"David."
"David…"
Beyoncé's voice faded into the distance, like a long blade scraping across the floor, sparks flying in every direction, her fury filling the air.
At last, the game room fell quiet.
Lance looked at the chaos around him, unsure if it was real or a dream. He stood up and walked toward the pool outside.
Kelce, floating like a jellyfish underwater, surfaced when he spotted Lance. "Is she gone?"
Lance shrugged. "Still patrolling the territory."
Panicking, Kelce glanced around nervously. "We need to get out of here, fast."
Lance nodded. "I also think you should get out of there."
Kelce was confused, then looked down—realizing far too late that he was still soaking in the pool.
"Ah—aaah! This is the 'Love Pool'… damn it!"
"Oh God, I drank some! I actually swallowed some!"
"Ugh!"
From the poolside, Lance took two steps back, avoiding Kelce's attempts to pull him in. Seeing the grin on Lance's face, Kelce was utterly crushed.
Later, even aboard the private jet, Kelce kept sniffing his shirt in distress, whispering to Lance, "...It doesn't smell anymore, right?"
Lance, exasperated, replied, "It never did. But if it bothers you, go rinse off again. Though your hands already look like raisins."
Kelce had already washed himself four times. But clearly, his trauma was psychological. Once again, he headed to the jet's bathroom.
Lance couldn't help but laugh. "This must be the most frequently used inflight shower in history."
Ariana Grande cast him a mischievous smile. "Are you sure about that?"
Lance: "Uh…"
Grande burst into laughter.
Wait—what was she doing here?
They were now on Jay-Z's private jet.
Mahomes was completely passed out, curled up on a sofa like a baby. Nothing in the world could wake him now.
Beyoncé and Jay-Z were in the plane's private suite having what must've been a deep conversation. Whether it was due to soundproofing or cabin pressure, not a single word leaked out.
How had it come to this?
Simple: Beyoncé had been leaving Beckham's "Garden" just as Lance and company were waiting for a cab.
She offered them a lift—direct to New York.
"We're heading home," she said.
And so, off they went—this time flying north.
But there's a missing piece to this story.
While Kelce was taking yet another shower, Lance had gone looking for Mahomes, and ran into Beyoncé, also searching. Eventually, Lance found Mahomes and carried him out. Beyoncé never found Jay-Z.
Tired and worn out, Beyoncé paused beside Lance, who was tending to Mahomes. He'd been the only one not to flee in terror earlier, which left an impression on her. For once, the powerful queen of pop showed a softer side.
They made small talk.
Unexpectedly, Beyoncé noticed something—a subtle detail, a sliver of light between panels—and followed it to discover a hidden room where Beckham and Jay-Z were hiding.
Lance, wisely, didn't stay to watch their embarrassment. As tempting as it was, some things are better unseen if you want to stay friends.
He rallied Kelce and carried Mahomes, planning to leave on their own.
But Beyoncé offered them a ride—
A private jet ride.
Lance didn't decline.
As for Grande—she was another surprise.
When Lance saw her aboard the plane, both of them were taken aback.
"You're that… tall girl."
"And that's what you look like."
They spoke in unison. With just one joke, Lance lightened the mood—even Beyoncé raised a questioning eyebrow at Grande and sized her up curiously.
Tall?
Was Lance sure he had the right person?
Lance spread his hands. "Hope my post-helmet face didn't disappoint. If you need to fix your makeup, I'll close my eyes."
After all, it was late, and the alcohol was flowing—makeup was bound to be smudged.
Grande folded her arms. "So, you think I need makeup?"
Lance didn't flinch. "Not at all. I just wondered if we were close enough for you to go barefaced in front of me."
Beyoncé gave Grande a knowing look.
Grande had no comeback.
That little jab earlier had been her tiny revenge.
During the flight, Lance and Grande passed the time bantering, keeping things light and fun. It was like a mini party in the sky—until they finally landed.
The cost?
Kelce passed out, too.
Lance was the last one standing—alert and awake.
With help from Beyoncé's security, he hauled both Kelce and Mahomes into his apartment. And oddly, despite the exhaustion, sleep eluded him.
The house was empty. Alan and Sue were still in Minneapolis. Lance, through a strange twist of fate, was already back in New York.
He was utterly worn out—but too restless to sleep.
It had been ages since he'd pulled an all-nighter. His organs felt like they were smoldering—not painful, but unable to calm down.
So, he stepped outside and wandered through Manhattan, waiting for the sunrise.
He lost himself in Greenwich Village and ducked into a 24-hour diner near the Hudson River.
He ordered coffee and sat in silence, waiting for the sun to rise over the ocean.
A single night, like falling down Alice's rabbit hole: from the Super Bowl to Miami to New York—it felt like seasons had passed. And yet, the night still hadn't ended.
As he sat quietly, his eyelids grew heavy.
Until a commotion stirred him from the edge of sleep—arguing voices reached his ears.
Groggy, dazed, caught between dream and wakefulness.
Lance opened his eyes—but the words made no sense, like alien language.
----------
Powerstones?
For 20 advance chapters: patreon.com/michaeltranslates