A Cold Day in Hell - Episode 24
"Wait, you've never been to a club?" Rocco's voice rose an octave, his half-eaten slice of pizza frozen midway to his mouth. "Like, ever?"
Nadia rolled her eyes, immediately regretting her admission. The four of them—Nadia, Tamara, Rocco, and Ernesto—were sprawled across the living room of the apartment she shared with Tamara, takeout boxes littering the coffee table between them. What had started as a casual Tuesday night hangout was rapidly transforming into something else entirely.
"It's not that weird," Nadia said defensively, tucking her legs underneath her on the couch. "Some of us had better things to do in high school than try to sneak into clubs with fake IDs."
"And in college?" Ernesto asked, raising his eyebrow in a way that was becoming increasingly familiar with over the past few weeks of their casual hangouts—hanging out at the deli after her shifts, coffee runs that somehow stretched into hour-long conversations, movie nights that always included Tamara and Rocco but somehow felt like they were just for the two of them.
"I've been busy," Nadia shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. "Classes, volunteering, work—you know, actual adult responsibilities."
Tamara snorted. "Oh please, I've done all that shit and still managed to experience the joys of overpriced drinks and questionable bathroom hygiene."
"This is unacceptable," Rocco declared, setting his pizza down and wiping his hands dramatically on a napkin. "We're fixing this tonight."
"Tonight?" Nadia's eyes widened. "No way. I have work in the morning."
"You don't start until noon," Tamara pointed out, already pulling out her phone. "You know I got the hook up at Elevate too."
"Oh, that place is fire," Ernesto nodded approvingly. "Good choice for a first time."
Nadia looked between them, feeling ambushed. "I don't even have anything to wear."
"You can borrow something of mine," Tamara waved dismissively, her thumbs flying across her phone screen.
"I don't think your clothes would fit me," Nadia said, eyeing her roommate's petite frame skeptically.
"Trust me, I've got options," Tamara replied without looking up.
Nadia glanced at the clock: 9:17 PM. Her usual weekday night would be winding down by now, maybe a book or some mindless scrolling before bed. Not... whatever this was shaping up to be.
…
Vic sat on Jessica's worn couch, bouncing Yesenia gently on his knee while Jessica hunched over her textbooks at the dining table. This had become their routine whenever he was in town—him watching the baby while she studied, a quiet compromise that felt almost like family.
Yesenia cooed, reaching for his face with her tiny hands. Vic smiled, letting her grab his finger instead.
"She's getting strong," he said, breaking the comfortable silence.
Jessica glanced up, her expression softening as she watched them. "Yeah, she is."
Vic cleared his throat. "So, I've been thinking about visiting my brother next weekend. It's been a minute since I've seen him."
Jessica nodded absently, returning to her notes. "That's cool."
He bounced Yesenia a little higher, making her giggle. The sound filled the apartment, momentarily masking the tension that always seemed to linger between them.
"I was thinking..." he began, then stopped, reconsidering. Taking Yesenia to a prison visit was probably not the best idea, no matter how much he wanted his brother to meet his niece. "I’ve been thinking about a lot of things actually."
Jessica looked up again, her pen pausing mid-sentence. "Like what?"
"Like maybe coming back to LA. For good."
Her eyebrows shot up. "What about Portland? What about Keshawn?"
"Keshawn's good," Vic said, shifting Yesenia to his other knee. "He's settled in now. Besides, pretty sure he’s got a girlfriend now."
"Must be nice," she remarked quietly.
"I don’t know, I think coming back here would be a good thing, right?"
Jessica snorted, closing her textbook. "So now you're asking my permission to move back? That's hilarious."
"I'm not asking permission," Vic frowned. "I'm just…talking to you."
"That's funny, because I don't remember you asking permission to leave in the first place," Jessica said, her voice taking on that edge he knew too well. "You just packed up and bounced, leaving me with a newborn."
Vic felt his jaw tighten. "Come on, Jess. You know it wasn't like that. I've been sending money, flying back whenever I can—"
"Oh, you mean Keshawn's money?" Jessica cut in. "Let's be real, Vic. You're not paying for anything. Your cousin is."
"I work for him," Vic shot back, his voice rising despite Yesenia in his arms. "That's my money."
"Right," Jessica laughed bitterly. "You 'work' for him. Doing what exactly? Hanging out? Playing video games? Some job."
"I'm his trainer, I handle all the things around the house, make sure—"
"You're his sidekick," Jessica interrupted. "And now that he doesn't need you anymore, you want to come crawling back here like you're doing me some kind of favor?"
Vic stood up abruptly, carefully placing Yesenia in her playpen. "You know what? Forget it. I don't need this shit."
"No, what you don't need is to be a deadbeat dad," Jessica fired back, standing up as well. "But here we are."
"I pay for this whole apartment!" Vic shouted, gesturing around them. "I pay for her clothes, her food, her daycare—"
"Keshawn pays for it," Jessica corrected, her voice cold. "Not you."
Vic stared at her, the rage building inside of him. Without another word, he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.
"Where are you going?" Jessica called after him.
"Out," he replied, not looking back as he slammed the door behind him.
…
The bass at Elevate throbbed through Keshawn's chest as he leaned back in the plush VIP booth, watching Vic work the crowd. His cousin had been in a mood ever since he'd picked him up from Aunt Elly’s house, barely speaking during the drive except to suggest they hit the club.
Now, Vic seemed to be in his element, flagging down bottle girls, ordering Cognac and champagne with sparklers, inviting groups of women to join them in their section. It was a side of Vic that Keshawn rarely saw anymore—the carefree side he had briefly seen during his visits to Jessica’s apartment during his UCLA days. The irony not lost on him that she, as was usually the case, was likely the source of his frustration.
"You good?" Keshawn asked when Vic returned to the booth, followed by three women in tight dresses.
"I'm fucking great, nigga," Vic replied with a smile, "Ladies, this my boy Ke. Say what’s up to the ladies, Ke."
The women's eyes widened with recognition, and Keshawn offered them a polite nod. The truth of the matter was they probably didn’t know who he was but between his height, the chains and the private section, they knew he was somebody and soon enough, their Google and Instagram search would turn his name up. And his salary.
"You want another drink?" one of the women asked Keshawn, leaning in close,
"I'm good," he replied, raising his cup of club soda.
The woman shrugged, turning her attention back to Vic, who was already pouring champagne into flutes. Keshawn let his gaze wander across the crowded dance floor and that's when he saw her.
Through a momentary parting in the crowd, a familiar profile caught his eye. His heart skipped a beat as he leaned forward, trying to get a better look. Was it really...? No, she doesn’t like clubs. Hates them actually. Something they shared in common.
The crowd shifted again, obscuring his view. Keshawn stood up, ignoring Vic's questioning look as he moved to the edge of their section, scanning the dance floor more intently now.
…
Nadia clung to Tamara's arm as they pushed through the packed entrance of Elevate, the music hitting her like a physical force. The club was more crowded than she'd expected on a Tuesday night, bodies pressed together in a sweaty, pulsating mass.
"This is insane!" she shouted over the music.
"This is just the beginning!" Tamara yelled back, pulling her deeper into the club. Rocco and Ernesto followed close behind, Ernesto's hand occasionally brushing against the small of Nadia's back, guiding her through the crowd.
They found a small clearing near one of the bars, and Rocco immediately ordered a round of shots. Nadia hesitated when Tamara handed her one.
"Come on," Tamara encouraged. "It's your club baptism!"
Nadia looked at Ernesto, who raised his shot glass with a reassuring smile. "To popping your cherry," he said.
"To popping my cherry," she echoed, tipping the liquid into her mouth. It burned going down, but the warmth that spread through her chest wasn't entirely unpleasant.
As the night progressed, Nadia found herself loosening up, the music and the atmosphere sweeping her along. She even let Ernesto pull her onto the dance floor, his hands resting lightly on her hips as they moved together.
"See?" he shouted in her ear. "Not so bad, right?"
She laughed, surprised by how much fun she was actually having. "I guess not!"
They returned to Tamara and Rocco, who were now openly staring at something across the club. Nadia followed their gaze to a VIP section where bottle girls were delivering champagne with sparklers.
"Holy shit," Tamara tapped Nadia on the arm. "Is that who I think it is?"
Nadia squinted through the dim lighting. Through the crowd, she could make out a tall figure standing at the edge of the VIP section. She couldn’t quite see his face but it was him. She could tell just from the way he was standing.
"Who?" Ernesto asked, looking in the same direction.
"He used to play at UCLA," Rocco explained, pointing not-so-subtly. "Your dad like coached him or something, right?"
Tamara elbowed her boyfriend in the ribs, who looked at her with a confused look on his face.
Nadia said nothing, her mouth suddenly dry. Of all the clubs in Los Angeles, how had they ended up at the same one as Keshawn on a random Tuesday night?
As if sensing her thoughts, Keshawn's gaze swept across the club, eventually landing on their small group. For a moment, their eyes met, and Nadia felt the world around them fade away. He looked surprised, then something else—something Nadia couldn’t quite decipher, her feelings just as mixed.
Panic surged through her. What should she do? Wave? Pretend she hadn't seen him? Walk over?
Without thinking, she turned to Ernesto, who was still talking to Rocco about the basketball player neither of them realized she knew intimately.
"Hey," she said, her voice stronger than she felt.
He turned to her, eyebrows raised in question. "Yeah?"
Nadia didn't respond with words. Instead, she reached up, slid her hand behind his neck, and pulled him down into a kiss. His surprise was evident in the momentary stiffness of his lips, but he quickly recovered, his hands finding her waist as he kissed her back.
When they finally broke apart, Nadia couldn't help but glance back toward the VIP section. Keshawn was no longer looking in their direction. He had turned away, his attention back on his cousin and the women surrounding them.
A confusing mix of relief and disappointment washed over Nadia. Had he seen? Did he care? And why did it matter so much to her either way?
Highlight Game: March 31st, 2026 - Intuit Arena, Los Angeles, California
(33-44) Portland Trail Blazers at Los Angeles Clippers (41-35)POR | 25 | 26 | 29 | 38 | 118 LAC | 19 | 22 | 27 | 28 | 96
Starting Lineups
Keshawn Chase - G - James Harden
Shaedon Sharpe - G - Bogan Bogdanovic
Deni Avdija - F - Bradley Beal
Michael Porter Jr. - F - Kawhi Leonard
Donovan Clingan - C - John Collins
WHERE ARE YOU GOING, JAMES?!
F Keshawn Chase: 31 pts, 18 reb, 17 ast, 2 stl, 12-17 FG, 7-8 FT G Shaedon Sharpe: 22 pts, 7 ast, 8-14 FG, 3-6 3PT, 3-3 FT F Deni Avdija: 7 pts, 6 reb, 6 ast, 3-7 FG, 1-2 3PT F Michael Porter Jr: 23 pts, 6 reb, 9-23 FG, 5-18 3PT C Donovan Clingan: 12 pts, 8 reb, 6-7 FG, 0-1 FT G Scoot Henderson: DNP (strained hip)
G James Harden: 25 pts, 6 reb, 5 ast, 4 stl, 9-24 FG, 7-15 3PT C John Collins: 22 pts, 6 reb, 3 ast, 11-12 FG F Kawhi Leonard: 16 pts, 7 reb, 6 ast, 7-15 FG, 2-3 3PT
Remaining Schedule vs. New Orleans Pelicans (38-38), at Denver Nuggets (36-40), at San Antonio Spurs (40-35), vs. Los Angeles Clippers (41-35), vs. Sacramento Kings (41-35) Season Stats 18.5 PPG, 7.9 RPG, 6.7 APG, 1.3 SPG, 0.9 BPG, 2.3 TOPG, 48 FG%, 30 3PT%, 79 FT%
A Cold Day in Hell - Episode 25 (Season Finale)
"I don't know why you're making this into such a big thing," Keshawn said, tossing another folded shirt into his suitcase. "I didn't even want to go."
Candace stood by the bedroom door of his Los Angeles apartment, arms crossed, watching him pack.
"That's not the point," she said, her voice controlled despite the fire in her eyes. "The point is that I specifically gave you space because I knew you were nervous about playing a new position. And instead of telling me what you were actually doing, you let me think you were with your family."
Keshawn zipped up a side pocket on his suitcase with more force than necessary. "I was with my family. Vic wanted to go out, so we went out. It wasn't planned."
"You could have texted me," Candace pressed. "I would have understood. Hell, I might have even joined you."
"I thought it would be quick," Keshawn replied, not meeting her eyes as he continued packing. The truth was, he wasn’t sure why he didn’t text her. He just didn’t.
Candace scoffed. She uncrossed her arms and moved closer, perching on the edge of the bed near his suitcase. "Look, I'm not trying to control you or whatever. But we barely see each other as it is, and when you finally come to LA, I get what, some early morning dick and a few hours before you have to go?"
Keshawn paused, guilt flickering across his features. "I know but we'll have plenty of time this summer, you know? The season's almost over, and then I'm all yours."
Candace's laugh was sharp and humorless. "Summer? Keshawn, it's festival season. I'm booked every weekend from May through August."
"That's different," he said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.
Candace went very still. "Different how, exactly?"
Keshawn knew he'd stepped into dangerous territory, but there was no backing out now. "I mean, it's not like you're playing. You know, you’re performing so we can still hang out and stuff."
"Just performing?" Candace stood up, her eyes narrowing. "What do you think I do, Keshawn? Stand there and look pretty while a track plays?"
"That's not what I meant," he backpedaled, but the damage was done.
"No, please, tell me what you meant," she pressed, her voice rising. "Because it sounds like you don't take what I do seriously."
"Of course I do," Keshawn insisted, though a part of him recognized the half-truth in his words. He respected her hustle, her fame, but he'd never really sat down to consider the craft behind her music. It was just... there. Something she did. "I just meant your schedule is more flexible."
"More flexible?" Candace repeated, incredulous. "I have a team of twenty people depending on me showing up. I have contracts. I have obligations. Just because I don't have a coach telling me when to be somewhere doesn't make what I do any less real or important."
Keshawn sighed, running a hand over his short hair. "I didn't say it wasn't important."
"You didn't have to," Candace replied, her voice suddenly quiet. "It's written all over your face."
The silence between them stretched, taut and uncomfortable. Keshawn resumed packing, methodically folding a pair of jeans that didn't need folding. Candace watched him, her anger slowly melting into something sadder, more resigned.
"Do you even want to do this?" she asked finally.
Keshawn's hands stilled. "Do what?"
"This. Us." She gestured between them. "Because sometimes it feels like I'm the only one trying to make it work."
…
Ronnie blinked awake, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar ceiling. He turned his head to find Angela already up, sitting cross-legged on the other side of the bed, laptop balanced on her knees.
He watched her silently, taking in the curve of her back, the way the morning light caught in her hair. There was something mesmerizing about her focus—the intensity she brought to everything, whether it was activism, school work, and apparently, as he had learned the night before, sex.
Sensing his gaze, Angela glanced over her shoulder. "Stop staring at me like a creep," she said, a small smile playing at her lips.
"How long have you been up?" Ronnie asked, his voice still rough with sleep.
"Couple hours," she replied, turning back to her screen.
Ronnie stretched, then shifted closer to her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pressing his lips to her shoulder. "You could have woken me up."
"And risk you distracting me?" Angela laughed softly, but she leaned into his touch. "No, thanks."
His hand slid up her side, under the oversized t-shirt she wore. "I could distract you now," he murmured against her skin.
Angela's typing slowed, her breathing changing subtly. "I really need to finish this."
"You sure about that?" Ronnie's hand moved higher, his touch deliberate.
Angela's eyes fluttered closed for a moment, then snapped open as voices drifted in from the kitchen—Paige, laughing at something, followed by a deeper voice responding.
"Sounds like Paige has company," Ronnie whispered, starting to pull away.
Angela caught his hand, keeping it where it was. "Don't stop," she said, mischief in her eye. "You know how many times I’ve had to sit through, literally, her and whoever fucking?"
"You're terrible," Ronnie laughed, but his hand resumed its exploration.
…
Stefan burst through the door of his parents' home in Long Beach, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The house was empty as he slammed the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment, his heart hammering in his chest.
The weight in his jacket pocket felt impossibly heavy. He pulled out the gun, the metal cool against his palm, and placed it on the kitchen counter with trembling hands.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he muttered, pacing the worn linoleum floor.
His mind raced, replaying the last hour in frantic, disconnected flashes. Had he worn gloves when loading the gun? He tried to remember, the panic making it hard to think straight. Yes, he had. He was sure of it. He had to be.
Stefan forced himself to take a deep breath, then another. His heart rate began to slow. The initial panic started to subside, replaced by a strange, almost giddy relief. He'd done it. He'd actually fucking done it.
A smile spread across his face as he moved to the living room, collapsing onto the worn couch. He pulled a small baggie from his pocket, along with rolling papers. His fingers, steadier now, worked methodically to roll a joint.
As he lit up, a sense of calm washed over him. Maybe this was the answer—the way to get back what he'd lost. The basketball dream was dead, but there were other ways to make it. Other ways to be somebody. Maybe this was his journey after all.
…
The visiting room at the prison was more crowded than Vic had expected. He sat across from his brother, the plastic chair uncomfortable beneath him. Trey looked older than when Vic had last seen him, embarrassed by how long it had been.
"It’s just always the same shit," Vic finished, running a hand over his face. "I’m trying my best to be there for them but it’s always about when I’m not there though."
Trey nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "You ever think maybe she's right? About you not being there enough?"
Vic bristled. "I ain’t no fucking deadbeat, nigga, I know that. You know how many bitches is ass out, working two, three jobs to take care of their shit? She got her bills paid, money in her pocket? Shit, if that’s a deadbeat, sign me up for that."
"Your motherfucking daughter don’t know about no motherfucker bills, nigga," Trey scoffed. "You think Lil’ Malc give a fuck about that paper that Charlene get every month?"
The words hit Vic like a physical blow, another uncomfortable reminder of how long it had been since he had checked in on his nephew and Charlene. He looked down at the scratched table between them, unable to meet his brother's gaze.
"Put that little baby first," Trey continued, his voice low and urgent. "Before everything else. Before whatever little Ke got going on, before the money, before your pride. None of that shit matter but your motherfucking family."
"It's not that simple," Vic argued, though the protest sounded weak even to his own ears.
"It is that simple," Trey insisted. "Everything else is just noise."
Vic nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The truth in his brother's words was too raw, too close to home. It had been years, if ever, since they shared that many words.
Trey leaned back, his gaze drifting to the other inmates and their visitors. "Like, look at me, Blood," he said after a long moment. "I done put everything on the line for this shit and for what?”
"I mean Stacks coming in here talking about this, that and what’s his name," Trey shook his head. "You got niggas from Insane, niggas from this, niggas from that, niggas from all over fucking breaking bread like niggas ain’t go to war over this shit? Niggas ain’t bled for this? Niggas ain’t die for this? Went to jail for this shit? Lost they homies behind this? I don’t get it, man."
He turned back to Vic, his eyes suddenly intense. "Niggas like Stacks, though, they understand it? It's just money to them, and with that, it's always going to be easy for him, you know? You can always follow the motherfucking cheese. Shit, a fucking rat can do that. But the heart of this shit? The soul? The reason why we was banging in the first place? You've gotta find that shit, Blood, and you gotta work at it. But I don't know, there ain't no need for niggas like me in this game no more, maybe there never was."
Ronnie played the LONGEST long game to crack Angela. Jesus Christ
Knew Keshawn was going to fumble that. She a few levels beyond what he ready for. You can't go from scared of pussy to that in a few months.
Stefan a stepper now, huh?! (SN: I've been rewatching Snowfall and nooticed you ganked a scene re: Stefan )
About time someone give the game to Vic. Still think Trey gonna try to orchestrate Stacks getting offed. Or maybe he's about to turn Muslim. Inshallah
Saying the man was playing the long game when he was cracking several other people and had a whole girlfriend is crazy lmao what's meant to be is meant to be
fumble is a stretch. hasn't even gone to the booth for review yet.
and yeah, i 100% jacked that scene where Leon went to see the investigator. I literally named the private eye Leon for a reason lmao
I'm watching Oz right now so maybe a Muslim turn is in the cards indeed
Highlight Game: April 12th, 2026 - Moda Center, Portland, Oregon
(44-37) Sacramento Kings at Portland Trail Blazers (33-48)SAC | 21 | 30 | 24 | 19 | 94 POR | 31 | 28 | 35 | 19 | 113
Starting Lineups
Dennis Schroder - G - Keshawn Chase
Zach Lavine - G - Shaedon Sharpe
DeMar DeRozan - F - Deni Avdija
Keegan Murray - F - Michael Porter Jr.
Domantas Sabonis - C - Donovan Clingan
F Keshawn Chase: 31 pts, 18 reb, 17 ast, 2 stl, 12-17 FG, 7-8 FT
G James Harden: 25 pts, 6 reb, 5 ast, 4 stl, 9-24 FG, 7-15 3PT
)
G Zach LaVine: 32 Pts, 2 Reb, 12-26 FG, 6-13 3PT
@ 
(33-45)
(38-41)
(43-37)
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