Damaged Petals.

[redsox907]

I don't think the therapy scene was bad. Dr. Mendel seemed more like a supportive friend, which can be a dangerous line. Cause then you fall into the trap of her just saying what makes Connie feel better, but not facilitating growth. I would say as Connie keeps going to Dr. Mendel, Mendel should push the envelope to question the underlying problems with Connie wanting to be around chaos and not trusting the calmness around her. Why she isn't proud of growth, or doesn't see it as growth.

Tommy did his job getting the golden boy out the door, ship the rest out to fend for themselves lmao

Skylar content just being a ho eh? Best type of side piece AYO

[Soapy]

Pathetic ass Skylar

you not feeling the vibes?

Need to do some research on how therapists talk to clients brodie

Shipping Tom washing his hands of Jimmy after sending the golden child off to college is nasty work.

Skylar gonna let herself get knocked up by Brice at this rate. Driving all the way there just to get fucked and sent on her way is crazy work

Appreciate the CC

Maybe Tom feels its in Jimmy's best interest

They (her and her friends) were visiting Purdue anyway so she decided to stop by.

I don't think the therapy scene was bad. Dr. Mendel seemed more like a supportive friend, which can be a dangerous line. Cause then you fall into the trap of her just saying what makes Connie feel better, but not facilitating growth. I would say as Connie keeps going to Dr. Mendel, Mendel should push the envelope to question the underlying problems with Connie wanting to be around chaos and not trusting the calmness around her. Why she isn't proud of growth, or doesn't see it as growth.

Tommy did his job getting the golden boy out the door, ship the rest out to fend for themselves lmao

Skylar content just being a ho eh? Best type of side piece AYO

Appreciate the CC on the therapy scene

why yall keep saying he's shipping his son off lmao

[Soapy]

Season 3, Episode 4
"The same Skylar you mentioned before?"

Brice nodded, running a hand across his jaw. “Yeah. She and her friends were on a trip or something. I don’t know.”

LaPenna tilted his head. “How’d that go?”

Brice gave a small laugh, more out of nerves than humor. “Fine, I guess. We hung out for a bit."

His pen hovered above the page. "What’d you guys do?"

He smirked, glancing away. "What else are we going to do, doc?"

A pause. He didn’t move, didn’t press too fast. "Did your enjoy your time together?"

“I guess,” he scoffed, "She’s cool to hang with or whatever."

“Do you guys always just hang out?"

“Yeah,” he leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “It’s not like we’re in a relationship or anything."

“Does that matter to you? Being in a relationship with someone?"

He shrugged, forcing a half-smile. "It’s really not that serious, doc. I’m just trying to stay focused, you know? Be more disciplined."

LaPenna nodded slowly. “Disciplined.” He repeated the word softly, as if testing its edges. “What does that mean to you in this context?”

Brice frowned. “It means keeping my head straight. Not getting caught up in distractions.”

“Would you call intimacy a distraction?”

He barked out a short laugh. “Intimacy? No. What we have isn’t that deep. It’s… I don’t know, just something that happens whenever it does happen.”

LaPenna didn’t write. He looked at Brice instead.

Brice’s eyes dropped to the floor, a flicker of defensiveness rising in his chest.

"I’m just saying—it’s not like, something for real. you know? Something we really need to talk about. It’s just—”

He stopped himself, jaw tightening. He waited. The silence sat between them, patient and heavy.

LaPenna mercifuly broke the silence.

"You’ve mentioned before that you’ve been working on control—over your emotions, your anger. I wonder if this idea of discipline is tied to that. Maybe even to how you view closeness with people.”

He didn’t answer. His knee bounced once before he caught it.

Inside, something churned—finding those images in his dad’s phone when he was helping him transfer phones. He’d never said a word. Not to his mom, not to anyone.

“I don’t think it’s that deep,” he finally said, his voice steady but thinner than before.

LaPenna nodded. “Maybe it’s not. Or maybe you don’t want it to be.”

Brice forced a small laugh, eyes fixed on the clock. “Session’s over, right?”

He smiled faintly, jotting one last note. “Almost.”

He sat there, silent, pretending to check his phone while he finished writing. For the first time, he wished he’d tell him what to think—just once.

…

"He bailed on that one."

"I don’t give a fuck," Brice answered, jaw tight, his tone half-annoyed, half-focused. "He fucking sucks, man. Take his ass deep."

Walter shook his head, returning his attention to his gloves. He spat in his hands before tugging them tighter, the leather snapping against his palms. The sun hung low over the field as a small crowd had gathered — mostly kids from nearby dorms, drawn by the noise and the occasional chatter after a big play.

It was supposed to be a casual player-led workout. A few routes, some timing drills, just something to fill the afternoon after they were done with classes. But Brice had turned it into something else. His arm felt alive, his confidence rising with every deep ball that found Nitro or De’Nylon in stride. The two receivers fed off it, chest-bumping after each catch, jawing playfully at the corners.

Across the line, Kendall — one of the freshman DBs — had been on the receiving end of those touchdowns. Brice grinned when Nitro jogged back after another long touchdown.

"I’m throwing that motherfucker every time he’s on you, bro," he said, wiping sweat from his brow. "He can’t run with you, bro."

Kendall heard that. Brice knew he did, which is why he said it.

When Nitro and De’Nylon stepped out to grab water, Brice waved Walter back in.

"Last rep!" Brice shouted, having taken command of the workout. Walter lined up, shaking out his arms, glancing once toward Kendall.

Brice clapped his hands.

The ball snapped. Brice took three quick steps and released — a sharp out route to the sideline. Kendall broke before Walter did. He jumped the route perfectly, cutting under Walter’s arm and snatching the ball from the air in one smooth motion. The small crowd erupted. Kendall turned, running the other way for a few yards before spinning and firing the ball back toward Brice’s feet.

Brice didn’t flinch. Didn’t even glance down.

Kendall stared him down, chest rising and falling, that familiar grin from spring ball spreading across his face.

Brice turned away, jaw flexing. Walter jogged toward him, apologetic. "My bad, bro. I thought he was—

Brice walked right past him, muttering, "I don’t give a fuck about no 'my bad'," making no move to shake his hand. He grabbed a towel and walked to the sideline, pretending to wipe his face as he clenched the fabric in his fist.

…

The bass thumped low through the floorboards, rattling the red cups stacked on the kitchen counter. Connie stood near the doorway, pretending to scroll through her phone while trying not to look too out of place. It was her first real college house party — and even though everyone seemed friendly enough, the swirl of noise, light, and movement made her feel like she was watching a life she hadn’t yet caught up to.

A girl she’d met in her dorm pod, Jasmine, tugged her arm. "Come on! I want you to meet someone!"

Connie hesitated but followed, weaving through the crowded living room where laughter cut through music. Jasmine stopped near the back patio, motioning toward a tall guy in a faded T-shirt.

"This is Eli," Jasmine said, grinning like she knew something. "He’s in my stats class. Eli, this is Connie — she’s new here and my friend so be nice."

"I’m always nice," Eli said, and he was. His tone was calm, confident but not overbearing.

They talked — the usual conversation between people at a college that just met. Their major, their classes, their favorite dining halls or campus spots. They talked about nothing that mattered but somehow felt comforting. He asked where she was from. She asked what made him pick Notre Dame. There was a lull between songs, and in that quiet, he asked, "You having fun?"

Connie laughed softly. "Trying to."

It wasn’t until later, when most of the room had thinned out, that she realized they’d been standing closer and closer, the night quietly slipping away. His hand brushed hers once, accidentally. Then again, intentionally.

Eli looked at her, not in a way that asked for anything — just waiting. Connie leaned in before she could talk herself out of it. The kiss was brief, warm, unexpected.

She pulled back, a little dazed, a little proud of herself, a little relief. She had never kissed anyone else.

Eli smiled. "Guess you’re having fun now."

She laughed again.

[redsox907]

Brice saying all the right things in therapy, or trying too, while he's continuing to spiral outside.

You got some Jenkins v King shit going on there with Kendall and Brice

Connie going to try and move on with Eli, only for Brice to show up and tear her back down again

[Soapy]

Brice saying all the right things in therapy, or trying too, while he's continuing to spiral outside.

You got some Jenkins v King shit going on there with Kendall and Brice

Connie going to try and move on with Eli, only for Brice to show up and tear her back down again

Y'all really treat Brice like he's Bin Laden reincarnated lmfao

[Soapy]

Season 3, Episode 5
Connie’s hands moved when she talked, like she was trying to catch the words before they floated off.

"It’s not like I went in there wanting to kiss him, you know? I didn’t not want to kiss him either, you know? God, I sound so ridiculous."

Dr. Mendel didn’t fill the silence. She leaned back in her chair, legs crossed, pen still.

“What made it ridiculous?” she asked.

“Because I just met him,” Connie said. "Like who does that? I don’t want to be that girl—I’m not that girl."

Mendel nodded once. “What’s that?”

“That—easy, promiscuous, whatever you want to call it.” Connie’s voice folded in on itself. "Girls that are just with whatever as long as it gets them attention."

A pause. Mendel watched her. “And did you?”

Connie blinked. “Want attention?”

“Yes.”

She shrugged, then shook her head. “Not like that. I just… I don’t know. He was a cool guy, you know? I mean, we just met but like out of everyone that I’ve hung out with, he’s the first guy I could like see myself wanting to know him more and I just ruined it."

Mendel tilted her head. “By kissing him?”

“Yeah,” Connie fidgeted with her sleeve. "Now I’m that girl that just kisses guy she met at a party. It’s like I wanted to come here for a fresh start, ditch what everyone thought of me before but now, they now think of this about me."

Mendel wrote something down. “Who is everyone?"

The room held still for a second. The hum of the vent, faint traffic outside. Connie challenged herself to think of a different answer but only one came to mind.

"I guess, Brice," Connie looked down, "I know it’s illogical because he’s not even here anymore and even if he was, so what, we’re broken up but it’s like…even when I tell myself not to think about what he would think or say, I still fucking do."

“Why do you think that was?”

Connie’s eyes glistened, but she kept them steady. “Because part of me still… I don’t know. Misses him. Or misses who I thought he was. Or miss what I thought we were going to be which was based on a lie anyway which is stupid, right?”

Mendel shook her head. “Not stupid. Familiar.”

Connie let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “I hate that word.”

“What word?”

“Familiar. It makes it sound like I’ll never stop feeling this way.”

Mendel leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “You won’t feel this way forever. But you might need to understand why this way feels like home before you can leave it.”

Connie looked up, eyes tired but open. “That sounds exhausting.”

“It is,” Mendel says gently. “But it’s also how people start telling the truth to themselves.”

Connie nodded once, and the silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable—just full.

…

Brice hurried out of the back of the classroom, the irony lost on him that he was essentially rewarding himself for attending every lecture of the past week by leaving the last one early. The campus was quieter than usual, even for a summer semester, as Brice began his fifteen-minute trek to his dorm room.

The plans for the weekend were loose and ripe for spontaneous debauchery. His parents had cancelled their scheduled visit due to Jimmy’s 7-on-7 tournament in Miami, and the coaches would be busy with prospective recruits throughout the weekend. Thankfully, Brice wasn’t a host for any of them. While the spring semester had been a bit of a blur—a baptism by fire—the summer was proving to be a much-welcomed change of pace.

Brice scrolled through his phone, debating where the weekend should begin. Deanna, the girl from his Conceptual Physics course, was usually a good time, but a few hours on a Friday afternoon could easily turn into him not leaving her dorm until Saturday night—and he wasn’t quite ready for that commitment, not trusting himself to peel off her bed. He scrolled through a few other options, trying to remember names and faces as he rounded the corner into the passageway that led to his dorm building.

There was more activity than usual on the narrow road—students hanging outside the Starbucks on the bottom floor of the building. He recognized a few faces, some from Freshman Orientation, some teammates and walk-ons from the team. He spotted Kendall before Kendall spotted him, sitting on a table, elbows on his knees as he talked to one of the girls Brice remembered from orientation.

Their feud was almost one of necessity. They were the two highest-ranked players in the recruiting class and probably the only true freshmen expected to have real roles on the team. Kendall, from Tampa, wasn’t shy about letting everyone know when he made a play. Brice, despite being a true freshman, was the one on offense most likely to take offense to that—and he did. They’d had some good battles during spring football, including one that almost led to a dust-up between the offense and defense in the second spring scrimmage. As Brice rose up the depth chart and Kendall stayed behind the upperclassmen, their opportunities to face each other had decreased—only making the few that remained more intense.

Kendall finally looked away from the blonde and toward Brice, making eye contact. Brice’s brain scrambled for a witty line but was quickly reminded of how their last encounter ended—with Kendall intercepting his pass. He was also reminded of Dr. LaPenna and Coach Henson.

Brice instead opted for a head nod—the most his ego would allow—and yet he felt proud of himself, convinced he was becoming the leader Coach Henson wanted him to be, showing the restraint and maturity Dr. LaPenna had been trying to draw out of him.

Kendall, respectfully, didn’t give a shit about any of that. He stared Brice down, then turned back to the blonde, ignoring him as Brice walked past.

…

Jimmy took the medal off his neck and stuffed it into his pocket as they began the long walk back to the van. Another tournament, another losers’ bracket finish. He’d had a decent game—both at quarterback, with a touchdown throw near the corner of the end zone, and on defense with a few pass breakups—but he’d also dropped an interception and struggled once the wind picked up in their later games.

“You’ve got to really drive the ball in these conditions,” Tom coached him up as the rest of the team trailed behind, some stopping to take one more selfie with the tournament signage in the background.

Jimmy nodded, only half-listening. Three years he’d waited to replace Brice at quarterback, and if their 7-on-7 performance was any indication of what the fall might look like, doubts were beginning to pile up in the back of his mind.

“Good game out there, Colton,” came a voice from behind them.

Both Jimmy and Tom turned to see the same coach who’d approached them in Las Vegas. They’d seen him around for the past few years on the same 7-on-7 circuit—St. Frances was one of the more aggressive programs in high school football, recruiting from a national base. They’d taken a run at Brice during his freshman year but were quickly shut down. That hadn’t stopped them from keeping tabs; for the past few weeks, at every tournament, the assistant coach had made sure to say something—anything—to Jimmy.

“Thanks, Coach,” Jimmy said, shaking his hand.

"Appreciate you for not calling me 'sir' and making me feel like my old man,” Coach Nixon smiled before shaking Tom’s hand. “How you doing, Tom?”

“A lot better before this wind kicked in,” Tom smirked. “You boys still playing?”

“Yeah, we’ve got another game in about thirty,” Nixon said. “I hate how they stagger these things.”

“Yeah, the one we went to in Los Angeles last year was pretty rough,” Tom nodded as Jimmy stood idly by.

“Didn’t seem to affect Brice,” Nixon scoffed. “I think our boy right here also had a touchdown on a trick play, right?”

Jimmy winced, remembering his drop on the final drive of the semifinals they eventually lost.

“So,” Nixon grinned, “y’all gonna make me beg or keep stalking you? What we doing, gentlemen? Because I ain’t above either, you know.”

Tom let out a genuine laugh, unlocking the van as the rest of the kids piled in. “No, it’s nothing like that.”

“What’s it going to take?” Nixon asked, looking from Tom to Jimmy.

[Caesar]

We need to see some of these young ladies Brice is gallivanting around with to ensure he isn’t bringing any Black women down with his toxicity and tendency to gas light and beat women.

[redsox907]

We need to see some of these young ladies Brice is gallivanting around with to ensure he isn’t bringing any Black women down with his toxicity and tendency to gas light and beat women.

Hos is Hos

If they engaging with Brice, they already know the deal

also @ Brice thinking taking the high road one time is turning him into a leader

[Soapy]

We need to see some of these young ladies Brice is gallivanting around with to ensure he isn’t bringing any Black women down with his toxicity and tendency to gas light and beat women.

I'm already white hoe I don't need no white bitch!

We need to see some of these young ladies Brice is gallivanting around with to ensure he isn’t bringing any Black women down with his toxicity and tendency to gas light and beat women.

Hos is Hos

If they engaging with Brice, they already know the deal

also @ Brice thinking taking the high road one time is turning him into a leader

glad you caught that lmao was laughing as i wrote it

[Soapy]

Season 3, Episode 6
Tom kept glancing toward the bathroom door, wishing it would open, wishing it wouldn’t. The cup in front of him was mostly melted ice now, the last of it sliding down easy as he finished it. The bartender — young, attentive, maybe too attentive — came over with a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black already in hand.

"Another one?"

"I’m good," Tom said. "Close it out."

He hesitated. "Hers too."

The bartender nodded, heading to the register. Tom sat there for a moment longer, the low hum of conversation filling the quiet between his thoughts. She’d be out any second — flashing that same bright smile that caught him in the first place when he walked in just looking for a nightcap. They’d talk about nothing on the way back to the hotel, both pretending it meant something. The hesitation at the door, the nervous laugh, the quick surrender — he knew every beat of it.

He pushed off the barstool before the check even landed, afraid that if he stayed, he’d forget why he shouldn’t. He tossed a few bills onto the counter and moved for the exit.

Behind him, the bathroom door creaked open. He didn’t look.

Outside, Brickell pulsed with its usual Saturday night glow — headlights flashing off wet pavement, music spilling from rooftops. The city had a way of making every bad decision seem like a small one. Tom slipped his wedding ring back on, the metal cold against his skin.

Falling asleep to network television didn’t sound like much of a victory. But tonight, it would have to be enough.

…

Brice leaned back on the couch, spinning the rubber band on his wrist as if it were a fidget toy. The blinds behind Dr. LaPenna let in thin stripes of afternoon light, cutting across the office like quiet dividers.

"So," Dr. LaPenna began, "Last time, we talked about composure. How have you been doing with that?"

"Pretty good, actually. Had a situation the other day but I handled it different this time."

"Different how?"

Brice shrugged. "You know, I could’ve said something. I could’ve gone back and forth with him like before, but I didn’t. I just… let it go."

Dr. LaPenna nodded slowly. "That sounds like progress. What led to it?"

Brice leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "We were fucki—we were cooking this corner, the same one I had an issue before. I threw him an easy ball to get his confidence up and the dude acted like he won the Super Bowl. We might need him in the season so I knew he needed that win so I let him have it."

Dr. LaPenna smiled faintly. "Why is that?"

"I mean," Brice chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "The coaches want me to be a leader, right? I have to start treating my teammates like my teammates, you know, even when we’re going against each other. We can compete but dog walking this freshman in front of the whole dorm? Nah, that’ll tank his confidence so you know, I let him have his moment, feel good about himself."

LaPenna jotted something down, still quiet. "And how did that feel?"

Brice hesitated. "I mean… good, I guess. I don’t think we’re ever going to have like sleepovers or anything like that but if I’m less combative, it’s going to make him less combative too, right?"

LaPenna nodded, a small, satisfied expression that made Brice feel both seen and tested.

Brice grinned again, sensing approval, but LaPenna’s eyes didn’t quite match the warmth in his voice. He watched Brice for another few seconds — long enough for the younger man to start fidgeting again.

"Do you believe that’s what happened?" LaPenna asked finally.

Brice blinked. "What do you mean?"

"With the cornerback. That you let him win one."

Brice’s jaw tightened. He laughed it off. "We were cooking him, bro. I mean, it doesn’t help that Walter ran a sorry ass route. I was going to give him a PBU or you know, an incompletion, but he jumped that bi—he jumped the route and made a play."

LaPenna smiled faintly, setting his pen down.

…

Brice took another glance, making sure it was her. She didn’t have any features that stood out, perfectly capable of blending with the hundreds of blondes on campus, but Brice was good with faces—always slotting them away in his mental Rolodex for moments like these. He wasn’t shy about eye contact, letting it linger a beat too long whenever their eyes met.

The student center had that slow summer hum to it. A handful of students were scattered across tables, some tapping at laptops, some half-studying between scrolls of their phones. Brice sat at a corner table with his roommate Walter, books spread open but attention slipping. Walter was dialed in on his notes. Brice, less so.

He closed his book, barely getting through the first chapter of his five-chapter goal for the day, and stood up. The chair squeaked against the floor. As he made his way over, she straightened a little—brushed her hair back, looked at her laptop like she’d just remembered she had work to do.

“Excuse me, you were at orientation, right?” Brice asked.

It was a dumb question. Of course she was. It’s called mandatory freshmen orientation for a reason. But it didn’t matter. It worked. It always did.

“Yeah, Brice, right?” she said—more a statement than a question.

“Yeah,” he said, giving a light handshake. “I’m terrible with names, sorry.”

“Brooke,” she smiled, "You’re on the football team with Kendall, right?”

Brice couldn’t contain his smirk. “Yeah, that’s my boy.”

There was a pause, but Brice didn’t rush to fill it. He liked silence—it made people lean toward him without realizing it.

Then he noticed it—a subtle shift in her posture, something guarded in the way she held her arms. He could read it. She didn’t want to look like that girl, one of the football girls. He pushed through, keeping it light.

“So where you from?” he asked.

"Like right outside Pittsburgh."

“You liking it here so far?”

“Yeah, it’s… different.”

“What’s your major?”

“Marketing.”

Two guys passing by broke her train of thought. “Yo, Brice!” one of them called, dapping him up. Another did the same a few minutes later. Brooke noticed it, a quiet smile replacing the polite one as her shoulders loosened.

“So we’re having a little thing at our spot next weekend,” Brice said, leaning slightly on the table. “You seemed pretty cool and any friend of Kendall is a friend of mine so wanted to invite you. Us freshmen gotta stick together, right?”

Brooke hesitated, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t know, I might be going back home next weekend.”

Brice nodded, letting the silence linger again. Just then, another group came by.

“Bricey!” one of them said, grinning as they dapped him up.

Brice laughed it off. “Sorry about that,” he said once they were gone. “It’s cool though—enjoy your visit home. It was nice to properly meet you.”

She paused for a beat, studying him. “I might be able to stop by before I go,” she said, teasing just a little. “Which day is it?”