Caine pushed through the weight room doors with Dwight a half step behind him, Donnie and Terrell trailing. Sweat darkened the collars of their shirts. Caine rolled his shoulders once and let his towel drop into the canvas bin by the door.
"Man, a nigga hungrier than a motherfucker," Dwight said, pulling his shirt away from his chest and letting it snap back. "I been waiting to eat all day."
Terrell laughed, his voice bouncing off the cinder block. He wiped his face with the back of his forearm and shook his head. His gym bag hung low on one shoulder, the strap cutting a line across his chest.
"I don't know who you trying to fool, because we all know you done ate plenty today."
Donnie grinned and bumped Dwight's arm with his fist.
"Plenty of ass. I seen that girl you been fucking with, nigga."
Dwight sucked his teeth, chin lifting, and turned to Caine. His hand came up, palm flat.
"Can you tell if a bitch like her ass ate just by looking at her?"
Caine held both hands up, stepping back a half step.
"Don't put that on my jacket. I don't know nothing about that."
Donnie doubled over, slapping his thigh. Terrell pointed at Dwight with his water bottle, still laughing, and Dwight waved them both off, sucking his teeth again, louder this time, already building his defense. Their voices stacked over each other as they moved down the corridor, shoes squeaking on the polished floor.
Caine's pocket buzzed. He let the argument roll ahead of him and dug the phone out. The screen lit up with a California number.
He slowed his stride and called ahead.
"Hey, I'm gonna catch up with y'all. I gotta take this."
Dwight glanced back, still mid-sentence about something Donnie had said. Donnie waved a hand over his shoulder. Terrell kept walking. The three of them rounded the corner toward the players' lounge, their voices thinning until the hallway held just the hum of the AC and the fluorescent buzz.
Caine stepped to the side, back against the wall between two framed conference championship photos and answered.
"What's good?"
"Kid, it's only been a couple weeks and I already got some good news for you." Tatum's voice came through clear. Somewhere on his end a car door shut, and the background noise smoothed to nothing.
Caine shifted his weight to one foot and tucked his free hand into the pocket of his shorts.
"You gonna tell me how to get rich without having to play ball? I can just sit on my ass and collect checks."
Tatum laughed, a short burst that sounded rehearsed and genuine at the same time.
"Not yet. But we'll get you there by the time you're 30. I put out some feelers with my contacts around the country. Tried to find out who's looking for a quarterback this winter."
"I hope you ain't about to tell me that somewhere like fucking Rutgers is looking for one because I might as well stay here for all that."
Tatum scoffed.
"Caine, I know we just started our working relationship here, but I wouldn't be working with you if I thought that Rutgers was your ceiling."
Caine's mouth pulled at one corner. He watched a custodian push a gray cart down the far end of the hall, wheels rattling over the seam between tiles.
"Where and how much they talking then?"
"P4, but they need to see some more of that razzle dazzle that you got in that arm."
Caine rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. The muscles were still warm from the lifts, tender where the bar had sat across his traps.
"All we got left is conference."
"Sounds like a perfect time to ball out."
Caine pushed off the wall and started walking toward the lobby doors at the end of the corridor. Light came through the glass in long rectangles across the floor.
"I can do that. It ain't nothing but a word."
Tatum laughed again, looser this time.
"That's what I like to hear. So, you might want to have a seat so we can talk about these schools."
Caine glanced at the bench built into the wall near the lobby entrance. He sat, elbows on his knees, the phone warm against his ear. Through the glass doors the parking lot stretched flat under a sky that had gone white with heat. A couple of trucks sat baking in the far row. Somewhere past them a lawnmower droned, the sound rising and dropping as it turned.
And he listened.
~~~
Laney had the tuition binder open to October, pen moving down a column of names and dollar amounts that had come in over the past two weeks. Through the wall she could hear the daycare. Sneakers on tile. A child's voice rising to a pitch and then dropping when a teacher spoke. The hum of the AC pushed through the vent overhead, steady enough to disappear if she stopped listening for it.
She checked a number against the ledger, made a small mark in the margin, and turned the page. Her pen scratched. The ring on her left hand caught the light each time her fingers moved.
The door opened. Marianne stood in the frame, eyes moving over the room, the bulletin board, the filing cabinet, the stack of envelopes on the corner of the desk. Her gaze landed on Laney and stayed. She stepped inside and pulled the door shut behind her.
Laney looked up from the binder. Her pen stopped.
"You need somethin'?"
Marianne pulled one of the side chairs closer to the desk. The legs scraped the floor. She sat and crossed one ankle over the other. The overhead light caught the gold cross at her throat.
"Have you talked to Tommy about those fertility appointments you been going to?"
Laney's pen touched the page again. She drew a small line under the number she had just checked, then lifted the tip.
"Yeah, we talked."
"Well?"
"Well, what?"
"Is it working?"
Laney set the pen down beside the binder. She pressed her palms together in her lap and looked at her mother.
"Mama, I ain't tryin' to talk to you 'bout this right now."
Marianne sighed and sat back in the chair, the wood creaking under the shift. Her fingers drummed once on the edge of the desk. She looked at the ceiling for a second, then back at Laney.
"Well, Gabrielle is always talking about her career and how she doesn't want to put it on hold yet for a child so my only hope for more grandbabies is you until Rylee and Jesse get married."
Laney picked the pen back up and turned it between her fingers, slow, end over end. The daycare noise pressed faintly through the wall.
"All I can do is go to the appointments and hope the good Lord bless me."
Marianne leaned forward, her hand finding Laney's forearm and pressing once before pulling back.
"He will. I'm so happy that you decided to put aside whatever devilish things you were doing before to recommit yourself to your husband like this. I always knew that it was God's plan that you and Tommy would work all of this out."
Laney's jaw tightened. The pen stopped turning. She held it still between her thumb and forefinger and let a beat pass before she spoke.
"You know how these things go. Don't make sense to start countin' your chickens before they hatch. Just gonna get your hopes up and get your heartbroken."
Marianne waved the comment off with a quick flick of her wrist, her bracelets clicking against each other.
"I'm hoping when Gabrielle sees how happy you are pregnant that she'll finally stop pretending that she really wants to spend all of her time working instead of raising children like the Lord intended for us women."
Laney breathed out through her nose. Her thumb pressed the pen cap until the plastic bit into her skin.
She nodded.
"I know, Mama."
Marianne smiled, the expression settling across her face. She reached over and patted Laney's arm twice, her palm warm and firm. Then she stood, the chair rocking once behind her. She smoothed the front of her blouse.
"Keep me posted. I'm praying you get a little girl for your fourth."
"I'll let you know, Mama."
Marianne turned and crossed the small office in three steps. She pulled the door open, stepped through, and shut it behind her. Her footsteps moved down the hall, heels tapping a rhythm that thinned and disappeared into the daycare noise.
Laney sat still for a moment. The office held its breath around her. The AC hummed. The light through the window had shifted an inch.
She blew out a long breath and ran her hand through her hair, fingers dragging from the crown to the ends. Her eyes closed for a second. When she opened them, she pulled the binder closer, found her place in the column, and picked up the pen.
~~~
Sara sat on the end of Nicole's couch with her legs tucked beneath her and a glass of wine balanced on her knee.
Nicole sat at the other end with her phone tilted toward her face, thumb scrolling in small, steady flicks. Her hair was pulled up and pinned with a pen. She had kicked her shoes off at the door and her feet were tucked under a throw pillow. The wine bottle stood on the coffee table between a stack of coasters and a pen cap, the level already down past the label.
Sara took a sip. She watched the light shift on the carpet and let the room hold its own noise for a while.
Nicole looked up from her phone and set it face down on the cushion beside her.
"Things still good with Devin?"
Sara turned the glass a quarter in her palm. She pressed her thumb against the base and watched the wine tilt and settle.
"It's been so long since I've been in something like this that I don't know good from bad to be honest with you. It just is."
Nicole shrugged, reaching forward to set her phone on the coffee table next to the bottle.
"Well, I did finally come across someone who knew him."
Sara's eyes lifted from the glass.
"Hopefully not someone that hired y'all."
Nicole's mouth pulled into a quick smirk. She shook her head.
"Oh, no. I don't think I would've told you if someone we defended knew him."
"Good." Sara shifted her weight on the cushion, drawing one foot out from under her and pressing it flat against the carpet. "So, who was it and what did they say?"
Nicole leaned back and draped her arm along the top of the couch. Her nails tapped once against the fabric. She crossed one ankle over the other on the cushion.
"Someone he went to high school with. At St. Aug. A new guy at the DA's office named Stephen. We were talking about a case and he mentioned just buying a house and that his old friend helped him. Turned out it was Devin."
Sara nodded slowly, turning that over. She brought the glass to her lips and took a short sip, then rested it back on her knee.
"Glad he's actually a real estate agent."
Nicole lifted an eyebrow.
"Well, we already knew that."
She paused. Her hand came off the couch and settled in her lap.
"He said Devin went off to the Marines after high school and that's when they lost touch. He showed up at the ten year with some woman but no one ever knew if that was his wife or something."
Sara's jaw shifted. She held the glass steady on her knee, the wine catching the band of light from the blinds. Her thumb pressed the base of the glass until a crescent whitened under her nail.
"So, he may be married."
Nicole tilted her head, one shoulder rising.
"Or he's a good looking man in uniform who got himself a date for one night."
Sara looked at the wine in her glass. She swirled it once, watching the legs run down the side, then set the glass on the coffee table. She pressed her palms together between her knees. The couch cushion shifted when she leaned forward.
"I don't know if I like that. Too vague. Too many red flags."
Nicole held her gaze, steady.
"You could always ask him."
Sara exhaled. She rubbed her thumb along the edge of her other hand, working the knuckle.
"Don't know when I'll have time to see him in the next couple weeks. Caine has back-to-back home games."
Nicole picked up her own glass from the table and brought it to her mouth. She took a sip, held it a beat, then swallowed.
"Bring him to Georgia with you and that way if there is a problem, you could have Caine have a chat with him."
Sara turned her head and stared at Nicole. Her hands stayed pressed between her knees. Her face gave nothing.
Nicole held the look for two seconds, then laughed, the sound spilling out loose and sharp. She set her glass down and put a hand up.
"What? Caine's an intense kid. I didn't say he had to do anything."
Sara shook her head. She reached for her glass, brought it back to her mouth, and took another sip. She swallowed and let the glass rest against her bottom lip for a second before lowering it back to her knee.
~~~
Trell drove with one hand low on the wheel, the other resting on the console between them. The car moved through Gentilly at an easy pace, windows up, the AC pushing cool air that smelled faintly of leather and the cologne he wore.
Mireya sat in the passenger seat with her phone tilted toward her face, thumb scrolling. She had her knees angled toward the door, feet flat on the floor mat, one sneaker tapping in a rhythm in line with the song coming from the aux.
She looked up from the screen.
"Why don't you have Dez driving you as much anymore?"
Trell sucked his teeth. His jaw shifted and he adjusted his grip on the wheel, fingers tightening then loosening.
"Because that nigga always got some shit to say. He don't know how this shit supposed to work."
Mireya locked her phone and set it face down on her thigh. She turned her head to look at him.
"He keeps telling me that he's trying to get out and that I should go with him. Talking about he has fucking money to go to California."
Trell's eyes cut from the road to her. His hand stayed steady on the wheel, but his chin lifted a degree.
"What you tell him?"
Mireya met his look.
"No. Every fucking time, but he's too stupid to get it through his damn head."
Trell smiled. The expression came slow, pulling at one corner of his mouth before it spread. He turned back to the road. A truck merged ahead of them and he eased off the gas to let the space open.
"My bitch."
The car moved through a stretch of shade where the oaks hung over the road, then back into full sun. She watched the road through the windshield, the lanes narrowing as they approached the on-ramp.
Trell was still for a beat. Then he spoke again.
"Next week, I need you to come with me somewhere."
Mireya's shoulders shifted against the seat.
"I can't do next week. Caine has a home game the week after and I need to be home or I'm losing out on too much money."
Trell lifted his hand off the console and held it up near the ceiling of the car, palm flat, fingers spread.
"Every time I put you up here."
He dropped the hand back down to the console, pressing it flat against the leather. The gesture hung in the air between them even after his hand had settled. Mireya's jaw tightened. She kept her eyes forward.
"You drag yourself down to here. I don't care what that fake ass nigga gotta do. You need to be where I'm telling you to be."
Mireya opened her mouth.
"But--"
Trell waved his hand.
"I'm not trying to hear all that shit. You keep trying to keep one foot on both sides the line but you telling me you mine. If you mine then you gotta stop fucking arguing with me when I ask you to do shit."
Mireya leaned back into the seat. Her spine pressed flat against the leather. She looked out through the windshield at the road stretching ahead, cars stacking up near the interchange, brake lights blooming red in the afternoon haze.
"Yeah, I hear you."
Trell's hand came back to the wheel. He merged into the left lane and accelerated past a sedan with its windows down and music spilling out.
"I ain't even telling you to do it in the middle of the week to fuck with your little classes. But if the choice between me and that nigga then you need to be choosing me."
Mireya's fingers tightened around her phone. She turned it over in her palm, screen up, then screen down again. The AC vent pushed a strand of hair across her forehead. Outside her window a billboard for a personal injury lawyer slid past, the man's face too large and too white against the gray concrete. A second passed. Then another.
"Okay. Where are we going?"
"Chicago then San Diego to see Gustavo."
Mireya's eyebrows rose a fraction. She rubbed her thumb along the phone case.
"That's a lot of flying."
Trell nodded. His eyes stayed on the road. The on-ramp curved ahead of them, the interstate opening up beyond the concrete barriers.
"Yeah, hopefully you get your sleep on the plane because you gonna need to be rested up."
Mireya shook her head, and looked out the passenger window.
"I'll manage."
Trell snorted a laugh, low in his chest. He pressed the gas and the car surged forward, merging into the flow of the interstate.
~~~
Caine pulled the door open and stepped into the front of Bethel's office. He stopped a step past the threshold.A woman sat behind the desk near the door, a desk that had been empty every other time he had come through. She was older, maybe seventy, with blue hair cut short and neat, reading glasses hanging from a chain at her chest. A small TV sat on the desk's corner, angled toward her. Cowboys on horseback moved across the screen in faded color, hooves drumming dust. The volume was low enough that the dialogue came through as a murmur. A half-eaten sleeve of crackers sat next to her elbow, crumbs scattered on a napkin.
She glanced over at Caine, looked him up and down once, then jabbed a thumb over her shoulder toward the hallway.
"He back there."
Caine shrugged one shoulder.
"Appreciate it."
He moved past her desk and down the short hall.
Bethel sat behind his desk with his feet up on it, ankles crossed, a Styrofoam cup of coffee resting on his stomach. The TV on the wall bracket was off for once. A calendar lay open on the desk under his shoes, the month filled with handwritten notes in blue ink.
He looked over at Caine when he heard the footsteps, then his eyes dropped to the calendar. His finger moved across the page, finding a date.
"You're not due to come in until next week."
Caine stepped further into the room and rested his hand on the back of the chair across from the desk.
"Yeah, I need to get your blessing on something, though."
Bethel shook his head. He swung his feet off the desk, shoes hitting the floor with two flat thuds. The coffee cup came off his stomach and he set it on the edge of the calendar.
"Aw, shit, son. This better not ruin my day."
Caine waved the comment off and dropped into the chair. The metal frame creaked under his weight. He leaned back and set his hands on the armrests.
"It ain't nothing crazy. I just need to know if I'm gonna be able to travel to visit schools if I get in the transfer portal. That's why I lost scholarships back in high school. My PO ain't let me leave the city."
Bethel's eyebrows lifted. He reached for the Styrofoam cup and took a sip, then set it back down. His chair squeaked when he leaned forward, elbows on the desk.
"You transferring, huh?"
Caine shrugged.
"Probably so. My agent said some schools are already asking about me, trying to get their plans together."
Bethel sat with that for a second. His thumb rubbed the rim of the cup. He looked at Caine, then past him toward the hallway, then back. A car passed on the road outside, the sound muffled through the walls.
"Well, damn. I knew you had it in ya when you walked through that door a couple years ago. You just had to learn the hard way to get some sense in your damn head."
Caine snorted a laugh.
"Yeah, I can get my agent to do whatever paperwork you got the school doing for me to travel with the team. Anything like that, I'm cool with. Check in, whatever."
Bethel nodded slowly, tilting his chair back until the spring complained. He folded his hands across his stomach.
"To be honest with you, if you leaving, that mean you gonna be someone else's problem sooner rather than later. Not that you been too much of a problem, but you know what I mean."
Caine dipped his chin.
"Yeah."
"When you do or don't make that decision to get in the portal or whatever they call it, let me know, and I'll help ya out."
"Alright, appreciate it."
Caine stood. The chair legs scraped the tile. He turned for the hallway but stopped before he crossed the threshold, looking back over his shoulder.
Through the short stretch of hall he could see the woman at the front desk, her eyes fixed on the TV again. The cowboys had been replaced by a man standing on a porch with a rifle across his arm. Bonanza. Theme music played under the credits. She reached for a cracker and bit it in half without taking her eyes off the screen.
He pointed a thumb behind him.
"Since when you had an assistant?"
Bethel leaned to the side in his chair to see past Caine down the hallway. He waved his hand at the woman's back.
"That's Gertie. She been working with me for long as I been here, but one of her kids had a kid up in Idaho and she told herself she was going live out there. Guess it ain't like home."
Caine's mouth pulled.
"I heard some crazy shit about Idaho."
Bethel laughed, the sound filling the small office. He slapped his palm on the desk once and pointed at Caine, grinning.
"Let's just say that neither one of us need to be going up there where she was."
~~~
Mireya stepped out of the shower and stood on the bath mat, water running off her skin and pooling at her feet. Steam held the athroom close. The mirror above the vanity had fogged over. She reached for the towel on the hook and pressed it to her face first, then her neck, then worked it down her arms and legs until the water was gone.She draped the towel over the shower rod and picked up the sleep shorts and tank top she had left folded on the edge of the sink. She pulled the shorts on, then the tank top, tugging the hem down over her stomach. Her hair dripped against her shoulders and left dark spots on the silk.
She opened the bathroom door and the cooler air from the hallway touched her skin. Camila stood at the corner of the wall, one hand on it, peeking around with just her face showing. Her curls were pressed flat on one side from the pillow. The stuffed eagle hung under her arm, its felt wings bent against her ribs.
"¿Qué haces fuera de la cama, mi amor?" Mireya asked. "It's late."
Camila shifted her weight from one bare foot to the other. She squeezed the eagle tighter against her side.
"Can I sleep with you?"
Mireya nodded.
"Of course, baby."
Camila's face broke open. She turned and ran toward Mireya's bed, feet slapping the floor, the eagle bouncing under her arm. Mireya heard the bed frame creak and the rustle of sheets as Camila climbed up.
She followed. The bedroom was dark except for the glow of her phone on the nightstand, the screen lit with notifications she had left sitting. Camila had already burrowed into the middle of the bed, the eagle tucked against her chest, sheets pulled halfway up. Her eyes tracked Mireya from the doorway.
Mireya let her get settled. She watched Camila shift once, then again, finding the position she wanted, knees drawn up, the stuffed bird pressed between her chin and the pillow. When she stilled, Mireya crossed the room and slipped into the bed beside her.
Camila moved toward her immediately, pressing her back against Mireya's side, fitting herself into the curve of her body. Mireya smiled and looked down at her daughter. She pulled the sheets up to Camila's neck and smoothed them flat.
"Comfy?"
Camila nodded, her curls rubbing the pillow.
"It was frío in my bed. Muy, muy."
Mireya shook her head, the smile still on her face. She reached over to the nightstand and pressed the side button on her phone. The screen went dark. The room settled into the blue of the streetlight that came through the blinds.
She scooted down into the bed, pulling the pillow lower, and lay on her back with Camila warm against her side.
"Mami?"
"Yes, mi amor?"
Camila lifted the stuffed eagle and made its wings flap with her fingers, slow and deliberate, up and down in the dim light.
"Do you miss Daddy?"
Mireya's eyes found the ceiling. The plaster had a hairline crack running from the light fixture toward the wall.
"Always. Why?"
Camila shrugged, her small shoulders rising and falling against Mireya's arm.
"I miss him a lot."
Mireya turned her head on the pillow and pressed her lips to Camila's hair.
"I know, baby. We'll go see him this weekend."
Camila's fingers stopped moving the eagle's wings. She held it still against the sheet.
"Just us?"
Mireya raised an eyebrow. She shook her head, even though Camila was facing away from her.
"And Abuela Sara. Like usual."
Camila was still for a second. Then she tucked the eagle back under her chin and pressed closer.
"Okay. Te quiero, Mami."
"Yo también te quiero, mi amor."
Camila's breathing changed within a minute. The small rise and fall against Mireya's ribs grew slower, deeper, the weight of her body loosening into sleep. The eagle's felt wing pressed crooked between them.
Mireya stared up at the ceiling. The crack held the streetlight along its edge. She lay still and listened to her daughter breathe.
