He's advising, as usual.
hell of a time, though (im guessing)
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Vic watched Angela effortlessly flip the eggs, her face alight with a contentment that had been so rare in recent years. As she deftly maneuvered the spatula, he was struck by how much he had missed this - the simple domestic bliss of cooking together, of being in each other's orbit without the weight of the world pressing down on them.
There was a seriousness about Angela that Vic always appreciated, especially in their younger years when they began dating. Unlike other girls her age, she was matured, self-assured and self determined; a reflecting of the man that Vic wanted to become. Those final years in Los Angeles, however, that seriousness had weighed heavily on both of them as they tried to figure out their future together with college decisions that had driven them further apart, literally and figuratively. But as they stood in the kitchen, Vic was reminded of the playfulness that their relationship once housed.
"Careful, chef," he teased, bumping her hip playfully. "Don't want to ruin breakfast."
Angela shot him a mock glare, but the corners of her mouth twitched with barely suppressed laughter. "As if you could do any better. You’re skin and bones and it ain’t because of how much you’re working out. You can’t fool me.”
The banter was familiar, comfortable, and Vic felt something in his chest loosen. This was right, this was home. Not the cramped dorm with Jessica or the hurried meals grabbed between shifts, but this - the two of them, in their own little world, unburdened by the chaos that had consumed their lives.
"If you want a beer belly on your boy, just get me some forties real quick," Vic laughed, "Some South Central Mimosas would go crazy right now."
"Don’t get any ideas," Angela scoffed, "D.C. got so many of those cringe ass places with those edgy names for overpriced bacon and eggs.”
"Sounds like I need to move out there and get in on the grift," Vic scoffed, "I got ignorant food titles for days, baby."
"I wouldn’t mind doing this in D.C. as well," Angela teased, returning her attention to the eggs.
As she did, he briefly considered telling her about Jessica, about the baby, but the words stuck in his throat. How could he shatter this fragile peace, this respite from the reality they would inevitably have to face? Angela's smile was radiant, her whole being at ease, and he couldn't bear to be the one to wipe that away.
…
Dro paced the cramped office, the writing on the wall becoming increasingly hard to ignore. He had known that Rommel was spiraling, consumed by rage, and his recklessness played right into Stacks' hands. Stacks had made his move, using Keon as a pawn to knock Rommel of his game and eventually off the map, leaving Dro without his right hand man and a severed relationship with his arms dealer, a Wood.
It was a brilliant move from his nephew, the kind of clever maneuver that he didn’t expect from his younger counterpart. Maybe he was ready to lead.
As Dro looked around the mostly empty auto body shop, it was a reminder of his dwindling numbers. While a small number had been casualties of war, the vast majority had left on their own accord, choosing to switch sides or stay on the sidelines until a winner emerged. A large portion of Dro’s supporters were older guys that had regular jobs whose lifestyle did not lend to being able to be on the block, showing force while Stacks had a long line of young and able bodied crash outs that were still looking to earn their stripes.
Stacks had the dope, which gave him the financial edge, and he had the numbers and without the Woods connection, Dro was now also losing the arm’s race. As he sat in his office, he came to the realization that the only way to flip the tide would be to get the Woods back on his side. He’d near to broker not only peace with the Woods but foster a new relationship, one that would need to be forged inside the prison. In there, only one man could do that. He just happened to be Stacks’ best friend.
…
Keshawn sank back into the plush leather couch, letting the familiar theme song of The Office wash over him. Just as he was starting to relax, he heard a knock on his apartment door. He slowly got up off the couch, his body still sore from his last stretch of private workouts. As he made his way to the door, he wondered who it could be, perhaps his mother dropping off some meals for the week.
"It pays to play a sport well, I see," Nadia nodded as she walked into the apartment, foregoing any traditional greeting.
"Good to see you, too," Keshawn raised his eyebrows, "How did you…"
"Come on," Nadia scoffed, "How do you think?"
"I guess I should be flattered you’re stalking me," Keshawn shrugged, "You want a tour or you already got that already while I was asleep?"
"You’ve seen one of these, you’ve seen them all," Nadia dropped her bag on the floor, planting herself on the couch, "LA isn’t exactly scare on overpriced, luxury apartments that take up areas that should be green spaces or I don’t know, actually contribute to the community."
"And your grandfather’s waterfront property, is what, a natural reserve?"
"I didn’t ask for that," she countered, her tone carrying a more serious nature, "Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do if you think that’s some sort of dig at me."
"I’m just saying," Keshawn held his hands up, "Do you want something to drink?"
"Don’t change the subject now," Nadia’s eyes narrowed, "I haven’t seen you at any of the ICE protests, not even a single social media post."
"I don’t know if you heard but I’m kind of busy," Keshawn defended himself, "I don’t exactly have the bandwidth for that right now."
"Exactly,” she huffed, "So don’t throw my family’s money in my face like that defines me or anything."
"This apartment doesn’t define me either," Keshawn joined her on the couch, keeping a healthy distance.
Nadia paused, her shoulders relaxing. "It is a nice place."
"Thanks," Keshawn smiled, amused by the usual ebb and flow of their conversations. While he would have preferred for it to be less combative, he was just glad that she was here.
They lapsed into an awkward silence, the only sound the muffled laughter from the TV. Finally, Nadia spoke up again. "Do you ever feel guilty about it? About having all this while others have so little?"
Keshawn considered the question. He thought of Vic, who had put in countless more hours than Keshawn when it came to refining his game over the years. His Aunt Elly, a hard working woman who would never touch a fraction of what he was set to earn. Even his parents’ previous success would pail in comparison to the riches coming his way.
"I guess, sometimes," Keshawn shrugged, "But it’s not like I didn’t earn it. Not saying others that don’t have it didn’t but I know the work that went into this and how this is going to change a lot of people’s lives, not just mine."
Nadia nodded slowly. "I guess that's true." She uncrossed her arms, shifting slightly closer to him on the couch.
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Captain Canada
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I know Nadia is supposed to just be tough but if Keshawn don't kick her ass out of the crib? Disrespectful as hell.
Also fuck Vic.
Also fuck Vic.
Neighborhood.
Stall em out, Vic! They on your head, king.Captain Canada wrote: ↑08 Jul 2025, 12:50I know Nadia is supposed to just be tough but if Keshawn don't kick her ass out of the crib? Disrespectful as hell.
Also fuck Vic.
Neighborhood.
Jessica's face crumpled, tears streaming down her cheeks as Vic's words sank in. "So what am I, just some side bitch you got pregnant?"
Vic winced, reaching out to touch her arm, but she jerked away. "No, Jess, that's not what I meant—"
"What the fuck is it then?" She wiped angrily at her eyes. "I didn’t sign up to be your baby momma, Vic, I wanted to raise a family with you! That’s what you told me! That’s what you promised me!"
"I don't know what to do, okay?" Vic ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "This whole situation is fucked up. Obviously none of us wanted this shit to play out like this. I didn’t mean to hurt you, I was just trying to figure this shit out in real life."
Vic tried to keep his voice low as another car drove past them, posted up near his car parked in Jessica’s parent’s driveway. He had shown up about an hour ago, right after his shift ended and headed to Jessica’s to finally break the news to her. He wouldn’t be breaking up with her, his life was with Angela, that much was clear to him. What that meant for Jessica and their unborn baby, he wasn’t sure.
"But you did hurt me." Jessica's voice was raw with pain. "And now I'm stuck here, pregnant and alone, while you get to just go back to your perfect little life with Angela."
Vic opened his mouth to respond, but the words couldn’t formulate. He did want to go back to Angela and while their lives were far from perfect, whatever version he would be able to piece back together after all of this with her was better, in his mind, than any version with Jessica.
"I don’t know what to say," Vic finally mustered, "I’ll be there for you, take care of this child no matter what we got going on, alright? I’m not abandoning you, Jess, this just can’t work out, not like we thought it could."
…
Quincy manned the grill although Eleanora’s eyes didn’t wander off too much, not afraid to provide some constructive criticism in between sips of her drink. Lorraine hovered nearby, treating the friendly bickering between the siblings as her form of entertainment.
"What you know about barbecuing, woman?" Quincy finally looked back after her fifth remark regarding it might be time to flip the wings, "This here is some crispy wings, Elly, none of that soggy shit!"
"I’ve been cooking for you since you was in pampers!" Eleanora cackled, drawing laughter from the rest of the crowd.
"And now we know why I’m all messed up and shit!" Quincy teased right back, sending the crowd into a laughing fit, "This whole time I thought it was me and it was you that set me up!"
Elijah wondered around, never too far from the table with the refreshments, keeping himself properly hydrated as he knocked back cup after cup, his personal bar in his back pocket as it was a dry affair, likely a courtesy to Quincy. He kept an eye on Teddy, Simone’s boyfriend, who had shown up to the affair. Elijah initially found it mildly inappropriate, this was supposed to be about family. Once the flurry of former teammates began showing up, ranging from Thornwood to Hamilton to his UCLA ones, he lost all notion of that. His son’s reach and popularity stretched further than he had realized, giving him just the excuse he needed to get proper drunk. Everyone would be too busy to notice anyway.
Keshawn grabbed a plate of food and found a quiet spot at the edge of the festivities. From this vantage point, he could take in the entire scene—his family and friends celebrating him, their faces lit by string lights hanging between the park's trees.
His eyes landed on Vic and Angela, huddled together near the dessert table. Angela fed Vic a bite of cake, laughing as frosting caught on his chin. Despite everything, they seemed genuinely happy together. Keshawn felt a wave of relief seeing his cousin with the stability Angela provided—the woman who'd always challenged Vic to be better, to dream bigger. However the situation with Jessica and their child played out, he’d be a better man for it if Angela was with him.
Not far from them, Quincy stood tall and clear-eyed, flipping burgers with a steadiness Keshawn hadn't seen in years. No trembling hands, no glassy stare. Just his uncle, present and engaged, cracking jokes that had everyone in stitches.
Keshawn turned to see Stefan approaching, breaking free from the crowd of his other former UCLA teammates.
"Stefan," Keshawn nodded, dapping him up.
They stood in momentary silence before Stefan spoke. "Look, cuz, I was on one the other night and I just came to—"
"It's all good," Keshawn interrupted.
"Nah, let me say this," Stefan insisted. "That whole thing was stupid. Wasn't even about nothing for real."
"I ain’t take it no way, bro," Keshawn assured him, "I know how you get on that liquor, trust me."
"That Alexis bitch ain't worth a quarter anyway," Stefan chuckled, shaking his head.
Keshawn couldn't help but laugh. "You right about that."
They dapped up, the tension dissolving between them.
"You still working out with us this summer?" Stefan asked.
"For sure. Gonna be some legendary runs with Rico."
"No doubt," Stefan nodded.
Their conversation drifted to basketball and summer plans, the earlier conflict forgotten. As night fell and the party began to wind down, Keshawn noticed a familiar figure lingering near the entrance to the park.
Nadia stood alone, arms wrapped around herself despite the warm evening. She looked uncertain, like she might turn and leave at any moment.
"I'll catch you later," Keshawn told Stefan, already moving toward her.
As he approached, Nadia's eyes met his. "I wasn't sure if I should come."
"I'm glad you did," Keshawn said honestly.
They strolled along the park's perimeter, away from the noise of the party. Crickets chirped in the grass beside them, and somewhere in the distance, a car alarm briefly sounded before falling silent.
"So," Nadia began, her voice softer than usual, "New York next week."
"Yeah," Keshawn nodded. "Feels like it’s all happening at once, honestly."
"You nervous?"
"Terrified," he admitted with a small laugh. "But excited too. I kind of feel like when I was picking a school, you know, except now I really have no control over it whatsoever."
They reached a bench overlooking a small pond, its surface reflecting the moon in rippling silver. Nadia sat, and Keshawn joined her, careful to leave space between them.
"This is like so fucking corny but I don’t do it now, I don’t think I ever will," Nadia said after a long pause. "I have feelings for you, Keshawn."
The admission hung in the air between them. Keshawn turned to look at her profile, illuminated by moonlight.
"But I'm scared," she continued, staring straight ahead. "The way I feel when I'm with you—safe, understood—it scares me. After what happened with my mom, trusting anyone that deeply feels impossible."
"Nadia—"
"Let me finish," she said gently. "You're about to enter this whole new world. You need someone who can be there for you completely, who isn't afraid of their own shadow, who is not dealing with her own fucking shit and unpacking her trauma." She finally turned to face him. "I don't think I can be what you need right now."
Keshawn took a moment to process her words. In the distance, he could see Angela laughing with his mother, Aunt Elly dancing with her 'gentleman friend' that she had brought around for the first time, Simone taking photos with her old high school friends. The women who had shaped him, supported him, loved him through everything.
"I don’t need you to be my girlfriend or whatever for you to be in my life," he said finally. "You’re important to me, no matter what that looks like. Like you said, I’m about to go through a lot of shit, a lot of changes so I need all the good people I know around me, in my life.
Relief softened Nadia's features. "So I didn’t ruin your great night with my dumbass feelings?"
"Just a little bit," Keshawn smiled. "I'm just glad you're here."
They sat in comfortable silence, watching the party from afar. Tomorrow would bring new challenges—New York, the draft, the beginning of his professional career. But tonight, surrounded by the people who cared about him, Keshawn felt ready for whatever came next.
"We should probably head back," Nadia suggested after a while. "It is your party, after all."
"Yeah," Keshawn stood, offering her his hand.
As they walked back toward the lights and laughter, Keshawn felt a strange sense of completion. The journey that had brought him here—from Baldwin Hills to Baldwin Village, from Thornwood to Hamilton to UCLA—had prepared him for more than just basketball. It had taught him about family, about loyalty, about finding your people and holding them close.
Whatever came next, he wouldn't face it alone.
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 4741
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I can't for this mountain to collapse on that dude's head. Vic trash 
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Captain Canada wrote: ↑08 Jul 2025, 16:54I can't for this mountain to collapse on that dude's head. Vic trash
ask and ye shall receive. season finale up next.
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Should've yeeted that fetus.
This nigga playing the long game on this pussy or what...? He could've cracked right there but he want to hold hands?!
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The weight of the moment settled on Keshawn's shoulders like a heavy mantle as he stood in the bustling green room, surrounded by the whispers and anxious energy of his fellow prospects. The green room surprised him in its simplicity, just a dozen or so round tables draped in black linen scattered around a ballroom under the bright, sterile stage lights. The room was small, tight even. There were was no music, no phones ringing, just the low hum of TV cameras and the occasional murmur from the next table over.
Keshawn’s eyes remained trained on the logos that served as the backdrop of the stage, one of them being his future home. For the first time in a while, Keshawn once again felt like he didn’t belong as he had a hard time picturing himself putting on any of those jerseys. Philadelphia next to Paul George, Joel Embiid and Tyrese Maxey? No, that didn’t feel right. Neither did Charlotte, Utah, Washington or any of the teams up there. The last logo kept calling at him — the Los Angeles Clippers. It would mean a return home but also that things had gone terrible wrong. The truth of the matter was, before any picks were made, the pit in Keshawn’s stomach made him feel like it already had.
He turned to Coach Bronstein, his mentor and guide through this whirlwind journey, and voiced the doubts that had been gnawing at him, surprising even himself with his honesty. "I wouldn’t mind being back at UCLA right now, getting ready for next season."
Bronstein's weathered face softened with understanding as he placed a firm hand on Keshawn's shoulder. "Look around you, boychick. This night, no matter what happens, you've already changed the lives of everyone in this room." He gestured toward Keshawn’s family—his parents, his beaming sister—who waited eagerly in the wings. "Your family, they're going to be set for generations. That's what this is about."
Keshawn felt a lump rise in his throat as the weight of Bronstein's words sank in. This wasn't just about him and his dreams or his fears anymore; it was about providing a better future for the people he loved most. The uncertainty that had plagued him melted away, replaced by a renewed sense of purpose. No one in his family had been drafted in the NBA before. No one in his family had ever been a millionaire. He would accomplish both within a couple hours. He’d figure out the rest later.
…
Angela hurried out of the office, her mind racing as she tried to time how long it would take her to get home. Vic had assured her that Keshawn likely wouldn’t be taken in the first two picks but there was a strong possibility he would go early in the draft as she tried to race the traffic back home. Vic would be coming over as soon as his shift ended, hoping to watch the moment when Keshawn would be drafted. She wanted to be there too, celebrating the moment with Vic.
As she approached her car door, a flash of movement caught her eye—a woman with dark hair and a ginger gait was walking towards her.
Angela's steps slowed as the woman came into focus, revealing a swollen belly and a face etched with a mixture of anger and sadness.
"Are you Angela?" Jessica muttered, steadying herself as the two women examined each other. She was prettier than Jessica anticipated, her natural beauty coming through better in person than on social media. There was a fierceness yet softness to her features, qualities she was sure attracted Vic to Angela in the first place.
"Yeah?" Angela’s mind raced. Maybe this was related to her mother. A long lost cousin? Sister, even, from some secret family his father had? No, he would never. He was too great of a man.
"Can I help you?" Angela's words caught in her throat as Jessica closed the distance between them.
"I don’t really know how to do this or what I’m supposed to really say so I’m just going to say it," Jessica blurted out, her voice tight with emotion. "If I was in your shoes, I would want to know so this isn’t me coming at you or anything like that it’s just…I’m pregnant."
"I...I don't understand," Angela shook her head, desperate for some understanding or revelation that would come. Something other than the truth which was beginning to fall into place.
"I’m pregnant with Vic’s baby," Jessica finally said flatly, the words lifting a weight off her shoulders and landing on Angela’s.
Angela stared at her, stunned. Vic's baby. The words echoed in her mind, each one a sharp blow. She felt the ground shift beneath her feet, her carefully constructed plans crumbling. The betrayal was a physical pain, sinking its claws into her chest. All this time, Vic had been with another woman, had...Angela closed her eyes, unwilling to even finish that thought. As she thought of her own guilt, her cliched fling with Paige, she only got angrier. Here she was stressing about her transgressions but at least she didn’t bring another person’s child into their relationship, into their orbit.
"I'm sorry," Jessica whispered, her voice trembling. "I know this is a lot to take in, but I needed you to hear it from me. I couldn't let you find out some other way. He said he was going to tell you but that’s obviously not the case and wasn’t going to be."
Angela's gaze hardened as she looked at the woman standing before her, the woman who had so casually shattered her world. In that moment, she felt no sympathy, no desire to understand. All she knew was the burning need to get away, to escape this reality that was crashing down around her.
…
"I just don’t want the camera to add ten pounds on me," Gayle shook her head as she took a sip of her drink, being careful to place the cup back into a coaster. Lamont was very particular about water stains on his table.
"Girl, you look great," Kandi assured her, "These are your prime years, enjoy them. When you’re eating watermelon for six days straight just so you can sneak into a dress, then you can complain about those ten pounds."
"You are tiny," Gayle scoffed as their conversation continued to serve as the backdrop for the end of their recording session with Lamont. The veteran producer had his headphones on, playing back a few of the tracks that they had just recorded. Both Gayle and Kandi were sick of their respective voices and gladly took the reprieve, hanging out in the lounge area of the studio, "I almost copped that dress I was telling you about but the way my rolls be looking sometimes? I wasn’t about to be out here looking like a mess for my first video."
Kandi leaned back into the couch, eyeing Gayle with amusement. "Let me see this dress you been talking about for days now. What you wore was fine, you’re stressing for no reason."
"It was on Instagram," Gayle grabbed her phone, which had gone dead, "Shit, forgot to charge it."
Kandi reached over, grabbing hers and tossing it towards to Gayle, "Just use my phone."
Gayle hesitated, fingers hovering over the screen. "I don't know, girl. I'm still not sure about it."
"Come on, I need to see the look that's got you all in your head," Kandi pressed, her ruby red lips curling into a playful smile, "It’s not like you won’t have plenty of opportunity to wear that shit somewhere else. Especially if you go out on tour with me."
"Don’t tease me," Gayle laughed.
As she scrolled to Instagram, she navigated to the search page and as soon as she clicked on the magnifying glass, a familiar name and face popped up. Keshawn’s profile. Gayle froze as she looked at Kandi who was waiting in anticipation.
"You found it?"
"No, not yet," Gayle began typing as thoughts ran through her mind. Maybe she was just curious about who he was. Maybe she had heard that he was going to be drafted. Maybe it was nothing, just innocent curiosity. Or maybe it was something, or the very least the start of it.
…
Keshawn's heart sank as Brooklyn called Egor Demin's name, the Russian forward slipping on the Nets cap with a broad grin. He told himself it didn't matter, that he didn't want to play in the high-tax state of New York anyway, but the sting of being passed over was beginning to stung. Top five was ideal, top ten was expected.
When Toronto selected Tre Johnson next, Keshawn let out a humorless chuckle. "I don’t like the cold anyway," he muttered to himself, picturing the bitter Canadian winters.
He glanced over at his parents, their faces not yet etched with concern, giving him a reassuring nod. This was just the beginning, he told himself. The draft was a marathon, not a sprint. There were still plenty of teams to go. He’d go top fifteen, surely.
"I’ve got a good feeling about this one," Coach Bronstein winked towards Keshawn. Keshawn forced a smile. He had a good feeling about Charlotte, Washington and Brooklyn.
As the picks continued, Keshawn felt the pit in his stomach growing. Teams he'd interviewed with, teams he'd been convinced were interested, passed him over one by one. The thought of slipping out of the lottery, began to feel more of a reality. He thought about UCLA, what a return would have looked like. The unlikely freshman that brought back a national championship to Los Angeles foregoing millions for the Blue and Gold. At least there, he'd be a star, the centerpiece of a team gunning for a championship. Here, in this green room, he was just another prospect, waiting and hoping to hear his name called.
The buzzing of his phone in his pocket silenced the room, bringing the phone’s screen into focus as he pulled it out of his pocket. This was a brand new phone that Coach Bronstein had suggested he purchased. No one else, besides NBA front offices, had the number. The number and area code was unfamiliar certainly not one of the ones he had saved in his contacts following his various meetings with different teams.
He took a deep breath and swiped to answer, ignoring the widening eyes of those around the table as he brought it to ear.
"Hello?" he said, trying to keep his voice steady.
"Keshawn Chase?" a voice responded. "This is Joe Cronin, GM of the Portland Trail Blazers. How're you doing, son?"