Damaged Petals.

[Soapy]

Season 1, Episode 13 (Season Finale)
"Fucking hell!" Sophie jerked back, nearly dropping the Starbucks cup in her hand. "You scared the shit out of me!"

Jimmy looked up from his phone but didn’t say anything before returning his eyes to the screen, aimlessly scrolling through his social media feed, buried in the living room couch.

"Where’s Mom and Dad?" Sophie asked as she placed the cup on the kitchen table and went looking in the fridge for a snack.

"Brice’s doctor appointment," Jimmy muttered, grabbing the television remote as he resumed his scroll through Netflix’s catalog—an endeavor that had previously been unfruitful.

Sophie instinctively rolled her eyes as she left the kitchen, joining her brother in the living room as she sat on the adjacent couch, quietly judging his taste as he scrolled past movies and shows. She ate one of the slices of cheese she’d grabbed from the fridge, quietly observing Jimmy until he finally noticed.

"What?"

"Why aren’t you at practice?" she asked—a question she already knew the answer to.

"We’re not practicing right now," he shrugged.

"I could’ve sworn I saw guys on the field when I left school," she said, eating another slice.

"It’s… complicated," he sighed, exiting Netflix and launching Hulu instead.

"Are you really not going to play in the biggest game of your life because of Brice?"

"I don’t know," Jimmy shrugged again. "We’re all not playing right now, so yeah, I guess."

"You guess?" Sophie sat up. "And I swear to God, if you shrug again, I’m going to rip your head off your shoulders."

"I don’t know what you want me to say," Jimmy stopped himself just in time from shrugging.

"I want you," she pointed at him, "to tell me why you—not them, you—aren’t playing."

"It’s not about me, though. It’s about the team," he tried to explain. "The captains decided we weren’t going to play if Brice got suspended."

"He literally punched a coach, Jimmy."

"Coach Butler pushed him first," Jimmy defended. "You weren’t even there, Sophie."

"I don’t have to be there because I’ve been there my entire life," she scoffed. "It’s never his fault, is it?"

"Like I said," Jimmy got up from the couch, "you weren’t there, and it’s not about me. It’s about the team. Not to mention, he’s my brother."

"You’re also his brother," she got up with him. "Does he ever fucking think about that?"

Jimmy didn’t respond—he didn’t have one. He tossed the remote onto the counter and started heading upstairs.

"Jimmy," Sophie sighed. "I’m just saying, don’t throw away this opportunity because of Brice—or for Brice. He’s going to be fine, okay? He always is. It’s just how things fucking work out for people like him."

"You don’t know that," Jimmy muttered, unable to meet his sister’s eyes.

"I do, because Brice is Brice, okay? That’s how life is for him. Now, me? I don’t stand a chance, okay? I’m just going to be his sister—and that’s when people even fucking notice I’m there. But you? You can be so much better than him, in every way. Don’t stay in his shadow because he sure as shit isn’t going to move out of the way for you, alright? Nothing grows in his shadow. Nothing gets better in his orbit."

…

Brice took his headphones off as Eric walked through the doors, followed by a slew of other guys, including Curtis and Marcos. They all nodded toward him, some walking up to dap him up. There was a low murmur throughout the room as the weight room continued to fill. He technically wasn’t allowed on campus, but no one else would be there for at least another hour.

Jimmy walked in, pulling his hoodie down as he met eyes with his brother—his sister’s words from the night before still fresh in his mind. He had been mustering the courage to send out a group text to the other players when he realized he was on the receiving end of one instead. His brother had already told the team to meet in the weight room before school. Jimmy thought. Brice did.

Brice looked around the room at the familiar faces, many of whom he had spent the better part of the last four years with—putting in literal blood, sweat, and tears. He thought of the playoff run his sophomore year when he played on one ankle. He thought of the pain in his knee that still lingered from his junior season, when he played through a torn meniscus for nearly the entire record-breaking year. The concussion he’d suffered a few weeks prior might have been the first diagnosed one, but it was far from the first he’d sustained. Many of his teammates had similar scars—wounds that would never fully heal—all in pursuit of an elusive state championship the school hadn’t won in twenty years.

Eric peeked into the hallway to check for stragglers before nodding toward Brice and closing the door, bringing with it a silence that fell over the room as eyes shifted toward him.

"Appreciate you boys coming in this morning," Brice cleared his throat. "I’ll be honest, I don’t really have much to say. Obviously, this year didn’t play out like any of us wanted it to—I know it didn’t for me. Some of it was out of my control, some of it wasn’t. I want to apologize to all of you guys for what I did on Friday. A lot went into that, and for the part I played, I just want to stand here as a man and let you know that as your leader, I let you down. I know a lot of you look up to me, and that’s something I cherish, for real. Fuck the rankings, fuck the offers, fuck the records—I care about being the leader of this team. I’ve wanted to play quarterback for this school for as long as I can remember, bro. So for everything to go down like it did—I’m sorry. You guys deserved better than that."

Brice composed himself as he looked at his brother. "Jimmy, I stole your moment, little brother. I had no right to let my feelings get in the way and try to come into a game after you’d busted your ass and kept our season going with me out. I failed you as a leader, I failed you as a role model, and the shit that hurts me the most is I failed you as a brother. I wish everyone in here could forgive me—and they’re all like my brothers—but you’re my actual brother, bro, and you didn’t deserve how I did you. So I’m not even going to ask for your forgiveness because I don’t deserve it."

Jimmy held back tears as he nodded his head, too afraid to speak. Even if he opened his mouth, he wasn’t sure anything would come out.

"I’d be dead wrong if I let you guys not play this season out," Brice said. "You guys earned the right to fight for a state championship. Eric, Marcos, T-Will, Jackson. Curtis—you fucking moved from Chicago to live with Eric just for a chance to win this bitch. I lost the right to play, I lost the right to lead y’all out there because of the shit I did. I don’t have to sugarcoat anything—you guys know I don’t fucking like Butler, you know that! But him, me, anybody else—it don’t matter! You don’t let anybody stop you from winning this fucking championship, you hear me?!"

Eric began clapping loudly, and others followed, nodding their heads.

"Y’all boys rally around Jimmy—he’s going to lead you even better than I could!" Brice yelled. "He’s a fucking dog, bro, I promise you!"

"Jimmy boy!" Eric exclaimed as others started laughing.

"Y’all boys bring it in," Brice said, holding his right fist up as the team formed a huddle around him. "State on me, State on three. One, two, three!"

"State!"

[redsox907]

Very unlike the Brice we've come to know.....something's up

[Caesar]

Bro got a lick of pussy from the girlfriend he batters' best friend and now he Tim Tebow.

[Soapy]

Very unlike the Brice we've come to know.....something's up

Bro got a lick of pussy from the girlfriend he batters' best friend and now he Tim Tebow.

he can't be multi faceted? smh

[Soapy]

Season 2, Episode 1
"Anything else you want to share?" Detective Brunson asked as he glanced toward the clock. If traffic wasn’t too bad, he’d still have a chance to catch Happy Hour.

"I don’t think so," Skylar answered, looking toward her parents, who both nodded.

"Appreciate you guys coming in," Brunson said, standing up and shaking their hands before escorting them out of the room. He took a quick look at his watch before walking over to where Chuck was standing, a laptop perched on a filing cabinet.

"Anything with that one?" Chuck asked, fingers hovering over his keyboard.

"Pretty much the same," Brunson shrugged. "Both at the party, both were drinking—Connie a little bit more than him. She was pretty drunk, they went to the bathroom. She didn’t see any signs of a struggle, never seen him be violent with her before."

"Any more for today?"

"Nope, that was the last one," Brunson said, taking another peek at his watch.

…

Brice still remembered the last time he was in this office. He had just finished throwing at a camp hosted on Notre Dame’s campus and had been invited to meet the Fighting Irish’s new head coach. That meeting ended with him receiving a scholarship offer from his favorite team.

This meeting was of a different variety.

"I understand there’s sensitivity with it being an ongoing investigation," Coach Freeman began, "but I hope you can also understand that from our standpoint, we need some clarity on how we’re going to move forward."

"Yes, sir," Brice answered.

"So what happened?"

"Honestly, Coach," Brice sighed, "just bad decisions, really. I went out with my girlfriend to this party, and we both had probably too much to drink."

"I think any amount is too much to drink," Coach Freeman quipped.

"Yes, sir. Um, I tried to get her to sober up a little bit, and she got upset, so we left."

"You drove?" Coach Freeman raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, sir. Obviously not a smart decision—reckless, and it could’ve ended a lot worse. We got pulled over, and then I guess she got scared or something, and I don’t know—she said I was hitting her and stuff like that, but obviously that’s not true. I’ve never hit her. I never would hit a woman. Everyone at the party said I didn’t, so right now we’re just waiting for that situation to sort out."

Coach Freeman rested his chin on his knuckles as he leaned forward, examining Brice’s face. The boy—nearly a man—sitting across from him was very different from the confident, smooth-talking quarterback he’d gotten to know over the years. Maybe he was humbled. Maybe he’d matured. Or maybe he was caught dead to rights, and he knew it.

"And the situation with your coach?"

"No excuse for that. I just lost my temper. I don’t really know what happened there. I know I was still coming back from my concussion, but again, no excuse. Even if I was in some altered state, it obviously doesn’t look good with everything else going on."

"You’re right—it doesn’t," Coach Freeman said, leaning back into his chair and glancing toward the window. "If you were in my situation, what would you do?"

Brice had expected the question but still paused, feigning thought even though he’d already rehearsed the answer. "I’d drop me, honestly. There’s no way for you to know what’s in my heart, what’s true or not true, so I wouldn’t blame you for moving on. I put myself in that situation, and I have to be accountable for it. If we didn’t go out drinking that night, if we didn’t get into that argument, if we didn’t drive, none of this happens. So from your standpoint, I get it."

Coach Freeman nodded, tapping his fingers against the desk. "You’ve shown a lot of maturity today, Brice. Coach Lanovoi speaks the world of you—really thinks you’re a special talent and a special person. You know I’ve been your biggest fan and defender in this program, but like you said, there’s a lot in the air right now. A lot that needs to be cleared up. I can’t guarantee you a spot in our class anymore, I’ll be honest—but I also don’t want to throw the baby out with the bathwater, right?"

Brice winced.

"We’ll stay in touch, see how things go. If you’re able to get this cleared up, we’d still love to have you, man."

…

The television screen was the only source of light as Tom walked down the stairs, peeking into the living room as he reached the kitchen. Jimmy was still on the couch, remote in hand, eyes locked on the screen. Tom grabbed two water bottles from the fridge and pulled out some leftover chicken, not bothering to warm it up as he plated it on a paper plate. He walked over to the couch, sat down beside his son, handed him a water bottle, and began eating the cold chicken.

"They were flying around that night," Tom said as they watched a replay of a handoff to Brandon that went nowhere against NorthWood.

They sure were—the bruises and lingering pain throughout Jimmy’s body were constant reminders. The team had shown resolve, taking the game to overtime, but the offense never found its rhythm before ultimately falling 20–13 to the Panthers. The defense dared them to throw the ball downfield, and the passing game couldn’t deliver.

"How many times you watched this?" Tom asked, realizing they were back in the second quarter. When he’d gone to bed a few hours earlier, Jimmy had been in the fourth—right at the deep post he’d missed to Curtis.

"I don’t know," Jimmy said with a shrug.

"You’ve got plenty of other games to make up for this one," Tom assured him.

Jimmy didn’t respond, eyes fixed on another incompletion.

"Sulk in here all you want," Tom said, standing after finishing the last piece of chicken. "But out there? You need to move past this shit—and be the leader this team’s going to need without Brice anymore."

[redsox907]

dual player chise incoming?

[Caesar]

That white privilege keeping Brice still on the radar after beating his girlfriend.

[Soapy]

dual player chise incoming?

hmmmm

That white privilege keeping Brice still on the radar after beating his girlfriend.

A glorious thing honestly

[Soapy]

Season 2, Episode 2
Liz slowly pushed her cart down the aisle, her eyes scanning each shelf. She already knew what she’d end up buying but still enjoyed the process of walking every aisle, finding the experience cathartic. Between the long commute, the extended hours at work, and the emotional weight she carried home after spending her days counseling at-risk kids and teenagers, grocery shopping had become a ritual of peace. She took pride in being a mom, and Sunday morning trips were the epitome of that. She’d head to the store before anyone woke, return just as her husband and sons finished their morning workout, and cook breakfast. If they were lucky, Sophie would come down at some point, grab something to eat, and disappear again. The routine was simple but fulfilling.

As she turned the corner, she noticed a familiar figure holding up two items, comparing their nutritional facts. Liz straightened her clothes, suddenly self-conscious about skipping the gym the previous week. She continued forward until Britney turned, meeting her eyes and placing one of the items into her cart.

“Liz,” Britney greeted her with a polite smile. “Good morning.”

“Brit,” Liz replied coolly, intentionally shortening her name — she knew she hated it.

“Enjoy your Sunday,” Britney said, pushing her cart forward, only for Liz to place hers in the way.

“What exactly is your endgame here?”

“I’m trying to shop for dinner tonight,” Britney said dryly. “Thinking sea bass, some veggies, maybe a baked potato.”

“Cut the shit,” Liz said flatly. “This is low, even for you.”

“If you’re referring to an active investigation, then you, of all people, should know better than that. I’m not at liberty to discuss those things.”

“I also know you’re not exactly one to hold the moral fucking high ground,” Liz’s voice rose before she caught herself, glancing around. “This is beyond petty, Britney. You’re using my son to carry out some grudge like I’m the one who wronged you?”

“This has nothing to do with me, Lizzy,” Britney shot back, matching her tone. “My office doesn’t launch investigations out of thin air. We deal with the cases that are brought to us. What do you want me to do — ignore it?”

“No, I want you to do your actual job and realize this case is a crock of shit,” Liz snapped.

“This isn’t helping your son, Liz, and I’m going to forget this conversation ever happened.” Britney adjusted her cart so Liz was no longer blocking her. “Enjoy your Sunday. And say hi to Tom — long time, no see.”

…

“I think a sleeve would look cool,” Skylar said, running her fingers along Brice’s forearm as she rested her head on his chest.

“I’ll have to wait until I get in the league for that,” Brice said, peeling her head off and looking for his clothes. “My parents would fucking kill me.”

“I’m guessing it won’t be Connie’s name,” Skylar teased, still lounging in bed.

“Don’t,” Brice warned, not turning back as he grabbed his pants.

“I’m just saying,” she muttered, just loud enough for him to hear. “She’s sort of going crazy right now.”

“You know how she gets,” he said. “She’s probably not over everything that happened, and I can’t fault her. That was… a lot of shit that went down.”

“It was three years ago, Brice,” she said, sitting up. “I’m not saying she needs to get over it, but at some point — yeah. What were y’all gonna be, fucking parents at fifteen?”

That year was both fresh and hazy in Brice’s memory as he slipped his shirt on. So much had happened in so little time, yet it felt like the longest year of his life. He could only imagine what it had been like for Connie — and for so long, he hadn’t let himself. He’d blocked it out. Now, he had no choice but to think. He had all the time in the world to think.

“Maybe if she knew about us, she wouldn’t feel so bad,” Skylar laughed. Brice didn’t.

“Why are you being such a baby about this? We used to joke about this shit all the time.”

“That was before I could be going to fucking jail, bitch,” Brice snapped, taking a deep breath. “Ain’t shit funny right now, Sky.”

“You’re not going to jail, Brice,” she said softly, moving to the edge of the bed and placing a hand on his chest. “You’re not even going to be charged. We all know you didn’t hit her. I mean, you’re a dick, but not that. The bad part is people are going to find out about some of this shit — but they’ll also find out she’s batshit crazy and lied on you because she’s batshit crazy. I love Connie, you know I do, but come on — she was always going to end up doing some stupid shit like this.”

Brice’s mind drifted back to their first conversation after her third pregnancy test confirmed their fears. He’d been against it; she’d been unsure. Yeah, they weren’t ready — but it was still theirs. He wished he’d been more supportive, less combative. Maybe she wouldn’t have gone to her parents, setting off the chain of events that buried her away for months as she carried out the pregnancy. It was never the same after that. It never could be.

The optimist in Brice — the side that fueled his confidence, bordered on arrogance — had believed that once they got to Notre Dame together, everything would change. Like somehow moving one mile would heal everything.

…

“I’m tasting lemon?” Chuck raised an eyebrow.

“Garlic and butter,” Britney corrected, scrolling through her laptop.

“That’s it?”

“Pretty much.”

“We knew it’d be light, but there’s absolutely nothing there to work with,” he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “If anything, they’ll use those same statements for the defense. We knew it’d be his word against hers — but now it’s her word against ten people, all saying the same thing.”

“None of them were in the bathroom,” Britney said, tilting her head. “Doesn’t necessarily negate her statement.”

“She does that herself,” he countered. “They’ll get that first transcript where her story changes — what, five or six times?”

“She was drunk.”

“Again, they’ll use that too,” Chuck said. “And it’ll raise a fair question about how PD handled it.”

“That’s Marron’s problem,” she said, waving it off. “Not my fault they did a shitty job.”

“Even if we got a grand jury,” Chuck continued, “no one’s going to want this. Grace is on a win streak, she won’t touch it. Simon’s not screwing up his relationship with St. Joe’s. Even Reneta wouldn’t take it — and if she did, she sure as hell wouldn’t get a conviction. She’s blown slam-dunk cases.”

Britney took a slow bite of her sea bass, thinking.

“And you can’t try it yourself,” Chuck added. “I just don’t see a path to a win here.”

“Any more interviews scheduled?” she asked.

“Nope. We could canvas some more, but at this point, someone would’ve come forward.”

“Let’s keep seeing what pops up,” Britney said, closing her laptop. “I don’t see any reason to hurry up and close this, do you?”

[redsox907]

wait, Brice was pipping down the best friend before this shit went down?