Damaged Petals.

[Captain Canada]

The red flags of this character is crimson

[Caesar]

Tom out there trying to get a little strange is the reason that his kids are the way they are. Maybe he should start sweeping up at home before going look elsewhere.

Brice can’t be the leader of a football team. He’s a fake ass Johnny Manziel. Someone needs to humble him. Going behind his teammate’s lil’ shit? Disgusting. #NotMyQB

[redsox907]

Tom out there trying to get a little strange is the reason that his kids are the way they are. Maybe he should start sweeping up at home before going look elsewhere.

Coming from the man that wrote a married pastors daughter hunching with a convicted ex-con in the same church her father preaches in AND was married in, this is a wild take.

That being said - 100%. Brice seen his Dad sleeping with anyone and everyone and figured why not, Dad does it?

Also explains why Sophie is so withdrawn, whole family is messy so she just stick to herself and Jimmy who has yet to be corrupted and she is trying to save.

Brice the typical manipulating kid - thinks he can say the right things and get away with it. Seems like LaPenna can see through it, but is he going to address it

[djp73]

on to the next one
apple never falls far from the tree

[Soapy]

The red flags of this character is crimson

We all have to start somewhere.

Tom out there trying to get a little strange is the reason that his kids are the way they are. Maybe he should start sweeping up at home before going look elsewhere.

Brice can’t be the leader of a football team. He’s a fake ass Johnny Manziel. Someone needs to humble him. Going behind his teammate’s lil’ shit? Disgusting. #NotMyQB

Didn't Royce slime his friend (who got him back into football) for his ex? hmm

Tom out there trying to get a little strange is the reason that his kids are the way they are. Maybe he should start sweeping up at home before going look elsewhere.

Coming from the man that wrote a married pastors daughter hunching with a convicted ex-con in the same church her father preaches in AND was married in, this is a wild take.

That being said - 100%. Brice seen his Dad sleeping with anyone and everyone and figured why not, Dad does it?

Also explains why Sophie is so withdrawn, whole family is messy so she just stick to herself and Jimmy who has yet to be corrupted and she is trying to save.

Brice the typical manipulating kid - thinks he can say the right things and get away with it. Seems like LaPenna can see through it, but is he going to address it

if nothing else, redsox gonna #notice

on to the next one
apple never falls far from the tree

indeed

[Soapy]

Season 3, Episode 7
By the second question, she was peeved. By the third, she was annoyed. When the fifth and sixth came, she shot the moderator a death stare before leaning toward Chuck.

"What the fuck is the point of this shit if that’s all they’re going to talk about?" she whispered to Chuck.

The town hall, a mere checkbox that needed to be ticked off in an election year, had devolved into something else. After the first few scheduled softball questions sent Britney’s way came an avalanche of accusations, each one more charged than the last, all orbiting the same article that had been released a few months earlier—detailing the district attorney office’s aggressive nature in securing plea deals.

The article, for all of its substance and poignancy, hadn’t had any immediate effect. The meeting with her boss, the state’s Attorney General, had been brief. They reviewed the case files of some of the people quoted, interviewed a few of her staff members, and the matter appeared to be closed. That was until the town hall.

"My nephew took a plea for something he didn’t do because your office threatened him with ten years. How is that justice? That’s on his record, forever!”

A man two seats over didn’t wait for Britney’s answer before chiming in. “You’re padding your stats with false convictions. That’s all this is. Makes you look tough on crime so you can put it on a damn mailer.”

“We always knew those numbers were sketchy,” another voice called out from somewhere in the back. “You bully them into deals so you don’t have to prove anything and do your job.”

More murmurs followed, rising and falling like a restless tide, and Britney felt heat crawling up her neck. She lifted the mic, schooling her expression into something she hoped resembled professionalism instead of the tight, fraying rope she felt inside.

“Look,” she said, forcing a polite smile she couldn’t quite keep steady, “this is—this is really a non-story. Plea deals are standard practice. It’s how we land convictions, it’s how we keep dangerous people off the street. This isn’t unique to my office. This is—this is how the system works.”

The quiet came fast. It washed across the auditorium in a cold wave, a sudden, suffocating stillness. Even Chuck shifted beside her, the subtle kind of shift that meant: You shouldn’t have said that.

…

"You should have seen her face," Liz cackled as she took another sip of her wine.

Tom, disinterested, kept rinsing plates under the warm water, his jaw tightening a little more each time the faucet hissed. The kitchen looked like most post-dinner weeknights—pans soaking, utensils scattered near the sink, a half-eaten casserole on the stove, and two wineglasses sitting unevenly near the drying rack. Liz leaned against the counter, still in her work clothes, swirling the last inch of her pour.

"I wonder if they recorded it," she said, the smile lingering in her voice. "I could watch that every day until I die."

"I guess," Tom shrugged, drying his hands on a dish towel.

"Come on," she scoffed, "You’re just saying that because you didn’t see it. She was fucking flailing up there, and good ole Chucky was right there, useless as shit as always."

Tom paused, towel in hand, weighing the next words before he spoke. "I’m just ready to put all of this behind us. Brice is at Purdue, he likes it. There’s nothing on his record, he’ll be fine."

"Fuck that," Liz shook her head, setting the glass down a little harder than she meant to. "She deserves all of this and more."

"Maybe she does," Tom said too quickly, "But you don’t always have to meddle in everything."

"Oh, I’m the meddling one?" she fired back immediately, the implication sharp and unmistakable.

Tom set the towel down and turned toward her. "I’m just saying maybe we don’t need to be involved in every little thing. Let some things die on their own."

Liz’s laugh was humorless. "Right. Because you’ve always been so hands-off." The jab landed exactly where she wanted it to. "Funny how I’m the problem all of a sudden."

"That’s not what I said," Tom muttered, but his voice rose anyway.

"No, it’s what you meant," she pushed, stepping closer. "You’re acting like I’m dragging us into drama when I’m the one cleaning it up."

Tom clenched his jaw again, shaking his head. "This isn’t about that. It’s about you going after her like you need her to suffer to feel better."

"And you want her to skate?" Liz shot back. "You want her to walk around like she didn’t screw over our son? Like she didn’t enjoy the hell out of it?"

"I want us to stop living like she’s still in our lives," Tom snapped.

Their voices carried through the hall before either of them realized how loud they’d gotten.

Upstairs, Sophie froze on her bed, her book still open in her lap as she held perfectly still, listening. She could make out only pieces—her mother’s sharper tones, her father’s lower, strained ones—but it was enough.

Across the hall, Jimmy quietly reached for his headphones, sliding them on before the next spike in volume. He’d learned the rhythm of these arguments by now—the build, the break, the tired silence that followed. He pressed play on whatever playlist was queued up and leaned back against his headboard, drowning out the rest.

…

Connie had barely settled into the cracked wooden chair behind Jake’s house when Skylar slid into the seat beside her, the same way she always had. The bonfire crackled low in the ring, the orange glow catching the cheap cans in everyone’s hands. It all felt familiar in the way summer break always did, like time had folded over itself for one more night.

They’d all scattered to their new campuses a few weeks earlier—Notre Dame for Connie, Ball State for Skylar, IU and Purdue and Butler for the rest—but weekends like this still pulled them home. The conversation hopped from dorm horror stories to classes to hookups with the kind of chaotic warmth that only came from people who’d known each other before they’d learned how to be anyone else.

Connie talked about her roommate from St. Louis whose snoring was only second worse to her cleanliness, about her newfound love of biking, about how she still got lost on campus despite the countless visits she had taken and practically growing up there. She laughed easily, lighter than she’d felt in months. If anyone noticed she hadn’t said Brice’s name once, they didn’t show it.

Skylar’s eyes flicked toward her, calculating. “So… you heard from him at all?” she asked, too casual to be casual.

Connie blinked, surprised at the sharpness of the question in the middle of all the gentle teasing and catching up. “No,” she said honestly. “Not since he left."

A moment passed. Skylar’s mouth curled—not enough to be a smile, just a small, satisfied tightening.

“Huh,” she said, taking a sip of her drink. “I’m sure he’s like super busy with football and stuff."

Connie shrugged, the motion simple, unbothered. “Yeah. I mean… we’re doing our own thing now. Notre Dame’s a lot. In a good way. I’m meeting new people.” She pulled her knees up and rested her chin on them. “We wouldn’t really have anything to talk about. He’s doing this thing, I’m doing mine."

And she meant it. Not entirely, not perfectly—but more than she ever would have thought she’d be able to.

“Good for you,” Skylar said, lifting her can in a mock toast. “Seriously.”

The rest of the group chimed back in—someone passed a bag of popcorn, someone else threw another log on the fire—and the moment dissolved into the night.

Just friends hanging out again. Almost like old times.

Except nothing was exactly what it used to be.

[Captain Canada]

At least Connie finally doing the semi-mature thing and moving on and healing

[Caesar]

Didn't Royce slime his friend (who got him back into football) for his ex? hmm

We’re comparing Brice to great father, friend, leader and quarterback Caine Guerra, sir. Stay on topic.

I don’t think that Brice is done fucking up Connie’s life. I’m guessing he transfers to ND after a year or two in the wilderness at Purdue.

Liz out here trying to ruin people’s lives while Tom getting some strange. Liz sounds like she needs some dick so she can stop obsessing over getting back at one of her husband’s lovers

[redsox907]

Upstairs, Sophie froze on her bed, her book still open in her lap as she held perfectly still, listening. She could make out only pieces—her mother’s sharper tones, her father’s lower, strained ones—but it was enough.

Across the hall, Jimmy quietly reached for his headphones, sliding them on before the next spike in volume. He’d learned the rhythm of these arguments by now—the build, the break, the tired silence that followed. He pressed play on whatever playlist was queued up and leaned back against his headboard, drowning out the rest.

the kids always know

Liz showing why her husband stepped out in the first place.

Skylar ain't slick

[Soapy]

At least Connie finally doing the semi-mature thing and moving on and healing

gotta respect it

Didn't Royce slime his friend (who got him back into football) for his ex? hmm

We’re comparing Brice to great father, friend, leader and quarterback Caine Guerra, sir. Stay on topic.

I don’t think that Brice is done fucking up Connie’s life. I’m guessing he transfers to ND after a year or two in the wilderness at Purdue.

Liz out here trying to ruin people’s lives while Tom getting some strange. Liz sounds like she needs some dick so she can stop obsessing over getting back at one of her husband’s lovers

tbf, from her perspective, she also tried to ruin Brice's college career

Upstairs, Sophie froze on her bed, her book still open in her lap as she held perfectly still, listening. She could make out only pieces—her mother’s sharper tones, her father’s lower, strained ones—but it was enough.

Across the hall, Jimmy quietly reached for his headphones, sliding them on before the next spike in volume. He’d learned the rhythm of these arguments by now—the build, the break, the tired silence that followed. He pressed play on whatever playlist was queued up and leaned back against his headboard, drowning out the rest.

the kids always know

Liz showing why her husband stepped out in the first place.

Skylar ain't slick

watching yall turn on Liz