They just cold as ice. Entire family dynamic is a means to an end for them people
Zane was raised to find a lane and get going.
Invictus
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Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 6164
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Invictus
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Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 6164
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Invictus
Season II | Chapter VII: Pretty Little Fears
The first true day of summer broke over the field in a slow, warm haze. The air was thick with cut grass and the snap of resistance bands.
Zane wiped sweat from his brow as he finished another set of hill sprints, his lungs burning in that familiar, satisfying way that told him he was getting better. Every sprint, he was covering more area, feeling stronger and stronger with every stride. Around him, a handful of soon-to-be seniors - faces still soft with youth, movements unsure - ambled across the turf trying to match the pace he and Cam had set.
Cam dropped beside him, hands on his hips, panting. "They're dying, man," he laughed, nodding towards the group. "You really think Coach is gonna let that shit slide when camp starts?" His blonde hair darkened from sweat, slicking to the back of his neck.
Zane smirked. "Coach Shazier won't. That's why we gotta get them right before he gets to them."
But even as he joked, his attention drifted toward Malik.
The quarterback was throwing on the far side of the field, a crisp spiral spinning off his fingers as if he had been built in a lab for it. Every throw was perfect. Every footwork drill was clean. And every time Zane got within ten feet of him, the air dropped to freezing. Wherever Coach had found him, they were lucky to have him.
Well, everyone except for Zane.
Cam followed his state. "He still acting weird?"
Zane shrugged, pretending it didn't sit like a hook under his ribs. "He's not saying anything. Just gives me that look. Like I did something without knowing I did something."
Cam exhaled sharply. "I've noticed. Bro is ... I don't know, fucking off. Maybe it's a quarterback thing?"
Zane shook his head, droplets of sweat shaking from his brow line. "I don't know, man. Cedric was cool as hell. Demanding, but cool. It's more than that," he said quietly. "At prom, he got up in my face like I stole something from him."
Cam arched an eyebrow. "You sure you wanna keep brushing that off? Team chemistry matters. If your QB don't rock with their number 1 receiver-"
"I know." Zane huffed, kicking at a clump of turf that had built up. "I'm trying, I swear. Last thing I want is something as shit as this messing with our season. We only get one chance at our last season."
They reset for another drill., Malik threw a dart across the field that smacked into the receiver's chest. Zane jogged past him, giving a short nod out of courtesy. Malik didn't nod back. Didn't even give him a look. Just kept adjusting his wristband, jaw working like he was grinding his teeth.
Cam muttered under his breath, "Yeah, he don't fucking like you.'
Zane tried to force a laugh. "Tell me about it."
Cam and Zane sat on the tailgate of Cam's truck, gulping down water that long turned lukewarm. Cam drummed his fingers against the metal. "So, Bianca leaves this weekend, right?"
Zane leaned his head back, eyes half-closed in the afternoon shimmer. "Yeah. She's moving into her dorm early. Summer courses and all that."
"You good?" Cam asked, but tone already assumed Zane wasn't.
"It's weird. Exciting. A little unnerving."
Cam nodded, waiting.
Zane blew out a breath. "Man, you should have seen meeting her parents last week.: He shook his head. "I've never felt so interrogated. Asking me about money and shit like I'm not fucking 17 years old. It's as if they were trying to figure out if I'm worthy of breathing the same air as their daughter."
Cam's face twisted. "That's crazy, bro. That's not normal parent stuff. Sounds mighty fucking hostile."
Zane stared down at his hands. "Bianca was mortified, wouldn't stop apologizing. But, its weighing on me."
Cam didn't speak right away. When he finally did, his voice was careful. "You think that's gonna be something you need to deal with? Her parents on your ass like that?"
Zane rubbed the nape of his neck. "What you mean?"
"Nah, I'm just saying," Cam sighed. "She's going to Michigan, heading out early. Her family sounds borderline sociopathic. Her world big as shit, right now. Changing rapidly. And don't get me wrong, you got next. We're gonna smoke shit this season. But, does she have enough space for you?"
Zane looked out over the empty field, now quiet except for the flutter of nets and distant hum of cicadas.
"I love her, man. And she said she wants everything with me."
Cam leaned back on his palms, sweat threatening to leak into his eyes. "I'm with you until the wheels fall off, brother. I just don't want you to get screwed trying to fit into someone else's mold."
Zane didn't answer, just nodded in understanding.
He watched Malik angle out of the locker room, something in his gait that spelled troubled. The younger guys joking around the sidelines without a care in the world.
Everything around him was changing - Bianca was leaving, Malik couldn't stand him, senior year at Upper St. Clair was on the horizon.
Weight. That's all he could feel. Some he had asked for. Some didn't ask for his permission - it demanded his attention.
The wind moved through the goalpost chain, rattling like distant chimes, as the first real day of summer shifted into evening.
The first true day of summer broke over the field in a slow, warm haze. The air was thick with cut grass and the snap of resistance bands.
Zane wiped sweat from his brow as he finished another set of hill sprints, his lungs burning in that familiar, satisfying way that told him he was getting better. Every sprint, he was covering more area, feeling stronger and stronger with every stride. Around him, a handful of soon-to-be seniors - faces still soft with youth, movements unsure - ambled across the turf trying to match the pace he and Cam had set.
Cam dropped beside him, hands on his hips, panting. "They're dying, man," he laughed, nodding towards the group. "You really think Coach is gonna let that shit slide when camp starts?" His blonde hair darkened from sweat, slicking to the back of his neck.
Zane smirked. "Coach Shazier won't. That's why we gotta get them right before he gets to them."
But even as he joked, his attention drifted toward Malik.
The quarterback was throwing on the far side of the field, a crisp spiral spinning off his fingers as if he had been built in a lab for it. Every throw was perfect. Every footwork drill was clean. And every time Zane got within ten feet of him, the air dropped to freezing. Wherever Coach had found him, they were lucky to have him.
Well, everyone except for Zane.
Cam followed his state. "He still acting weird?"
Zane shrugged, pretending it didn't sit like a hook under his ribs. "He's not saying anything. Just gives me that look. Like I did something without knowing I did something."
Cam exhaled sharply. "I've noticed. Bro is ... I don't know, fucking off. Maybe it's a quarterback thing?"
Zane shook his head, droplets of sweat shaking from his brow line. "I don't know, man. Cedric was cool as hell. Demanding, but cool. It's more than that," he said quietly. "At prom, he got up in my face like I stole something from him."
Cam arched an eyebrow. "You sure you wanna keep brushing that off? Team chemistry matters. If your QB don't rock with their number 1 receiver-"
"I know." Zane huffed, kicking at a clump of turf that had built up. "I'm trying, I swear. Last thing I want is something as shit as this messing with our season. We only get one chance at our last season."
They reset for another drill., Malik threw a dart across the field that smacked into the receiver's chest. Zane jogged past him, giving a short nod out of courtesy. Malik didn't nod back. Didn't even give him a look. Just kept adjusting his wristband, jaw working like he was grinding his teeth.
Cam muttered under his breath, "Yeah, he don't fucking like you.'
Zane tried to force a laugh. "Tell me about it."
***
Cam and Zane sat on the tailgate of Cam's truck, gulping down water that long turned lukewarm. Cam drummed his fingers against the metal. "So, Bianca leaves this weekend, right?"
Zane leaned his head back, eyes half-closed in the afternoon shimmer. "Yeah. She's moving into her dorm early. Summer courses and all that."
"You good?" Cam asked, but tone already assumed Zane wasn't.
"It's weird. Exciting. A little unnerving."
Cam nodded, waiting.
Zane blew out a breath. "Man, you should have seen meeting her parents last week.: He shook his head. "I've never felt so interrogated. Asking me about money and shit like I'm not fucking 17 years old. It's as if they were trying to figure out if I'm worthy of breathing the same air as their daughter."
Cam's face twisted. "That's crazy, bro. That's not normal parent stuff. Sounds mighty fucking hostile."
Zane stared down at his hands. "Bianca was mortified, wouldn't stop apologizing. But, its weighing on me."
Cam didn't speak right away. When he finally did, his voice was careful. "You think that's gonna be something you need to deal with? Her parents on your ass like that?"
Zane rubbed the nape of his neck. "What you mean?"
"Nah, I'm just saying," Cam sighed. "She's going to Michigan, heading out early. Her family sounds borderline sociopathic. Her world big as shit, right now. Changing rapidly. And don't get me wrong, you got next. We're gonna smoke shit this season. But, does she have enough space for you?"
Zane looked out over the empty field, now quiet except for the flutter of nets and distant hum of cicadas.
"I love her, man. And she said she wants everything with me."
Cam leaned back on his palms, sweat threatening to leak into his eyes. "I'm with you until the wheels fall off, brother. I just don't want you to get screwed trying to fit into someone else's mold."
Zane didn't answer, just nodded in understanding.
He watched Malik angle out of the locker room, something in his gait that spelled troubled. The younger guys joking around the sidelines without a care in the world.
Everything around him was changing - Bianca was leaving, Malik couldn't stand him, senior year at Upper St. Clair was on the horizon.
Weight. That's all he could feel. Some he had asked for. Some didn't ask for his permission - it demanded his attention.
The wind moved through the goalpost chain, rattling like distant chimes, as the first real day of summer shifted into evening.
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redsox907
- Posts: 3837
- Joined: 01 Jun 2025, 12:40
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Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 6164
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
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Captain Canada
Topic author - Posts: 6164
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Invictus
Season II | Chapter VIII: Good Thing
Zane was halfway down the stairs when he heard his grandmother call his name - not sharply, not urgently. Just with the steady tone that always meant she had already made up her mind.
"Baby. Come sit down for a minute."
He stopped, exhaled through his nose, and turned back toward the kitchen. The late afternoon sun cut through the blinds in warm slats, lighting up the table where Mary sat with a folded dish towel in her hands. She wasn't cleaning. She rarely was when she held it like that.
His grandfather, Felix, wasn't in the room. The house felt quieter without him, like it always did when he was still down at the shop.
"What's up?" Zane asked, dropping into the chair across from her, his weight causing a small cry of noise, scraping across the floor.
She studied him for a moment - really studied him - the way she always did when she was measuring how much he could handle. He had grown used to it over the years. Those looks carried him through funerals, bad report cards, and nights when football didn't feel like it was going to save him after all.
"You've got too much time on your hands," she said finally.
Zane blinked, caught off-guard. "I'm training for the season. And I'm studying too."
"I know you are," she replied quickly, almost defensively. "And I'm proud of you for it. But there's a difference between staying busy and being grounded."
He frowned slightly.
She leaned back in her chair. "You're going to start spending a few hours every day at the shop with your grandfather."
The sentence landed heavier than he expected.
Zane shifted in his seat, as if the idea was moving his body itself. "The auto shop?"
"Yes."
Every muscle in his body tightened just a little. "Every day?"
"A few hours. We'll revisit the schedule when school starts back up. Weekends when you can."
He hesitated a moment, choosing his next words carefully. Mary was naturally kind, but it was unwise to ever take his kindness for weakness. "Why?"
She didn't bristle at the question. She rarely did. "For one, it'll keep you focused. You're at that age where ide time turns into bad decisions if you're not careful." Zane postured up as to debate, but Mary flashed him a look as if to say, 'don't bother.'
"And two, university visits aren't always free, Zane. Travel accommodations - hotels, food, gas - it adds up. You want to see all of these schools? You're going to have to help make it happen."
He nodded slowly, but his unease didn't fade.
"And three," she added, quieter now. "Your grandfather won't say it, but he could genuinely use the help."
Zane glanced toward the hallway that led to the front door, then back to her. "I don't know, Grandma. Me and Grandpa aren't really-"
"I know," she said gently. "That's part of why I'm asking."
A long silence settled between them.
Zane loved his grandmother in a way that felt instinctual, effortless. She had raised him with warmth and structure, laughter and prayer. Felix, on the other hand, had always been more distant - present, reliable, but emotionally reserved. Conversations rarely went deeper than Steelers scores and whether Zane had eaten enough.
"I just don't want to get in his way and do something stupid." Zane muttered.
She reached across the table and took his hand. "You won't. And even its its a little awkward at first, doesn't mean it's wrong."
Zane sighed. "Alright, you got it."
She smiled, squeezing his hand once. "Good."
The first day at the shop smelled like oil, rubber, and stale coffee.
Zane stood near the entrance, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, watching Felix move through the narrow space with practiced efficiency. He didn't rush, but he didn't drag his feet either. No wasted motion. He greeted customers by name, asked about their kids, and listened more than he spoke.
Zach had never seen this side of him.
"Grab a rag," Felix said without looking up. "And don't touch anything until I tell you."
Zane cracked a small smile. "Yes, sir."
The hours passed quicker than he expected. He swept floors, handed over tools, learned the difference between parts he had never given a second thought to before. Felix explained things in short, precise sentences, never condescending, never overly warm.
By the end of the first week, Zane's shoulders ached in a way no amount of upper body workouts could measure up to. By the end of the second, he found himself looking forward to the routine. The new challenges that were presented.
He watched his grandfather work - how he stayed late without complaint, how he treated every customer like they mattered, how pride lived quietly in the craftsmanship rather than in words.
And Felix watched Zane too.
He noticed how his grandson showed up early directly from whatever workout he had chosen to do that morning, without being told or prompted. How he asked questions and actually listened to the answers. How he put in honest work without cutting corners. Meticulous with his yearning to constantly learn.
One afternoon, as they closed up shop, Felix paused by the door and looked at Zane a little longer than usual.
"You did good today," he said.
Zane met his eyes, surprised by the weight behind the words. "Thanks, Pops."
Felix nodded, turning off the lights.
As they stepped into the fading daylight, something unfamiliar settled in Felix's chest - warm and steady. Pride. Not loud. Not boastful. Just sitting there.
And for the first time that he could recall, Zane felt it too - under the grease and long hours. A quiet understanding began to take shape.
Zane was halfway down the stairs when he heard his grandmother call his name - not sharply, not urgently. Just with the steady tone that always meant she had already made up her mind.
"Baby. Come sit down for a minute."
He stopped, exhaled through his nose, and turned back toward the kitchen. The late afternoon sun cut through the blinds in warm slats, lighting up the table where Mary sat with a folded dish towel in her hands. She wasn't cleaning. She rarely was when she held it like that.
His grandfather, Felix, wasn't in the room. The house felt quieter without him, like it always did when he was still down at the shop.
"What's up?" Zane asked, dropping into the chair across from her, his weight causing a small cry of noise, scraping across the floor.
She studied him for a moment - really studied him - the way she always did when she was measuring how much he could handle. He had grown used to it over the years. Those looks carried him through funerals, bad report cards, and nights when football didn't feel like it was going to save him after all.
"You've got too much time on your hands," she said finally.
Zane blinked, caught off-guard. "I'm training for the season. And I'm studying too."
"I know you are," she replied quickly, almost defensively. "And I'm proud of you for it. But there's a difference between staying busy and being grounded."
He frowned slightly.
She leaned back in her chair. "You're going to start spending a few hours every day at the shop with your grandfather."
The sentence landed heavier than he expected.
Zane shifted in his seat, as if the idea was moving his body itself. "The auto shop?"
"Yes."
Every muscle in his body tightened just a little. "Every day?"
"A few hours. We'll revisit the schedule when school starts back up. Weekends when you can."
He hesitated a moment, choosing his next words carefully. Mary was naturally kind, but it was unwise to ever take his kindness for weakness. "Why?"
She didn't bristle at the question. She rarely did. "For one, it'll keep you focused. You're at that age where ide time turns into bad decisions if you're not careful." Zane postured up as to debate, but Mary flashed him a look as if to say, 'don't bother.'
"And two, university visits aren't always free, Zane. Travel accommodations - hotels, food, gas - it adds up. You want to see all of these schools? You're going to have to help make it happen."
He nodded slowly, but his unease didn't fade.
"And three," she added, quieter now. "Your grandfather won't say it, but he could genuinely use the help."
Zane glanced toward the hallway that led to the front door, then back to her. "I don't know, Grandma. Me and Grandpa aren't really-"
"I know," she said gently. "That's part of why I'm asking."
A long silence settled between them.
Zane loved his grandmother in a way that felt instinctual, effortless. She had raised him with warmth and structure, laughter and prayer. Felix, on the other hand, had always been more distant - present, reliable, but emotionally reserved. Conversations rarely went deeper than Steelers scores and whether Zane had eaten enough.
"I just don't want to get in his way and do something stupid." Zane muttered.
She reached across the table and took his hand. "You won't. And even its its a little awkward at first, doesn't mean it's wrong."
Zane sighed. "Alright, you got it."
She smiled, squeezing his hand once. "Good."
***
The first day at the shop smelled like oil, rubber, and stale coffee.
Zane stood near the entrance, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, watching Felix move through the narrow space with practiced efficiency. He didn't rush, but he didn't drag his feet either. No wasted motion. He greeted customers by name, asked about their kids, and listened more than he spoke.
Zach had never seen this side of him.
"Grab a rag," Felix said without looking up. "And don't touch anything until I tell you."
Zane cracked a small smile. "Yes, sir."
The hours passed quicker than he expected. He swept floors, handed over tools, learned the difference between parts he had never given a second thought to before. Felix explained things in short, precise sentences, never condescending, never overly warm.
By the end of the first week, Zane's shoulders ached in a way no amount of upper body workouts could measure up to. By the end of the second, he found himself looking forward to the routine. The new challenges that were presented.
He watched his grandfather work - how he stayed late without complaint, how he treated every customer like they mattered, how pride lived quietly in the craftsmanship rather than in words.
And Felix watched Zane too.
He noticed how his grandson showed up early directly from whatever workout he had chosen to do that morning, without being told or prompted. How he asked questions and actually listened to the answers. How he put in honest work without cutting corners. Meticulous with his yearning to constantly learn.
One afternoon, as they closed up shop, Felix paused by the door and looked at Zane a little longer than usual.
"You did good today," he said.
Zane met his eyes, surprised by the weight behind the words. "Thanks, Pops."
Felix nodded, turning off the lights.
As they stepped into the fading daylight, something unfamiliar settled in Felix's chest - warm and steady. Pride. Not loud. Not boastful. Just sitting there.
And for the first time that he could recall, Zane felt it too - under the grease and long hours. A quiet understanding began to take shape.
