"He's not my dad.", Franklin said in between bites of his burger. "We're brothers."

"Well excuse me then, I thought he was.", Nicole responded, with a tone that made her sound offended. They were seated with Jason at a picnic table in a local park, eating burgers and fries whilst holding their conversation. The trio had started hanging out more and more as the school year had started, and were celebrating the fact that Coach Taylor had officially named Frank the starter for tomorrow night's game.

"Don't let him hear you say that." Frank gave a light smile, as if he was internally laughing at his own joke.

"Why? He's old enough to be.", Jason said, mouth full of food. Frank raised an eyebrow at him.

"He's 23.", he said. "And I'm 16. I don't think a lot of people have kids when they're seven."

"He looks way older." Nicole had finished her burger and was lighting up a cigarette whilst speaking, causing a frown from Brooks, who was sitting next to her.

"Definitively don't let him hear you say THAT.", Frank said with a grin.

"Whatever." Nicole shrugged and turned her head to blow smoke away from the table. "Still, I don't get why you're living with him."

"That is a bit strange.", Jason said, briefly looking at Frank before turning his attention back to his burger and taking a large bite.

"Well, maybe." Any semblance of a smile had disappeared from Frank's face, and he suddenly seemed extremely focused to eat his burger, not even making eye contact with Nicole or Jason.

"So why don't you live with your parents?" It was Nicole who asked the 'million dollar-question', and Brooks looked up from his burger when she did, not sure whether or not he should tell her to shut up. By the time he saw Frank's blank stare, it was too late for him to say anything.

"Can't.", was his only answer, before picking up his phone and looking at the time. "18.48. Shit, Coach is probably already at my place." He scrambled to eat the last of his burger and throw the paper in a nearby trashcan.

"See you tomorrow?", Brooks said. Frank just held up a hand as an answer, as he ran off toward the bus stop.

"Can't...", Nicole said. "What do you think that means?" She looked at Jason, who looked to have his face completely full of hamburger remnants.

"Probably that he actually can't live with them for some reason." Jason swallowed his food. "Or he doesn't want to talk about it, and thinks you're a total bitch for asking." He shrugged.

"Thank you, Dr fucking Phil." She gave him and angry look as she took one last drag of her cigarette and tossed it to the ground.

Coach Taylor was very much waiting for Frank as he arrived home 15 minutes later, sitting on the porch with Oscar, holding a conversation.

"...Always to the far side of the field, away from the hash, and if you're inside the 20, you might get a touchdown on the corner route.", Oscar said, smoke leaving both his nose and mouth as he spoke.

"You know, for someone who doesn't like football, you sure know a lot about it.", Eric replied, impressed by the man's knowledge.

"Just because you stop doing something doesn't mean you forget everything about it." Oscar pulled a hand through his mid-length, brown hair and looked toward Frank. "Evening, brother."

"Aren't you a little late?", Taylor said, without looking mad.

"Yeah, sorry." Franklin nervously scratched the back of his head, as if he was expecting to get yelled at.

"Don't be.", his brother said, dropping his cigarette in an empty beer bottle. "Eric is a pretty decent conversationalist." He stood up, opening the door to the house.

"And your brother knows a whole lot more about offense than I expected." The coach had turned his attention toward Frank, and was suddenly holding a playbook in his hands. "30-yard line, left hash, defense playing 4-3, showing blitz."

"Deep drop, screen right.", Frank said. Taylor nodded, and then pointed for him to sit down. Their discussion would last for hours.

Bright lights. Screaming people. Sweat-drenched uniform. Despite the potential outside distractions, Franklin was calm as could be when he called a play in the huddle, clapped once along with everyone else, and then stepped up to the line. They were up 24-21 with 1.45 remaining in the game, but it was third down, the clock was stopped, and they were outside of field goal range.

Seven yards, Frank thought. Just seven more yards. He didn't show any sign of weakness, but was about a straw short of a nervous wreck on the inside.

The ball was snapped. The defense's blitz was picked up. Open receiver right, but would get taken down ahead of the marker. Open tight end. Throw. Ball in air. Caught. Game.

The pass had gone for 11 yards, making Frank end his day with 239 through the air and, after he'd taken three knees, 19 rushing. Coach Taylor had been clear on the importance of spreading the ball around, and it had worked. Everyone had gotten their touches, and filled their purpose.

It wasn't the game, the five incomplete passes or three sacks that got to Frank. It was the celebration afterward. Parents ran out to congratulate their sons, girlfriends to tackle their boyfriends. And then there was himself. Getting pats on the back from other players as he walked toward the locker room with his helmet in his hand. Oscar stopped him and gave a brief hug, but let go when he realized what his brother had to be feeling.

Coach Taylor was the first to enter the locker room when Frank was already in there, sitting on a bench, head in his hands.

"You alright, son?", Eric said, walking up to his young quarterback, a situation that reminded him all too much of Matt Saracen's outbursts of bottled up emotions. But Frank simply looked up, blank stare on his face.

"Probably not.", he said, with a shrug.

"What's the problem?" Eric sat down next to him, leaning forward so he could see the young mans face.

"It's..." Frank seemed to be near an outburst of crying, but stopped himself. "Everyone out there, they're happy. They're with their parents, and whatever."

"And your parents aren't here." Eric's heart was heavy as he spoke, as the situation had to feel rotten for Frank.

"Well... Yeah." A single tear fell from the corner of Franklin's eye. He wiped it away and sat up, suddenly 'better'. "Sorry about that coach." He gave a small smile.

"You're gonna be alright, kid." Eric patted him on the shoulder, and stood up. Just at that moment, the rest of the team and coaches started pouring in to the locker room. A rhythmical drumming filled the room, as the team was clapping against their helmets whilst shouting "Price!" over and over.

It took a while for them to quiet down, but when they did, they were all lined up in a half-circle around Frank and Coach Taylor, who was holding the game ball.

"You've earned this." He held the ball toward Frank, who accepted it with both hands. Then Eric spoke again. "Clear eyes, full hearts."

"Can't lose!" The team screamed.

Watching the game had once again opened Oscar's eyes for the sport. He'd tried hating it after he got hurt, but it seemed to pull him in every time he came in contact with it. So finally, he surrendered. As he sat in his car, waiting for Frank, smoking his third cigarette, he finally came to terms with the fact that football would always be part of his life. It's not like it was the worst thing in the world, after all. It was a fun sport to watch, even though he probably had a longer attention span than the target audience. But that was just something that gave him time to do what he was really good at; reading defenses.

It had been one of his most important tasks while playing at TMU, especially after Taylor left to coach his old team again. At one point, the head coach had even said they'd be willing to try him out as an offensive coordinator if the playing career didn't work out. But that offer had come and gone, and now he was making it easier for old men in suits to create spreadsheets. At least it was honest work, he told himself. And besides, there was never any guarantee that he'd actually be good at playcalling, mainly because a lot of his reads came from being on the field.

He was about to get lost further in his thoughts when Frank entered the car and sat down in passenger seat. The younger brother was, aside from his sports bag, holding a battered football, which Oscar could only assume was the game ball.

"So you got it, huh?", he said, turning on the engine.

"Yeah." Frank gave him a faint smile as he buckled his seat belt. The radio came on a split second later.

"Well, I've just seen the footage from tonight's local game, Pioneers versus the Delaware Stars, and my oh my, have the Pioneers got some talent.", the voice said. "I mean, both Martinez and Collins are continuing on last years success, but this young quarterback, Frank Price, he's something special." The announcer kept babbling about football as they drove homewards, sitting silently. Oscar was the one to break the silence.

"I'm proud of you, bro.", he said.

"Can we go see dad?", Frank asked. Then they were both silent again.


Eric hated art shows. A bunch of full-of-them-selves newly rich, young couples and aging so-called 'intellectuals'. And they all treated him like an idiot, snickering behind him when he actually took the time to look at one of the paintings. It was like being back in high school, only with him being one of the nerdy guys instead of the quarterback.

The shows only redeeming quality was the fact that it allowed him to spend time with his daughter and son-in-law, who seemed happy as ever.

"Dad, you have to look at this one.", Julie said, pulling him toward a large sculpture as Matt disappeared away with a man in a suit. He looked up at the concoction of metal and some sort of animal hide, trying to make some sense of it.

"It's nice.", he said, looking around for his wife. Julie laughed at him.

"It doesn't make any sense.", she said, still smiling wide.

"It makes perfect sense.", a man beside her said. "It's called pigskin, so I'm going to assume it has something to do with football and how people distort the world views of the players."

"Deep.", Julie said in a sarcastic tone, possibly brought on by the fact that she realized that the skin was real.

"Very.", the man said, turning toward them with his hand stretched out. "Alec Verner."

"Eric Taylor." The coach shook his hand. "My daughter Julie. Her fiances company is arranging this." As soon as he'd spoken, Eric realized that it could be interpreted as him bragging, but it was too late to do anything about it.

"Ah, Matthew." The man nodded. "He certainly has done a lot for some of our younger artists."

"Yours?" It was Julie who had spoken.

"Yes." The man nodded again. "I'm headmaster at Temple, he has bought a lot of art from some of our graduates. Now, Coach Taylor, how is the team doing?"

"They're doing well. Won the opener last night." Eric shrugged, unfazed by the fact that the man knew who he was. Temple also rung a bell, as a local college that had a football team.

"Good to hear." Verner smiled and held out a business card. "In case it doesn't pan out." Eric took the card, and the old man walked away.

"Potential employer?", Julie said.

"Maybe." Eric put the card in his pocket, and they continued walking around.

"So, in short: depending on whether or not my boss thinks it's worth it, I might be manager for a dealership in Pittsburgh this time next year.", Matt said, with a light smile. He'd stopped stammering as much, possibly due to him becoming more confident. Julie, Matt and the Taylor parents were seated around a table at a restaurant, much like when the two youngsters had try to convince them that the engagement was a good idea.

"And it means we'll live much closer." Julie looked legitimately happy, although a glimmer of doubt shone through her eyes.

"Well, that's great!", Tami said, looking at Eric, who had his patented stern face on.

"What about school?", he said, his eyes fixed at his daughter.

"I only have this year left, so I'll be done way before we'd even think about moving.", she replied.

"And there's a lot more jobs for college graduates in Pittsburgh, it's a growing city.", Matt said.

"Well.", Eric leaned in over the table. "Looks like you two have put some thought into this." They nodded.

"And it would be nice having you closer by.", Tami said, smile shining bright.

"Alright then, Matt, hope it works out." Eric raised his glass. The others did the same, and they all took sips from their drinks.

"What about you dad?", Julie said as soon as she'd put her glass down. "That Verner guy?"

"From Temple?" His wife seemed excited.

"That's amazing, Mr Taylor.", Saracen said.

"He just gave me his card." Eric had hoped his words would quiet down the others excitement, but to no avail.

"Come on honey, we all know you only signed a two-year contract with the Pioneers."

"Yeah dad, you have to call him!" The Taylor women stared at him until he bent.

"Alright, fine! I'll call him. Jesus." A slight laugh escaped from both Tami and Julie, as the food was brought in.