Dale Denton | The Legacy | Rookie Year

[redsox907]

Dale finna lead the Huskies to another Natty then hit the portal again

[The JZA]

Dale finna lead the Huskies to another Natty then hit the portal again

redsox907,

[The JZA]

[The JZA]

[djp73]

[The JZA]

djp73,

Arguably the worst meme I've ever seen, but it gets it's point across lol

[The JZA]

Chapter IX: Kings Loses Crowns, Teachers Stay Intelligent

Saturday night, Husky football was business as usual. The Dawgs rolled into Champaign like wolves that smelled blood, and Illinois was the meal. The defense suffocated them. The run game pounded them. And Dale? He put on a one-man demolition derby, gashing through holes, stiff-arming safeties into the turf, booking it for over 200 yards with two rushing TDs. No passes. Not a single one.

To the fans, it was confusing as hell. ESPN ran their mouths about “unorthodox strategy,” Twitter had theories ranging from “Coach saw something in film” to “Dale trying to prove he’s Lamar 2.0.” But the truth? It was petty. It was calculated. Dale froze out his WR room. Trey, Audric, Chris—all of them caught strays because Dale was making a point. If he was bleeding on the inside, they was gon’ bleed on the field.

It worked for the scoreboard. But behind closed doors? It was gasoline on an already burning house.

By late Sunday morning, Dale was running on fumes. Normally, Sunday was ritual: wake up late, ice the knees, Netflix, and chill until the grind hit back on Monday. But this Sunday had a different weight. He got the text from Coach Danielson himself: Be in my office. 11 sharp.

Dale knew it wasn’t for a pat on the back.

When he knocked, Coach’s baritone cut through the door like thunder. “Come in!”

Dale stepped inside, hoodie on, shoulders squared but heavy. Coach was sitting behind that thick mahogany desk, the kind that made you feel small no matter how tall you was. Dude didn’t even fake a smile, just stared at Dale like he was trying to peel layers off him.

“Morning, Coach,” Dale said, easing into the chair across from him. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yeah,” Coach said, leaning forward, fingers interlaced, elbows on the desk. His stare was ice cold. “We need to talk about yesterday. Hell of a performance you put on out there…” He paused, letting the praise hang in the air just long enough to feel cheap. “…but it wasn’t what I asked for.”

Dale smirked, tried to downplay it. “Thanks, I guess—”

“Don’t guess,” Coach snapped. “Care to explain to me why the hell we ran an entire game with zero passes? ESPN got us looking like some junior varsity option squad. The media’s eating us alive. You deliberately iced out the receivers, left your boys stranded. I need to hear why.”

Silence pressed in. Dale leaned back, sighed heavy. “It was a call I made. Did I want to do it? Not really. But my head wasn’t clear. I let some personal shit cloud my judgment. No excuses. That’s on me.”

Coach listened, jaw tight. He could’ve exploded, but he didn’t. He stayed calm, scarier that way. “You know I got every reason to bench you the rest of the year, right? You think I won’t? You think you too good, too important?”

Dale sat up, elbows on his knees. “You’d be right to. But I’m not gonna bullshit you. I let Trey get in my head. He made a bet about Addy, I followed through, shit got messy. He claimed her, I found out different. Locker room saw the fallout. Then I made it worse. That game yesterday? It wasn’t about the team. It was me sending a message. I know I crossed the line.”

Coach stood, pacing like a man trying to keep his own demons at bay. He ran his fingers through his short crew cut hair, shaking his head slow. “So all this is about a woman? You jeopardized your teammates’ trust, dragged a young lady’s name through the mud, froze out your receivers, and made my program look like a circus… all because of some beef with Trey Lincoln?”

“Look, Coach—”

“No, you look,” Danielson barked. “I don’t care about your soap opera drama. I care about this team. I care about respect. Without respect, we got nothing. No chemistry, no trust, no wins. You represent me, you represent this university. And you embarrassed us. You embarrassed her. Don’t think I missed that locker room stunt. Panties? In my locker room? Do you know how reckless that is?”

The words landed like punches. Dale wanted to defend himself, but he had nothing. He just bowed his head. “I fucked up. You right. I can’t take it back. All I can do is own it. You wanna bench me? Suspend me? Whatever punishment you hand down, I’ll eat it. I deserve it. Give Tanner the job and I play back-up, so be it. But he won't produce what you want and need, the Natty.”

Coach narrowed his eyes. “Don’t play that reverse psychology bullshit with me, son. If I wanted to end your season right here, I could. Tanner would start tomorrow. But you’re right about one thing—we’re too deep into the year to blow it up. What I can do, though, is make damn sure you remember this lesson.”

He folded his arms, voice cold steel. “You’re in the doghouse, Dale. Starting tomorrow, you’re on grunt duty. Equipment in, equipment out. Field clean, locker room spotless. Whatever my staff tells you, you do it. No backtalk, no shortcuts. You’re gonna earn your way back into good standing. And while you’re at it? Fix your locker room. Fix your rep. If I hear one more distraction about you, Trey, or Addy—I don’t care how good you are—you’re done. And I mean done.”

Dale nodded, swallowing his pride. “I hear you, Coach. Loud and clear. I can’t promise me and Trey will ever be cool again. And Addy… that bridge is probably gone. But what I can control is me. On and off the field. I’ll tighten up.”

“Good,” Coach said, finally sitting back down. “That’s all I can ask for. Now get out of here. And Dale?”

“Yeah, Coach?”

Danielson’s eyes cut through him one last time. “Don’t ever make me have this conversation with you again. Some things are bigger than football. Respect is one of them. Don’t fuck around and find that out.”

Dale stood, nodded once more, and left the office. His chest was heavy, but his mind was clear. The beef with Trey was far from dead. Addy was gone. His name was mud. But now, the real test wasn’t just on the field—it was if he could survive the doghouse and claw his way back to respect.

Back in his dorm, Dale had sat staring at the ceiling, hoodie over his head, headphones in but no music playing. Coach Danielson’s words stayed ringing in his head, bouncing around like an echo he couldn’t mute: "don’t fuck around and find that out." Easy to say when you ain’t the one under the spotlight with every move picked apart.

He scrolled through his phone, thumb flicking past names he had no intention of hitting up. Then he landed on Clarissa. Five months since she ghosted outta state. Five months since the night that left scars neither of them wanted to talk about.

Dale didn’t even get the chance to think on it long before her name lit his screen, buzzing like fate had a twisted sense of timing. He let it ring twice before answering.

"Yo, what’s up C? How you doing?"

Her voice came soft, shaky almost. "Hi Dale. I hope I’m not disturbing you. It’s just… it’s been a while, hasn’t it?" She hesitated, breath catching. "I’m actually in town for a few days. I was wondering if maybe we could meet up and catch up? If you’re not busy, of course."

Dale checked his watch. 1:36 PM. "Yeah, I’m not doing nothing particular right now. Where you at?"

"I’m at M Cozy Fusion Café. You know the one?"

He exhaled heavy. "Yeah, aight. I’ll be right there."

After hanging up, Dale sat a moment, running his palms over his face. He needed this—some light in a day that had been all dark clouds. Hoodie, Timbs, joggers, Washington tee. Grabbed his keys and dipped, the 20-minute walk pulling him out toward whatever came next.

The café smelled like warmth—toast, coffee, and sugar baked into the walls. Dale spotted her quick, tucked in a corner window seat, fidgeting with her sleeve hem like she was trying to keep herself together.

"Hey C, good to see you." He leaned in for a hug, her lips brushing his cheek as she clung a second longer than expected.

"When’d you get back in town?"

"Yesterday," she said, smile trembling before she steadied it. "Wanted to surprise you. I hope that’s okay? I know it’s been a while."

"Hell of a surprise. I’m glad to see you." He studied her face, softer now than before, like healing had started but hadn’t finished the job. "You look good, you look better. Since that night… you know. How have you been recovering from that? Is everything okay?"

Her smile dimmed, shadow passing quick. "Oh, you know. It’s been a journey. Therapy, healing, trying to move forward." She shrugged it off, forcing lightness back into her tone. "I’m getting there. Slowly but surely. But—let’s not dwell. You hungry? I’m starving."

Dale chuckled. "Starving ain’t even the word. My stomach been barking since I walked in here."

Menus were glanced at, orders placed, and once the waitress left, the silence folded them back into each other.

"How’s things with your moms?" Dale asked, keeping the convo rolling.

Clarissa fiddled with her straw, eyes soft. "We’re working on it. It’s not perfect, but it’s something. She’s been more supportive than I expected. And you? You’ve been holding up? I still catch your games—when I can."

Dale leaned back, sigh heavy. "Football’s football. But off the field? Shit’s been stressful as hell. Got chewed out by Coach earlier today."

Her brow pinched. "That sounds rough. What happened?"

He stared out the window, eyes tracing strangers passing by. "Not even sure I wanna tell you. Last thing I need is you looking at me different. I already get enough of that around campus."

Clarissa reached across the table to gently touch Dale's hand, her green eyes locked on his. "Hey, that's not going to happen. You can trust me, Dale. Whatever it is, I'm not going to judge you." Her thumb rubbed soothing circles on the back of his hand. "We all have our struggles. I'm here for you, no matter what."

He searched her face, saw nothing but truth staring back. He drew a breath. "Aight, so—boom…"

He laid it all out: Trey’s bet, the panty stunt, Addy’s fallout, his slip-ups stacking into a tower of regrets. Clarissa listened without breaking eye contact, her expression folding tighter as each detail spilled.

"Wow," she finally whispered, squeezing his hand. "That’s… a lot. I’m sorry you had to carry all that. And I get why you’re mad about Addy. But using her panties like that? That crossed a line."

"Yeah, I know." His voice cracked low. "That bridge’s burned. Don’t even blame her. Shit, I replay the convo over and over in my head, thinking of all the ways I coulda fixed it—but nah, I just made it worse."

Their food came, plates sliding between them, but neither reached for a bite right away. Dale’s voice dropped again once the waitress left.

"I’m stuck, C. Trey’s bullshit. Addy hating me. The volleyball squad pissed by association. I put the team in a bad spot with my own bias. Part of me thinking about transferring schools altogether. But another part says I can’t keep running from my problems. You feel me?"

Clarissa chewed slow, thoughtful. "I get it. Sometimes it feels like you can’t win, no matter what. But leaving? That’s drastic, Dale. Maybe you just need to talk it all out with somebody neutral—a counselor, maybe even your parents."

""My parents?"" Dale gave a short, humorless laugh. "I can already hear the speech they’d give me. And honestly, I thought you were my counselor. My confidant."

Her hand pressed firmer on his forearm, grounding him as she slightly smiled. "I am here. Always. But you can’t carry this alone. And you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for." Her voice softened, green eyes shimmering as she smiled. "I believe in you."

Dale swallowed hard, words sticking in his throat before he managed, "I appreciate you, C. For real. Don’t think just ‘cause I fucked up with Addy that I’d ever risk what we got. I wouldn’t."

Her smile widened, warmth sparking between them. "I know you wouldn’t, Dale. That’s not who you are." She eased back, picking up her fork. "Now, let’s eat before this gets cold. After, maybe we could go for a walk? Clear our heads."

Dale smirked, shaking his head. "Yeah, sounds like a plan. Enough about me dragging the vibe down." He forked at his pancakes. "So how’s Oregon been treating you?"

Clarissa took a sip of her matcha latte before answering, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "Well, Oregon is beautiful, as always. I've been doing a lot of hiking and exploring nature. It's been nice to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city." She paused, a flicker of something passing over her face. "I also started volunteering at a local animal shelter. It's been really rewarding, helping those furry friends find their forever homes." Clarissa's eyes lit up as she talked about it. "But I miss the energy and excitement here too. I've been wanting to come to your games in support, but I do catch the games on TV."

"That’s dope," he said. "Before all this went left, Addy and I used to hike too. Maybe, if you move back, you and me could do that. Not trying to replace her or nothing. Just… I could use another reason to stay here besides football."

A blush crept across her cheeks. "I’d like that. Spending time with you, no pressure. Away from all the chaos." Her gaze softened, voice dropping. "You’re easy to talk to. You make me feel safe."

Dale chuckled, dry humor cutting through. "At least you see some good in me besides being a panty-bandit."

Clarissa burst out laughing, shaking her head. "Dale, you’re the worst." Her smirk softened into sincerity. "But I see the real you. Not just the mistakes, not just the quarterback. Don’t forget that. You’re better than you think."

And for once, Dale let himself believe it.

They sat there longer than either expected, food half-eaten, conversation drifting from heavy to light like a pendulum that couldn’t make up its mind. When the plates were cleared and the check dropped, Dale slid a couple bills onto the tray without looking twice. It wasn’t about the money—it was about keeping the moment steady, making sure nothing disrupted the little peace he managed to carve out of a chaotic-ass day.

“Still down for that walk?” Clarissa asked, slipping her bag onto her shoulder, her tone light but her eyes watching him carefully, as if bracing for him to fold.

“Yeah, why not? Could use the air.”

Outside, the November sky was gray but calm, Seattle drizzle hanging just enough to speckle the pavement, not enough to send people scattering. Dale pulled his hoodie tighter around his frame, hands buried deep in his pocket, pacing alongside Clarissa as they headed toward Ravenna Park.

For a while, they didn’t talk. Just the sound of sneakers slapping against damp sidewalk and cars swishing by. Dale’s mind was heavy, replaying Coach Danielson’s words, replaying Clarissa’s green-eyed sincerity back at the café, replaying Addy’s disgust over the phone. His life was starting to feel like an endless highlight reel of mistakes.

Clarissa broke the silence first. “You ever feel like the world only sees the worst part of you? Like no matter what good you try to put out, people remember that one thing you did wrong?”

Dale smirked faintly, bitter more than amused. “That’s the story of my life right there. Quarterback of Washington, supposed to be the golden boy, but all they talk about is the drama. They don’t care that I put my body on the line every Saturday. Nah. They care about who I beef with, who I sleep with, who I piss off.”

Clarissa nodded slowly, hugging her coat tighter. “I know that feeling. After…that night, I kept thinking everybody saw me as broken. Like no matter what I did, I couldn’t shake it. That shit eats at you.”

Dale shot her a glance. Vulnerability wasn’t a look she wore often, but it made him respect her even more. “Yeah, but you here though. You came back. You ain’t let that define you.”

Clarissa smiled faintly, her voice soft. “And you’re here too. Even with everything on your shoulders, you keep walking forward. Don’t sell yourself short, Dale.”

They reached the edge of the park, where the lake sat still, reflecting dull clouds overhead. Clarissa slowed her pace, stopping near a bench. She brushed off the damp wood and sat, patting the spot beside her.

Dale dropped down, stretching his legs out, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. For the first time all day, he let the silence linger, not rushed, not forced. Just still.

“You think Addy’ll ever forgive me?” he asked finally, voice low.

Clarissa sighed, turning to look at him. “I can’t answer that for her. But I know this—if you keep letting guilt eat you alive, you’ll never forgive yourself. And if you can’t do that, none of the rest even matters.”

Dale sat with that. Let it sting. Let it simmer. He wanted to argue, but couldn’t. She was right.

Clarissa reached over, slipping her hand into his, no hesitation this time. Not romantic, not yet—but firm, grounding. “Just promise me you won’t let this shit push you to running again. You’re stronger than that.”

Dale nodded, eyes fixed on the water. “I promise.”

And for once, he meant it.

[Captain Canada]

Boy froze out his entire receiver room in a college game over a girl he ain't even claim is crazy work

[redsox907]

boy still caught up on old pussy while ol girl clearly came back to see him

hate to see it. and freezing out the team on top of it mayne

[The JZA]

Boy froze out his entire receiver room in a college game over a girl he ain't even claim is crazy work

boy still caught up on old pussy while ol girl clearly came back to see him

hate to see it. and freezing out the team on top of it mayne

redsox907, Captain Canada,