American Sun
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 5313
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
American Sun
After Sox's report on the update, shit's starting to stack. Caine playing a really stupid game fucking on Laney like this.
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 12104
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
American Sun
Trying to tough love her into complianceredsox907 wrote: ↑02 Nov 2025, 22:42Maria thinks if she makes life harder, it'll eventually make Mireya see she is right. But, what she doesn't realize is her daughter is as stubborn, if not more so, than her. All its going to do is continue to drive that wedge between them and make Mireya try even harder to prove her wrong.
With the extra money Mireya is making I'm sure she can pull a car, 3K for the POS she been driving is laughable.
But also, someone been talking. How else does Maria know Mireya has been flying to Statesboro and not driving?
Caine thinks he's being slick, but this ain't New Orleans. Someone going to see something eventually. Out in the country things don't stay secret forever.
Ramon ready to slide on June regardless of what Ant said.....but wonder when the info he has bout Mireya comes out? My guess, June finds out Ramon looking for him, probably by Candy, and someone puts two and two together about the stripped Luna, her real name, and Caine's connection to 3NG
EDIT:
HOL THE FUCK UP JUST PUT IT TOGETHER
Boogie that works for Ant is the same Boogie that is paying Luna (Mireya) to slurp dick. That's why June was there at the club, its his mf cousin.
Shit definitely going to pop off on that front
Still a bit of an unexpected burden on the ol' finances though.
He gotta learn that for himself. He used to being able to blend into the crowds. Ain't no crowds out in the boonies. Just trees.
From Candy? So, you saying hoes are loyal?
Ramon not worried about no damn Ant. They can both die about it. What info you referring to? Leo's phone?THAT NOOTICER. Boogie works for Trell, sir. Trell is the boss. Ant is the enforcer, so I guess Boogie does work for Ant, but you get it. Ant's middle management. For the record if it was unclear, the narration suggested that more than just Boogie got some head from Luna.
June's his baby mama's brother. Keep your relations straight.
We'll have to see how this growing web pans out.
Excuse me, sir, but who are you suggesting needs to get the gat and for what purpose should they acquire said firearm?
Sox peeping game. He might be on to something. Caine said that pussy good, he gotta get his fill.Captain Canada wrote: ↑03 Nov 2025, 11:04After Sox's report on the update, shit's starting to stack. Caine playing a really stupid game fucking on Laney like this.
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 12104
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
American Sun
Can’t Nobody Crush You Like Jesus
Mireya cut across the sun-shot concrete with her backpack riding one shoulder and the thought she didn’t want riding the other. $3,000. Her hadn’t set a date. That almost made it worse. Every dollar she tucked away from the last two nights had a label on it already—rent, food, gas. She aimed herself at the University Center and told her stomach to wait.
The quad hummed. A mower dragged a clean stripe across the grass. Somebody’s speaker bled a hook under the chatter. The UC glass threw the sky back. She adjusted the jacket and kept walking.
Tyree leaned on a pillar, a smile working while he talked to a girl. Mireya veered without thinking. She didn’t raise a hand. She just closed distance until her shadow touched his shoes.
“We need to talk.”
Tyree’s eyebrow climbed. The girl sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes, flicking her hand up in his face as she turned. He opened his arms wide like he was calling a foul.
“This my potna baby mama! You the only chick I’m fucking with, Coi!”
Coi didn’t bother turning around. The doors took her, hair swinging, attitude floating in after her.
Tyree watched the door settle, then shook his head. “That was fucked up.”
“I didn’t even know you came here,” Mireya said.
“Yep. A nigga trying to get an education and shit. Learn how to flip them bricks better.” He grinned, then let his eyes walk her jacket, the strip of skin, the leggings that fit like a second skin. “Caine let you walk around like that?”
She snorted. “Me and Caine ain’t together. And Caine would never tell me how to dress.”
Tyree put both hands up. “Couldn’t be me. I’d have your ass in a burka.”
She rolled her eyes and let that drop. The breeze caught the edge of her jacket and gave it back. “What you been telling Paz about me?”
“What you talking about?”
“Paz been on some other shit since she started fucking with you. Saying that I’m being shady.”
Tyree clicked his tongue. “I don’t really know much about you to be saying shit. She asked what me, Ramon and E be doing. I thought she was asking ‘cause of Caine. She said she was asking ‘cause of you.” He shrugged. “I just said you seem like a gutta ass bitch. Out here getting to that munyun like Caine.”
The words landed and sat. Mireya let them sit. A pack of students cut past, laughing, fried food drifting out from inside the UC. She gave a single nod that could have meant anything.
“Alright.”
She turned toward the doors.
Tyree’s fingers caught her elbow, not hard, just enough to shave a step off her pace. “Hold on, hold on. What’s up with one of your girls? The ones who was in Georgia.”
She laughed, short. “Paz might be more your speed when it comes to my friends.”
“Nah, man. Bianca, Liana, or Alejandra? That was they names, huh? Shit, the other two Latinas, too. I just don’t fuck with no white girls. Hook a nigga up, bruh.”
Mireya shook her head. The laugh warmed without getting soft. “You funny.” She eased her arm free and headed for the doors, cool air already spilling through the seam. She walked in to find food, still smiling.
Laney pulled into the church lot and cut the van off, mind already running its list. Milk. Sandwich bread. Fruit cups. Nuggets. She slid out, shoes crunching gravel, and walked to the back. The hatch popped with a tired click. Cold air pushed out from the insulated crates and kissed her arms where the day had stuck sweat.
She got her hands under the first box and lifted. It was heavier than she wanted to admit. The corner wobbled, and she caught it against her thigh, setting her stance before she eased it forward.
“Hey, Laney,” a voice called from behind, deep and familiar.
The box dipped. Her knee caught it. She shoved it back inside and turned quick. “What the fuck you want, Blake?”
He stood by an old truck with a primer door, keys spinning’ lazy on his finger. “Well, hello to you, too.”
She raised a palm, flat between them. “Tommy in Oklahoma.”
Blake shrugged. “I know. I stopped by Ma’s and she told me.”
Her jaw worked once. She turned back, pulled the box out, set it against her chest. Blake stepped up a half step and reached like he meant to take it.
“Let me get that for you.”
“Get the fuck back, Blake.” Her eyes cut to him. They didn’t move off his face until he stepped away with both hands up.
She started toward the side door with the weight pressed to her ribs. Heat slid under her collar. The handle clanged when Blake jogged around to open it.
“I got a little job,” he said, following her in, voice lighter now that the air cooled. “That new apartment complex they’re building over by the campus. I just need somewhere to stay for a little while.”
“You ain’t stayin’ with us.” She shouldered the door with her hip and carried the box down the short hall.
“C’mon, I’m clean. I ain’t been drinking or nothing.” He sniffed the neck of his shirt, face twisting. “I could use a shower, but that’s kinda why I need somewhere to stay.”
“No.” She didn’t look at him.
They hit the daycare kitchen and the sound met them—children’s voices rolling under the hum of the soda cooler and a cartoon still talking on a TV somebody forgot to cut off. Fluorescents buzzed. The floor held the shine where she’d mopped it yesterday.
Blake slid ahead and nudged the kitchen door open for her with his elbow like courtesy might change her mind. She set the box on the counter harder than she meant to, the thud swallowed by little feet thumping past somewhere in the other room. Plastic wrapping crackled. The cool of the stainless bled into her palms. She turned on him.
“I been trying,” he said before she could speak, quick to fill the space. “I even been sending Nevaeh money for Josiah.”
Laney stared at him. “Do you even see that child?”
“You know Nevaeh keeps him from me.”
“’Cause you ain’t got no place to live,” she said, teeth set. “You sleep in your damn truck.”
“Laney. Delaney.” He softened his voice and spread his hands. “What would Jesus do?”
“Don’t you fuckin’ dare.” She cut the words clean and pointed at him, then dragged her fingers up into her hair and let out a breath through her nose. She started unpacking the box with quick, neat motions. Milk to the fridge. Fruit cups stacked. Bread slid to the dry shelf. Bags of nuggets set by the freezer.
Blake leaned on the jamb, watching her hands move. The cooler kicked on louder for a second and settled. A kid squealed somewhere, then laughed, then a voice smoothed it down.
“I just need a week,” he said. “Two at most.”
She shook her head once. “Call Tommy. If he fine with it, I’ll ask Caleb if you can use his camper.”
His shoulders loosened, relief trying to make a home on his face. He stepped in with his arms opening like he was family and that meant something today. “Come here, Laney.”
She stopped him with her palm at his chest. “Get out.”
He blinked, hands floating in the air a second longer before they fell. “I’m going,” he said, backing up. “I’m gonna call Tommy as soon as my phone’s done charging and I go pay to get it turned back on.”
Her eyes didn’t leave him. The door sighed when he pushed through. She held still, counting in her head without meaning to until the outside latch caught and the heavier thump followed.
She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, not at God, just at the day. Then she rounded the counter, the edge of it brushing her skirt. The sink waited under the little square window that showed her a slice of gravel and the side of Blake’s truck if she’d cared to look. She didn’t.
She turned the faucet. Water ran thin and then strong, climbing from cool to warm to hot. She pressed the soap pump twice into her palm, rubbed her hands together slow so the heat worked the sting out of her skin, slid the lather over her knuckles and down her fingers, and began to wash her hands.
The afternoon heat sat heavy on the Georgia Southern practice fields. Helmets glared under it, whistles cut through it. The air smelled of rubber and grass paint. Clemson had stripped away every ounce of ease.
Coach Aplin’s voice carried from the 40. “Stop half-assing out there! Run it full speed every fucking time!”
Caine trotted from the sideline, helmet buckled, towel flicking behind him. Fatu met him at the numbers, play sheet folded in half. “We’re in twelve,” he said. “Start with the RPO—Gun Trips Right 94 Zone Read Bubble. Read the apex, take what they give.”
Caine nodded, turned, and clapped them in.
“Trips Right 94 Zone Read Bubble,” he called. “David on mesh. Josh, stay patient on the bubble.”
They broke. The snap was clean. Mesh point held, linebacker froze, safety widened. Caine pulled and ripped the bubble to Josh. The receiver caught, planted, and picked up five before Ayden closed him out of bounds.
Bailey’s whistle pierced the air. “Finish the damn tackle, Ayden!”
Ayden barked back, “Don’t worry about me, Coach—I’m bringin’ wood!”
“Bring angles first,” Bailey said.
Aplin motioned downfield. “Reload! Same personnel!”
Fatu tapped his card. “Gun Doubles Right 62 Y Cross—work through two. Keep your eyes low to high.”
Caine clapped. “62 Y Cross! On one, on one, ready!”
Caine shouted the cadence. Ball snapped. Dwight and Chandler kicked wide on the slide. Caine read the nickel blitz and slid up. Trey’Dez cleared the cross under the linebackers. The ball hit him in stride. He churned upfield until Brandon wrapped him around the thighs.
Tracy walked past the pile talking. “Y’all boy ain’t seeing that window next time.”
Josh tossed back, “Shit, he don’t need it though!”
Caine ignored it, already jogging them back.
Bailey stepped into the defensive huddle. “Fire Zone Three! I want pressure! Make him throw hot!”
The horn sounded. Crowd noise pumped through the fence speakers—recorded roar swallowing every word.
Fatu shouted over it. “Gun Trips Left 96 Power RPO Glance!”
Caine’s voice cut through the noise. “Trips Left 96 Power RPO Glance!
Snap. Mesh. Linebacker crashed. Caine pulled and fired the glance to Trey’Dez bending behind the vacated zone. Completion. Two-hand touch by Devin at twelve yards.
“Good pull!” Fatu yelled. “Stay decisive on that first read!”
Bailey waved the defense back. “Next group! Tighten the flat—too fucking soft!”
The horn shifted them to red zone.
Aplin pointed at Caine. “Move the ball! Thirty-yard drive to win it!”
Fatu flashed a new card. “Gun Bunch Left 63 Flood. You know it.”
Caine called it out in the huddle.
They broke. Noise still rising. Caine caught, rolled right, eyes up. M.J. came free off the edge—Chandler redirected him just enough. Caine squared, launched to Josh high on the corner route. The receiver dragged both feet across the paint.
Bailey threw his hands up. “Incomplete! He’s out!”
Josh held the ball to the sky. “Six!”
Aplin stepped between them. “Next play—no debates. We’re not getting any calls in their house.”
“Gun Ace Right 98 Power RPO Glance,” Fatu called next.
Caine relayed it fast. Snap, mesh, backside end squeezed. he handed off this time. David pressed the A-gap, bounced left, and ran through Eli’s arm tackle before Darrell closed and wrapped him up.
Bailey blew the whistle twice. “Great pursuit! Finish vertical!”
Fatu slapped Caine’s helmet as he passed. “Good read—don’t get greedy.”
Aplin’s voice carried from behind. “Tempo! Two-minute drill! Ball on the minus-forty!”
Caine gathered them. “Gun Doubles Right 94 Zone Lock!”
The ball snapped. He rode the mesh, pulled, and hit Josh on a quick hitch to move the chains. They sprinted back to the line.
Next call came from Fatu’s sideline signal—Rip Liz Jet Motion Zone Lock X Glance. Caine mirrored the motion, watched the nickel rotate, and checked it to 94 Bubble Screen. He fired the ball to Dylan, who followed Daniel’s block and stepped out at the forty-five. Clock stopped.
Bailey shouted across, “Don’t give him the boundary, Kylen! Squeeze it!”
“He can’t catch me, though!” Dylan yelled back.
Next snap: “Gun Trips Right 63 Y Corner Switch!” Caine dropped, climbed the pocket against a late twist, and threw back across his body to Trey’Dez splitting the zones. Catch, fifteen yards. Fatu clapped twice.
“Clock! Spike!” Caine barked. They reset, spike, four seconds left.
Aplin blew his whistle, voice even again. “That’s the standard.” He scanned the field—offense breathing hard, defense kneeling, cleats digging into chewed grass. “Carry that to Saturday.”
Caine pulled off his helmet. The noise from the speakers died, leaving only breath and the faint click of cooling helmets. Fatu handed him the folded script, thumbed the top edge once.
Caine just nodded. He jogged back to the line for the next period, steady in his steps, the talk fading behind him. Every read, every pull, every throw made the decision to start him look easier by the minute.
A silver compact slid into the space beside him and shut down. Ava stepped out in a faded shirt and a name tag that flashed once in the sun. The smell of fryer oil moved with her, undercut by soap and something sugary. She hopped up and settled on the hood next to him, hip to hip. Her arm threaded through his. Her fingers found his and folded them down, simple and sure. Her head rested on his shoulder and stayed.
“I didn’t think you’d really come see me,” she said.
Saul shifted his weight to give her more of him. “This is tons better than sitting at home and playing the game or something.”
She laughed, small and close, warming his shirt where it touched. “Yeah, you’re always on that damn game.”
“I ain’t got money to just buy the shit,” he said. “So I gotta grind for it.”
She rolled her eyes, but the smile sat there. Cars slid past on the other side of the fence. Every third one hit a seam and sent a thump you could feel in the hood. The sun pushed through a thin cloud, then let it go. A gust from the highway skated a napkin across the lot until it stuck to a curb. Their hands stayed linked. Her skin warmed his knuckles and cooled again when the breeze came back.
They sat quiet until the metal under them started to lose its heat. The shadow of the tall light pole crept a little longer over the asphalt. Her breath moved against his sleeve, steady and soft. His phone buzzed once where he had set it face down on the hood. He didn’t reach for it. She didn’t move.
“Do you remember that list of places I sent you?” she asked after a while.
“Yeah,” he said.
“Did you figure out where you want to go in the world?”
He let the question sit. The big flag over the stores snapped hard, then went slack again. A child cried, then quieted. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t think it matters where I go. Just who I go there with.”
She tipped her head enough to look up at him. He kept his eyes on the traffic. He felt her smile more than he saw it.
“You know,” he said, “like my cousin Caine. He’s in the middle of nowhere. But his girl goes out there, his mom goes out there, they bring his kid. I bet that makes it easier for him to be on his own.”
Ava nodded against him. “Yeah, that’s sweet that he has that.”
Light went flat across the rows of cars as clouds thickened again. Someone walked by with a warm pretzel bag and the salt hit the air. Music from a store door slipped out when it opened and was swallowed when it closed. She gave his hand a slow squeeze. He answered it.
“So,” she said. “What you’re saying is that you’ll come with me when I want to go hiking in Arkansas next month?”
He laughed, short and easy. “Yeah, I’ll come.”
Mireya cut across the sun-shot concrete with her backpack riding one shoulder and the thought she didn’t want riding the other. $3,000. Her hadn’t set a date. That almost made it worse. Every dollar she tucked away from the last two nights had a label on it already—rent, food, gas. She aimed herself at the University Center and told her stomach to wait.
The quad hummed. A mower dragged a clean stripe across the grass. Somebody’s speaker bled a hook under the chatter. The UC glass threw the sky back. She adjusted the jacket and kept walking.
Tyree leaned on a pillar, a smile working while he talked to a girl. Mireya veered without thinking. She didn’t raise a hand. She just closed distance until her shadow touched his shoes.
“We need to talk.”
Tyree’s eyebrow climbed. The girl sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes, flicking her hand up in his face as she turned. He opened his arms wide like he was calling a foul.
“This my potna baby mama! You the only chick I’m fucking with, Coi!”
Coi didn’t bother turning around. The doors took her, hair swinging, attitude floating in after her.
Tyree watched the door settle, then shook his head. “That was fucked up.”
“I didn’t even know you came here,” Mireya said.
“Yep. A nigga trying to get an education and shit. Learn how to flip them bricks better.” He grinned, then let his eyes walk her jacket, the strip of skin, the leggings that fit like a second skin. “Caine let you walk around like that?”
She snorted. “Me and Caine ain’t together. And Caine would never tell me how to dress.”
Tyree put both hands up. “Couldn’t be me. I’d have your ass in a burka.”
She rolled her eyes and let that drop. The breeze caught the edge of her jacket and gave it back. “What you been telling Paz about me?”
“What you talking about?”
“Paz been on some other shit since she started fucking with you. Saying that I’m being shady.”
Tyree clicked his tongue. “I don’t really know much about you to be saying shit. She asked what me, Ramon and E be doing. I thought she was asking ‘cause of Caine. She said she was asking ‘cause of you.” He shrugged. “I just said you seem like a gutta ass bitch. Out here getting to that munyun like Caine.”
The words landed and sat. Mireya let them sit. A pack of students cut past, laughing, fried food drifting out from inside the UC. She gave a single nod that could have meant anything.
“Alright.”
She turned toward the doors.
Tyree’s fingers caught her elbow, not hard, just enough to shave a step off her pace. “Hold on, hold on. What’s up with one of your girls? The ones who was in Georgia.”
She laughed, short. “Paz might be more your speed when it comes to my friends.”
“Nah, man. Bianca, Liana, or Alejandra? That was they names, huh? Shit, the other two Latinas, too. I just don’t fuck with no white girls. Hook a nigga up, bruh.”
Mireya shook her head. The laugh warmed without getting soft. “You funny.” She eased her arm free and headed for the doors, cool air already spilling through the seam. She walked in to find food, still smiling.
~~~
Laney pulled into the church lot and cut the van off, mind already running its list. Milk. Sandwich bread. Fruit cups. Nuggets. She slid out, shoes crunching gravel, and walked to the back. The hatch popped with a tired click. Cold air pushed out from the insulated crates and kissed her arms where the day had stuck sweat.
She got her hands under the first box and lifted. It was heavier than she wanted to admit. The corner wobbled, and she caught it against her thigh, setting her stance before she eased it forward.
“Hey, Laney,” a voice called from behind, deep and familiar.
The box dipped. Her knee caught it. She shoved it back inside and turned quick. “What the fuck you want, Blake?”
He stood by an old truck with a primer door, keys spinning’ lazy on his finger. “Well, hello to you, too.”
She raised a palm, flat between them. “Tommy in Oklahoma.”
Blake shrugged. “I know. I stopped by Ma’s and she told me.”
Her jaw worked once. She turned back, pulled the box out, set it against her chest. Blake stepped up a half step and reached like he meant to take it.
“Let me get that for you.”
“Get the fuck back, Blake.” Her eyes cut to him. They didn’t move off his face until he stepped away with both hands up.
She started toward the side door with the weight pressed to her ribs. Heat slid under her collar. The handle clanged when Blake jogged around to open it.
“I got a little job,” he said, following her in, voice lighter now that the air cooled. “That new apartment complex they’re building over by the campus. I just need somewhere to stay for a little while.”
“You ain’t stayin’ with us.” She shouldered the door with her hip and carried the box down the short hall.
“C’mon, I’m clean. I ain’t been drinking or nothing.” He sniffed the neck of his shirt, face twisting. “I could use a shower, but that’s kinda why I need somewhere to stay.”
“No.” She didn’t look at him.
They hit the daycare kitchen and the sound met them—children’s voices rolling under the hum of the soda cooler and a cartoon still talking on a TV somebody forgot to cut off. Fluorescents buzzed. The floor held the shine where she’d mopped it yesterday.
Blake slid ahead and nudged the kitchen door open for her with his elbow like courtesy might change her mind. She set the box on the counter harder than she meant to, the thud swallowed by little feet thumping past somewhere in the other room. Plastic wrapping crackled. The cool of the stainless bled into her palms. She turned on him.
“I been trying,” he said before she could speak, quick to fill the space. “I even been sending Nevaeh money for Josiah.”
Laney stared at him. “Do you even see that child?”
“You know Nevaeh keeps him from me.”
“’Cause you ain’t got no place to live,” she said, teeth set. “You sleep in your damn truck.”
“Laney. Delaney.” He softened his voice and spread his hands. “What would Jesus do?”
“Don’t you fuckin’ dare.” She cut the words clean and pointed at him, then dragged her fingers up into her hair and let out a breath through her nose. She started unpacking the box with quick, neat motions. Milk to the fridge. Fruit cups stacked. Bread slid to the dry shelf. Bags of nuggets set by the freezer.
Blake leaned on the jamb, watching her hands move. The cooler kicked on louder for a second and settled. A kid squealed somewhere, then laughed, then a voice smoothed it down.
“I just need a week,” he said. “Two at most.”
She shook her head once. “Call Tommy. If he fine with it, I’ll ask Caleb if you can use his camper.”
His shoulders loosened, relief trying to make a home on his face. He stepped in with his arms opening like he was family and that meant something today. “Come here, Laney.”
She stopped him with her palm at his chest. “Get out.”
He blinked, hands floating in the air a second longer before they fell. “I’m going,” he said, backing up. “I’m gonna call Tommy as soon as my phone’s done charging and I go pay to get it turned back on.”
Her eyes didn’t leave him. The door sighed when he pushed through. She held still, counting in her head without meaning to until the outside latch caught and the heavier thump followed.
She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, not at God, just at the day. Then she rounded the counter, the edge of it brushing her skirt. The sink waited under the little square window that showed her a slice of gravel and the side of Blake’s truck if she’d cared to look. She didn’t.
She turned the faucet. Water ran thin and then strong, climbing from cool to warm to hot. She pressed the soap pump twice into her palm, rubbed her hands together slow so the heat worked the sting out of her skin, slid the lather over her knuckles and down her fingers, and began to wash her hands.
~~~
The afternoon heat sat heavy on the Georgia Southern practice fields. Helmets glared under it, whistles cut through it. The air smelled of rubber and grass paint. Clemson had stripped away every ounce of ease.
Coach Aplin’s voice carried from the 40. “Stop half-assing out there! Run it full speed every fucking time!”
Caine trotted from the sideline, helmet buckled, towel flicking behind him. Fatu met him at the numbers, play sheet folded in half. “We’re in twelve,” he said. “Start with the RPO—Gun Trips Right 94 Zone Read Bubble. Read the apex, take what they give.”
Caine nodded, turned, and clapped them in.
“Trips Right 94 Zone Read Bubble,” he called. “David on mesh. Josh, stay patient on the bubble.”
They broke. The snap was clean. Mesh point held, linebacker froze, safety widened. Caine pulled and ripped the bubble to Josh. The receiver caught, planted, and picked up five before Ayden closed him out of bounds.
Bailey’s whistle pierced the air. “Finish the damn tackle, Ayden!”
Ayden barked back, “Don’t worry about me, Coach—I’m bringin’ wood!”
“Bring angles first,” Bailey said.
Aplin motioned downfield. “Reload! Same personnel!”
Fatu tapped his card. “Gun Doubles Right 62 Y Cross—work through two. Keep your eyes low to high.”
Caine clapped. “62 Y Cross! On one, on one, ready!”
Caine shouted the cadence. Ball snapped. Dwight and Chandler kicked wide on the slide. Caine read the nickel blitz and slid up. Trey’Dez cleared the cross under the linebackers. The ball hit him in stride. He churned upfield until Brandon wrapped him around the thighs.
Tracy walked past the pile talking. “Y’all boy ain’t seeing that window next time.”
Josh tossed back, “Shit, he don’t need it though!”
Caine ignored it, already jogging them back.
Bailey stepped into the defensive huddle. “Fire Zone Three! I want pressure! Make him throw hot!”
The horn sounded. Crowd noise pumped through the fence speakers—recorded roar swallowing every word.
Fatu shouted over it. “Gun Trips Left 96 Power RPO Glance!”
Caine’s voice cut through the noise. “Trips Left 96 Power RPO Glance!
Snap. Mesh. Linebacker crashed. Caine pulled and fired the glance to Trey’Dez bending behind the vacated zone. Completion. Two-hand touch by Devin at twelve yards.
“Good pull!” Fatu yelled. “Stay decisive on that first read!”
Bailey waved the defense back. “Next group! Tighten the flat—too fucking soft!”
The horn shifted them to red zone.
Aplin pointed at Caine. “Move the ball! Thirty-yard drive to win it!”
Fatu flashed a new card. “Gun Bunch Left 63 Flood. You know it.”
Caine called it out in the huddle.
They broke. Noise still rising. Caine caught, rolled right, eyes up. M.J. came free off the edge—Chandler redirected him just enough. Caine squared, launched to Josh high on the corner route. The receiver dragged both feet across the paint.
Bailey threw his hands up. “Incomplete! He’s out!”
Josh held the ball to the sky. “Six!”
Aplin stepped between them. “Next play—no debates. We’re not getting any calls in their house.”
“Gun Ace Right 98 Power RPO Glance,” Fatu called next.
Caine relayed it fast. Snap, mesh, backside end squeezed. he handed off this time. David pressed the A-gap, bounced left, and ran through Eli’s arm tackle before Darrell closed and wrapped him up.
Bailey blew the whistle twice. “Great pursuit! Finish vertical!”
Fatu slapped Caine’s helmet as he passed. “Good read—don’t get greedy.”
Aplin’s voice carried from behind. “Tempo! Two-minute drill! Ball on the minus-forty!”
Caine gathered them. “Gun Doubles Right 94 Zone Lock!”
The ball snapped. He rode the mesh, pulled, and hit Josh on a quick hitch to move the chains. They sprinted back to the line.
Next call came from Fatu’s sideline signal—Rip Liz Jet Motion Zone Lock X Glance. Caine mirrored the motion, watched the nickel rotate, and checked it to 94 Bubble Screen. He fired the ball to Dylan, who followed Daniel’s block and stepped out at the forty-five. Clock stopped.
Bailey shouted across, “Don’t give him the boundary, Kylen! Squeeze it!”
“He can’t catch me, though!” Dylan yelled back.
Next snap: “Gun Trips Right 63 Y Corner Switch!” Caine dropped, climbed the pocket against a late twist, and threw back across his body to Trey’Dez splitting the zones. Catch, fifteen yards. Fatu clapped twice.
“Clock! Spike!” Caine barked. They reset, spike, four seconds left.
Aplin blew his whistle, voice even again. “That’s the standard.” He scanned the field—offense breathing hard, defense kneeling, cleats digging into chewed grass. “Carry that to Saturday.”
Caine pulled off his helmet. The noise from the speakers died, leaving only breath and the faint click of cooling helmets. Fatu handed him the folded script, thumbed the top edge once.
Caine just nodded. He jogged back to the line for the next period, steady in his steps, the talk fading behind him. Every read, every pull, every throw made the decision to start him look easier by the minute.
~~~
The evening heat had not fallen off yet. Concrete held it and gave it back through the soles of Saul’s shoes while he sat on the hood with his palms braced on warm metal. The car still held the faint bite of the tree-shaped air freshener Javi had hung from the mirror and the stale salt of Trent’s breakfast bag wadded on the floor. Beyond the fence the rush of I-10 ran without stopping. Trucks threw a low note that made the outlet signs hum. A man dragged a bag with wheels that clicked every few feet.A silver compact slid into the space beside him and shut down. Ava stepped out in a faded shirt and a name tag that flashed once in the sun. The smell of fryer oil moved with her, undercut by soap and something sugary. She hopped up and settled on the hood next to him, hip to hip. Her arm threaded through his. Her fingers found his and folded them down, simple and sure. Her head rested on his shoulder and stayed.
“I didn’t think you’d really come see me,” she said.
Saul shifted his weight to give her more of him. “This is tons better than sitting at home and playing the game or something.”
She laughed, small and close, warming his shirt where it touched. “Yeah, you’re always on that damn game.”
“I ain’t got money to just buy the shit,” he said. “So I gotta grind for it.”
She rolled her eyes, but the smile sat there. Cars slid past on the other side of the fence. Every third one hit a seam and sent a thump you could feel in the hood. The sun pushed through a thin cloud, then let it go. A gust from the highway skated a napkin across the lot until it stuck to a curb. Their hands stayed linked. Her skin warmed his knuckles and cooled again when the breeze came back.
They sat quiet until the metal under them started to lose its heat. The shadow of the tall light pole crept a little longer over the asphalt. Her breath moved against his sleeve, steady and soft. His phone buzzed once where he had set it face down on the hood. He didn’t reach for it. She didn’t move.
“Do you remember that list of places I sent you?” she asked after a while.
“Yeah,” he said.
“Did you figure out where you want to go in the world?”
He let the question sit. The big flag over the stores snapped hard, then went slack again. A child cried, then quieted. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t think it matters where I go. Just who I go there with.”
She tipped her head enough to look up at him. He kept his eyes on the traffic. He felt her smile more than he saw it.
“You know,” he said, “like my cousin Caine. He’s in the middle of nowhere. But his girl goes out there, his mom goes out there, they bring his kid. I bet that makes it easier for him to be on his own.”
Ava nodded against him. “Yeah, that’s sweet that he has that.”
Light went flat across the rows of cars as clouds thickened again. Someone walked by with a warm pretzel bag and the salt hit the air. Music from a store door slipped out when it opened and was swallowed when it closed. She gave his hand a slow squeeze. He answered it.
“So,” she said. “What you’re saying is that you’ll come with me when I want to go hiking in Arkansas next month?”
He laughed, short and easy. “Yeah, I’ll come.”
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redsox907
- Posts: 2185
- Joined: 01 Jun 2025, 12:40
American Sun
Possibly that, but more just connecting the dots from Luna to Caine and the people in between. Someone going to use something for leverage eventually.
Is Blake the one that spies Caine sneaking in?
Assuming Blake is a cousin or something, probably Tommy's side of the family from the sound of it?
Ava huh? Saul going to try and convince her to have a kid too
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djp73
- Posts: 9947
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 13:42
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Soapy
- Posts: 12239
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
American Sun
Layne's husband, like I said from the first time I saw her and Caine interact.
DOUBLE HOMICIDE*
*I do not condone domestic violence.
does gutta ass bitch have a different meaning in Louisiana? she took that in stride
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 5313
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
American Sun
Why does it feel as though Laney and Blake got a sexual history? It feels like she was for the streets in her hey day.
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 12104
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
American Sun
Hmmmm. Blake is Tommy’s younger brother. The fuck up to the staunch disciplinarian.redsox907 wrote: ↑04 Nov 2025, 02:30Possibly that, but more just connecting the dots from Luna to Caine and the people in between. Someone going to use something for leverage eventually.
Is Blake the one that spies Caine sneaking in?
Assuming Blake is a cousin or something, probably Tommy's side of the family from the sound of it?
Ava huh? Saul going to try and convince her to have a kid too
Saul just want a lil’ family. What’s wrong with that?!
You know with those types it’d be a quintuple homicide-suicide. They always wipe out the entire family instead of getting divorced.
Yes lol. Gutta bitch just means down, ride or die bitch here.
This is quite the take for that scene. Just implying this God fearing woman is whorish enough to fuck around with the fuck up brother then marry the stable one? And this being decided by 19????Captain Canada wrote: ↑04 Nov 2025, 10:56Why does it feel as though Laney and Blake got a sexual history? It feels like she was for the streets in her hey day.
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redsox907
- Posts: 2185
- Joined: 01 Jun 2025, 12:40
American Sun
I got the same vibesCaptain Canada wrote: ↑04 Nov 2025, 10:56Why does it feel as though Laney and Blake got a sexual history? It feels like she was for the streets in her hey day.
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 12104
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
American Sun
It’s just misogyny at this point. Why would she want the fuck up brother when she married the stable brother?redsox907 wrote: ↑04 Nov 2025, 11:13I got the same vibesCaptain Canada wrote: ↑04 Nov 2025, 10:56Why does it feel as though Laney and Blake got a sexual history? It feels like she was for the streets in her hey day.
don’t know why yall portraying this woman as a ho