely ignored the date. When he’d arrived at UHigh, the guidance counselors informed him that he would have to finish a number of courses from Terrebonne after receiving incomplete grades due to the shooting. He’d done about half of them, but graduating in January to enroll at a university early was out of the question.
“I ain’t really been paying attention to that, Coach,” he admitted. “They said I couldn’t graduate early anyway so I figured I’d just take the whole year to figure it out and make my decision in February.”
Cunningham nodded thoughtfully, his brow furrowing. “Yeah, they’ve been telling me about that all semester. Look, son, you’ve had one hell of a season. I can’t lie and say that I’m not surprised. I thought at best you would’ve been an alright rotational piece with your leg and all. But you’ve surprised a lot of people, myself included.
“Thanks, Coach,” Royce said.
“So, what are you thinking? Where’s your head at? If you don’t mind me getting in your business a little bit.”
“I got a lot of good offers on the table. I don’t know which one’s the right move, though. It seems like a lot could go wrong if I pick wrong, you know? Even with the portal, I’d still have to waste a year.”
“You’re right. You want my two cents? As someone who just met you a few months ago?”
“Sure,” Royce nodded.
“It’s a good problem to have choice. There are guys in that locker room who have the options of going to a community college in the middle of nowhere Arkansas if they want to keep playing football or going to find themselves a job. It’s a big decision, though. Bigger than just football. You’re picking a place that’s going to shape you as a man.”
“I ain’t never really think about it like that.”
Cunningham chuckled. “Of course you didn’t. You’re a young man. You’re not looking too far in the future. But I’ll say this—go where you feel you’ll grow the most. That’s not always the biggest school or the one with the flashiest facilities. It’s the one where you feel supported, where you’ll be challenged, and where you’ll be part of something that pushes you forward.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the conversation settling between them. Royce nodded, taking in the words with a decision still far from materializing.
“Take your time, Royce,” the coach added finally. “This isn’t just about next season. It’s about your life. Now, get out of here and get some rest. We’ve got a big game coming up Friday and we’ll need everyone at their best.”
“Will do, coach. Thanks,” Royce said as he got up from the chair, realizing that the end of the road that was his high school football career would be coming one way or another in the next few weeks.
And the decision he faced terrified him.
~~~~~~~~~~
Malik stood outside of Alix’s house, leaning against the siding as he waited for her to answer his text to come down to the door. It’d been weeks without an argument between the two of them and with the approaching end of his time in Baton Rouge, something had spurred him to head over to a house he’d spent a lot of time at in years past.
When Alix opened the door, her expression was unreadable. She stepped outside, shutting the door behind her.
“You not going to let me in?” Malik asked.
“No,” she said, her voice flat.
“Got one of your dudes in there?”
Alix sucked her teeth and turned back toward the door. Malik grabbed her wrist and stopped her from walking away.
“My bad. I’m just messing,” he said, apologizing.
She folded her arms. “What do you want then? You said you wanted to talk. Make it quick. I got a paper to finish before midnight.”
He stared at her for a moment, scrutinizing as he decided whether he wanted to believe that or not. Instead, he shook his head. “Yeah. Look, I know things haven’t been great between us lately. I don’t want to argue or nothing like that. I just… I wanted to tell you something.”
She raised an eyebrow, waiting.
“I’m gonna be heading to Waco in January,” he said, watching her closely. “Decided I need to get up there so I can be there for spring.”
Alix’s face didn’t change, but her arms tightened across her chest. “Good for you, Malik. I hope you kill it out there.”
“Yeah, thanks,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “I was kinda hoping you’d think about going out there, too.”
“Malik, we’re not together,” she said, exasperation in her tone.
He held his hands up. “I’m just throwing an option out there if you haven’t decided where you’re going. It ain’t too bad to have someone you know at the same school as you. Us Louisiana folks gotta stick together.”
Alix shook her head. “You know where I’m going. It’s been the same for years. I made up my mind long ago.”
The words hit him harder than he expected. He nodded slowly, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I get it. I was on some dumb shit. That’s my bad. I was hoping we could at least keep in touch, though. You still cool people and all.”
“We can,” she said, her tone softening slightly. “As friends.”
“Shit, friends fuck, too. I’ll take that,” he laughed.
“You fuck Royce and Jonah? I didn’t know you were so open,” she said, laughing at him as his laughter stopped.
He waved his hand. “That’s different. I mean, men and women friends.”
“Uh huh,” she said before deciding to move on from that line of the conversation. “I really will be rooting for you though. Even if you’re a jackass.”
Malik nodded, forcing a smile. “I know. When I make it to the league, you’ll be able to tell everyone that I was the best dick you ever had, too.”
She rolled her eyes. “You don’t believe that yourself.”
“It’s true. I already know. I can see it on your face.”
“Bye, Malik,” she said, turning back to the door and opening it.
He watched her disappear back inside for a moment before heading back down the driveway to his car.
-
Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16902
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
The playoff atmosphere crackled with an energy that seemed to hum through the cool December night. The packed bleachers were a sea of school colors—Uhigh’s black and gold on one side, St. Charles Catholic’s blue and gold on the other—each faction roaring with chants and cheers, determined to outdo the other. A light mist hung in the air, illuminated by the glow of the stadium lights, giving the scene an almost cinematic quality.
The field was pristine, freshly painted lines gleaming under the lights. The smell of freshly cut grass mingled with the aroma of popcorn and barbecue from the concession stands, adding to the sensory overload.
The teams were already warming up, the clatter of cleats on the turf and the rhythmic thuds of footballs hitting hands blending into the murmur of the crowd. Royce felt the weight of the moment as he moved through his stretches and drills. Every sound, every flicker of movement, seemed sharper.
Royce’s chest felt tight under the weight of his pads, and he had to remind himself to breathe, his exhales visible in the cool night air. The sounds were overwhelming: the booming chants, the steady stomp of fans on the bleachers, and the shrill whistles from the referees slicing through the noise. It wasn’t just loud—it was relentless, like the entire stadium was vibrating.
His eyes darted across the field, taking in every detail. The way the opposing players looked—bigger, faster, more confident. The way the Comets’ fans were already jeering at him and his teammates.
Talking about playing in a semifinal was one thing. Actually doing it was a completely different ask and Royce felt like he was being thrown into the deep end.
“Showtime, bruh,” Malik said, holding his hand out to Royce to dap up. “We getting that dub tonight, huh?”
Royce nodded. He didn’t share Malik’s confidence, not when they were facing a team that was undefeated.
He shook his head, trying to drown out the doubts as he moved to his spot on the sideline for the national anthem.
Whether he was ready or not, the biggest game he’d yet to play in had arrived.
…
Royce shot forward like a coiled spring, his eyes locked on the St. Charles running back. The play unfolded quickly—a stretch to the left, the offensive line pulling hard to set up a lane. Royce sidestepped a blocker, his cleats digging into the turf as he adjusted his angle.
The running back cut upfield, and Royce saw his moment. He lowered his shoulders and lunged, wrapping his arms tightly around the ball carrier’s midsection.
But the impact was jarring.
Instead of going down easily, the back surged forward, driving his legs like pistons. Royce gritted his teeth, tightening his grip, but it felt like trying to wrestle a tree truck. The kid was solid—his body compact and his balance unshakable. Every step he took jarred Royce’s frame, the raw strength radiating through the contact.
He adjusted his footing to keep from getting dragged. It wasn’t enough. The back carried him an extra two yards before Royce managed to twist his hips and drag him to the ground, slamming him into the turf with a thud that echoed in Royce’s chest.
He lay there for half a second, catching his breath as the running back popped up almost immediately, clapping his hands and trotting back to the huddle like nothing had happened.
Royce pushed himself up and adjusted his helmet, his heart thudding.
…
“Anderson is stacked up at the line of scrimmage and, after a punishing opening drive from the Comets, the Cubs have managed to stop them on third down and force the punt.”
…
“Gautreaux overthrows his man and that’s going to be a punt for UHigh here on their first possession of the game.”
…
“Bertholet is brought down in the backfield. St. Charles Catholic is sending out their punter again.”
…
“Lewis can’t find the hole and he only picks up a yard or two on that long third down attempt. Four straight punts to start this game. We’re not going to be having a shootout tonight in LaPlace, folks.”
…
The sideline was a chaotic mix of frustration and urgency as UHigh’s defense huddled around Coach Vaughn. Time was ticking away in the second quarter and the score was still tied—at zero. Vaughn’s face was flushed under the harsh glow of the stadium lights, his voice cutting through the buzz of the crowd and the distant thrum of the band.
“You got to want to win this damn game! Go get the fucking ball!” Coach Vaughn barked, his words sharp and biting. He bounced with every motion as he paced in front of the huddle, waving his playsheet like it might explode at any moment.
Royce stood near the front of the group, sweat dripping down his face. He could feel the weight of the moment. The offense’s struggles to move the ball had put more on the defense to keep the Comets from doing just that or risk the game turning into a blowout.
“Strip it. Punch it. Catch it. I don’t care how you do it, but one of you better go out there and get the damn ball back!” Vaughn yelled, his eyes darting from player to player, locking in like a laser.
…
“Williams makes a big stop in open field to prevent Anderson from getting loose. He had nothing but green in front of him.”
…
“Batted away by Harrison and the Comets are facing a third and 10.”
…
The Comets broke the huddle, their quarterback barking out commands as the offensive line settled into their stances. Royce diagnosed the formation in front of him, shouting adjustments of his own.
The tension was palpable, the crowd roaring, but in his head, everything slowed down.
He exploded out of his stance, sidestepping the guard with a quick shuffle step. The quarterback dropped back, but turned to run out of the pocket when he saw Royce coming.
Royce closed the gap, zeroing in like a missile. He launched into the tackle, aiming for the ball hanging loosely from the quarterbacks right hand. Wrapping one arm around the quarterback’s waist, he swung his other at the ball. He felt the impact of his arm hitting the quarterback’s hand, the sound of skin smacking leather following.
“Ball, ball, ball!” came from the sidelines.
As he hit the turf, he searched for the ball, spotting it spinning on the turf only a few feet away. Scrambling to his feet, he dove on the ball, clutching it to his chest before a Comets lineman could fall on it.
The sideline erupted, the UHigh fans roaring louder than they had all night.
Royce got to his feet, throwing his fist in the air before getting mobbed by his teammates.
…
“Gautreaux is going to take it in himself and UHigh is the first to put points on the scoreboard with only a few minutes left in the first half.”
…
“St. Charles Catholic is going to kneel it out and take this into halftime with the score, University Lab 7, St. Charles Catholic 0.”
…
“We’re back to normal proceedings with another punt from the Cubs.”
…
“The Comets can’t convert on third down and they’re going to have to punt it away.”
…
“Lewis is stopped in the backfield on that attempted screen and UHigh is sending out their punting unit.”
…
The Comets lined up on the UHigh 12-yard line, their offense humming with confidence after a methodical drive. Royce crouched into position, his hands planted on his knees, his eyes locked on the quarterback. The stakes were suffocating: a touchdown here would tie the game with just the fourth quarter to go.
The ball was snapped, and the play-action fake drew the linebackers, including Royce, a step forward. The quarterback sold it perfectly, tucking the ball into the running back’s gut before pulling it back and rolling to his right. Royce immediately recognized his mistake and pivoted, sprinting toward the sideline as the play unfolded.
A tight end slipped behind the defense, cutting toward the corner of the endzone. Royce saw it happening, the quarterback planting his feet and launching the ball high into the air, but was powerless to do anything about it.
The ball floated like it hung on a string, the arc perfect and maddeningly slow. Royce pushed himself, his cleats pounding against the turf as he lunged for the tight end, who had leaped up to meet the past.
He was a few seconds too late, diving as the tight end came down in the endzone and stumbled out of bounds. The referee’s whistle blew, and both arms shot into the air, signaling the touchdown.
The St. Charles sideline erupted, players and coaches leaping in celebration as their fans roared loud enough to rattle the stadium. Royce stayed on his knees for a moment, helmet tilted down as he slammed a fist into the ground, frustration boiling over.
Malik pulled him up to his feet and slapped him on the back of his helmet as they jogged back toward the sideline.
…
“This Cubs offense just can’t get going, and time is running out in this game. That’s another failed third down attempt and another punt.”
…
“Lafitte makes the stop in the backfield and St. Charles Catholic is going to have to punt it away.”
….
“Gautreaux is sacked and David Cunningham on that UHigh sideline is behind himself with how his offense has played tonight. They look like they left their talent back in Baton Rouge, ladies and gentlemen.”
…
The Comets faced third-and-three from their own 45-yard line, looking to extend a drive that had already chewed up valuable minutes in the fourth quarter. Royce’s heart thudded in his chest, pounded in his ears as the tension built. The quarterback shouted out signals to the offensive line, and Royce’s eyes darted to the running back, who shifted slightly in his stance.
Royce tapped the top of his helmet, shouting adjustments to the defense, pointing at the running back.
The offensive line surged forward at the snap, blowing down for an inside run. The running back hit the hole hard, his legs churning as he sought the first-down marker. But Royce was already there to meet him.
Shooting through a sliver of space between two linemen, Royce met the runner head-on at the line of scrimmage. The collision was thunderous, the kind that drew gasps from the crowd. Royce’s arms wrapping tightly around the back’s waist, his momentum halting the forward push.
The back twisted and fought, his cleats digging into the turf as he tried to surged, but Royce held firm, his legs churning backward to drive him to the ground. His teammates piled on to fish the tackle.
The UHigh fans erupted into cheers as the officials signaled fourth down. Royce jumped up to his feet and let out a roar as his teammates celebrated the stop. Royce and Malik performed their handshake as they ran off the field.
…
“UHigh is slowly moving the ball down the field, a good thing for them as there isn’t much time remaining in this ball game. All they need is a field goal to win.”
…
“Harris makes the reception and Gautreaux has the Cubs just outside of field goal range.”
…
The scoreboard showed just under two minutes left, and UHigh’s offense lined up at the 49-yard line, the score tied at 7. The crowd’s noise swelled, a chaotic mix of desperate chants from UHigh fans and jeers from the St. Charles faithful. Royce stood on the sideline, his hands gripping the neck line of his jersey, his heart racing as he watched Will survey the defense.
It was second-and-ten and the Cubs needed to get closer for an attempt at a field goal to take the lead. Will barked out signals, his voice barely audible over the roar of the crowd. He called for the snap and the pocket quickly began to collapse as the Comets sent six.
Will bailed out of the pocket, his eyes scanning downfield for an open receiver. Reshard streaked toward the sideline and Carter darted across the middle, but Will hesitated, his gaze locking on a deep route instead.
“No! No! No!” Coach McDaniels shouted from the sideline, waving his arms over his head. “Throw it away! Throw it away!”
Will planted his foot and heaved the ball toward the middle of the field, aiming for Todd who looked to have half a step on his man. The pass hung in the air for too long, wobbling slightly as it traveled.
A Comets safety ran across, as if appearing out of thin air, and leapt in front of Todd. He snatched the ball out of the air cleanly, landing in stride, bolting upfield before UHigh’s offense even realized what had happened.
Both sidelines erupted in chaos. St. Charles’ sideline ran with him as he hit the sideline. UHigh’s shouted for someone to bring him down. He was finally shoved out of bounds around midfield.
The Comets’ sideline exploded in celebration, players jumping and hugging as their fans roared. On UHigh’s sideline, silence hung like a cloud. Will trudged back to the sideline, his shoulders slumped, helmet tilted down to avoid eye contact with anyone.
Royce exhaled sharply, frustration bubbling in his chest, knowing they had to make a stop to get the ball back. Again.
…
“The Comets start the drive with a quick pass for a pick up of five on the play. They’re huddling up to let some of this clock run off, knowing they can win with a field goal!”
…
“Powerful run by Martin up the middle and that’s going to be a first down. Jason Cazayoux hit from 43 earlier in the season. They’re going to need to get it a little closer to guarantee it.”
…
“Cousins is pushed out of bounds at the 41-yard line.”
…
“Watch the short routes!” Royce shouted to Donovan and Justin, the tension on the field suffocating.
St. Charles Catholic lined up for a third-and-eight with just under a minute left, having been stopped on their previous two plays. They needed to convert to give their kicker a chance at a makeable attempt.
Royce exploded off the line when the ball was snapped. He swatted the guard’s hands away from him, swimming by to get into the backfield. The quarterback was still scanning the field, his arm up.
Royce closed the distance, arcing his run to get to the quarterback. Just as he reached out to wrap him up, the quarterback stepped up, ducking under Royce’s outstretched arms.
The movement caused Royce’s left hand to grab a fistful of facemask. The quarterback’s head jerked violently and he spun down to the turf. Whistles blew immediately as Royce released his grip, realizing what just happened.
Flags flew in from every direction, bright yellow reminders of his mistake. The stadium erupted in a cacophony of cheers and groans, the St. Charles sideline already celebrating knowing that they were about to book their ticket to the Superdome.
The referee jogged to midfield, his voice cutting through the din. “Personal foul. Facemask. Number five on the defense. Fifteen yards from the previous spot. Automatic first down.”
Royce buried his face in his hands, his chest tight with frustration. His eyes burned as he looked up to see the Comets’ offense walking up the field behind the referee marching off the penalty yardage.
Donovan pulled Royce up to his feet, patting Royce on the top of the helmet.
On the sideline, Coach Cunningham slammed his clipboard down, but didn’t say anything, his jaw clenched as he turned away.
…
“Cazayoux lines up for the kick to send the Comets to the state championship game. Here’s the snap, the hold is good, it’s up and it’s good! St. Charles Catholic is going to defeat UHigh, 10-7, in a defensive battle. The Comets are going to state!”
…
Royce sat alone at the end of the bench, his helmet on the ground between his feet, his hands covering his mouth. He could feel the bile rising up in his throat, tears pricking his eyes as he watched the Comets celebrate on the field.
Malik walked over to pat him on the shoulder, but Royce ignored him, the sting of defeat too much when he was the direct cause of it.
His high school football career was over, ended by a boneheaded mistake on his part. The culmination of all the evil deeds he’d done over the years coming back to hunt not only him, but his teammates as well.
The apparition that had been seemingly following him for the last couple of months looked to be standing at midfield, laughing at him.
“C’mon, bruh,” Malik said finally, lifting up Royce by his arm.
Royce didn’t have it in him to fight. Instead, he just trudged to the locker room with the rest of the team.
The field was pristine, freshly painted lines gleaming under the lights. The smell of freshly cut grass mingled with the aroma of popcorn and barbecue from the concession stands, adding to the sensory overload.
The teams were already warming up, the clatter of cleats on the turf and the rhythmic thuds of footballs hitting hands blending into the murmur of the crowd. Royce felt the weight of the moment as he moved through his stretches and drills. Every sound, every flicker of movement, seemed sharper.
Royce’s chest felt tight under the weight of his pads, and he had to remind himself to breathe, his exhales visible in the cool night air. The sounds were overwhelming: the booming chants, the steady stomp of fans on the bleachers, and the shrill whistles from the referees slicing through the noise. It wasn’t just loud—it was relentless, like the entire stadium was vibrating.
His eyes darted across the field, taking in every detail. The way the opposing players looked—bigger, faster, more confident. The way the Comets’ fans were already jeering at him and his teammates.
Talking about playing in a semifinal was one thing. Actually doing it was a completely different ask and Royce felt like he was being thrown into the deep end.
“Showtime, bruh,” Malik said, holding his hand out to Royce to dap up. “We getting that dub tonight, huh?”
Royce nodded. He didn’t share Malik’s confidence, not when they were facing a team that was undefeated.
He shook his head, trying to drown out the doubts as he moved to his spot on the sideline for the national anthem.
Whether he was ready or not, the biggest game he’d yet to play in had arrived.
…
Royce shot forward like a coiled spring, his eyes locked on the St. Charles running back. The play unfolded quickly—a stretch to the left, the offensive line pulling hard to set up a lane. Royce sidestepped a blocker, his cleats digging into the turf as he adjusted his angle.
The running back cut upfield, and Royce saw his moment. He lowered his shoulders and lunged, wrapping his arms tightly around the ball carrier’s midsection.
But the impact was jarring.
Instead of going down easily, the back surged forward, driving his legs like pistons. Royce gritted his teeth, tightening his grip, but it felt like trying to wrestle a tree truck. The kid was solid—his body compact and his balance unshakable. Every step he took jarred Royce’s frame, the raw strength radiating through the contact.
He adjusted his footing to keep from getting dragged. It wasn’t enough. The back carried him an extra two yards before Royce managed to twist his hips and drag him to the ground, slamming him into the turf with a thud that echoed in Royce’s chest.
He lay there for half a second, catching his breath as the running back popped up almost immediately, clapping his hands and trotting back to the huddle like nothing had happened.
Royce pushed himself up and adjusted his helmet, his heart thudding.
…
“Anderson is stacked up at the line of scrimmage and, after a punishing opening drive from the Comets, the Cubs have managed to stop them on third down and force the punt.”
…
“Gautreaux overthrows his man and that’s going to be a punt for UHigh here on their first possession of the game.”
…
“Bertholet is brought down in the backfield. St. Charles Catholic is sending out their punter again.”
…
“Lewis can’t find the hole and he only picks up a yard or two on that long third down attempt. Four straight punts to start this game. We’re not going to be having a shootout tonight in LaPlace, folks.”
…
The sideline was a chaotic mix of frustration and urgency as UHigh’s defense huddled around Coach Vaughn. Time was ticking away in the second quarter and the score was still tied—at zero. Vaughn’s face was flushed under the harsh glow of the stadium lights, his voice cutting through the buzz of the crowd and the distant thrum of the band.
“You got to want to win this damn game! Go get the fucking ball!” Coach Vaughn barked, his words sharp and biting. He bounced with every motion as he paced in front of the huddle, waving his playsheet like it might explode at any moment.
Royce stood near the front of the group, sweat dripping down his face. He could feel the weight of the moment. The offense’s struggles to move the ball had put more on the defense to keep the Comets from doing just that or risk the game turning into a blowout.
“Strip it. Punch it. Catch it. I don’t care how you do it, but one of you better go out there and get the damn ball back!” Vaughn yelled, his eyes darting from player to player, locking in like a laser.
…
“Williams makes a big stop in open field to prevent Anderson from getting loose. He had nothing but green in front of him.”
…
“Batted away by Harrison and the Comets are facing a third and 10.”
…
The Comets broke the huddle, their quarterback barking out commands as the offensive line settled into their stances. Royce diagnosed the formation in front of him, shouting adjustments of his own.
The tension was palpable, the crowd roaring, but in his head, everything slowed down.
He exploded out of his stance, sidestepping the guard with a quick shuffle step. The quarterback dropped back, but turned to run out of the pocket when he saw Royce coming.
Royce closed the gap, zeroing in like a missile. He launched into the tackle, aiming for the ball hanging loosely from the quarterbacks right hand. Wrapping one arm around the quarterback’s waist, he swung his other at the ball. He felt the impact of his arm hitting the quarterback’s hand, the sound of skin smacking leather following.
“Ball, ball, ball!” came from the sidelines.
As he hit the turf, he searched for the ball, spotting it spinning on the turf only a few feet away. Scrambling to his feet, he dove on the ball, clutching it to his chest before a Comets lineman could fall on it.
The sideline erupted, the UHigh fans roaring louder than they had all night.
Royce got to his feet, throwing his fist in the air before getting mobbed by his teammates.
…
“Gautreaux is going to take it in himself and UHigh is the first to put points on the scoreboard with only a few minutes left in the first half.”
…
“St. Charles Catholic is going to kneel it out and take this into halftime with the score, University Lab 7, St. Charles Catholic 0.”
…
“We’re back to normal proceedings with another punt from the Cubs.”
…
“The Comets can’t convert on third down and they’re going to have to punt it away.”
…
“Lewis is stopped in the backfield on that attempted screen and UHigh is sending out their punting unit.”
…
The Comets lined up on the UHigh 12-yard line, their offense humming with confidence after a methodical drive. Royce crouched into position, his hands planted on his knees, his eyes locked on the quarterback. The stakes were suffocating: a touchdown here would tie the game with just the fourth quarter to go.
The ball was snapped, and the play-action fake drew the linebackers, including Royce, a step forward. The quarterback sold it perfectly, tucking the ball into the running back’s gut before pulling it back and rolling to his right. Royce immediately recognized his mistake and pivoted, sprinting toward the sideline as the play unfolded.
A tight end slipped behind the defense, cutting toward the corner of the endzone. Royce saw it happening, the quarterback planting his feet and launching the ball high into the air, but was powerless to do anything about it.
The ball floated like it hung on a string, the arc perfect and maddeningly slow. Royce pushed himself, his cleats pounding against the turf as he lunged for the tight end, who had leaped up to meet the past.
He was a few seconds too late, diving as the tight end came down in the endzone and stumbled out of bounds. The referee’s whistle blew, and both arms shot into the air, signaling the touchdown.
The St. Charles sideline erupted, players and coaches leaping in celebration as their fans roared loud enough to rattle the stadium. Royce stayed on his knees for a moment, helmet tilted down as he slammed a fist into the ground, frustration boiling over.
Malik pulled him up to his feet and slapped him on the back of his helmet as they jogged back toward the sideline.
…
“This Cubs offense just can’t get going, and time is running out in this game. That’s another failed third down attempt and another punt.”
…
“Lafitte makes the stop in the backfield and St. Charles Catholic is going to have to punt it away.”
….
“Gautreaux is sacked and David Cunningham on that UHigh sideline is behind himself with how his offense has played tonight. They look like they left their talent back in Baton Rouge, ladies and gentlemen.”
…
The Comets faced third-and-three from their own 45-yard line, looking to extend a drive that had already chewed up valuable minutes in the fourth quarter. Royce’s heart thudded in his chest, pounded in his ears as the tension built. The quarterback shouted out signals to the offensive line, and Royce’s eyes darted to the running back, who shifted slightly in his stance.
Royce tapped the top of his helmet, shouting adjustments to the defense, pointing at the running back.
The offensive line surged forward at the snap, blowing down for an inside run. The running back hit the hole hard, his legs churning as he sought the first-down marker. But Royce was already there to meet him.
Shooting through a sliver of space between two linemen, Royce met the runner head-on at the line of scrimmage. The collision was thunderous, the kind that drew gasps from the crowd. Royce’s arms wrapping tightly around the back’s waist, his momentum halting the forward push.
The back twisted and fought, his cleats digging into the turf as he tried to surged, but Royce held firm, his legs churning backward to drive him to the ground. His teammates piled on to fish the tackle.
The UHigh fans erupted into cheers as the officials signaled fourth down. Royce jumped up to his feet and let out a roar as his teammates celebrated the stop. Royce and Malik performed their handshake as they ran off the field.
…
“UHigh is slowly moving the ball down the field, a good thing for them as there isn’t much time remaining in this ball game. All they need is a field goal to win.”
…
“Harris makes the reception and Gautreaux has the Cubs just outside of field goal range.”
…
The scoreboard showed just under two minutes left, and UHigh’s offense lined up at the 49-yard line, the score tied at 7. The crowd’s noise swelled, a chaotic mix of desperate chants from UHigh fans and jeers from the St. Charles faithful. Royce stood on the sideline, his hands gripping the neck line of his jersey, his heart racing as he watched Will survey the defense.
It was second-and-ten and the Cubs needed to get closer for an attempt at a field goal to take the lead. Will barked out signals, his voice barely audible over the roar of the crowd. He called for the snap and the pocket quickly began to collapse as the Comets sent six.
Will bailed out of the pocket, his eyes scanning downfield for an open receiver. Reshard streaked toward the sideline and Carter darted across the middle, but Will hesitated, his gaze locking on a deep route instead.
“No! No! No!” Coach McDaniels shouted from the sideline, waving his arms over his head. “Throw it away! Throw it away!”
Will planted his foot and heaved the ball toward the middle of the field, aiming for Todd who looked to have half a step on his man. The pass hung in the air for too long, wobbling slightly as it traveled.
A Comets safety ran across, as if appearing out of thin air, and leapt in front of Todd. He snatched the ball out of the air cleanly, landing in stride, bolting upfield before UHigh’s offense even realized what had happened.
Both sidelines erupted in chaos. St. Charles’ sideline ran with him as he hit the sideline. UHigh’s shouted for someone to bring him down. He was finally shoved out of bounds around midfield.
The Comets’ sideline exploded in celebration, players jumping and hugging as their fans roared. On UHigh’s sideline, silence hung like a cloud. Will trudged back to the sideline, his shoulders slumped, helmet tilted down to avoid eye contact with anyone.
Royce exhaled sharply, frustration bubbling in his chest, knowing they had to make a stop to get the ball back. Again.
…
“The Comets start the drive with a quick pass for a pick up of five on the play. They’re huddling up to let some of this clock run off, knowing they can win with a field goal!”
…
“Powerful run by Martin up the middle and that’s going to be a first down. Jason Cazayoux hit from 43 earlier in the season. They’re going to need to get it a little closer to guarantee it.”
…
“Cousins is pushed out of bounds at the 41-yard line.”
…
“Watch the short routes!” Royce shouted to Donovan and Justin, the tension on the field suffocating.
St. Charles Catholic lined up for a third-and-eight with just under a minute left, having been stopped on their previous two plays. They needed to convert to give their kicker a chance at a makeable attempt.
Royce exploded off the line when the ball was snapped. He swatted the guard’s hands away from him, swimming by to get into the backfield. The quarterback was still scanning the field, his arm up.
Royce closed the distance, arcing his run to get to the quarterback. Just as he reached out to wrap him up, the quarterback stepped up, ducking under Royce’s outstretched arms.
The movement caused Royce’s left hand to grab a fistful of facemask. The quarterback’s head jerked violently and he spun down to the turf. Whistles blew immediately as Royce released his grip, realizing what just happened.
Flags flew in from every direction, bright yellow reminders of his mistake. The stadium erupted in a cacophony of cheers and groans, the St. Charles sideline already celebrating knowing that they were about to book their ticket to the Superdome.
The referee jogged to midfield, his voice cutting through the din. “Personal foul. Facemask. Number five on the defense. Fifteen yards from the previous spot. Automatic first down.”
Royce buried his face in his hands, his chest tight with frustration. His eyes burned as he looked up to see the Comets’ offense walking up the field behind the referee marching off the penalty yardage.
Donovan pulled Royce up to his feet, patting Royce on the top of the helmet.
On the sideline, Coach Cunningham slammed his clipboard down, but didn’t say anything, his jaw clenched as he turned away.
…
“Cazayoux lines up for the kick to send the Comets to the state championship game. Here’s the snap, the hold is good, it’s up and it’s good! St. Charles Catholic is going to defeat UHigh, 10-7, in a defensive battle. The Comets are going to state!”
…
Royce sat alone at the end of the bench, his helmet on the ground between his feet, his hands covering his mouth. He could feel the bile rising up in his throat, tears pricking his eyes as he watched the Comets celebrate on the field.
Malik walked over to pat him on the shoulder, but Royce ignored him, the sting of defeat too much when he was the direct cause of it.
His high school football career was over, ended by a boneheaded mistake on his part. The culmination of all the evil deeds he’d done over the years coming back to hunt not only him, but his teammates as well.
The apparition that had been seemingly following him for the last couple of months looked to be standing at midfield, laughing at him.
“C’mon, bruh,” Malik said finally, lifting up Royce by his arm.
Royce didn’t have it in him to fight. Instead, he just trudged to the locker room with the rest of the team.
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djp73
- Posts: 13187
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 13:42
Dying to Live
The feels. Takes me back.
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16902
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Calling in That Favor
Royce stood in front of a mirror in his room, the tie in his hands stubbornly refusing to cooperate. The room was dim, lit only by the bedside lamp casting a soft glow over the space. On the bed behind him, Alix was stretched out on her stomach, scrolling through her phone, still wearing his hoodie and a pair of shorts she’d slipped into earlier.
The air between them was quiet, weighted with the aftermath of UHigh’s loss to St. Charles Catholic the day before. Royce’s body still ached from the game, but it was the defeat that stung more.
He let out a frustrated sigh and yanked the tie loose again. “Fuck, man.”
“You know, watching you fail at that for the last ten minutes has been the only entertaining thing about tonight,” Alix said without looking up.
Royce threw her a look in the mirror. “You seemed to be pretty entertained earlier.”
“That’s not the same thing.” She flipped onto her back and stretched, her voice taking on a teasing lilt. “You know you could just go ask Tyrell to show you how to tie that. It is for his wedding after all.”
“I gotta figure out how to do it myself sooner or later any fucking way,” he muttered starting over with the knot. “Fucking YouTube videos ain’t make no damn sense which ain’t helping me at all.”
“You could wear a clip-on,” she said with a shrug.
“Tell ya daddy wear a fucking clip on.” He tugged the tie tighter, examining his work, then frowned before taking it off again.
Alix got up from the bed and took the tie from him, wrapping it around his neck. “The wedding’s what? Two weeks away?”
He looked down at her hands as she looped the fabric around itself. “Yeah. That’s why they ain’t here. Both of them went on their trips. I would’ve gone with Tyrell for his bachelors if we ain’t make it to the semis.”
“Damn, losing the game and losing out on fucking some strippers. It’s been a tough week for you,” she teased as she finished tying the tie. She gently tugged it until it was snug against his neck before looking up at him, smiling and pulling it tighter so it choked him a bit.
Royce stepped back, loosening the knot, as she laughed.
“Now, just don’t untie that and there you go, you got a tied tie,” she said, sitting back on the bed and crossing her legs under her.
He pulled it over his head. “This ain’t the tie that I have to wear. I don’t know where that one is at.”
“Well, when you find it, bring it to me and I’ll sort you out.”
“You could just go to the wedding with me,” he said, almost absentmindedly as he tried to finger out the steps she’d tied the tie in.
She raised an eyebrow. “Go where? A wedding? With you?”
“Yeah. You acting like I asked you for a fucking kidney.” He turned toward her, throwing the tie on the dresser. “That’s how these things work, ain’t it? That’s why everyone who is single gets a plus one.”
She flopped back onto the bed, laughing.
“The fuck is so funny?” he asked
She propped herself up on her elbows, giving him a skeptical look. “Royce, that’s couple shit. I remember someone telling me that we shouldn’t be doing any couple shit when I asked him to come somewhere with me.”
“But we did that couple shit. You’re the one that broke the seal,” Royce shot back.
“There’s a huge difference between going to a family cookout with me and you asking me to go to your sister’s wedding that you’re in. One thing could be some friend thing, a wedding absolutely cannot.”
“You dragging it, man. It’s just a fucking wedding.”
“What about Sadie? Or Bee? Or whoever else you’ve been fucking?”
He shook his head. “Sadie doesn’t fuck with me anymore and Rana doesn’t like Bree because she caught her sneaking in here. Ain’t nobody else.”
Alix snorted. “So, I’m the last resort?”
“C’mon, Alix. You’re making this shit way harder than it needs to be. I ain’t ask anybody else so you can’t be the last resort. All you got to do is go somewhere, get some free alcohol, dance a bit, go home. Simple, easy.”
She stared at him, her expression unreadable. “I should make you sweat about this for days before giving you an answer.”
“Alix.”
She smirked. “Royce.”
He let out a long breath. “You know what? You owe me anyway. That was the deal you made for me going to that thing for Marc. Now, I’m calling in my favor. You’re a bad person if you say no now.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, but the teasing glint was still there. “That’s low. You can’t play that card now.”
“Favors ain’t got no time limit on them,” he said with a shrug. “Look, I’ll even buy your dress.”
“With what money?” she laughed.
“Don’t worry about it. As long as you don’t go to Saks, I got it.”
She sat up straight, tilting her head at him. “You’re really pulling out all the stops to get me to say yes, huh? You must really like having me around.”
“Yes. Now, can you just say you’ll come?”
She let the silence drag for a few second then sighed dramatically. “Alright. I’ll be your date for this very clear couple shit, Royce. You can just venmo me that money.”
Royce laughed. “I’ll give you what you need.”
“You’ll still owe me one, too, because this is a much bigger deal than a cookout,” Alix said, pointing at him.
“Whatever you say.” He turned back to the mirror, picking the tie up and going back to trying to figure it out.
~~~~~~~~~~
Royce walked up into the bleachers at the stadium, having just turned in his pads and helmet. Malik, Justin, Donovan and Dru had already done so, filing out to the stadium for one last look at the field.
It was empty, a reminder of what could have been. Their senior season had come to an abrupt and bitter end, and none of them had fully processed it yet.
“This some bullshit, bruh,” Malik said as he leaned against the bleacher behind him. “It’s crazy how fast it all ends.”
“It’s worse than I thought it’d be if I’m keeping it a buck,” Justin admitted. “Losing like that, knowing we could’ve gone to the ‘chip? You don’t want to blame nobody but seven points, man? Seven? Should’ve saved some of them points from them blowouts.”
Royce winced, still feeling as though it was his fault the team had lost despite the consensus among the players willing to lay the blame at anyone’s feet being that it was the offense’s for not scoring more than a single touchdown.
Donovan sucked his teeth. “The worst part about it is that we gotta start all over in a few months somewhere else and we don’t even got nothing to celebrate until then. Just turn in your pads and go on and fuck off.”
“Gotta go start over and probably ain’t never going to get close to winning shit again,” Dru said. “I’ve been replaying that shit in my head since Friday. If we had just done this or that, we could be playing in the Dome.”
Royce nodded silently, understanding exactly what Dru meant. The final moments of their season replayed in his head constantly, like a broken record. It wasn’t just the loss—it was the feeling of unfinished business, of potential left unrealized.
“Look on the bright side, y’all got college ball to look forward to,” Royce said.
Malik looked over his shoulder at Royce. “Nigga, you’d have college ball to look forward to, too, if you’d make your fucking decision on where you going.”
“I think ol’ boy done knocked up one of these hoes he been fucking and he gotta wait to see where she going before he decides on a school,” Justin said, eliciting laughter from the others.
“Ya mama ain’t got eligibility left,” Royce shot back, drawing a fresh round of laughter from Donovan, Malik and Dru.
They fell into silence, all of them just looking out onto the field, a maintenance crew coming out to begin the process of refreshing the field for next season.
“We’ve got to move on, though,” Malik said, breaking the silence. “Y’all better not ghost a nigga when we all over the country though. I don’t want to hear no ‘ oh, I’m busy hitting the books, bro.’”
“Every semester, put that NIL money up, see who catching the baddest bodies,” Justin said, nodding.
Donovan chuckled. “You’re going to need that NIL money to catch any bodies, negro.”
“Nah, that’s Dru,” Justin said, pointing at Dru. “I heard that boy got PE.”
Dru reached over to smack Justin in the back of his head but he ducked out of the way. The two of them stood up and started play fighting. The others laughing as they dramatically swung at each other, neither trying to connect.
As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows over the bleachers. Royce felt a flicker of hope, knowing that he’d made some friends for life despite all that had happened to him in the last year.
Royce stood in front of a mirror in his room, the tie in his hands stubbornly refusing to cooperate. The room was dim, lit only by the bedside lamp casting a soft glow over the space. On the bed behind him, Alix was stretched out on her stomach, scrolling through her phone, still wearing his hoodie and a pair of shorts she’d slipped into earlier.
The air between them was quiet, weighted with the aftermath of UHigh’s loss to St. Charles Catholic the day before. Royce’s body still ached from the game, but it was the defeat that stung more.
He let out a frustrated sigh and yanked the tie loose again. “Fuck, man.”
“You know, watching you fail at that for the last ten minutes has been the only entertaining thing about tonight,” Alix said without looking up.
Royce threw her a look in the mirror. “You seemed to be pretty entertained earlier.”
“That’s not the same thing.” She flipped onto her back and stretched, her voice taking on a teasing lilt. “You know you could just go ask Tyrell to show you how to tie that. It is for his wedding after all.”
“I gotta figure out how to do it myself sooner or later any fucking way,” he muttered starting over with the knot. “Fucking YouTube videos ain’t make no damn sense which ain’t helping me at all.”
“You could wear a clip-on,” she said with a shrug.
“Tell ya daddy wear a fucking clip on.” He tugged the tie tighter, examining his work, then frowned before taking it off again.
Alix got up from the bed and took the tie from him, wrapping it around his neck. “The wedding’s what? Two weeks away?”
He looked down at her hands as she looped the fabric around itself. “Yeah. That’s why they ain’t here. Both of them went on their trips. I would’ve gone with Tyrell for his bachelors if we ain’t make it to the semis.”
“Damn, losing the game and losing out on fucking some strippers. It’s been a tough week for you,” she teased as she finished tying the tie. She gently tugged it until it was snug against his neck before looking up at him, smiling and pulling it tighter so it choked him a bit.
Royce stepped back, loosening the knot, as she laughed.
“Now, just don’t untie that and there you go, you got a tied tie,” she said, sitting back on the bed and crossing her legs under her.
He pulled it over his head. “This ain’t the tie that I have to wear. I don’t know where that one is at.”
“Well, when you find it, bring it to me and I’ll sort you out.”
“You could just go to the wedding with me,” he said, almost absentmindedly as he tried to finger out the steps she’d tied the tie in.
She raised an eyebrow. “Go where? A wedding? With you?”
“Yeah. You acting like I asked you for a fucking kidney.” He turned toward her, throwing the tie on the dresser. “That’s how these things work, ain’t it? That’s why everyone who is single gets a plus one.”
She flopped back onto the bed, laughing.
“The fuck is so funny?” he asked
She propped herself up on her elbows, giving him a skeptical look. “Royce, that’s couple shit. I remember someone telling me that we shouldn’t be doing any couple shit when I asked him to come somewhere with me.”
“But we did that couple shit. You’re the one that broke the seal,” Royce shot back.
“There’s a huge difference between going to a family cookout with me and you asking me to go to your sister’s wedding that you’re in. One thing could be some friend thing, a wedding absolutely cannot.”
“You dragging it, man. It’s just a fucking wedding.”
“What about Sadie? Or Bee? Or whoever else you’ve been fucking?”
He shook his head. “Sadie doesn’t fuck with me anymore and Rana doesn’t like Bree because she caught her sneaking in here. Ain’t nobody else.”
Alix snorted. “So, I’m the last resort?”
“C’mon, Alix. You’re making this shit way harder than it needs to be. I ain’t ask anybody else so you can’t be the last resort. All you got to do is go somewhere, get some free alcohol, dance a bit, go home. Simple, easy.”
She stared at him, her expression unreadable. “I should make you sweat about this for days before giving you an answer.”
“Alix.”
She smirked. “Royce.”
He let out a long breath. “You know what? You owe me anyway. That was the deal you made for me going to that thing for Marc. Now, I’m calling in my favor. You’re a bad person if you say no now.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, but the teasing glint was still there. “That’s low. You can’t play that card now.”
“Favors ain’t got no time limit on them,” he said with a shrug. “Look, I’ll even buy your dress.”
“With what money?” she laughed.
“Don’t worry about it. As long as you don’t go to Saks, I got it.”
She sat up straight, tilting her head at him. “You’re really pulling out all the stops to get me to say yes, huh? You must really like having me around.”
“Yes. Now, can you just say you’ll come?”
She let the silence drag for a few second then sighed dramatically. “Alright. I’ll be your date for this very clear couple shit, Royce. You can just venmo me that money.”
Royce laughed. “I’ll give you what you need.”
“You’ll still owe me one, too, because this is a much bigger deal than a cookout,” Alix said, pointing at him.
“Whatever you say.” He turned back to the mirror, picking the tie up and going back to trying to figure it out.
~~~~~~~~~~
Royce walked up into the bleachers at the stadium, having just turned in his pads and helmet. Malik, Justin, Donovan and Dru had already done so, filing out to the stadium for one last look at the field.
It was empty, a reminder of what could have been. Their senior season had come to an abrupt and bitter end, and none of them had fully processed it yet.
“This some bullshit, bruh,” Malik said as he leaned against the bleacher behind him. “It’s crazy how fast it all ends.”
“It’s worse than I thought it’d be if I’m keeping it a buck,” Justin admitted. “Losing like that, knowing we could’ve gone to the ‘chip? You don’t want to blame nobody but seven points, man? Seven? Should’ve saved some of them points from them blowouts.”
Royce winced, still feeling as though it was his fault the team had lost despite the consensus among the players willing to lay the blame at anyone’s feet being that it was the offense’s for not scoring more than a single touchdown.
Donovan sucked his teeth. “The worst part about it is that we gotta start all over in a few months somewhere else and we don’t even got nothing to celebrate until then. Just turn in your pads and go on and fuck off.”
“Gotta go start over and probably ain’t never going to get close to winning shit again,” Dru said. “I’ve been replaying that shit in my head since Friday. If we had just done this or that, we could be playing in the Dome.”
Royce nodded silently, understanding exactly what Dru meant. The final moments of their season replayed in his head constantly, like a broken record. It wasn’t just the loss—it was the feeling of unfinished business, of potential left unrealized.
“Look on the bright side, y’all got college ball to look forward to,” Royce said.
Malik looked over his shoulder at Royce. “Nigga, you’d have college ball to look forward to, too, if you’d make your fucking decision on where you going.”
“I think ol’ boy done knocked up one of these hoes he been fucking and he gotta wait to see where she going before he decides on a school,” Justin said, eliciting laughter from the others.
“Ya mama ain’t got eligibility left,” Royce shot back, drawing a fresh round of laughter from Donovan, Malik and Dru.
They fell into silence, all of them just looking out onto the field, a maintenance crew coming out to begin the process of refreshing the field for next season.
“We’ve got to move on, though,” Malik said, breaking the silence. “Y’all better not ghost a nigga when we all over the country though. I don’t want to hear no ‘ oh, I’m busy hitting the books, bro.’”
“Every semester, put that NIL money up, see who catching the baddest bodies,” Justin said, nodding.
Donovan chuckled. “You’re going to need that NIL money to catch any bodies, negro.”
“Nah, that’s Dru,” Justin said, pointing at Dru. “I heard that boy got PE.”
Dru reached over to smack Justin in the back of his head but he ducked out of the way. The two of them stood up and started play fighting. The others laughing as they dramatically swung at each other, neither trying to connect.
As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows over the bleachers. Royce felt a flicker of hope, knowing that he’d made some friends for life despite all that had happened to him in the last year.
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16902
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16902
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47