Season 1, Episode 13 (Season Finale)
"Fucking hell!" Sophie jerked back, nearly dropping the Starbucks cup in her hand. "You scared the shit out of me!"
Jimmy looked up from his phone but didn’t say anything before returning his eyes to the screen, aimlessly scrolling through his social media feed, buried in the living room couch.
"Where’s Mom and Dad?" Sophie asked as she placed the cup on the kitchen table and went looking in the fridge for a snack.
"Brice’s doctor appointment," Jimmy muttered, grabbing the television remote as he resumed his scroll through Netflix’s catalog—an endeavor that had previously been unfruitful.
Sophie instinctively rolled her eyes as she left the kitchen, joining her brother in the living room as she sat on the adjacent couch, quietly judging his taste as he scrolled past movies and shows. She ate one of the slices of cheese she’d grabbed from the fridge, quietly observing Jimmy until he finally noticed.
"What?"
"Why aren’t you at practice?" she asked—a question she already knew the answer to.
"We’re not practicing right now," he shrugged.
"I could’ve sworn I saw guys on the field when I left school," she said, eating another slice.
"It’s… complicated," he sighed, exiting Netflix and launching Hulu instead.
"Are you really not going to play in the biggest game of your life because of Brice?"
"I don’t know," Jimmy shrugged again. "We’re all not playing right now, so yeah, I guess."
"You guess?" Sophie sat up. "And I swear to God, if you shrug again, I’m going to rip your head off your shoulders."
"I don’t know what you want me to say," Jimmy stopped himself just in time from shrugging.
"I want you," she pointed at him, "to tell me why you—not them, you—aren’t playing."
"It’s not about me, though. It’s about the team," he tried to explain. "The captains decided we weren’t going to play if Brice got suspended."
"He literally punched a coach, Jimmy."
"Coach Butler pushed him first," Jimmy defended. "You weren’t even there, Sophie."
"I don’t have to be there because I’ve been there my entire life," she scoffed. "It’s never his fault, is it?"
"Like I said," Jimmy got up from the couch, "you weren’t there, and it’s not about me. It’s about the team. Not to mention, he’s my brother."
"You’re also his brother," she got up with him. "Does he ever fucking think about that?"
Jimmy didn’t respond—he didn’t have one. He tossed the remote onto the counter and started heading upstairs.
"Jimmy," Sophie sighed. "I’m just saying, don’t throw away this opportunity because of Brice—or for Brice. He’s going to be fine, okay? He always is. It’s just how things fucking work out for people like him."
"You don’t know that," Jimmy muttered, unable to meet his sister’s eyes.
"I do, because Brice is Brice, okay? That’s how life is for him. Now, me? I don’t stand a chance, okay? I’m just going to be his sister—and that’s when people even fucking notice I’m there. But you? You can be so much better than him, in every way. Don’t stay in his shadow because he sure as shit isn’t going to move out of the way for you, alright? Nothing grows in his shadow. Nothing gets better in his orbit."
…
Brice took his headphones off as Eric walked through the doors, followed by a slew of other guys, including Curtis and Marcos. They all nodded toward him, some walking up to dap him up. There was a low murmur throughout the room as the weight room continued to fill. He technically wasn’t allowed on campus, but no one else would be there for at least another hour.
Jimmy walked in, pulling his hoodie down as he met eyes with his brother—his sister’s words from the night before still fresh in his mind. He had been mustering the courage to send out a group text to the other players when he realized he was on the receiving end of one instead. His brother had already told the team to meet in the weight room before school. Jimmy thought. Brice did.
Brice looked around the room at the familiar faces, many of whom he had spent the better part of the last four years with—putting in literal blood, sweat, and tears. He thought of the playoff run his sophomore year when he played on one ankle. He thought of the pain in his knee that still lingered from his junior season, when he played through a torn meniscus for nearly the entire record-breaking year. The concussion he’d suffered a few weeks prior might have been the first diagnosed one, but it was far from the first he’d sustained. Many of his teammates had similar scars—wounds that would never fully heal—all in pursuit of an elusive state championship the school hadn’t won in twenty years.
Eric peeked into the hallway to check for stragglers before nodding toward Brice and closing the door, bringing with it a silence that fell over the room as eyes shifted toward him.
"Appreciate you boys coming in this morning," Brice cleared his throat. "I’ll be honest, I don’t really have much to say. Obviously, this year didn’t play out like any of us wanted it to—I know it didn’t for me. Some of it was out of my control, some of it wasn’t. I want to apologize to all of you guys for what I did on Friday. A lot went into that, and for the part I played, I just want to stand here as a man and let you know that as your leader, I let you down. I know a lot of you look up to me, and that’s something I cherish, for real. Fuck the rankings, fuck the offers, fuck the records—I care about being the leader of this team. I’ve wanted to play quarterback for this school for as long as I can remember, bro. So for everything to go down like it did—I’m sorry. You guys deserved better than that."
Brice composed himself as he looked at his brother. "Jimmy, I stole your moment, little brother. I had no right to let my feelings get in the way and try to come into a game after you’d busted your ass and kept our season going with me out. I failed you as a leader, I failed you as a role model, and the shit that hurts me the most is I failed you as a brother. I wish everyone in here could forgive me—and they’re all like my brothers—but you’re my actual brother, bro, and you didn’t deserve how I did you. So I’m not even going to ask for your forgiveness because I don’t deserve it."
Jimmy held back tears as he nodded his head, too afraid to speak. Even if he opened his mouth, he wasn’t sure anything would come out.
"I’d be dead wrong if I let you guys not play this season out," Brice said. "You guys earned the right to fight for a state championship. Eric, Marcos, T-Will, Jackson. Curtis—you fucking moved from Chicago to live with Eric just for a chance to win this bitch. I lost the right to play, I lost the right to lead y’all out there because of the shit I did. I don’t have to sugarcoat anything—you guys know I don’t fucking like Butler, you know that! But him, me, anybody else—it don’t matter! You don’t let anybody stop you from winning this fucking championship, you hear me?!"
Eric began clapping loudly, and others followed, nodding their heads.
"Y’all boys rally around Jimmy—he’s going to lead you even better than I could!" Brice yelled. "He’s a fucking dog, bro, I promise you!"
"Jimmy boy!" Eric exclaimed as others started laughing.
"Y’all boys bring it in," Brice said, holding his right fist up as the team formed a huddle around him. "State on me, State on three. One, two, three!"
"State!"
Damaged Petals.
Damaged Petals.
Very unlike the Brice we've come to know.....something's up