Season 4, Episode 18
Tom stared at the ceiling for a second, ears straining, waiting for another sound. Within moments, he heard it and sat up fast, reaching for his phone on the nightstand. He squinted as the blue light washed over his face, illuminating the otherwise dark room.
The Ring alarm had been disarmed.
His pulse spiked. He glanced to his left. Liz was asleep beside him—a rarity now, her breathing shallow but steady.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, bare feet meeting the cold wood floor. The old house groaned softly beneath his weight as he moved toward the closet. His mind raced through possibilities as he unlocked the safe and lifted the handgun free.
Maybe Sophie had snuck out.
Maybe she’d ordered food and gone to grab it.
Maybe Jimmy had—
No.
He hadn’t.
He couldn’t.
Tom checked the magazine by feel, thumb pressing against the rounds, counting without looking. He racked the slide once, chambering a round. The muted metallic click sounded louder than it should have in the quiet house. He lowered the barrel, finger straight along the frame, breath shallow as he eased the closet door shut and slipped out into the hallway.
The only light came from Jimmy’s room, spilling through a door left slightly ajar.
Tom paused, then moved forward, each step deliberate. He slid the gun into his waistband as he walked, his free hand brushing the wall for balance. He expected to find Sophie inside—curled up on the bed, headphones in, oblivious.
But before he reached the doorway, he heard it.
Sobbing.
No. It wouldn’t be Sophie.
Those were the tears of a broken man.
Or, more accurately, a broken boy.
…
Brice felt stupid for thinking the diner would have changed. He had only been gone a few months, and in all the years he’d been coming here, it never had. From the nights they came as a family after movies, before Jimmy or Sophie were even born, to postgame celebrations with teammates, it had always looked exactly the same.
He always ordered the same thing: a patty melt with an extra side of fries, two milkshakes he’d combine into one—vanilla and cookies and cream. Eric, of all people, once told him it was redundant since cookies and cream already had vanilla in it. Brice ordered it anyway. Somehow, he always only got charged for one.
Brice sat alone in a cracked vinyl booth near the window, his hoodie pulled over his head despite the warmth of the diner. Outside, South Bend was dusted with a light snow—thin, uneven, clinging more out of obligation than beauty. It wasn’t majestic and it wasn’t home either. It looked like a painting of home, something familiar but flattened, distant. And yet, this felt better than sitting across from LaPenna, better than the careful pauses and the questions that wanted answers he didn’t have. He glanced at his phone, saw the reminder for his scheduled meeting with LaPenna, and swiped it away without opening it. The screen went dark, his reflection staring back at him for a second longer than he liked.
It was at this diner, one night after a game, Jimmy had been with him, which wasn’t usually the case. Brice couldn’t remember how or why Jimmy had decided to stick around instead of disappearing into his room to play video games or watch TV, whatever it was he liked to do. Brice winced at the thought. He wasn’t even sure what his brother’s hobbies had been. Besides football, of course.
That night, Jimmy had been one of the guys. Or at least he’d tried to be. About halfway through slogging through the two milkshakes—one vanilla, one cookies and cream—Brice had gotten up and walked over to a nearby table of girls. When he came back, a few of them followed, and Brice promptly kicked several of his friends out of the booth, letting Jimmy stay. They talked for close to an hour. About what? Brice didn’t remember nor did it matter. It was all just filler, like those girls usually were, until they spilled out into the parking lot and one of them kissed Jimmy.
It had felt like a good memory. It even made Brice smile, for a second. Then the smile faded. Was it really a good memory? He’d orchestrated the whole thing, convinced the girl to kiss Jimmy before they ever stepped outside. About a year later, after Brice learned that Jimmy had never gone any further than that, he’d slept with the same girl. That’s what brotherhood earned you. A year.
The fries in front of him went cold as Brice sat with the thought. Had he been a good brother—looking out for Jimmy, securing his first kiss? Or had he robbed him of his own journey? Why had it mattered so much that Jimmy kiss a girl at all? Why had any girl been enough? Those were the questions that lingered, the ones that kept him awake, the ones that eventually drove him away from West Lafayette and back to a place that didn’t quite feel like home either.
The door opened with a soft chime, snapping him back into the present. Brice looked up and saw her immediately. He looked away just as fast, shifting in the booth to keep himself out of sight. He heard her voice as she spoke, telling the guy she was with that this place was a hidden gem in the city. Brice kept his head down, pulled cash from his wallet, and slid it onto the table. He glanced back once more, catching the smile on her face as they struggled to decide on a booth.
She looked happy. Truly happy.
…
The door chimed as someone exited the dinner, and Connie glanced over her shoulder, catching only a fleeting glimpse of a figure already gone, hoodie pulled tight.
"You good?" Eli asked her as he looked over the menu.
"Yeah," she nodded her head and forced a smile, "I thought I’d seen someone I went to school with."
"You practically know everyone around this piece," Eli teased, "I didn’t know I was around South Bend royalty like that."
"Stop it," she playfully punched his arm, "You know what you’re getting?"
"I don’t know," Eli shrugged, "The patty melt sounds pretty good."
Brice weird ass probably gonna watch them from the parking lot. He seem like the type.
Connie must be a baddie if Eli putting up with her crazy ass for this long.
I wasn't going to say this, but yeah.
Wonder where you're going to take this storyline.
Please stop projecting yall cuckoldery fantasy/flashbacks into these characters, gang
I let the story take me, I just write the characters out and try to come up with scenarios that will advance them and then react, in real time (as much as possible) so that it doesn't feel forced
ie jimmy's death wasn't planned, i just thought of it and rolled with it
Brice let out a sigh of frustration as he cracked his neck, the stadium’s flood lights peering into the tunnel. He always loved this part; the quiet before the storm, the clacking of the cleats against the concrete, the slow rise of noise as they got closer and closer to the entrance of the tunnel. But on this particular night, he didn’t much care for it as the stadium attendants, two guys that weighed about two fifty between the both of them, were in charge of holding them back as Indiana went through their player introductions for senior night.
He didn’t remember much of senior night, just bits and pieces of it and certainly not the good parts. He didn’t remember his parents walking with him on the field prior to the game, roses in hand. He didn’t remember the standing ovation he had gotten when he walked out onto that field. He just remembered the chants of 'Connie’ from the opposing fans, trying to put on Jimmy’s pads at halftime and then punching Coach Butler.
Even that felt like a distant memory, a faded dream that he was still putting together. It was the last game that he and his brother had been on the sideline together for, suspended for the short-lived playoff run. Maybe it wouldn’t have been short lived if he hadn’t let his ego gotten the better of him. If he had let his brother take center stage for once, be the main character for once. Maybe they’d have won a playoff game. Maybe they’d have make it to State. Maybe they’d have won it. Maybe Jimmy would have done something that even Brice couldn’t do. Maybe he’d still be here.
Brice shook his head as he slipped on his helmet, hoping to block the world and more importantly his thoughts away as he hid behind his black visor. The player introductions were still going on, barely audible from the tunnel as the two attendants stood. Brice patiently made his way to the front of the huddle of players, all standing in place, waiting to be let out. Once he got to the front, Brice didn’t wait.
"Hey," one of the attendants tried to place a hand in front of Brice but he quickly swatted him away, rendering him helpless as he jogged past him.
"Fuck it," Nitro said, following suit, jogging onto the field.
