Damaged Petals.

[Captain Canada]

at the first scene.

Need that draft scene immediately. I hope he goes somewhere other than Indy to tell the truth. Brodie needs to start over somewhere new.

[Soapy]

"Yup," she forced a smile. "The famous Brice Colton. I'm that girl in that story." She paused. "Well, not that girl."

Clearly, Connie. Your head is still attached to your shoulders.

Serena about to doom herself. Yikes.

RIP Sky

Serena drinking the kool-aid unaware that Brice was ready to dump her at the bus stop for Mel two updates ago

more like two seasons ago but fairs

at the first scene.

Need that draft scene immediately. I hope he goes somewhere other than Indy to tell the truth. Brodie needs to start over somewhere new.

You not fucking with the layered view at fatherhood? Slade, on the field with his sons. Brice, watching his own son take his first steps. Brice getting ready to take his first steps, figuratively, with the NFL draft. Slade advising him on that, as a father would #caesarera

Looking forward to the draft as well. I haven't gone through the draft yet in the game, lowkey looking forward to it. Just for that, gonna drop another update today that I was holding off for tomorrow so we can get to to the draft tomorrow and the season finale

Y'all can thank CC for the extra reading

[Soapy]

Season 11, Episode 9
The nail technician’s file scraped against Serena’s thumbnail in short, even strokes.

She’d picked a deep burgundy. Sophie had gone with a pale pink, barely there. Liz had chosen a clear coat.

The salon was small and bright. Serena sat with her hands resting on the padded armrests, her fingers splayed under the little lamp, and watched the woman work the file across her nail bed. The woman’s name was Mai, according to the tag pinned to her chest, and she hadn’t said more than three words since she’d sat down.

Across the room, Sophie was in her own chair, her nail tech working on her other hand, and Sophie had her headphones in, the cord running down into the pocket of her hoodie, her eyes half-closed, her head tilted back against the headrest.

Liz sat to Serena’s right, her champagne flute balanced on the armrest between them. She’d been nursing the same glass since they’d walked in, taking small, measured sips.

Serena flexed her left hand. The polish was still wet on her right.

“Are you ready for tomorrow?”

She turned. Liz was looking at her, the champagne flute paused halfway to her mouth.

Serena shrugged. “I guess.”

Liz laughed. She took a sip and set the glass down.

“You guess,” Liz said.

“I mean, can you really be ready for something like this? Brice told me it’s going to be like that award ceremony in New York last year."

"The Heisman."

"Yeah, but like a hundred times more."

Liz nodded. She picked up the glass again and held it in both hands, turning it slowly by the stem.

“Everything’s about to get flipped upside down,” Liz said. “Everything you think you know about your life, about him, about yourself. It’s all going to change.”

Serena kept her eyes on her nails. Mai had moved to the buffer now, the little foam block moving in slow circles across the nail bed.

“The temptations he’s already had in his life,” Liz continued, “the ones you probably already know about, the ones you act like you don’t, the ones you probably don’t, they’re about to get turned up. Way up."

Mai’s buffer moved to the next finger. The foam made a soft, rhythmic sound against the nail.

“And I’m not saying this to hurt you,” Liz said. She set the glass down and turned in her chair, just slightly, so she was facing Serena more directly. “I know we haven’t spent a lot of time together. At least not the time I would want us to spend, to get to know each other so, forgive me for being curt. I’m only saying it because I would want someone to say it to me.

Serena looked up. Liz held her gaze.

"Brice is likely incapable of being faithful. Not because of you. Not because you’re not enough. Because of him. Because of what he is.”

“Men like Brice,” Liz said, "men like…”

She stopped. Her mouth moved, and then she smiled. “Men who get everything they want in life and keep wanting more. That’s the thing about them. They get the thing, and then they want the next thing, and then the thing after that. It’s never enough. It’s never going to be enough.”

She laughed again.

“And that’s the thing that makes us want them in the first place if we’re being honest with ourselves,” Liz said. “That hunger. That wanting. You see it and you think, God, I want to be the thing that satisfies that. I want to be enough.”

She picked up the glass again. “And in the end, that’s exactly why you end up hating them. Because they want everything. And then some more on top of that.”

The buffer stopped. Mai set it down and picked up the polish bottle, the burgundy catching the light.

Serena flexed her hand again. The polish on her right was almost dry.

“I’m not stupid,” Serena cleared her throat, "Or naive."

Liz looked at her.

“I know what world we’re about to walk into,” Serena said. “I might not know all it is but I know what it ain’t. What it isn’t. I’m not walking into this with my eyes closed.”

She held Liz’s gaze. Liz’s mouth moved. A small smile. Then a small nod.

Mai started on the first coat. The brush moved in smooth strokes, the polish going on thick and glossy.

Liz picked up her glass and took another sip.

“You know she’s been listening to every word of this,” Liz said.

Serena turned. Mai’s eyes were on the nail.

“If any of this ends up on some sleazy Instagram blog,” Liz said, raising her voice just enough, "I will sue the shit out of you."

Serena stifled her laugh. Mai didn’t look up. Her brush kept moving.

Liz picked up her glass and finished what was left. She set it on the armrest and leaned back in her chair.

The polish went on in silence after that.

…

Brice cut into the filet and the knife went through clean, the inside still pink, and he set the piece on his tongue and let it sit there for a second before he chewed.

Tom was already halfway through his. He’d ordered the bone-in ribeye, medium rare, and he was working through it methodically, cutting one piece at a time, setting the knife down, chewing, then picking the knife back up. His glass of whiskey sat to his right, the ice half-melted, the color gone amber in the low light.

“So,” Tom said. He set his knife down and picked up the glass. “I’m hearing the Colts are thinking about trading up."

Brice nodded. He chewed.

“Honestly, I just want to be picked,” he said. “I don’t want to be sitting in that green room all night.”

Tom laughed. “That’s not going to happen.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do."

Brice cut another piece. The steakhouse was loud around them, the clink of silverware, the murmur of other tables, the low thrum of the bar in the back. The booth was tucked into the corner, the leather warm against his back.

They ate for a while without talking. Tom finished his whiskey and the waiter came by and Tom held up two fingers and the waiter nodded and came back with two more. Brice took a sip. It’d been a while.

“How about you?” Brice asked, "How are you holding up?"

Tom looked up. He set his fork down and picked up the fresh glass.

“I’m alright,” he said. “Everything considered.”

He took a drink.

“Thanks for taking care of the legal stuff,” Tom said. “I appreciate it.”

Brice nodded.

Tom went back to his steak. Brice went back to his.

Tom set his knife down again. He wiped his mouth with the napkin and folded it back into his lap.

"So,” he cleared his throat, "You and Serena, you guys got to be coming up on about two years now, right?"

Brice looked up, nodded.

"It’s serious?"

Brice chewed.

“I think so,” he said.

Tom laughed.

“If you’re still thinking,” Tom said, “Then it’s not. At least not yet.”

Brice set his fork down. He picked up his glass and took a drink.

“When did you know about Mom?” he asked, "That she was the one."

Tom was quiet for a beat. He picked up his knife and cut another piece of steak and set it in his mouth and chewed slowly.

“I didn’t,” he said. He set the knife down. “She just didn’t really give me a choice.”

He took a drink.

“She was just like this force of personality,” he said, animating a shape in front of his face. “Shit, she still is. I got caught in it and realized I wanted to be part of it, and I figured that meant marrying her."

He laughed to himself.

“At the time, she had everything going for her,” he said. “Top of the class. She had internships lined up before anyone in our friend group even knew what they were. We just all knew she was going to be something, make something of herself. I was a fucking fifth-year senior who still hadn’t graduated and had probably played all of sixty snaps."

He picked up his glass and turned it by the stem.

“I figured I’d hitch my ride to hers until she got tired of me,” he said. “And for some reason, she wanted to hitch hers to mine. So I figured I must have been doing something right and I just kept it going so when it was time to propose, or what felt like the time to propose, I did. When it was time to have kids, we did. I can’t really remember ever really making a choice. It just sort of happened."

He set the glass down.

“I don’t know if I believe any of that the one shit you see in movies or shows like that,” Tom said, “It’s not something pre-destined, at least I don’t think it is. It’s something you work at. The one is someone that makes you want to work on yourself. Work on your flaws. Work on their flaws. Accept the things they can’t change about themselves and love them for it. Not in spite of it.”

Brice nodded. He cut another piece of steak and ate it.

The silence came back. Tom chewed. Brice chewed. Tom took a slow drink. Brice took a slow drink.

Tom set his glass down.

“You think, huh, Connie might have been the one?”

Brice didn’t answer right away. He set his fork down and picked up his glass and held it before taking a slow sip.

“Yeah,” he said. “Sometimes I do.”

Tom nodded. He cut another piece of steak.

“Serena’s a nice girl,” Tom said.

“Yeah,” Brice said. “She is.”

They finished their dinner in silence after that.

[Soapy]

lowkey want to do the draft tonight

[redsox907]

parents projecting their own problems. Tale as old as time

get that draft in

imagine Dallas trades up for you. Brice'd be Jerry Jones wet dream

[djp73]

Let’s get drafted.

[Caesar]

Liz threatening to sue for a public conversation where she has no expectation of privacy is incredibly on-brand. Go get your bag, Mai.

Tom marrying up is his MO, eh? Motherfucking leech. Brittany don't know what she's in for.

Liz just gave Serena a pass to cheat first and we know Big Rena got a roster.

Parlay still in play.

[Soapy]

parents projecting their own problems. Tale as old as time

get that draft in

imagine Dallas trades up for you. Brice'd be Jerry Jones wet dream

it's the big 2026 and Madden still haven't figured out draft day trades but will have teams swap 3rd string RBs and throw in a third round pick during pre-season

Let’s get drafted.

it's time

Liz threatening to sue for a public conversation where she has no expectation of privacy is incredibly on-brand. Go get your bag, Mai.

Tom marrying up is his MO, eh? Motherfucking leech. Brittany don't know what she's in for.

Liz just gave Serena a pass to cheat first and we know Big Rena got a roster.

Parlay still in play.

MO?

[Soapy]

it's been an absolute treat y'all boys

[Soapy]

one time for the one time

go be great, cinco