Ain't no way this is the hill you want to die on
Invictus
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Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 7291
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
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Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 7291
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
-
Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 7291
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Invictus
Season VI | Episode 4 - I’m Supposed To Die Tonight
The locker room felt unnaturally quiet for a place that housed over a hundred football players. The usual postgame energy - whether it came from celebration, frustration, or exhaustion - was absent. Instead, there was only the dull hum of the Syracuse season ending.
Zane sat motionless in front of his locker, still fully dressed in his pads. His helmet rested between his feet, and his elbows sat on his knees as he stared blankly at the floor. The sweat from the game had long since dried against his skin, leaving him feeling stiff and uncomfortable, but he hadn’t found the motivation to move. Several loose locs had fallen from the hair tie and hung across his face, obscuring part of his vision.
Not that he was really looking at anything. The loss itself has been bad enough. The manner in which it happened was even worse.
California hadn’t simply beaten Syracuse; they had dismantled them.
The offense never found a rhythm. The defense spent most of the afternoon trying to hold back a flood with their bare hands. By the time the final whistle sounded, everyone in the stadium knew exactly which team deserved to win.
Yasin’s touchdown had been the lone bright spot for the first-team offense. A meaningless late score by the backup had pushed the Orange into double digits, but nobody in the locker room was pretending that made the final score any more respectable.
The season was over. No bowl game. Practices would become a thing of the past. Some of these players had donned the Syracuse Orange jersey for the last time.
Around him, players quietly moved through the motions. Lockers opened and closed. Equipment bags zipped. A few teammates had already begun cleaning out parts of their stalls, unwilling to wait for the official locker cleanout day. Conversations were muted and brief, often ending after only a few words. Nobody seemed particularly interested in reliving what had happened on that field.
Zane remained where he was.
Eventually, a familiar figure appeared beside him. Johntay leaned against the locker next to his, bending down slightly so he wouldn’t have to raise his voice.
“Shit’s not on you, gang.” His voice was low and sincere.
Zane didn’t answer immediately. He simply shook his head. The words were appreciated, but they didn’t change how he felt.
After a few moments, he finally pushed himself upright and sat back against the locker. As he lifted his head, he noticed the occasional glance being cast in his direction. Some teammates looked sympathetic. Others, uncertain. A few avoided eye contact altogether.
He knew why. Everyone remembered the practice incident with Ajani. Everyone feared it would only get worse because of what just happened against the Golden Bears.
To Zane’s credit, he had managed to keep his frustration mostly under control during the game. He had actively avoided Ajani on the sideline whenever possible. He sure did make it hard with two of his back-breaking interceptions being off of throws targeted at Zane.
He hadn’t wanted to become the story. He hadn’t wanted to be the distraction that pulled attention away from a team already struggling to keep itself together.
It hadn’t mattered. The result had been the exact same.
Maybe even worse.
Slowly, Zane reached up and began removing his shoulder pads. The buckles felt heavier than usual. Piece by piece, he stripped away the equipment until only his jersey remained.
He carefully pulled the orange number seven over his head.
For a moment, he simply held it. His eyes drifted over the fabric.
The stitched numbers and the Syracuse lettering that he had grown so accustomed to over the last couple of months since the season had begun.
A strange feeling settled over him. It might be the last time he ever wore it.
The realization hit harder than he expected.
Syracuse had never been his dream school. It had never been the destination he fantasized about as a kid. But it had been the place that gave him an opportunity when his life was falling apart. It had been the place where he rebuilt himself after losing his grandfather. It had been the place where he proved he belonged at the highest level of college football.
For all its flaws, it had mattered.
Zane slowly exhaled through his nose before folding the jersey and placing it into his duffel bag. He added a few personal belongings before zipping the compartment shut.
The rest could wait until locker cleanout day.
As he turned around, his eyes caught Coach Brown's from across the room.
The head coach gave him a small nod before motioning him over.
Zane understood immediately.
He grabbed his phone from the bench, slid it into his pocket, and made his way through the locker room.
The two men walked together in silence before rounding a corner into a quieter hallway away from the rest of the team.
For several seconds neither spoke.
Finally, Coach Brown let out a long breath and shook his head.
"That was one hell of an ass-whooping."
The bluntness almost made Zane laugh. Instead, he simply nodded. His eyes remained fixed on the floor.
Coach Brown stood beside him, hands on his hips. For a moment, he seemed to be searching for the right words.
"I don't really believe in moral victories," he said eventually.
Zane glanced over. Coach Brown continued.
"But I watched you grow into a man this season."
The words caught him off guard. The coach looked directly at him now.
"From the minute you stepped onto that field, it was obvious you were a top-tier talent. Everybody knew it."
Zane nodded quietly.
Compliments felt hollow after a loss like that, but he appreciated the sentiment.
Coach Brown studied him for another moment before shifting his stance. The conversation was changing now. Becoming more deliberate.
"I don't have much reason to believe you'll be here next year."
Zane's eyes immediately rose. Instinctively, he began to speak.
Coach Brown raised a hand. The gesture stopped him cold.
Zane closed his mouth and swallowed.
"Now isn't the time for an official recruiting pitch."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"But I'm sure our boosters are going to throw their hat in the ring."
Coach Brown stepped closer and placed a hand on his shoulder. The gesture carried more weight than any speech could have.
"Just make sure wherever you end up is pushing you in the right direction for the right reasons."
His voice was calm. Measured - as if he had been contemplating his words carefully for days now. As if this moment was in the balance, just waiting to happen.
"The upper levels of college football can make you into something great."
He paused.
"Or they can erase you into something that ain't worth a damn."
The words lingered.
For a moment, neither man spoke. Then Zane looked up.
"Thank you,” he said. “For everything.”
Coach Brown nodded.
A silence settled between them again before Zane hesitated.
The feeling had been eating at him for weeks. Finally, he voiced it.
"I'm sorry."
Coach Brown immediately gave him a look.
"Sorry for what?"
Zane opened his mouth, then stopped.
Coach Brown shook his head and gave Zane a pointed look.
"Never apologize for expecting the best out of yourself."
Coach Brown gave him one final nod before turning back toward the locker room.
Zane remained standing in the hallway for several moments after the coach disappeared around the corner.
The bar felt different than it usually did.
Throughout the season, this booth had become something of a sanctuary for the Syracuse players. After wins, they had celebrated there. After losses, they had complained there. It had become their unofficial headquarters away from football—a place where they could forget about practices, coaches, film sessions, and expectations for a few hours.
Tonight, however, nobody seemed capable of forgetting.
Zane sat in the familiar booth with his back against the wall, staring down into the golden liquid inside his beer bottle. Condensation gathered against the glass, dampening his fingertips as he absentmindedly rotated it across the tabletop.
Marie sat pressed against his right side beneath the dim lighting of the bar, stirring a mixed cocktail with a straw while supporting her head with her free hand. Her braids spilled over one shoulder, and while she was physically present, she seemed content to let the football players have their conversation.
To Zane's left, Johntay lounged against the booth, slouched low enough that he looked as though he might slide under the table. His attention remained fixed on his phone, thumbs moving rapidly across the screen.
Across from them sat Tyshawn, Jaedn, and Yasin.
The table had grown unusually quiet.
The kind of silence that came after months of investing everything into something only to watch it collapse.
Eventually, Tyshawn shook his head and broke it.
"Man, this shit crazy."
The rest of the table glanced toward him.
He leaned back and laughed bitterly.
"Y'all remember summer camp? Everybody talking about competing for the ACC. Making noise. Turning Syracuse into something."
He spread his hands.
"Now look at us. Couldn't even make a damn bowl game."
Jaedn rubbed his jaw thoughtfully before nodding.
"You should've seen Coach Brown this morning."
A grim smile crossed his face.
"That meeting looked like somebody told him his dog died."
Yasin snorted. "Nah." He took a sip from his drink.
"Worse."
Everyone was looking for somebody to blame and head coaches rarely survived being the face of failure.
Johntay finally looked up from his phone.
"I don't know." He shrugged. "Yeah, these last two years been shitty, but I doubt Syracuse fires him right now."
His eyes dropped briefly back toward his screen.
"They probably give him one more year before they boot his black ass outta here."
That earned a few chuckles around the table. Even Zane found himself nodding. It sounded about right.
Athletic departments loved delaying difficult decisions before they dropped the inevitable anvil.
His arm remained draped comfortably around Marie's shoulders while he listened to the conversation unfold. She leaned lightly into him, though he could feel she was paying close attention despite her silence.
Tyshawn suddenly shifted forward. His elbows landed on the table. His gaze settled directly on Zane.
The expression on his face immediately told everyone where the conversation was heading.
"So what's up with you?"
Zane already knew the question before it came.
Tyshawn smirked.
"That it for you at 'Cuse?"
Zane instinctively opened his mouth to answer. Then he felt Marie tense beside him. It was subtle. The muscles in her shoulders tightened beneath his arm. The motion of her straw inside the cocktail slowed.
Zane glanced sideways. She kept her eyes on her drink.
Zane looked back toward Tyshawn and allowed the question to sit for a moment before answering.
"I'm definitely looking at my options." His voice remained calm.
After the season they had just endured, there wasn't much reason to pretend otherwise.
"After a year like this?" He shook his head. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't."
Tyshawn looked ready to respond when the front door of the bar suddenly opened. A fresh wave of students poured inside.
Jaedn's attention immediately shifted.
"Speaking of problems."
The entire table instinctively followed his gaze. Zane turned his head. Ajani had just walked through the entrance. Alongside him were Malachi and Fran Jr., accompanied by a collection of girls who immediately attracted attention from several tables.
For a brief moment, Zane's eyes locked onto Ajani.
He noticed him too.
The tension remained immediate.
A few weeks ago, the two might have walked over and greeted each other. Now they looked like men who would've preferred standing on opposite sides of the city.
Zane sucked his teeth and shook his head.
Across the room, Ajani and the others initially started toward their section of the bar before realizing who occupied it. A second later, they altered course and chose a table on the opposite side of the establishment.
Johntay peeked over the top of his phone and immediately started laughing.
"There it is." He pointed subtly. "Ain't no reason for you to stay now."
Zane rolled his eyes.
"If the starting quarterback and the best receiver on the team can't even sit in the same damn section of a bar, what we talking about here?"
The rest of the table laughed. Even Marie cracked a small smile.
Zane shook his head. "Shit was fine when the nigga knew how to throw a football."
Eventually Johntay placed his phone face-down on the table and sat up straighter.
His expression suddenly became theatrical. Like a man preparing an important announcement.
He cleared his throat dramatically.
"Ladies and gentlemen." He spread his arms wide. "I would just like to formally announce that Syracuse has indeed been a time."
Johntay pointed at himself. Then at Zane. "But me and my boy?"
He nodded confidently.
"We hopping in that portal for greener pastures."
The declaration was met with cheers, groans, and jokes from every direction.
Tyshawn raised his glass. Jaedn started laughing again. Yasin shook his head as if he had expected nothing less. Zane found himself smirking despite everything.
...
Zane and Marie had left after the conversation had split in two different junctures - half of the table wanted to head home and slip into a night of comfort and Netflix while the other wanted to head out into the night and try and slip into something more provocative.
Heading into the cool Syracuse night, the two began their short journey back to Zane’s condo when he had brought up her discomfort. Initially, she had been resistant, insisting it was nothing to be concerned about.
Zane pressed, wanting to promote open communication more than anything. He knew the prospect - slowly turning into an inevitability - of him transferring bothered her. He wanted to be present for that. He approached her about the topic candidly, but carefully.
Marie's dismissive wave died halfway through the motion as she looked up at him beneath the glow of the campus streetlights. The evening had grown colder as they walked, the last traces of autumn clinging stubbornly to the trees that lined the sidewalk. Their breaths drifted in faint clouds between them, and the sounds of student life had begun to fade as more people disappeared into dormitories and apartments for the night.
"Don't worry about me," she said, trying to brush the subject aside.
Zane answered immediately, almost before she had finished speaking.
"I want to be worried."
The response stopped her in her tracks.
Marie turned fully toward him, forcing him to stop as well. The playful ease that usually lived behind her eyes softened into something more thoughtful. For a moment she simply studied him, taking in the sincerity on his face. His hands remained buried in the pockets of his jacket, his shoulders slightly hunched against the cold, but there was nothing guarded about the way he looked at her.
"I want to take your feelings into consideration," he continued. "If this affects us, then it affects you too."
A small smile touched the corner of Marie's mouth before disappearing again.
"That's exactly why I like you," she said quietly.
She shook her head and took a slow breath before continuing.
"But you need to be perfectly aware of what you're really about to do."
Zane listened carefully.
Marie stepped a little closer and folded her arms across her chest, organizing her thoughts before speaking again.
"You're not deciding between two apartments, Zane. You're not deciding where you want to spend a semester abroad. You're talking about choosing the next chapter of your life."
Her voice remained calm, but there was conviction behind every word.
"In a few weeks you're going to be sorting through offers worth millions of dollars from schools that have more money than most countries. There are going to be coaches, agents, collectives, boosters, and entire athletic departments trying to convince you that they're the best place for you."
She held his gaze.
"And whether people want to admit it or not, the choice you make is probably going to impact the rest of your life."
The words settled heavily between them.
Zane nodded slowly. He understood what she was trying to say. For weeks he had tried to compartmentalize everything. Finish the season. Handle the transfer process later. Deal with the emotions when the time came.
But the reality was that the future was coming quickly now. His college career at Syracuse was effectively over.
Whatever happened next would determine where he played football, how much money he made, who he surrounded himself with, and potentially what opportunities followed him long after football was done.
Marie reached out and touched his arm lightly.
As much as he cared about her, and as much as he wanted to factor her into his future, she couldn't be the reason he chose a school. The consequences of making the wrong decision would follow him long after any relationship did.
"That's fair," he admitted.
Marie smiled. "I know it is."
The tension eased between them.
For the first time since the conversation had started, it felt like they had reached an understanding.
The two of them were just beginning to start walking again when a sudden vibration buzzed against Zane's leg.
His hand instinctively moved into his pocket. The screen illuminated as he pulled out his phone.
An unfamiliar number stared back at him. He didn't recognize it, but he immediately recognized the area code.
Pittsburgh.
He glanced briefly toward Marie before answering.
"Hello?"
The voice on the other end was female.
"Is this Zane Jones?"
His posture stiffened instantly.
"Yes."
"My name is Ashlee Draper. I'm a detective with Pittsburgh Police."
"Is everything alright?" Zane asked.
The detective hesitated. When she spoke again, there was unmistakable panic beneath her professionalism.
"Zane, I understand you're currently out of state."
His stomach dropped. Every instinct in his body suddenly screamed that something was wrong.
Ashlee continued. "I'm with your grandmother right now."
The world seemed to narrow. Zane stopped walking completely. Marie turned toward him fully now. The detective stumbled over her next words.
"I had come to check on her later than I usually did this evening when I found her by the porch. She's stable."
"She's stable," Ashlee repeated quickly, as though trying to reassure him. "The doctors are monitoring her."
"What happened?"
Ashlee continued speaking, but the panic in her voice only made everything worse.
"We've also been trying to locate your father."
The feeling of Marie standing beside him disappeared. Everything fell away. The detective kept talking.
And as Zane stood frozen on the sidewalk beneath the Syracuse night sky, the rest of the world faded into the background. Only the voice on the phone remained, speaking from hundreds of miles away while dread settled heavily into his chest.
“I think you should get back to Pittsburgh as soon as you can.”
The plan had sounded simple when Rasheed first laid it out.
All Cam had to do was convince Tom to meet him for a drink at a rundown bar on the edge of Pittsburgh. Nothing flashy. Nothing suspicious. Just another night between two men who had spent the last several weeks bonding over liquor, complaints about life, and mutual disappointment. Tom already trusted him more than he probably should have. Getting him through the door would not be difficult.
Actually doing it was another matter entirely.
Cam stood near midfield at Upper St. Clair's practice field while Rasheed finished explaining what he needed from him, and every instinct in his body screamed at him to walk away.
"I don't want to be involved in whatever the hell you're planning," Cam had said for what felt like the tenth time. "You keep acting like this is the only option, but why can't we just go to the police?"
Rasheed had stared at him for several long seconds before answering.
"That man murdered my father."
The words hung heavily between them.
"My father took in a woman that needed help. That's all Felix did. He opened his door to somebody who was scared and had nowhere else to go."
Cam shifted uneasily.
Rasheed continued.
Then, for the first time since they met, he told him everything, including the way Tom had somehow continued slipping through cracks that should have swallowed him whole.
Rasheed described the night Felix died in painstaking detail. He explained how Mariah had found refuge with his father. How Tom tracked her there. How the confrontation escalated. How Felix ended up dying on the garage floor because he had tried to protect someone who couldn't protect herself.
Cam found himself listening in complete silence.
As Rasheed spoke, the situation stopped feeling like some revenge fantasy concocted by an ex-convict with unresolved trauma.
It started feeling real. Dangerously real.
Rasheed wasn't describing a misunderstanding.
He was describing a predator.
And the more he talked, the more uncomfortable Cam became.
He thought back to the nights he spent drinking with Tom. The strange moments. The sudden flashes of anger. The way Tom's jaw would tighten whenever certain subjects came up. The way his eyes sometimes seemed to darken entirely.
The casual references to violence that most people would never make. At the time, Cam had brushed it off as a veteran with a rough past.
Now he wasn't so sure.
Rasheed noticed the shift in his expression.
"You've seen it too."
Cam swallowed.
"Sometimes."
"Sometimes?"
Cam sighed heavily.
"He's got a temper."
Rasheed almost laughed.
"A temper."
Cam rubbed the back of his neck.
"You know what I mean."
"No," Rasheed said. "I don't think I do."
The edge in his voice returned.
"Because a temper doesn't put women in the hospital."
He stepped closer.
"A temper doesn't stalk somebody across state lines."
Another step.
"A temper doesn't murder a man because he got in the way."
Cam looked away.
The silence stretched.
Finally, Rasheed spoke again.
"Tom isn't running because he's scared."
Cam looked back up. Rasheed's eyes were hard.
"He's running because he thinks he's smarter than everybody."
Over the next several days, while the plan came together, Cam found himself paying closer attention to Tom.
The more he observed, the more unsettled he became. Rasheed had been right about one thing.
Tom was observant.
Tom could spend an entire evening making somebody laugh and feel comfortable while simultaneously dissecting every detail about them. It became increasingly clear how someone like Mariah could have ended up trapped beneath his control.
The charm wasn't fake. That was the terrifying part. It was real.
It simply existed alongside something much darker.
Cam began understanding why Mariah remained terrified despite escaping.
He truly was a walking timebomb.
Which was exactly why Cam found himself standing outside a dilapidated bar several nights later feeling like he might throw up.
The building looked as though it had survived decades purely out of stubbornness. Faded neon signs flickered weakly in the front windows. Several of the exterior bricks had crumbled away. The parking lot was cracked and uneven, littered with potholes and weeds that pushed through the asphalt.
A cold wind cut through the street.
Cam leaned against the front wall of the building and immediately adjusted his position.
Nothing felt comfortable.
His gym shoes tapped nervously against the pavement.
Rasheed had intentionally kept huge portions of the plan from him.
At first he assumed Rasheed was protecting him. After all, he was a 19-year-old “friend” of his son he barely knew.
Now he wasn't so sure.
Maybe Rasheed simply didn't trust him.
What if this was all bullshit?
What if Tom never killed Felix?
What if he was helping set up a murder?
What if Rasheed disappeared afterward and left Cam holding the bag?
Because when it came down to it, he was trusting the word of an ex-convict who happened to be the father of the best friend he hadn't spoken to in months.
That realization made his stomach churn. Then headlights appeared.
Cam immediately froze.
A familiar pickup truck rolled slowly around the corner and pulled alongside the building.
His pulse exploded. The truck came to a stop. The engine idled. For a few seconds, nothing happened.
Cam wiped his hands against his jeans again. His fingers trembled.
The driver's side door finally opened.
Tom stepped out.
His beard looked as unkempt as ever. His broad frame filled the doorway of the truck as he climbed down onto the pavement. He glanced around casually, completely unaware of the storm raging inside Cam's head.
Because as Tom began walking toward him, Cam still had absolutely no idea what he was going to do.
The locker room felt unnaturally quiet for a place that housed over a hundred football players. The usual postgame energy - whether it came from celebration, frustration, or exhaustion - was absent. Instead, there was only the dull hum of the Syracuse season ending.
Zane sat motionless in front of his locker, still fully dressed in his pads. His helmet rested between his feet, and his elbows sat on his knees as he stared blankly at the floor. The sweat from the game had long since dried against his skin, leaving him feeling stiff and uncomfortable, but he hadn’t found the motivation to move. Several loose locs had fallen from the hair tie and hung across his face, obscuring part of his vision.
Not that he was really looking at anything. The loss itself has been bad enough. The manner in which it happened was even worse.
California hadn’t simply beaten Syracuse; they had dismantled them.
The offense never found a rhythm. The defense spent most of the afternoon trying to hold back a flood with their bare hands. By the time the final whistle sounded, everyone in the stadium knew exactly which team deserved to win.
Yasin’s touchdown had been the lone bright spot for the first-team offense. A meaningless late score by the backup had pushed the Orange into double digits, but nobody in the locker room was pretending that made the final score any more respectable.
The season was over. No bowl game. Practices would become a thing of the past. Some of these players had donned the Syracuse Orange jersey for the last time.
Around him, players quietly moved through the motions. Lockers opened and closed. Equipment bags zipped. A few teammates had already begun cleaning out parts of their stalls, unwilling to wait for the official locker cleanout day. Conversations were muted and brief, often ending after only a few words. Nobody seemed particularly interested in reliving what had happened on that field.
Zane remained where he was.
Eventually, a familiar figure appeared beside him. Johntay leaned against the locker next to his, bending down slightly so he wouldn’t have to raise his voice.
“Shit’s not on you, gang.” His voice was low and sincere.
Zane didn’t answer immediately. He simply shook his head. The words were appreciated, but they didn’t change how he felt.
After a few moments, he finally pushed himself upright and sat back against the locker. As he lifted his head, he noticed the occasional glance being cast in his direction. Some teammates looked sympathetic. Others, uncertain. A few avoided eye contact altogether.
He knew why. Everyone remembered the practice incident with Ajani. Everyone feared it would only get worse because of what just happened against the Golden Bears.
To Zane’s credit, he had managed to keep his frustration mostly under control during the game. He had actively avoided Ajani on the sideline whenever possible. He sure did make it hard with two of his back-breaking interceptions being off of throws targeted at Zane.
He hadn’t wanted to become the story. He hadn’t wanted to be the distraction that pulled attention away from a team already struggling to keep itself together.
It hadn’t mattered. The result had been the exact same.
Maybe even worse.
Slowly, Zane reached up and began removing his shoulder pads. The buckles felt heavier than usual. Piece by piece, he stripped away the equipment until only his jersey remained.
He carefully pulled the orange number seven over his head.
For a moment, he simply held it. His eyes drifted over the fabric.
The stitched numbers and the Syracuse lettering that he had grown so accustomed to over the last couple of months since the season had begun.
A strange feeling settled over him. It might be the last time he ever wore it.
The realization hit harder than he expected.
Syracuse had never been his dream school. It had never been the destination he fantasized about as a kid. But it had been the place that gave him an opportunity when his life was falling apart. It had been the place where he rebuilt himself after losing his grandfather. It had been the place where he proved he belonged at the highest level of college football.
For all its flaws, it had mattered.
Zane slowly exhaled through his nose before folding the jersey and placing it into his duffel bag. He added a few personal belongings before zipping the compartment shut.
The rest could wait until locker cleanout day.
As he turned around, his eyes caught Coach Brown's from across the room.
The head coach gave him a small nod before motioning him over.
Zane understood immediately.
He grabbed his phone from the bench, slid it into his pocket, and made his way through the locker room.
The two men walked together in silence before rounding a corner into a quieter hallway away from the rest of the team.
For several seconds neither spoke.
Finally, Coach Brown let out a long breath and shook his head.
"That was one hell of an ass-whooping."
The bluntness almost made Zane laugh. Instead, he simply nodded. His eyes remained fixed on the floor.
Coach Brown stood beside him, hands on his hips. For a moment, he seemed to be searching for the right words.
"I don't really believe in moral victories," he said eventually.
Zane glanced over. Coach Brown continued.
"But I watched you grow into a man this season."
The words caught him off guard. The coach looked directly at him now.
"From the minute you stepped onto that field, it was obvious you were a top-tier talent. Everybody knew it."
Zane nodded quietly.
Compliments felt hollow after a loss like that, but he appreciated the sentiment.
Coach Brown studied him for another moment before shifting his stance. The conversation was changing now. Becoming more deliberate.
"I don't have much reason to believe you'll be here next year."
Zane's eyes immediately rose. Instinctively, he began to speak.
Coach Brown raised a hand. The gesture stopped him cold.
Zane closed his mouth and swallowed.
"Now isn't the time for an official recruiting pitch."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"But I'm sure our boosters are going to throw their hat in the ring."
Coach Brown stepped closer and placed a hand on his shoulder. The gesture carried more weight than any speech could have.
"Just make sure wherever you end up is pushing you in the right direction for the right reasons."
His voice was calm. Measured - as if he had been contemplating his words carefully for days now. As if this moment was in the balance, just waiting to happen.
"The upper levels of college football can make you into something great."
He paused.
"Or they can erase you into something that ain't worth a damn."
The words lingered.
For a moment, neither man spoke. Then Zane looked up.
"Thank you,” he said. “For everything.”
Coach Brown nodded.
A silence settled between them again before Zane hesitated.
The feeling had been eating at him for weeks. Finally, he voiced it.
"I'm sorry."
Coach Brown immediately gave him a look.
"Sorry for what?"
Zane opened his mouth, then stopped.
Coach Brown shook his head and gave Zane a pointed look.
"Never apologize for expecting the best out of yourself."
Coach Brown gave him one final nod before turning back toward the locker room.
Zane remained standing in the hallway for several moments after the coach disappeared around the corner.
***
The bar felt different than it usually did.
Throughout the season, this booth had become something of a sanctuary for the Syracuse players. After wins, they had celebrated there. After losses, they had complained there. It had become their unofficial headquarters away from football—a place where they could forget about practices, coaches, film sessions, and expectations for a few hours.
Tonight, however, nobody seemed capable of forgetting.
Zane sat in the familiar booth with his back against the wall, staring down into the golden liquid inside his beer bottle. Condensation gathered against the glass, dampening his fingertips as he absentmindedly rotated it across the tabletop.
Marie sat pressed against his right side beneath the dim lighting of the bar, stirring a mixed cocktail with a straw while supporting her head with her free hand. Her braids spilled over one shoulder, and while she was physically present, she seemed content to let the football players have their conversation.
To Zane's left, Johntay lounged against the booth, slouched low enough that he looked as though he might slide under the table. His attention remained fixed on his phone, thumbs moving rapidly across the screen.
Across from them sat Tyshawn, Jaedn, and Yasin.
The table had grown unusually quiet.
The kind of silence that came after months of investing everything into something only to watch it collapse.
Eventually, Tyshawn shook his head and broke it.
"Man, this shit crazy."
The rest of the table glanced toward him.
He leaned back and laughed bitterly.
"Y'all remember summer camp? Everybody talking about competing for the ACC. Making noise. Turning Syracuse into something."
He spread his hands.
"Now look at us. Couldn't even make a damn bowl game."
Jaedn rubbed his jaw thoughtfully before nodding.
"You should've seen Coach Brown this morning."
A grim smile crossed his face.
"That meeting looked like somebody told him his dog died."
Yasin snorted. "Nah." He took a sip from his drink.
"Worse."
Everyone was looking for somebody to blame and head coaches rarely survived being the face of failure.
Johntay finally looked up from his phone.
"I don't know." He shrugged. "Yeah, these last two years been shitty, but I doubt Syracuse fires him right now."
His eyes dropped briefly back toward his screen.
"They probably give him one more year before they boot his black ass outta here."
That earned a few chuckles around the table. Even Zane found himself nodding. It sounded about right.
Athletic departments loved delaying difficult decisions before they dropped the inevitable anvil.
His arm remained draped comfortably around Marie's shoulders while he listened to the conversation unfold. She leaned lightly into him, though he could feel she was paying close attention despite her silence.
Tyshawn suddenly shifted forward. His elbows landed on the table. His gaze settled directly on Zane.
The expression on his face immediately told everyone where the conversation was heading.
"So what's up with you?"
Zane already knew the question before it came.
Tyshawn smirked.
"That it for you at 'Cuse?"
Zane instinctively opened his mouth to answer. Then he felt Marie tense beside him. It was subtle. The muscles in her shoulders tightened beneath his arm. The motion of her straw inside the cocktail slowed.
Zane glanced sideways. She kept her eyes on her drink.
Zane looked back toward Tyshawn and allowed the question to sit for a moment before answering.
"I'm definitely looking at my options." His voice remained calm.
After the season they had just endured, there wasn't much reason to pretend otherwise.
"After a year like this?" He shook his head. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't."
Tyshawn looked ready to respond when the front door of the bar suddenly opened. A fresh wave of students poured inside.
Jaedn's attention immediately shifted.
"Speaking of problems."
The entire table instinctively followed his gaze. Zane turned his head. Ajani had just walked through the entrance. Alongside him were Malachi and Fran Jr., accompanied by a collection of girls who immediately attracted attention from several tables.
For a brief moment, Zane's eyes locked onto Ajani.
He noticed him too.
The tension remained immediate.
A few weeks ago, the two might have walked over and greeted each other. Now they looked like men who would've preferred standing on opposite sides of the city.
Zane sucked his teeth and shook his head.
Across the room, Ajani and the others initially started toward their section of the bar before realizing who occupied it. A second later, they altered course and chose a table on the opposite side of the establishment.
Johntay peeked over the top of his phone and immediately started laughing.
"There it is." He pointed subtly. "Ain't no reason for you to stay now."
Zane rolled his eyes.
"If the starting quarterback and the best receiver on the team can't even sit in the same damn section of a bar, what we talking about here?"
The rest of the table laughed. Even Marie cracked a small smile.
Zane shook his head. "Shit was fine when the nigga knew how to throw a football."
Eventually Johntay placed his phone face-down on the table and sat up straighter.
His expression suddenly became theatrical. Like a man preparing an important announcement.
He cleared his throat dramatically.
"Ladies and gentlemen." He spread his arms wide. "I would just like to formally announce that Syracuse has indeed been a time."
Johntay pointed at himself. Then at Zane. "But me and my boy?"
He nodded confidently.
"We hopping in that portal for greener pastures."
The declaration was met with cheers, groans, and jokes from every direction.
Tyshawn raised his glass. Jaedn started laughing again. Yasin shook his head as if he had expected nothing less. Zane found himself smirking despite everything.
...
Zane and Marie had left after the conversation had split in two different junctures - half of the table wanted to head home and slip into a night of comfort and Netflix while the other wanted to head out into the night and try and slip into something more provocative.
Heading into the cool Syracuse night, the two began their short journey back to Zane’s condo when he had brought up her discomfort. Initially, she had been resistant, insisting it was nothing to be concerned about.
Zane pressed, wanting to promote open communication more than anything. He knew the prospect - slowly turning into an inevitability - of him transferring bothered her. He wanted to be present for that. He approached her about the topic candidly, but carefully.
Marie's dismissive wave died halfway through the motion as she looked up at him beneath the glow of the campus streetlights. The evening had grown colder as they walked, the last traces of autumn clinging stubbornly to the trees that lined the sidewalk. Their breaths drifted in faint clouds between them, and the sounds of student life had begun to fade as more people disappeared into dormitories and apartments for the night.
"Don't worry about me," she said, trying to brush the subject aside.
Zane answered immediately, almost before she had finished speaking.
"I want to be worried."
The response stopped her in her tracks.
Marie turned fully toward him, forcing him to stop as well. The playful ease that usually lived behind her eyes softened into something more thoughtful. For a moment she simply studied him, taking in the sincerity on his face. His hands remained buried in the pockets of his jacket, his shoulders slightly hunched against the cold, but there was nothing guarded about the way he looked at her.
"I want to take your feelings into consideration," he continued. "If this affects us, then it affects you too."
A small smile touched the corner of Marie's mouth before disappearing again.
"That's exactly why I like you," she said quietly.
She shook her head and took a slow breath before continuing.
"But you need to be perfectly aware of what you're really about to do."
Zane listened carefully.
Marie stepped a little closer and folded her arms across her chest, organizing her thoughts before speaking again.
"You're not deciding between two apartments, Zane. You're not deciding where you want to spend a semester abroad. You're talking about choosing the next chapter of your life."
Her voice remained calm, but there was conviction behind every word.
"In a few weeks you're going to be sorting through offers worth millions of dollars from schools that have more money than most countries. There are going to be coaches, agents, collectives, boosters, and entire athletic departments trying to convince you that they're the best place for you."
She held his gaze.
"And whether people want to admit it or not, the choice you make is probably going to impact the rest of your life."
The words settled heavily between them.
Zane nodded slowly. He understood what she was trying to say. For weeks he had tried to compartmentalize everything. Finish the season. Handle the transfer process later. Deal with the emotions when the time came.
But the reality was that the future was coming quickly now. His college career at Syracuse was effectively over.
Whatever happened next would determine where he played football, how much money he made, who he surrounded himself with, and potentially what opportunities followed him long after football was done.
Marie reached out and touched his arm lightly.
As much as he cared about her, and as much as he wanted to factor her into his future, she couldn't be the reason he chose a school. The consequences of making the wrong decision would follow him long after any relationship did.
"That's fair," he admitted.
Marie smiled. "I know it is."
The tension eased between them.
For the first time since the conversation had started, it felt like they had reached an understanding.
The two of them were just beginning to start walking again when a sudden vibration buzzed against Zane's leg.
His hand instinctively moved into his pocket. The screen illuminated as he pulled out his phone.
An unfamiliar number stared back at him. He didn't recognize it, but he immediately recognized the area code.
Pittsburgh.
He glanced briefly toward Marie before answering.
"Hello?"
The voice on the other end was female.
"Is this Zane Jones?"
His posture stiffened instantly.
"Yes."
"My name is Ashlee Draper. I'm a detective with Pittsburgh Police."
"Is everything alright?" Zane asked.
The detective hesitated. When she spoke again, there was unmistakable panic beneath her professionalism.
"Zane, I understand you're currently out of state."
His stomach dropped. Every instinct in his body suddenly screamed that something was wrong.
Ashlee continued. "I'm with your grandmother right now."
The world seemed to narrow. Zane stopped walking completely. Marie turned toward him fully now. The detective stumbled over her next words.
"I had come to check on her later than I usually did this evening when I found her by the porch. She's stable."
"She's stable," Ashlee repeated quickly, as though trying to reassure him. "The doctors are monitoring her."
"What happened?"
Ashlee continued speaking, but the panic in her voice only made everything worse.
"We've also been trying to locate your father."
The feeling of Marie standing beside him disappeared. Everything fell away. The detective kept talking.
And as Zane stood frozen on the sidewalk beneath the Syracuse night sky, the rest of the world faded into the background. Only the voice on the phone remained, speaking from hundreds of miles away while dread settled heavily into his chest.
“I think you should get back to Pittsburgh as soon as you can.”
***
The plan had sounded simple when Rasheed first laid it out.
All Cam had to do was convince Tom to meet him for a drink at a rundown bar on the edge of Pittsburgh. Nothing flashy. Nothing suspicious. Just another night between two men who had spent the last several weeks bonding over liquor, complaints about life, and mutual disappointment. Tom already trusted him more than he probably should have. Getting him through the door would not be difficult.
Actually doing it was another matter entirely.
Cam stood near midfield at Upper St. Clair's practice field while Rasheed finished explaining what he needed from him, and every instinct in his body screamed at him to walk away.
"I don't want to be involved in whatever the hell you're planning," Cam had said for what felt like the tenth time. "You keep acting like this is the only option, but why can't we just go to the police?"
Rasheed had stared at him for several long seconds before answering.
"That man murdered my father."
The words hung heavily between them.
"My father took in a woman that needed help. That's all Felix did. He opened his door to somebody who was scared and had nowhere else to go."
Cam shifted uneasily.
Rasheed continued.
Then, for the first time since they met, he told him everything, including the way Tom had somehow continued slipping through cracks that should have swallowed him whole.
Rasheed described the night Felix died in painstaking detail. He explained how Mariah had found refuge with his father. How Tom tracked her there. How the confrontation escalated. How Felix ended up dying on the garage floor because he had tried to protect someone who couldn't protect herself.
Cam found himself listening in complete silence.
As Rasheed spoke, the situation stopped feeling like some revenge fantasy concocted by an ex-convict with unresolved trauma.
It started feeling real. Dangerously real.
Rasheed wasn't describing a misunderstanding.
He was describing a predator.
And the more he talked, the more uncomfortable Cam became.
He thought back to the nights he spent drinking with Tom. The strange moments. The sudden flashes of anger. The way Tom's jaw would tighten whenever certain subjects came up. The way his eyes sometimes seemed to darken entirely.
The casual references to violence that most people would never make. At the time, Cam had brushed it off as a veteran with a rough past.
Now he wasn't so sure.
Rasheed noticed the shift in his expression.
"You've seen it too."
Cam swallowed.
"Sometimes."
"Sometimes?"
Cam sighed heavily.
"He's got a temper."
Rasheed almost laughed.
"A temper."
Cam rubbed the back of his neck.
"You know what I mean."
"No," Rasheed said. "I don't think I do."
The edge in his voice returned.
"Because a temper doesn't put women in the hospital."
He stepped closer.
"A temper doesn't stalk somebody across state lines."
Another step.
"A temper doesn't murder a man because he got in the way."
Cam looked away.
The silence stretched.
Finally, Rasheed spoke again.
"Tom isn't running because he's scared."
Cam looked back up. Rasheed's eyes were hard.
"He's running because he thinks he's smarter than everybody."
Over the next several days, while the plan came together, Cam found himself paying closer attention to Tom.
The more he observed, the more unsettled he became. Rasheed had been right about one thing.
Tom was observant.
Tom could spend an entire evening making somebody laugh and feel comfortable while simultaneously dissecting every detail about them. It became increasingly clear how someone like Mariah could have ended up trapped beneath his control.
The charm wasn't fake. That was the terrifying part. It was real.
It simply existed alongside something much darker.
Cam began understanding why Mariah remained terrified despite escaping.
He truly was a walking timebomb.
Which was exactly why Cam found himself standing outside a dilapidated bar several nights later feeling like he might throw up.
The building looked as though it had survived decades purely out of stubbornness. Faded neon signs flickered weakly in the front windows. Several of the exterior bricks had crumbled away. The parking lot was cracked and uneven, littered with potholes and weeds that pushed through the asphalt.
A cold wind cut through the street.
Cam leaned against the front wall of the building and immediately adjusted his position.
Nothing felt comfortable.
His gym shoes tapped nervously against the pavement.
Rasheed had intentionally kept huge portions of the plan from him.
At first he assumed Rasheed was protecting him. After all, he was a 19-year-old “friend” of his son he barely knew.
Now he wasn't so sure.
Maybe Rasheed simply didn't trust him.
What if this was all bullshit?
What if Tom never killed Felix?
What if he was helping set up a murder?
What if Rasheed disappeared afterward and left Cam holding the bag?
Because when it came down to it, he was trusting the word of an ex-convict who happened to be the father of the best friend he hadn't spoken to in months.
That realization made his stomach churn. Then headlights appeared.
Cam immediately froze.
A familiar pickup truck rolled slowly around the corner and pulled alongside the building.
His pulse exploded. The truck came to a stop. The engine idled. For a few seconds, nothing happened.
Cam wiped his hands against his jeans again. His fingers trembled.
The driver's side door finally opened.
Tom stepped out.
His beard looked as unkempt as ever. His broad frame filled the doorway of the truck as he climbed down onto the pavement. He glanced around casually, completely unaware of the storm raging inside Cam's head.
Because as Tom began walking toward him, Cam still had absolutely no idea what he was going to do.
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Caesar
- Chise GOAT
- Posts: 15978
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Invictus
Now when Caine Guerra was going to replace Judd Anderson's bum ass, why we didn't get this kind of support???
Zane leaving Marie high and dry to go run back to Bianca. He not tough enough to play in the SEC, he said no ACC so that leaves Michigan.
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Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 7291
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Invictus
Quite a theory you've got there, sir.
All will be revealed in due time
"Not tough enough to play in the SEC" is crazy
