Jimmy about pull a Brice on Nia. She need to run now. That whole family got issues.
Jimmy the good one, I'd be worried about the opposite. This Nia bitch plotting to baby trap him
Connie definitely a stage five clinger, trauma or not. Tbf, she is pretty fresh out of a DV-esque relationship where she should probably stay single a bit to find herself. Patterns gonna pattern.
Brice showing accountability in his own mistakes is growth I'll give him that. I hope he screws Mel over just so he gets stomped out, teach him some humility
Season 4, Episode 13
Liz was already moving with purpose, keys clinking in her hand as she checked the time on her phone for the third time in five minutes. Saturday mornings meant an early start, meant traffic and parking and cold bleachers.
Tom stood at the stove, sleeves rolled up, turning sausage links with a fork. The smell of grease and coffee filled the kitchen, the normalcy of it all almost rehearsed. He glanced toward the staircase for the second time.
Sophie sat slouched at the island, hoodie pulled over her head, scrolling on her phone with one hand while pushing cereal around her bowl with the other. Her leg bounced under the counter.
“I don’t even know why I have to go,” she muttered, loud enough for them to hear.
Liz shot her a look without turning fully around.
"Fix your face,” she said. “You’ll be glad you came to these someday.”
Sophie snorted. “Yeah, whatever."
Tom cleared his throat gently. "It’s the last one of the year."
“That’s what she said,” Sophie replied, jerking her chin toward Liz, "But then when they play IU, you’re going to be like 'oh, it’s his last game of the season and it’s not even far'."
Liz opened her mouth, thought better of it, and instead scanned the kitchen again. Empty chair. Cold plate set off to the side.
“Jimmy,” she called out, voice rising toward the stairs. “Breakfast.”
Nothing.
She waited a beat, then tried again, louder. “James.”
Still nothing.
The room shifted. Not dramatically—just enough.
Liz turned toward Sophie. “Go get your brother.”
Sophie groaned, dropping her head back against the counter. “Why do I—”
“Because I asked you to,” Liz snapped, sharper than she probably meant. “Please.”
Sophie slid off the stool, dragging her feet toward the stairs, muttering under her breath as she went.
Tom watched her go, then glanced at Liz. “Go easy on her,” he said quietly.
Liz scoffed, arms folding tight across her chest. “I am easy on her.”
Tom didn’t argue. He never did, not anymore. He turned back to the stove, nudging Jimmy’s eggs around the skillet, reheating them.
The house was quiet for a few seconds—just the sizzle of the pan, the hum of the refrigerator.
Then a scream tore down the staircase.
“Mom! Dad!”
…
Brice sat on the wooden bench, elbows resting on his knees as he taped his wrists with practiced precision. Same order. Same tight pull. He pressed the tape down with his thumb, feeling for any give, then flexed his hands until it felt right. Around him, the locker room hummed—music thudding low from a speaker, the hiss of compression sleeves being tugged on, the dull thump of shoulder pads dropped to the floor.
He pulled his jersey over his head, smoothed it down, then stood to adjust his pads in the mirror bolted to the inside of his locker. Brice reached into his locker and grabbed his phone, more out of habit than necessity. No new notifications. No missed calls. No texts.
He shut the door with a solid click, spun the lock, and tugged once to make sure it held.
