Them boys ain't got the best football IQ, but boy can they hit
Troublesome stuff, especially with Keelon doing his best Ajani impression.
And we got Ohio State and Texas on the horizon
Invictus
-
Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 7674
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Invictus
And we got Ohio State and Texas on the horizon
-
Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 7674
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Invictus
Season 7 | Episode 7 - Price of Love
Zane sat alone in the living room of his house, the only light coming from the enormous television mounted into the wall opposite him. The luxury of the place still hadn't completely worn off.
Even after weeks of living there, there were moments when he caught himself looking around and remembering the upstairs bedroom at his grandparents' house in Upper St. Clair, football jerseys covering nearly every inch of the walls and just enough room to squeeze in a desk beside the bed.
Then there had been the condo in Syracuse, his first real taste of independence. Comfortable. Spacious. A place that had slowly begun to feel like home. This house in Tuscaloosa existed on another level entirely. Tyson had spared no expense furnishing it, and the open-concept living room had become one of Zane's favorite places to unwind after practice. M
Most nights, after dinner and another film session at the facility, he would end up exactly where he was now - legs stretched across the sectional, remote resting beside him, studying football until his eyes grew tired enough to finally sleep.
Tonight's assignment wasn't Alabama.
It was Ohio State.
The Buckeyes occupied every inch of the screen as another offensive series unfolded. Zane leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees as he watched the receivers more closely than he watched the ball itself. He wasn't interested in the touchdowns. He wasn't watching highlight plays. His eyes followed their feet. Their hips. Their transitions at the top of routes. Every movement looked impossibly clean. There wasn't a wasted motion anywhere. The receivers drove into their breaks with remarkable efficiency, sinking their hips without slowing their momentum before exploding back into space. They didn't dance at the line of scrimmage. They didn't take extra gather steps. Every cut served a purpose.
He rewound the clip.
Watched it again.
Then again.
Quincy Porter sold an outside release before snapping effortlessly back toward the middle of the field, creating nearly three yards of separation without ever looking hurried. A few plays later, Chris Henry Jr. stemmed vertically before dropping his weight with such fluidity that the defensive back practically stumbled trying to match him. Neither receiver appeared to be moving particularly fast until they suddenly were. It was artistry disguised as simplicity.
Zane found himself nodding almost unconsciously.
That's why they were so dangerous.
Nothing was wasted.
Everything looked effortless because every detail had already been mastered.
Ohio State had looked every bit like the fourth-ranked team in the country through the opening weeks of the season. Their offense hummed with frightening precision, and almost every national broadcast seemed intent on reminding viewers that quarterback Julian Sayin had yet to make a meaningful mistake. Eleven touchdown passes. Zero interceptions. Complete command of the offense. Every sports show seemed ready to crown him the early Heisman favorite before September had even ended.
Zane couldn't entirely blame them.
Sayin had been outstanding.
Still, context mattered.
Ohio State had opened against Bowling Green before dismantling an FCS opponent the following weekend. They had handled business exactly the way elite teams were supposed to, but they hadn't exactly faced the gauntlet either.
Alabama's path had looked a little different.
The opener against West Virginia had been uglier than anyone inside the program wanted to admit. The offense sputtered early, timing looked inconsistent, and every mistake had been magnified because expectations around Alabama never allowed for sloppy victories. Last weekend had been a different story entirely. West Alabama never stood a chance. The Crimson Tide had overwhelmed them from the opening possession, playing the kind of complete football Coach Kiffin had demanded throughout training camp.
Now came the real test.
Columbus. Ohio Stadium. National television.
Win this game, and everything Alabama had been preaching since spring camp suddenly became reality.
The championship talk wouldn't sound like confidence anymore. It would sound like a warning.
Zane let the final clip finish before grabbing the remote and switching the television off. Silence immediately filled the room.
He leaned back into the couch and slowly dragged both hands down his face, feeling the lingering fatigue from another long day settle deeper into his body. His muscles still ached from practice. Coach Ballou had made sure of that. The physical exhaustion almost felt comforting now. It gave his mind something tangible to focus on.
His phone lit up beside him.
Then buzzed again.
And again.
He reached over and picked it up. The team group chat had exploded.
Kaleb had apparently found another excuse for everyone to go out later that evening, and the responses ranged from enthusiastic confirmations to increasingly ridiculous memes. Jalen had already volunteered Keelon to drive despite Keelon immediately insisting he wasn't driving anybody anywhere. Shelton had somehow turned the conversation into an argument about who had the worst music taste on the roster.
Zane smiled to himself before backing out.
His social media notifications continued piling up almost faster than he could clear them. Fans. Reporters. Alabama pages reposting practice clips. More comments underneath his commitment announcement. More direct messages than he had any intention of reading.
He ignored most of them.
Next came school.
Several class group chats sat buried beneath dozens of unread messages, classmates discussing deadlines, project assignments, and coordinating meeting times around football schedules. He skimmed a few before deciding nothing required his immediate attention.
His thumb continued scrolling almost absentmindedly through his conversations until it stopped.
Anastasia.
He stared at her name for a second.
The red-haired girl from the club. The one with the bright green eyes who had somehow managed to make him laugh on a night he had spent trying not to be there.
They hadn't actually seen one another since that night.
Life had gotten busy. Between training camp, the beginning of classes, and then the football season starting, he hadn't found a moment to breathe. Let alone socialize.
Their conversations had mostly existed through scattered text messages whenever both of them happened to have a few free minutes. Nothing particularly serious. Just enough to keep the conversation alive.
Zane opened the thread.
He read their last few exchanges.
Then he began typing.
"Hit my line after you're done being out tonight."
He paused.
Backspaced once.
Typed again.
"Pull up if you're free."
He looked at the message for another few seconds before pressing send.
The conversation immediately felt heavier than it probably should have.
He rested the phone loosely in his hand.
This wasn't like him.
He had always kept people at arm's length. Football came first. Relationships became complicated. Feelings became messy. Somewhere along the way, he had convinced himself distance was easier than vulnerability. Between Bianca and Marie, it just didn't seem worth the effort.
But hadn't that been exactly what everyone kept telling him?
His father.
Coach Kiffin.
Even himself.
If he wanted things to change, he couldn't keep making the same choices.
He couldn't become a different man while behaving exactly like the old one.
Zane sighed quietly.
Maybe trying new things wasn't such a bad idea.
He leaned farther back into the sectional, allowing his head to rest comfortably against the cushion.
Barely thirty seconds later, the phone vibrated.
He looked down.
Anastasia had already replied.
She had liked the message.
A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth before he shook his head almost imperceptibly.
"Well," he muttered to the empty room.
He locked the phone and tossed it onto the cushion beside him before reaching for the remote once more.
There were still several hours before the night unfolded however it was going to unfold.
Until then, he flipped Netflix open and began scrolling aimlessly through the recommendations, looking for something - anything - that could occupy his mind before Ohio State inevitably found its way back into it.
Rasheed sat with his back against the frame of his bed, a lit blunt balanced between two fingers. He brought it to his lips and took a long drag, closing his eyes as he held the smoke deep in his chest. For a few quiet seconds, he simply sat there, letting the familiar burn settle through him before slowly exhaling.
A dense cloud drifted lazily toward the ceiling, hanging beneath the dim bedroom light before dispersing throughout the room. E
ver since Zane had left for Alabama, this had quietly become his nightly ritual. There was no longer any reason to slip into the backyard or announce that he was "going for a walk."
The house belonged to him now. Every room echoed with silence. There wasn't anyone left to question what he did with his evenings, and if there was one thing Rasheed understood better than almost anyone, it was how quickly solitude could become routine.
He reached forward and rested the burning blunt carefully inside the ashtray on the nightstand just as movement caught the corner of his eye.
A figure filled the bedroom doorway.
Mariah stood there wearing one of his oversized T-shirts, the hem falling low enough to preserve her modesty while still making it obvious she had borrowed it from his dresser. Her long, untamed hair spilled over the collar in every direction, still slightly damp from the shower she had taken earlier. In one hand she carried a bottle of rum, while the other balanced two glasses filled almost to the brim. She concentrated carefully on each step across the hardwood floor, clearly more concerned with not spilling the drinks than with how she looked walking into his bedroom.
Rasheed watched the entire journey without saying a word.
Mariah finally reached the bedside table, bending carefully to set the glasses down before placing the bottle beside them. She straightened and immediately noticed him watching her.
A sheepish smile crept onto her face.
"What?" she asked.
Rasheed shrugged, settling farther against the headboard and folding his hands behind his head.
"I'm just surprised you wanted to spend time with me," he admitted. Then his eyes drifted briefly toward the oversized shirt before returning to her face. "...Like this."
Mariah looked down at herself, then laughed quietly through her nose.
She picked up one of the glasses and offered it to him.
He accepted it with a nod.
"Appreciate it."
She climbed into the bed beside him, settling comfortably against the headboard. The frame creaked softly beneath the added weight before the room fell quiet again.
Mariah cradled her glass between both hands.
"I obviously didn't come over intending for any of this to happen," she admitted after a long pause. "Truthfully, I'm just tired."
Rasheed glanced toward her.
"Tired?"
She nodded.
"Tired of everybody looking at me like I'm broken."
Her voice remained steady, but there was exhaustion behind every word.
"Every conversation feels the same now. Every look. Every hug. Everybody acts like if they squeeze me too hard, I'll fall apart."
She met his eyes.
"I don't want to be somebody's tragedy anymore. Or 'his' victim' anymore, either."
Rasheed stayed silent.
Mariah continued before he could respond.
"I think you're the only authentic person I know anymore."
He raised an eyebrow.
"You wear exactly who you are on your sleeve," she said. "People may not like it. Hell, sometimes, it even unnerves me. But at least I never have to wonder where I stand with you."
Rasheed held her gaze for several seconds before looking away.
He reached over, set his drink back on the nightstand, and rubbed absentmindedly at the stubble along his jaw.
"I don't know how to be anything else," he muttered.
Mariah studied him for another moment.
There wasn't any judgment in her expression.
She accepted the answer for what it was, lifting her own glass for another sip before letting the silence settle naturally between them. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence. In a strange way, it was the first peaceful one either of them had experienced in quite some time. Outside, the house remained completely still, every creak and settling beam reminding them just how empty it had become since Felix and Mary were gone.
After another long moment, Rasheed looked over at her again, the corner of his mouth tugging upward.
"So," he said with a faint grin. "You ready for round two?"
Mariah laughed, shaking her head.
"Damn, so this is what you really like, huh?."
Rasheed snorted.
"Spending over a decade in the joint will do that to a man."
She rolled her eyes, unable to suppress her smile as she leaned toward him, and the rest of the evening disappeared quietly behind the closed bedroom door.
The adjustment to Auburn had happened much faster than either Bianca or Katie had expected, yet every single day still seemed to present something that reminded them they were no longer in Ann Arbor.
Classes had only recently begun to settle into a rhythm, professors were finally assigning meaningful coursework instead of merely introducing syllabi, and both girls had started developing routines that made the sprawling Alabama campus feel just a little smaller.
Even so, there was no mistaking they had traded one culture for another. Michigan had carried itself with a certain confidence, an academic prestige intertwined with one of the country's premier football programs.
Auburn possessed that same devotion to football, but it expressed it in an entirely different language. Football wasn't simply something people followed. It was woven into everyday life so deeply that it seemed impossible to separate the university from the sport itself. Every conversation somehow found its way back to the Tigers. Every storefront displayed navy and burnt orange. Every weekend revolved around kickoff.
Jordan-Hare Stadium had left both of them speechless the first time they had seen it filling with fans. Even before the game itself, the Tiger Walk had become an event unlike anything either of them had experienced in Michigan.
Thousands of people lined the streets simply to cheer as the team walked into the stadium, children perched on parents' shoulders waving pom-poms while older alumni shouted encouragement like they personally knew every player.
Bianca had laughed as strangers enthusiastically taught her the chants on the spot, correcting her whenever she stumbled over a lyric or missed a response. Katie had admitted afterward that it felt less like attending a football game and more like being initiated into a community that had existed long before they arrived and would continue long after they left. When Auburn won, the celebration spilled into every street surrounding campus. Music echoed from apartment balconies, students poured into downtown wearing jerseys and face paint, and the entire town seemed determined to remain awake until sunrise.
The South itself had taken just as much adjusting. Both of them had joked more than once about the sheer number of people who had called them "ma'am" since moving.
Cashiers said it. Professors said it. Waitresses said it. Complete strangers passing on the sidewalk said it with effortless sincerity. Politeness wasn't performative here; it was simply the currency of everyday interaction.
Even after several weeks, hearing someone thank them with a cheerful "Yes, ma'am," still caught Katie slightly off guard. She had caught herself answering "you too" more than once before realizing the interaction had already ended.
Zane had also been completely right about one thing.
The heat.
Michigan had begun cooling into crisp autumn weather by the time classes resumed each year. Sweatshirts slowly replaced T-shirts, leaves transformed into shades of red and gold, and the air carried the unmistakable smell of fall. Auburn seemed determined to ignore the calendar entirely. Summer refused to surrender its grip. The sun beat down relentlessly from a cloudless sky every afternoon, wrapping the campus in a heavy blanket of humidity that seemed to seep through clothing within minutes of stepping outside. Walking across campus between classes felt less like commuting and more like surviving.
That was exactly why Bianca had insisted they spend part of the afternoon outdoors.
She had spread a large blanket beneath one of the few sprawling oak trees that offered genuine shade near the center of campus, determined to acclimate herself to the weather instead of hiding inside air-conditioned buildings every day. Reclining comfortably against one elbow, she wore a pair of cat-eye sunglasses that shielded her eyes while a notebook rested unopened beside her. A faint breeze occasionally stirred the grass around them, though it did little to combat the oppressive warmth radiating from every direction.
Katie, meanwhile, looked considerably less enthusiastic.
She sat upright near the edge of the blanket with one knee bent, endlessly scrolling through her phone as she repeatedly tugged the back of her tank top away from her skin. The fabric had become damp enough that it refused to stay separated from her back for more than a few seconds before clinging right back into place.
She let out another exaggerated groan.
"I'm sweating like a whore in church," she complained dramatically. "Why are we not inside an air-conditioned building?"
Bianca turned her head toward her friend without lifting her sunglasses.
"Because," she answered with an amused smile, "our bodies have to get conditioned to this heat eventually."
Katie stared at her as though she'd completely lost her mind.
"You sound like one of those football strength coaches."
Bianca laughed.
"Maybe I've been around enough football players."
Katie tipped her head backward until she was staring directly up into the endless blue sky. Sweat shimmered across her forehead and cheeks beneath the afternoon sun, making her look as though she'd just finished a workout instead of sitting beneath a tree complaining.
She groaned again for dramatic effect.
Bianca couldn't help grinning wider.
"You are so dramatic."
"I am melting," Katie declared. "This is a medical emergency."
"No," Bianca replied. "This is Alabama."
Katie muttered something unintelligible beneath her breath before returning her attention to her phone, absently brushing another loose strand of blonde hair away from her face. They sat quietly for a minute, the sounds of campus drifting around them as students crossed nearby sidewalks, conversations blending together beneath the constant chorus of cicadas.
Eventually Katie lowered her phone.
"So," she said, glancing sideways. "When are we actually going to our first Auburn party?"
Bianca lowered her sunglasses just enough that Katie could clearly see her eyes over the frame.
The expression waiting behind them wasn't judgmental. It was careful consideration. Damn near caution.
"You sure you want to do that?"
Katie immediately understood why she was asking.
The confidence she had been wearing all afternoon faltered almost imperceptibly. Something flickered across her face before disappearing again. Bianca recognized it immediately. It was the same hesitation Katie had carried with her ever since everything that had happened back at Michigan. The wounds weren't visible anymore, but Bianca knew they hadn't disappeared simply because they had changed campuses.
For a few seconds, Katie didn't answer.
Then she straightened her posture.
She puffed out her chest with exaggerated confidence, almost as if performing for an audience.
"I'm putting all that stuff behind me," she said firmly. "New university. New town." A determined smile slowly spread across her face. "New me."
Bianca studied her for another moment. She wanted to believe her. She wanted Katie to genuinely feel that way.
She had learned over the past several months that pushing Katie usually accomplished the opposite of what she had hoped. Every difficult conversation had taught Bianca that support sometimes meant trusting someone enough to let them move at their own pace, even if that pace felt frustratingly slow.
After another quiet beat, Bianca's lips curled into a small smile.
She shrugged.
"If you're ready," she said softly, "then we'll find one."
Katie smiled back, grateful that Bianca hadn't pressed any further.
Bianca settled back against the blanket once more, sliding her sunglasses back into place as she folded her hands behind her head. Above them, the Alabama sun continued blazing without mercy, but beneath the shade of the old oak tree..
Zane sat alone in the living room of his house, the only light coming from the enormous television mounted into the wall opposite him. The luxury of the place still hadn't completely worn off.
Even after weeks of living there, there were moments when he caught himself looking around and remembering the upstairs bedroom at his grandparents' house in Upper St. Clair, football jerseys covering nearly every inch of the walls and just enough room to squeeze in a desk beside the bed.
Then there had been the condo in Syracuse, his first real taste of independence. Comfortable. Spacious. A place that had slowly begun to feel like home. This house in Tuscaloosa existed on another level entirely. Tyson had spared no expense furnishing it, and the open-concept living room had become one of Zane's favorite places to unwind after practice. M
Most nights, after dinner and another film session at the facility, he would end up exactly where he was now - legs stretched across the sectional, remote resting beside him, studying football until his eyes grew tired enough to finally sleep.
Tonight's assignment wasn't Alabama.
It was Ohio State.
The Buckeyes occupied every inch of the screen as another offensive series unfolded. Zane leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees as he watched the receivers more closely than he watched the ball itself. He wasn't interested in the touchdowns. He wasn't watching highlight plays. His eyes followed their feet. Their hips. Their transitions at the top of routes. Every movement looked impossibly clean. There wasn't a wasted motion anywhere. The receivers drove into their breaks with remarkable efficiency, sinking their hips without slowing their momentum before exploding back into space. They didn't dance at the line of scrimmage. They didn't take extra gather steps. Every cut served a purpose.
He rewound the clip.
Watched it again.
Then again.
Quincy Porter sold an outside release before snapping effortlessly back toward the middle of the field, creating nearly three yards of separation without ever looking hurried. A few plays later, Chris Henry Jr. stemmed vertically before dropping his weight with such fluidity that the defensive back practically stumbled trying to match him. Neither receiver appeared to be moving particularly fast until they suddenly were. It was artistry disguised as simplicity.
Zane found himself nodding almost unconsciously.
That's why they were so dangerous.
Nothing was wasted.
Everything looked effortless because every detail had already been mastered.
Ohio State had looked every bit like the fourth-ranked team in the country through the opening weeks of the season. Their offense hummed with frightening precision, and almost every national broadcast seemed intent on reminding viewers that quarterback Julian Sayin had yet to make a meaningful mistake. Eleven touchdown passes. Zero interceptions. Complete command of the offense. Every sports show seemed ready to crown him the early Heisman favorite before September had even ended.
Zane couldn't entirely blame them.
Sayin had been outstanding.
Still, context mattered.
Ohio State had opened against Bowling Green before dismantling an FCS opponent the following weekend. They had handled business exactly the way elite teams were supposed to, but they hadn't exactly faced the gauntlet either.
Alabama's path had looked a little different.
The opener against West Virginia had been uglier than anyone inside the program wanted to admit. The offense sputtered early, timing looked inconsistent, and every mistake had been magnified because expectations around Alabama never allowed for sloppy victories. Last weekend had been a different story entirely. West Alabama never stood a chance. The Crimson Tide had overwhelmed them from the opening possession, playing the kind of complete football Coach Kiffin had demanded throughout training camp.
Now came the real test.
Columbus. Ohio Stadium. National television.
Win this game, and everything Alabama had been preaching since spring camp suddenly became reality.
The championship talk wouldn't sound like confidence anymore. It would sound like a warning.
Zane let the final clip finish before grabbing the remote and switching the television off. Silence immediately filled the room.
He leaned back into the couch and slowly dragged both hands down his face, feeling the lingering fatigue from another long day settle deeper into his body. His muscles still ached from practice. Coach Ballou had made sure of that. The physical exhaustion almost felt comforting now. It gave his mind something tangible to focus on.
His phone lit up beside him.
Then buzzed again.
And again.
He reached over and picked it up. The team group chat had exploded.
Kaleb had apparently found another excuse for everyone to go out later that evening, and the responses ranged from enthusiastic confirmations to increasingly ridiculous memes. Jalen had already volunteered Keelon to drive despite Keelon immediately insisting he wasn't driving anybody anywhere. Shelton had somehow turned the conversation into an argument about who had the worst music taste on the roster.
Zane smiled to himself before backing out.
His social media notifications continued piling up almost faster than he could clear them. Fans. Reporters. Alabama pages reposting practice clips. More comments underneath his commitment announcement. More direct messages than he had any intention of reading.
He ignored most of them.
Next came school.
Several class group chats sat buried beneath dozens of unread messages, classmates discussing deadlines, project assignments, and coordinating meeting times around football schedules. He skimmed a few before deciding nothing required his immediate attention.
His thumb continued scrolling almost absentmindedly through his conversations until it stopped.
Anastasia.
He stared at her name for a second.
The red-haired girl from the club. The one with the bright green eyes who had somehow managed to make him laugh on a night he had spent trying not to be there.
They hadn't actually seen one another since that night.
Life had gotten busy. Between training camp, the beginning of classes, and then the football season starting, he hadn't found a moment to breathe. Let alone socialize.
Their conversations had mostly existed through scattered text messages whenever both of them happened to have a few free minutes. Nothing particularly serious. Just enough to keep the conversation alive.
Zane opened the thread.
He read their last few exchanges.
Then he began typing.
"Hit my line after you're done being out tonight."
He paused.
Backspaced once.
Typed again.
"Pull up if you're free."
He looked at the message for another few seconds before pressing send.
The conversation immediately felt heavier than it probably should have.
He rested the phone loosely in his hand.
This wasn't like him.
He had always kept people at arm's length. Football came first. Relationships became complicated. Feelings became messy. Somewhere along the way, he had convinced himself distance was easier than vulnerability. Between Bianca and Marie, it just didn't seem worth the effort.
But hadn't that been exactly what everyone kept telling him?
His father.
Coach Kiffin.
Even himself.
If he wanted things to change, he couldn't keep making the same choices.
He couldn't become a different man while behaving exactly like the old one.
Zane sighed quietly.
Maybe trying new things wasn't such a bad idea.
He leaned farther back into the sectional, allowing his head to rest comfortably against the cushion.
Barely thirty seconds later, the phone vibrated.
He looked down.
Anastasia had already replied.
She had liked the message.
A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth before he shook his head almost imperceptibly.
"Well," he muttered to the empty room.
He locked the phone and tossed it onto the cushion beside him before reaching for the remote once more.
There were still several hours before the night unfolded however it was going to unfold.
Until then, he flipped Netflix open and began scrolling aimlessly through the recommendations, looking for something - anything - that could occupy his mind before Ohio State inevitably found its way back into it.
***
Rasheed sat with his back against the frame of his bed, a lit blunt balanced between two fingers. He brought it to his lips and took a long drag, closing his eyes as he held the smoke deep in his chest. For a few quiet seconds, he simply sat there, letting the familiar burn settle through him before slowly exhaling.
A dense cloud drifted lazily toward the ceiling, hanging beneath the dim bedroom light before dispersing throughout the room. E
ver since Zane had left for Alabama, this had quietly become his nightly ritual. There was no longer any reason to slip into the backyard or announce that he was "going for a walk."
The house belonged to him now. Every room echoed with silence. There wasn't anyone left to question what he did with his evenings, and if there was one thing Rasheed understood better than almost anyone, it was how quickly solitude could become routine.
He reached forward and rested the burning blunt carefully inside the ashtray on the nightstand just as movement caught the corner of his eye.
A figure filled the bedroom doorway.
Mariah stood there wearing one of his oversized T-shirts, the hem falling low enough to preserve her modesty while still making it obvious she had borrowed it from his dresser. Her long, untamed hair spilled over the collar in every direction, still slightly damp from the shower she had taken earlier. In one hand she carried a bottle of rum, while the other balanced two glasses filled almost to the brim. She concentrated carefully on each step across the hardwood floor, clearly more concerned with not spilling the drinks than with how she looked walking into his bedroom.
Rasheed watched the entire journey without saying a word.
Mariah finally reached the bedside table, bending carefully to set the glasses down before placing the bottle beside them. She straightened and immediately noticed him watching her.
A sheepish smile crept onto her face.
"What?" she asked.
Rasheed shrugged, settling farther against the headboard and folding his hands behind his head.
"I'm just surprised you wanted to spend time with me," he admitted. Then his eyes drifted briefly toward the oversized shirt before returning to her face. "...Like this."
Mariah looked down at herself, then laughed quietly through her nose.
She picked up one of the glasses and offered it to him.
He accepted it with a nod.
"Appreciate it."
She climbed into the bed beside him, settling comfortably against the headboard. The frame creaked softly beneath the added weight before the room fell quiet again.
Mariah cradled her glass between both hands.
"I obviously didn't come over intending for any of this to happen," she admitted after a long pause. "Truthfully, I'm just tired."
Rasheed glanced toward her.
"Tired?"
She nodded.
"Tired of everybody looking at me like I'm broken."
Her voice remained steady, but there was exhaustion behind every word.
"Every conversation feels the same now. Every look. Every hug. Everybody acts like if they squeeze me too hard, I'll fall apart."
She met his eyes.
"I don't want to be somebody's tragedy anymore. Or 'his' victim' anymore, either."
Rasheed stayed silent.
Mariah continued before he could respond.
"I think you're the only authentic person I know anymore."
He raised an eyebrow.
"You wear exactly who you are on your sleeve," she said. "People may not like it. Hell, sometimes, it even unnerves me. But at least I never have to wonder where I stand with you."
Rasheed held her gaze for several seconds before looking away.
He reached over, set his drink back on the nightstand, and rubbed absentmindedly at the stubble along his jaw.
"I don't know how to be anything else," he muttered.
Mariah studied him for another moment.
There wasn't any judgment in her expression.
She accepted the answer for what it was, lifting her own glass for another sip before letting the silence settle naturally between them. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence. In a strange way, it was the first peaceful one either of them had experienced in quite some time. Outside, the house remained completely still, every creak and settling beam reminding them just how empty it had become since Felix and Mary were gone.
After another long moment, Rasheed looked over at her again, the corner of his mouth tugging upward.
"So," he said with a faint grin. "You ready for round two?"
Mariah laughed, shaking her head.
"Damn, so this is what you really like, huh?."
Rasheed snorted.
"Spending over a decade in the joint will do that to a man."
She rolled her eyes, unable to suppress her smile as she leaned toward him, and the rest of the evening disappeared quietly behind the closed bedroom door.
***
The adjustment to Auburn had happened much faster than either Bianca or Katie had expected, yet every single day still seemed to present something that reminded them they were no longer in Ann Arbor.
Classes had only recently begun to settle into a rhythm, professors were finally assigning meaningful coursework instead of merely introducing syllabi, and both girls had started developing routines that made the sprawling Alabama campus feel just a little smaller.
Even so, there was no mistaking they had traded one culture for another. Michigan had carried itself with a certain confidence, an academic prestige intertwined with one of the country's premier football programs.
Auburn possessed that same devotion to football, but it expressed it in an entirely different language. Football wasn't simply something people followed. It was woven into everyday life so deeply that it seemed impossible to separate the university from the sport itself. Every conversation somehow found its way back to the Tigers. Every storefront displayed navy and burnt orange. Every weekend revolved around kickoff.
Jordan-Hare Stadium had left both of them speechless the first time they had seen it filling with fans. Even before the game itself, the Tiger Walk had become an event unlike anything either of them had experienced in Michigan.
Thousands of people lined the streets simply to cheer as the team walked into the stadium, children perched on parents' shoulders waving pom-poms while older alumni shouted encouragement like they personally knew every player.
Bianca had laughed as strangers enthusiastically taught her the chants on the spot, correcting her whenever she stumbled over a lyric or missed a response. Katie had admitted afterward that it felt less like attending a football game and more like being initiated into a community that had existed long before they arrived and would continue long after they left. When Auburn won, the celebration spilled into every street surrounding campus. Music echoed from apartment balconies, students poured into downtown wearing jerseys and face paint, and the entire town seemed determined to remain awake until sunrise.
The South itself had taken just as much adjusting. Both of them had joked more than once about the sheer number of people who had called them "ma'am" since moving.
Cashiers said it. Professors said it. Waitresses said it. Complete strangers passing on the sidewalk said it with effortless sincerity. Politeness wasn't performative here; it was simply the currency of everyday interaction.
Even after several weeks, hearing someone thank them with a cheerful "Yes, ma'am," still caught Katie slightly off guard. She had caught herself answering "you too" more than once before realizing the interaction had already ended.
Zane had also been completely right about one thing.
The heat.
Michigan had begun cooling into crisp autumn weather by the time classes resumed each year. Sweatshirts slowly replaced T-shirts, leaves transformed into shades of red and gold, and the air carried the unmistakable smell of fall. Auburn seemed determined to ignore the calendar entirely. Summer refused to surrender its grip. The sun beat down relentlessly from a cloudless sky every afternoon, wrapping the campus in a heavy blanket of humidity that seemed to seep through clothing within minutes of stepping outside. Walking across campus between classes felt less like commuting and more like surviving.
That was exactly why Bianca had insisted they spend part of the afternoon outdoors.
She had spread a large blanket beneath one of the few sprawling oak trees that offered genuine shade near the center of campus, determined to acclimate herself to the weather instead of hiding inside air-conditioned buildings every day. Reclining comfortably against one elbow, she wore a pair of cat-eye sunglasses that shielded her eyes while a notebook rested unopened beside her. A faint breeze occasionally stirred the grass around them, though it did little to combat the oppressive warmth radiating from every direction.
Katie, meanwhile, looked considerably less enthusiastic.
She sat upright near the edge of the blanket with one knee bent, endlessly scrolling through her phone as she repeatedly tugged the back of her tank top away from her skin. The fabric had become damp enough that it refused to stay separated from her back for more than a few seconds before clinging right back into place.
She let out another exaggerated groan.
"I'm sweating like a whore in church," she complained dramatically. "Why are we not inside an air-conditioned building?"
Bianca turned her head toward her friend without lifting her sunglasses.
"Because," she answered with an amused smile, "our bodies have to get conditioned to this heat eventually."
Katie stared at her as though she'd completely lost her mind.
"You sound like one of those football strength coaches."
Bianca laughed.
"Maybe I've been around enough football players."
Katie tipped her head backward until she was staring directly up into the endless blue sky. Sweat shimmered across her forehead and cheeks beneath the afternoon sun, making her look as though she'd just finished a workout instead of sitting beneath a tree complaining.
She groaned again for dramatic effect.
Bianca couldn't help grinning wider.
"You are so dramatic."
"I am melting," Katie declared. "This is a medical emergency."
"No," Bianca replied. "This is Alabama."
Katie muttered something unintelligible beneath her breath before returning her attention to her phone, absently brushing another loose strand of blonde hair away from her face. They sat quietly for a minute, the sounds of campus drifting around them as students crossed nearby sidewalks, conversations blending together beneath the constant chorus of cicadas.
Eventually Katie lowered her phone.
"So," she said, glancing sideways. "When are we actually going to our first Auburn party?"
Bianca lowered her sunglasses just enough that Katie could clearly see her eyes over the frame.
The expression waiting behind them wasn't judgmental. It was careful consideration. Damn near caution.
"You sure you want to do that?"
Katie immediately understood why she was asking.
The confidence she had been wearing all afternoon faltered almost imperceptibly. Something flickered across her face before disappearing again. Bianca recognized it immediately. It was the same hesitation Katie had carried with her ever since everything that had happened back at Michigan. The wounds weren't visible anymore, but Bianca knew they hadn't disappeared simply because they had changed campuses.
For a few seconds, Katie didn't answer.
Then she straightened her posture.
She puffed out her chest with exaggerated confidence, almost as if performing for an audience.
"I'm putting all that stuff behind me," she said firmly. "New university. New town." A determined smile slowly spread across her face. "New me."
Bianca studied her for another moment. She wanted to believe her. She wanted Katie to genuinely feel that way.
She had learned over the past several months that pushing Katie usually accomplished the opposite of what she had hoped. Every difficult conversation had taught Bianca that support sometimes meant trusting someone enough to let them move at their own pace, even if that pace felt frustratingly slow.
After another quiet beat, Bianca's lips curled into a small smile.
She shrugged.
"If you're ready," she said softly, "then we'll find one."
Katie smiled back, grateful that Bianca hadn't pressed any further.
Bianca settled back against the blanket once more, sliding her sunglasses back into place as she folded her hands behind her head. Above them, the Alabama sun continued blazing without mercy, but beneath the shade of the old oak tree..