Damaged Petals.

[Soapy]

Season 5, Episode 2
Brice woke to the weight of Skylar's leg draped across his. The morning sun sliced through the blinds he'd forgotten to close, painting stripes across the tangled sheets. His mouth felt like sandpaper, his head throbbed with the dull reminder of last night's decisions.

He carefully extricated himself from Skylar's limbs and sat up, rubbing his face.

"Go back to sleep," Skylar murmured, her face still buried in the pillow.

"Can't," Brice said, standing up and stretching. "Got shit to do today."

"Lunch later?"

Brice pulled on a pair of sweatpants, avoiding her eyes. "Look, this little honeymoon is over, Sky. I've got shit to do today."

"So?" she sat up fully now, her hair a tangled mess around her face. "I don't mind hanging out here while you do whatever it is you do. What, are you worried I’m going to raid your dorm of all the precious valuables like the Big Ten Freshman of the Year? I wonder what that’s worth in the open market."

"That was then, this is now," he said, his voice harder than he'd intended. "I got winter workouts, spring football coming up, I need to focus."

"Focus?" she scoffed. "You’ve either been drunk, hungover or on the way to both since I’ve gotten her."

The truth in her words stung, but he pushed it away. "Yeah, well, holidays are over."

"Bullshit," Skylar said, throwing back the covers and standing, gloriously naked and completely unconcerned about it. "You call me up whenever you're lonely, whenever you need someone to make you forget about—"

"Don't," he cut her off, the warning clear in his voice.

Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment he thought she might push it. Instead, she grabbed her clothes from the floor, yanking them on.

"Fine. Whatever. Call me when you're done with your important quarterback business."

He watched as she finished packing up her things, shoving them haphazardly into her overnight bag. A strange mixture of relief and guilt swirled in his stomach.

"Let me walk you to your car," he offered, grabbing a hoodie from his closet.

Skylar looked like she might refuse, but then shrugged. "Whatever."

The walk across campus was silent, the January morning bitter cold. Their breath clouded in front of them, and Brice found himself wishing he'd put on more than just sweatpants and a hoodie.

When they reached her car, Skylar turned to face him, her expression unreadable. "You know, you don't have to keep doing this to yourself."

"Doing what?"

"Punishing yourself," she zipped up her jacket against the cold. "None of it was your fault."

Brice clenched his jaw, willing the sudden burning behind his eyes to subside. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"You’re right," she rolled her eyes, "I don’t know you at all, Brice."

Before he could respond, she rose on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his.

"Take care of yourself, Mr. Colton," she said softly, then slid into her car.

Brice watched her drive away, the cold seeping through his thin clothes and into his bones. He stood there long after her taillights disappeared, feeling hollowed out. Finally, he turned and headed for the athletic complex. The weight room would be empty this early. He could lose himself in the familiar rhythm of sets and reps. The one thing in his life that still made sense.

…

Leeper Park stretched out before Nia, empty and still under the mid-January sky. She pulled her hood tighter against the cold, finding her usual bench near the river. The wooden slats felt like ice through her jeans, but she didn't mind. The discomfort kept her present, anchored in the moment instead of drifting back to memories she couldn't escape in the crowded hallways of St. Joseph's.

First period had been unbearable. Mr. Denton droning on about polynomials as if everything was alright. As if everything was still the same. As if Jimmy was still alive. She'd slipped out during the passing period, nobody even noticing as she walked straight through the front doors and kept going.

Nia pulled her headphones over her ears, scrolling through her playlists until she found the one Jimmy and her worked together on making, their vastly different taste in music clashing to create an uneven, chaotic flow of songs that somehow meshed perfectly. The familiar intro to his favorite song washed over her, and she closed her eyes. The cold air stung her cheeks, but it was better than the suffocating warmth of the school building with its pitying glances.

A burst of laughter broke through her music. Nia opened her eyes to see four boys entering the park from the opposite side, pushing each other and talking loudly. She kept her eyes down, hoping they'd pass by without noticing her. But the laughter grew closer.

"What’s up, little missus," one of them said, his voice cutting through her music. "You from St. Joe’s right?"

Nia didn't look up, just pressed the volume button on her headphones, trying to drown them out. A hand reached down and yanked one side of her headphones away.

"Hey, I'm talking to you."

She looked up then, meeting the eyes of a thin boy with a patchy attempt at facial hair. Two others flanked him, grinning. The fourth boy, taller with shaggy brown hair, hung back slightly as he tried to light his blunt.

"I’m not talking to you though, am I?" Nia fired back.

"She’s a feisty one," the thin boy laughed.

His friends joined in the laughter, but the fourth boy stepped forward, shoving him lightly in the shoulder.

"Chill the fuck out," he said, "Why you always scaring the huzz, man?"

Brian moved closer to the bench, reaching into his leather jacket.

"Sorry about them," he said to Nia, pulling out another small hand-rolled joint. "You trying to smoke?"

Nia shook her head, sliding her headphone back over her ear. "No, I’m good."

She expected resistance, but Brian just nodded, tucking the joint back into his pocket.

"Alright, y’all boys," he said to the others. "Let this lady enjoy her music in peace."

The boys moved away, their voices growing distant as they headed toward the riverbank. Nia watched them go, surprised by the unexpected intervention. Brian glanced back once, giving her a small nod before rejoining his friends.

She turned her music up, leaning back against the bench. The cold seeped through her layers, but she didn't move. The emptiness of the park stretched around her, offering the solitude she craved. No one asking if she was okay. No counselors wanting her to talk about her feelings. No teachers marking her absences with concerned frowns.

Just silence and their playlist, the only company she needed right now.

…

Dr. LaPenna leaned back in his chair, observing Brice with a measured gaze. "It's good to see you again. It's been what, a couple weeks now?"

"Something like that," Brice said, flashing a smile as he settled into the familiar armchair. "Been busy with winter workouts, you know how it is."

"How's that going for you?"

"Great. Really great," Brice's voice was bright, almost forcefully so. "My numbers are up across the board."

LaPenna nodded, noting the way Brice's fingers tapped restlessly against the arm of the chair despite his relaxed posture. The young man before him was putting on a performance, one he'd seen before, but now executed with even more polish.

"And beyond football? How are things going with classes?"

"I’m not like those other kids you work with, doc," Brice laughed, "School comes easy for me, you know that."

LaPenna allowed a moment of silence to settle between them. Sometimes the spaces between words revealed more than the words themselves.

"I'm glad to hear that," he said finally. "I've been thinking about our conversations before the break. About finding additional support systems."

Brice's expression flickered briefly before settling back into casual interest. "Yeah?"

"The grief support group I mentioned, they've started meeting again for the spring semester. Tuesday evenings at seven."

LaPenna kept his tone conversational, watching Brice carefully. "I still think it could be valuable for you."

"Maybe," Brice said, noncommittal. "If my schedule opens up."

"Your schedule's pretty full these days?"

"Between workouts, classes, film study, you know how it is," Brice ran a hand through his hair. "In a lot of ways, the offseason even more busy than the season."

LaPenna considered his next words carefully. Pushing too hard would only strengthen Brice's resistance, but letting him off the hook entirely wouldn't serve him either.

"What about this?" LaPenna suggested. "Commit to attending three meetings. Just three. If after that you decide it's not helpful, you can stop going, no questions asked."

Brice frowned slightly. "Three meetings?"

"Three meetings," LaPenna confirmed. "It takes time to get comfortable in a group setting, to see if it's a good fit. One meeting isn't enough to tell."

"And after three, if I don't want to go back, you won't bring it up again?"

"That's right."

Brice seemed to be weighing the offer, his eyes fixed on some point beyond LaPenna's shoulder. "Three meetings," he repeated.

"Think of it as an experiment," LaPenna said. "A way to gather data about whether this is something that might help you."

The corner of Brice's mouth twitched upward. "I feel like this is a trick, doc."

"I'm offering you a deal," LaPenna corrected gently. "One that respects your autonomy while also encouraging you to try something that might be beneficial."

Brice was quiet for a moment, then shrugged. "Fine. Three meetings. But if my schedule—"

"We'll work around your schedule," LaPenna assured him. "The group meets weekly, but you don't have to attend consecutive sessions. We can spread them out if needed."

"Alright," Brice nodded, his posture shifting as if he'd completed a transaction. "I can do three meetings."

"Thank you for being willing to try," LaPenna said. "Now, tell me about your goals for spring football. It’s a big year coming up for you guys."

As Brice began speaking about the new roster, LaPenna listened attentively, looking for the moments when genuine interest broke through the carefully constructed facade. There were glimpses, brief flashes of the real Brice Colton behind the performance. Those moments were what kept LaPenna hopeful, what assured him that beneath the charm and deflection was a young man still capable of connection, still worth reaching.

The session continued, weaving between casual conversation and more pointed questions. LaPenna never pressed too hard, never revealed that he saw through the act. That understanding remained unspoken between them, a bridge they would cross when Brice was ready, not before.

[Captain Canada]

Can't wait for that god-forsaken shield to break in counselling. Brice gonna shatter fr

[redsox907]

Can't wait for that god-forsaken shield to break in counselling. Brice gonna shatter fr

my money is on when that moment happens, Brice walks out and buries himself in some liquor and pussy

Gonna take something bigger than a therapist he doesn't respect and is simply doing at the teams request to break through to Mr. Colton

Thought Nia was gonna get ran thru real quick there. Interested to see where your taking Nia post Jimmy

Skylar thinking she's the one who can change Brice. She gonna be in a comfy chair soon too

[djp73]

Brice is a black hole

[Soapy]

Can't wait for that god-forsaken shield to break in counselling. Brice gonna shatter fr

my money is on when that moment happens, Brice walks out and buries himself in some liquor and pussy

Gonna take something bigger than a therapist he doesn't respect and is simply doing at the teams request to break through to Mr. Colton

He's only been in therapy for close to a year now

progress is seldomly linear

Thought Nia was gonna get ran thru real quick there. Interested to see where your taking Nia post Jimmy

Skylar thinking she's the one who can change Brice. She gonna be in a comfy chair soon too

You and Caesar are way too horny man

[Soapy]

Season 5, Episode 3
Brice racked the barbell after his final set, the 315 pounds clanging against the metal supports with a satisfying finality. He wiped his face with a towel as he moved toward the turf area. The February chill somehow still penetrated the climate-controlled facility, or maybe that was just in his mind. He lined up alongside the others in his group, bouncing on his toes, shaking out his legs.

By the third up-and-down, his lungs burned. His quads felt like concrete, and his new muscle mass suddenly seemed like a burden. The other guys were pulling ahead, and Brice's competitive instinct kicked in. He surged forward, touching the line, pivoting but his chest heaved in protest.

"Damn, five. You look like you’re about to die," he mimicked taking a deep drag. "Stay off the weeeeeeed!"

"Fuck you, bro," Brice laughed between gasps, hands on his knees. "I've been bulking."

"Yeah, yeah. That's what I’ve been telling myself all my life," Abdul flashed a smile.

Brice flipped him off good-naturedly, then straightened and finished the set. He wasn't worried. Spring ball was still weeks away, plenty of time to get his wind back. After the final drill, Coach gathered them in, nodding towards Brice. "Colton, take us home."

Without hesitation, Brice stepped into the center of the sweaty circle. Fifty pairs of eyes locked onto him: the veterans who'd battled alongside him last season, the freshmen still trying to find their footing, the transfers sizing him up. He felt the weight of their attention but it felt comfortable there, at home even.

"Good work today, boys," his voice carried across the huddle. "Defense, way to push the pace."

He nodded toward the linebackers who'd smoked him in the shuttles.

"O-line, I saw that extra work you put in. Spring ball's coming, and we've got something to prove this year."

He extended his hand to the middle. "On three—family. One, two, three!"

"FAMILY!" The team's response echoed through the facility.

…

"How your plate bigger than mine?"" Abdul said, watching Brice shovel another heaping forkful of pasta into his mouth.

"Bulking, remember?" Brice mumbled through a mouthful of garlic bread.

"What’s cracking, beloveds?"

Augustus strode toward their table, decked out in his Omega Psi Phi hoodie like he almost always was. He reached Abdul first, their hands connecting in an intricate handshake.

"What's good, baby?" Abdul grinned.

Augustus turned to Brice, extending his hand. "My man!"

Brice dapped him up, no intricacy needed. "What up, bro?"

"Showing face, kissing babies and doing what I do best," Augustus teased. "It’s still weird seeing y’all without Walt and Artie, man."

Abdul nodded, his expression dimming slightly. "Shit, you know how it goes."

"You ain’t lying," Augustus shook his head. "This transfer portal shit is getting wild. Makes me think about what we're building, you know? Hard to have those lifelong brotherhood bonds when everybody's switching schools every other season."

Brice shrugged, swallowing another bite. "They weren't going to play here anyway, so might as well go down a level and try to get some playing time."

"My nigga Colton always about his business," Augustus laughed as he flicked the diamond cross on Brice’s chain, "I guess that’s why they pay to the big bucks, huh?"

"Speaking of building something," Augustus continued, as he often did. "We're putting together this coat drive next month. Could use some star power."

Brice considered it for half a second. "Yeah, I'm down. What do you need?"

"Just your White face, my boy," Augustus grinned. "Seriously though, just showing up would be huge."

"Cool," Brice said. "You need any extra hands? I could bring some of the freshmen."

Augustus nodded, "Fuck yeah, nigga. I ain’t turning down no free labor, now."

"Times change," Brice said with a half-smile.

"You a funny nigga, man," Augustus laughed as he got up, "I’ll catch up with y’all boys. Stay dangerous but keep it wrapped, you feel me?"

…

Tom's focus drifted between the Pacers' struggling defense and the brown liquid swirling in his glass. The familiar burn of bourbon had long since faded to a dull warmth in his chest, not enough to dull the ache that had taken up permanent residence there, but enough to make it through another evening.

The bartender wiped down the counter nearby, offering a silent nod when Tom raised his glass slightly. They had an understanding these days. No small talk, just drinks delivered when needed.

Tom hadn't touched the menu propped against the napkin holder. The pretense of considering food had become part of his routine, though he rarely ordered anything beyond a basket of wings that would mostly go untouched, his appetite vanished.

The door swung open, letting in a gust of cold air that Tom felt on the back of his neck. He didn't turn, keeping his eyes fixed on the screen where Siakam was missing another free throw. But a voice pulled his attention toward the entrance despite himself.

Chuck stood at the hostess stand, dressed in a charcoal suit that made him stick out like a sore thumb at the dingy sports bar. Tom's stomach tightened. He quickly scanned the doorway, but didn't see her. Chuck was talking with the hostess, gesturing toward the dining area.

Their eyes met across the room. Chuck's expression shifted, recognition followed by discomfort, the awkward that seemed to always follow people’s gaze these days. Tom offered a curt nod, all the acknowledgment he could muster. Chuck returned it after a beat of hesitation, then returned to his conversation with the hostess.

Tom took another sip, longer this time, and fixed his attention back on the game. The Pacers were down by twelve with six minutes left in the third. A lost cause, like so many things these days.

"Tom?"

The voice came with a light touch on his shoulder. He didn't need to look to know who it was. That perfume had once been familiar, welcomed even. Now it just felt intrusive.

He turned slightly, enough to acknowledge Britney's presence without fully facing her. "Hey."

She looked polished as she always did, not a hair out of place despite the workday.

"I..." she paused, seemingly searching for the right words that were normally at the tip of her tongue. "I just wanted to say how sorry I am. About Jimmy."

Tom nodded, his jaw tight. He took another sip instead of speaking.

"I should have reached out sooner," she continued, her voice dropping lower. "I wanted to come to the funeral, but I thought... I didn't want to cause any additional pain or be a distraction."

The game transitioned to a commercial break. Tom watched an ad for car insurance with unwarranted intensity.

"I'm just so sorry, Tom. For everything."

He finally turned to face her, meeting her eyes briefly before looking away. "Thanks, Brit. Appreciate it."

Chuck approached, hovering awkwardly a few feet behind Britney. He offered Tom another nod, more solemn this time.

"We have a table," Britney said, gesturing toward the dining area as she forced a smile. "Would you like to join us? It could be like the old days at Badin Hall."

Tom's fingers tightened around his glass. The old days. Before the affair. Before her divorce. Before Jimmy.

"I appreciate it," he said, his voice flat. "But I'm good here."

"It’s on the county’s dime," Britney tried to ease the tension with a joke.

Tom's gaze returned to the television. The Pacers were inbounding the ball after the break. "I'm fine where I am."

Britney lingered for a moment longer, then nodded. "Of course. I understand. If you ever want to talk..."

"Thanks," Tom cut her off, the word final.

She stepped back, exchanged a glance with Chuck, and they moved toward their table, leaving Tom alone with his bourbon and the game.

The bartender approached. "Another round?"

Tom nodded, pushing his nearly empty glass forward. "Yeah."

"Food tonight?"

Tom stared at the untouched menu. His stomach felt hollow, but the thought of eating made him vaguely nauseated. "Nope."

"Coming right up."

On the screen, the Pacers turned the ball over again. Tom watched without really seeing. Britney's voice echoed in his head. The old days. As if they could ever go back. As if anything could ever be the same again.

[Caesar]

All of a sudden Brice supposed to be a leader as if this time last year he didn’t set up his teammate’s girl almost resulting in her getting raped??????

Tom gonna go back to her. Moth to the flame. These Colton men got spinning the block in their blood.

[Captain Canada]

Tom seems lost as hell. One son gone, one son so lost, he may as well be gone too. Wife can't really stand him. Daughter a mess

[djp73]

we've got something to prove this year

wonder if y'all can actually make a splash there

[Soapy]

All of a sudden Brice supposed to be a leader as if this time last year he didn’t set up his teammate’s girl almost resulting in her getting raped??????

Tom gonna go back to her. Moth to the flame. These Colton men got spinning the block in their blood.

that is a fucking wild assessment of what happened lmao

Tom seems lost as hell. One son gone, one son so lost, he may as well be gone too. Wife can't really stand him. Daughter a mess

and the pacers ass

we've got something to prove this year

wonder if y'all can actually make a splash there

i would say winning 10 games at purdue is a splash already