Season 2, Episode 8
Brice tapped his finger nervously against the steering wheel, taking another peek at the rearview mirror. Still nothing. The irony wasn’t lost on him — all of this had started, or maybe climaxed, in this same car. That night, he would’ve given anything for her not to be anywhere near him. Now, he was wishing she was. And in a few minutes, she would be. Or at least, that’s what he kept telling himself with every turn of his head.
He thought about stepping out, maybe rolling something up to calm his nerves — but no. He wanted to stay grounded, clear-minded. Besides, Connie never liked when he smelled like weed. Neither would the Parks and Rec officer if he happened to roll by. And these days, the name Brice Colton didn’t carry the kind of pull that could get him out of trouble.
It had been a while since he smoked. A while since he drank. Sobriety brought with it a clarity that felt too close for comfort — stuck alone with his thoughts, no outlets. No football field to run onto, no helmet to hide behind. No captions to post after hours spent making sure his sleeve lined up just right. No teammates. No trash talk. And no Connie.
She’d always seen through him, not because he’d let her — he’d never been brave enough for that — but because she’d been through too much not to. She’d seen him at his worst, and at what he thought was his best. And the truth was, there wasn’t much difference between the two. Not really. Not when you looked close enough. Maybe that’s what disappointed him the most — that after everything, he was still that guy.
Headlights appeared in his mirror, snapping him out of it. She was driving her mom’s car. Did her parents know she was meeting him? Did it matter? Brice shook his head. Her only condition for this meet-up had been simple: no tactics, no mind games, no bullshit. Just talk. Whatever happened after that would happen.
He stepped out, hands buried in his hoodie pocket, and walked toward the park bench. He didn’t look at her directly, only caught her shadow in the corner of his eye, boots crunching softly through the snow. They sat down in silence. Brice waited, deliberately letting her speak first.
“I’m not really sure how to do this,” Connie said quietly, pulling out her phone. “So I wrote something — maybe we can go from there?”
Brice nodded, his face half-turned toward her.
“I’ve always loved you, Brice,” she began, reading off the screen, “Even before I knew what that meant.”
...
The chair across from Liz creaked as the teenager slouched deeper into it, his hood pulled tight around his face. The room was small — just a table, two chairs, a recorder that wasn’t turned on, and a stack of case files she hadn’t opened yet.
“So,” Liz began, flipping open her notepad, “You’ve been here a few weeks?”
“Couple months,” he muttered. “You already know that.”
Liz smiled faintly, pen tapping against the pad. “I like to hear people tell their own stories.”
“Right. ‘Cause that’s what y’all do,” he said, shifting forward, his tone sharpening. “Let people talk so you can write down what makes them sound crazy.”
Her pen stopped. “That’s not what I do.”
“That’s what you used to do, though. You’re the lady that used to testify for the state, right?” His eyes narrowed. “You one of the opps.”
Liz let out a soft breath through her nose, neither agreeing nor denying. “I used to work with the prosecution, yes.”
“So that mean you helped lock people like me up.”
“That means,” Liz said carefully, “I was doing what I had to do to feed my family. What I thought, at the time, was the right thing to do.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “Everybody say that.”
“Everybody doesn’t mean it.” She leaned forward a little. “You know what it’s like trying to keep a roof over your head. You’d do what you had to do, too.”
He looked down at his hands, the edge in his voice dulling. “Yeah… I get that.”
“I didn’t like the work,” she admitted. “I did it because it paid well and it was stable. But it didn’t take long before I started seeing what it actually did to people — to kids — when the system got it wrong. When the story was already written before they even got to speak.”
She paused, eyes softening. “That’s why I do what I do now."
The boy looked up, skeptical but curious. “So what’s this for, then? I ain’t even got court no more.”
Liz smiled gently. “I’m not here for you, sweetheart. I’m here because I need your help.”
“With what?”
She flipped to a page in her notes but didn’t look down at it. Instead, she studied his face for a long second before asking, quietly but deliberately:
“What do you remember about District Attorney Britney Campbell?”
Damaged Petals.
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Soapy
Topic author - Posts: 13707
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Caesar
- Chise GOAT
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- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Damaged Petals.
Soapy wrote: ↑28 Oct 2025, 20:46“I’m not really sure how to do this,” Connie said quietly, pulling out her phone. “So I wrote something — maybe we can go from there?”
Brice nodded, his face half-turned toward her.
“I’ve always loved you, Brice,” she began, reading off the screen, “Even before I knew what that meant.”
Liz out here trying to take down her opps huh?
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Soapy
Topic author - Posts: 13707
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Damaged Petals.
Caesar wrote: ↑28 Oct 2025, 21:54Soapy wrote: ↑28 Oct 2025, 20:46“I’m not really sure how to do this,” Connie said quietly, pulling out her phone. “So I wrote something — maybe we can go from there?”
Brice nodded, his face half-turned toward her.
“I’ve always loved you, Brice,” she began, reading off the screen, “Even before I knew what that meant.”
Liz out here trying to take down her opps huh?
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Soapy
Topic author - Posts: 13707
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Damaged Petals.
Season 2, Episode 9
The lights from the tree flickered against the reflection of the living room window, splashing soft colors across Connie’s face as she carefully hooked another ornament. Her parents sat behind her — her mom, Hannah, curled up on the couch scrolling through her phone, and her dad, Landry, nursing a beer while pretending to watch the television.
The silence had shape to it, something thick and settled that nobody really wanted to cut through. The kind that used to mean something had happened — and in this house, it always had.
"Someone’s in the Christmas spirit again,” Landry said after a while, watching her line up the candy canes on the lower branches.
"I guess I’m in the mood for it,” Connie said simply, not turning around.
Hannah glanced up, one brow arched. "I wonder why."
Connie turned then, slowly, her expression unreadable. "What does that mean?"
Her mom’s tone sharpened just slightly. “You know what it means. You think we don’t know?"
Landry shifted in his chair. "Babe, let it be.”
“No, I won’t,” Hannah said, sitting forward. "How many times are we going to let this boy do this to her? To us?"
Connie took a slow breath, the kind that tried to swallow irritation and failed. She adjusted the ornament one more time before grabbing her hoodie off the back of the chair.
“Where are you going?” Hannah asked.
Connie didn’t answer, sliding her arms through the sleeves and pulling the hood up.
“Connie,” her mom pressed.
Landry sighed. “Hannah, don’t. You’ll just push her further if you—”
But she was already halfway to the door, ignoring both of them.
As she stepped onto the porch, the cold bit at her nose, sharper than she expected. Her phone buzzed — Brice’s name lighting up the screen. Then, as she started to type a text back, another message appeared from an unknown number.
Then another.
Then another.
Each one marked Attachment.
Connie froze, thumb hovering over the first one.
…
Brice sat hunched at his desk, laptop open, trying not to let his expression give away how tired he felt. The NCAA compliance officer’s face glowed from the screen, smiling in that restrained, bureaucratic way people did when they were trying to sound reassuring.
"We understand that this process hasn’t gone the way you anticipated it going,” the man said, "But given the unique circumstances, we’re prepared to grant a waiver."
Liz leaned forward, hands clasped. “That’s great news. Thank you so much. How long is the waiver for?"
"You’d still be eligible to enroll early if you sign by December twenty-first.”
Tom nodded along, though his eyes drifted toward Brice, waiting to see how he’d take it.
The call ended, and the silence that followed filled the living room. Liz broke it first. "That went better than we expected, right?"
"With friends like Malcolm, they normally do," Tom let out a chuckle.
Brice stared at the laptop screen even after it went dark. Purdue. The name didn’t feel exciting, not the way other offers once had. But it wasn’t nothing either. Two hours from Notre Dame. Two hours from her.
…
“Say something!” Connie’s voice cracked as she shoved her phone toward him, the images flashing across the screen — texts, selfies, proof. Her proof.
Brice’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. For once, the words weren’t there as his mind raced.
“How could you?” she demanded, her voice trembling, breath clouding in the cold. “How could you do this to me? Again?”
The park was quiet except for the distant hum of traffic and the sharp, wet crunch of snow beneath their shoes. Brice’s heart thudded against his ribs, too fast, too loud. The play was unravelling too fast, too many moving pieces. He couldn’t see clearly, he couldn’t think clearly. He needed a timeout, a moment to calm things down, reassess the situation but there was no such thing in this game called life.
“Where’d you get that?” he finally asked, voice low.
“Does it matter?” she shot back. "It’s a fucking blocked number which is just fucking great because now who the fuck else knows about this? There’s like six different girls here, Brice!"
He took a step toward her, reaching out, then stopped when she flinched away.
“Connie, listen—”
“No! I’m tired of fucking listening to you!” her voice broke. "I was willing to go against my fucking family for you, Brice! You told me that you loved me! You told me that I mattered to you!"
He swallowed hard. “You do."
“Then what’s that?” she screamed, shoving the phone at him again.
He didn’t look. Couldn’t.
Connie’s breathing was ragged, tears streaking her cheeks. “Why, Brice? Why?"
He had no answer. No playbook.
Connie turned away first, wiping her face with the back of her sleeve. “You know what’s crazy?” she said. “I came here thinking maybe we could fix things. That maybe we still had a shot.”
Brice looked at her, desperate. “We still can—”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “You fucked it up, Brice. You fucked it up."
She walked away, her footsteps fading into the snow.
Brice stood there long after she was gone, staring at the empty bench, the same one they’d sat on just nights ago. The one where he thought he’d finally started to make things right.
Now it just looked cold.
Empty.
And he had no one to blame but himself.
The lights from the tree flickered against the reflection of the living room window, splashing soft colors across Connie’s face as she carefully hooked another ornament. Her parents sat behind her — her mom, Hannah, curled up on the couch scrolling through her phone, and her dad, Landry, nursing a beer while pretending to watch the television.
The silence had shape to it, something thick and settled that nobody really wanted to cut through. The kind that used to mean something had happened — and in this house, it always had.
"Someone’s in the Christmas spirit again,” Landry said after a while, watching her line up the candy canes on the lower branches.
"I guess I’m in the mood for it,” Connie said simply, not turning around.
Hannah glanced up, one brow arched. "I wonder why."
Connie turned then, slowly, her expression unreadable. "What does that mean?"
Her mom’s tone sharpened just slightly. “You know what it means. You think we don’t know?"
Landry shifted in his chair. "Babe, let it be.”
“No, I won’t,” Hannah said, sitting forward. "How many times are we going to let this boy do this to her? To us?"
Connie took a slow breath, the kind that tried to swallow irritation and failed. She adjusted the ornament one more time before grabbing her hoodie off the back of the chair.
“Where are you going?” Hannah asked.
Connie didn’t answer, sliding her arms through the sleeves and pulling the hood up.
“Connie,” her mom pressed.
Landry sighed. “Hannah, don’t. You’ll just push her further if you—”
But she was already halfway to the door, ignoring both of them.
As she stepped onto the porch, the cold bit at her nose, sharper than she expected. Her phone buzzed — Brice’s name lighting up the screen. Then, as she started to type a text back, another message appeared from an unknown number.
Then another.
Then another.
Each one marked Attachment.
Connie froze, thumb hovering over the first one.
…
Brice sat hunched at his desk, laptop open, trying not to let his expression give away how tired he felt. The NCAA compliance officer’s face glowed from the screen, smiling in that restrained, bureaucratic way people did when they were trying to sound reassuring.
"We understand that this process hasn’t gone the way you anticipated it going,” the man said, "But given the unique circumstances, we’re prepared to grant a waiver."
Liz leaned forward, hands clasped. “That’s great news. Thank you so much. How long is the waiver for?"
"You’d still be eligible to enroll early if you sign by December twenty-first.”
Tom nodded along, though his eyes drifted toward Brice, waiting to see how he’d take it.
The call ended, and the silence that followed filled the living room. Liz broke it first. "That went better than we expected, right?"
"With friends like Malcolm, they normally do," Tom let out a chuckle.
Brice stared at the laptop screen even after it went dark. Purdue. The name didn’t feel exciting, not the way other offers once had. But it wasn’t nothing either. Two hours from Notre Dame. Two hours from her.
…
“Say something!” Connie’s voice cracked as she shoved her phone toward him, the images flashing across the screen — texts, selfies, proof. Her proof.
Brice’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. For once, the words weren’t there as his mind raced.
“How could you?” she demanded, her voice trembling, breath clouding in the cold. “How could you do this to me? Again?”
The park was quiet except for the distant hum of traffic and the sharp, wet crunch of snow beneath their shoes. Brice’s heart thudded against his ribs, too fast, too loud. The play was unravelling too fast, too many moving pieces. He couldn’t see clearly, he couldn’t think clearly. He needed a timeout, a moment to calm things down, reassess the situation but there was no such thing in this game called life.
“Where’d you get that?” he finally asked, voice low.
“Does it matter?” she shot back. "It’s a fucking blocked number which is just fucking great because now who the fuck else knows about this? There’s like six different girls here, Brice!"
He took a step toward her, reaching out, then stopped when she flinched away.
“Connie, listen—”
“No! I’m tired of fucking listening to you!” her voice broke. "I was willing to go against my fucking family for you, Brice! You told me that you loved me! You told me that I mattered to you!"
He swallowed hard. “You do."
“Then what’s that?” she screamed, shoving the phone at him again.
He didn’t look. Couldn’t.
Connie’s breathing was ragged, tears streaking her cheeks. “Why, Brice? Why?"
He had no answer. No playbook.
Connie turned away first, wiping her face with the back of her sleeve. “You know what’s crazy?” she said. “I came here thinking maybe we could fix things. That maybe we still had a shot.”
Brice looked at her, desperate. “We still can—”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “You fucked it up, Brice. You fucked it up."
She walked away, her footsteps fading into the snow.
Brice stood there long after she was gone, staring at the empty bench, the same one they’d sat on just nights ago. The one where he thought he’d finally started to make things right.
Now it just looked cold.
Empty.
And he had no one to blame but himself.
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djp73
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Captain Canada
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Damaged Petals.
Shocker, Brice throwing dick around. He already threw it into your best friend, shordy. She gonna end up in an institution fucking with buddy.
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Caesar
- Chise GOAT
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- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Damaged Petals.
Brice the Tom Brady of gaslighting. He knew Skylar had all the deets and wanna run back to Connie knowing Skylar would try to blow it up. White privilege not gonna get you outta this one though my boy.
#NotMyQB
#NotMyQB
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redsox907
- Posts: 3799
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Damaged Petals.
I mean - homie missed the obvious play.
bitch you went to the cops. I had no where else to turn. I felt so lonely without you, but I just pretended they were you. We can get past this, we both fucked up big, but we can still get through this. I'm willing to forgive you for trying to ruin my life, if you can forgive me for being broken hearted and not knowing where to turn when everyone else was gone.
Or some shit like that. Instead, homie froze. Not built for the bright lights. Sometimes you gotta make your own plays and clearly Brice can't.
#SystemQB
bitch you went to the cops. I had no where else to turn. I felt so lonely without you, but I just pretended they were you. We can get past this, we both fucked up big, but we can still get through this. I'm willing to forgive you for trying to ruin my life, if you can forgive me for being broken hearted and not knowing where to turn when everyone else was gone.
Or some shit like that. Instead, homie froze. Not built for the bright lights. Sometimes you gotta make your own plays and clearly Brice can't.
#SystemQB
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 6137
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Damaged Petals.
Him being able to freestyle this is somethingredsox907 wrote: ↑29 Oct 2025, 22:16I mean - homie missed the obvious play.
bitch you went to the cops. I had no where else to turn. I felt so lonely without you, but I just pretended they were you. We can get past this, we both fucked up big, but we can still get through this. I'm willing to forgive you for trying to ruin my life, if you can forgive me for being broken hearted and not knowing where to turn when everyone else was gone.
Or some shit like that. Instead, homie froze. Not built for the bright lights. Sometimes you gotta make your own plays and clearly Brice can't.
#SystemQB
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redsox907
- Posts: 3799
- Joined: 01 Jun 2025, 12:40
Damaged Petals.
I'm a salesman brodie
ALSO
I don't think it was Skylar. Why would Skylar have pictures of six different women? I think it was his sister, tired of seeing him always get his way