Damaged Petals.

[djp73]

[Soapy]

All that progress Connie has done about to unravel when she find out Skylar pregnant for Brice. Grippy sock vacation incoming.

How much of them lyrics was Brice singing?

a lot of build up for Brice to get BTA'd

Unless...you played the game, then wrote the story retro so it would match hmm. Also, Brice singing rat-ass Gunna tracks

Connie gonna implode when she connects the dots. prescription dependency loading

yeah that's what i said yesterday in the chatbox too, kinda scared to play the game after all of this build up, ngl

i play the games as i write the updates #ethical

Brice rapping Gunna lyrics to hype up his team had me rolling

HIM ALL ALONG!

let's get to it!

[Soapy]

Season 6, Episode 6
Brice regretted it as soon as it left his hands, piercing through the autumn sky as it approached the sea of extended hands. He let out a sigh of relief as the ball fell harmlessly to the ground. Well, relatively harmlessly.

“Sorry ass nigga!" yelled one of Notre Dame’s defenders as they trotted back to their sideline.

Brice ignored him as he unstrapped his helmet, remembering LaPenna’s words as he slowly jogged off to his own sideline. This was going to be a long game.

…

Brice’s eyes widened as he saw the middle of the field open up, just as the Notre Dame defender had beaten his right tackle. He set his feet and put some air under the ball, worried that a defender might bat it down at the line of scrimmage. Corey caught the ball at the sticks, converting the third down and picked up some extra yardage before being tackled around Notre Dame’s 35-yard line.

Brice took his time as he jogged down the field, looking at Notre Dame’s sideline until he made eye contact with their head coach, Marcus Freeman. No words were exchanged. None were needed.

…

The corner did a poor job of hiding the blitz, his foot placement inconsistent with the previous snaps as Brice went into his cadence. The ball was snapped and Brice extended the ball out for the running back, Justin, but quickly pulled it back and fired it off to his tight end in the flat who was left quickly unopen by the blitzing corner as he walked into the endzone for the touchdown.

"Touch-fucking-down!" Brice yelled to no one in particular as he walked through the bodies of dejected Notre Dame defenders, surrendering the first score of the game.

…

"Fuck," Brice muttered as he watched the ball sail through the upright, giving Notre Dame their first lead of the game. He tossed his tablet to the ground as he picked up his helmet, finding Coach Henson a few steps away, talking to the offensive line.

"We have to be more aggressive in the green area," Brice told him, "We have to take our shots when they’re there. I have a read on them, I’m telling you."

Coach Henson never looked up but did nod as he kept his attention on the offensive line, giving them some pointers ahead of the drive.

"Put the ball in my fucking hands," Brice said firmly as he put on his helmet, "You paid me for a fucking reason."

…

Both Tom and Liz held their breaths as they saw the linebacker take off from the second level untouched, barreling down towards their son. It didn’t seem to bother Brice as his eyes remained fixed on his slot receiver as he broke out on the route, turning his head just as Brice fired the ball towards him.

"Fuck yeah!" Tom yelled as the small contingent of Purdue fans erupted in cheers for the touchdown.

Liz’s eyes remained on the field, only letting out a small sigh once Brice peeled himself off the turf with helps from his teammates and joined the rest of the team in celebration.

Tom looked around him, exchanging high fives with the other Purdue fans while making eye contact with a few of the Notre Dame fans that had been quite intentional about making their presence felt.

"All fucking day, buddy!" he yelled at one of them, "Better get used to this fucking shit."

"Tom," Liz pulled softly on his shirt.

"All fucking day, my guy," Tom kept nodding his head, "Talk that fucking talk now, motherfucker."

…

Brice shook his head in frustration as he exchanged a limp high five with the kicking team as they took the field, looking up at the jumbotron for a replay of his last pass which fell incomplete. He reached the sideline and quickly asked for his tablet, slamming it in frustration as he watched two missed reads on the last two plays.

"We’re good," Coach Henson told him but Brice kept shaking his head.

"We need fucking six when we’re in the fucking redzone," he slammed his helmet next.

…

The defender’s helmet drove right into Brice’s back with so much force that it nearly caused him to lose his grip on the football as he was wrestled to the ground. Brice did his best to stifle his groan, not wanting to let the defender have the satisfaction as the 300-pounder took his time getting off him, using his forearm to drive Brice further into the turf.

"Stay the fuck down, bitch," the defender was careful to keep his voice low, weary of the nearby official.

Brice was helped to his feet by his offensive line as he looked to the sideline and back to the scoreboard with time ticking down in the first half. Up a touchdown, he was more than satisfied to go into the half with the lead but the coaches signaled in another play, eager to get more points before having to kick it to Notre Dame to start the second half.

Brice barked out orders before lining up behind the center, receiving the ball as he dropped back. He wanted to go to Corey on the crossing route but hesitated as he felt the pocket crumbling and took off running, wanting to pick up yardage to make it a manageable heave into the endzone on the final play. He was so focused on the defender in front of him that he was unaware of the defensive end that had peeled off and hustled back into play, grabbing his waist just as he was able to collide with the linebacker.

The ball come out instantly, leading Brice helpless as he was driven into the ground by two defenders. He couldn’t even tell where the ball was as hit the turf but the groundswell of cheers from the Notre Dame fans was more than enough.

"Talk that shit now, fuck nigga!" yelled a defender as Brice slammed his fist into the ground in frustration, unable to bring himself to make eye contact. He sheepishly walked to the sideline, his head low as teammates gave him words of encouragement that fell flat on his ears.

…

Most of Purdue’s offense was still finding their seat after coming out of halftime when the crowd let out an audible groan, causing them to yank their head towards the jumbotron to the sight of D’Mon, one of their teammates, dashing through the offense with the ball in his hands. Brice hurried to get his helmet as he ditched his tablet, strapping it on as the rest of the sideline celebrated.

He wasted no time taking the field, being one of the first offensive players out there as the defense was celebrating in the endzone. Coach Henson was already in his ear, signaling in the next play call as the offensive huddle took shape around him. He relayed the play to his teammates who quickly broke the huddle, eager to extend their touchdown lead while Brice wanted to make up for his fumble.

The opportunity would come right away as the defense dropped back into cover two man, the middle of the field opening up as Brice took off from the pocket, running right into the student section as he crossed the endzone.

He broke into the Griddy dance as he taunted the fans, pointing at them with a smile on his face as his teammates joined in celebration. He pushed away from them and closer to the brick wall that separated them, holding his arms out as they showered him with boos and middle fingers.

The next touchdown would play out in similar fashion with Notre Dame continuing to drop into coverage, daring Brice to beat them with his legs which he did, taking off from the fourteen yard line. The safety came crashing down but had too much grass to cover, meeting Brice, along with a teammate, just as he got to the goal-line but the bigger Brice was able to power his way in.

"Lace your fucking boots up, fuck boy!" Brice screamed into their faces before the referee separated them, their lead extend to two touchdowns.

The defense would get their payback, or at least as close at they were going to get it. Trailing by ten with nine minutes left, two defenders converged on Brice on third and thirteen as he tried to scramble for the first down, stopping him short.

There would be no taunting or celebrating from the Notre Dame players, feeling the game slipping by and the upset looming. Brice wasn’t happy either, slamming the ball into the turf as he saw the referee hold up his fist to signal fourth down.

Up in the stands, Liz might have been the angriest of the bunch, kicking the back of the seat in front of her.

"He can’t keep taking these fucking hits!" she cursed to no one in particular as Tom tried to soothe her by rubbing her back, "He’s going to get himself hurt."

…

Brice paced the sideline with helmet in hand as soon as the ball went through the upright to make it a one score game with five minutes left, rallying the offense around him.

"Lace your fucking boots," he told them, "And drop your fucking nuts. We got a fucking ballgame now and they’re not going out like some sad hoes in front of their fans. We’re going to have to take this fucking game from them."

The ensuing drive was anything but, gaining some positive yards but being hampered by penalties which ultimately forced a punt.

"Lock the fuck in," Brice told them as they came off the field, "Don’t let these fucking bitches off the fucking hook."

The defense and special teams held their part of the bargain, first with the punt team pinning Notre Dame inside their seven-yard line and then the defense forcing a three-and-out and with a solid punt return to put Brice and the offense on the field at the 19-yard line with three minutes to go, needing a field goal to make it a two point game.

"Protect the football!" the coaches reminded them, serving as a bad omen.

On the first play, with Justin out the game, Jaheim came in at running back and broke through a tackle, only to fumble a few steps later which was recovered by Notre Dame. Brice instantly fell to his knees, the pressure mounting. He could feel his father’s eyes on him as he got back up, jogging over to Jaheim as he consoled him and led him to the sideline.

"We’re going to need you, bro," Brice told him, although he didn’t have much belief in his own words, scanning the sidelines to see if Justin was available again.

The defense would once again hold up, giving Purdue the ball with two minutes left and the ball on the 41-yard line with a chance to ice the game with some first downs and optimally, a touchdown. Purdue came close with Jaheim totting the rock a few times to get them into the redzone, burning Notre Dame’s timeouts before kicking a field goal with 1:41 left in the game.

…

Brice grabbed his tablet off the bench, his fingers swiping aimlessly across the screen without actually seeing anything. The plays from earlier in the game blurred together as he stood there, aware of every sound around him but processing none of it. The crowd noise swelled with each Notre Dame completion, each chunk of yardage gained.

"Come on, D," someone shouted next to him.

Brice kept his eyes on the tablet. He watched without watching, his jaw tight as they crossed midfield, then into Purdue territory.

The stadium shook with noise. Forty-yard line. Thirty-five. Thirty.

Brice's thumb moved across the tablet screen, pulling up nothing in particular. His heart hammered against his ribs but his face remained blank, expressionless. He could feel people pacing around him, could hear the defensive coaches screaming into his headset.

Twenty-five yard line. Twenty. Fifteen. Notre Dame snapped the ball and Brice watched their running back, Rocco Franco, take the handoff and cut left. The hole opened up. Franco accelerated through it, breaking one tackle, then another, diving across the goal line.

The stadium erupted. The sound hit him like a physical force but Brice didn't move. He kept staring at the tablet, his grip tightening on the edges until his knuckles went white. Twenty-five seconds left.

"We good, we good," someone was saying, but the words sounded far away.

Notre Dame lined up for the onside kick. Brice set the tablet down, still not looking at anyone, not making eye contact with any of his teammates who were gathering near him. The ball was kicked, tumbling end over end. Bodies crashed together. The pile formed.

The sideline exploded. Players jumped, screamed, grabbed each other. Coaches pumped their fists. The celebration swirled around Brice like a tornado but he stood in the center of it, motionless. His chest felt tight, too tight, like he couldn't get enough air. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and he blinked them back.

He reached down and picked up his helmet with slow, deliberate movements. His fingers found the facemask, gripping it as he walked through the chaos toward the field.

The grass felt soft under his cleats as he took his position behind center. The noise from the crowd had changed now, eerily quiet. He could see their faces in the student section, the same faces that had screamed at him all game, now watching their season slip away before it even started.

The ball was snapped into his hands and he pressed his knee into the turf. The tears came harder now but he kept his head down, kept his face hidden. The sideline rushed the field but Brice stayed down for an extra second, the ball still clutched against his chest. When he finally stood, his teammates were everywhere, jumping, hugging, crying. He walked through them, the ball still in his hands.

He saw Marcus Freeman cutting through the crowd, heading toward him with his hand extended. Their eyes met for a brief moment. Brice looked away and picked up his pace, weaving between celebrating players and dejected Notre Dame fans who had spilled onto the field.

"Brice!" Freeman called out, but Brice kept walking.

His stride lengthened. The tunnel entrance was ahead, dark and quiet compared to the chaos behind him. The corners of his mouth twitched. A smile started to form despite everything, despite the tears still streaming down his face.

He looked up past the stadium lights, past the scoreboard, up to where the sky was darkening into evening.

"Thank you," he whispered.

It started as a chuckle, then built into something bigger, something he couldn't control. He was laughing and crying at the same time, his shoulders shaking as he walked faster toward the tunnel. The ball felt heavy in his hands, solid and real.

"Thank you," he said again, louder this time, still laughing. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

---

#25 PUR (1-0, 0-0) | 7 | 10 | 17 | 3 | 37
#3 ND (0-1, 0-0) | 7 | 3 | 7 | 17 | 34

PUR QB Brice Colton (Soph): 27-33, 253 Yds, 2 TD, Sacked 2x, 7 Car, 37 Yds, 2 TD, fumble (lost)
PUR HB Justin Marshall (R-Sr): 17 Car, 93 Yds
PUR WR Corey Smith (R-Soph): 8 Rec, 97 Yds, TD
ND QB J.J. Kohl (R-Sr): 18-37, 305 Yds, TD, INT, Sacked 3x
ND HB Rocco Franco (R-Soph): 15 Car, 118 Yds, 2 TD
ND WR LeVeon Earl (R-Fr): 7 Rec, 146 Yds, TD

Season Stats 27-33, 253 Yds, 2 TD, Sacked 2x, 7 Car, 37 Yds, 2 TD, fumble (lost)
Remaining Schedule vs. North Carolina, vs. Miami of Ohio, vs. #8 UCLA, vs. Illinois, at #11 Oregon, at #14 Nebraska, at Maryland, at #4 Ohio State, vs. #17 Penn State, vs. Michigan State, vs. #22 Indiana

[redsox907]

comeback code almost ruined the story

we'll cheer for Brice in honor of senor Jimmy

[Caesar]

Notre Dame let this fuckboy beat them?

[Captain Canada]

Heisman type of victory despite the 41-step drops

[Soapy]

comeback code almost ruined the story

we'll cheer for Brice in honor of senor Jimmy

when it got 34-24 i had straight bubble guts

Notre Dame let this fuckboy beat them?

your turn, Mr. Guerra

Heisman type of victory despite the 41-step drops

that first drop back was fucking outrageous on the rewatch

[Soapy]

sorry djp

[Soapy]

i just don't post at the end of pages

[Soapy]