#carter001

ty blinked down at his phone screen as he pulled up to a stop in front of the destination right as siri helpfully told him he'd arrived. he squinted at the sign and looked back at his phone. that couldn't be right. could it? he sent off a quick text to his agent to double check the address, but he just confirmed that he was, in fact, in the right place.

truthfully? karaoke wasn't ty's thing. he was more of a sci-fi novel, horror movie, trying a new cupcake recipe kind of guy when he wasn't trying to stop pucks. he sort of wished he was back in his apartment explaining why deena johnson deserved to be in the best final girl discussion than showing up for a blind date his agent had set up for him, but here he was.

squaring his shoulders, ty stepped through the doors to the bar and let his eyes adjust to the change in lighting before approaching the bar. "hi. i'm-"

"ty king. hell of a game last weekend." the guy held his hand out for a fist bump and ty returned it awkwardly before asking if his agent had set something up at the mostly empty establishment. it was three p.m. on a thursday, so probably not prime karaoke time. the owner directed him to one of the rooms used by smaller groups for their own personal jam sessions and ty took a deep breath before heading inside.

it was, blissfully, empty. there was a large screen set up along one wall and a bunch of cozy seats on the other. he took one of them on instinct. should he be acting casual? or was it rude to be sitting when she arrived? as he was going through the pros and cons to each, the door opened and ty popped to his feet and stuck his hand out like this was some kind of business meeting. which...it kind of was, actually.

"hi. you must be carter." he went for a reassuring grin. "loved you in the it follows sequel." nevermind that that was the singular project of hers ty had seen until a binge session a week ago. "i'm tyler. king." his grandma was the only one who called him that. what was wrong with him? "uh, ty, if you want."

Cleo: Do you know how much time you have to think when you're at the police station?

Cleo: So I've been thinking

Cleo: What if I become a policewoman? Then I'd have the right to speed and no one would tell me anything. And policemen would be my friends and they would be like "okay you can go"

initially, jo didn't know why the diner she spent every sunday morning in was so packed, but as soon as she walked through the door, she realized it was the semi-annual pancake cook-off, which meant patrons got half off of their meal if they ordered pancakes with it and voted on the best one before leaving. she considered ducking out for a less crowded breakfast spot, but jake's practice would only run an hour longer and she was starving. the scent of maple syrup was calling her.

the place really was packed, though. every stool on the bar she usually occupied when she came here was occupied as were most of the tables. jo scanned the restaurant for a few seconds before zeroing in on someone dining alone. with a confident smirk she slid into the booth opposite them and reached for a menu. 'don't look now," jo said, peering at carter over the menu and gesturing with her chin. "but that group of kids over there is staring at you. you know them?"

The game is tomorrow.

After their morning practice, Grant will climb into the bus with the rest of them, make the long trip to Jacksonville, and play his heart out on the court. There’s nothing else he can do to prepare, because there isn’t anymore time. Either Grant’s done enough, or he hasn’t. Either he’s good enough, or he isn’t. They’ll find out tomorrow. Right now, the best thing he can do is sleep.

Sleep, unfortunately, is an impossibility. 

Grant’s used to sharing a bedroom, but tonight every single rustle or cough or god-forbid snore has him on edge. It takes hours before he gives up; before he grabs his sweatshirt, and escapes to the shared living area of their room. Fox orange might be an eyesore at this hour of the night, but Grant slips it on on anyway. He’s been on the team long enough that the garish colors are soothing more than anything else.

If he’s not going to sleep, then he might as well work. Grant tugs out his battered laptop, intent on going over every note he has on the Jacksonville Dolphins for the umpteenth time, but the laptop, at least, must’ve been able to sleep tonight, because it takes forever to boot up. Grant leaves it for a brief moment.

He’s halfway through heating up water for tea when he hears footsteps. Grant spins around, unhappy to be caught off guard even in his own home, but it’s only Carter. He runs a hand over his head, curls cropped short, and sighs. “Yes, I know how late it is. If I woke you, I’m sorry.” Grant trails off, well aware of how exhausted and irritable he must seem right now—and worse, while he hopes it’s not visible, he’s afraid underneath all of that. 

Because if they truly don’t win this game, what happens next? It’s the question he’s been avoiding all season, shoving the worst of the fear off till their next game, but he’s running out of chances. That knowledges coalesces into dread, heavy and nauseating, in his gut. It’s shown in more intensity than normal this week, even for him. He’s skipped most of his classes for extra practice this week, something he swore off after his disastrous freshmen year. He’s snapped at the Foxes during drills. He’s been terse and tense and now, on top of all that, he can’t sleep. He just wants to get out on the court, and be done with it. He wants, badly, to get out on that court and win. 

@chcrrybcmb