Damaged Petals.

[Soapy]

Season 12, Episode 6
"We’re out in the fucking Hamptons and we’ve got a fucking boat waiting on us." Kaliq was still chewing, "What the fuck is there to think about?"

Brice poured himself more coffee, the pot still warm from whoever had brewed it last, one of the guys already gone. The kitchen had that morning-after look, plates stacked in the sink, a carton of orange juice left out, condensation pooling around the base of it on the marble.

"I told Tati I’d take her to this vineyard thing. Been meaning to do it all mini camp." Esco shrugged.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Kaliq shook his head, "You sure you’ve got enough tampons in that bag?"

Esco ignored him and kept working through his plate of eggs and turkey bacon.

"And you? You gonna be a bitch ass nigga too?" Kaliq turned towards Evan who was leaning on the counter by the fridge, halfway through his apple.

“Flight’s at like one,” Evan said, tapping his phone screen. "I should probably be on my way already honestly."

“This nigga must got some good ass pussy tucked away in Cleveland,” Kaliq said, shaking his head like it was a tragedy. Kaliq turned his head towards Brice.

"Nope."

"Come on, Q!" Kaliq threw his hands up, "I know these bitch ass niggas was gonna let me down but not you too!"

Brice shook his head. “I’m not trying to be on a boat with a bunch of dudes who think they’re Jordan Belfort, bro.”

“Who the fuck is Jordan Belfort bro?"

"You’ve never seen…" Brice cut himself off, "Anyway. You. Boat. A bunch of finance bros. Sounds like a bunch of powder and escorts. That’s a front page TMZ story. I’m good on that."

Kaliq sucked his teeth, waving a hand. “Bro, it’s not even like that. It’s just a few of my guys. Chill vibe. Nothing crazy.”

“And?” Brice said.

“And,” Kaliq said, a grin spreading slow across his face now, “Some lovely ladies."

He cackled at his own delivery. Brice laughed too, shaking his head, sitting back down with his coffee.

…

“So Cooper,” Miles said, keys jangling in his hand as they crossed the parking lot. “Is that like a thing now?"

“I don’t know about all of that. We just hung out a few times." Sophie shrugged.

"And kissed. According to a little birdie."

"Fucking Gen." Sophie shook her head, "She’s kissed damn near half our grade but me kissing Coop is fucking breaking news that everyone needs to hear about. No shade or anything to her. It’s just not that big of a deal."

"But still," Miles shrugged, "Knowing you, it is a big deal."

"I guess. He’s alright. For a guy. Which isn’t saying much." Sophie paused, glancing over, "Well, not you. You don’t count."

Miles forced a smile. "It sounds like it could be a thing then."

Sophie stuffed her hands in the pockets of her jacket. “I don’t know. Getting a boyfriend senior year kind of feels dumb when you think about it. We’re all about to go in a hundred different directions in a few months.”

“Not that dumb.”

“Even if it does work out, that means we’re doing the whole long distance thing. That’s not happening. I wouldn’t trust a guy like that. I barely trust the ones standing right in front of me.”

Miles hit the unlock button, the car chirping somewhere ahead of them.

“But then,” she went on, "it’s like, going through this whole four years without ever having had a boyfriend, without going through whatever the fuck that relationships are supposed to teach you about yourself. That feels like it sets you up for something bad later. Like a delayed crash or something.”

“A delayed crash.”

"I don’t know, I kind of want to get it out of the way. Before college."

“Practice round."

“It sounds bad when you say it like that."

She got in on the passenger side, pulling the door shut.

“Well,” Miles said, backing out of the spot, "You can do worse than Cooper."

Sophie laughed.

“Yup,” she said. “I guess I could."

…

Serena held the dress up against the rack, tilting her head.

“This,” she said. “You’d kill in this.”

Tatiana flipped the tag over, laughed once, short, and let it fall back against the fabric. “Yeah, no.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Serena. Baby. That’s a car payment.”

“It’s a nice dress.”

“It’s a dress, baby girl.” Tatiana was already walking, back toward the main path of the store, and Serena let the hanger go, following her out past the registers and into the flow of the mall.

They kept moving, past the window displays, Serena’s bag from the last store bumping against her leg with each step.

“Anyway,” Tatiana said, “I don’t even need to be thinking about gameday outfits yet. Esco’s gotta make the roster first.”

“He’ll make it.”

“Mm.”

“He will,” Serena said again. “He looked good all camp. Everybody’s been saying it.”

Tatiana gave her a look, one eyebrow up, the corner of her mouth pulling sideways. “Esco ain’t Brice, honey.”

Serena didn’t say anything to that.

“Last year,” Tatiana said, “same thing. Preseason, he’s balling out. Making plays. We’re looking at houses, finally ready to get out of that damn extended stay. We make it through cut day, it’s like eight o’clock, finally relaxing. Wake up next morning, they added someone else to the roster. He gets called in. Waived."

They passed a kiosk, a guy trying to catch their eye with some hand lotion sample, and Tatiana waved him off.

“Then he’s on the practice squad,” she went on. “For like three weeks. Then cut from that too. Then back on it a few weeks later. Then one week they activate him for the actual game, I’m in the stands, I’m ready, and he doesn’t even play. Not even special teams. Back to the practice squad the next day.”

“That’s a lot.”

“That’s the bubble.” Tatiana shrugged. “Every week you’re just hoping the phone rings. And also hoping it doesn’t."

Serena nodded along, quiet, the bag still swinging slightly against her leg. She cleared her throat, glancing down at it, then at the other one from earlier, the little brown and gold pattern.

Tatiana caught the look.

“Anyway,” Tatiana said, “We’re doing this vineyard thing tonight. Real white people shit, wine tasting, whatever. Y’all should come.”

“That sounds good,” Serena pushed a smile. “Let me text Brice, see what time he’s getting back.”

…

The marina lights blurred against the dark water, and the deck swayed under his feet even after they’d tied off. Brice’s skin felt tight everywhere the sun had gotten him, forearms, back of the neck, the bridge of his nose. He touched it once, winced, kept moving.

Guys were already peeling off in every direction. A couple of Kaliq’s friends slapped hands, making plans for tomorrow that none of them were going to remember by the morning. Cars idled along the lot, headlights cutting across gravel, doors opening and closing.

The girls were still there. Three of them, clustered near the gangway, one of them barefoot with her heels dangling from two fingers.

“Stace got a table at Marquee,” the one in the green dress said, looking between Brice and Kaliq, "Unless y’all ready to call it a night. We ain’t."

“You ain’t said nothing but a word, baby girl.” Kaliq said, nodding along.

One of the girls made eye contact with Brice. He nodded too, pulling his phone out. "I’ll get you guys a car. We’ll meet you there.”

The Uber pulled up within a few minutes. The girls piled in, laughing about something already,

Brice walked to his Mercedes E63 with Kaliq trailing a step behind, weaving just slightly, enough that Brice reached out and steadied him by the shoulder.

“I’m good, I’m good,” Kaliq said, shrugging him off, dropping into the passenger seat.

Brice pulled out of the lot, gravel crunching under the tires, the marina shrinking in the mirror.

“Bro,” Kaliq said, head already tipped back against the headrest. “That one girl. Green dress.”

“Yeah.”

“That pussy was like Little Caesars, bro.” He laughed at himself, eyes closed. “Hot and ready. I felt that shit through my fucking pants when she sat on me.”

Brice kept his eyes on the road, one hand loose on the wheel.

“I almost took her down to the cabin,” Kaliq went on, laughing harder now. “Fuck that bitch right there in front of everybody. I don’t give a fuck, bro. Some real nigga shit."

Kaliq cackled, slapping the dashboard once, and then it trailed off into something quieter, his head rolling toward the window.

Brice merged onto the highway. The music was off. Just the hum of the tires and Kaliq’s breathing evening out beside him, slower, then slower again, until his mouth fell open and he was gone.

By the time they hit the tunnel, Kaliq hadn’t moved. Brice glanced over once, the orange tunnel lights sliding across Kaliq’s slack face, and then looked back at the road.

His head cleared a little more with every mile. The sunburn still stung along his shoulders, and there was a dull throb starting behind his eyes.

The roads thinned out once they crossed into Jersey. Fewer headlights, fewer taillights, just long stretches of dark broken up by streetlamps and the green highway signs ticking off exits he knew by memory now.

Kaliq stirred somewhere past Secaucus, blinking against nothing, pushing himself up in the seat.

“Where the fuck are we,” he mumbled, squinting out the window at the trees crowding the shoulder, the office parks set back off the road, dark and empty.

Kaliq looked at Brice, looked back out the window, and said something Brice couldn’t make out, half the words swallowed before they made it all the way out of his mouth. Then his head dropped back against the headrest and he was out again, like he’d never woken up at all.

Brice shook his head, a small laugh escaping him, and kept driving.

[Captain Canada]

Oh Brice the right and reasonable guy now huh?

Stinks of cap.

[Caesar]

The streets still remember the kind of stuff Brice used to pull. This doesn't move us.

[redsox907]

Oh Brice the right and reasonable guy now huh?

Stinks of cap.

The streets still remember the kind of stuff Brice used to pull. This doesn't move us.

he still went and spent the day on a boat in the Hamptons with some other women

Serena will be none too pleased when that hits the Times

[Captain Canada]

he still went and spent the day on a boat in the Hamptons with some other women

Serena will be none too pleased when that hits the Times

She living in New York City for free, she better stand down

[Soapy]

Oh Brice the right and reasonable guy now huh?

Stinks of cap.

The streets still remember the kind of stuff Brice used to pull. This doesn't move us.

he still went and spent the day on a boat in the Hamptons with some other women

Serena will be none too pleased when that hits the Times

BRUH!

I gave this nigga the smallest, slightest possible sign of character growth and these niggas still like foh

he still went and spent the day on a boat in the Hamptons with some other women

Serena will be none too pleased when that hits the Times

She living in New York City for free, she better stand down

She dabbling in other forms of currency #caesarism

[Soapy]

Season 12, Episode 7
"Alert! Alert!"

Brice barked it twice, hands under center, readying his hands.

“Down! Set!”

The snap smacked into his palms and he was already thinking about his drop before his feet had moved, three steps, plant, get the ball up, except his back foot came down wrong, too square, and he felt himself correcting mid-drop instead of just dropping.

By the time his eyes made it to his first read, the defensive end had crossed the face of Robby, the left tackle. He squeezed his grip on the football as he tried to climb the pocket, and then the whistle cut through everything.

He slammed the ball into the turf, bouncing up near his leg as the other players around him were coming to a stop. He leaned down and picked the ball back up, tossing it to the center.

Next play up. He handed it off, watched the back get five yards up the middle. Handed it off again, this time to the left, a couple yards. Easy throw to the flats after that, a predetermined read based on alignment. Then something over the middle, quick and out of his hands just about as quickly as he got it.

Last rep before rotation.

Robby again. Beat again, same inside move, quicker this time or maybe Brice was just more aware of it now. He rolled right instinctively, buying himself space, and the whistle blew almost immediately.

He kept going anyway. Found Kaliq breaking open twenty yards downfield and put it on him.

“That ain’t a fucking sack,” he said, loud, to nobody, pulling his helmet off as Jordan jogged up to take the next rep.

He caught Coach Glenn’s head turn, just slightly, one eyebrow up before it dropped again, his eyes already back on the field where the second team was lining up.

Brice ran a hand through his hair, sweat already cooling against his scalp in the morning air, and looked for Musgrave along the sideline. Found him with the tablet tucked under his arm, waiting.

“That is a sack, bitch!”

He couldn’t tell who it was. Somebody on the defensive side, one of maybe forty helmets that all looked the same from this angle.

“We’ll see who’s talking tough after two-minute!” he yelled back toward the general direction of the defense.

“Focus.”

Musgrave didn’t even look up from the tablet when he said it. Brice turned around, jaw still tight, and nodded.

"What are you looking at here?" Musgrave pulled up a play on his tablet.

Behind them, Jordan was already under center, calling his own cadence, the second-team line settling into their stances.

…

Sophie signaled, checked the mirror, and pulled out of the lot onto the side street. Tom sat with his hand resting on the center console.

She took the turn onto the major road, merging into the gap she’d been watching for the last quarter mile.

They drove like that for a while, windows cracked, the radio off.

“You sign up for your test yet?”

“Yeah,” she said, eyes on the road. “Before school starts."

“You’ll pass.”

“I know.”

He almost smiled at that. She checked her blind spot before changing lanes.

“What kind of car am I getting?”

Tom let out a laugh. “Let’s worry about passing the test first.”

She didn’t say anything to that, just kept her hands where he’d told her, ten and two, though she’d started to loosen up on that too, one hand mostly on the wheel now.

“How are you doing?”

He glanced over at her. She wasn’t looking at him, still watching the road.

“Fine,” he said. “I’m doing alright.”

“You find a place yet?”

“Yeah. Staying with a friend."

“Britney?”

He cleared his throat.

“It’s okay,” Sophie said. “I figured.”

The quiet sat there for a block, then two. She came to a stop sign, checked both ways.

“When did Brice get his truck?”

Tom thought about it, doing the math in his head before it dawned on him.

“Only because I was getting a new one anyway. That’s the only reason he got it when he did."

“Can I get it then?"

He laughed, picturing her behind the wheel of that thing, riding six inches off the seat just to see over the dash.

“The plan was I was gonna give that truck to Jimmy,” he said. “Get myself something new when he graduated. Figured Brice would be in something by then anyway. Maybe I’ll give it to you instead. When you graduate. Since you’re into trucks now, apparently.”

Neither of them said anything for a while after that.

“Did you ever take him on driving lessons?” Sophie asked. “Jimmy.”

Tom let out a short chuckle. “Yeah. In secret.”

She glanced over at him.

“Your mom didn’t want you getting jealous,” he said.

The light ahead turned green. She eased off the brake, rolled through the intersection.

“We never finished,” Tom said.

The road unspooled in front of them, another turn coming up, and neither of them said a word the rest of the way back to the lot.

…

“I think every guy knows where the line is.” Brice said. “We’re out there competing so naturally, it’s going to get a little chippy."

Marchetti nodded, pen moving slightly against the notepad, though he couldn’t tell if she was actually writing anything or just letting it look that way.

“You don’t want everybody being buddy-buddy. Don’t get any good work down that way.”

Marchetti let a beat pass.

"Last time we spoke," she began, slightly adjusting herself on her seat, "We left on an ex-girlfriend of yours. Connie."

“What about her?” Brice shifted in the chair, uncrossed his arms, laid his hands flat on his thighs instead.

“We covered a lot of ground in our last session.” Marchetti said, “A pretty critical stretch of your life. How did that sit with you? Talking through all of it.”

He shrugged. “It’s old news at this point. Me and LaPenna went through all that shit back in college. Hashed it, re-hashed it. It just is what it is, you know? Happened. It’s over. I just thought I should fill you in is all.”

She didn’t say anything. Just watched him, the pen resting still now against the paper.

“I ran into her, actually,” Brice said, filling the space himself. "A couple of times. Last few months. When I was back home."

“How was that?”

“First time was weird.” He looked past her, out toward the window, the same rooftops, the same treetops going a little browner now that summer had worn on. “She asked me something. Out of nowhere. Why didn’t I choose her.”

He looked back at Marchetti. “That’s a weird fucking thing to ask somebody, right? Just, out the blue like that?”

Marchetti set the pen down on the notepad.

“Why didn’t you choose her?”

Brice let out a short laugh. “Who the fuck knows. I was sixteen. I was scared shitless.” He stopped. He could feel his own breathing picking up. “I’m sorry for it. For the decision. Or the lack of one, whatever you want to call it. I told her that. Well, the second time I did. But that was a long time ago. That was some other version of me making that call, and I don’t know why I gotta keep defending him every time his name comes up.”

“His name.”

“My name. Whatever.” He waved a hand, brushing past it. “I’d make a different decision now. I know I would. I’d make a different one for sure. Isn’t that the whole point?”

“The point of what?”

“Of life. I grew up. I’m still growing up. I’m becoming a better person, more empathetic, more worldly or whatever the fuck you want to call it. Why isn’t that enough? Why do I gotta go back and pick apart every little decision, every little thing that got me here?”

He stopped again, looking at his own hands now instead of her.

“Who knows,” he said, quieter. “Maybe I’m not even sitting in this chair right now if I make a different call back then. If we make a different call. Maybe we’re somewhere in a trailer park, broke, hating each other, hating ourselves.” He shook his head. “Who the fuck knows.”

He looked out the window again. The light had shifted since he’d sat down, gone a little more gold.

…

“So how does the seared tuna hold up to the reviews?” Liz asked.

“It’s pretty good.” David cut another piece, chewing before he answered. “A bit lemony but good."

The waiter came by, refilled her water, and disappeared again.

David was talking about the restaurant. How the owner had a sister property out in Fort Wayne that he ate once at a conference. She nodded along, cutting into her own fish, letting the scrape of the knife against the plate fill in the space where a response should have gone.

He asked about her work. She asked about his. They both nodded along to the response.

She asked about his kids. He talked for a while, longer than she expected.

Then it passed, and they were back to nodding at each other over their plates.

The waiter cleared them eventually, asked if everything was to their liking. They both said yes.

“So,” David said, folding his napkin, setting it beside his water glass. “This lived up to the hype. I might have to come back.”

“Sure. It seems like a nice spot for whenever you’re in the mood again.”

He looked at her for a second and she realized a beat too late what he’d meant by it, the shape of the invitation sitting there unclaimed. She didn’t reach for it. He let it go too, clearing his throat, glancing toward the kitchen.

The waiter came back around. “Can I interest you in dessert? We’ve got a flourless chocolate cake that’s very popular.”

“No, thank you,” Liz said.

“I’m good too,” David said. “Just the check, whenever you get a chance.”

The waiter nodded and left. David reached for his wallet before it even arrived, sliding his card into the little leather folder before Liz had a chance to reach for her purse.

“You didn’t have to,” she said.

“I wanted to.”

“Thank you.”

They stood outside the restaurant a few minutes later, the night air cooler than she’d expected, her dress doing little against it. David leaned in for a hug, brief, his hand landing somewhere between her shoulder blade and her spine before he pulled back.

“This was nice,” he said.

“It was.”

“Have a good night."

She smiled and they walked in opposite directions across the lot, her heels loud against the pavement.

She got as far as her car, keys already out, before she turned back around.

She had spotted it the moment she had pulled into the parking lot, across the street from the building, half the letters burned out on the sign. She crossed the street anyway, waited for a car to pass, and pushed the door open.

Inside it was dim, a couple of stools open at the end of the bar, a baseball game playing on mute above the register. She sat down, set her purse on the bar, and waited for the bartender to notice her.

“What can I get you?”

“Whatever’s got the most in it,” she said.

He laughed, short, already reaching for a glass.

[redsox907]

She had spotted it the moment she had pulled into the parking lot, across the street from the building, half the letters burned out on the sign. She crossed the street anyway, waited for a car to pass, and pushed the door open.

Cassie says hi

old Brice showing itself