Though it had been a struggle, and took hours of chaos and rushing about, the Samuels' family arrived at LAX at noon, just in time to catch their flight. Ty had quickly found out that travelling with his family was a pain, and he hated to think how much worse the experience would've been if everyone hadn't been in a good mood because they were going to enjoy travelling first class for the first time.
Thankfully, they made it through security and to their gate without issues. Having the first call for boarding was a help, and once they were all in their plush, spread-out, comfortable seats, everything was serene and perfect; Ty made great use of the complimentary noise-cancelling headphones.
Even before the plane took off, he was locked in, still studying the Longhorns' tape. It was as if nothing else existed in his world. He'd been obsessing over it for most of the week, studying as much as he could. When it was time for kickoff, he wanted to know Kentavious's on-field habits more than even Kentavious knew them. Yet would knowing the flawless habits of a machine give him any edge?
"If he's flawless, so am I."
Ty kept telling himself they were the same. The only difference between them was their paths to the championship, and that's where Ty had the edge—Kentavious hadn't been challenged. Never. Not once in his entire life.
How could he have been? He came from a family that could afford to fly their enemies out in first class, give them the best hotels, and throw extravagant parties. What hardships could someone who had grown up with everything have faced? What had Kentavious had to fight for? Nothing. Everything Ty had, he'd earned by scratching, clawing, and fighting for it. When Kentavious was pushed for the first time, when he met someone who wouldn't bend and scrape for him, he would crumble.
Ty was content with this knowledge. His victory was practically inevitable. Yet he couldn't rest on his laurels. He was so enthralled with his study he didn't even taste the meal provided during the flight.
At DFW Airport they found another man in an immaculate suit, looking like he was cosplaying Hitman, waiting for them. The sign he held above his head had their family name scrawled across it in bold, neat letters. Yet the greater tell he was there for them was the young woman standing beside him—Precious had a suitcase by her side, and phone in hand.
Mother squealed when seeing her, rushing over to embrace her eldest child; the golden child, the one who was here to steal Ty's limelight again.
All but Megan abandoned Ty's side to rush to Precious, though Devon and Father weren't exactly rushing. Once hugs and greetings were exchanged, Precious moved over to Ty, hugging him tight.
'There's my superstar little brother!' She squeezed harder, and he lightly patted her back.
'Hey sis,' he said.
She laughed as she stepped back, giving Megan a similar hug, though her eyes were still on him. 'You know, I'd thought we'd have to wait until you were in the NFL before you started flying us around the country to watch you win championships. Its nice to know you're giving us an early taste. I'll try not to get too big of a head.'
Her words stunned him for a second. He never would've guessed she out of everyone was the only one other than Meg who truly believed he was making the league. '…It's just some rich asshole doing this. Trying to psyche me out or something.'
'Yeah but you'll be that rich asshole in the future, ahahah. And we wouldn't be here without you, little bro. I'm proud of you.'
He couldn't stop himself from stepping forward and hugging her again after she released Meg. When the others flocked back in, fawning over her, asking how she was feeling and how the baby was doing—a subject that still irked Father—Ty was still beaming; his smile remained in place throughout the drive to their hotel, which was a gleaming tower of glass that pierced the sky almost as deeply as any other, only beaten by two other such spires; the insides were just as decadent and extreme with curving metallic walls and spiralling display pieces that played tricks on your eyes to make their shape and construction look impossible.
Even once the family had made it to their room, Ty was still smiling, even if more faintly.
"Room" wasn't the correct word as it ended up being larger than their home. There was a kitchen you could only dream of; a living room that had plenty of space for even the twins to run around without getting in anyone's way, and a TV large enough for an in-home theatre; two gleaming, perfectly polished bathrooms, both having spas alongside their roomy showers; it even had a wide balcony with a view normally reserved for movies; the only downside was there was still just three bedrooms, as spacious as they were.
Ty wandered over to the balcony, settling his bag down just before the glass barrier. The railing ended at his chest, smooth and rounded; it made a comfortable armrest as he looked out upon the world—HIS world. Everything in sight would be his one day. They'd know his name, know his greatness. It'd be different than the fame he had at school. They wouldn't incorrectly assume he was just like them, that HIS greatness was THEIR greatness. They would know he was a champion with NO equal, on or off the gridiron.
A firm knock pulled his attention to the front door. Everyone else was still exploring the suite, or unpacking. The knock came again, insistent, but restrained. Leaving his bag where it was, Ty answered the door, finding their driver had returned.
'Tyrese Samuels,' he said, smiling. As practised as that smile was it still looked out of place on his otherwise impassive face. 'This is for you. A reminder of your invitation.' He offered a card.
Ty took it, thanking him. The card was a reminder for the press conference, which was only a couple of hours away.
As much as it seemed more a thing you'd find before a prize fight, or some dramatic real-life soap opera like MMA or pro-wrestling, if it gave Ty another chance to drive home his greatness, and tell the world exactly how he was going to dismantle Kentavious and the Longhorns, he was all for it.
At Mother's insistence, he showered again, preparing for the night. He wore the same fit he had to the New Year's Gala, most importantly his padlock chain sat front and centre. Once it was time for the conference, another employee came to escort him to it. The whole family trailed after him; nothing had said they couldn't come, and as both parents said, if it was so important, then they were going to support their son. For his siblings, it was most likely the possibility of food or getting on TV that made them come along.
There was no drive, not even a long walk from the elevator which was only a step across the short hall from their front door. Stretching off from the expansive lobby was a conference room that looked excessively simple in this gaudy place.
The ceiling was tall, but not to the gigantic proportions of the lobby, and the walls were made of sturdy, well-polished dark oak. The floor was a carpet as white and soft as snow. What torture would it be to keep it as clean as it was? Just before the far wall—with a backdrop of the championship banner displaying the Dons' logo of a drunk-looking mobster from the '50s with his dukes up, facing off against the Longhorns' logo of a golden bull prancing before a cutout of Texas—was a short, black stage, with a long, black-clothed table stretched across it.
The room was full of multiple rows of simple, wooden, fold-away chairs, most filled. Even the walls were lined with people—security, photographers, employees of the hotel.
A mixture of perfumes and colognes mixed with whatever scented oil the wood walls had been dressed in, making for an oppressive, stuffy assault on the nostrils.
Everyone turned to look at the new entrants. A loud, excited buzz filled the room as eyes settled on Tyrese. His escort shepherded him and his family around the chairs, directing Ty up onto the stage by some steps at its side, and his family to some empty seats in the front row.
Ty took his seat on stage, a little mic stood on the table before him. Neither Kentavious was present. Making him wait? Wanting the last arrival? Their psychological battle was well and truly underway, yet Ty was deep behind enemy lines, practically a pawn within their palm. All he could do was stab and cut away at their fingers, fight his way to freedom before they crushed him.
'I'm so proud of you, baby!' Mother said, holding up her phone, taking a picture or video of Ty; he didn't smile for her camera. Chuckles came from the crowd around them.
The buzz remained, though more attention was being directed towards Ty's family. No questions yet, but looks, even a few snaps from other cameras. Vicky was trying to look at every flash at the same time; Devon was trying much the same, though whilst also maintaining an uncaring, nonchalant facade; Mother and Father had an arm around each other, a picturesque couple; and Meg was left to keep the twins in their seats. At least she had help for once in the form of Precious.
If this was what it took for them to be a normal family, maybe Ty should have a press conference before EVERY game.
As Ty thought of that impossibility, the double doors opened again, and once more all heads turned towards them. Kentavious Rice Junior walked in.
His outfit was simple, but pristine. A black turtleneck on black pants, with splashes of gold from a weighty chain that dangled off his neck, and a thick watch on his wrist, accentuating the natural gold of his eyes, which saw no-one other than Tyrese Samuels.
Kentavious Senior came next, but Ty didn't see him. His eyes never left Junior's, up to the point his tall, well-dressed rival sat next to him on the stage; Senior took his place behind his son, a shadow over him as proceedings got underway.
'Sorry to keep you waiting,' Senior said. 'Let us not delay any further.'
A barrage of questions came forward. A jumbled, indecipherable, verbal web. Ty broke away from Junior's gaze, slouching back in his seat, disinterested. A psychological counter that stunned Junior. Though Ty looked at nothing in particular, he kept his focus on his periphery, and through it, caught the flicker of confusion and anger that flashed across Junior's features.
Senior pointed out one reporter near the middle of the crowd, and the sea of hands fell in unison with the descent of silence before the question.
'Tyrese, Kentavious, what are you both looking forward to most about this matchup?'
Ty leaned forward, answering quickly. 'To crushing this fraud and proving I, alone, am the greatest of this generation.'
Cheers came from Father and Meg, along with more chuckles from the reporters. Ty kept watch of Junior from the corner of his eye, satisfied with the frown he spotted.
Junior smoothed his expression before answering. 'Most of all, I look forward to finding out if Tyrese is a worthy rival.'
'I'm standing before you, aren't I?' Ty said.
'Many have before,' Junior said, turning his frozen, gold eyes upon Ty. 'None have been worthy.'
'I appreciate the fire and desire, boys,' Senior said, resting a heavy hand on his son's shoulder, 'but there's a lot of people here with a lot of questions for you, I'm sure.' He grinned down at Ty. That grin taunted him; begged him to retort. Ty bit back his venom.
Another reporter was picked out, another question. This one was specifically for Ty: 'This'll be your first tournament game not within Allegiant Stadium, whereas the Longhorns have played all two of their previous games at AT&T—how does it feel coming into the game as the away team, and what have you done to prepare for a potentially hostile crowd?'
"What a stupid question."
'Nothing. There's nothing to prepare for. I don't care if the idiots in the stands are screaming my name, or baying for my blood. If it doesn't stand on the gridiron, it doesn't matter.'
'Damn right, lil bro!' Devon yelled. 'Us against the world.'
Ty scowled at him, even as Father and Vicky agreed with the sentiment. So now he and Devon were "us" were they?
More barely restrained laughter filled the room; Ty's eyes flicked around, daggers flying from them at those giggling idiots in the crowd.
'Tyrese!' The next reporter snapped for his attention like he was a dog. 'Earlier last year your team suffered back-to-back losses. Are you worried those games exposed a weakness the Longhorns could exploit?'
'Minor setbacks,' Ty snapped. 'You learn and you grow from your mistakes, as my teammates and I have done. Whatever weaknesses you think those loses "exposed", I assure you they're nothing but strength now.'
'That's right, baby. You're so strong, now!'
Ty's brow furrowed. Mother's words felt as hollow as the lobby just outside. His irritation spiked with each laugh that echoed off the walls.
'Is there any fear going up against an undefeated time like the Longhorns knowing you've already been beaten twice?' another reporter asked.
Did they know nothing of the Dons and their struggles? Practically every other team, if not all of them, had been undefeated at the start of this tournament, and the Dons had run through all who stood in their way. What difference did it make? And he already said their previous losses had only made them stronger!
Just as he opened his mouth, another reporter—their high-pitched voice familiar to his ears—took his prolonged silence as permission to interject another question. 'Tyrese. You're a volatile player who can provide some incredible highlights that turn a game on its head, but you often need some time to warm up, relying on your teammates to carry your burden until you find that spark and flip that switch. Are you worried such a tactic won't work against a team as strong as the Longhorns, and you'll be blown out of the water before you can even get your feet under you?'
One of Ty's eyes twitched as he locked onto Julia Skye's smug expression. An ambush. That's what this was. He was behind enemy lines, but he only now realised just how deep. How could he expect a fair interview in the heart of a dictatorship?
His scowl cut across the table, settling on Senior, who mirrored Julia's smug satisfaction.
'Don't listen to them, baby,' Mother said. 'You gonna whoop that white boy's ass.'
His family agreed, though their voices were mere pebbles in an ocean of dissenters.
'You're the best, big brother!' Meg shouted.
The laughter of the vultures and jackals surrounding them could be contained no longer.
Ty slammed his fists onto the table, shooting up from his chair so suddenly it fell over with a thud as loud as a gong. All other noise cut off in an instant.
'You dare question ME when I've proven myself time and time again no matter who stands before me? I have prevailed against any and every foe set against me, no matter the odds. Even the tiniest mistakes I've made, the few slip ups on an otherwise impeccable record I have corrected and avenged with utter dominance! And yet you treat ME as the underdog, as the one with something to prove instead of this PRETENDER who has been coddled every step of the way through his pitiful career, who walked across the easiest and shortest path, and has never had to fight for anything a day in his miserable life!'
He turned to Junior, staring down at him with eyes as cold, dark, and deep as the Great Nothing of space. Horror bubbled just beneath the surface of Junior's expression, but no fear touched his eyes; he didn't flinch, not even blink.
'You're nothing more than an overhyped nepo-baby,' Ty whispered, yet his whisper cut across the otherwise silent room, as clear as his shouting had. 'A nepo-baby who will NEVER escape his daddy's shadow. And tomorrow, I'm going to prove it in front of the entire world when you step into mine.'
Ty stalked off stage, and out of the conference room, a flood of voices calling after him with more questions now they'd shaken free of their stupor. He ignored them, not looking back, not even to check if his family was following.
An employee hurried to his side, though didn't reprimand him. It seemed they were there simply to make sure he made it back to his room, but he had no intention of returning to that gilded cage just yet.
'Where the fuck's the gym in this polished pillar of shit?' he barked.
He had the perfect motivation for a workout, and with the energy filling him; overflowing from him, he could've powered the whole tower burning it off.
###
Kentavious Senior called an end to the press conference immediately after the doors swung shut on the fleeing Tyrese. A smile stretched across his face as he guided Junior out of the room through a side door, which led to a staff-only stairwell.
'That was perfect. Perfect!'
'Shut up,' Junior hissed.
Senior scoffed. 'Don't tell me that fool boy's taunts got to you.'
Junior stepped aside, glaring at his father. 'His words? How could I be upset about them after what you just did?! That whole charade was more embarrassing than anything he could've said, and it was all one big set up to try to make Tyrese—someone who's done nothing aside from being a little brash while following his dream, a dream I share! Playing football at the highest level—look like a piece of ignorant, low-class trash!'
He panted, having poured all his contempt, fury, anguish, and even guilt into his rant, into his cold-hearted stare down. When was the last time his heart had raced this hard on the field? Had it ever? And yet Father simply looked at him like he was a dog who had failed to sit when commanded.
'Your passion clouds your mind. There's no such conspiracy to make Tyrese look bad. You can't blame me if that fool makes himself appear that way every time he's in front of an audience. What's next? You'll blame me for the near-riot he started on New Year's Eve?
'I KNOW this was your intention. Don't deny it, Father.' Junior stepped forward, a shaky finger pointed like a dagger under his father's chin. 'Stay out of my business, stay away from my opponents. Promote me as much as you like—show me off like a prize pony, I don't care—but you let me handle my rivals on the field.'
Senior's eyes were impassive, blank as if they were nothing more than rounded gems of gold. He stepped forward, chest pressing against Junior's forcing him back.
'Or what, Junior?'
Junior's glare hardened, but there was no winning here. He held no power. Forget about a stacked deck, he held no cards at all.
Senior sneered down at him. 'You're as pathetic as your mother. Eliminate this weakness before it costs you in the biggest moment of your life.'
Senior turned away, heading back through the door they'd came, leaving Junior with no target to unleash his boiling rage upon. Oh, how he'd wanted to hit his father for bringing her into it, and now he was alone he wanted nothing more than to smash a hole through the nearest wall; a formidable hunk of brick.
His fist was poised and clenched… but he held back. What would that accomplish? Yes, it would spite his father if he shattered his fist right before the championship game… but his match against Ty… if they'd gone through all this, and there was no payoff? Would that be the worse fate for them both? It'd hurt he and Ty more than it did Senior.
His whole body trembled with the breath he expelled. Leaning against the wall, his fist unfurled. Most of all, he was mad at himself. How useless. He'd done NOTHING. Nothing to stop that charade. Nothing after it either.
'Nepo-baby…' he whispered.
He would not lose and be stuck with that moniker; stuck in Senior's shadow forever. No; he would make it so the name Kentavious Rice was synonymous with HIM, not the failure of a man who came before.
'Sorry, Tyrese, but you're in my way.'
He composed himself, starting up the stairs. It was unfortunate. Even after all the words—harsh but ultimately true, for now—Ty had said, Kentavious held no ill-will towards him. Yet Ty was in the way, and what was in his way, needed to be crushed.
Kentavious would do just that, and prove through nothing but his own merit that he was the best. When they met again, he would not hold back; would not hesitate.
'Put up a good fight, Tyrese. You could be the one to join me on the mountaintop. You're so close, I can feel it … yet you strive to even greater heights, don't you? You're not looking for a rival, but dominance. Even if it is a lonely throne it is still MINE. I won't give it up, easily. Come and take it!'