Dying to Live

[Caesar]

****Character List: https://dynastysports.net/viewtopic.php?p=69562#p69562****

shit or get off the pot, young man.

Says the man who be slandering him for this very relationship!

the context of the relationship is sucker shit (that's his friend's ex) but a situationship is something we can all relate to. at some point, you gonna have to move on though so she can move

Dr. Phil head ass. That's some healthy relationship advice.

Inching closer and closer to that first game

[Caesar]

Big Cat

The camera panned across the bustling newsroom, settling on the brightly lit sports desk. The backdrop displayed a sleep purple-and-gold graphic of a tiger mid-roar—LSU’s iconic logo. Alce Guidry leaned toward the camera, exuding the practiced ease of a man who had spent decades behind the desk.

“Good evening, Tiger fans, and welcome back to Sportsline,” Alce began, his voice smooth and authoritative. “We’re breaking down some names to watch as LSU’s football team gears up for the season. And let me tell you, folks, there are some freshmen that you might want to keep an eye on when Brian Kelly’s team takes the field against USC.”

The camera cut to a highlight reel of different players on the practice field. Royce was among them, making plays alongside the others.

“Now, you may all remember Royce Lafitte from our special on him last year when he was still at UHigh, and its early days, but I think he’s turning some heads over there on campus. LSU’s a little thin at linebacker and they’ll need every body they can get who can go out there and make a play. I think Lafitte can be one of those bodies,” Alce continued as the reel ended.

Alce’s co-host, LSU legend Marcus Spears, nodded. “With the new redshirt rules, you can put some of these guys out on the field in real games and see how they react to live action. It’s a big question if they can handle the pressure on Saturday in Tiger Stadium but when you have a Nicholls on your schedule or a South Alabama, you can send them out there and know you don’t have to burn their eligibility.”

“Exactly,” Alce agreed, leaning back in his chair. “I think we’ll need to see who gets on that plane in a few weeks to go to Las Vegas. You’re not going to bring players that you’re not intending to put in the game. If these freshmen are in Vegas, that’s going to be a big vote of confidence from the coaching staff.”

“I got to say, Alce. I’ve been watching that Lafitte kid and he hasn’t backed down in the big cat drills. That’s when you really start to separate the men from the boys. Especially when you’re talking about a linebacker at LSU.”

“He’s got fight in him for sure. I know we have a lot of viewers who are rooting for him this season. Next up, we’re talking Brian Kelly’s future in Baton Rouge if the Tigers don’t improve on last season…”

~~~~~~~~~~

“That all you need, baby?”

Royce looked up at the older woman who’d brought his food to him. He gave her a weak smile, exhaustion from practice becoming a regular part of his afternoons. “Yes, ma’am. I think I’m good for now.”

She smiled. “Alright, just let me know if you do.”

Royce sighed as she walked away, leaning back in his chair as he looked down at plate before him. The scent of slow-smoked brisked and sweet cornbread wafted through the air, mixing with baked beans and sweet tea. You’d know it was a barbecue joint before you even stepped foot inside.

He’d skipped out on his normal afternoon routine of heading back to his room and playing video games with J.J. and Dewon—or waiting for Alix’s arrival now that she’d dropped her strange mood, and instead opted to go a bit further afield for some grub.

Before he could dig into the food, he looked up as the door opened, seeing Meech strolling into the restaurant with a small group of guys in tow.

Meech noticed Royce and walked over to him, flashing his gold-toothed smile. He held his hand out to Royce to dap him up, all but pulling him up out of his chair to bring him in for a quick hug and slap on the back.

“What’s good, family? I’m always catching your ass out eating. What they not feeding you over there at LSU?” Meech asked, sitting down. The guys who were with him sat at other tables around them, making Royce feel surrounded and a bit nervous.

“Nah, it’s straight,” Royce shrugged. He nodded to the rest of Meech’s crew. “Seems like I should be thinking you following me though.”

Meech laughed, deep and unnecessarily loud. “Baton Rouge ain’t that big, lil’ homie. Ain’t like we ain’t going to the same places. If you got a problem running into me then you could go out there ‘round Hoo Shoo Too and all. It’s too white out there for me.”

“Probably too white for me, too.”

“You at LSU. You can’t talk about nothing being too white. I already know you be saying if it ain’t snowing, you ain’t going,” Meech said, letting loose that laugh again. “If you were fucking with some Black queens, you’d have gone to Southern.”

“It’s Black bitches at LSU, too, though. It just ain’t only Black bitches,” Royce countered. “Just like they got white bitches at Southern.”

“Shit, you ain’t gotta tell me. One of my baby mamas is a white bitch who went to Southern. You got any kids?”

“Nah.” Royce shook his head.

Meech slapped his hand on the table and pointed at Royce, turning to one of the guys sitting behind him. “I told y’all lil’ brudda was smart. He know to wrap it up because if I was him I’d be swimming in it and have about 40 of ‘em by now. Anyway, yeah, bitch named Megan. Talking about she wanted to go into nursing like the Lake ain’t right fucking there. She just wanted to get fucked by niggas. Pussy was good, though, so I wasn’t pulling out not once.”

“She still a nurse?”

“Who?” Meech asked, a confused look taking over his face.

“Your baby mama.”

The older man shrugged. “Shit, I don’t know. I don’t talk to her ass no more. The pussy was good, but it wasn’t that good. A nigga wasn’t trying to marry her. She was a little fat on some shit, too, but ain’t nothing wrong with that. Everyone got bodies they ain’t proud of.”

“Shit, I guess,” Royce said, shrugging as well. He didn’t think he had any flings past or present that he would say that about, but Meech was older than him so maybe that was something that came with age.

“You know the whole hood watching you, huh? Got the city behind you when you get out on that field. My cousin done brought his ass to Alabama so they gonna act like they wasn’t on his dick just last year. Crazy, huh?” Meech reached behind him and dapped up another one of the guys he’d come in with.

“I ain’t even from here, though. Got niggas on the team that came up here and all. Some of them niggas might play, too.”

“Shit, that don’t matter. You like us.” Meech’s grin slowly faded, and his tone grew more serious. “You got what you need over there, though? On some real shit. You know I ain’t got no problem spotting you if you need it. It been a little minute since I talked to you so you might’ve came up on something.”

Royce shook his head, trying to keep his tone even. He was hoping that Meech had forgotten about the few hundred dollars he’d given him last year. Apparently, that was wishful thinking. “Nah, I’m good. They taking care of everything I’d need.”

Meech studied him for a moment, then nodded, his grin returning. “Aight, then. Just know I can help you out if you need a little money to go have yourself a good time that LSU don’t know about. Poochie been out there in Alabama losing his mind in the sticks. I don’t want to see another one of the young brothers get on some depression shit.”

With that, Meech dapped up Royce and stood up. The rest of his crew followed him as they walked to the counter to make their orders.

The old waitress came back around to check on Royce.

“You still good, honey?” she asked.

Royce looked up at her, giving her a half smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

He glanced down at the food as she walked away. Shaking his head, he picked up the plastic fork and stabbed a piece of brisket.

[Captain Canada]

I can't even imagine the anvil you have planned when it comes to Meech and Royce's entanglement.

[djp73]

let's bust some heads

[Caesar]

Tigerland

Royce was exhausted, as he always seemed to be, though the semester beginning and the start of classes had added to it. The grueling intensity of football practice with earl-morning conditioning sessions followed by full-contact drills in the sweltering Louisiana heat, left him physically drained. Mentally, the adjustment to being a college student added another layer of stress. Now, he had to deal with professors and their demands to turn papers in on time and passing midterms.

Stading in a line that snaked through the campus bookstore, Royce clutched the straps of his pack, barely awake. He stared at the rows of bookshelves stretching out in every direction and thought about the assignments already piling up. Endless readings, quizzes and projects awaited him if the syllabi were anything to go by.

Ahead, a group of students chatted animatedly. One of them, a girl with a backpack weighed down by what looked like bricks, groaned about the cost of her books.

“Over two hundred dollars for a math book that I can’t even sell,” she muttered, eliciting laughter from her friends.

“It’s such a fucking scam,” another chimed in. “All of this should be online. For free.”

Royce shifted his weight from foot to foot, his shoulders aching under the strain of his bag. HE glanced up at the clock mounted on the wall and frowned. Thirty minutes until his next class and the line hadn’t moved an inch. A growing sense of impatience gnawed at him. Every second spent here meant less time to eat, less time to think, and less time to breathe.

Khalil walked up next to him, carrying a jug of water and a tattered notebook that looked like he’d been using it for the last decade. “Yo, dawg. The fuck you doing?”

Royce looked over at him, raising an eyebrow. “Trying to get my fucking books. What’s it look like?”

Khalil shook his head, slashing his free hand across his neck. “Nah, man. You don’t need to wait in no fucking line. Come on.” He grabbed the straps of Royce’s back and yanked him out of the line, beginning to walk away.

Royce looked back at the group of friends who were in front of him, noticing the dirty looks they sent him. The two of them weaved through the packed store, bypassing frustrated students whose glares Royce could feel burning in his back. Royce ignored them as Khalil lead him to a small, separate counter at the back of the store.

The staff member behind the counter—a middle-aged woman with a bored expression—perked up when she saw Khalil.

“Khalil,” she said with a polite nod. “I only want to see you once this semester. ‘Your dog’ can’t like eating paper that much.”

“You got my word, Mrs. Zeringue,” Khalil said, holding his hand over his heart. “I got rid of the dog anyway.”

The woman shook her head and held out her hand. Khalil fished his tiger card out of his pocket and handed it to her.

She turned to Royce. “You got yours?”

“Your tiger card,” Khalil said. “So, she can get the box they pulled for you.”

Royce unclipped the lanyard from his belt loop and handed it to the woman. She disappeared into the backroom where he could hear a number of workers ripping open boxes and gathering books for the students waiting in line a short distance away.

The ones this close to the end of the line were less angry about Royce and Khalil skipping ahead of them, with their lists already being processed.

Khalil leaned on the counter. “That card is like a fucking American Express out here, man. Black card shit. Even off campus. Go to Chimes or a bar, flick it out on accident and now you drinking free the rest of the night.”

Within minutes, the woman returned with two boxes, all of their books already pulled and taped up nice and neat. She had them both sign they received them and sent them on their way.

As Royce walked back through the maze of the box store, he realized he’d just experienced his first instance of the rules simply being different for him. The group of students he’d been standing behind had only moved up a couple feet and shot him a dirtier look seeing him carrying the box.

“You want to get something to eat?” Khalil said, gesturing toward the union.

“I gotta wait in that line?” Royce asked.

“At the Chick-Fil-A because you know how motherfuckers get about them bigot nuggets so I always get something else or give someone at the front the line my card,” Khalil laughed as the two of them headed in that direction.

~~~~~~~~~~

“You need a break,” Alix said as she stood at Royce’s door, her hair tied back in a messy bun, a sly grin on her face as she dangled the offer like bait. “And I want a drink.”

That’s how Royce found himself navigating the chaos of Tigerland, Baton Rouge’s infamous stretch of college bars. The street was alive with energy, the kind that made it feel like something was bound to pop off and any moment, but no one cared because they were three sheets to the wind.

Music spilled from open doors, blending with the hum of voices and the occasional shout of someone calling to their friends. Groups of students, and people who had no business around college-aged kids, spilled into the streets, some laughing, others arguing, and a few stumbling after clearly pre-gaming too hard. It was chaotic, vibrant and almost overwhelming.

Walking beside her, Royce felt on edge despite his best efforts. He didn’t know these people, didn’t trust them. Alix, on the other hand, dressed in a cropped top and shorts, was settling in as if she was meant to be amongst the crowds. She grabbed his arm, flashing him a grin as they approached the entrance of one of the bars.

“You gotta stop scowling,” she teased.

Royce looked down at her. “I ain’t scowling.”

“Stop whatever you’re doing then.”

At the door, she barely had to try. The bouncer gave her ID a cursory glance before waving her in, clearly more interested in her than verifying her age. He was still looking at her when he held his hand out to stop Royce.

Royce pulled out his wallet. He pulled the tiger card out as if on accident before sliding it down and taking out his ID. The bouncer’s expression shifted noticeably as he took the Royce’s ID and gave less of a look at it than he had Alix’s.

“Go ahead, bro,” the man said, waving Royce in with a nod of acknowledgement as he handed by the ID.

Alix raised an eyebrow when she noticed Royce already standing behind her. “I know how I got in so quick, but what’d you do? Slid him a $20?”

“Nah, I told him you were going to suck his dick when the bar closed,” Royce said, keeping his tone and expression serious.

“You didn’t fucking do that,” Alix said, looking back over Royce’s shoulder at the bouncer who was back to thoroughly examining everyone’s ID. Concern painted her expression. “How the fuck am I going to get out of here if he thinks that, Royce?”

Royce shrugged before starting to laugh.

Alix smacked him on the shoulder. “You fucking dick. I really believed you did that shit. Now, you’re buying all my drinks.”

“Thought I was doing that anyway.”

Further inside, the air hit him like a wall—thick with seat, the tang of spilled beer and the bass of the music reverberating through the floorboard. Neon lights flickered across the room, illuminating clusters of patrons packed tightly together. The bar was crowded, a pulsing seat of bodies.

Royce led the way, carving a path through the chaos. At the bar, Alix leaned in close, her voice just loud enough to cut through the noise. “Long Island?”

“I an’t trying to get fucked up like that,” he said.

She smirked, turning back to the bar to order two drinks. When the bartender slid them across the counter, she handed one to Royce. “I’m trying to get you fucked up like that, though,” she said, her grin widening.

Royce laughed, staring down at the liquor. “It’s a good thing I got my whistle with me, then.”

“You might need it,” she teased, taking a sip.

…

An hour later, Royce had relaxed. The music, the drinks, Alix’s playful banter—it all worked to pull him out of the grind that had been weighing him down. She leaned against him, laughing at something he said, his arm wrapped around the small of her back as a group stumbled into their space.

Royce glanced at them—what looked like a bachelor party, loud, drunk and obnoxiously festive. They were out of place in a college bar, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to know the groom’s friends were trying to find him something young for his last hurrah before he got married.

A stocky guy with a crooked grin was clearly the groom, with the other foisting an endless supply of drinks. He was stumbling but still grinning as he leaned too close to Alix.

In a drunken stupor, he reached out a grabbed a handful of Alix’s ass. Royce’s reaction was instant, moving Alix out of the way, reaching out and grabbing a fistful of the man’s shirt and shoving him against a nearby wall.

“You want to make it home tonight, bruh?” Royce asked, his blood boiling.

The man’s drunken smile was unfazed. “Relax, man,” he slurred. “I thought she was for everybody.”

“You know where you are? Motherfuckers die every night in Baton Rouge for less.”

Alix stepped in between them, putting her hand on Royce’s chest. Her eyes locked onto his, sharp and focused. “Not here,” she said firmly.

“Nah, he—”

“I know,” she interrupted. She glanced back at the man then looked back to Royce. “This isn’t the place, though.”

Royce looked back over his shoulder at the man’s friends, noticing that they were all standing there watching with her hands up as if trying to calm an animal. That only served to make Royce angrier.

Alix leaned in closer, her voice softening. “You’ve got way too much to lose, Royce.”

Royce shook his head, letting go of the man’s shirt, realizing that she was right.

Alix turned to his friends, her expression hardened. “Y’all need to watch yourselves out here. Everyone isn’t going to be as forgiving as I am, and I don’t think y’all want to explain to his family that he died in a bar fight looking for teenage pussy.”

The man’s smirk faltered as if the mention of the word “teenage” sobered him up and his friends quickly pulled him away, muttering apologies. Royce watched them retreat, shaking his head before picking up his drink from a nearby table and downing it.

“You good?” Alix asked, placing her hand on his face and making him look at her.

He exhaled sharply, nodding. “Yeah, I’m straight.”

She smiled, her confidence unshaken. “Come on, let’s go. I didn’t know you being all chivalric would do something to me.”

[djp73]

Chivalry ain’t dead

[Soapy]

crashing out over white cooch

[Caesar]

crashing out over white cooch

Black, white, blue, brown, green. It's his white cooch and he's a prototypical YN. 1+1=crashout.

[Caesar]

All Sinners

The midday sun bathed LSU’s campus in a warm glow, casting long shadows across the cobblestones. Britni walked her roommate, Leah, and a new friend she’d met in one of her classes, Nia, her laugh muted compared to theirs but present—a small victory in itself. Leah was mid-story, her hands animated as she described a mishap with her boyfriend the week before.

“I tried to tell him that it’s totally cheating if you’re in some girl’s dorm room whether you’re with your boys or not,” Leah said, throwing her hands up.

Nia shook her head. “Girl, you’re better than me. I would’ve told him that he could’ve kept his ass where he was if he was so interested in seeing where she was sleeping. You got to watch these dudes on this campus. We should go out Friday to show him what it feels like.”

Britni forced a smile. “I’m with Nia. You should go out and have fun since he made you mad,” she said, her voice steady but quieter than theirs. She fiddled with the strap of her bag, hoping they wouldn’t notice the hollowness behind her words.

“Oh, you’re coming with us,” Leah said with a grin. “You only leave the room to go to class. You can’t start college like that!”

Britni hesitated, her smile faltering. “Bars and clubs aren’t really my thing.”

Nia gave her a gentle nudge on the shoulder. “You could make it your thing.”

Britni sighed, the weight of their good intentions pressing down on her. She appreciated their efforts—really, she did. But the idea of “fun” felt so foreign now. Since Romeo’s death, she’d been stuck in a fog, every day a battle to get out of bed, let alone fake normalcy. She thought leaving Houma would help, but it hadn’t yet.

Still, she nodded. “I’ll think about it.”

Leah and Nia shared a look, but didn’t push further.

“Good, think fast though,” Leah said, looping her arm through Britni’s.

For a moment, Britni felt a flicker of gratitude. They didn’t understand, but at least they were trying.

That’s when she saw him.

Royce sat on one of the benches, his arm around a white girl’s shoulders as two other guys flanked him. His shoulders shook with laughter as one of the guys said something that earned a shove from the other. They were loud, carefree, and utterly oblivious to anyone around them.

His smile was a mirror image of Romeo’s, except for the way it never looked genuine like Romeo’s always did. Still, it was a smile that used to bring Britni comfort, a fleeting reminder of everything she’d lost. Now, it only made her stomach churn.

Her steps faltered, and her conversation trailed off mid-sentence. Leah and Nia exchanged confused glances as Britni’s expression darkened.

“Britni?” Leah asked, noticing the sudden shift in her mood.

Britni clenched her fists, biting the inside of her cheek to stop the flood of memories—seeing Romeo lying in that casket, his body lowered in the ground. All because Royce couldn’t put anything before his misguided pride, his hood credit.

“Who is that?” Nia asked, following Britni’s gaze to Royce and the others. “Ex?”

“No one,” Britni said quickly, her voice tight.

Leah frowned. “You sure? You look like you saw a ghost.”

“I said it’s not one.” Britni’s tone was sharper than she intended, but she didn’t care. How dare Royce sit there laughing like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t been there too? Like he wasn’t living Romeo’s life? He’d even gone and gotten himself a girl he could trick into thinking he was a good person.

Leah stepped in front of her, concern etched on her face. “Britni, I know we just met and all, but if you need to talk—”

“I’m fine,” Britni cut her off, her voice cracking slightly. “I just… I just need to go.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and walked away, her friends’ concerned voices trailing behind her. The day was ruined. She figured she’d cross paths with Royce on campus sooner or later but seeing him so carefree was unbearable. She needed space, silence—anything.

~~~~~~~~~~

Arianna and Toni lounged in their cramped apartment, the scent of gumbo simmering in the kitchen filling the air. The place was small but warm, its mismatched furniture and colorful throw pillows reflecting their shared sense of home.

Toni sat cross-legged on the couch, scrolling through her phone with an occasional smirk at whatever drama was unfolding on her feed. Across the room, Arianna tried to get started on a paper, humming along to the R&B playlist drifting softly from the speaker on the counter.

“You think that gumbo’s gonna come out like Ma Beulah’s?” Arianna asked without looking up.

“Ma Beulah wouldn’t be making gumbo in August,” Toni snorted, still focused on her phone. “So you already know it’s not going to come out right. It’s too damn hot outside.”

“It’s too hot outside,” Arianna repeated, her tone mocking. “That’s cool, your ass ain’t gotta eat it then. Sit over there and starve.”

Before Toni could fire back, the door slammed open with a force that made them both jump. The sound rattled the walls, and the playful energy in the room evaporated instantly.

“Nigga, you don’t knock?” Arianna shouted, but Deshawn stormed in, his face twisted in anger.

“What the fuck is this, Toni?” he barked, holding up his phone as if it were evidence in a trial. His voice was loud enough to make the music seem like a faint background whisper.

Toni looked up, startled, before her expression quickly morphed from surprise to irritation. “What are you fucking talking about? And why are you just busting in here like you’ve lost your fucking mind?”

“You know what I’m talking about!” he shot back, shoving the phone in her face. The screen displayed a blurry photo of Toni shading next to a man at what looked like a party. “Ain’t this you hugged up with some nigga? You think I’m stupid.”

Toni sighed deeply, her patience already worn thin. She set her phone down deliberately and stood up, meeting his glare head-on. “First of all, that’s Steven. Earl’s boyfriend. You get what I’m saying? He don’t want what I got. And second,” her voice sharpened. “even if it wasn’t, you don’t own me. You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do. So what your motherfucking tone.”

Deshawn’s jaw tightened, and his hands balled into fists as his sides. He loomed over her, his chest heaving as if trying to keep his anger in check. “Don’t play in my face, Toni. You’ve been acting shady for weeks. I ain’t stupid. You should’ve stayed your ass in Houma.”

Toni stepped closer. “You’re the one who begged me to come here. But you’re not going to come in here like this, yelling at me over some shit you made up.”

“Made up?” Deshawn’s voice rose, and he gestured wildly with the phone. “You think this is made up?”

“It is fucking made up,” Toni shot back. “You must have a guilty conscience.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means,” Toni hissed. “But I’m not the one busting in your shirt so maybe think about that.”

Before the argument could continue, Arianna ran over and shoved Deshawn back with all her strength. He took a couple steps back before rounding on her.

“You need to your fucking ass down, nigga,” Arianna said, her tone calm but firm. “You must’ve forgot where you are and who you talking to like that.”

“This ain’t got nothing to do with you,” Deshawn snapped.

“If it got something to do with Toni, it got something to do with me,” she said, jabbing her finger toward Deshawn’s face, only inches from poking him in the forehead. “And if you ever, ever, and I mean ever, get it in your mind to bust up in here like the police again, Baton Rouge ain’t but an hour away. You already know Royce would be down here headfirst behind us.”

Deshawn hesitated, the mention of Royce clearly giving him pause. His bravado faltered slightly but his glare didn’t soften. “Ain’t nobody worried about that nigga.”

“Funny you ain’t never tried none of this shit when he lived in Houma then,” Arianna shot back. “Get your pussy ass out before I go in the kitchen and get something to poke you with.”

“Toni, we talking about this when I get back Sunday,” he said, pointing at Toni, before storming out, slamming the door behind him.

The apartment fell into an uneasy silence, the tension still hanging in the air like the remnants of a storm.

Toni dropped back on the couch, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she started at the door.

“He not even fine enough to be putting up with that,” Arianna said, shaking her head as she walked back to the kitchen. “You need to drop his ass.”

Toni didn’t respond, her jaw clenched as she replayed the argument.

Arianna walked back into the living room with two bowls of gumbo. She placed one in front of Toni and sat down next to her. Neither of them spoke about what happened, ignoring it as they ate in silence.

~~~~~~~~~~

The warm evening air of Baton Rouge clung to Royce’s skin as he walked across the tarmac toward the chartered flight, headphones hanging around his neck and a travel pillow tucked under one arm. Royce tightened his grip on the strap of his duffel bag, his footsteps heavy against the pavement. This was supposed to be the dream—the chartered flights, the national spotlight, the chance to prove himself on the biggest stage.

But it didn’t feel like he imagined.

As Royce neared the steps to the plane, he glanced around at his teammates. Most of the upperclassmen were unfazed, having done this numerous times before. The younger player were giddy, riding the high of the season getting underway, and the excitement of the upcoming game in Las Vegas.

For Royce, though, the moment carried a weight that threatened to crush him.

A chartered flight for a football team. He let the thought settle in his mind, feeling the absurdity of it. Just a couple years ago, he was riding old school buses with no heat or A/C to games, scraping together gas money with Romeo to go out after the losses and drink away their sorrows.

”Bruh, you know how crazy that shit has to be when you finally make it,” Romeo once said when the two of them were just starting their first year of high school ball at Houma Junior High. ”Flying first class, five-star hotels. The girls, the fame. Free shit! That’s gonna be us man.”

Romeo had always talked about moments like this, but he wasn’t here anymore to experience it.

Royce climbed the steps, his chest tightening as he stepped into the cabin. The air inside was cool, buzzing with energy. Players joked and called out to each other, their confidence infectious. Coaches were scattered through, flipping through playbooks and murmuring strategy.

He found a seat near the back, stuck his bag into the overhead compartment and sank into the plush chair, immediately noticing the difference in quality between that seat and the seats on the flights to Tuscaloosa and Knoxville for the visits he’d taken.

Minutes later, the engines roared to life, and Royce leaned his head against the cool window, watching as the plan began to taxi down the runaway. He watched as the lights of Baton Rouge grew smaller and smaller, fading into the distance.

In a few hours, they’d land in Las Vegas and he’d be that much closer to sharing the field with one of college football’s most storied programs while being a part of another—all inside of an NFL stadium.

It was a moment that seemed all too distant a year and a half ago. Now, it was so close he could taste it.

[Soapy]

oh no dont call royce