A gentle breeze rustled through the streets of Kansas City, carrying the lingering coolness of spring. Yet, around every corner, the anticipation of summer's heat was beginning to build.
Lance found himself pleasantly surprised. The man who had escorted him out of the bar had done so with purpose, leaving Lance both amused and thoughtful.
"There's no need to apologize," Lance said with a smile. "I'm a fan myself, and I know how deeply fans care about their teams. The more love there is, the harsher the criticism."
David, the bar owner, mulled over the words for a moment. "The more love, the harsher the criticism," he repeated softly, before a chuckle escaped his lips. "You're absolutely right. It's like a big family, isn't it?"
After a brief pause, David continued.
"Chris just needs a job—that's all. He's got bills to pay and no way to pay them. It's like his head's about to explode."
David nodded toward the long-haired rocker.
"And Charles... last week, his wife packed up and left in the middle of the night. He's been unemployed for six months, and he's barely scraping by. With next month's rent looming, and his younger brother killed in Iraq three months ago... well, he's still trying to pull himself together.
"He works here and picks up odd jobs at the auto shop, just trying to get through one day at a time.
"Just a little longer," David said, his voice heavy. "All they need is to hang on a little longer."
David sighed deeply. "For a lot of us, the Chiefs are our only hope. The only thing that gives us strength to push through the hard times."
Lance looked up, studying this man he had just met. Beneath the weariness in David's eyes was a quiet resilience—a belief that refused to falter, even when life was at its darkest.
The spring breeze might have brought a touch of green to the city, but the air still carried a lingering chill of economic hardship. Underneath the city's calm exterior, sorrow and decay slowly ate away at its foundation. Yet, its people stood their ground, weathering the storm.
A faint, bittersweet smile appeared on Lance's face.
"Just one playoff win," Lance murmured, his voice steady. "One would be enough."
David turned to look at Lance, his brow furrowed.
"Maybe some people will say, 'What's the big deal about one win? Shouldn't we aim for a Super Bowl?'" Lance continued, his eyes fixed on the quiet streets ahead.
"But you know, when we were young, we believed every game was a matter of life and death. We thought one victory or one defeat could change everything. Then, as we grew older, we realized life is so much more complicated than that.
"A win won't guarantee smooth sailing in life, just like a loss won't tear it apart. But we still believe in football. We still pour our hopes into the game.
"Because one win is enough to remind us to keep fighting, keep striving, and keep moving forward. It's enough to give us a glimpse of light and the belief that we can build something better with our own hands."
Lance paused, his voice trembling slightly. "One playoff win would be enough.
"For people like us... it's more than enough."
David stood silent, his lips pressed together as he tried to find the right words. Finally, he let out a quiet sigh.
"I'm sorry," David said. "I shouldn't have burdened you with this."
Shaking his head, David forced a smile. "Welcome to Kansas City. Believe me, we'll always have your back. Even if you can't see us, we'll always be here, standing with the Chiefs."
He paused, his voice turning lighter. "Don't worry about Chris. Just focus on being yourself, following your own pace. The Chiefs are always a complete team, no matter what."
"By the way, I'm David Anderson, the owner of the Old Oak Tavern. You're welcome here anytime."
Lance grinned. "Even the night before a game?"
David didn't hesitate. "Of course. Anytime. Remember, we'll always be here, standing by."
In professional sports, players, coaches, managers, and even team owners come and go. But fans—they remain.
Spring fades to winter, winter turns to spring again, but fans stay rooted, steadfast in their love for their teams.
From Tuscaloosa to Kansas City, everything was still new and unfamiliar. But Lance could already feel the warmth of home.
Charles, the rocker, had diagnosed the issue with Lance's car: the engine was toast. After discussing the situation, Charles called a repair shop to arrange for the car to be towed. In the meantime, Charles offered to give Lance a ride to his new place.
When Lance arrived, he noticed a moving truck parked outside his neighbor's house. Workers bustled about, unloading boxes and furniture.
From the driver's seat, Charles-West—his full name, as Lance learned—looked over at Lance.
"Hey, man, I still haven't quite figured out how to pronounce your name yet, but I'm working on it. By the time the season starts, we'll have it down."
Lance chuckled, throwing out a playful quip. "Why wait until the season? Preseason should be good enough."
Charles blinked, then broke into a hearty laugh. "Welcome to Kansas City!"
Just as Charles was about to leave, Lance called out, "You're not sticking around? My neighbor's a Chief, too."
Charles glanced at his rearview mirror, then shook his head. "See you at practice, man. I've already kept David waiting long enough. He's covered for me more times than I can count—I owe him."
With a wave, Charles drove off, the roar of his engine fading into the distance.
"Lance!"
A familiar voice rang out. Lance turned to see Patrick Mahomes bounding out of the house, grinning from ear to ear.
Mahomes, his new neighbor and teammate, was practically buzzing with excitement. The moving truck behind him made it clear he was still settling in.
Mahomes had texted Lance earlier, letting him know they'd be neighbors. It was a perfect setup: two rookies helping each other adjust to the NFL grind.
Unlike Lance, Mahomes wasn't alone. His longtime girlfriend, Brittany Matthews, had been by his side since high school. Though they weren't married yet, their families were close, and they were practically inseparable.
While Brittany had decided not to live in Kansas City to let Mahomes focus on his rookie season, she had taken charge of setting up his house. Her handiwork was evident in the organized chaos surrounding the movers.
As she stepped out to greet them, Brittany radiated energy. She tied her hair back with a simple headband and wore a beige floral blouse with jeans. Petite yet spirited, she exuded a youthful vibrancy.
Noticing Lance, she introduced herself confidently.
"Hi, I'm Brittany. Patrick's told me so much about rookie camp and everything."
Lance smiled. "I hope he didn't mention that night."
Mahomes: ???
Brittany: ???
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Powerstones?
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