American Sun

[Captain Canada]

Caine got a new infatuation. He gonna trip up again

[Caesar]

You want her to sell hole so bad to justify this hate you been throwing at her for 100 chapters!

the only thing I hate is how she acts better than it, until she can justify it as a means to an end, do said act, then act like its beneath her again.

She want to sell hole? More power to her. But don't act like her new friends have corrupt morales when we know she's done the same thing before and probably for less money lol

Anyway

Caine boo tripping on Laney hate to see it gonna have his pick of the litter once he starts dropping dimes on the field, not to mention Rylee's crazy ass, but he'd rather get caught up in the married pussy with a whole ass man that he don't know if she'll actually leave

at least that boy Brice be smashing his hoes, Caine can't get more than a kiss from the one he really wants

Hey man. That’s how the cycle goes.

Why would Caine want some college bitches that just got off the porch when he could have a vet?

Brice beat women, too.

called us crazy when we called this shit weeks ago

never wrong, just early

Got your nooticer badge back.

Caine got a new infatuation. He gonna trip up again

Why yall man doubt Caine’s ability to be slick so hard?

[redsox907]

Why would Caine want some college bitches that just got off the porch when he could have a vet?

in your own words:

She got married at 19 what is she going to teach him?

I dispute that fact, but the creator said it so

[Chillcavern]

Caine’s taking his own path to enjoying the fruits of being a college QB I see lol. Now that Caine’s settled into Statesboro we can get some games

Mireya’s finding out where her exact line is. She’s got enough trauma from Leo’s creepy ass that she doesn’t need to revisit that, at least while she can pay the bills any other way. Good for her holding that personal line as she’s feeling herself out.

She does really have a tendency to hold stuff in until it explodes on the people around her though - hopefully there’s someone she can be fully honest with in the future. If he’s not a throwaway, perhaps Jordan? I would say Caine but he’s fuckboi’d that away and they have…expectations of each other as co-parents. She just pissed off and shoved away her friends, and her co-workers are mostly emotionally shut off. Nobody knows the full story so she just confuses the shit out of the people in her life.

[Caesar]

Why would Caine want some college bitches that just got off the porch when he could have a vet?

in your own words:

She got married at 19 what is she going to teach him?

I dispute that fact, but the creator said it so

She did get married at 19, but who knows what she was doing before that? Rural living has a tendency to make people freaky deeky out of boredom.

Caine’s taking his own path to enjoying the fruits of being a college QB I see lol. Now that Caine’s settled into Statesboro we can get some games

Mireya’s finding out where her exact line is. She’s got enough trauma from Leo’s creepy ass that she doesn’t need to revisit that, at least while she can pay the bills any other way. Good for her holding that personal line as she’s feeling herself out.

She does really have a tendency to hold stuff in until it explodes on the people around her though - hopefully there’s someone she can be fully honest with in the future. If he’s not a throwaway, perhaps Jordan? I would say Caine but he’s fuckboi’d that away and they have…expectations of each other as co-parents. She just pissed off and shoved away her friends, and her co-workers are mostly emotionally shut off. Nobody knows the full story so she just confuses the shit out of the people in her life.

Caine's always marched to the beat of his own drum

You're not wrong about her having enough trauma from Leo.

We'll have to see how that pans out. Though she is mostly (stretching mostly) honest with Sara as awkward as that is with Sara being Caine's mother.

[Caesar]

Walk By Pain, Not By Faith

Laney tucked herself into the shade line the press box threw across the bleachers, sunglasses giving her a thin wall to hide behind. Heat still got at her knees through the aluminum. A whistle chopped the air. Helmets flashed blue and white down on the field, boys in shirts and lanyards moving like a school of fish along the rail.

Taela slid in beside her with a paper cup sweating cold and a bag of boiled peanuts rustling in her lap. “You know,” she said, voice low and easy, “we should’ve just come here. I think your folks would’ve let that fly.”

Laney shifted the cup she’d brought up from the concession stand, lid soft with condensation. “It wouldn’t’ve been my mama and daddy you’d be convincin’,” she said, the words slow behind the sunglasses. “That ain’t never been the problem.”

Taela waved her hand, dismissing the thought like a fly. “Tommy ain’t would’ve had no say in it if you’d got ‘em on board before we graduated.”

“Well,” Laney said, tone flat as she watched a punt turn end over end, “I wanted to go to UGA or Tech ‘fore then, so still would’ve felt like somethin’ I ain’t want.”

A cluster of college kids clanged up the steps and settled a row above, knees knocking metal, the smell of sunscreen tagging along. Down the bleachers, Knox, Braxton, and Hunter had wedged themselves onto a narrow row closer to the field, all elbows and commentary, the three of them near enough to the action to feel important. Knox kept pointing like a sideline coach. Braxton tried to mimic the quarterbacks’ feet, small sneakers shuffling. Hunter bounced in place and echoed whatever his brothers said about it.

On the field, Caine jogged toward the near sideline, helmet hanging from gloved fingers, towel tucked, the kind of calm that read even from yards away. He scanned the stands the way players did. His eyes found movement across the way and set. Mireya sat with Camila on the far side, a line of little girls with bows and beads throwing soft color under the sun. Camila spotted him, hands coming up in a tiny wave so big for her small body that her ponytail tipped. Caine lifted his hand and waved back, small and sure.

He turned his head and his gaze caught Laney’s. She felt it, the way attention could lay across you without touching. She let one second pass, then turned back to the field and took a drink, cold hitting behind her teeth.

Taela’s palm popped Laney’s knee. “Delaney Marie Hadden,” she hissed, grinning, “you did not.”

Laney didn’t take off her sunglasses. “I don’t know what you suggestin’ I did,” she said, “but I ain’t did whatever it is.”

“Mmm.” Taela bumped her shoulder into Laney’s, gentle. “You know I ain’t telling Tommy nothing.”

“Ain’t nothin’ to tell ‘cause ain’t nothin’ happened.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Taela said, eyebrows up just enough to tease.

Laney leaned forward onto her knees, elbows braced, thumbs worrying the base of her ring and turning it once, then back again. “I ain’t never done nothin’ to disrespect my marriage,” she said, voice even. “And this ain’t no different. Keep them stories out your head.”

Taela laughed and reached to still Laney’s hands with a warm press. “I’m just messing, girl. But the way that boy was looking at you? Even got me a lil’ hot and bothered.”

Laney snorted. “You pregnant. A strong wind could get you hot and bothered.”

“And does,” Taela said, deadpan, then cracked a smile and popped a peanut from the shell with her thumb. “Lord, these too salty.”

“Good,” Laney said. “Keep you from eatin’ the bag whole.”

A horn blared and the first unit set, the hum of the place tightening. A line of players from the high school a few rows down leaned into the rail. Some dad two seats over started explaining coverage like he was on headset. The sun found the back of Laney’s neck where the shade slipped and she tugged her hair up to let air at her skin. Taela fanned both of them with the game program until the staple yelped.

Laney looked down the bleachers at her three boys. Knox had his arms crossed and his jaw set, the tiny version of Tommy’s don’t-argue-with-me face. Braxton had one knee pulled up and was chewing the inside of his cheek, thinking harder than he needed to about a game he didn’t fully understand yet. Hunter had both hands on the rail and was humming something invented, happy to make the metal sing.

She let her eyes rest there. The ring sat where it belonged, warm from her skin. Laney kept her sunglasses on and her voice to herself, and the scrimmage wrote its own noise in front of her while her boys—spitting images of their daddy—argued the ins and outs of football a few rows down, like the world didn’t weigh a thing.

~~~

Caine crouched behind the center, breath steady, hands flexing once before he set. The murmur from the stands rose and fell, a low current under the heat. He glanced left—Dylan widened his split, one step off the numbers. Right—David settled, knees bent, ready for the fake.

He barked the cadence. The ball was clean into his hands. He rocked back, extended the ball to his belly, showing the fake before tucking it tight.

The line formed a wall in front of him. He planted his back foot, eyes cutting upfield. Dylan streaked past Ayden, jersey tugged, daylight flashing behind him.

Caine let it go. The spiral hung sharp and fast, cutting through the heavy air. Dylan caught it in stride, pulled it in, and ran the last ten yards untouched.

Caine exhaled through his mouthguard, lifted both hands once, punching the air, then jogged toward the sideline as the whistle blew and the players on the sideline clapped their teammates on their helmets in a brief rush of sound.

…

Caine stood near the forty, helmet off, air damp against his forehead. Weston jogged out for the next series, smacking his hands against his thigh pads as he called the huddle together.

Caine watched the line set. Weston dropped three steps and hit his plant foot quick. Jeremiah broke across the middle, cutting between two safeties.

The ball left Weston’s hand and curved into space. Jeremiah caught it clean, lowered his shoulder on Tracy, and pushed downfield until a whistle cut him off near the twenty.

Applause came thin from the bleachers. Caine rolled his shoulders once, eyes tracking the chains moving up. Weston looked back toward the sideline, nodding like it was routine. Caine only tapped the helmet in his hands and waited for his turn.

…

“Green 80… Green 80…”

Sweat lined the edge of his gloves. He barked out audibles, voice cutting through the noise. Trey’Dez nodded from the far side, ready on the out route.

He called for the snap. Caine dropped back, eyes flicking through his reads. He saw Chance sit low and went for the window anyway. The throw came out hot, too much air under it.

Trey’Dez stretched, fingertips grazing leather before it sailed out of reach.

Caine smacked his palms together once, jaw tight. He looked toward the sideline as the whistle blew—series over. He took a slow breath, tapping the front of his helmet twice before trotting off.

…

Caine dropped to one knee near the sideline, helmet resting against his thigh. Weston was already back behind center, voice sharp through the quiet lull between whistles.

The snap came fast. Weston hit his drop and stared down the seam too long. Carlos read it, breaking from his spot before the receiver even turned.

The ball hit his chest clean. He tucked it and sprinted the other way, teammates hollering as the defense mobbed him at midfield.

Caine stood, the noise swelling again. Weston slapped his own helmet, frustration clear even from distance. Caine didn’t smile. He only adjusted his chinstrap and waited for Aplin’s hand signal to send him back in.

…

The grass stuck damp against his cleats as he stood behind center. He took the snap, stepped back, and felt the pocket start to bend in.

August cut through the right side, hand outstretched, closing fast. Caine climbed once, then faded left, weight shifting backward. He kept his eyes downfield—Dylan cutting across the zone.

He threw while falling away, body twisting to get the arm through. The ball skimmed over Brandon’s fingertips and dropped just in front of Dylan, who turned, pulled it in, and spun upfield before the whistle.

Caine hit the turf on one knee, palm smacking the grass once in relief. He rose, brushing dirt from his glove, a small nod to Dylan as they reset.

…

Caine stood at midfield, helmet pushed up on his forehead, watching Weston take the snap. The defense closed quick, edges collapsing. Weston bailed backward, spinning out of one reach, then another, legs chopping to buy time.

He kept drifting, eyes high, feet tangled. The pocket was gone, nothing but open space and noise. He flung the ball sidearm before a hand brushed his jersey.

J’Shawn slid low, arms out, pulling it just off the turf before being tagged for a short gain.

The whistle blew. Weston jogged back, shaking his head, and smacked palms with the running back.

…

The noise from the sideline thinned to a hum in Caine’s head. He took the snap, eyes flashing through his reads.

Eli broke free off the edge. Caine ducked under the swipe, rolled right, then spun back left as Brandon lunged low. He slipped the reach and reset his feet, vision cutting downfield.

Elija broke his route short. Caine pointed once, quick and sharp, motioning him deeper. Elija turned and sprinted, defender on his back.

Caine ripped the throw just as a hand tagged his hip. The ball zipped ahead, caught Elija in stride, and the whistle blew the play dead a half-second later.

Caine jogged off, adrenaline still humming in his veins. Coach Aplin met him, hand smacking the top of his helmet. “Nice stuff keeping that play alive and making the throw, son.”

Caine nodded, eyes already back on the field.

~~~

Mireya shaded her eyes with the back of her wrist and watched Camila pull handfuls of clover from the fringe of grass by the walkway. The little jersey hung over her shorts, Georgia Southern across the front in navy, the number 10 bright against cotton she’d bought that morning because her daughter had smiled at it because “that’s daddy’s jersey.” Camila tore stems and made a pile like treasure.

Jaslene leaned in, shoulder warm against Mireya’s. “Aren’t you glad I convinced you to fly out here instead of driving?” Her smile carried the sing-song she slid into when she wanted a laugh.

Mireya rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t have needed to fly out here if you didn’t want to come for whatever reason.”

Jaslene flipped a hand like she was swatting a mosquito. “Please. I like these little hick towns. Quiet. Cheap. People look at you like you’re a movie star.” She tilted her head toward the field. “Besides, I got you to drive with it being closer.”

Mireya’s mouth twitched. She let it die. Her gaze slid past the walkway to where two reporters stood in front of Caine, phones held up and too close. He had his helmet hanging from one hand and his gloves in the other hand. He rubbed the pads between his fingers once, then again, small and steady. She clocked it and felt that pull in her chest she didn’t want to name. He nodded at something, answered quietly.

Camila pushed up from the grass so fast the jersey fluttered. “Daddy!” she shouted, the sound round and happy, feet already set to run.

“Wait, baby.” Mireya caught a sleeve and drew her back to the patch of shade. “Daddy’s still talking.”

Camila plopped down and went straight to shredding a new handful of clover. Her curls stuck to her forehead in the heat. She hummed nothing and everything at once.

Caine wrapped the little interview and turned away from the phones. His gaze slid across the stands and then caught on the patch of grass where Camila sat. His shoulders eased. He started toward them.

A group of older white men stepped into his path. Khaki shorts, clean polos, one with a ring that caught the sun each time he patted Caine’s arm. They talked too close. One leaned in, said a thing that made the others chuckle. Mireya watched the handoff. Quick, practiced. A folded stack pressed into Caine’s palm like he was being thanked for carrying something heavy across a street. He nodded once.

Jaslene clicked her tongue. “Mira eso. Old white men give him money just like you.” She laughed at herself, bright.

“Fuck you,” Mireya said, but there wasn’t heat behind it.

Something old moved in her chest anyway. She kept her face smooth and felt the sting underneath. Full ride for throwing a ball. Doors opening. Men waving him in. Money slid into his hand in daylight. Rent didn’t pay itself. Daycare didn’t either. She felt Camila’s stare, that child’s sense that could smell a shift, and she smoothed the edge off her mouth for her.

Jaslene nudged her again. “Don’t fight me, chica. I’m joking.” She lowered her voice and bumped her shoulder. “They give him more because they like him in his little pants.”

Mireya gave her a small smile at the joke. She looked down at Camila and then back at the field. “Can I ask you something?”

Jaslene swung her head toward her. “Ay, dios. I typically charge for that, but go.”

“Have you ever told anyone what you do?” Mireya kept her eyes on the grass when she said it.

Jaslene’s grin softened. “Mi hermana knows. I never hid it from her.” She shrugged.

“What about a man? Who didn’t already know?”

Jaslene’s chin tipped toward the field, toward Caine. “You thinking about telling him?”

“Fuck no. He’d kill me.” It came out too fast. Honest. The truth sat there.

“I doubt it,” Jaslene said, snorting. “Isn’t he on probation? Very pot, kettle.”

“Anyway,” Mireya said. “Have you?”

“Yeah.” Jaslene rolled the word in her mouth. “I dated a guy last year. Lorenzo. Met him at Starbucks. I told him on the first date. Straight up. But he thought Bourbon Street stripper. You know. No nipple, no chocha.” She made a face. “He found out and… eh. Me and Lorenzo didn’t last much longer.”

“Well, shit.”

Jaslene slid an arm around her and squeezed once. “No te preocupes. You don’t want a man who would judge you for how you make money anyway. They’ll judge you even if you stop dancing. Ask me how I know.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Lo sé, I’m right.” Jaslene smiled with her eyes, not just her mouth.

On the field the boosters broke away, satisfied. Caine lifted his hand in that polite way people in charge learned and then finally cleared them. Camila caught the motion and sprang again, this time before Mireya could catch her sleeve. “Daddy!”

He opened his arms and scooped her clean off the ground, her legs wrapping his waist, her face smashed against his cheek. The grip looked easy. He kissed her temple and said something that made her hiccup a giggle.

He reached them in a few long strides. Sweat darkened his collar. The afternoon held heat even under the stadium shadow. He nodded at Jaslene with a short “What’s up,” that wasn’t cold, then set his eyes on Mireya just long enough and looked back to Camila.

Mireya’s gaze dropped to his hand. There were more bills now, folded tight under his gloves. The lip curl came and she didn’t bother to hide it. It disappeared after a moment. She reached to brush grass off Camila’s sock and kept her voice even. “You got her?”

Caine tightened his arm around their daughter, the money a small ridge against his palm.

[djp73]

Taela know where the bodies buried

[Soapy]

This dirty bitch showed up with her three kids to watch the nigga she's cheating on her husband with

we've found a new villain for this story

[Captain Canada]

Crazy that she's jealous Caine has an actual talent and is profiting on it where as she just shakes ass

[redsox907]

Crazy that she's jealous Caine has an actual talent and is profiting on it where as she just shakes ass

she always been jealous because he isn't actually working for it and she does, how things seemingly always come easy for him and not her. Which to a degree is true. Even with the case, he had people helping him out without asking, people going out of their way to help him out. Has Mireya ever had anyone help her without asking, without expecting anything back? I'd venture to say outside of Sara, the answer would be no. Even Caine expects from her.

And called it that Laney done it before. #soxstradamous.

but soap right. Bringing her full ass family to watch the dude she wants to hunch with while her husband is deployed is diabolical work