Dying to Live

[Caesar]

Money Man

Royce leaned back into the stiff leather chair in a conference room in Gordon McKernan’s office, his eyes tracing the polished wood paneling on the walls and the shelves cluttered with framed photographs of the attorney smiling alongside his clients and famous faces of Louisiana.

The air was heavy with the faint smell of cologne and success, and Royce felt as out of place as a hoodie at a gala.

He’d gotten the call late the previous afternoon, Baton Rouge’s top personal injury attorney wanted to film a commercial with him. McKernan had been at the front of the line with hooking up LSU’s athletes with NIL money since it became legal to do so. He perpetually owned all the billboards along I-10 in the city and those signs went from having his face stylized up in the air to those of Tigers.

He was bigger than Morris Bart, a New Orleans staple in the ambulance chasing game, and when it came to handing out loads of cash to young adults at LSU who pulled on the purple and gold uniforms, he was bigger than Cane’s.

His former quarterback son didn’t get to LSU on merit, after all.

When the marketing director slid the check across the table, his discomfort melted into disbelief.

“Twenty?” Royce asked, air seemingly knocked from his lungs at seeing the figure.

“Twenty thousand,” the marketing director confirmed with a smile that Royce could only describe as the fakest thing he’s ever seen on a woman’s face. “We think you’re going to bne a great fit for the brand. Is it not as much as you were looking for?”

Royce shook his head, still trying to process the number. He had assumed, maybe $1,000, $2,000 tops. Something to keep his gas tank full and the fridge stocked with food. But twenty grand? That was an amount on a single check that belonged in the realm of fantasy, not his reality.

“Just remember,” the woman continued, leaning forward conspiratorially, “when you’re in front of the camera, enthusiasm is key. “Get Gordon, Get it Done!” isn’t just a tagline. It’s a way of life.”

Royce blinked. He had no idea what that meant, but for twenty thousand dollars, he was willing to be as enthusiastic as they needed him to be.

…

The check burned a hole in Royce’s pocket as he drove across town, the streets of Baton Rouge buzzing with the rhythm of a late Monday afternoon. He could have gone straight back to his apartment to let it sink in, but his mind was already racing ahead. Tyrell and Rana’s house wasn’t far, and if there was anyone who deserved to share in this windfall, it was them.

Royce walked into the house, the smell of something baking wafting out, warm and sweet. He looked in the kitchen and saw Tyrell standing in the kitchen with an apron on.

“Rana got you baking, bruh?” Royce asked, laughing as he saw his brother-in-law pulling on a pair of mittens to reach into the oven.

“Man, she been on this fucking meal prepping kick. I keep telling her that we got more than enough money to buy a damn meal every so often,” Tyrell said, his tone light despite the complaining.

Rana walked into the kitchen at the sound of Royce’s voice. She smiled. “Look at you being a good little brother and coming to see us as a surprise. I was beginning to think that you were in Los Angeles LA and not Louisiana LA.”

“You know how busy this shit is,” Royce said, shaking his head. He looked toward the hallway. “Where’s Roni?”

“At some after school thing,” Rana answered, sitting down at the dining room table. “What’s up, though? What got you driving across town on a Monday?”

Royce reached into his pocket and pulled out the receipt of the check he’d gotten when he deposited it into the bank. A few months ago, he didn’t even have a bank account, using CashApp as his main form of banking. A few hours ago, the account only had a few hundred dollars in it. Now, it was flush.

He slapped the receipt on the table. The sight of it had an almost physical effect—Rana froze as she reached for the receipt, her eyes widening. Tyrell walked around the counter and looked at it, his brow furrowing as he read the amount.

“Got that first NIL check,” Royce said, his voice still tinged with disbelief. “Twenty bands.”

“Twenty—” Tyrell started but stopped short. He scratched at his chin. “That’s what my bonus supposed to look like. Don’t go out there like these plant workers and spend it all at the strip club.”

“Shit, I don’t need to do that,” Royce laughed. “I couldn’t have done it without y’all. You been behind me since day one, Tyrell. And Rana, you been looking out for me since I was little.” He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small stack of crisp bills—two thousand dollars in total.

It was a small fraction of what he’d earned, but to him, it felt like the least he could do. He held it out to Rana, who instinctively backed away, shaking her head.

“Ro,” she said, her voice cracking. “We can’t take that.”

“Yes, you can,” Royce said, gently pressing the bills into her hand. “You’ve been holding me down, feeding me, keeping my head straight. I’m not asking. I’m thanking. Use it to pay for one of those afterschool things Roni does.”

Tyrell stepped closer, shaking his head but a grin spread across his face. He clapped a hand on Royce’s shoulder, his touch firm and steady. “You a good dude, Ro.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Royce said, laughing and shrugging Tyrell’s hand off his shoulder, things getting a little too emotional for him.

Rana gestured at the bills in her hand. “We’re proud of you, Ro. You’ve been through a lot and you keep coming back from it all. You deserve this.”

…

Royce stared at the watch on his wrist, gold glistening in the lights on the rooftop of Baton Rouge’s famed Tsunami restaurant. His other hand held a glass by the brim, lightly swirling the water inside of it.

He’d decided that his newfound wealth necessitated a slight upgrade in his apparel. He’d gone to the mall after leaving Tyrell and Rana’s and picked up a few things to look more like the upperclassmen who had clocked three or four years of NIL deals. Royce wasn’t quite all designer and Scat Packs, but he wouldn’t look out of place alongside them anymore either.

Alix sat across from him, scanning the menu, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of the menu. Royce dropped his wrist and stared at her, enjoying the way the dress she wore clung to her body.

“You know what you’re getting?” she asked, looking up at him with a small smile.

“I ain’t gonna lie. I prefer my fish fried.” He said, continuing to swirl the water in the glass. He nodded to the chopsticks resting on the table between them. “And I ain’t about to embarrass myself trying to use that either.”

Alix laughed softly. The warmth in her eyes, the easy way she carried herself—it put him at ease.

“So, you’re telling me all I had to do was wait for you to suddenly get rich for you to take me out on a date?” Alix asked, her tone teasing.

Royce brought the glass up to his lips, taking a small sip of the water, finding that it didn’t quite suit his palette as it tasted a bit too… high class. “I’ve taken you on dates before, and I don’t think anyone would say that I’m rich.”

“I don’t think a wedding you needed a plus one for counts. I’m talking about something like…” she trailed off, gesturing around at the restaurant. “Something like this. I mean, you could’ve taken me to Applebee’s or something. I would’ve been alright with that, too.”

“Now, you’re just lying,” he laughed.

“I’m not!” Alix shot back. “I like spending time with you, Royce. It doesn’t have to be somewhere fancy.”

He nodded, letting her words linger without responding.

The meal started with appetizers that Royce couldn’t pronounce but tasted incredible despite his preference for fried foods and greens. Alix sipped her drink and leaned back slightly, watching him with a curious expression.

“So,” she said as their plates were cleared. “Is this the new normal for us? You’re going to be taking me to the Supper Club next?”

Royce shrugged, setting his fork down. “Maybe, we’ll see. But I just know I wanted to celebrate with you.”

“You know what sounds like right, Royce?” she asked, her smile fading slightly.

“What?” he asked, confused.

“Couple shit.”

He leaned back as he looked at her, searching her expression for something he couldn’t quite name. “Yeah, is that a problem?”

Alix tilted her head, her gaze steady but unreadable. She didn’t answer right away, letting the question hang between them like a thread waiting to be pulled. Finally, she leaned forward, tracing the rim of the glass with her fingers. “I don’t know,” she said softly. “Is it?”

Her words lingered in the air, heavy with meaning Royce couldn’t quite grasp. It wasn’t just a question—it was a challenge, an invitation to redefine their relationship.

Royce picked up his glass and downed the remaining water in it. Her expression changed momentarily, the smile dropping almost entirely when he didn’t immediately answer. She sat back again.

“Hey, I got a question,” she said suddenly.

Royce raised an eyebrow, stunned by the quick change of gears. “Yeah?”

“Who is Britni?” Her expression was unreadable again.

“Britni who?”

“I don’t know her last name. Pretty Black girl with long hair. She said she knew you and your brother.”

He shook his head, sucking his teeth. “Romeo’s girlfriend.”

“Oh,” Alix said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I ran into her the other day. She was saying some shit about you, like—”

“We never got along,” he interrupted. “Whatever she said to you is bullshit.”

Alix opened her mouth to respond but seemed to decide against it. She smiled at him, leaning forward. “You’re getting us dessert, too?”

Royce laughed. “That depends on you.”

[Captain Canada]

Glad a few blessings finally coming to my guy Royce. Needs to clean that shit up on the woman front though, which I'm sure is planned to come as he matures (I know it ain't cause you a sadist)

[Caesar]

Glad a few blessings finally coming to my guy Royce. Needs to clean that shit up on the woman front though, which I'm sure is planned to come as he matures (I know it ain't cause you a sadist)

What he need to clean up on the woman front?! He’s operating within the parameters set up by the woman that can be best described as his romantic partner

[Captain Canada]

Glad a few blessings finally coming to my guy Royce. Needs to clean that shit up on the woman front though, which I'm sure is planned to come as he matures (I know it ain't cause you a sadist)

What he need to clean up on the woman front?! He’s operating within the parameters set up by the woman that can be best described as his romantic partner

Gaslighting a woman with the boyfriend experience while throwing dick around knowing damn well she isn't doing the same to him is nasty work

Nigga is trying to have his cake and eat it too.

[Caesar]

Glad a few blessings finally coming to my guy Royce. Needs to clean that shit up on the woman front though, which I'm sure is planned to come as he matures (I know it ain't cause you a sadist)

What he need to clean up on the woman front?! He’s operating within the parameters set up by the woman that can be best described as his romantic partner

Gaslighting a woman with the boyfriend experience while throwing dick around knowing damn well she isn't doing the same to him is nasty work

Nigga is trying to have his cake and eat it too.

AH AH AH! Do we know that Mr. Lafitte knows that she isn’t doing the same? Are we forgetting that he knows she’s had at least one other lil’ yeah during their thing? He could be operating under the assumption that she is doing the same thing he is. Let’s analyze it now! :smart:

[Caesar]

Like a Ghost

Royce walked out the apartment building, stretching as the dying embers of the sun cast its orange, pink and purple hues across the sky. He nodded to a guy and a girl walking in the opposite direction, the building a bevy of activity as students got into their evening plans.

As he walked through the courtyard, he saw a figure stand up from a bench. He stopped, expecting the worst. Until he saw it was Meech, in all his unbothered, big-grinning glory.

Royce hesitated. He hadn’t seen Meech in weeks, not since their last impromptu run-in at the restaurant, and even then, their conversation had been a quick exchange.

“Ayo, lil’ brudda. What’s good?” Meech asked, stepping closer to Royce and dapping him up. He was wearing a crisp black T-shirt that had to have been bought in the last few hours, something that old heads were known for. His jewelry glistened in the last rays of sun and awakening streetlights.

“What you doing here?” Royce asked. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t keep the tension out of his voice. The way that Meech always seemed to pop up out of thin air was beginning to get unsettling.

Meech seemed to notice Royce’s apprehension and smiled, gold teeth shining. He slapped Royce on the shoulder. “Chill out, man. You looking like you owe me some money and I’m about to end your football career with a bullet to the knee.”

“I mean, I grew up in the hood, too, my nigga,” Royce said. “I know what it look like when someone get the drop.”

“That’s why I like you. You smart. Ain’t nobody gonna catch you slipping,” Meech said pointing at Royce as he spoke. “I got a lil’ cousin that comes here and I asked about you. She knows J.J. and Dewon and said you they roommate. You ain’t gotta worry about me getting the drop off snapchat or anything like that.”

Royce nodded, trying to keep his appearance casual. “So, what’s good? I was on my way to get some grub.”

“We were having a little kickback and I wanted you to roll with me. I told you the whole hood behind you, especially now that you out there staring, got them white boys scared to throw that thing over the middle. You gotta start laying niggas out like Ray Lewis though.”

Royce wasn’t sure he wanted to be a part of whatever was going on with Meech and wherever it was. But his afternoon had been quiet and his night was looking like it was going to be the same.

“Where at? I can follow you,” Royce said, gesturing back to the apartment building where he’d left his car keys.

Meech waved his hand and threw his arm around Royce’s shoulder. “I got you, lil’ brudda. Just trust me, man.”

…

The drive wasn’t long, but it felt like it to Royce, sitting shotgun in Meech’s blacked out Charger. The car smelled faintly of Black & Milds, weed and air freshener, and Meech kept the windows cracked, letting in bursts of humid Louisiana air.

When they pulled up, Royce immediately recognized the scene from his time back in Houma. The house—a squat, brick one-story with a sagging roof—was surrounded by cars, most of them parked haphazardly on the lawn. Music blared from the inside, the heavy bass vibrating the air around them. A group of guys stood on the porch, talking loud and smoking while girls hung nearby.

Meech swung into the yard, cutting the engine. “Alright, let’s get it,” he said, slapping Royce’s shoulder as he got out.

Royce followed, keeping his demeanor casual. He wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, having been to parties like this before, but he didn’t know these people and that was enough to make him wary. Meech, on the other hand, moved with the easy confidence of someone who knew they belonged—knew those people were there because he told them to be there.

Inside, the music hit harder, almost drowning out the voices shouting over it. The living room was packed with people, a mix of guys throwing dice on the floor, girls sitting on the armrests of couches, and a few, dirty kids in full diapers perched on the counter in the kitchen, drinking straight from red Solo cups that held who knew what. The air smelled like weed, sweat, grime and old grease, with a hint of cheap cologne floating somewhere in the mix.

“Big Meech!” someone called from across the room, and Meech lifted his chin in response before steering Royce toward a group of girls standing near the window.

“Ladies!” Meech said, his voice loud enough to cut through the music. “This lil’ potna Royce. He a youngster, so don’t go too crazy on him, but I want y’all to take care of him.”

The girls turned, sizing Royce up in a way that he’d experienced many times before at hood parties. One of them, a short, curvy girl with hoop earrings big enough to double as bracelets, smiled. “He cute. I’m Shayla.”

Royce nodded in greeting.

Shayla’s friend—a taller girl with braids and an attitude written all over her face—gave him a once-over. “You ain’t from around here, are you?” she said, folding her arms.

“He ain’t,” Meech said, clapping Royce on the back. “But he cool people. Make sure he has a good time, though, alright?”

Meech disappeared into the crowd without another word, leaving Royce there with the two girls. Shayla kept smiling.

“You drink?” she asked, holding up her own cup. “Smoke?”

“Yeah, I drink,” he said, nodding.

Her smile grew wider. She held the cup she was drinking from out to him, but Royce waved his hand and shook his head.

“You might be drinking some shit straight and I ain’t trying to get that fucked up tonight,” Royce said, although his bigger issue with the drink was less about the alcohol she may have put in the cup and more about what else she might have mixed in.

She wrapped her hand around his arm, stepping back with a look of surprise. “Damn, you strong strong, huh?” She rubbed her hand over his bicep.

Royce laughed. “Something like that.”

Shayla looked back at her friend who sucked her teeth and walked off without a word. Shayla turned back to Royce. “Alright, let’s go find your fine ass something to drink.”

He allowed her to lead him through the crowd, noticing the looks that the other men in the house were giving him. He was glad that he’d left his apartment wearing a hoodie and joggers or else he might end up with a pistol in his face and his pockets getting emptied.

He hardened his expression, hoping that months in a college football strength and conditioning program had done enough to make it look like he was really lifting water jugs on the yard at Dixon or Angola.

Shayla opened a refrigerator filled with non-descript containers and bottles, retrieving an Old English from inside. Royce inwardly cringed, not even experiencing such levels of dirt and grime back home. Being on hard times didn’t mean you had to be filthy, Ma Beulah would’ve said as she smacked them up side the head.

She noticed Royce’s hesitance in taking the bottle from her, turning to place her cup down on the grit covered counter. She wiped off the bottle with her shirt and then opened it for him, handing it over.

Royce took a large gulp of the beer, hoping that the alcohol would dull his senses enough to ignore the fact that her cleaning the bottle with her shirt didn’t make him think it was any cleaner than it had been coming out of the fridge.

“You must be one of them school niggas,” Shayla said, the smile returning to her face. “I used to be in school to do hair, but you don’t need no license to do a bitch hair, so I just stopped going to that shit.”

“Yeah,” Royce said, letting the ambiguity on what he was agreeing to stand on its own. “That’s what do? Do hair?”

She nodded. “I ain’t got a lot of clients yet but I be putting my shit on TikTok so I figure sooner or later, shit gonna pop off.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“So, my granny stay across the street,” Shayla said, nodding in that direction. “She at bingo tonight, though. Probably gonna be gone all night because she go to her pastor house after.”

Royce raised an eyebrow, the unspoken question obvious.

“Look, if granny wanna fuck the pastor, that’s between them,” she laughed. “So, you wanna go over there? It’s quieter over there.”

Royce hesitated, debating his options. Without his own car to leave, he would need to at least wait for an Uber to arrive to leave. Shrugging, he gestured for her to lead the way.

She smiled, grabbing her cup from the counter and leading him back through the crowd to the front door.

[Soapy]

boy immediately got into his trick bag!

[Caesar]

boy immediately got into his trick bag!

Streets ain’t forget Kam’s first actions when he got that deal! Buying jewelry and shit!

[Soapy]

boy immediately got into his trick bag!

Streets ain’t forget Kam’s first actions when he got that deal! Buying jewelry and shit!

that was his girl so can't be tricking. so is Alix his girl or nah? quickly!

[Caesar]

boy immediately got into his trick bag!

Streets ain’t forget Kam’s first actions when he got that deal! Buying jewelry and shit!

that was his girl so can't be tricking. so is Alix his girl or nah? quickly!

She close enough!