Laney brought the glass up to her lips and held it there. The whisky touched her tongue and she let it sit, the burn spreading slow across the flat of it before she swallowed. She lowered the glass to her knee and watched a car crawl past the end of Taela's street, brake lights flaring once at the stop sign before it turned and disappeared behind the hedgerow.
Taela reached over and topped Laney's glass off from the bottle between their chairs. Laney let her. She pulled her feet up onto the edge of the chair and pressed her knees together.
"You know," Taela said, "I still can't believe that you told Tommy that he got a tubal all those years ago."
Laney tilted the glass in her hand, watching the amber shift against the sides. "It was that or have him think Caine knocked me up. Either way, I was fucked."
Taela held her hand out and flipped it one direction, then the other, palm up, palm down. "I told you that fertility shit wasn't going to work. Too many questions could be asked from it."
Laney shook her head. "Worked just like I wanted. Gave me enough time to enjoy what I had left before I go back to pretendin' I don't think 'bout jumpin' into the ocean every couple months."
Taela's hand came back to her glass. She took a sip, swallowed, and set it on the arm of her chair, her thumb holding it steady against the wood. Her eyes moved to Laney and held. Laney kept looking at the street.
"You know they got pills for that kind of thing," Taela said.
Laney snorted a laugh. "You tryin' have my daddy beatin' the devil out of me with his Bible if you think he approve of any mental health help that ain't turnin' to the Lord."
"Sounds like the same shit he'd do anyway," Taela said.
Taela's foot found Laney's ankle under the gap between their chairs and pressed against it, her sock warm against Laney's bare skin. She held it there for a few seconds, then pulled it back. Laney's throat moved once.
She took another sip of her drink. The ice had melted enough that the whisky tasted thinner now, the edges dulled. She swallowed and rested the glass against her shin, the cold of it biting through her jeans.
"You ain't wrong on that," she said.
Taela pulled the blanket from the back of her chair and tossed it across the gap between them. It landed half in Laney's lap, half off the side. Laney caught it with her free hand and draped it over her legs, eyes still on the street, tucking the edge under her thigh.
Laney pressed her cheek against her knee. She closed her eyes for a second. When she opened them, the street looked the same.
"You know, what's the craziest part 'bout everythin' over the last couple years?" she said. "I don't regret none of it. If I had do it again, I would."
Taela's eyebrows lifted. She pulled her legs in and crossed them at the knee, the chair creaking under the shift. "If Bo was a piece of shit like Tommy, I would want a fine ass man like Caine talking me through it in Spanish, too."
Laney's mouth twitched. She shook her head and bumped her shoulder into Taela's arm, the contact brief, her body rocking back to center. Taela grinned and bumped her back, harder, and Laney caught herself on the armrest before she tipped. She rubbed her thumb along the rim of the glass, tracing the circle once, twice.
"It's more than that, though. Me and Tommy gonna hate each other either way. We shouldn't've never got married and now we in too deep with the boys. But 'cause I did this, I got to remember who I use to want to be, pretend I could still be that woman."
She shifted under the blanket and stretched one leg out, her bare foot pressing flat against the cold porch board. Her toes curled once against it, then spread. She kept her cheek on her knee and looked at Taela from that angle, her hair falling across one eye.
Taela leaned forward in her chair, forearms pressing into her thighs. "You could be. Some of it anyway. You're damn near 30. Your boys ain't little. You can do some shit."
Laney lifted the glass and drained what was left. The ice knocked against her teeth and she held the last mouthful for a beat before swallowing. She set the empty glass on the rail and wiped her lips with the back of her hand, then pulled the blanket higher over her knees and folded her arms across the top of them.
"I'll let Rylee be the one causin' family crises for a while," she said. "She was gettin' good at it."
~~~
“Seeeet. Hut, hut. Go!”
Caine caught the snap, dropping back into the South Georgia night. The Ragin’ Cajuns’ pass rush was blunted by the offensive line ahead of him, giving him time to go through his progressions.
He went left to right, one, two. Trey’Dez was three and the tight end had a step on his man.
Caine drew his arm back, throwing it. Trey’Dez hauled it in before being spun down to the turf after a big gain.
Caine patted Chandler on the back of his helmet as they jogged forward to the new ball spot. “Game starts for real now, big brudda.”
…
The pocket collapsed around him, but there was no panic. He rolled out to his right, keeping his eyes down the field as he went. The Cajuns’ defenders continued to drop back, giving Caine no other option but to take off.
He tucked the ball, sprinting forward, curving his run toward the near sideline.
A linebacker crashed down toward him. Caine planted his foot in the turf and started to try to spin around the defender, but the linebacker didn’t fall for the spin and lowered his shoulder to make the tackle.
Caine put his arms around the ball, bracing to absorb the impact.
The referee blew the play dead while the first down was signaled. Caine sprung to his feet, dropping the ball and pointing forward for the first down.
…
“Guerra drops back and flicks a quick pass out to Sahara and what do you know? That’s a touchdown for Georgia Southern!”
“Caine Guerra to Javier Sahara has been one of the most prolific quarterback-receiver pairings not only this season but arguably in the history of the Sun Belt Conference and nation as a whole. Whatever school gets Guerra needs to make a call to Sahara to bring him along!”
…
“Guerra hits Sahara and that’s a gain of 21 on the play!”
…
“Guerra finds Sahara again and they’re going to pick up, let’s call it 24 yards on that one.”
…
“Second and eight from the ULL 21. Guerra’s got four split out wide, Bradley in the backfield next to him. The Cajuns need to either force a turnover or limit Georgia Southern to a field goal here if they want to keep this game within reach.”
“I think there’s just going to be too much talent on this Georgia Southern team.”
“Here’s the snap. Sahara is running free over the middle! Guerra sees him and hits him in stride and he’s going to walk into the endzone! Touchdown Eagles! 16-7 Georgia Southern pending the extra point.”
“Death, taxes and touchdown passes from Caine Guerra to Javier Sahara.”
…
“Grant dumps it off to Davis in the flats and he’s got space to run. Makes a man miss at the goal line and the Cajuns are going to cut this lead to three heading into halftime.”
“I might have to eat some crow for my takes on the last drive because ULL is hanging around in this one.”
…
“Go!”
Caine caught the snap and immediately looked to Femi, seeing him get a step on his man coming across the field.
He didn’t waste any time getting the ball out to him, throwing it down by Femi’s waist to make sure that the cornerback couldn’t reach around ayo to bat the ball away.
Femi reeled the ball in through contact and fell to the turf for the touchdown.
Caine punched the air, holding his hand up and counting off the three touchdowns he’d thrown before running to the endzone to celebrate with Femi and the rest of the team as the scoreboard ticked to 23-14.
…
“Grant bundles forward into the endzone and that’s going to be an ULL touchdown. Just under two minutes remaining in the third quarter and UL-Lafayette is still hanging around with the score Georgia Southern 24, Cajuns 20, pending the extra point.”
…
“Davis reels it in and turns up field. HE LOST IT! HE LOST IT! The ball’s on the ground and it’s recovered by Carlos Miner. That’s going to be Georgia Southern football!”
“That’s not a play you want to see your veterans making if you’re Michael Desormeaux. It’s the fourth quarter, you have a chance to tie the game or take the lead and Bill Davis puts the ball on the turf. A terrible, terrible play.”
…
“Guerra drops back, but there’s acres of space in front of him and he doesn’t need to be asked twice to take it. Walks into the endzone from six yards out and that’s going to put Georgia Southern up two scores with just under 10 minutes remaining to play!”
…
“Goldstein’s kick is up and it’s good. 31-24 Georgia Southern heading into the waning stages of this contest.”
…
“Caine!”
Caine looked back over his shoulder at Coach Aplin at the sound of the name then he turned around and jogged back to the sideline.
Aplin grabbed Caine’s shoulder pads, pulling him closer so he could be heard over the din of the crowd. “Run as much clock as you can and get us in position to score so we can put this one away.”
Cane nodded. “Got it, coach.”
Aplin smacked Caine on the top of his helmet. “Go win us a championship, son.”
…
“First and ten from their own 41 yard line. The clock’s running down under seven minutes. The Eagles are getting closer to their second straight Sun Belt conference championship if they can hold on here.
“Guerra gets the snap and drops back. It looks like zone coverage for the Cajuns, trying to keep everything in front of him but they’ve left a lot of open space! Guerra takes off and picks up the first down, sliding down after a gain of thirteen!”
…
“Guerra’s taking it himself again and he has acres of space in front of him! He’s going to pick up twenty-two on that run before sliding down at the Cajuns’ 24-yard line.”
…
“Fourth and three from ULL’s 18-yard line. There is some discussion down on the Georgia Southern sideline between Coach Aplin and Caine Guerra. It looks like Guerra is waving for the kicking team to stay on the sideline.”
“I think I’d take the points here, Marv. There’s just over four minutes left. The Cajuns would need to score twice anyway. I think I rely on my defense to close this game out. Three yards in the redzone is a tough ask for anyone.”
“Georgia Southern breaks the huddle and lines up in the shotgun for this ‘gotta have it’ play. The snap is clean and Guerra gets it out quick to Ware on the drag. Ware turns upfield, gets the first down and more! Down at the Cajuns five!”
“That’ll teach me to ever doubt Caine Guerra. That kid plays like a 20-year veteran in the NFL, not a sophomore in college.”
…
Caine looked up at the scoreboard. Two and a half minutes remaining. Georgia Southern up by seven. Fourth and goal coming up.
Coach Fatu’s voice crackled over the in-helmet comms. “What you want to do, kid? I’ll put the game in your hands.”
“We’re going for that shit. I want another touchdown.”
“Alright then. Here’s the play.”
…
“Georgia Southern’s going for it again on fourth down here. Two thirty two remaining in the fourth quarter.”
“I’ll keep my thoughts to myself this time.”
“Three players split out wide, the Eagles look like they’re trying to spread the Cajuns out here to give themselves some more options. Guerra gets the snap and almost immediately throws the ball out to Sahara and Sahara fights his way into the endzone for the touchdown! Georgia Southern’s going to win the Sun Belt Conference Championship!”
“If you want to know why every school in the country is waiting for Caine Guerra to enter the portal then look at this drive. Forget the runs. Forget the passes. Just look at him demanding the ball in his hands not once, but twice on fourth down. This kid is unflappable!”
…
Caine pumped his fist in the air then ran over to Javier, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and shouting into the night.
The entire offense ran over to the nearest camera, all of them tapping their ring fingers.
~~~
Mireya stood with her arms folded and her weight on one hip, sunglasses covering half her face even though night had fallen hours ago. Families crowded the concrete apron outside the locker room doors, voices layered over each other, phones held up, children pulling at sleeves. Stadium lights threw everything into hard white and deep shadow. Sara stood beside her, close enough that their shoulders touched, her eyes tracking Camila across the crowd.
Camila ran in a loose circle with two other girls near the edge of the group, their shoes slapping the concrete, one of them shrieking over something Mireya couldn't hear. Camila's ponytail swung behind her. She cut left around a stroller and the other girls followed, all three of them laughing hard enough that their bodies bent with it.
Mireya's eyes sat behind the tinted lenses, fixed on a point past the children, past the families, past the stadium wall where the lights hit the tree line and stopped. Her jaw was set. Her fingers pressed into the crook of her own elbows where her arms crossed.
You're just on this Earth to get fucked.
Trell's voice, flat and certain, playing through to the end before it started over. Mireya's breathing stayed even. Her fingers pressed harder into her elbows.
All you're good for is your mouth, your pussy and your ass.
A man walked past holding a toddler on his hip and bumped Mireya's elbow. She shifted her weight half an inch and folded her arms tighter. Camila sprinted past her in the other direction, close enough that her jacket brushed Mireya's leg, and Mireya's head turned to track her on reflex before settling back to the same fixed point at the edge of the lights.
Sara's arm came around Mireya's shoulders.
Mireya's whole body pulled inward. Her spine went rigid and her chin lifted, the muscles in her neck cording for a second before she caught herself and forced them loose. Her arms stayed folded and her feet stayed planted. She let Sara's arm rest there and breathed once through her nose, counting the people moving in her peripheral vision. A woman with a camera. A man in a team polo. Three teenagers cutting through the crowd toward the parking lot.
"¿Me vas a contar qué pasó, mija?" Sara's voice was low, close to Mireya's ear, pitched under the noise around them.
Mireya shook her head. "No pasó nada. Solo estoy cansada. Ha sido una semana larga y los exámenes finales son la semana que viene."
Sara's thumb moved once against the top of Mireya's arm, a slow stroke across the fabric of her hoodie. She let the answer sit for a few seconds. Camila's laugh carried from somewhere behind them, bright and careless, mixing with the other children's voices and the low thrum of conversation from the families still waiting.
Sara reached up with her free hand and lifted the sunglasses off Mireya's face. The motion was gentle, two fingers hooking under the frame at her temple and drawing them up and away. The stadium lights hit Mireya's eyes unfiltered and she blinked against them.
"Look at me, Mireya," Sara said.
Mireya turned her head. Sara's face was close, her dark eyes steady, the lines around her mouth deeper in the overhead light. Mireya held her gaze for a beat, then her eyes broke right as a man in a Georgia Southern jacket walked past them toward the locker room doors. She tracked him for two steps, then pulled her focus back to Sara. Another person moved in her left periphery and her eyes flicked there and returned.
That corny ass nigga in Georgia don't fucking want you. There are women a million times better than you he can have.
"I can see it in your eyes," Sara said. Her hand stayed on Mireya's arm, her grip light but present. "I'm not going to pry, but I want you to know that I'm here for you. Whatever it is, whatever it was."
Mireya looked at Sara. Sara's eyes stayed on hers, open, waiting.
You're fucking garbage, Mireya.
Mireya nodded. The motion came small and controlled. "Gracias, but I'm fine. I promise."
Sara studied her for another second. Her mouth pulled into a smile that lasted half a breath before it fell, the corners of her lips settling back flat. She held the sunglasses up between them, the lenses facing Mireya, the arms folded in against Sara's palm.
Mireya took them. Her fingers closed around the frame and she unfolded the arms one at a time, sliding them back onto her face. The tint dropped over her vision and the stadium lights dulled behind it, the faces around her flattening back into shapes she could keep at a distance.
She turned her head away from Sara and looked out past the crowd again, past the concrete, past the lot where headlights were starting to cut across the dark. Her arms crossed over her chest. Her jaw reset. Camila's voice rose somewhere behind her, calling one of the other girls' names, the word bright and loose and carrying.
Mireya stared at nothing and let the loop start again.
~~~
Mireya felt the bass in her teeth. Bodies packed the living room shoulder to shoulder, the air thick with sweat and liquor and cologne that had stopped smelling like anything specific two hours ago. Someone had taped a printout of the conference championship newspaper front page to the wall near the kitchen and people kept slapping it as they walked past, yelling things she couldn't hear over the speakers.
Caine stood in front of her with his hand on her ass, fingers spread, palm flat against the denim. Her arm hooked around the back of his neck, forearm on his shoulder, her fingers buried in his hair. They moved together in the press of the crowd, hip to hip, her body already fitted against his.
Her hips shifted from the easy roll she fell into with him and isolated the motion, slower, deeper, working from the waist down. Her spine arched and her weight dropped onto one foot, her knee pressing between his legs, her free hand sliding off his shoulder and down the center of his chest. She dragged her fingertips over his shirt, over his belt, and flattened her palm against the front of his jeans.
"¿Quieres cogerme, papi?" Her mouth was close to his ear, her lips brushing the lobe when she spoke.
Caine's hand tightened on her once. "You wilding right now."
His other hand came to her hip, his thumb hooking into the belt loop. The pull was small, absent.
Mireya leaned back, putting enough distance between them that she could see his face in the low light. A strobe from someone's phone caught his jaw, his eyes, then moved on. Her mouth went flat. Her eyes emptied. She blinked, and her lips parted, her chin tipped up, her gaze heating, her mouth curving.
"I can feel that you do." Her hips kept moving against him, her hand still pressed where she'd put it. "Do you not want me?"
"You asking a question you know the answer to," Caine said. His hand moved lower on her ass, gripping.
Mireya's fingers curled against his jeans, her nails catching the fabric. She brought her face closer to his, her forehead almost touching his chin. "Say it, Caine. Say that you want me."
His eyes moved across her face. People pressed and pulled around them. They held their ground.
"Te quiero, Mireya," he said.
His hand moved from her hip to the side of her neck, his thumb resting against the hinge of her jaw, his fingers spreading behind her ear. The calluses on his palm pressed into her skin.
She stared at him. Her hand stilled against his jeans. Her eyes held his for a beat, two. Her gaze broke right, finding a wall, a stranger's shoulder, a cup being raised. She looked back at him.
"Fuck me then."
Caine's chin lifted a fraction. "You trying to leave?"
Mireya shook her head. Her hand came off his jeans and found his chest again, her palm pressing flat over his sternum. "Right now. We can find a room in here or a party." She leaned into him, her weight shifting forward, her mouth close enough that he could feel the words land on his skin. "O, por lo que a mí respecta, puedes sacarte la verga aquí mismo. Solo la quiero."
Caine searched her face. His eyes locked onto hers and stayed. Someone bumped Mireya's shoulder from behind and she pressed closer to him on reflex, her body fitting against his, her arm tightening around his neck.
He reached up and took her hand from behind his neck. His fingers closed around her hand and he turned, pulling her behind him. He moved through the crowd with his shoulder leading, cutting a line between bodies, his grip firm on her. A group of linemen clapped at him as he passed, one reaching to dap him up, and his free hand caught the man's fist mid-stride before he dropped it and kept moving toward the hallway.
Mireya followed, her hand in his, her arm stretched between them as he pulled her through.
Her face dropped. Her mouth closed into a line, her eyes going flat and distant. Her jaw tightened. She shook her head once, a small sharp motion, and ran her free hand through her hair, pushing it back from her face, fingers dragging through the strands from her forehead to the nape of her neck.
By the time he glanced back at her over his shoulder, her eyes were already warm again, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, her chin tilted up. She squeezed his hand and let him lead.
~~~
Ramon pulled into the gravel strip beside the house and killed the engine. The headlights cut out and left the street in the orange wash from a busted streetlight two houses down. He sat for a second, eyes moving across the front of the traphouse, the cars parked crooked along the curb, the bodies visible through the front window where the blinds hung bent and uneven.
Tyree opened his door and stepped out. Ramon followed, keys going into his pocket, his shoes crunching on the gravel as he walked around to the back of the car. He popped the trunk. Two duffel bags sat inside, both heavy, both zipped tight. He grabbed the first one by the handles and held it out to Tyree. Tyree took it with one hand, the weight pulling his arm straight. Ramon reached back in for the second, swung it up and threw the strap over his shoulder, then slammed the trunk shut.
They crossed the yard and went up the steps. Ramon pushed the front door open and walked in.
The living room ran loud and hot. Bass rattled the glass in the window frame where a speaker sat propped on the sill. Blunt smoke layered the air from ceiling to chest height, thick enough to taste. Guys spread across the couch and the chairs and the floor, some rolling dice, some talking over each other, some just leaning back with their eyes half shut and bottles in their hands. Near the far wall, Yola sat deep in an armchair with his legs spread and a woman on her knees between them, her head moving steady. He had one hand on the back of her head and the other holding his phone up, thumb scrolling.
Ramon moved through the room. Tyree stayed a step behind, the duffel bumping against his thigh as he walked. They kept going toward the back where Trell and Ant stood talking to Scotty near the table.
Trell looked up when they got close. His eyes went to the bags, then to Ramon's face.
Ramon slipped the duffel off his shoulder and held it out to Trell. "Duke said pay him for this drop and the next one now."
Trell shook his head, his jaw shifting once to the side. "That nigga lucky we people or this shit would piss me off." He reached into his pocket and came out with a fold of cash, thick enough that the bills fanned at the edges. He held it toward Ramon as he took the bag, handing it to Ant.
Ramon took it with his free hand, thumbed the stack once to feel the weight of it, and pushed it into his back pocket.
Scotty looked at Ramon, then turned his head and looked at Tyree. His chin lifted a fraction. "We'd have to do them pussy ass 39 niggas like we did them pussy ass country niggas."
Tyree tossed his duffel bag to the side. It hit the floor and slid a few inches across the linoleum. "Who you calling pussy, nigga?"
"You, nigga," Scotty said.
Trell held his hand up between them, palm flat, fingers spread. "We're all friends here. Let's calm down, huh?"
Ant nodded, his arms still crossed over his chest. "Before I have to do something to all three of y'all."
Ramon kept his eyes on Trell. "You know Duke ain't gonna like you cliquing up with 110 niggas. It's up forever with them."
Trell's mouth pressed into a line. "That's my business. Duke run his shit, not mine."
Scotty leaned forward, his hand coming up to tap his own chest twice. "You ain't saying nothing but a word. We can take it there, nigga."
Tyree reached behind his back. His hand came around with the gun already in his grip, the barrel angled toward the floor, his finger resting flat along the frame. "Shit, I ain't like you IG niggas from 110. I chase death, not clout, nigga."
Two of Scotty's guys near the hallway looked over. Their hands went to their waistbands, fingers curling around grips, both of them squared up toward Tyree. The guys rolling dice froze with their hands still cupped.
Trell held a hand up toward them, his voice flat and even. "Put that shit away." He dropped his hand. "I get it. It takes a while for old rivalries to die. These niggas ain't 110 no more though so that beef shit don't mean nothing here."
Ramon looked at Scotty's guys, looked at their hands, then looked back at Trell. "Respectfully, it's blood in, blood out in this shit. And these niggas ain't dead so they 110."
Trell shrugged, one shoulder lifting and dropping. "I don't operate like that so if y'all gonna start something, let's get to it."
Ant uncrossed his arms. His hand moved to his waistband and closed around the grip of his own gun, pulling it free and holding it against his thigh, the barrel pointed at the floor. His face stayed flat.
Ramon's eyes moved from Trell to Ant's gun to the two guys in the hallway still gripping their waistbands. His head turned slow, taking in each position, then came back to center.
He reached over and tapped Tyree on the chest with the back of his hand. "C'mon. We good."
Tyree's grip tightened on his gun. His jaw worked. "Nah, fuck that shit."
Ramon shook his head. "Let's go."
Tyree sucked his teeth. He stared at Scotty for another second, then slid the gun back into his waistband. He pulled his shirt down over it and turned toward the door.
Ramon turned with him. They walked back through the room, past the dice game that had started up again, past Yola in the armchair, past the smoke and the music and the bodies. Ramon pushed the front door open, and they stepped out into the cold.
Behind them, Scotty sucked his teeth and spit on the floor where they'd been standing.
