Invictus
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Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 7324
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Invictus
Marie is a young, black woman.
But otherwise, these allegations are unfounded, sir.
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Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 7324
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Invictus
Season VI | Episode 8 - In My Room
Bianca's parents' house somehow managed to look even bigger at night.
The sprawling home sat tucked away behind wrought-iron gates and carefully maintained landscaping, every inch of the property looking like it belonged in the pages of an architecture magazine rather than a neighborhood. Warm lights glowed through enormous windows, illuminating polished stone floors and high ceilings that seemed to stretch forever upward. The moment Katie stepped through the front door, she stopped dead in her tracks and let out a low whistle.
The sound echoed slightly through the foyer.
Bianca, who had already kicked off her shoes and tossed her jacket over the back of a nearby chair, looked over her shoulder with an amused expression.
"What?" she asked.
Katie slowly turned in a circle, taking in the massive staircase, the expensive artwork lining the walls, and the sheer amount of space that seemed to exist for no reason other than showing off that it could.
Then she looked directly at Bianca.
"You come from all of this," she said, gesturing broadly around her, "and decided to shack up in some shitty dorm room in Ann Arbor?"
Bianca rolled her eyes immediately.
"It's not like that."
Katie crossed her arms.
"Oh, I'm sure."
Bianca sighed and started walking deeper into the house, knowing Katie would follow.
"I've kind of always hated that people immediately associate me with my parents' money," she explained. "Everywhere I go, that's the first thing people notice. Not me. Not anything I've accomplished. Just who my parents are and how much money they have. I wanted to build something of my own."
Katie blinked.
Then she leaned forward slightly.
"That sounds like some bullshit."
Bianca stopped walking and turned around. Katie immediately held up both hands.
"But," she added quickly, "I know better than to piss off the person housing me."
A reluctant laugh escaped Bianca.
"You're impossible."
"And yet here we are."
Shaking her head, Bianca continued into the kitchen and began giving Katie a quick rundown of the situation.
The house was mostly quiet, the kind of silence that came from a place being too large for only two people. As Bianca opened the refrigerator and checked inside absentmindedly, she explained what she knew.
"I don't actually think my parents are going to be here for Thanksgiving."
Katie frowned.
"What?"
"They're in Madrid."
Katie blinked.
Bianca continued before she could interrupt.
"They told me there's still a chance they'll make it back, but honestly, I doubt it."
She closed the refrigerator and leaned against the counter.
"They already arranged everything, though. Food's being delivered tomorrow from one of my mom's favorite caterers."
Katie stared at her. Then she folded her arms across her chest. Bianca immediately noticed the expression. She stopped talking.
"What?"
Katie just continued staring.
"What?" Bianca repeated.
Katie tilted her head.
"So let me get this straight."
Bianca groaned.
"You convinced me not to go home to Colorado-"
"To be fair," Bianca interrupted, "I could've offered going to prison for Thanksgiving and you would've agreed if it meant not going home."
Katie thought about it for a second. Then shrugged.
"That's actually fair."
"Thank you."
"But that's not the point."
Bianca pinched the bridge of her nose.
Katie continued.
"You got me to come to Pittsburgh for Thanksgiving knowing there was a decent chance your parents wouldn't even be here?"
Bianca sighed.
"I wasn't sure."
"You knew."
"I didn't know."
"You knew."
Bianca pointed at her.
"There was maybe a fifty-percent chance."
Katie stared at her for a long moment before slowly shaking her head.
"Then why didn't we just stay our asses in Michigan and eat there?"
Bianca opened her mouth. Nothing came out. Katie narrowed her eyes. The gears visibly started turning in her head.
Then suddenly her eyes widened.
"Oh."
Bianca sighed.
Katie pointed at her dramatically.
"Oh my God, you bitch."
Bianca covered her face with one hand.
"Oh my God."
"Don't."
"You thought-"
"Katie."
"You thought you and Zane were gonna have some romantic Thanksgiving reconciliation!"
Bianca groaned.
Katie took several excited steps forward.
"That's why we're here!"
"No."
"That's absolutely why we're here."
Bianca tried to protest.The words died before they could leave her mouth. She stared at the floor for a moment before finally relenting.
"Is it that obvious?"
Katie gasped loudly.
Then immediately grabbed Bianca by both shoulders.
"You should've told me this juicy-ass secret ahead of time!"
Bianca laughed despite herself and shoved her away.
"I just - I don’t know. There was a part of me that was looking forward to seeing him for the first time in forever. I didn’t exactly jump to reconciliation."
"This is amazing. This is something that I would do. This is the most Katie-like master plan I’ve ever heard of."
"I didn't have some master plan."
Katie gave her a look.
Bianca sighed again.
"We just left things so unresolved, and I thought since things with Bryce burnt the fuck out…" she began before trailing off.
Katie waited.
Bianca crossed her arms.
"I thought we'd have an actual conversation."
Katie's expression softened slightly. Bianca looked toward one of the windows overlooking the dark backyard.
Bianca shrugged. "I didn't know exactly what that conversation would look like. I just thought it would happen."
Katie mulled that over. Then she winced.
"Okay, but betting on that being the plan three months after dumping a guy over the phone might not have been your strongest decision."
Bianca immediately slapped both hands against her thighs.
"Oh, come on."
"I'm just saying."
"I didn't think he'd show up a few months later with a whole-ass girlfriend."
Katie opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
"We don't know that's his girlfriend."
Bianca looked at her like she'd lost her mind.
"Katie."
"What?"
"That girl flew from Syracuse to Pittsburgh the second she heard something was wrong."
Katie considered that.
"Fair."
Bianca shook her head.
"If they ain't fucking, I'd be shocked."
Katie immediately burst out laughing.
"Bianca!"
"What?"
The laughter lingered between them before slowly fading away.
Katie hugged her elbows and leaned against the counter.
The humor left her face first.
"So what are you gonna do?"
The question settled heavily between them. For the first time since arriving, Bianca didn't have a quick answer. She drew in a long breath through her mouth and released it slowly.
The events of the day replayed through her mind. Seeing just how much of a mess he was. She could see it plain as day on his face. How much more would the world take from him? The last thing she wanted was to make any of this about herself.
Finally, she shook her head.
"I'll talk to him."
Katie nodded.
"Eventually."
"Eventually?"
Bianca looked down at the floor.
"When he's alone." Her voice softened. "I need to have that conversation."
Katie remained silent. Bianca swallowed.
"But not right now."
She looked up again.
"Right now I just want to be there for him."
Katie studied her for a few seconds. Then slowly nodded. Whatever complicated feelings existed between Bianca and Zane, she knew that part was genuine.
Bianca wasn't here to win him back. She wasn't here to compete with Marie. She was here because someone she loved was hurting.
Katie bit the inside of her cheek before unfolding her arms from in front of her chest before a smirk began to build on her face.
"This feels like it's gonna be a complete shitshow."
Bianca threw a decorative pillow at her.
Katie dodged it easily, laughing as she hurried deeper into the house while Bianca followed behind, trying - and failing - not to laugh too. For the first time all day, the tension eased just a little, replaced by the familiar comfort of having her best friend beside her, even if that best friend was determined to treat the most emotionally complicated situation of her life like the world's messiest reality television show.
Zane stood at the edge of his childhood bed, his duffel bag sprawled open across the faded comforter, digging through the wrinkled pile of clothes he had thrown together in a panic when he’d rushed back to his condo in Syracuse.
The packing had been frantic, more survival than intention - grabbing whatever was clean, whatever was closest, whatever fit in the bag before he bolted for the airport. Now, standing in the quiet of his old bedroom, it all felt strangely disconnected. Like another version of himself had packed that bag. A version of himself that still thought life was moving in a straight line.
His fingers stopped when they brushed the thick cotton of his Syracuse football hoodie.
He pulled it free and held it up for a moment.
The navy fabric looked heavier than he remembered, the orange lettering across the chest suddenly feeling loaded with more weight than school pride. He had worn that hoodie constantly during his first few weeks on campus - during early workouts, late-night film sessions, walks to class when everything still felt new and exciting. Back then it had felt like proof. Proof that he’d made it. That all the years of work, all the sacrifices, all the nights in the cold catching footballs under streetlights had meant something.
Now it felt different. Now it felt like a relic of a version of himself that didn’t exist anymore.
Tyson had made that painfully clear during their phone call.
Things would move fast now. The portal. The calls. The offers. Syracuse wasn’t home anymore, no matter how badly part of him wanted to pretend otherwise. The sooner he accepted that, Tyson had said, the easier this would all be.
Zane stared at the hoodie for another second before folding it carefully and placing it back into the bag. His hand rested on top of it for a moment, patting it softly like he was putting something to rest. Then he dug around again and found a brown Nike hoodie instead. Plain. Warm. Neutral. Something he could throw his varsity jacket over without having to think too hard about what it represented.
That felt easier.
He pulled it over his head and adjusted the sleeves, glancing at himself in the mirror. His face looked hollow. Tired. The kind of tired sleep couldn’t fix.
He slipped his phone into his front pocket and his wallet into his back pocket just as a soft knock came at the bedroom door.
Zane turned slightly.
“Come in.”
The door crept open slowly, and Marie leaned her head inside first before stepping into the room. Her eyes wandered immediately, taking in the small details of his childhood bedroom = the dark wooden dresser, the narrow twin bed, the trophies cluttered on the shelves, the old desk tucked beneath the window.
She smiled faintly.
“I expected more posters.”
Zane let out a small laugh through his nose, the first real one he’d managed in what felt like days.
“My grandparents were strict,” he said. “No bullshit on the walls.”
Marie smiled.
“So what’d they let you hang?”
Zane motioned around. “Jerseys.”
Her eyes followed his gesture. The walls were lined with them.
His tiny youth league jersey from when he was six, the oversized Pop Warner jersey from middle school, and then the framed Upper St. Clair number one jersey that had made him a local legend before Syracuse ever came calling. Each one looked like a checkpoint in a life that had been sprinting toward something bigger.
Marie folded her arms and leaned against his desk, her eyes lingering on the display.
“So the Syracuse jersey goes up next?”
Zane looked at the empty stretch of wall where it probably should’ve gone.
He shrugged.
“It feels weird now.”
Marie tilted her head. “Weird how?”
Zane exhaled. “Putting it up like it’s finished. Like it mattered.”
Marie studied him carefully. There was a pause then she pushed off the desk and stepped closer.
“Are you really leaving?”
Zane looked down at the floor for a second, thinking. After a moment, he nodded.
“I told Tyson to file it.”
Marie blinked.
“You’re really transferring.” She absorbed it quietly, her face unreadable at first.
Zane opened his mouth, instinctively ready to explain himself - to justify the timing, the decision, the chaos - but Marie shook her head before he could.
She stepped closer and took both of his hands in hers.
Her grip was warm.
“Zane,” she said softly, “you have way bigger things to worry about right now.”
He looked at her.
“You don’t owe me an explanation.”
His throat tightened. He nodded once, barely noticeable.
For a moment, it looked like Marie might cry. Her eyes shimmered under the bedroom light, but she blinked it away before anything could fall.
When she spoke again, her voice was steady. “We’re just going to make the most of whatever time we have left.”
Zane swallowed. Then, before she let go of his hands, her expression shifted.
“But I have to ask.”
Zane already knew. Her eyes locked onto his.
“You’re not leaving Syracuse because of her, are you?”
Zane stiffened for a moment before shaking his head immediately.
“No.”
Zane cleared his throat.
“I didn’t call her. I didn’t tell her to come here. Seeing her at the hospital - that caught me completely off guard.”
Marie nodded slowly, trying to process that. However, something in her face stayed unconvinced.
“It’s still weird,” she said.
Zane frowned.
“I mean, come on Zane. Who just shows up like that?.” Marie’s jaw tightened slightly. “Like she can just reinsert herself into your life whenever she wants.”
Zane took a shallow breath. He searched for the right words.
“My grandmother always loved Bianca,” he said. “She looked after her a lot growing up. Took her in when her parents were gone. I don’t know - I guess I just see how it can be less than completely random.”
But even as he said it, he could see it on Marie’s face.
She wasn’t buying it. She was trying to, but couldn’t. At least not fully.
The silence stretched. Finally, he shifted his weight and glanced toward the door.
“I should get back.”
Marie nodded.
She stepped aside and let him pass. Zane brushed by her, pausing only long enough to squeeze her arm gently before walking out into the hallway.
Marie stayed behind.
For a long moment, she stood in the middle of his room, alone with the echoes of him. Her eyes drifted back to the wall. To the Upper St. Clair jersey.
The number one hanging there like a monument to who he used to be before everything got complicated - before college, before grief, before love had split into too many directions to follow cleanly.
Tyson sat alone in his office, the dim glow of his monitor reflecting against the glass walls and polished wood surrounding him. The agency floor had mostly emptied for the night, leaving only the low hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional distant shuffle from janitorial staff. His desk, a heavy mahogany slab he’d insisted on when he made partner, was buried beneath printed reports, NIL projections, depth charts, and transfer market evaluations. Half-finished coffee sat cold near his elbow, forgotten hours ago.
For the last few days, Tyson had been buried in presentations.
Not just one.
Several.
He had done the groundwork on Zane’s transfer options almost the minute the season ended, knowing the market would move fast and the schools circling wouldn’t waste time. But now he was refining it, sharpening the pitch, narrowing the field.
Zane was in Pittsburgh dealing with something real - something Tyson knew outweighed football in every possible way. He respected that. Hell, he sympathized with it. The kid’s grandmother was in a coma, his father was off God-knows-where, and his personal life sounded like a damn pressure cooker ready to blow.
Zane would be okay.
Not immediately. Not emotionally. But he wasn’t alone. Tyson had met enough athletes to know the ones who had nobody and the ones who had people that would show up when things got ugly. Zane had people. Good people. Family. Friends. Teammates. Girls who apparently flew across state lines the moment something happened.
Tyson reminded himself of that.
His job wasn’t to carry Zane through grief.
His job was to protect the future waiting on the other side of it. He repeated that to himself often these last few days.
A knock sounded at his office door before it opened.
Natasha stepped inside.
Tyson didn’t have to look up right away to know it was her. Her footsteps were light but deliberate, and she carried herself with a confidence that had grown tenfold since he first hired her.
Natasha had joined the firm fresh out of college three years ago, bright-eyed and razor-sharp, the kind of young professional who could’ve easily been mistaken for a beauty pageant finalist instead of a future shark in sports representation. Tall, polished, blonde, with a smile that disarmed people before she gutted them in negotiation.
Tyson had watched senior agents circle her like vultures in those early months - half trying to mentor her, half trying to sleep with her. He had stepped in quickly, recognized her instincts, and pulled her under his wing.
It had been one of the smartest decisions he’d made.
She saw the business clearly. Cleaner than most. No sentiment where it didn’t belong. No fear where it wasn’t useful.
And more importantly, she knew how to survive.
Tyson had already decided that if he ever left the agency to build his own shop, Natasha would be the first person he brought with him.
She nodded toward the monitor.
“How’s it coming?”
She took one of the two leather chairs across from his desk, crossing one leg over the other as she settled in.
Tyson pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I’m trying to narrow this fucking list; I think I’m almost there.”
Natasha adjusted her gold-rimmed glasses and tucked a stray blonde hair behind her ear.
“Wasn’t Zane supposed to do that himself?”
Tyson shrugged.
“He was transparent enough.” He leaned back in his chair, rotating slightly. “He told me what he wants. Big program. Good money even though we’re going to get him stupid money. NFL development. Competitive culture. Somewhere that won’t waste his talent.”
Tyson tapped his pen against the desk.
“And considering what he’s going through right now, I figured I’d do the filtering. Present him the early leaders. Make the decision easier.”
Natasha leaned back in her chair, stretching her legs out in front of her.
“Who’s the highest bidder?”
A smirk touched Tyson’s face.
“The boys from the Big House - Michigan.”
Natasha raised an eyebrow.
Tyson chuckled. “Oh, they’re hunting.”
He turned his monitor slightly, showing her a figure.
“They’ve been aggressive. Real aggressive.” He tapped the screen. “They still haven’t gotten over losing him the first time.”
Natasha nodded as Tyson continued.
“After that Sherrone Moore mess last year, they’ve been desperate to stabilize. Schumann got them back into the Playoff this year, Bryce Underwood looks like the truth, and now they want to stack around him.”
He folded his hands.
“Giving Bryce a target like Zane? That changes their entire offense overnight.”
Natasha studied the numbers.
“So what’s the problem?”
Tyson let out a breathy laugh and leaned back toward his monitor, adjusting a few details on one of the slides.
Without looking at her, he answered.
“Zane hates Michigan.”
Natasha blinked.
“Hates?”
Tyson nodded.
“‘Hate’ is probably a strong word but he had a horrible visit there in high school. Hated the culture, hated the people, hated the way they carried themselves.”
He shrugged.
“Long story.”
He clicked through another slide.
“I’ll show him the offer because I’d be stupid not to. But I know better.”
Natasha nodded.
“What else?”
Tyson swiveled slightly.
“UCLA’s making noise because apparently they love to pay anybody nowadays, but I doubt Zane goes for it. USC is in there too. Ohio State’s got one of the biggest numbers on the table.”
Natasha whistled. Tyson kept going.
“Texas A&M’s serious. Texas is serious. Miami’s interesting.”
“Went to high school with that quarterback, right? Malik something?”
Tyson smirked.
“Richards, and yeah. Judd Anderson is probably heading out unless Miami wins the championship, so it could be pretty enticing to link up with his boy next year.”
Natasha shrugged., “Sounds like a lot of variables that has to work for Zane to go to Miami.”
Tyson rubbed his jaw.
“Miami’s attractive, but there’s a lot of mouths to feed there. Texas gives him national exposure instantly. A&M gives him stupid money. Ohio State’s probably the cleanest football fit.”
Natasha nodded thoughtfully.
A pause stretched between them as Tyson continued working.
He looked at her.
A slow grin formed.
“But this one,” he said. He turned the monitor fully toward her. “This one.”
Natasha leaned forward.
Her eyes scanned the logo on the screen. Her eyebrows shot up.
Tyson’s grin widened.
“This,” he said, tapping the desk once, “is the one I think he’ll take.”
Bianca's parents' house somehow managed to look even bigger at night.
The sprawling home sat tucked away behind wrought-iron gates and carefully maintained landscaping, every inch of the property looking like it belonged in the pages of an architecture magazine rather than a neighborhood. Warm lights glowed through enormous windows, illuminating polished stone floors and high ceilings that seemed to stretch forever upward. The moment Katie stepped through the front door, she stopped dead in her tracks and let out a low whistle.
The sound echoed slightly through the foyer.
Bianca, who had already kicked off her shoes and tossed her jacket over the back of a nearby chair, looked over her shoulder with an amused expression.
"What?" she asked.
Katie slowly turned in a circle, taking in the massive staircase, the expensive artwork lining the walls, and the sheer amount of space that seemed to exist for no reason other than showing off that it could.
Then she looked directly at Bianca.
"You come from all of this," she said, gesturing broadly around her, "and decided to shack up in some shitty dorm room in Ann Arbor?"
Bianca rolled her eyes immediately.
"It's not like that."
Katie crossed her arms.
"Oh, I'm sure."
Bianca sighed and started walking deeper into the house, knowing Katie would follow.
"I've kind of always hated that people immediately associate me with my parents' money," she explained. "Everywhere I go, that's the first thing people notice. Not me. Not anything I've accomplished. Just who my parents are and how much money they have. I wanted to build something of my own."
Katie blinked.
Then she leaned forward slightly.
"That sounds like some bullshit."
Bianca stopped walking and turned around. Katie immediately held up both hands.
"But," she added quickly, "I know better than to piss off the person housing me."
A reluctant laugh escaped Bianca.
"You're impossible."
"And yet here we are."
Shaking her head, Bianca continued into the kitchen and began giving Katie a quick rundown of the situation.
The house was mostly quiet, the kind of silence that came from a place being too large for only two people. As Bianca opened the refrigerator and checked inside absentmindedly, she explained what she knew.
"I don't actually think my parents are going to be here for Thanksgiving."
Katie frowned.
"What?"
"They're in Madrid."
Katie blinked.
Bianca continued before she could interrupt.
"They told me there's still a chance they'll make it back, but honestly, I doubt it."
She closed the refrigerator and leaned against the counter.
"They already arranged everything, though. Food's being delivered tomorrow from one of my mom's favorite caterers."
Katie stared at her. Then she folded her arms across her chest. Bianca immediately noticed the expression. She stopped talking.
"What?"
Katie just continued staring.
"What?" Bianca repeated.
Katie tilted her head.
"So let me get this straight."
Bianca groaned.
"You convinced me not to go home to Colorado-"
"To be fair," Bianca interrupted, "I could've offered going to prison for Thanksgiving and you would've agreed if it meant not going home."
Katie thought about it for a second. Then shrugged.
"That's actually fair."
"Thank you."
"But that's not the point."
Bianca pinched the bridge of her nose.
Katie continued.
"You got me to come to Pittsburgh for Thanksgiving knowing there was a decent chance your parents wouldn't even be here?"
Bianca sighed.
"I wasn't sure."
"You knew."
"I didn't know."
"You knew."
Bianca pointed at her.
"There was maybe a fifty-percent chance."
Katie stared at her for a long moment before slowly shaking her head.
"Then why didn't we just stay our asses in Michigan and eat there?"
Bianca opened her mouth. Nothing came out. Katie narrowed her eyes. The gears visibly started turning in her head.
Then suddenly her eyes widened.
"Oh."
Bianca sighed.
Katie pointed at her dramatically.
"Oh my God, you bitch."
Bianca covered her face with one hand.
"Oh my God."
"Don't."
"You thought-"
"Katie."
"You thought you and Zane were gonna have some romantic Thanksgiving reconciliation!"
Bianca groaned.
Katie took several excited steps forward.
"That's why we're here!"
"No."
"That's absolutely why we're here."
Bianca tried to protest.The words died before they could leave her mouth. She stared at the floor for a moment before finally relenting.
"Is it that obvious?"
Katie gasped loudly.
Then immediately grabbed Bianca by both shoulders.
"You should've told me this juicy-ass secret ahead of time!"
Bianca laughed despite herself and shoved her away.
"I just - I don’t know. There was a part of me that was looking forward to seeing him for the first time in forever. I didn’t exactly jump to reconciliation."
"This is amazing. This is something that I would do. This is the most Katie-like master plan I’ve ever heard of."
"I didn't have some master plan."
Katie gave her a look.
Bianca sighed again.
"We just left things so unresolved, and I thought since things with Bryce burnt the fuck out…" she began before trailing off.
Katie waited.
Bianca crossed her arms.
"I thought we'd have an actual conversation."
Katie's expression softened slightly. Bianca looked toward one of the windows overlooking the dark backyard.
Bianca shrugged. "I didn't know exactly what that conversation would look like. I just thought it would happen."
Katie mulled that over. Then she winced.
"Okay, but betting on that being the plan three months after dumping a guy over the phone might not have been your strongest decision."
Bianca immediately slapped both hands against her thighs.
"Oh, come on."
"I'm just saying."
"I didn't think he'd show up a few months later with a whole-ass girlfriend."
Katie opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
"We don't know that's his girlfriend."
Bianca looked at her like she'd lost her mind.
"Katie."
"What?"
"That girl flew from Syracuse to Pittsburgh the second she heard something was wrong."
Katie considered that.
"Fair."
Bianca shook her head.
"If they ain't fucking, I'd be shocked."
Katie immediately burst out laughing.
"Bianca!"
"What?"
The laughter lingered between them before slowly fading away.
Katie hugged her elbows and leaned against the counter.
The humor left her face first.
"So what are you gonna do?"
The question settled heavily between them. For the first time since arriving, Bianca didn't have a quick answer. She drew in a long breath through her mouth and released it slowly.
The events of the day replayed through her mind. Seeing just how much of a mess he was. She could see it plain as day on his face. How much more would the world take from him? The last thing she wanted was to make any of this about herself.
Finally, she shook her head.
"I'll talk to him."
Katie nodded.
"Eventually."
"Eventually?"
Bianca looked down at the floor.
"When he's alone." Her voice softened. "I need to have that conversation."
Katie remained silent. Bianca swallowed.
"But not right now."
She looked up again.
"Right now I just want to be there for him."
Katie studied her for a few seconds. Then slowly nodded. Whatever complicated feelings existed between Bianca and Zane, she knew that part was genuine.
Bianca wasn't here to win him back. She wasn't here to compete with Marie. She was here because someone she loved was hurting.
Katie bit the inside of her cheek before unfolding her arms from in front of her chest before a smirk began to build on her face.
"This feels like it's gonna be a complete shitshow."
Bianca threw a decorative pillow at her.
Katie dodged it easily, laughing as she hurried deeper into the house while Bianca followed behind, trying - and failing - not to laugh too. For the first time all day, the tension eased just a little, replaced by the familiar comfort of having her best friend beside her, even if that best friend was determined to treat the most emotionally complicated situation of her life like the world's messiest reality television show.
***
Zane stood at the edge of his childhood bed, his duffel bag sprawled open across the faded comforter, digging through the wrinkled pile of clothes he had thrown together in a panic when he’d rushed back to his condo in Syracuse.
The packing had been frantic, more survival than intention - grabbing whatever was clean, whatever was closest, whatever fit in the bag before he bolted for the airport. Now, standing in the quiet of his old bedroom, it all felt strangely disconnected. Like another version of himself had packed that bag. A version of himself that still thought life was moving in a straight line.
His fingers stopped when they brushed the thick cotton of his Syracuse football hoodie.
He pulled it free and held it up for a moment.
The navy fabric looked heavier than he remembered, the orange lettering across the chest suddenly feeling loaded with more weight than school pride. He had worn that hoodie constantly during his first few weeks on campus - during early workouts, late-night film sessions, walks to class when everything still felt new and exciting. Back then it had felt like proof. Proof that he’d made it. That all the years of work, all the sacrifices, all the nights in the cold catching footballs under streetlights had meant something.
Now it felt different. Now it felt like a relic of a version of himself that didn’t exist anymore.
Tyson had made that painfully clear during their phone call.
Things would move fast now. The portal. The calls. The offers. Syracuse wasn’t home anymore, no matter how badly part of him wanted to pretend otherwise. The sooner he accepted that, Tyson had said, the easier this would all be.
Zane stared at the hoodie for another second before folding it carefully and placing it back into the bag. His hand rested on top of it for a moment, patting it softly like he was putting something to rest. Then he dug around again and found a brown Nike hoodie instead. Plain. Warm. Neutral. Something he could throw his varsity jacket over without having to think too hard about what it represented.
That felt easier.
He pulled it over his head and adjusted the sleeves, glancing at himself in the mirror. His face looked hollow. Tired. The kind of tired sleep couldn’t fix.
He slipped his phone into his front pocket and his wallet into his back pocket just as a soft knock came at the bedroom door.
Zane turned slightly.
“Come in.”
The door crept open slowly, and Marie leaned her head inside first before stepping into the room. Her eyes wandered immediately, taking in the small details of his childhood bedroom = the dark wooden dresser, the narrow twin bed, the trophies cluttered on the shelves, the old desk tucked beneath the window.
She smiled faintly.
“I expected more posters.”
Zane let out a small laugh through his nose, the first real one he’d managed in what felt like days.
“My grandparents were strict,” he said. “No bullshit on the walls.”
Marie smiled.
“So what’d they let you hang?”
Zane motioned around. “Jerseys.”
Her eyes followed his gesture. The walls were lined with them.
His tiny youth league jersey from when he was six, the oversized Pop Warner jersey from middle school, and then the framed Upper St. Clair number one jersey that had made him a local legend before Syracuse ever came calling. Each one looked like a checkpoint in a life that had been sprinting toward something bigger.
Marie folded her arms and leaned against his desk, her eyes lingering on the display.
“So the Syracuse jersey goes up next?”
Zane looked at the empty stretch of wall where it probably should’ve gone.
He shrugged.
“It feels weird now.”
Marie tilted her head. “Weird how?”
Zane exhaled. “Putting it up like it’s finished. Like it mattered.”
Marie studied him carefully. There was a pause then she pushed off the desk and stepped closer.
“Are you really leaving?”
Zane looked down at the floor for a second, thinking. After a moment, he nodded.
“I told Tyson to file it.”
Marie blinked.
“You’re really transferring.” She absorbed it quietly, her face unreadable at first.
Zane opened his mouth, instinctively ready to explain himself - to justify the timing, the decision, the chaos - but Marie shook her head before he could.
She stepped closer and took both of his hands in hers.
Her grip was warm.
“Zane,” she said softly, “you have way bigger things to worry about right now.”
He looked at her.
“You don’t owe me an explanation.”
His throat tightened. He nodded once, barely noticeable.
For a moment, it looked like Marie might cry. Her eyes shimmered under the bedroom light, but she blinked it away before anything could fall.
When she spoke again, her voice was steady. “We’re just going to make the most of whatever time we have left.”
Zane swallowed. Then, before she let go of his hands, her expression shifted.
“But I have to ask.”
Zane already knew. Her eyes locked onto his.
“You’re not leaving Syracuse because of her, are you?”
Zane stiffened for a moment before shaking his head immediately.
“No.”
Zane cleared his throat.
“I didn’t call her. I didn’t tell her to come here. Seeing her at the hospital - that caught me completely off guard.”
Marie nodded slowly, trying to process that. However, something in her face stayed unconvinced.
“It’s still weird,” she said.
Zane frowned.
“I mean, come on Zane. Who just shows up like that?.” Marie’s jaw tightened slightly. “Like she can just reinsert herself into your life whenever she wants.”
Zane took a shallow breath. He searched for the right words.
“My grandmother always loved Bianca,” he said. “She looked after her a lot growing up. Took her in when her parents were gone. I don’t know - I guess I just see how it can be less than completely random.”
But even as he said it, he could see it on Marie’s face.
She wasn’t buying it. She was trying to, but couldn’t. At least not fully.
The silence stretched. Finally, he shifted his weight and glanced toward the door.
“I should get back.”
Marie nodded.
She stepped aside and let him pass. Zane brushed by her, pausing only long enough to squeeze her arm gently before walking out into the hallway.
Marie stayed behind.
For a long moment, she stood in the middle of his room, alone with the echoes of him. Her eyes drifted back to the wall. To the Upper St. Clair jersey.
The number one hanging there like a monument to who he used to be before everything got complicated - before college, before grief, before love had split into too many directions to follow cleanly.
***
Tyson sat alone in his office, the dim glow of his monitor reflecting against the glass walls and polished wood surrounding him. The agency floor had mostly emptied for the night, leaving only the low hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional distant shuffle from janitorial staff. His desk, a heavy mahogany slab he’d insisted on when he made partner, was buried beneath printed reports, NIL projections, depth charts, and transfer market evaluations. Half-finished coffee sat cold near his elbow, forgotten hours ago.
For the last few days, Tyson had been buried in presentations.
Not just one.
Several.
He had done the groundwork on Zane’s transfer options almost the minute the season ended, knowing the market would move fast and the schools circling wouldn’t waste time. But now he was refining it, sharpening the pitch, narrowing the field.
Zane was in Pittsburgh dealing with something real - something Tyson knew outweighed football in every possible way. He respected that. Hell, he sympathized with it. The kid’s grandmother was in a coma, his father was off God-knows-where, and his personal life sounded like a damn pressure cooker ready to blow.
Zane would be okay.
Not immediately. Not emotionally. But he wasn’t alone. Tyson had met enough athletes to know the ones who had nobody and the ones who had people that would show up when things got ugly. Zane had people. Good people. Family. Friends. Teammates. Girls who apparently flew across state lines the moment something happened.
Tyson reminded himself of that.
His job wasn’t to carry Zane through grief.
His job was to protect the future waiting on the other side of it. He repeated that to himself often these last few days.
A knock sounded at his office door before it opened.
Natasha stepped inside.
Tyson didn’t have to look up right away to know it was her. Her footsteps were light but deliberate, and she carried herself with a confidence that had grown tenfold since he first hired her.
Natasha had joined the firm fresh out of college three years ago, bright-eyed and razor-sharp, the kind of young professional who could’ve easily been mistaken for a beauty pageant finalist instead of a future shark in sports representation. Tall, polished, blonde, with a smile that disarmed people before she gutted them in negotiation.
Tyson had watched senior agents circle her like vultures in those early months - half trying to mentor her, half trying to sleep with her. He had stepped in quickly, recognized her instincts, and pulled her under his wing.
It had been one of the smartest decisions he’d made.
She saw the business clearly. Cleaner than most. No sentiment where it didn’t belong. No fear where it wasn’t useful.
And more importantly, she knew how to survive.
Tyson had already decided that if he ever left the agency to build his own shop, Natasha would be the first person he brought with him.
She nodded toward the monitor.
“How’s it coming?”
She took one of the two leather chairs across from his desk, crossing one leg over the other as she settled in.
Tyson pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I’m trying to narrow this fucking list; I think I’m almost there.”
Natasha adjusted her gold-rimmed glasses and tucked a stray blonde hair behind her ear.
“Wasn’t Zane supposed to do that himself?”
Tyson shrugged.
“He was transparent enough.” He leaned back in his chair, rotating slightly. “He told me what he wants. Big program. Good money even though we’re going to get him stupid money. NFL development. Competitive culture. Somewhere that won’t waste his talent.”
Tyson tapped his pen against the desk.
“And considering what he’s going through right now, I figured I’d do the filtering. Present him the early leaders. Make the decision easier.”
Natasha leaned back in her chair, stretching her legs out in front of her.
“Who’s the highest bidder?”
A smirk touched Tyson’s face.
“The boys from the Big House - Michigan.”
Natasha raised an eyebrow.
Tyson chuckled. “Oh, they’re hunting.”
He turned his monitor slightly, showing her a figure.
“They’ve been aggressive. Real aggressive.” He tapped the screen. “They still haven’t gotten over losing him the first time.”
Natasha nodded as Tyson continued.
“After that Sherrone Moore mess last year, they’ve been desperate to stabilize. Schumann got them back into the Playoff this year, Bryce Underwood looks like the truth, and now they want to stack around him.”
He folded his hands.
“Giving Bryce a target like Zane? That changes their entire offense overnight.”
Natasha studied the numbers.
“So what’s the problem?”
Tyson let out a breathy laugh and leaned back toward his monitor, adjusting a few details on one of the slides.
Without looking at her, he answered.
“Zane hates Michigan.”
Natasha blinked.
“Hates?”
Tyson nodded.
“‘Hate’ is probably a strong word but he had a horrible visit there in high school. Hated the culture, hated the people, hated the way they carried themselves.”
He shrugged.
“Long story.”
He clicked through another slide.
“I’ll show him the offer because I’d be stupid not to. But I know better.”
Natasha nodded.
“What else?”
Tyson swiveled slightly.
“UCLA’s making noise because apparently they love to pay anybody nowadays, but I doubt Zane goes for it. USC is in there too. Ohio State’s got one of the biggest numbers on the table.”
Natasha whistled. Tyson kept going.
“Texas A&M’s serious. Texas is serious. Miami’s interesting.”
“Went to high school with that quarterback, right? Malik something?”
Tyson smirked.
“Richards, and yeah. Judd Anderson is probably heading out unless Miami wins the championship, so it could be pretty enticing to link up with his boy next year.”
Natasha shrugged., “Sounds like a lot of variables that has to work for Zane to go to Miami.”
Tyson rubbed his jaw.
“Miami’s attractive, but there’s a lot of mouths to feed there. Texas gives him national exposure instantly. A&M gives him stupid money. Ohio State’s probably the cleanest football fit.”
Natasha nodded thoughtfully.
A pause stretched between them as Tyson continued working.
He looked at her.
A slow grin formed.
“But this one,” he said. He turned the monitor fully toward her. “This one.”
Natasha leaned forward.
Her eyes scanned the logo on the screen. Her eyebrows shot up.
Tyson’s grin widened.
“This,” he said, tapping the desk once, “is the one I think he’ll take.”