Season 6, Episode 25
Amber opened her eyes to gray light filtering through the bedroom window, the blinds doing a half-assed job of keeping out the morning. The sheets beside her were cold. Empty. Had been for a while based on how the mattress felt under her palm when she reached across.
She sat up, her back protesting. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her feet finding the cold floor. She grabbed her black pants from where they’d ended up near the closet, pulling them on while standing, hopping slightly to get them over her hips. Her bra was easier to locate, hanging on the closet door. Her shirt took longer. She found it under the bed.
The bathroom mirror wasn’t welcoming. She turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on her face, scrubbing at the mascara with her fingers until most of it came off.
Good enough.
She pulled her hair back into a ponytail. She brushed her teeth quickly, spitting into the sink, rinsing her mouth.
The hallway leading to the living room was narrow and dark. Nia was passed out on the couch exactly like she’d been when Amber came home last night. She was curled on her side, one arm hanging off the edge of the cushion, her face half-buried in the pillow.
Amber stood there for a second, staring at her.
Movement caught her eye through the sliding glass door. Brian stood on the small porch, his back to the apartment, smoke rising from the cigarette in his hand. He was wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, his feet bare despite the cold.
Amber moved to the door, sliding it open. The cold air hit her immediately, making her wrap her arms around herself.
Brian turned his head slightly, acknowledging her presence without looking at her directly. He took another drag from his cigarette, the end glowing orange in the early morning light.
“Morning,” he said, exhaling smoke.
“Morning.”
She moved beside him, leaning against the railing.
“You work today?” Brian asked.
Amber nodded, her eyes moving back toward the living room where Nia was still motionless on the couch.
“So,” Amber started, keeping her voice casual. “How long are you going to play daddy day care?”
Brian took another drag, holding it in his lungs before releasing it slowly. "I ain’t tell her to stay."
"You ain’t tell her to leave either."
Brian shrugged, flicking ash over the railing. "Girl clearly ain’t got somewhere else to go."
Amber’s jaw tightened. She knew where this was going.
“Just like you didn’t,” Brian added, his voice matter-of-fact.
Amber looked away, her eyes finding the parking lot again.
“I gotta go,” she said, already moving toward the door.
“Alright.”
She slid the door open, stepping back into the warmth of the apartment. Brian followed her inside, his bare feet silent on the linoleum. Nia hadn’t moved. Amber grabbed her jacket, shrugging it on. Her keys were in the pocket. Her wallet too.
Brian stood near the kitchen, watching her. She moved toward him, rising on her toes slightly to press a quick kiss to his lips. He tasted like cigarettes and morning breath. His hand came up to rest on her hip for just a second before she pulled away.
“See you tonight?” he asked.
“Maybe.”
“That means yes.”
“That means maybe.”
…
"His ass tried to be buddy buddy after the game," Brice leaned back in the chair, something close to a real smile pulling at his mouth. “Nah, bro. You picked a side. Stay there."
LaPenna’s pen moved across his notepad. “I thought you and Nitro were friends."
"We are but shit, after the game, knowing you ditched us for them? You know I’m going to talk mad shit. I don’t know, maybe I respect him showing face instead of running to the locker room but still. You left us for them, you know?"
“And you enjoyed beating him.”
“Fuck yeah,” Brice laughed. “Dude talked all this shit after he left. About how he made the right choice leaving. How IU was better."
LaPenna set down his pen, folding his hands on top of the notepad. “Why do you think it matters so much? That he left.”
Brice’s smile faded slightly. “What do you mean? He left us, you know. For a team that beat us. How are you going to do that? That’s some soft ass shit."
LaPenna nodded slowly. “That’s important to you. Loyalty.”
“It ain’t to you?"
“Would you ever transfer?”
Brice’s leg stopped bouncing. His hands moved to the armrests.
“What?” he asked.
“Would you transfer. To another school.”
“No.”
“You answered that pretty quickly.”
Brice shifted in his seat. "I don’t know, I guess I never thought about it really. I mean Purdue took a chance on me."
“You owe them.”
“Yeah.”
LaPenna picked up his pen again, writing something. “What does loyalty mean to you?”
Brice opened his mouth. Closed it. His brain reached for an answer that should’ve been easy but wasn’t.
“It means...” he started, then stopped. “It’s like, staying committed. To people. To your word.”
“Staying committed.”
“Yeah.”
“Even when things get difficult.”
“Especially when things get difficult.”
LaPenna’s pen kept moving. “And you consider yourself loyal.”
The words hung there. Brice could feel something tightening in his chest, that familiar pressure that came whenever he got too close to things he didn’t want to examine.
“Most of the time,” he heard himself say.
LaPenna looked up. “Most of the time.”
“Yeah.”
“What about the other times?”
Brice’s hands pressed harder into the armrests. His eyes moved to the diplomas on the wall, to the bookshelf in the corner, to anywhere except LaPenna’s face.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Brice said finally.
“I’m not asking you to say anything specific. I’m asking what you mean by ‘most of the time.’”
The silence pressed in from all sides. Brice could feel his heart rate picking up, could feel that urge to deflect, to change the subject, to make a joke that would shift the conversation somewhere safer.
“I just...” he started, his throat tight. “I’m not always loyal. Okay? Is that what you want to hear?”
LaPenna’s expression didn’t change. “I want to hear whatever you need to say.”
Brice’s leg started bouncing again, faster this time. The words were right there, pressing against the back of his teeth, words he’d never said out loud to anyone except his shadowy friend.
“I cheated on Connie,” he responded. “Like, a lot. Throughout high school. Multiple times. Multiple girls.”
Brice waited for judgment. Nothing came. Just that same neutral look, that same patient waiting.
“Honestly? I feel like like that’s why Skylar got pregnant,” Brice continued. “That’s gotta be karma, right?"
LaPenna didn’t answer.
“That’s why I can’t...” he trailed off, his vision blurring slightly. “It doesn’t feel right, you know? It’s not a blessing. It’s not some new life being added to the world or anything like that. It’s just fucking punishment and who the fuck wants that?"
…
Nia’s phone screen glowed in her hand, Brian’s text message still open. The bright lights overhead made everything in the grocery store too bright, too sharp. Her eyes hurt. Everything hurt, really, but she’d learned to function through it.
breakfast sandwhiches white bread cold cuts soda whatever vegetables are on sale chicken patties the ones that go in the air fry
The list wasn’t long. She could manage this. Wanted to manage it, actually. Almost two weeks of sleeping on Brian’s couch meant she owed him something beyond just existing in his space. Even if she was using the forty dollars he’d given her to buy the groceries in the first place.
She turned into the produce section, her cart squeaking with each push. She grabbed a bag of carrots that were half priced and then some broccoli that were BOGO.
Movement caught her eye at the end of the aisle. A woman pushing a stroller with one hand, guiding a cart with the other. Blonde hair. Something about her profile made Nia’s steps slow.
She’d seen that face before.
At the game. Standing with Jimmy’s mom. And at the cemetery, talking to Brice.
Nia’s cart followed the woman without her deciding to follow. She kept distance between them, moving through the aisles like she was just shopping, just getting her vegetables and cold cuts and whatever else was on Brian’s list. But her eyes stayed on the blonde woman, tracking her movements, watching how she checked items against her phone, how she paused to adjust the baby in the stroller.
The woman turned into the cereal aisle. Nia followed, her heart beating faster for reasons she couldn’t name. This woman knew Brice. Had been with him at Jimmy’s grave. That had to mean something. That had to connect to Jimmy somehow.
A can slipped from the woman’s hand, hitting the floor with a dull thud as it rolled slightly under the bottom shelf.
Nia moved before thinking, abandoning her cart and hurrying forward. She crouched down, her fingers finding the can of baked beans.
“Here,” Nia said, extending it toward her.
The woman turned, her face arranging itself into a polite smile. “Oh, thank you so much.”
Up close, she was younger than Nia had thought. Maybe early twenties, if that. Pretty in that conventional way that made Nia aware of her own unwashed hair, her baggy hoodie with the stain on the sleeve, her scuffed sneakers.
The woman took the car, setting it in her cart. Nia’s eyes dropped to the stroller.
The baby was awake, his eyes unfocused but open, his tiny hand curled against his chest. She stared. Couldn’t stop staring. The baby’s face was perfect, untouched by anything bad. His cheeks were round and pink. His fingers were so small.
“He’s beautiful,” Nia heard herself say.
“Thank you.” the woman’s voice had changed slightly. Tighter. Careful.
Nia looked up, meeting the woman’s eyes. She was watching Nia with an expression that Nia recognized from other people’s faces. That wariness. That assessment. Taking in the dark circles under Nia’s eyes, the way her clothes hung loose, the general disheveled existence she’d become. Nia could see it written across her face.
“I’m Nia,” she said quickly, trying to sound normal, whatever normal sounded like. “You look really familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?”
The woman’s smile tightened further. “I don’t think so.”
“Are you sure? I feel like I’ve seen you before.”
“No, I don’t think we’ve met.” the woman’s hand moved to the stroller handle, her body already turning away. “Have a good day.”
…
Serena sat at a table near the windows with five of her sorority sisters, their trays spread out between them. Kennedi was scrolling through her phone, occasionally turning it to show the group hotel prices in Indianapolis. The numbers kept climbing.
“That’s fucking insane,” Jasmine’s fork stopped halfway to her mouth.
“That’s the cheap option,” Kennedi said, still scrolling. “Everything closer is like six hundred."
“We could split it,” Kimmy offered.
“There’s still gas and food and then tickets to the tailgate even with the discount.” Jasmine set down her fork.
“That’s if we stay overnight,” Kennedi shrugged. “We could just drive back after the game.”
“We’re all going to be trying to get lit and no one’s going to want to be DD.”
“Better than spending all that money."
Serena picked at her salad, listening but not contributing.
“What about you?” Kennedy turned toward her.
Serena looked up, a small smile playing at her lips. “I’m good.”
The table went quiet for a second. Then Jasmine laughed. “Oh, we know you’re good.”
“What?” Serena’s smile widened.
“Bitch, please.” Kennedi leaned forward, her voice dropping to a mock whisper. “We all know where you’re staying.”
“The penthouse,” Kimmy said, drawing out the words.
The table erupted in laughter. Serena let them have their moment, her expression carefully controlled, playing into it just enough.
“I mean,” Serena said once the laughter died down, “All I know is I ain’t splitting a room with you broke hoes."
More laughter. Kennedi threw a wadded-up napkin at her. Jasmine shook her head, still grinning.
The laughter cut off abruptly.
Serena followed their gazes. Mel stood just inside the entrance, her tray in her hands, her eyes scanning the dining hall. She saw them. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second. Then Mel turned, moving toward a table on the opposite side of the room, sitting down by herself.
“This is fucked up, y’all,” Kimmy shook her head.
Serena sucked her teeth. “Don’t.”
“I’m just saying—“
“She made her choice,” Serena cut her off, her voice flat. “Hating ass bitch chose to blow up the whole friend group over some dick that wasn’t even hers.”
Kimmy opened her mouth like she wanted to argue, then closed it.
“She’s the one who caused all this drama,” Serena continued, her fork stabbing at her salad. “She made her bed. Now she can lie in it.”
The table stayed quiet. Kennedi went back to her phone. Jasmine pushed food around on her plate. Kimmy kept glancing toward where Mel sat alone, her expression troubled.
Serena ate her salad, chewing slowly, her eyes fixed on her tray. She swallowed, took another bite, and didn’t look toward Mel’s table again.
