God’s Love Always Fails
Caine got to the facilities while it was still half asleep. Hallway lights were on, but the noise of cleats and music hadn’t started. The place smelled like new carpet and the lemon cleaner they ran at night, not like bleach back home. Glass cases along the lobby tossed the morning light across framed teams and old bowl banners, all lined up as if they expected him to add to them.
Coach Aplin’s door was open. Voices moved inside, low. Caine stepped in.
He was behind the desk in a polo with the sleeves shoved to the elbow, a cup of coffee sweating on a coaster. Fatu sat to the right, thick through the shoulders, flipping a stapled set of practice notes with his thumb. Mizell was leaned against the whiteboard, marker in hand, tapping the cap against his knuckles like he was still running Saturday in his head.
“There he is,” Aplin said, mouth tipping. “Morning, Caine. You beat me in.”
“Always been up early,” Caine said, coming farther into the room.
Aplin pointed. “Have a seat. Won’t take long.”
Caine sat. The chair gave under him. Through the office window he could see the fields past the building, lines faint, grass wet. The AC was turned down low enough that the room felt sharper than outside.
“So,” Aplin said, leaning forward on his forearms, “how you feeling after that scrimmage?”
Caine met his eyes. His voice stayed even. “Good. I think I played pretty good.”
Fatu barked a laugh that filled the room. “Pretty good? That what we calling it?”
Caine let the corner of his mouth move once. “It was solid.”
“Boy,” Fatu said, wagging the notes, “you came in here at the back of the line and still ran the show. That last drive? That wasn’t ‘pretty good.’ That was moving the damn ball.”
Mizell nodded, his tone more clipped. “He’s right. That deep dig into the boundary? You hit it on time with the safety rotating. And the scramble where you climbed, reset, and hit the crosser. A lot of guys drop their eyes there. You stayed up. Even knowing nobody was going to hit you.”
“I knew ain’t nobody was gonna hit me though,” Caine said.
“Doesn’t matter,” Mizell said. “You still finished the throw.”
Aplin let them talk, then set his coffee down. “Point is, you handled the day. Protection wasn’t perfect. Run game wasn’t giving you easy downs early. You still manufactured.”
Caine nodded. “Appreciate that. I was just trying to show what I could do out there..”
“We saw it,” Aplin said. He sat back. “And we can’t pretend we didn’t. What you’ve done all summer. Season’s in two weeks. We talked last night. We needed to tell you before we roll into the week. We’re going to talk to Weston later.”
Fatu’s grin eased down into something more business. Mizell straightened off the board. The room went still.
Aplin looked right at him. “We’re gonna start you against North Alabama.”
The words landed clean.
“You earned the first snap,” Mizell added. “That scrimmage put you out front.”
Aplin lifted a hand. “But we’re doing it drive by drive. You move the ball, you stay on the field. You get shaky, we bring in Weston. We’re keeping it live because we got Clemson right after, and I need the one that’s hottest in Week 1 to be the one we run out in Week 2.”
He let that sit.
“Whoever is better after North Alabama,” Aplin said, “starts against Clemson.”
Fatu turned in his chair, eyes on Caine. “You good with that? Being the starter but only if you keep the job?”
Caine gave a small shrug. “I’m gonna keep the job, so yeah.”
Fatu laughed again, pleased. “That’s the answer.”
Mizell pointed the marker at him. “Keep doing what you did Saturday. Get it out on time. Don’t chase explosives that ain’t there. We’re gonna give you good first-and-tens. You don’t have to prove everything on one throw.”
Aplin nodded. “You came in late and still made it hard on Weston. Finish the race. We’ll script the openers this week. You’ll have them. Study them. We’ll see what you do when it’s not a scrimmage.”
“I got it,” Caine said.
Aplin checked the small clock above the door. “Alright. We got staff in a few. You got anything else?”
Caine shook his head.
“Good,” Aplin said, standing. “Don’t miss any classes and be on time for film later..”
“Alright,” Caine said, getting to his feet.
Aplin came around the desk so they were at the same level. “You earned the first look,” he said, voice even. “Now you gotta earn staying out there.”
Caine gave a short nod.
He stepped into the hall. The building was still quiet, but the day felt different. Through the glass he could see the field again, still empty, waiting on him. Pride sat in his chest, low and steady. He hit the door and walked out.
~~~
The hum of the classroom was low and steady, the kind that blended into the air after a while. The AC pushed cool air through the vents, faint enough to lift the corners of loose paper. Mireya sat near the middle row, notebook open, the edge of her pen tapping once against the margin.
The instructor’s slide filled the wall—text from a novel, highlighted lines, a half-done discussion question underneath. Mireya tried to keep her eyes on it. Her brain was still catching up from the weekend: the flight back, the mad dash to get Camila to Elena, then clocking in that same night. It wasn’t the kind of tired that dragged her down anymore. It just hummed underneath, a rhythm she’d learned to live with.
“Alright,” the instructor said, voice cutting through the shuffle of pens. “For Wednesday, chapters four through six. And remember the discussion board post before tomorrow night.”
A few groans moved through the room. Someone near the window muttered about already having two quizzes due. Mireya smiled a little, small and private, as she closed her notebook. She’d skimmed the reading through AI the night before, the same way she handled most of the workload—efficient, not lazy. She did what she had to.
Chairs scraped as everyone started packing up. The girl in front of her turned to whisper about grabbing coffee before their next class. Mireya slid her bag over one shoulder, careful where the strap met the muscle that still ached from pole work. She joined the slow drift toward the door, caught in the easy rhythm of bodies filing out.
The hallway outside carried the buzz of campus—voices bouncing off the tile, sneakers squeaking, a few laughs cutting above it all. It was the kind of noise that made her feel normal again. She adjusted the strap of her bag and headed for the courtyard exit, where the light came in through tall windows.
“Yo—Mireya, right?”
The voice came from behind her, familiar, friendly. She turned her head. Jordan was coming down the hall, a couple of guys beside him. When he saw her looking, he broke off from the group without a word and fell into step next to her.
“That’s me,” she said, easy smile.
“I thought I’d run into you this weekend,” he said. “Everybody was out.”
“I told you I had to work,” she said
“Yeah, you did,” he said, grinning. “So that means you open to letting me make it up to you. Commander’s, maybe?”
Mireya gave a small laugh, eyes flicking toward him. “You aiming high already.”
“I’m a gentleman,” he said.
“Mm. You’re not really my type, though.” Her tone stayed soft, teasing more than dismissive.
Jordan grinned wider. “Then I’ll just become your type.”
She shook her head. “I work nights.”
“iHOP’s open twenty-four hours,” he said. “We can make it breakfast instead of dinner.”
That got a real laugh out of her—quick, bright, gone in a second. “You persistent, huh?”
“I try.”
“See you around, Jordan.”
She stepped ahead of him, catching the warmth of the light spilling in through the door glass. Behind her, his footsteps slowed.
“I can’t get your number or something?” he called after her. “IG? Snap?”
She turned halfway, walking backward now, smile easy. “If you really trying, you’ll find me.”
He laughed, shaking his head as she pushed through the stairwell door.
On the landing, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out.
Bee: I need some money, Ale.
Underneath came Liana’s laughing emojis, then Alejandra’s devil face.
Mireya smiled down at the screen, thumb hovering. The chat thread was constant noise—work, gossip, jokes, half complaints. She didn’t type anything back and let the usual back and forths continue without her.
She hit the next door with her shoulder and stepped into the warm light of the courtyard, heading toward her next class.
~~~
The lot in Boutte held heat even when the sun slipped behind the trees. Ramon pulled in first, tires crunching over broken concrete. He cut the engine and let the quiet settle. Tyree leaned back in the rear seat, half-awake. E.J. popped his door open just far enough to catch a breeze.
The gray sedan rolled in a minute later. Ant was behind the wheel, Dez beside him, Boogie stretched out in the back seat. They parked across from Ramon’s car, enough distance to keep it comfortable. Ant stepped out first, the door closing with a clean click. He gave Ramon a short nod.
“What’s good,” Ant said.
Ramon nodded back. “Cooling, big brudda.”
Dez opened the trunk, wiping sweat off his neck with the back of his arm. Boogie got out behind him, loose and slow.
Ramon tilted his chin toward the backseat. “Go head.”
Tyree and E.J. moved at the same time. E.J. grabbed the heavier pack, Tyree the smaller. Neither said a word crossing the gap. Dez stood back, letting them drop the bags into the open trunk. He unzipped one corner, checked the inside, gave a small nod, and shut it again. Done.
He reached into the car and pulled two duffels from the back seat. Boogie lifted one off him, both men crossing the lot toward Ramon’s car. E.J. had already cracked the rear door. Ramon stepped to the side, the grass grinding under his shoes.
“Right there,” he said.
They set the duffels down inside—quick, neat, practiced. Boogie gave a short tap on the top of one before straightening up, and Ramon answered with a nod.
Ant watched from a few paces off, hands in his pockets. The cicadas were loud enough to fill the quiet. Dez circled back to the sedan and shut the trunk with his hip. Tyree leaned on the passenger door of Ramon’s car, wiping a hand down his face. Everyone moved slow, not cautious—just heat-tired and used to each other.
Ant finally spoke. “Y’all move that last pack?”
Ramon gave a half smile. “Got off it in Mississippi”
“Them country niggas love that heroin,” Ant said.
Boogie and Dez started back toward the sedan. Ramon turned slightly toward Ant. His tone stayed calm.
“You know a nigga they call Junebug?”
Ant’s face didn’t change at first. Just a pause, brief enough to notice if you were paying attention.
“Yeah, I know him,” Ant said. “Why?”
Ramon met his eyes. “You know where he be at?”
Ant let a few seconds pass. “What you looking for him for?”
Ramon shook his head. “Just need to know where he be at.”
Ant’s jaw flexed once. He looked past Ramon, saw Dez and Boogie nearly back to the car, then turned his eyes forward again.
“You can’t touch Junebug,” he said.
Ramon’s brow lifted a fraction. “He cliqued up with y’all?”
Ant shook his head and motioned toward Boogie. “Junebug ain’t. But Boogie is. And Junebug one of Boogie’s baby mama brothers.”
Ramon didn’t blink. “What that gotta do with it?”
By then Tyree and E.J. were coming up from the side. Dez had his hand on the sedan door, waiting to see if the talk was done. Ant took a slow step forward, turning fully toward Ramon.
“’Cause I said you can’t touch Junebug,” he said, voice low but steady. “And if you do, Boogie gon’ wanna do somethin about it. And you can’t touch Boogie. And if you do, I’m gon’ do somethin about it. That’s bad for business.”
It landed without extra noise. Neither man raised his voice. Ramon looked at him, reading the line that had just been drawn. He gave a small nod.
“You right.”
Ant held him there another second, then eased back. The distance between them reset. Dez glanced between them, confused but not enough to ask. Boogie’s eyes moved once from Ant to Ramon, curious, nothing more.
“Y’all straight?” Dez said.
“Yeah,” Ramon said. “We good.”
That was enough. Both crews broke off, doors opening, engines rumbling up again. The lot went quiet except for cicadas and exhaust heat.
E.J. looked over his shoulder once they were in motion. “What that was about?”
Ramon put the key forward, watching the other car pull out. “Might have to call them boys from Houston,” he said.
~~~
Caine sat on the porch steps with the two weed eaters laid out in front of him. The boards were dry and warm under his thighs. The church lot was quieter than it had been in summer. No cluster of girls in blue tees leaning on the counter, no giggling from the side room when he walked in. The older women ran it now. They kept the rooms quiet, kept the TV on for the babies, kept to themselves. They looked through him like he was another tool in the shed.
He had the spool of line on his knee, thumb pressed to keep it from rolling. The weed eater head was cracked open in his hand. Mr. Charlie stayed fussing about edges. Stayed telling him how it was done back when people had respect for a yard. Caine didn’t want to hear it again. He fed the line through, tugged, wound it in clean circles. Sweat had dried on his neck from earlier in the day and left a tight salt line at his collar.
From inside, through the glass, he could hear a cartoon song cut off and the lower murmur of grown women talking. he AC kicked on and hummed. Out in the lot a cicada started up in the pecan tree and did not quit.
The door pushed open.
Laney came through with her shoulder first, hip catching the door so it didn’t slam. She had a box in each arm, one stacked over the other, elbows pulled in tight to keep them steady. The weight had her mouth pinched. Her hair was still neat, not a strand out of place, even in this heat. She wore that plain skirt she could move in and flats that didn’t sink into the grass when she had to cross the yard. He watched her out the side of his eye.
She clocked him the same way. One glance, nothing more than a slide of her eyes. Then she cut off the porch and stepped around him to the grass, trying to give him space and go the long way so she didn’t have to stop.
Caine set the spool on the porch and stood.
“You’re gonna hurt yourself,” he said, holding his hands out for the boxes.
“I got it,” Laney said, breath already a little short. “I said I got it.”
He didn’t argue. He just stepped in close enough to reach. The top box shifted against her forearm. He caught it before it slid. His fingers brushed the back of her hand. Her skin was warm from carrying. She let him take the first box, then the second, because it made no sense to wrestle with it.
She blew out a breath she’d been holding.
Caine turned toward the lot. She walked in front, a few steps ahead, across the strip of grass that always stayed patchy right there from kids cutting through. Her van sat in its usual place near the side, sun fading the paint at the top and dust at the back bumper. She popped the hatch. Inside was the usual mess of mom work. Sports bags. A helmet. A pair of cleats knocked over. She bent in to clear a space, moving equipment with the familiarity of somebody who did this ten times a day.
Caine came up behind her and slid the boxes in where she’d opened space. He didn’t drop them. He set them down carefully. The hinges on the hatch squeaked. He put his palm on it and closed it for her.
Laney stayed there a beat, eyes on the ground. The sun hit her face from the side and showed the tired under her eyes that she usually hid. Her hand went to her hip and back down again. When she spoke her voice was lower than it had been at the door.
“I ain’t gonna fire you,” she said. “’Cause I ain’t gonna mess up your probation.”
Caine watched her mouth say it, the line of her jaw working.
“But,” she went on, looking up at him now, “what happened can’t happen again.”
He didn’t make her say it plain. He didn’t look around. He didn’t make a joke out of it. He just nodded once.
“You the boss,” he said.
She huffed a small sound through her nose. Just acknowledgment. Her eyes searched his face like she was trying to see past the yes.
“Don’t tell nobody what happened neither,” she said. “I don’t need it gettin’ back to nobody.”
Caine scoffed and shook his head.
“I ain’t never been one for kissing and telling,” he said. “My business is my business.”
She kept looking, eyes narrowed just enough to mean she wasn’t taking his word only.
He saw it. He met it.
“Laney,” he said, voice even. “I was facing life for not talking. I ain’t gon talk about that.”
The way he said it made the air still for a second. She knew enough about him now to know that wasn’t performance. Her shoulders eased. Her mouth pressed together, then let go.
“Alright,” she said. “Good.”
She stepped back from the van, wiped her hands down the front of her skirt even though there wasn’t dust on them.
“Your little girl enjoy the scrimmage?” she asked.
Caine nodded. The thought of Camila watching him tossed a little heat in his chest.
“She loves watching me play,” he said.
“I could tell,” Laney said. Her mouth almost smiled. Not wide. Just there. “Tell her mama I said hello.”
He nodded again. “I will.”
She turned on her heel. Straight line back toward the porch, toward the backdoor, toward her lists and her order. The sun caught on her ring when she reached for the handle. She didn’t look back.
Caine stayed by the van until she was on the porch again, until the door pushed open and swallowed her back into the cool. Then he walked across the grass to where he had been. He sat down on the porch step again, picked up the weed eater head, and went back to winding the line so Mr. Charlie had nothing to say.
