Damaged Petals.

[Caesar]

I have no idea what that means gang but salute

[Soapy]

I have no idea what that means gang but salute

[Soapy]

Season 11, Episode 5
Brice tossed the phone onto the center console and let his head fall back against the headrest. The rental car hummed beneath him, the engine steady, the road stretching out ahead through the windshield, gray and flat and Indiana. He pressed his thumb into the steering wheel and held it there.

“Fucking hell, man.”

Serena turned from the passenger window. “Everything good?"

He shook his head. Kept his eyes on the road. A semi passed on the left, close enough that the car rocked slightly in its wake.

"It’s my fucking mom."

Brice let out a deep breath.

“Apparently she tried to run up on the Hayes and talk to them. At the grocery store or some shit. And now the Hayes are calling Wayne and calling it an intimidation tactic.”

Serena’s eyebrows went up. “Did you tell her to try to talk to them?"

He scoffed. “Obviously not but when has that ever stopped her? I knew I shouldn’t have told her shit."

He checked the mirror, changed lanes, settled back into the right. The highway ran straight through the farmland, the fields brown and flat on either side, the sky gray above them. The radio was off. The engine filled the silence.

Serena shifted in her seat.

“Where’s your head at on that?” she asked.

He sighed.

“I don’t know, man. I don’t know,” he flexed his fingers on the wheel. “Obviously I want to avoid going to court. Especially not right now. But I feel like if I agree to this, any version of it, they’re just gonna ask for more rights as time goes on. Next time I’m about to sign an extension, they’ll request split custody or some crazy shit. And then what?"

He took a breath. Let it out.

“I don’t know. I don’t think they’ll ever get over what happened. They still see me as... that guy.”

Serena didn’t say anything. He could feel her looking at him, but he kept his eyes on the road.

She shifted again. “Have you given any thought to seeing LaPenna again? Or talking to somebody?”

He laughed. “Therapy isn’t really for me.”

“You’ve said LaPenna was good for you.”

He was quiet for a beat.

“Yeah,” he said. “It was. But it wasn’t really my idea. Just some shit that Purdue said I had to do when I first got there. Really just some CYA shit on their side. He was cool, though. LaPenna."

He finally glanced her. "You ever been?"

"What, therapy?"

Brice nodded.

Serena laughed. "I didn’t exactly grow up like you, Brice. Two Americas."

Brice scoffed, "What’s that supposed to mean?"

“Nothing,” the laugh settled into a smile. “I mean, one time in middle school, someone in my class killed themselves and the school had a counselor come talk to us. That’s about it.”

He nodded. The road kept going. He could see the exit coming up in the distance.

“What do you think about it?” he asked. “Like, a dude you’re with going to therapy. You don’t think it’s like a little soft or some shit?"

She laughed again, louder this time. “I’d rather that than have him shoot me and our kids in his sleep.”

She shook her head, still smiling. “Your kind are kind of known for that.”

“Fuck you,” Brice shook his head, smiling, and turned on the blinker.

“You asked.”

The exit ramp curved ahead, and he took it slow, the car leaning into the turn.

…

Brice was on the floor on his stomach, his face inches from James’s, making a sound that was supposed to be a car engine but came out more like a dying lawnmower. James was still laughing, his whole face scrunched up and his arms flailed and he fell backward onto the carpet. Brice caught him before his head hit and pulled him up, pressed his mouth against the side of the kid’s neck, blew a raspberry. James shrieked and grabbed two fistfuls of Brice’s hair and pulled.

“Ow, ow, ow, okay, okay—”

He pried the little fingers loose and kissed the top of James’s head, then his forehead, then his cheek, then the other cheek. James squirmed and laughed and tried to crawl away. Brice caught him by the ankle and dragged him back, tickling his ribs. James collapsed into giggles, rolling onto his back, his feet kicking the air.

He picked James up and held him against his chest, James' head tucked under his chin, and just sat there for a second with his eyes closed. He could feel James’s heartbeat through the thin cotton of his onesie, fast and steady.

Serena was sitting cross-legged a few feet away, a stuffed elephant in her lap. She caught Brice’s eye and smiled.

She held the elephant up. “James, what does the elephant say?”

James looked at it. His mouth opened. “Eh.”

“Elephant,” Serena said. “El-e-phant.”

“Eh.”

“Close enough.”

Brice set James down on the carpet and he immediately crawled toward Serena, grabbing at the elephant. She let him take it and he shoved it in his mouth, gnawing on the trunk. She laughed and pulled it back gently. “That’s not food, buddy.”

Tom was on the couch. He had his legs crossed at the ankle, his shoes still on, the laces tied, his jacket draped over the armrest. His shirt was buttoned all the way up. He was watching Brice and James and Serena on the floor, his hands folded in his lap, and he looked like a man sitting in a waiting room.

Sophie was next to him, slouched into the cushions, her phone in her hand, the TV on but the volume low. She wasn’t really watching it. She was looking at her phone, then at the floor, then at her phone again.

Liz was in the kitchen. Brice could hear the knife on the cutting board, the soft thud of the refrigerator opening and closing, the sound of plates being set on the counter. She hadn’t said much since they’d walked in.

“How was the Combine?” Tom asked.

Brice looked up from the floor. James had crawled back to him and was trying to climb his leg.

“It was alright.”

“How’d the interview with the Colts go?"

Brice shrugged. He lifted James onto his lap and he immediately stood up, using Brice’s shoulders for balance, bouncing on his thighs.

“Hard to tell, honestly. You leave some of those rooms and you have no idea. Like, the Commanders was my first one, and I walked out of there thinking I bombed it. But Rowan’s saying the feedback he’s getting is that it went well. So I don’t know. Maybe I’m just in my own head.”

“And the other interviews?"

Brice bounced James once, and he laughed, so Brice bounced him harder.

“Jets I thought went good. But we haven’t heard anything back on that one. Or Rowan’s not telling me which probably means it went bad."

Tom nodded. He uncrossed his ankles and recrossed them the other way. “Colts would be nice."

"It doesn’t sound like they’re going to trade up. So if Jets go Tavien, next spot would be the Chiefs."

Tom’s eyebrows went up. “Following up after Mahomes. Especially with him retiring early and surprising everyone. Those are some big shoes.”

Brice laughed. He caught James as he tipped sideways and set him back on his feet. “They’re all big shoes, Dad. It’s the NFL.”

“True."

James wobbled and sat down hard on Brice’s knee. Brice winced and laughed. “Damn, buddy. You’re getting heavy.”

Serena reached over and tickled James’s stomach, and he rolled off Brice’s lap and into her arms. She pulled him up and held him against her, his cheek pressed to her shoulder, and she rocked him gently, making that shushing sound that wasn’t quite a song. James’s hand found the collar of her shirt and held on.

Brice was still talking to his dad about the draft, something about the Chiefs’ offensive coordinator, but she wasn’t really listening. James was babbling against her neck, his breath warm on her skin, and she closed her eyes for a second and just held him.

The knife kept hitting the cutting board in the kitchen. The TV murmured. Tom asked another question about the Combine. James pulled back from her shoulder and looked at her face, his eyes serious, like he was trying to figure something out. Then he reached up and patted her cheek with his open palm, twice.

She laughed quietly and pulled him closer.

…

Connie shifted on the arm of the couch and took another sip of her drink. The ice had melted. It tasted like water with a memory of vodka.

Xander was next to her, his legs stretched out, his cup resting on his knee. He hadn’t said anything in a while. Neither of them had.

Across the room, Reese was telling a story about her pledging days. A couple of people were laughing. Someone by the window was talking about a midterm. Connie caught a word here and there but the sentences didn’t hold together. She wasn’t really listening. She was looking at the rim of her cup, at the lipstick mark she’d left on it.

She took the last sip. It was nothing but water now.

Xander tipped his cup back and finished his. He set it on the coffee table and looked at her empty one.

“Want another?”

She nodded. “Yeah, thanks.”

She got up and walked toward the kitchen, weaving between the bodies on the floor, stepping over someone’s outstretched legs. The kitchen was small, just a counter and a stove and a fridge and a sink, and the counter was covered in cups and bottles and a half-eaten bag of chips. She picked up the vodka bottle and tilted it. The last bit sloshed against the glass.

Xander was standing behind her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him, not quite touching. He looked at the bottle.

“I can run to the store real quick,” he said. “Grab something.”

She set the bottle down. “You don’t have to.”

“It’s fine." He turned toward the living room. “Hey, I’m running to the liquor store. Anyone want anything?”

The requests came fast. A bottle of tequila. A six-pack of Modelos. Someone said Rumple Minze, initially as a joke but then were dead serious about. Reese wanted wine. They all promised to Venmo him.

Xander was already pulling his keys from his pocket, checking his phone for the address.

“Con, you should go with him.”

Maya. From the couch. Her voice carried over the music, over the talking, loud and deliberate.

“So he can find the apartment again.”

The room didn’t go quiet exactly, but Connie felt it, the slight shift, the way a few heads turned, the way Reese’s story paused for half a beat. She looked at Xander. He looked at her.

They both smiled.

“Sure,” Connie said. Her voice came out lighter than she meant it to. “Yeah, I’ll go.”

Xander nodded. “Cool.”

…

“Yo, no fucking way.”

He was already halfway out the door, a bottle of something brown in a paper bag tucked under his arm. His eyes were wide and glassy, the pupils blown, and he had that grin, the one that took up his whole face and didn’t leave room for anything else. He was wearing a hoodie that was too big for him, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and his hands were moving before he even finished the sentence.

“The fucking Brice motherfucking Colton. Holy shit."

“What’s up, bro?"

Brian pulled him into a hug, the bottle pressing into Brice’s ribs. Brice patted his back twice and stepped away.

“Dude, when did you get back? I didn’t even know you were in town."

“I just got in today.”

Brian shook his head, still grinning. “That’s crazy. That’s crazy, man. I was just talking about you, man."

Brice nodded. He could feel the cold air coming in from the door every time someone walked past.

“I hope the Colts take you, man. I hope they fucking take you. I cannot watch Danny Jones for another season. I cannot do it. We better fucking draft you, bro. You’ll turn the whole fucking state up again, bro."

“I appreciate that, man.”

“I’m serious. I’m dead serious. You come home, we go to the Super Bowl. Simple as that. Simple.”

The door chimed again. Brice glanced over Brian’s shoulder and saw her first, then the guy behind her, curly hair, mocha skin. Her eyes met his for half a second, maybe less, and then she looked past him, past Brian, and kept walking. The guy followed her in, his hands in his pockets, not looking at anyone.

“Yo, oh shit.” Brian turned.

She was already past them, heading down the first aisle. Brian took two quick steps and caught up to her.

“Connie!"

He threw his arms around her. Connie’s body went stiff. She pulled back, her hands coming up between them, and forced a smile.

“Hey, Brian.”

“Connie fucking Gardner. Can you fucking believe it? This used to be the squad right here. Eric, Curtis. Sky, obviously. Rest in peace, baby girl. Janessa. Tiff! I haven’t seen Tiff in so long. I think she’s in like Idaho or some shit. She’s always posting pictures of her farm and some shit. I think she found like this old dude or some shit to take care of her. You know Tiff!"

Connie’s eyes flicked to Brice, then away. The guy behind her was standing a few feet back, his hands still in his pockets, looking at Brian like he was trying to figure out what was happening.

“Good to see you,” Connie said. The smile was still there. "We really gotta get going."

“Of course, of course. Don’t let me hold you up. But man, this is the crew right here. Good ole fucking times."

She nodded and walked past him, the guy falling in step beside her. Brice watched them disappear down the aisle.

“Alright, man,” Brice said. He held his fist out. Brian bumped it, then pulled him in for another half-hug, the bottle still wedged between them.

“You gotta come through, man. Throw you a party. For old time sake. Before you start rubbing elbows with the Trumps and shit and forget about us little people."

“Sure, man."

Brian finally let go and pushed through the door, the bell chiming behind him. The cold air rushed in and then the door closed and it was quiet again.

Brice stood there for a second. He looked down the aisle where Connie had gone.

She was at the far end, standing in front of the liquor shelves, her head tilted back, looking up at the rows of bottles. The guy she’d come in with was at the beer freezer, the glass door open, his hand on the handle, looking at the options inside.

Brice walked down the aisle. The floor was sticky in spots. He could hear his own footsteps.

“Hey.”

Connie turned. She had a bottle in her hand, something clear, and she set it back on the shelf when she saw him.

“Sorry about that,” Brice said. “Brian is…Brian."

“Yeah,” she let out a short laugh. “He was always creepy.”

She looked at him. He looked at her. They both offered each other a half-smile at the same time.

“How are you?” he asked.

“I’m good.” She nodded, "You?"

"Alright," he nodded too, "In town for a couple of days. I had the Combine last week."

"Of course, of course," she nodded again.

"How’s…" Brice began before Connie interjected.

"Look, I’m really sorry about the other day. I don’t know what that was about. Well, I do, obviously, but that was completely out of line and unfair to you.”

“Don’t.”

“I shouldn’t have sprung that on you like that."

“Connie.”

She stopped.

“Don’t apologize,” he ran his hand through his hair. “You don’t need to apologize for that. I need to, alright?”

She was quiet. Her arms were crossed now, her fingers gripping her elbows. She looked towards the freezer, where Xander had dissapeared into.

“I should’ve answered you,” he said. “You deserved that at least."

He could feel the words coming out wrong already. He tried again.

“I was…look, I was scared. I know that doesn’t seem like much and it’s not and maybe it’s the wrong thing but I’ve thought about it. I really have in the last couple of years with everything that’s happened. I’ve tried to wrestle with it and come to an understanding. I don’t know if I have, I don’t know if I ever will."

He stopped.

"I didn’t know how to choose. I didn’t want to choose. Between you, and what I thought I wanted in life, what I thought I should do."

He stopped. That wasn’t right either.

"I guess I wanted someone to choose for me. So I didn’t have to feel guilty about it."

He cleared his throat.

"I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I was too scared to choose. To fight for you. For us. Maybe we weren’t ready. But I still should have been there for you. Should have done more. Should have made it our decision, together."

His voice caught on the last word. He cleared his throat.

"You deserved better than that."

Connie blinked and looked away, toward the beer freezer, then back at him.

“Okay,” she said quietly.

Brice nodded. His hands were at his sides and he didn’t know what to do with them.

"I got the beer," Xander said as he was walking toward them, a six-pack of Modelos in hand, "Find the Rumple Minze yet? I have no idea what that shit is."

[Caesar]

mocha skin

That's right, Connie. Leave them devils alone.

Serena foreshadowing with how Tom acting in that room.

[redsox907]

Xander and Connie gonna get pulled over for a DUI?

Mahomes retired early huh, interesting

[Captain Canada]

Brice going to the Chiefs would be comedic magic

Connie gonna spiral again, I can smell it from here.

[Soapy]

mocha skin

That's right, Connie. Leave them devils alone.

Serena foreshadowing with how Tom acting in that room.

Xander and Connie gonna get pulled over for a DUI?

Mahomes retired early huh, interesting

Yeah, Mahomes definitely caught me by surprise. I thought he changed teams but when I went to the legacy leaderboard thing, he was in the Hall of Fame. Some other weird QB moves have also happened.

Brice going to the Chiefs would be comedic magic

Connie gonna spiral again, I can smell it from here.

I feel like you guys are 2/10 on these Connie predictions which I get since that was her character in the early seasons but post failed finding of her daughter/mission trip, she hasn't really responded to trauma or the digging up of trauma in such a way



Now you can argue the way she's handling said trauma is still not healthy though

[Soapy]

Season 11, Episode 6
The corner came up the same way it always did, the same crack in the sidewalk, the same mailbox leaning at its permanent tilt, and Brice’s right foot hit the crack and he didn’t stumble because he’d hit it a thousand times.

He slowed to a walk. His breath came out in white puffs and his shirt was damp at the chest and under the arms. The house was three doors down on the left, the porch light still on from the night before, the garage door closed, the driveway empty except for his mom’s car and the rental.

He wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist and kept walking.

The front door opened before he reached it. Sophie stepped out, one earbud already in, the other pinched between her thumb and forefinger, and she was wearing running shorts and a zip-up hoodie and sneakers.

He stopped.

She looked up and saw him and her hand paused with the earbud halfway to her ear.

“Since when do you run?”

Sophie shrugged. She put the earbud in.

“I’m serious,” he stepped closer. "You would throw a tantrum anytime Dad tried to get you to come on a run with us."

“That was one time and I was like six.”

“That was like ten times.”

She pulled the earbud back out and let it dangle against her collarbone. “I don’t know. I just started one day."

“When?”

“A while ago.”

“How long is a while?”

She shrugged. He shook his head. She almost smiled. She caught it and didn’t.

“How’s everything?” he asked.

“I’m fine.”

“Come on," Brice sighed, "You know what I’m asking."

She looked at him. The earbud swayed against her chest. “Look at you. Trying to be a geniune, empathic human being."

Brice sucked his teeth.

"No, it’s adorable. It really is," she didn’t hide her smile this time.

Brice laughed, "Just answer the question."

“I’m okay,” she pulled the hoodie tighter. “The house is weird. It’s empty. But at least it’s honest now, you know? Like, there’s no more pretending. So that’s something.”

He nodded.

“How’s the college thing going?”

“It’s going,” she shifted her weight to one foot. "I want to finish up all of my applications before the summer. I think I’m just about done."

"That’s good. Where?"

"Illinois. Northwestern. Notre Dame, obviously."

"Obviously."

"I still have to finish the ones for Florida State, Virginia, Duke and Rutgers. I still need my second Spanish credit for Spellman so waiting for my transcripts to update for that one."

"That’s like a Black school, right?"

Sophie shook her head, "You’re just like Mom. Oh, and I did get a letter from Cal. Berkeley."

"Oh shit, that’d be different too."

"I mean yeah, it’s far as shit. I’m not really considering it. Well, sort of."

The morning light was coming in flat and gray and it caught the side of her face and he could see it, the thing he’d been noticing in pieces over the last year, the way her cheekbones had come forward, the way her jaw had sharpened, the way she held herself now.

He imagined her in a dorm room. He imagined her walking across a campus somewhere, a backpack on, her phone in her hand, not looking back. He laughed to himself. Better he didn’t.

“You should come out,” he said. “Stay with us for a weekend. See what it’s like out there. See if it’s for you.”

"Isn’t that by like LA? Cal would be like six hours away."

"Still Cali," he shrugged.

She didn’t say anything.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I feel like my mind is a bit clearer out there. Maybe it’s the salt from the ocean or some shit.”

She laughed. “Yeah. Maybe.”

…

The package from Amazon was on the porch when she got back from the walk. Serena picked it up and carried it inside, the cardboard warm from sitting in the sun.

She set it on the kitchen counter and opened it with the scissors from the drawer. Outlet covers. A box of cabinet locks. A corner guard for the coffee table, though she wasn’t sure they’d even need that one yet. She lined them up on the counter and looked at them.

She started in the kitchen. The cabinet under the sink was the easiest. She peeled the adhesive strip off the back of the lock and pressed it into place, then attached the magnet to the inside of the door. She tested it. The door stayed shut until she pressed the release. She did the same to the cabinet next to the stove, the one where the cleaning supplies were.

The outlet covers were next. She went room by room, crouching down, snapping the covers in. The living room had four. The hallway had two. The bathroom had one, low on the wall behind the toilet, and she had to kneel on the tile to reach it.

She sat back on her heels and looked at the bathroom. The tub had a rubber mat in it already. The toilet lid was down. She’d moved the soap and the shampoo bottles to the high shelf above the mirror. She stood up and washed her hands and dried them on the towel.

The guest room was last.

She stood in the doorway and looked at it. The bed was still made from when they first got the house. The nightstand had a lamp on it and nothing else. The window faced the backyard, the blinds half-closed, the light coming in warm and slanted.

She pulled her phone from her back pocket and opened the photos. She’d taken them on her last morning in South Bend, standing in the doorway of James’s room, the light from the window falling across the crib. She scrolled through them. The crib with the blue sheets. The mobile hanging above it, the little stars and moons. The dresser with the changing pad on top, the diaper cream and wipes stacked on the shelf below. The framed photo on the wall, the one of Brice holding James at the podium of the Big Ten Championship Game.

She set the phone on the nightstand and went to the closet. The crib was in there, disassembled, the pieces leaning against the back wall.

She pulled the pieces out one by one and carried them to the middle of the room. The mattress went first, then the frame, then the sides. She snapped the rails into place and tightened the bolts. She tested it with both hands, pushing down on the rail, and it held.

The sheets were in the dresser drawer. She pulled them out and shook them open and fitted them over the mattress, tucking the corners tight.

The mobile was still in the box. She opened it and took out the pieces and assembled it on the floor, the little stars and moons dangling from the arm, and stood on the bed to attach it to the crib rail. She wound it and let it go. It turned slowly, the music playing soft and tinny.

She stepped back and looked at it.

…

Brice folded the shirt and set it on top of the pile in the duffel. He zipped the side pocket, checked it, unzipped it again, shoved the charger cable in, zipped it. He picked up the cleats from the floor and turned them over in his hands. The bottoms were clean.

He set the cleats in the bag and pressed them flat.

The door opened behind him. He didn’t turn around. He could hear James before he could see him, that soft breathing, the little sound he made when he was awake but not fussing. Then his mom’s footsteps on the carpet.

“Hey.”

He turned. Liz was standing in the doorway with James on her hip, his head against her shoulder, his hand gripping the collar of her shirt. Brice reached out and she passed him over, and James settled against his chest.

He bounced him once. James’s head came up. He looked at Brice with those wide eyes, the same color as his own, and his mouth opened into that wet, gummy smile.

“Hey, buddy. Hey.”

He bounced him again and James laughed, that high, breathy sound, and grabbed at Brice’s face with both hands. Brice let him. He pressed his mouth against James’s cheek and blew, and James shrieked and pulled back, then came right back in, grabbing Brice’s nose.

Liz sat on the edge of the bed. She looked at the duffel on the floor, the cleats pressed flat, the charger cable poking out of the side pocket.

“How long are you going to be at Purdue?”

“Today and tomorrow. Drive back after the Pro Day, stay here for a few days, then head back to Cal to prep for the visits.”

She nodded. Her hand was on the bedspread, her fingers pressing into the fabric.

“I’m taking him with me when I go back.”

She looked up.

“Brice.”

“I know.”

“Taking him out of state. With the Hayes situation the way it is. I don’t know if that’s a good idea, hon.”

He scoffed. He turned toward the window, bouncing James, and looked out at the backyard. The fence needed painting. The grass was still brown from winter.

“What’s not a good idea is rolling up on them at the grocery store like you did.”

She was quiet for a beat. He could feel her looking at the back of his head.

“I was trying to help.”

"You didn’t so I need you to drop it. I know you’ve got a million ideas already on how to fix this but you need to drop it."

“Brice—”

"I’m handling it."

He turned back around. She was still sitting on the bed, her hands in her lap now, her posture straight. She didn’t look away from him.

“You give them an inch and they’ll take a mile. You know that. They won’t be happy until you’re completely out of their life and out of his.”

He looked down at James. Brice bounced him gently. He nodded.

“How are you doing?”

She looked at the duffel on the floor, at the cleats, at the charger cable.

“We have a meeting coming up. I’ll know better then. Really want to get this shit over with before Soph starts her senior year. She does not need this. None of us do.”

…

Liz sat with her hands flat on the table. Tom was across from her. He had his jacket off, draped over the back of his chair, his sleeves rolled to the elbows. He was looking at the document in front of him, not really reading it, just looking.

Her attorney, Nicole, had a pen in her hand and was tapping it against the edge of her legal pad. Tom’s attorney, Charlie, set his water glass down and leaned forward.

“We’ve been here three times on this,” he said. His voice was even, unhurried. “The house is settled. The retirement accounts are settled. The custody arrangement for Sophie is settled. The only thing left is the business. I think we all want to get this across the finish line but we all have to want to get this across the finish line.”

Liz kept her hands flat on the table.

“My client has offered the house free and clear,” Charlie continued. “No shared equity. That’s a significant concession."

“It is,” Nicole said. She stopped tapping the pen. “And while my client appreciates it, as you stated, the house has been settled. This is a completely different item, a completely different asset. An asset that my client helped fund, help get started. She worked, off the books by the way, without salary, during those formative years of the business. The scheduling, the routing, the client outreach. She built the framework that allowed the business to scale.”

Tom didn’t look up from the document.

“The seed money was fifteen thousand dollars,” Charlie said. “Twenty years ago. The house is worth four hundred and thirty thousand.”

“I don’t think I have to explain inflation as well as valuation to either of you,” Nicole replied. “There is no company without those fifteen thousand dollars."

Charlie picked up his pen. He wrote something on his pad. Liz couldn’t see what it was.

“My client is offering the house,” he said. “That’s the offer.”

“My client is asking for twenty-five percent stake in the business,” Nicole said. “That’s the ask. And it’s a fair one. A significant concession.”

The room went quiet. Liz kept her hands flat on the table.

Charlie looked at Tom, then Nicole, then at Liz, then back at Nicole.

“What if we split the difference,” he said. “Twelve and a half percent."

Nicole didn’t answer right away. She looked at Liz. Liz didn’t move.

“Twenty five,” Nicole said. "That is our best and final."

Charlie wrote something else on his pad. He looked at Tom. Tom was still looking at the document. He hadn’t moved.

“Can we take a break?” Tom said. He didn’t look up.

Charlie nodded. “We’ll take ten."

…

The place was small, four tables, the counter along the back wall, the espresso machine hissing every few seconds. A couple of students were at the table by the window with textbooks open. Nobody was paying attention to them.

“So,” Mel said. “California.”

“California," Brice replied with a short laugh.

“What’s it like?”

He shrugged. “It’s nice. Sun. Ocean. People walking around in flip-flops in February.”

“Flip-flops in February.”

“Flip-flops in February.”

She shook her head. "We had a snowstorm last month."

"I heard. Can’t relate."

He laughed. She didn’t. But the corner of her mouth moved.

“What about you?” he asked.

“I’m good. Same old, same old. School, work. Work then school."

He nodded. She picked up her cup again and held it with both hands. Her nails were short, no polish. She turned the cup a quarter turn on the saucer.

“I’ve been seeing someone.”

He looked at her. She wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at the cup.

“Okay. That’s exciting. What’s his name?”

“Jordan. He works in the mail room."

"There’s like a really good package joke in there somewhere."

"You’re a fucking idiot," she shook her head. He laughed anyway.

"How’s that going?"

"Weird," she scoffed, "I don’t really like it."

"What, him?"

"No, I like him," she sucked her teeth, "I don’t like liking him. Or liking anyone. It’s like this weird feeling."

"And I’m the emotional unavailable one?"

"This isn’t a fight you’re going to win," she playfully warned him, "I haven’t really done a lot of relationships. Or any. So it’s new. It’s different."

"I know a pretty good therapist that can help you sort that shit out," he smiled, "Local too."

She ignored him and picked up her cup and took another sip. He could see her trying not to smile. She set the cup down and looked out the window. A car passed.

“So,” she said. She turned back to him. “How’d the Pro Day go? Whatever the hell that is."

[Caesar]

"That’s like a Black school, right?"

It was forming on Brice's tongue just like his mammy.

Tom not a real one. Drive the business into the ground before you give Liz 25, big homie. Show her you tough.

Serena about to be on her Connie shit when Brice kicks her to the curb.

[Captain Canada]

I know its a fool's errand but I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop and Serena to get dropped the fuck off.

I'm hopeful Sophie and Brice can mend their relationship. Them ending up in the same place would be cool.

Tom not a real one. Drive the business into the ground before you give Liz 25, big homie. Show her you tough.

Not the worst idea