Damaged Petals.

[Soapy]

nice game against Wisconsin need you an OL, good to see the sack numbers down though

i don't think im going to get gone so gonna have to learn quick game

[Soapy]

Season 4, Episode 9
“You look…lighter today,” LaPenna said after a beat, careful with the word.

Brice smirked. “We’re just saying whatever now."

“I’m making an observation,” LaPenna replied evenly.

“Well,” Brice shrugged, “I came to say you were right. About the whole—holding guys accountable without being a dick about it.”

LaPenna nodded once. “I’m glad it felt useful.”

“I don’t know if I’m always going to have the patience for it,” Brice said. “But shit, we keep winning and I’ll tuck them in with their milk and cookies and everything."

LaPenna smiled faintly. “Sounds like you found the approach that fit.”

Brice scoffed. “There you go. You always have to make it some internal journey shit.”

“I’m not taking credit,” LaPenna said calmly. “I’m giving it back to you.”

Brice rolled his eyes, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “Whatever, man.”

They sat in silence for a few seconds. Not the tense kind. The familiar kind that had grown between them over time.

Brice shifted, arms dropping from the back of the couch as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“Uh,” he started, then stopped.

LaPenna waited.

“I’ve been talking to this girl,” Brice said finally, like it wasn’t important enough to land cleanly.

LaPenna’s pen paused mid-air. He didn’t look down at the page. He looked at Brice.

“Talking,” LaPenna repeated, neutral.

“Sort of,” Brice shrugged. “Not like—” He shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

LaPenna didn’t press right away. He let the space do the work.

“This is the first time you’ve brought someone up like this,” LaPenna said gently.

Brice frowned. “Like what?”

“Without joking. Without talking about how she looks or what you guys did.” LaPenna replied. “You mentioned her and stopped.”

Brice leaned back again, defensive posture sliding back into place. “You reading way too much into this. We’re not really talking for real, just spoke to each other a couple of times and she seems cool.”

“Why bring her up at all, then?” LaPenna asked.

Brice opened his mouth, then closed it. He shrugged, eyes drifting toward the window.

"I’m just making conversation, bro,” he said. “Forget I said it.”

LaPenna studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Alright.”

Brice exhaled, tension easing just slightly.

“So,” he said, forcing the casual back into his voice, “what else you got for me today, Doc?”

LaPenna glanced at his notes, then back up at Brice, already cataloging the moment without trapping it.

“Well,” he said, “we can talk about what’s coming up this weekend. Your first road game in a while.”

Brice nodded, settling back into the session as if nothing had happened—and yet something had.

…

Connie sat curled into the corner of the couch, knees pulled to her chest, fingers worrying the seam of a throw pillow. Dr. Mendel waited, as she always did, giving the silence space to breathe.

“He thinks I lied,” Connie finally said, her voice tight. “Or—worse—that I lied on purpose.”

Dr. Mendel nodded once, slowly. “That’s what he thinks. What do you think you did?”

Connie scoffed, wiping at her cheek. “I didn’t lie. I just… didn’t say everything. There’s a difference.”

“There is,” Dr. Mendel agreed. “But it’s a difference that often feels very small to the person on the other side of it.”

Connie leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “I just wasn’t ready to talk about it and then he just comes at me with it, like no small talk, no nothing. And I froze. I couldn’t answer him. I didn’t say yes, I didn’t say no. I just—” She clenched her jaw. “I couldn’t get the words out.”

“What happened in your body in that moment?” Dr. Mendel asked.

“I felt cornered,” Connie said immediately. “Like I was in that room and everyone was staring at me, waiting for me to say the wrong thing so they could decide who I was.”

Dr. Mendel let that sit. “So when Eli asked you a question about the past, your nervous system heard it as a threat in the present.”

Connie swallowed. “Yeah. And now he’s probably sitting there thinking, If she can’t answer, then it must be true.”

“Is that what you think?” Dr. Mendel asked gently.

Connie shook her head, frustrated tears spilling over. “No. It’s not that simple. That’s the whole point. I said what I said about Brice because I was scared and overwhelmed and being pressured by adults who were supposed to protect me. And then I recanted because I realized I couldn’t live with what it would do—to him, to me, to everyone. Both things are true. How do you explain that to someone you’ve only been with for a few months?”

“You don’t explain it all at once,” Dr. Mendel said. “And you don’t owe anyone the most painful chapter of your life on demand.”

Connie laughed bitterly. “Tell that to Eli.”

“What Eli experienced,” Dr. Mendel continued, “was confusion and fear. Not malice. And what you experienced was being asked to compress years of trauma into a yes-or-no answer.”

Connie looked at her. “So what if he leaves?”

Dr. Mendel didn’t rush to comfort her. “What would that mean to you?”

“That I should’ve said it sooner,” Connie said. “That I messed this up."

Dr. Mendel leaned forward slightly. “Or it could mean that this relationship reached a moment that required more emotional capacity than either of you had yet. That doesn’t make you wrong or broken.”

Connie’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I just wasn’t ready.”

“I know,” Dr. Mendel said softly. “And readiness isn’t a moral failure. It’s timing.”

They sat quietly for a moment.

“If he asks again,” Connie said, “what do I say?”

“You tell the truth,” Dr. Mendel replied. “But you tell your truth. You can say, ‘There are parts of that story I’m still learning how to talk about. My silence wasn’t deception—it was protection.’”

Connie nodded slowly, letting the words settle.

“And if he can’t accept that?” she asked.

“Then the work becomes grieving what you hoped this relationship could hold,” Dr. Mendel said. “Not punishing yourself for surviving the way you did.”

Connie closed her eyes, a long breath leaving her chest.

“I hate that this still follows me.”

Dr. Mendel’s voice was steady, kind. “Trauma doesn’t follow us to hurt us. It waits for us to be safe enough to finally be heard.”

…

“You saw that delay release, right?” Jimmy brought the young sophomore cornerback over, who nervously nodded his head. “Stay backside, don’t fall asleep.”

He adjusted his helmet as he rested his hands on his hips, watching the offense break out of the huddle in 11 personnel in a 3×1 formation to the defense’s right. Baxter, the third-year starter at linebacker, called out the formation and set the strength side, sending Jimmy to the right to match up with the inside receiver.

“Combo! Combo! Combo!” the slot corner made the call, but Jimmy was quick to overrule it, flapping his arms like wings as he sent the signal in, checking them back into man coverage.

“Eagle! Eagle! We’re good in Eagle!”

No one protested as the defensive backs nodded their heads, tapping their helmets to confirm they received the signal. The ball was snapped, and Jimmy’s receiver gave a diamond release before driving on the slant, only to break out on a speed out. Jimmy maneuvered through the traffic, shoving the number two receiver who tried to set the pick on him into his teammate, who blew up the play as the ball fell incomplete.

“Where’s the flag?” the receiver quickly got up, holding his hands in the air.

“Contact was within a yard!” the official told him as he tossed the ball to the other referee.

Jimmy was dapped up by his teammates as he walked back to the huddle, adjusting his gloves. He looked to the sidelines as the play call came in and, with it, new personnel that sent Jimmy to deep safety. He kept backing up until he was at the sticks, about eleven yards from the line of scrimmage.

“Watch the screen, James!” Coach Lanovoi reminded him, the only one who ever called him that.

He nodded as he drove his fist into his palm, cracking his knuckles. The ball was snapped, and the quarterback immediately looked to his left, where one of the receivers was running toward him on a funnel screen, which he faked the pass to before tucking it and following a caravan of pulling linemen in front of him. Jimmy sprinted toward him, his run-fit assignment to take out the outside-most blocker and spill the quarterback back inside where help was coming.

He expected the lineman to come high and try to knock him off his feet, securing the highlight-reel play. He had bulked up over the summer, but still—a lineman versus a defensive back/quarterback in the open field? That was a lineman’s dream. Jimmy braced for the contact, keeping his head up as he went to lower his shoulder, but the lineman disappeared from view.

He just remembered falling, as if his legs had been taken out by a sniper.

It didn’t hurt—not at first. He was too busy looking around to see if the quarterback had gotten the first down. He hadn’t. Jimmy tried to get up, anticipating they might go for it on fourth down, but he couldn’t.

That’s when the pain began setting in.

[djp73]

jimmy done?

[Caesar]

Brice gotta be the worst patient a therapist could have. Bro ain’t willing to take nothing on board. Stick a fork in him. He Johnny Manziel.

Connie Ho phase revving up.

Jimmy

[Soapy]

jimmy done?

ice up, son

Brice gotta be the worst patient a therapist could have. Bro ain’t willing to take nothing on board. Stick a fork in him. He Johnny Manziel.

Connie Ho phase revving up.

Jimmy

you would be the worst therapist lmao son like 3 months in, give him time

[Soapy]

Season 4, Episode 10
"I heard you were crying like crazy in there, man."

"No, I wasn’t," a smile cracked Jimmy’s face as he held the phone in front of him, his brother’s face filling the screen.

Jimmy lay propped up in the hospital bed, his right knee wrapped thick in white bandages that ran from mid-thigh to mid-calf, immobilized and elevated. Liz stood on one side of the bed, a hand resting lightly on the rail, her smile careful and practiced. Tom hovered just behind her shoulder, arms folded, jaw set, projecting calm for the sake of the screen. Sophie sat on the couch against the wall, knees pulled to her chest, eyes fixed on Jimmy rather than the call, worry etched across her face.

"I can't believe I'm missing this game," Jimmy said, his voice cracking halfway through. "The Rose Bowl? We've always talked about playing there, man."

"Yeah, it’s going to be crazy," Brice said, his voice catching too before he forced it away. "Should I go VY with the armband like the natty, or plain Jane like Darnold against Penn State when he went stupid?"

"I don’t know," Jimmy scratched at his head, understanding this was the language of intimacy among them. "I think just you should work."

"You right," Brice nodded, then turned away from the camera briefly, distracted by something being shouted behind him in the locker room.

"You should get going, Brice," Tom leaned into the frame. "We’ll be watching you."

"Aight, little bro," Brice returned to the camera. "Keep your head up. You already know the deal. This is just how the doc starts, you know? Sad song playing right now, then clips of your recovery. It’s gonna go crazy."

"For sure," Jimmy forced a smile. "I need about two touchdowns from you today, ten."

"Make it three," Brice laughed.

…

Brice let out a breath as Nitro reached back and hauled in the ball, turning upfield for the first down and more before being dragged down at the thirty. Brice gave him a quick nod as the receiver popped up—an acknowledgment, simple and understood.

The Rose Bowl unfolded around him in soft color and sound, the late-afternoon sun casting long shadows across the field. It was a stadium he’d watched on TV with his dad, then with Jimmy sprawled on the floor beside him, dreaming out loud. He’d always imagined it against USC or Oregon, Notre Dame blue under the lights. But this—this felt heavier. Realer.

A few plays later, Brice rewarded Nitro. Second and nine, man coverage. He let it go on the go route, trusting Nitro to win. The corner stayed hip-to-hip, hands sneaky, and with the end zone looming, climbed the ladder and came down with it.

Brice didn’t see the interception—too many bodies—but the roar told him enough. He dropped his head for a beat before lifting it, finding Nitro unbuckling his helmet in the back of the end zone. Brice jogged over.

"I’ll put it more out there," he said, slapping his pads. "That’s on me."

…

"Sorry ass motherfucker!" Eli screamed at the television screen, bringing the beer bottle to his lip, "Let’s go, baby!"

"You got money on this game?" asked one of his friends among the packed apartment living room, different games on the split screen.

"Nah, it’s just fuck Purdue," he grinned.

…

Brice stood frozen as he watched the defense crawl up to the line of scrimmage, eight players within a yard or so. He let his offensive line converse among themselves, making the required calls and checks as he leaned in, making sure he was in agreement.

"Angola! Angola!" he checked, nodding to Gabriel, his running back, who nodded back, checking into max protection.

The ball was snapped and they all but four dropped into coverage, bringing pressure off the edge from one of the defensive backs. Brice knew the mesh concept would break open, he just needed to wait for the linebacker to pick a receiver and for him to do so before the corner got him. He kept drifting back and back, buying his receivers time until Corey finally broke open, delivering the strike just as the corner got to Brice.

…

As soon as the safeties parted like the Red Sea, Brice knew it was a touchdown. He didn’t overthink and fired it in, right over the dropping linebacker and inside enough to lead Corey away from the split safety where he caught the ball in stride and into the endzone.

Brice sprinted straight after him, joining him in the endzone for a quick celebration before finding the nearby camera.

"Get well soon, baby bro! Best in the nation!"

…

Brice stood tall in the pocket, afforded a clean one on a rare occasion and delivered the ball with confidence, only it sailed high on Nitro who needed to climb the latter to bring it down, giving the defender enough time to recover and make the tackle, short of the stick.

"Fuck!" Brice cursed himself out, holding his hand up as they walked to the sideline, "That’s on me, bro."

"You’re good," Nitro reminded him, "They can’t stop us on those crossers, man!"

…

Brice hung his head in disappointment as the ball spilled out of George’s hands for another drop, the 'my bad', himself included, beginning to pile up.

On the very next play, as these things tended to happen, on third and ten, the left side got beat almost instantly, flooding Brice to his right where he only had a running back in the flat. He tried to take off with the ball, hoping to pick up some yards and make something happen but the defensive end tracked him down faster than he expected, knocking the ball out of his hands as Brice fell face first into the turf.

His head was still ringing when he looked up to see the defense celebrating the recovery.

…

All Brice saw out of the corner of his eyes was Marques, the left guard, tumbling to the ground, a common sight. He tried to step up in the pocket in an effort to evade the defender but the 300-pounder quickly drove him to the ground, separating him from the football with the pure jolt and knockback he was able to generate. By the time Brice got up, another defender was running full speed at him, except this time with the ball.

Brice turned around and gave chase to no avail as he sprinted all the way into the endzone to give UCLA the 13-7 lead.

…

Brice had already been sacked on the first play of the two-minute drive so with the ball on the thirteen-yard line and facing a second and eighteen, he didn’t hesitate to tuck the ball and take off running into the open space, lowering his shoulder into defenders as he picked up the first down.

"Protect yourself!" Coach Odom screamed from the sidelines but Brice mentally waved him off as he tossed the ball to the official.

"I’ll fucking do this shit myself, I swear to God," he muttered as he fixed his shoulder pads.

…

A few more scrambles had gotten the ball to the UCLA 30-yard line with half a minute to go, in perfect position to potentially take the lead or at worst, cut into it before half. It was a simple mesh concept, the same that had given UCLA fits throughout the half. Brice put some zip on the ball in an effort to allow Corey to run into it and have his momentum carry him into open space where he’d need to beat just one defender to score.

Instead, it was too far out from him as he flailed his arm towards the ball before it landed with a loud thud in the belly of the safety behind him.

"Fuck!" Brice screamed into the ground, squatting down as he let his helmet hang in his head. He could feel his offensive line pulling him up but he was in no hurry as he continued to curse himself out, "Fucking idiot, you’re fucking shitting the bed right now."

He slammed his two hands against his helmet, striking himself in the facemask a few times before ripping his helmet off.

"Come on now, five!" someone, he wasn’t sure who, yelled at him, "We gonna need you, big dawg!"

…

Coach Henson went right back to the mesh concept to open the second half and Brice found Corey in stride this time on the opposite side of the field for a quick twenty-yard gain, sharing a nod with the play caller as he jogged to the line of scrimmage.

A few plays later, facing third down in the redzone, bad habits resurfaced as Brice drifted and drifted to buy his receivers some time before finally deciding to give them a chance to make a play, lofting it towards De’Nylon who came down with the ball.

"You saved my ass there, bro," Brice gave him a pound as they rejoined the huddle.

…

The rusher came free instantly, no one bothering to pick him as Joey, the right tackle, had stepped inside and left him wide open. Gabriel was running wide open but wasn’t looking for the ball, unaware that no one was covering him. Brice, not wanting to take a sack on third and goal, threw the outbreaking route to Jesse on a prayer that he’d break open. He did, Gabriel serving as an unintentional rub route but the ball sailed from Jesse and fell incomplete to bring up fourth down.

Brice looked to the sidelines immediately, not wanting to dwell on it too much, not trusting himself to heed LaPenna’s advice as they trailed by six points in the third quarter. The sideline sent in a play and Brice got the team lined up, making sure him and his offensive line were on the same page.

Brice read the linebacker the whole way, trying to see if he would take Gabriel out to the flat and open the slant behind him to De’Nylon and he did but the corner was all over the receiver still, no window for Brice to throw to.

Before Brice came off that read, he had seen that Joey had chopped down the defensive end, creating a wide open gap as they fell for the floor. He tucked the ball and sprinted into the endzone, beating him to the goal line.

"Way to fucking chop his ass!" Brice found Joey among the celebration, the third down gaffer already forgotten.

…

The middle of the field was completely open and Brice took off, picking up steam as he headed towards the first down line, facing a first-and-twenty after an earlier penalty. He veered away from the defender before sliding down, right as he was about to cross the first down line, Coach Odom’s earlier words in his ear.

"Stop being a scared ass bitch!" mocked the nearest defender.

"Stop being a deadbeat dad and get your momma out of the fucking projects, you hood rat," he fired back with a smirk, not bothering to linger around for more banter.

…

Brice didn’t love the matchup but everyone else was covered and he wasn’t sure the offensive line would hold long enough for him to be able to escape the pocket. He left the football go and George was able to create some separation as the top of the route and got two hands on the football, only to drop it when the contact came.

There was no walking over to him this time as Brice simply went to the sideline, tossing his helmet to the ground and taking a seat as he watched UCLA retake the lead heading into the fourth.

…

Brice could feel the game slipping away as he peeled himself off the grass, the once scenic Rose Bowl now just the latest scene of him getting his ass kicked. The Bruins led by nine points and with ten minutes left, facing another third down, another punt would likely be the end of it.

Brice stood in the pocket and delivered a strike to Corey for the first down, finding him on an inbreaking route. He found him again on the next play, this time for eleven yards and then it was Gabriel’s turn to join in as Brice escaped the pressure and dumped it off to him for eight yards before faking the handoff and finding his fullback leaking out on the waggle for the first down.

As the offense kept hurrying to the line, Brice felt less like he was at the Rose Bowl and more like back home, running the show for St. Joe’s. The completions kept coming, connecting with Jesse across the middle of the field to get the ball into the redzone and two plays later, when the defense once again bailed in man coverage, Brice kept himself and sprinted fifteen yards into the endzone for the score.

There was no celebration this time, just a toss of the ball to the official and a stare at the game clock as his teammates celebrated around him. He just wanted another shot at the game, one more drive with all of it on the line and he would get it.

…

The four minute drive had been going flawlessly, slowing picking at the tired Bruins defense with quick completions that felt like paper cuts as the offense matriculated down the field, trailing by two points with a field goal to win it. Brice was always conscious of the clock, not snapping the ball too quickly as they cut into the clock and ate up yardage.

With the ball on the 35-yard line and less than two minutes left, Brice sent George into motion to see how the defense would react and they were clearly in some of zone coverage, the safety staying home. Brice sent him back. He waited a few seconds before sending Nitro across the field, lining him up next to George, forming a 3×1 set with the trips on the running back side. Nitro’s defense, similar to Georgie’s, stayed home, leading to the linebacker bumping out to cover Nitro.

Brice had them just where he wanted and he asked for the snap before throwing the screen pass to Gabriel out of the backfield, the defense now out leveraged due to the shift as Gabriel got the first down.

…

Brice watched as Jaheim was stuffed at the line of scrimmage, bringing up fourth down as UCLA called their final timeouts. There was a minute left, more than enough time for their quarterback to lead a drive of their own after the kick but the defense had played well, allowing just sixteen points.

For the first time all night, Brice felt relief as he walked off the field, crossing paths with Spencer, the kicker, as the field goal unit came onto the field. He allowed himself to take a peek at the ticker in the corner of the stadium that showed his stats, a smile forming on his face.

"Good drive, boys," Brice told his receivers as they came off the field, the sideline preparing for celebration.

Brice had already turned his back and was getting ready to look at the tablet when he heard the crowd erupt. Quite a traveling crowd, he thought to himself as he heard the cheers. He didn’t remember seeing that much black and gold in the crowd. It wasn’t until he began seeing the face of his teammates that he realized what had happened.

…

Brice wrapped an arm around Spencer as the kicker folded into him, staring blankly at the field. Spencer’s hands shook. Brice held him upright, murmuring words he barely registered himself. Across the field, UCLA knelt twice and that was it.

Brice watched it happen, numb. He replayed the turnovers, the hesitation, the drive that should’ve ended it. His knees felt weak, his legs heavy. On the surface, he was the quarterback, steadying his teammate. But as the clock hit zero, Brice realized Spencer was holding him up just as much.

---

PUR (5-2, 3-1) | 7 | 0 | 7 | 7 | 21
#25 UCLA (8-1, 5-1) | 0 | 13 | 3 | 7 | 23

UCLA QB Nico Iamaleava (R-Jr): 11-24, 135 Yds, TD, Sacked 1x
UCLA WR Rico Flores Jr. (Jr): 5 Rec, 81 Yds, TD
UCLA S Cole Martin (Jr): 15 Tkl, INT
PUR QB Brice Colton (Fr): 30-41, 328 Yds, TD, 2 INT, Sacked 4x, 13 Car, 64 Yds, 2 TD, 2 Lost Fumble
PUR HB Gabriel Joyner (Jr): 19 Car, 86 Yds
PUR WR Corey Smith (R-Fr): 8 Rec, 147 Yds, TD

Season Stats 194-275, 1910 Yds, 14 TD, 6 INT, Sacked 27x, 67 Car, 244 Yds, 2 TD, 4 fumbles (4 lost)
Remaining Schedule at Iowa, vs. Minnesota, at #8 Penn State, at Illinois, at #4 Indiana

[djp73]

"Sorry ass motherfucker!" Eli screamed at the television screen, bringing the beer bottle to his lip, "Let’s go, baby!"

"You got money on this game?" asked one of his friends among the packed apartment living room, different games on the split screen.

"Nah, it’s just fuck Purdue," he grinned.

what a bitch lmao

[djp73]

Brice watched it happen, numb. He replayed the turnovers, the hesitation, the drive that should’ve ended it. His knees felt weak, his legs heavy

vomit on his jersey already, mom's spaghetti

the turnovers are rough, especially the fumbles. tried to do too much cause nobody else was getting it done for him.

[Caesar]

4 turnovers? Brice throwing. Check his DraftKings.

Eli caping behind a woman he’s known for three months? That cookie that good?

[redsox907]

Brice is terrible at therapy. WERE JUST TALKING BRO

Connie worried about Eli leaving her, meanwhile he'd throw down with Brice if he walked in the room talking bout its fuck Purdue lmao

Brice needs some help.

Jimmy