《Red Zone (PCU Storm Book 2)》 Red Zone: Chapter 1 The first day of senior year should feel like a victoryp. Instead, it feels like walking a tightrope in heels. The Pacific Coast University athletic facility buzzes with morning energy¡ªcleats tter on pavement, whistle sts pierce the air, and the ever-present scent of turf and testosterone hangs heavy. I roll my shoulders back as I cross the lot, tablet tucked against my side, trying not to scowl. I¡¯ve got twenty minutes to meet with the head of yer media before sprinting to my internship orientation, and my dad, the prolific PCU football coach changing the history of the team, Jack Harding, would love nothing more than for me to bete. You¡¯d think being the head football coach¡¯s daughter would buy me some leniency. It doesn¡¯t. It just means people watch harder, waiting, maybe even hoping for you to mess up. My phone buzzes in my back pocket. Madison: u survive first contact with the enemy yet? I don¡¯t have time to text back before the sound of a whistle followed by a grunted ¡°Heads up!¡± yanks my attention toward the field. Toote. A football whips through the air and smacks the pavement just inches from my sneakers, skidding to a stop at my feet. I stare down at it for a beat, pulse jumping for a moment, then slowly look up. Fuck my life. Carter Hayes jogs toward me, grinning like he¡¯s the damn sun. ¡°Princess,¡± he calls, sweat glistening along his jaw as he lifts the hem of his practice shirt to wipe his face. Of course, he has a six pack that draws my gaze right to it. ¡°You¡¯re supposed to catch those.¡± ¡°And you are supposed to know how to aim,¡± I shoot back, kicking the ball toward him with the toe of my white sneaker. He catches it one-handed, spinning it aroundzily in his palm. ¡°I did. You were just too slow.¡± I arch a brow. ¡°Are you nning to hit all your receivers that far off this year, or am I just special?¡± ¡°You¡¯re definitely something,¡± he says, eyes scanning me¡ªslow and shameless. He winks. ¡°Not sure it¡¯s special, though.¡± I don¡¯t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Just turn on my heel and head toward the tunnel. Hisughter follows me like a shadow. God, he¡¯s insufferable. And stupid hot, which honestly makes it worse. Judge me all you want, but I¡¯m not blind. Carter Hayes is everything I¡¯ve spent thest three years avoiding. A golden boy with a bad reputation and a smile designed to make girls forget how big of a yboy he is. He parties like it¡¯s an actual part of his training regimen and seems physically allergic to shirts. He¡¯s also the star quarterback of my father¡¯s football team. Add in the fact that he¡¯s my best friend¡¯s ex-hookup turned friend, you could say that I am cursed with his presence. Constantly. Especially now that my internship with the athletic department has been extended to include media strategy and yer branding, which, of course, includes the starting quarterback. His face is half the university¡¯s fall marketing campaign, right along with our super star new transfer, Jaxon Montgomery. Posters, ads, press releases¡ªthose two are everywhere. Lucky me. I swipe my badge at the side entrance, slipping into the cool hallway that runs beneath the stands. The noise of the field dulls instantly, reced by the hum of fluorescent lights and the quiet padding of my sneakers as I walk down the hall. This is it. Senior year. My final chance to prove I¡¯m more than just myst name. No more side-eyes from faculty. No more whispers about nepotism. No more using ¡°Harding¡± like a magic key to open doors. From here on out, I will earn my way in¡ªand I m the door behind me. I square my shoulders and head toward the media suite. Behind me, muffled through the heavy exit door, I hear Carter¡¯s voice again¡ªteasing one of the guys. I don¡¯t turn around. But if I did, I know exactly what I¡¯d see. His signature smirk. That easy swagger. And those stupid, stupid muscles wrapped up in a pretty package with blond hair and blue eyes.
The media room smells like a mixture of burnt coffee and someone who put on way too much aftershave to cover up what I¡¯m assuming isst night¡¯s hangover. Our workspace is modern¡ªss walls overlooking the field, oversized PCU banners¡ªbut behind every monitor sits a student intern clinging to opportunity with caffeine-stained fingers. I slide into my seat at the back of the conference table, smoothing down the hem of my PCU polo and tapping my pen against my notepad, even though I already know exactly what I want to say. This internship is the first thing I¡¯ve truly earned on my own. I built my portfolio, pitched myself in interviews, and got the position without a single mention of my dad¡¯s name. The goal? To work in yer branding and NIL strategy¡ªhelping athletes build their image, secure endorsement deals, and tell their stories in a way that actually matters. I want to be the one behind the scenes, shaping how the world sees them on and off the field. Not just highlight reels and stat sheets¡ªbut personality, purpose, and long-term value. Social media is where the power is now. And if I do this right, I won¡¯t just be Coach Harding¡¯s daughter. I¡¯ll be the one helping the next generation of athletes take control of their own narratives. I want to change the narrative. The meeting kicks off with a pep talk from the program director, who thanks us for being here and mentions how crucial yer perception is for both media value and NIL deals. I¡¯m nodding along,ser-focused, until he says, ¡°You¡¯ll each be assigned a group of yers to follow and help craft highlight reels, social media content, and interviews. L, you¡¯ll be working with Hayes, Harrison, and Montgomery.¡± My stomach drops. I nce up, thinking I misheard, but he¡¯s already moved on. I manage a stiff smile, scribble their names at the top of my notebook, and underline Hayes twice with a little too much pressure. You¡¯ve got to be kidding me.
Twenty minutester, I¡¯m outside the locker room, debating whether to knock or turn around and walk straight into traffic. The door swings open on its own right as I choose option B. Naturally, Carter is the first person I see. He¡¯s freshly showered, towel slung around his neck, joggers low on his hips, and his shirt¡ªa tight white number that makes me want to gouge my eyes out¡ªis half tucked in. ¡°Princess,¡± he says, clearly amused. ¡°You stalking me now?¡± I hold up my tablet. ¡°Assigned to you. Trust me, I¡¯d rather be working with literally anyone else.¡± He leans against the wall, arms crossed. ¡°That¡¯s a shame. I was starting to think the stalking was mutual.¡± I give him a look, hoping my narrowed eyes and scowl look serious. ¡°Careful, Hayes. Your ego¡¯s showing.¡± ¡°So is your temper,¡± he fires back, thatzy grin ying on his lips. ¡°You¡¯re cute when you¡¯re mad, Red.¡± I hate that he¡¯s hot. Worse yet, I hate that he knows it. I push past him, walking out to the hall before crossing into the film room. ¡°Sit. We need to go over your schedule for the next two weeks.¡± ¡°Bossy,¡± he mutters, but drops into the chair anyway. ¡°Not my usual, but I can get down with it.¡± I ignore hisment and get right to business. ¡°You have media avability before Thursday¡¯s scrimmage. I need pregame soundbites, and they want a short form video package for the athletic department¡¯s socials.¡± ¡°Cool,¡± he says, spinning slowly in his chair. ¡°You want a filter? Or just my raw, devastatingly handsome good looks?¡± I roll my eyes. ¡°I want you to take this seriously.¡± ¡°I always take myself seriously.¡± ¡°That¡¯s your first problem.¡± He stops spinning and levels me with a look that¡¯s¡­different. Less cocky, more observant. ¡°You really hate me, huh?¡± I hesitate. It¡¯s not that simple. ¡°I don¡¯t hate you,¡± I say finally. ¡°I just don¡¯t trust people who think charm or partying is their entire personality or have banged their way through half of the school¡¯s female poption.¡± He whistles low. ¡°Damn. If you were any colder, I¡¯d see my breath.¡± ¡°Maybe next time, wear a jacket.¡± His head tips back on augh, causing his shirt to ride up just enough to give me a view of perfectly chiseled abs and a trail of light brown hair traveling right down to his¡­ ¡°Hey, Princess?¡± My eyes fly up to find his waiting smirk, absolute mischief dancing around in those blue eyes. ¡°Got a bit of drool right there.¡± He uses his thumb to rub the corner of his mouth, drawing my attention right to his very pillowy looking lips. I try to roll my eyes with as much attitude as I can muster, praying like hell he doesn¡¯t notice the flush burning its way up my neck. ¡°That¡¯s all for today, Hayes. You can go.¡± His deep chuckle follows him right out the door, while I busy myself looking around for the thermostat. It is way too hot in here. Because rule number one of being the coach¡¯s daughter¡ªof working in the sports industry in general? Never, ever get involved with one of the yers. And especially not that one. Red Zone: Chapter 2 It¡¯s funny how quickly noise can feel like silence when you¡¯re used to chaos. The house is packed¡ªmusic sting, people shoulder to shoulder, red cups raised like we¡¯re all celebrating something we haven¡¯t earned yet. And maybe we are. First week of sses. First win of the season. First excuse to pretend our choices don¡¯t have consequences. I lean against the kitchen counter, nursing a beer I don¡¯t really want, and let the night blur around me. This is my world. Has been for a while. Crowded rooms. Hot girls. Too many drinks and not enough meaning. The truth? I know how to y my role. Smile like I own the ce. Keep the banter light. Take what people offer and give back just enough to keep them from noticing how fucked up I really am. I didn¡¯t grow up with silver spoons or trust funds. I grew up in other people¡¯s houses. With names on the mailbox that never matched mine. People who were kind enough to let me stay, but not enough to let me belong. Football was the first thing that made me feel chosen. Wanted. Useful. Now I¡¯m here¡ªPCU¡¯s star quarterback on a full ride. One good season away from the draft. Onest chance to make all the broken pieces of my life mean something. And yet? I can¡¯t stop watching the door. Waiting. For a certain redhead who pushes my buttons just as much as I do hers. L Harding. Just then, she walks in. Red curls up in a messy knot, tight dress hugging her body in all the right ces, green eyes narrowed like she¡¯s already regretting stepping foot inside. She¡¯s with Madison, naturally. They move together through the crowd like a unit. People part for them without even realizing it. Where Madison is quiet, reserved unless she¡¯sfortable, L is the opposite. She¡¯s loud, wants you to know she¡¯s in the same room as you. You¡¯d have to be blind not to see her. Even when she¡¯s in a casual outfit, it¡¯s as if she demands my attention without a single word. Drives me absolutely insane, which is why I love getting a rise out of her. I take a slow sip of my beer and force myself not to stare. She doesn¡¯t even nce my way. Figures. She¡¯s Coach Harding¡¯s daughter. Which means she¡¯s off-limits, tightly wound, and way too smart to waste her time on a guy like me.
Madison sidles up to me a few minutester, her drink already half gone. She hip-checks me and grins. ¡°You look like you¡¯re contemting the meaning of life.¡± ¡°Just wondering how many times I have to host one of these before people stop putting their gum in my bathroom drawers.¡± Sheughs. ¡°You poor thing.¡± I grin back, easy and familiar. Madison and I have history¡ªof the strictly physical kind. Last fall, we hooked up every once in a while. Nothing serious. Just two people scratching an itch neither of us wanted to name. She never asked me to be anything I couldn¡¯t. I never asked her to stay. Now, we¡¯re just friends. Sharp-tongued, asionally flirty friends. And maybe I like having one person around who sees the whole messy version of me and doesn¡¯t expect it to be polished. She nces over at L, who¡¯s refilling her cup at the counter with a tight jaw and a killer re. ¡°She¡¯s going to stab someone with that cup,¡± Madison says, amused. ¡°She¡¯s just waiting for a target.¡± ¡°You like poking the bear, don¡¯t you?¡± ¡°I like seeing her bark back.¡± Madison hums. ¡°Careful. She bites.¡± My mouth twitches. ¡°God, I hope so.¡± Madison snorts and smacks my shoulder, then floats back toward the couch, where she does a terrible job pretending not to sneak peeks at Jaxon Montgomery. Now that¡¯s something worth watching. Jaxon¡¯s new here. A transfer with a big reputation. Coach thinks he might be our missing piece. He¡¯s good¡ªcan¡¯t deny that. But he¡¯s also tight. Coiled. Like he¡¯s waiting for something to give him permission to explode. He tries to y it cool, but I¡¯ve spent my entire football career learning to read people. And right now, he¡¯s watching Madison like she¡¯s the only thing holding him together. Interesting.
The night rolls on and somewhere between the hallway and the living room, someone suggests a game of truth or dare. Of course they do. And, of course, it¡¯s L who takes the lead. She climbs onto the arm of the couch with that wild gleam in her eye and calls everyone out by name like she¡¯s a game show host fueled by vodka and vengeance. The dares are ridiculous. The truths are worse. ¡°Carter,¡± she says with a mischievous gleam in her eye. ¡°Truth or dare?¡± ¡°Truth,¡± I respond, confidently. ¡°Have you ever tried to hook up with a professor or TA?¡± The group erupts inughter and gasps, but I don¡¯t miss a beat. ¡°Jessica Miller, hands down,¡± I say, making sure to add a little extra confidence to the grin I¡¯m wearing. ¡°Freshman year, Intro to Psych. She was so hot. She was into me, too, I¡¯m sure of it.¡± L rolls her eyes, shaking her head as if she knew the answer before she even asked. What can I say? Everyone around here thinks I¡¯m a cocky son of a bitch who scores nothing but touchdowns, on and off the field. It¡¯s not the real me, but I¡¯d rather have people talking about my sex life than other things I like keeping in the dark. I¡¯m not ashamed of growing up the way I did, but I don¡¯t need or want the ¡°pity¡± that normallyes along once people find out. The game continues, but I can¡¯t help noticing the obvious tension between Jaxon and Madison. They know, or knew, each other really damn well. She knew he slept with a nightlight and that he was scared of thunderstorms. Once it¡¯s Jaxon¡¯s turn again, he pauses for a second before deciding to go with whatever hended on. ¡°I dare you to tell me why you never showed up to Michigan State for freshman orientation three years ago.¡± Madison¡¯s eyes re with shock, my brows probablying close to hitting my hairline while hers swiftly turn into anger. ¡°That¡¯s not how this game works.¡± L stands, breaking the tension. ¡°I think we¡¯ve all had enough of this game. Madison,e help me get more drinks.¡± She grabs Madison¡¯s hand, pulling her toward the kitchen before she can protest. I watch them leave the room. ¡°So, how exactly do you know Maddy?¡± He meets my gaze, not shying away. ¡°We grew up together.¡± ¡°Hmm.¡± I nod, the story making more sense as to why Madison is so tense. ¡°And now you¡¯re here. Interesting timing.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not what you think,¡± he says, handing to scratch the back of his neck. My eyes narrow slightly. ¡°What do I think, Montgomery?¡± Jaxon doesn¡¯t get a chance to respond before someone else continues the game, but the air doesn¡¯t shift back to the lighthearted kind. No, it stays tense and a little awkward. That¡¯s my cue to grab another beer. On my way to the kitchen, I wonder if L asked that question to embarrass me or because she actually cared. Can¡¯t really decide which one would be worse. Weaving through the throng of people, a couple girls give me a little wave. I smirk and send them a wink as I pass, causing them to start giggling. Women. I fucking love women. Not just in the obvious, yeah-they¡¯re-hot kind of way¡ªthough, let¡¯s be real, they are. Every curve, every smirk, every eye roll when they catch you looking too long? Chef¡¯s kiss. I¡¯m not blind. I appreciate the view. But it¡¯s more than that. It¡¯s the power they carry without even trying. The kind that doesn¡¯t need to yell to be heard. That quiet confidence, the way they walk into a room and change the temperature without lifting a finger. Have you ever seen someonemand attention with nothing but a look? That¡¯s not something you can fake. Name something else that¡¯s drop-dead gorgeous, sharp as hell, and could destroy you with a single sentence¡­ I¡¯ll wait. Women are storms dressed in lip gloss. Hurricanes in heels. Velvet-wrapped danger. And maybe I¡¯ve spent a good part of my life chasing that chaos, trying to hold on to it for a night, just to feel something real¡ªsomething alive. But the truth? You don¡¯t own that kind of power. You survive it. ¡°Carter.¡± I turn to find Madison, her voice tight with forced casualness. ¡°Let¡¯s go upstairs.¡± She grabs my hand and starts walking toward the staircase, so I follow. I don¡¯t say anything until we¡¯ve made it into my room, shutting the door behind me. Plopping down on my bed, I get right down to business. ¡°What the hell happened between you and Jaxon?¡± Madison stands there, fidgeting like she always does if you ask any type of personal question. ¡°Nothing happened. I told you; we grew up together.¡± ¡°Bullshit. I¡¯ve never seen you react to anyone like that. And the way he looks at you¡­that isn¡¯t just some old friend from school.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a long story.¡± She sits down beside me on the bed. I sprawl out, making myselffortable for the long conversation ahead. Damn, my bed is some kind offortable today. ¡°Looks like we¡¯ve got nothing but time. Start spilling.¡± ¡°I was eight when my mom got sick. By twelve, she was gone. My dad¡­he couldn¡¯t handle it. Started drinking, staying outte. Some nights he wouldn¡¯te home at all.¡± ¡°That¡¯s rough.¡± I can¡¯t stop the frown that takes over my face. I knew Madison had been through some shit, but damn. ¡°Jaxon lived down the street. His mom practically raised me after mine died. I remember hiding in his closet during the worst storms. Not just weather storms, but the ones at home too¡ªwhen my dad woulde back drunk, breaking things, screaming at ghosts. In those moments, Jaxon was the one who wrapped me in silly jokes to break the tension and let me breathe again.¡± All right, so maybe Madison and I had even more inmon than just needing something to take the edge offst year. Fuck. ¡°He was my best friend for fifteen years. Since we were toddlers, basically. We were inseparable.¡± Her voice starts trembling a bit, and if I didn¡¯t know her any better, I¡¯d think she was about to cry. Stifling a yawn, I shift around so that my head is resting on my hands, stretching my legs that are still just a little sore. ¡°Then what? You just went your separate ways, and that was it?¡± ¡°I was supposed to go to Michigan State with Jax. We had it all nned out since freshman year of high school. Same dorm, same schedule if we could manage it.¡± Well, that exins Jaxon¡¯s truth or dare question. ¡°But I didn¡¯t get in, and instead of telling him the truth, I just didn¡¯t show up. Took two years atmunity college instead beforeing herest fall.¡± ¡°Wait, why? Did you tell him you didn¡¯t get in or¡­¡± ¡°I panicked. So, I made the decision for him. He left the next day for training camp, and I never showed up that fall.¡± I study her. She¡¯s great at pretending, but sadly for her, so am I. I can read her easily, it¡¯s not that simple. ¡°And now? After all this time, he shows up here?¡± ¡°I had no idea he¡¯d be here. I may or may not have ignored every one of his texts and calls, even filtered his name out on my social media, when or if I ever checked it.¡± ¡°I think you¡¯re leaving out the part where feelings were obviously involved.¡± She looks up at that. ¡°I never said?¡ª¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t have to. It¡¯s written all over your face.¡± I study her for a second, not pushing any further. Eventually, she speaks again. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. Too much time has passed. Too many things left unsaid.¡± ¡°You know,¡± I say, my words starting to slur a little. ¡°For someone so smart, you¡¯re kind of an idiot.¡± Sheughs. ¡°Gee, thanks.¡± ¡°No, seriously.¡± I sit back up, tapping her on the shoulder to make sure she hears me and knows that I mean it. ¡°You¡¯re running from the one person who actually gets you. The one who was there, and stayed, through all your shit. Because what? You¡¯re afraid he might care too much?¡± ¡°I can¡¯t be responsible for someone else missing out on the future they deserve, especially him,¡± she insists. ¡°I won¡¯t be that person.¡± ¡°Did you ever think maybe you robbed him of the future he wanted by leaving?¡± I ask, another yawn working its way out, my eyelids getting heavier by the second before finally closing. But I continue, ¡°That maybe he knew the risks and thought they were worth it anyway?¡± I don¡¯t know if she responds or not, because when I wake up hourster, I¡¯m in my room alone. Red Zone: Chapter 3 I¡¯m fine. That¡¯s the lie I repeat as I walk through the ss doors of the PCU athleticplex on Monday morning with my head high and stomach tangled in knots. The hum of fluorescent lights overhead, the squeak of sneakers on polished floors, and the rhythmic thud of weights from the nearby gym are setting my OCD on edge this morning. Some days, the extra hustle and noise doesn¡¯t get to me. But, when I¡¯m already feeling guilty and still spiraling over the fact that I have no fucking filter in social interactions, you could say I¡¯m on edge this morning. I shouldn¡¯t still be thinking about Friday night. About the party game. Definitely not about him. But my brain won¡¯t let it go. Carter is a mystery that I want to solve. Why? I have no clue, but there¡¯s just something about him that almost draws me in. Madison considers him a great friend, and I do believe she has great taste, so there has to be more to him than what I¡¯m seeing. Not because I care, obviously. But because from what I see on the outside, Carter Hayes doesn¡¯t do real. He does cheap beer,te nights, and that smug smile that makes girls trip over themselves to get his attention and lose their panties soon after. I push the thought down and force my focus back to the tablet in my hand. I¡¯ve got a schedule to finalize and a yer media meeting in ten minutes. No time to unravel. I step into the main media suite, where a dozen interns are already hunched overptops and production boards. My favorite camera assistant, Gabe, waves as I walk by. ¡°You¡¯rete,¡± he teases. ¡°You¡¯re needy,¡± I reply without looking up, dropping into my seat just as the director walks in. ¡°Morning, everyone,¡± he says, pping his hands. ¡°We¡¯re adjusting our rollout schedule for the fall yer profiles. NIL exposure is up this quarter, so we¡¯re doubling down on short-form content. That means curated clips, custom interviews, personality-driven footage¡ªmake them look like the stars they are.¡± I nod along, already drafting a mental checklist to go alongside the list I¡¯m jotting down. ¡°Assignments will be updated today. L, you¡¯ve got Hayes again. Then Montgomery and Harrison. You¡¯ll start with Hayes¡ªhe¡¯s waiting in the film room.¡± I blink. ¡°Again?¡± The director looks up. ¡°Problem?¡± Yes. No. Definitely yes. ¡°No,¡± I say quickly. ¡°All good.¡±
The walk to the film room is short, but somehow I manage to cycle through an entire emotional breakdown in the span of thirty seconds. He¡¯s just a yer. You¡¯re doing your job. This is fine. Totally fine. God, why does my mouth feel dry? I stop outside the door, press my hand to my stomach, and take a deep breath. I push the door open and find Carter already lounging in one of the chairs like he owns the ce, spinning a footballzily in one hand. He looks up when he sees me¡ªand grins. That grin. The one that says he knows exactly how much trouble he is. ¡°Princess,¡± he drawls. ¡°Was starting to think you bailed on me. Couldn¡¯t handle the aftermath of the game, huh?¡± I lift a brow. ¡°You mean the game where you admitted to sexualizing a woman who is here to further your education?¡± His smile doesn¡¯t fade. ¡°You asked the question.¡± ¡°And you answered it exactly as I thought you would.¡± He shrugs and tosses the football from one hand to the other. ¡°Maybe I¡¯m full of surprises.¡± I ignore that as I walk straight to the equipment table and start unpacking the mic and camera gear. I can feel his gaze on me the entire time. ¡°Come on,¡± he says after a beat. ¡°Admit it. You¡¯ve been thinking about me.¡± I nce up. ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking about how to professionally edit around your ego. It¡¯s harder than it sounds.¡± He chuckles, that low rasp a sound that grates on my nerves and sends tingles straight between my legs. I hate that sound. Mostly because I don¡¯t. The filming setup takes longer than usual¡ªfor the most part because I¡¯m hyperaware of how close I have to stand to him while adjusting the mic and how warm his skin is under my fingers when I clip it to his shirt. Why does he have to smell so good? It¡¯s earthy, woodsy even? With a hint of¡­well, him. ¡°Careful,¡± he murmurs, voice dropping just enough to make it worse. ¡°You keep touching me like that and people might start talking.¡± I step back fast, scowling. ¡°People already talk. I just really don¡¯t care what they say about you.¡± His smile doesn¡¯t reach his eyes this time. ¡°Is that so?¡± I hit record without replying. The questions are standard¡ªwhat motivates you, favorite part of game day, one piece of advice for younger athletes¡ªbut his answers aren¡¯t what I expect. They¡¯re quieter. Thoughtful. Genuine. ¡°Who inspires you most?¡± I ask, not even looking up from my notepad. There¡¯s a pause. Then: ¡°People who fight to be more than what the world expects them to be.¡± My eyes flick up to him before I can stop myself. He¡¯s not looking at the camera. He¡¯s looking at me. After I call cut, the silence stretches. Carter shifts in his chair, voice softer than usual. ¡°Do you really think I¡¯m just some party boy with a decent spiral? Or is that easier than figuring out the rest?¡± I stare at him. And for one brief, dangerous second¡ªI almost let myself answer. But I start packing up the gear instead. He watches me do it. When I move past him to unplug the light, he speaks again. ¡°You know what your problem is?¡± I don¡¯t respond. Not yet. ¡°You wear armor like it¡¯s a personality trait. But I¡¯ve seen you when it slips. You¡¯re sharpest when you¡¯re not trying to cut.¡± That gets to me more than I want to admit. I zip the gear bag shut and walk to the door. ¡°And you¡¯re still talking like you¡¯ve got me figured out.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± he says, standing. ¡°But I know you look at me like I¡¯m everything you hate, wrapped up in a single package.¡± I turn the handle. ¡°And I think,¡± he says quietly. ¡°You¡¯re just scared of what might happen if I¡¯m not.¡± I step into the hall without answering. And I don¡¯t look back. Red Zone: Chapter 4 She leaves the film room like I set it on fire. Not a nce back. Not a hesitation. Just head held high, shoulders stiff, boots squeaking slightly as she goes on the freshly mopped floor. I stay in my seat for a second too long. The camera she left behind is still on the tripod. Her bag was still half-zipped when she bolted, too. And I¡¯m still sitting here, wondering why I feel like I just lost a fight I didn¡¯t know I was in. She gets under my skin in a way no one ever has before. Always has. With that clipped voice and those judgey eyes like she¡¯s already measured me and found mecking. She walks around like the rules are written just for her¡ªand maybe they are, with ast name like Harding¡ªbut damn if she doesn¡¯t make it look good. What gets me is that she sees right through the act. Doesn¡¯t care about the smile. Doesn¡¯t fall for the lines. Doesn¡¯t give a single shit about the jersey or the hype. And it drives me absolutely insane. Because for the first time in a long time, I¡¯m not sure I want the act to work on her.
I spot herter that afternoon near the weight room, talking to Logan Brooks¡ªour junior wide receiver and resident panty melter with a fake-ass southern drawl and a crooked grin. She¡¯sughing at something he says, her head tilted just enough that her curls bounce. She neverughs like that with me. So naturally, I head right for her. ¡°Damn, Brooks,¡± I say loud enough for both of them to hear. ¡°Didn¡¯t know you were into ice queens.¡± Logan chuckles low. ¡°Didn¡¯t know you had the balls to talk to her without a crowd to hype you up.¡± L turns at the sound of my voice, her arms crossed and eyes already iced over like she¡¯s been waiting for a reason. ¡°You slumming it today, Princess?¡± I ask, slow andzy, like I¡¯ve got all the time in the world to get under her skin. ¡°Or just saving all your fake smiles for guys who don¡¯t make you feel anything?¡± She doesn¡¯t blink. ¡°I like men who don¡¯t need a personality transnt to get attention.¡± I give her a mock gasp. ¡°Ouch. Did you stay up all night thinking of that one, or is bitterness just your new brand?¡± ¡°Better bitter than desperate,¡± she fires back. ¡°You flirt like it¡¯s a reflex, not a choice. It¡¯s kind of sad.¡± That onends. I smile anyway. ¡°Admit it. You think about me when I¡¯m not around. Probably have a lot of images of me saved to your spank bank for lonely nights.¡± Logan makes a weird choking sound, his eyes shooting between the two of us. She steps closer, her smirk downright lethal, but more in a way where I feel like she might actually want to kill me or at least chop off my dick. ¡°Only when I need to remind myself what I¡¯ll never want. Thinking of you works better than a cold shower.¡± Lifting my shirt up, I run my hands down my abs. ¡°So, you do think about me, huh? Babygirl, this is all yours any time you want it, which we both know you do.¡± She cocks her head, giving me a once-over, expression full of venom. ¡°You confuse irritation with interest. Must suck not being able to tell the difference.¡± Logan raises a brow, ncing between us onest time before heading out. ¡°Y¡¯all need a room or a damn restraining order.¡± Neither of us responds. She¡¯s already turning away, and I¡¯m left staring at her back, admiring her ass as it sways with every step. Hate to see her go, but damn right I¡¯ll watch her leave.
Practice is a mess. I can¡¯t focus. Every throw is a little off, every read half a secondte. Coach is barking like a rabid dog, and I know I should lock in¡ªbut all I can think about is the look on L¡¯s face earlier when she walked away. Why do I care? Why does it bother me that she thinks I¡¯m just some surface-level football yer who can throw the ball well? I look toward the sideline and find her immediately. She¡¯s not filming today. Just taking notes. But she is watching. Her eyes lock with mine for half a second¡ªand it¡¯s like getting hit in the chest with a linebacker. Not because it hurts. Because I feel it. The fuck? Coach yells again and I snap out of it. But the damage is done. ¡°Reset!¡± he shouts. ¡°Get your head in the damn game, Hayes!¡± I put my head down and manage to focus enough to pull it off. After practice, I cut through the tunnel to avoid the post-practice chaos. I just need a second to cool down. Of course, the universe doesn¡¯t let me off the hook that easily. Footsteps echo behind me. I turn and find L walking toward the media entrance, alone, with a bag slung over one shoulder and her chin up, like always. She doesn¡¯t see me until we¡¯re almost face to face. I block her path. She stops short, ring. ¡°Get the fuck out of my way, Hayes.¡± ¡°What¡¯s your deal with me, really?¡± She exhales sharply. ¡°Is this where you demand to know my deepest, darkest thoughts and we be besties over past trauma?¡± ¡°No,¡± I say, stepping closer. ¡°This is where I ask why you keep acting like you hate me, when we both know you don¡¯t even know me that well.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t have to know you to know I hate you,¡± she fires back. ¡°I¡¯ve seen enough.¡± ¡°From what¡ªsideline soundbites and party rumors?¡± ¡°Maybe from how you were boning my bestiest year? Then the rest of the cheer squad? Mister Let me party my way through this easy ass life I get to live. You get under everyone¡¯s skin like it¡¯s a game.¡± Iugh, but there¡¯s no humor in it. ¡°You ever stop to think maybe I get under yours because you let me?¡± Her jaw clenches. ¡°You ever think,¡± I add, voice lower now as I step even closer to her. ¡°That maybe the only reason I keep bothering is because you¡¯re the only one who tells me no?¡± She doesn¡¯t move. ¡°If that¡¯s all it takes to keep you interested,¡± she says finally. ¡°Maybe I¡¯ll start saying yes. Just to watch you lose it.¡± Then she steps around me and disappears into the stairwell. I have a feeling I could get used to watching her walk away.
That evening, I¡¯m sprawled out on my bed, ybook open, headphones in with nothing ying. Jaxon walks in without knocking, as usual. He¡¯s gottenfortable with us fast after summer training camp. ¡°You good?¡± ¡°Peachy.¡± He stares for a beat, then tosses a water bottle at me. I catch it without looking. ¡°You were off today.¡± ¡°Had an off throw.¡± ¡°More like ten.¡± I re at him. ¡°You done?¡± ¡°Not even close,¡± he says, dropping onto the chair near my desk. ¡°You¡¯ve been weird since the party. Since a particr truth or dare moment.¡± I roll onto my side. ¡°You getting sentimental on me?¡± ¡°I¡¯m getting curious,¡± he says. ¡°And when you get this quiet, it usually means one of two things¡ªyou¡¯re about to fight someone or you need to getid.¡± Sometimes you bond with teammates quickly, both on and off the field, and I feel like that¡¯s true for Jaxon and me. Even if sometimes I wish it were just a bit harder for him to read me. Hiding how close to home he hit, I scoff. ¡°Like that¡¯s ever been an issue for me.¡± He cocks a dark brow as Beck walks in, chewing a protein bar, and points at me. ¡°He¡¯s lying.¡± ¡°Oh, for sure,¡± Jaxon agrees, crossing his arms as he leans against my door frame. Why are they even up here to begin with? Jaxon¡¯s room is at the end of the hall, and Beck lives downstairs whenever he isn¡¯t at his girlfriend¡¯s ce. They¡¯ve been together on and off since middle school, high school sweethearts and all that shit. But, no offense to him, his girl is a total bitch. I wouldn¡¯t call a woman that without good reason, and I have it. She treats him like absolute shit; God knows why he sticks around. He¡¯s like a poor little puppy any time that girl is near. Someday he¡¯s gonna see the light. ¡°When haven¡¯t I been able to get a girl in my bed? Especially one with a hot temper and quickebacks. Her red hair kinda gives you a heads up on what you¡¯re walking into.¡± They both go still. I freeze. ¡°Wait,¡± Beck says. ¡°L? L Harding? As in our coach¡¯s daughter? You dog, you.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t mean?¡ª¡± ¡°Oh, he meant it,¡± Jaxon cuts in, grinning. ¡°That exins so much.¡± ¡°She hates you,¡± Beck says, amazed. ¡°And I mean really hates you. That girl looks at you like you ran over her cat.¡± ¡°I know,¡± I mutter. Jaxon leans back in the chair, smug. ¡°And yet here we are.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t like her,¡± I snap. ¡°I just¡ªshe¡¯s hot as fuck. That¡¯s all.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve got it bad, man,¡± Beck says, alreadyughing. ¡°Next thing we know, you¡¯ll be writing poetry and asking us for rtionship tips.¡± ¡°I hate both of you.¡± ¡°Sure you do.¡±
I leave the house an hourter, needing to burn off steam. I end up at a party down the block¡ªsome junior basketball yer¡¯s ce, crowded and loud. Familiar faces. Girls who don¡¯t bite when I tease them. Whough when I sh a grin. One of them¡ªChloe, maybe¡ªpresses close, fingers tracing the hem of my shirt. I let her. Let her touch. Let her smile. She¡¯s cute. Simple. But still, all I can think is: not her. Not red curls and green eyes with razor-sharpebacks. Not L Fucking Harding. I mutter something and step back. She pouts, and I don¡¯t care. This is bullshit. All this tension with L? It¡¯s nothing. A distraction. A fire I need to put out so I can focus. That¡¯s all. One time. That¡¯s all it¡¯d take. Get her out of my system and my head back in the game. Because this? Obsessing over someone who doesn¡¯t even hardly tolerate being in the same room as me? That is fucking with my head, which in turn is fucking with my game. And that isn¡¯t gonna work for me. Red Zone: Chapter 5 Later that night, I sit in bed with myptop, clipping interview footage from this morning. I pause on a frame halfway through the shoot ¡ª Carter, leaning forward, gaze fixed off-camera, lips curved in the faintest almost-smile. He¡¯s not smiling at the camera. He¡¯s smiling at me. I hover over the delete key. My finger doesn¡¯t move. Eventually, I click ¡°Save.¡± Just in case.
Perfection is a game you can¡¯t win¡ªbut that doesn¡¯t stop me from ying. Every step down the faculty hallway is counted. Three per tile. Left foot always starts first. My tablet is tucked exactly under my arm, my pen clipped at the center¡ªbecause it has to be in the center¡ªand my heart is thudding a little too fast, but I ignore that part. Focus. I have a meeting with Coach Harding. Correction: my dad. Which means I need to be twice as prepared, twice asposed, and three times as numb. He doesn¡¯t like when I ¡°bring emotion into it.¡± I round the corner, knock twice on the closed office door, then open it before he can say anything. He hates when people wait. Says it¡¯s inefficient. ¡°Right on time,¡± he says without looking up. He¡¯s reviewing game film¡ªprobably the scrimmage footage from earlier this week¡ªand jotting down notes in the shorthand only he can understand. ¡°I said noon. It¡¯s noon,¡± I reply, sitting across from his desk. He nces up briefly, eyes flicking to the tablet under my arm. ¡°You always bring that thing in here?¡± ¡°I bring it everywhere.¡± He hums, nomittally, and minimizes the screen. ¡°I wanted to check in. You¡¯re settling into the internship?¡± ¡°I¡¯m two weeks ahead on assignments. I¡¯ve already submitted the first round of clips for the Hayes-Montgomery campaign. I also updated the athletic site¡¯s bio pages and scheduled two content reels for next week.¡± ¡°Good,¡± he says, like he expected no less. ¡°You still joining us for dinner tonight?¡± I blink. ¡°Us?¡± He doesn¡¯t even flinch. ¡°Me, Nicole, and Emmy. We¡¯re grilling at the house.¡± Ah. Us means him, his girlfriend and her daughter. The new family. My stomach clenches, but I keep my voice t. ¡°I have editing to do tonight.¡± ¡°It can wait. You see them once a week, L.¡± ¡°You¡¯re asking me to sit across the table from a girl who calls you Coach, Dad, and acts like she¡¯s known you longer than I have.¡± ¡°She¡¯s seventeen, Ly, cut her some ck,¡± he says, sharper now. ¡°She¡¯s trying. And so is Nicole.¡± I don¡¯t respond. Not because he¡¯s right¡ªbut because if I do, I¡¯ll say something I can¡¯t take back. After a beat, he sighs and leans back in his chair. ¡°I¡¯m not trying to rece you, or your mom, for that matter.¡± ¡°I never said you were.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t have to. I see it on your face, kiddo.¡± I clench my jaw and redirect the conversation. ¡°I should get back. I have another shoot scheduled at two?¡ª¡± ¡°Actually,¡± he says, cutting me off. ¡°I¡¯ve been meaning to talk to you about that. I had a call with a colleague from the agency over at West Point. They¡¯ve got a digital branding role open. It¡¯s entry-level, but solid pay, good location. I can send your resume over.¡± I couldn¡¯t even stop the eye roll if I wanted to. Here we go again. ¡°I didn¡¯t ask you to do that.¡± He shrugs. ¡°You want a career in this world, I have connections. Why wouldn¡¯t you use them?¡± ¡°Because I don¡¯t want my name to be the reason I get the job,¡± I snap, harsher than I mean to. ¡°And I¡¯m telling you that¡¯s naive. This industry isn¡¯t about waiting in line. It¡¯s about walking in the back door and knowing who left it open.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want a back door.¡± ¡°Then get used to waiting.¡± My hands curl into fists beneath the table. I can already hear the spiral forming¡ªfast and hard and ruthless. You¡¯re falling behind. You¡¯re not doing enough. You¡¯re not enough. ¡°You act like I didn¡¯t work for this,¡± I say, quieter now. ¡°Like I didn¡¯t earn this internship. Like I didn¡¯t build my portfolio without ever once dropping your name.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not what I¡¯m saying.¡± ¡°It¡¯s what it sounds like.¡± He exhales through his nose and stands, moving toward the window. The silence stretches. Finally, he says, ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to undermine you. I know you¡¯re capable.¡± I don¡¯t look up. ¡°You just don¡¯t trust me to seed without your help.¡± He doesn¡¯t answer that.
Dinner is as awful as expected. Nicole greets me at the door like I¡¯m a guest, even though I grew up in this house. Emmy waves from the kitchen, and I give my best fake smile. Dad¡¯s grilling outside, and someone put on an indie ylist that¡¯s trying way too hard to sound casual. If it was a normal evening with my dad and me, we¡¯d be grilling burgers, popping a beer, and watching Sports Center. My entire life, I¡¯ve lived, slept, and breathed sports. Some daughters may not have enjoyed their dad being a college coach, but any time he was out on the field, I was right beside him. Piggy tails sitting under my hat, extra freckles scattered across my cheeks from all the extra days in the sun. Now, I perch on a barstool and pretend to scroll through emails to avoid the awkwardness that still lingers, even though they¡¯ve lived here with my dad for a little over a year now. Emmy chats about her AP Chem ss and how she¡¯s ¡°thinking about going into sports medicine,¡± and Dad nods like it¡¯s revolutionary. Nicole asks how my internship is going, but her eyes are already back on the salmon she¡¯s flipping. I answer with one-word responses. Smile when appropriate. Keep my posture perfect and my tone polite. I am the definition of controlled. But under the surface? Chaos. I use the thumb of my right hand to press into the center of my left, hard. Trying to find something to ground me when I can feel my eye starting to twitch on its own ord. Everything¡¯s in the wrong ce. The wrong order. Too loud, too fake, too much. Emmy says something about getting her senior portraits done next week, and Dad offers to ¡°make a few calls¡± to see if the football stadium could be used as a backdrop. I look up sharply. ¡°You¡¯re letting her use the field?¡± ¡°She asked. It¡¯s not a big deal.¡± ¡°Pretty sure it is to thepliance team,¡± I mutter, or at least, that¡¯s the line he told me when I had asked to do the same five years ago. Dad¡¯s eyes cut to mine. ¡°It¡¯s not a problem, L.¡± Of course not. Nothing¡¯s ever a problem for them. I excuse myself halfway through dinner, saying I have an early shoot that I need to prep for. I don¡¯t. I just need to breathe.
Back at my apartment, I scrub down the kitchen sink. It¡¯s already clean. I clean it every night. But tonight, it¡¯s not about hygiene. It¡¯s about control. About keeping my hands busy so my brain doesn¡¯t implode. About scrubbing until my chest doesn¡¯t feel like it¡¯s going to cave in from the weight of everything I¡¯m not allowed to say. I move to the counter. Then the stove. Then the fridge handle. Each motion is tight, practiced, necessary. My throat burns. My eyes sting. But I keep wiping. I don¡¯t hear the front door open. I don¡¯t even notice Madison until her keys clink on the side table, and she steps into the kitchen, quiet as a shadow. She pauses when she sees me, taking in the spotless counter, the flushed cheeks, and the white- knuckled grip on the rag. She doesn¡¯t ask if I¡¯m okay. She just pulls her hair into a messy bun, grabs the spare cloth from under the sink, and starts wiping down the already clean toaster. After a few minutes of silence, she nces at me. ¡°How deep are we going tonight?¡± she asks gently. ¡°Color-coding the spice rack, or are we reorganizing the sock drawer again?¡± I don¡¯t look up. ¡°Haven¡¯t decided yet.¡± She hums. Keeps cleaning. ¡°You want me to leave or stay?¡± I swallow. ¡°Stay.¡± Her voice is soft, and she holds out her hand to me. ¡°Pass the soap please.¡± So, we clean¡ªside by side, shoulder to shoulder¡ªwithout another word. Not because there¡¯s nothing to say. But because this is what it looks like when someone loves you without needing you to exin. And tonight, that¡¯s enough. Red Zone: Chapter 6 Walking into the gym for our Thursday morning weight set, I drop my bag and nod at Montgomery, who¡¯s already halfway through his warm up. ¡°Damn,¡± I say, tossing a te on the bar next to him. ¡°You¡¯re early.¡± He shrugs. ¡°Didn¡¯t feel like waiting around.¡± Of course not. Dude¡¯s built like he¡¯s got something to prove and works like he¡¯s got everything to lose. Can¡¯t say I don¡¯t respect it. Jaxon doesn¡¯t talk much, but we¡¯ve been syncing up on the field better than half the guys I¡¯ve known for years. It¡¯s easy with him. No drama. Just business. The kind of teammate you actually want in your corner. Beck wanders over, smirking like always. ¡°Look at you two bonding. Cute. Y¡¯all gonna start wearing matching wristbands next?¡± ¡°Only if we can get ¡®Daddy¡¯s Favorite¡¯ embroidered across the back,¡± I say. Beck cackles. ¡°You¡¯re sick.¡± ¡°urate,¡± I reply, racking another te. ¡°Now shut up and spot me.¡± Jaxon chuckles under his breath. ¡°He¡¯s got a point. You talk more than our offensive coordinator.¡± ¡°Jealousy is a disease,¡± Beck says, stepping behind me as I slide under the bar. ¡°And I hope both of you catch it.¡± I push through the set¡ªheavy but clean. My shoulders burn. My head¡¯s a little clearer. It¡¯s the only timetely that I don¡¯t feel like I¡¯ming apart at the seams. We rotate through lifts, Beck going on and on about how his girlfriend is going out of town next weekend, and Jaxon asionally chiming in with some low-key savagement that hits harder because you never see iting. You know it¡¯s bad when he doesn¡¯t have anything nice to say about the couple who has been together for thest almost ten years. Jaxon finishes hisst rep and wipes down the bench with a towel, nodding toward the door. ¡°You think Coach will let us breathe after Saturday if we win?¡± ¡°Doubt it,¡± I say. ¡°Bet he¡¯s already got extra Sunday film sessions scheduled.¡± ¡°Does he ever sleep?¡± Beck adds, dropping his dumbbells with a thud. ¡°Like¡­is he a vampire? I feel like he just roams around campus looking for yers to scare straight.¡± ¡°Better question,¡± I mutter. ¡°Who¡¯s nning the afterparty?¡± Right on cue, Logan Brooks strolls in¡ªaviators on inside, like he¡¯s allergic to humility¡ªpping his hands like he owns the building. ¡°Speaking of parties,¡± Beck says, nodding toward him. Logan grins. ¡°Boys.¡± ¡°Logan,¡± I deadpan. ¡°Come to bless us with tales of your newest conquest?¡± ¡°Nah, just here to remind you degenerates that our house is prepped and ready for Saturday night.¡± He ps Beck on the back. ¡°Assuming you don¡¯t choke and blow the game, of course.¡± Beck rolls his eyes. ¡°Thanks for the faith.¡± ¡°Got enough drinks stocked tost normal people a year,¡± Logan goes on. ¡°Even borrowed some LED lights from my Ward¡¯s weird influencer cousin. ce looks like a damn nightclub now.¡± Jaxon raises a brow. ¡°Didn¡¯tst weekend almost get shut down by campus security after I went to bed?¡± ¡°That,¡± Logan says, holding up a finger. ¡°Was because someone called them and said it was too loud.¡± ¡°It was,¡± Beck defends. I nce up from where I¡¯m chalking my hands. ¡°So, same time after the game?¡± Logan grins. ¡°We bring home the win, then I¡¯ll bring the bad decisions.¡± Beck smirks. ¡°And the ylist that hasn¡¯t changed since sophomore year.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t fix what isn¡¯t broken.¡± Logan shrugs, pulling off his hoodie. ¡°Besides, it¡¯s not like anyonees for the music.¡± I shake my head and finish my set, the weight grounding me more than it should. Game. Party. Reset. Repeat. It¡¯s predictable. Familiar. Almost enough to distract me from the real problem. Almost. Because I already know who else will be at that party.
Pregame rituals are always the same. Headphones in. Cleatsced tight. Tape wrapped just right¡ªwrist, ankle, knuckles. I check the y sheet, even though I¡¯ve had it memorized since Tuesday. Jaxon¡¯s locked in. Beck¡¯s mouthy as hell, which is a great sign. And Coach is barking like his blood pressure depends on it. It¡¯s chaos wrapped in focus. And I thrive in it. At least, I used to. Until she became part of the process. ¡°Hayes,¡± someone calls. ¡°You¡¯ve got two minutes for media.¡± I nce over my shoulder. Speaking of the redheaded firecracker. Hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail, PCU headset on, and press badge clipped to her hip like it¡¯s an extension of her backbone. She¡¯s got her phone in one hand, tablet in the other, and her usual you¡¯re already annoying me expression on her pretty face. I jog over, helmet under my arm, adrenaline buzzing just under my skin. ¡°You again,¡± I say, smirking. ¡°Isn¡¯t there a rule against distractions before kickoff?¡± ¡°Good thing I¡¯m not a distraction,¡± L replies, deadpan, eyes flicking down to her screen. ¡°That¡¯s the lie you¡¯re going with today?¡± She ignores it. ¡°All right, I need three quick pregame quotes for the department¡¯s social feed. Keep it clean. Pretend you care about the fans watching.¡± ¡°Princess,¡± I murmur, leaning in just slightly. ¡°I always care when you¡¯re watching.¡± She doesn¡¯t react. She¡¯s too good at this game. But I see it¡ªthe tiny twitch at the corner of her mouth. Progress. ¡°Question one,¡± she says crisply, lifting her phone and tapping the record button. ¡°All right, Hayes. What¡¯s the mindset heading into tonight¡¯s matchup?¡± ¡°Simple.¡± I shrug. ¡°We win.¡± ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± ¡°That¡¯s it.¡± She lifts a brow. ¡°Profound.¡± ¡°Want me to say something about grit? Brotherhood? ying for the guy next to me?¡± She doesn¡¯t blink. ¡°I want you to say something that won¡¯t make the media director quit his job.¡± I grin wider. ¡°Fine. We¡¯re locked in, focused, and hungry. Happy?¡± She moves to question two, but I¡¯m not listening to anything she says. Because for a second, her lip was caught between her teeth as she focused. And now my brain is somewhere it shouldn¡¯t be. Very, very far away. Wondering what her mouth would feel like on mine. Wondering what those lips would feel like wrapped around my co?¡ª ¡°Earth to Carter. You want to try answering that again?¡± she says, voice snapping me out of the spiral. I blink. She¡¯s staring at me, brows arched, waiting. And I have no idea what she just asked. ¡°Sorry,¡± I say, smiling slowly. ¡°Got distracted.¡± Her eyes narrow, sharp and suspicious. ¡°By what?¡± ¡°Bad ideas,¡± I mutter. She scoffs. ¡°Try to keep those to a minimum for the next four quarters.¡± ¡°You offering yourself as a reward if I behave?¡± She shakes her head. ¡°If you win, you get to keep your jersey clean and your ego intact. That¡¯s it.¡± ¡°That¡¯s a damn shame.¡± She ends the recording and takes a step back. ¡°Good luck, Hayes.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t need luck, Princess,¡± I call after her. ¡°I¡¯ve got motivation.¡± She doesn¡¯t turn around. But her ponytail flicks just a little harder than necessary, and her hips sway with each step. And yeah?¡ª That¡¯ll be ying in my head the whole game. A throat clearing behind me brings me back to the present, especially when I turn to find Coach looking right at me, a slightly graying brow raised. He definitely just caught me staring at his daughter¡¯s ass. Awesome.
Snap count. Motion. Hands on theces. I call the y, shift the formation, and take the snap. One-one-thousand. The pocket holds. Two-one-thousand. Jaxon cuts right. Beck¡¯s on the fade. Three-one-thousand. Iunch it deep. The ball slices through the night sky like it belongs there¡ªtight spiral, perfect arc. Beck hauls it in at the forty, toe-taps the sideline, and we move the chains. The crowd goes wild. Coach pumps a fist. But my eyes track to the sideline before I even realize I¡¯m doing it. L¡¯s there. Just off the hash. Tablet in hand, lips pursed like she¡¯s trying very hard not to care. She doesn¡¯t cheer. Doesn¡¯t even smile. But she saw it. Next drive, we¡¯re in the red zone. Second and goal. Coach wants the safe y¡ªa pitch to our RB to eat the clock. I audible. ¡°Blue eighty! Kill, kill!¡± We line up. I nce at Jaxon. He nods. Snap. y action. Defense bites. I roll right. Jaxon¡¯s already two steps ahead of his man. I hit him in the numbers. Touchdown. The student section explodes. I jog back to the sideline, helmet swinging from my hand, adrenaline flooding my veins. Coach gives me the look¡ªhalf-proud, half-don¡¯t push it.
Third quarter starts choppy. Our center jumps early, and I get nailed by a blitz I didn¡¯t seeing. Shoulder-first into the turf. I pop up and shake it off. But it rattled me. Coach pulls me for a y to lecture me about awareness. I nod through it, pacing like a caged animal with my jaw tight. Back in, next drive. We¡¯re tied now. Two minutes on the clock. I¡¯ve been here before. High pressure. Stadium breathing down your neck. The weight of the team on your shoulders. Some guys break. I bite down on my mouthguard and thrive. Snap. Step back. Jaxon¡¯s covered. Beck is doubled. Tight end breaks across the middle. I sling it to him on the run. Gain of twenty. We¡¯re in range. One more shot. Coach calls the y. It¡¯s safe. A checkdown option. But I see the defense creeping up and know they¡¯re daring me to go for it. Wouldn¡¯t want to disappoint, so I do. Because if there¡¯s one thing I¡¯m not¡ªit¡¯s safe. I fake the throw, tuck, and run. I hear the collision before I feel it¡ªhelmet on ribs, pads crashing¡ªbut I dive through the chaos. End zone. Touchdown. I roll onto my back, chest heaving. The guys pile on. Helmets knock. Hands p my back. The crowd¡¯s going feral. But all I hear is one voice in my head. Try to keep the bad ideas to a minimum. Toote, Princess. I am one. And tonight? I¡¯m just getting started. Red Zone: Chapter 7 The kitchen¡¯s packed, loud, and reeking of tequ, cheap beer, and too much Axe body spray. Right on schedule. I lean against the counter, nursing a beer I don¡¯t want, letting the noise swallow me. A girl I¡¯ve seen aroundughs at something I didn¡¯t say and slides her hand up my arm like she thinks she¡¯s subtle. She¡¯s not. I let her touch linger. Not because I¡¯m into it. Because it¡¯s easier to act like some party boy who doesn¡¯t give a single fuck about anything but football and parties than to let people see the invisible scars I carry. And if I focus hard enough, I can pretend I¡¯m not waiting for someone else to walk through that door. But then? She does. ck jeans, boots, and a top that does way too many things to my focus. Her hair is still in that slicked back ponytail, but her curls are starting to pop back through the straightened strands. L walks in like she owns the damn ce. Doesn¡¯t look at me. Doesn¡¯t have to. Every guy in the room clocks her. I watch them watch her, and something tightens in my chest. I tell myself it¡¯s nothing. Just¡­irritation. I take a slow sip of my beer, trying not to track her every move like a dog with a bone. It¡¯s fine. She¡¯ll do her whole cold-shoulder routine, I¡¯ll ignore her until I can¡¯t, then I¡¯ll piss her off and maybe, eventually, we¡¯ll end up alone somewhere with a door that locks. And maybe then¡ªfinally¡ªI¡¯ll get her out of my system. That¡¯s all this is. Just sexual tension. One night, and it¡¯ll be done. That¡¯s the n. Until she sees the current girl¡¯s hand on my arm and stops walking toward me. Not for long. Just long enough to notice. She schools her face quickly and turns back toward the drink table as if I don¡¯t exist. I smirk. So, you¡¯re not immune, huh? Good to know. I gently pry the girl¡¯s hand off my arm¡ªfriendly enough that she doesn¡¯t notice. Then I¡¯m on the move. Not because I care if she¡¯s jealous, or even if she cares at all. Just because I want her to know she doesn¡¯t have the upper hand. Not tonight. ¡°Didn¡¯t expect to see you here without your shadow,¡± I say, voice t, beer still cold in my hand. She doesn¡¯t look at me. ¡°Didn¡¯te for you. She¡¯s dancing.¡± ¡°That your line tonight? Practicing for someone else?¡± She finally nces up, eyes sharp, mouth already curled into a smirk made of knives. ¡°Don¡¯t tter yourself, Hayes. I go out to have fun. Not to babysit emotionally stunted quarterbacks.¡± Iugh under my breath. ¡°That¡¯s riching from you. You¡¯ve got more walls than Fort Knox.¡± ¡°Maybe I just know better than to let someone like you anywhere near them.¡± I take a step closer. Not touching, but enough to make the air between us charged. ¡°Someone like me, huh? What¡¯s that mean exactly? Hot, talented, too honest for your taste?¡± ¡°No,¡± she snaps. ¡°Cocky, reckless, and probably only good for about two minutes in bed.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Princess. I¡¯ve got plenty of stamina. You¡¯d feel it for days.¡± Her eyes flick to mine. ¡°I already feel something. It¡¯s called regret.¡± That one hits. She turns to walk away. I block her path, just barely. ¡°You always run when it gets too real?¡± I ask, quiet but sharp. ¡°You think this is real?¡± she scoffs. ¡°This is you trying to get in my pants because I¡¯m the one girl on campus who doesn¡¯t fall at your feet.¡± ¡°Maybe,¡± I say. ¡°Or I just like watching you start to crack every time I get close.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t have any cracks, Hayes.¡± ¡°No?¡± I lean in, close enough for her breath to hitch. ¡°Then why¡¯d you stop walking when you saw that girl¡¯s hand on me?¡± Her expression shes¡ªbrief but lethal. ¡°I stopped because I thought I saw a cockroach.¡± I grin, mean and low. ¡°Thought you weren¡¯t scared of anything? Including roaches.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not normally,¡± she says. ¡°But one that lives in a football house, especially one that you call home, might have something incurable.¡± With that, she sidesteps me and walks away¡ªback straight, hair swinging, every inch of her screamingposure. But I saw the crack, and I can¡¯t wait to break it open even more. She wants me too.
The bell over the door chimes as I push into the coffee shop, bright-eyed and riding the post-win high like it¡¯s game day all over again. I spot them instantly¡ªMadison and L at the corner table. Twottes, one sharedptop, and one tension headache in progress if L¡¯s clenched jaw is anything to go by. I stroll right over and drop into the seat beside Madison like I was invited. ¡°Morning, key baby,¡± I drawl, throwing an arm behind her chair. ¡°Seriously?¡± she mutters. Madison is the farthest thing from a morning person. I can¡¯t help but chuckle. ¡°Rx. Just keeping youpany while you stress about my boy.¡± She sends me a re. ¡°I¡¯m not stressing about Jaxon.¡± ¡°Sure you aren¡¯t. First, I never said his name, but you just did.¡± I smirk, knowing I¡¯m right. ¡°You do realize he¡¯s not gonna let you avoid him forever, right?¡± The doorbell chimes again, and I look up right as the man himself looks over our way, his eyesnding on Madison before swinging my way, his brows pinching. ¡°Yo, Jax! Come sit with us.¡± I point toward the empty seat next to L. ¡°Nah, man, gotta get going. Changed my mind on the coffee.¡± Jaxon turns around on the spot and is back out the door before I can blink. L leans in, voice low but sharp. ¡°Why are you still sitting here?¡± Madison blinks, confused. ¡°What?¡± She jerks her chin toward the door where Jaxon is already walking away. ¡°You need to go after him. Catch up. Exin.¡± ¡°L, I?¡ª¡± She cuts her off. ¡°Mads. You can keep pretending you don¡¯t care, but we both know that¡¯s bullshit.¡± I snort. ¡°For once, I agree with her.¡± L cuts me a re before flipping me off. ¡°Look, I¡¯ve watched you dance around this for weeks. You¡¯re my friend, not my project, so I won¡¯t tell you what to do. But I will tell you that whatever you think you¡¯re protecting yourself from? It¡¯s not working. You¡¯re just making yourself more miserable.¡± Madison pushes back from the table and shoots out the door, calling for Jaxon as she goes. He finally stops a few feet away and turns to face her. ¡°Think it¡¯s rude to watch them?¡± I ask the green-eyed wonder sitting across from me. ¡°Eh, maybe, but she¡¯s pretty fucking blind, so I may have to intervene again,¡± she says as she takes another sip of her drink. I can¡¯t help but read what she got, making a mental note for any time I might need to bribe her down the road. A decaf carameltte, extra sweet. Who in the world would get a decaf coffee at this time of day? ¡°Didn¡¯t really take you as a decaf coffee kinda girl.¡± Her eyes leave her friend and meet mine across the table. ¡°I can¡¯t drink much caffeine.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Just can¡¯t.¡± She shrugs, starting to gather her things. ¡°What sses do you have today?¡± I shock both of us by asking a normal, friendly question. She studies me for a moment, before finally deciding to answer. ¡°I have a study group every Wednesday morning, then I head over to the athletics building to get more editing in before it gets crazy.¡± ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you know that I¡¯m actually about to head over there myself.¡± I¡¯m really not, but I don¡¯t want to say goodbye quite yet for some reason. ¡°That¡¯s weird.¡± She takes onest sip, tipping her head back and giving me a perfect view of her neck. Her skin is creamy and looks so incredibly soft. I wonder if she likes it squeezed. ¡°I thought you had history on Wednesday mornings.¡± ¡°Must be mistaken,¡± I say, holding the door open as she walks through while narrowing her eyes at me, calling my bluff without saying anything. We walk in silence until I can¡¯t take it anymore. ¡°So,¡± I say, leaning in just enough to make her ufortable. ¡°Still pretending you don¡¯t like me?¡± ¡°Still pretending you¡¯re relevant?¡± I chuckle. ¡°If I¡¯m so irrelevant, why¡¯d you freeze when you saw that girl¡¯s hand on me Saturday night after the game?¡± That gets her attention. A tiny flick of her eyebrow. That¡¯s all I need. ¡°You¡¯re a walking headline waiting to happen,¡± she mutters. ¡°And yet you keep reading.¡± She finally meets my gaze. ¡°One of these days, Hayes, someone¡¯s going to call your bluff.¡± I hold her stare. ¡°Hope it¡¯s you.¡± She huffs and looks away. ¡°You are exhausting.¡± But her lips are twitching, fighting a smile. And so am I. Because whatever this is? It¡¯s just heating up. We make it to the entrance of the athletics department, and she turns to face me when she opens the door. ¡°Oh, and Carter?¡± ¡°Yeah?¡± ¡°You¡¯re gonna have to run across campus, or you¡¯re going to bete for history.¡± She¡¯sughing as she walks through the door and leaves me standing outside. I grab my phone, looking at the time, then start jogging across campus. Women, man. Fucking women. Turning our worlds upside down, one day at a time. Red Zone: Chapter 8 Once in a while, I get to skip a game. Not that I love skipping, but sometimes my brain needs the brief pause, and tonight is one of those nights. Madison and I just finished our girls¡¯ night dinner of delicious pasta and garlic bread, now we¡¯re crashing on the couch watching a movie. The living room is dim except for the glow of the TV screen and the soft flicker of the candle Madison insists doesn¡¯t smell like vani, even though it one hundred percent does. We¡¯re curled up on opposite ends of the couch, legs tangled in azy sprawl somewhere in the middle, a half-empty popcorn bowl resting dangerously close to falling off the edge of the coffee table. On screen, the heroine is sobbing in the rain. The guy chases her down with some dramatic, grand gesture, pouring his heart out while looking absolutely soaked and miserable. I press the side of my face into the couch cushion, watching with half-lidded eyes. ¡°Would you punch me if I said this scene is so unrealistic it makes my skin itch?¡± Madison doesn¡¯t even blink. ¡°Only if you turn it off.¡± Fair. I go quiet again. There¡¯s something to be said about a friendship like ours. Almost like a soul mate in the unromantic sense of the word. We met freshman year atmunity college, both of us stuck in the back of an Intro to Communications ss. I was fresh off my gap year, still trying to find my footing. Madison looked like she didn¡¯t want to be noticed¡ªhood up, headphones in, eyes down. But I noticed. I saw something in her, something familiar. That quiet kind of loneliness. The kind that mirrors your own even if no one says it out loud. So, I slid into the seat beside her and made a dumb joke about the professor¡¯s tragic shoe choice. When she cracked a smile, I offered her half my muffin. Blueberry. She took it. We¡¯ve been best friends ever since. I never really gave her a choice. Little did we know then that we both had a loss inmon¡ªour moms both died from cancer. Hers when she was a young child, mine when I was turning into a teenager. Where Madison¡¯s grief turned into walls a million feet thick on any side of her heart, mine manifested into severe anxiety mixed with OCD. I shift again; the nket too warm suddenly. Or maybe I¡¯m just thinking too much. Madison¡¯s still watching the movie, but my mind¡¯s spiraling somewhere else¡ªsomewhere quieter and darker. People think anxiety is panic attacks and hyperventting. And yeah, sometimes it is. But for me? It¡¯s control. It¡¯s order. Needing every detail lined up perfectly so my brain doesn¡¯t eat itself. I was twelve when my body first shut down on me. Just¡­stopped. I couldn¡¯t move. Couldn¡¯t speak. Itsted maybe a minute, maybe more. I don¡¯t really remember. I just remember the fear in my mom¡¯s voice. The frantic rush to the ER. The way the doctors kept whispering words like ¡°conversion disorder¡± and ¡°stress response¡± like they were trying not to spook me. Eventually, it turned into seizures¡ªbrief, unpredictable moments where I¡¯d lose control. No warning. No trigger. Just the quiet explosion of my nervous system saying, you¡¯ve pushed too far. It took years to understand it wasn¡¯t about how I felt in the moment. It was the buildup. The chronic pressure. The way I stuffed everything down until my body finally said ¡°enough.¡± By high school, I had a diagnosis: generalized anxiety disorder with OCD tendencies, stress- induced. I¡¯ve been managing it ever since. Therapy. Routines. Systems that make me feel like I¡¯m in control, even when I¡¯m not. And still, sometimes I spiral. Quietly. Clean the apartment until it sparkles. Organize the pantry in rainbow order. Re-check the locks twice. Not because I¡¯m scared, but because some part of me still thinks if I just do everything right, nothing will fall apart. Sometimes I wish I could exin that to people. That I don¡¯t want to be perfect. I have to be. Because the alternative is terrifying. I swallow the tightness in my throat, push down the memories, and focus back on the screen. The movie is in its final stretch now¡ªslow-motion kisses and soaring music¡ªand Madison¡¯s still curled into the corner of the couch, eyes ssy from the ending or maybe just from being still long enough to feel things. I pull the nket off and stand, stretching my arms over my head. ¡°I¡¯m gonna head to bed,¡± I say, keeping my voice casual. ¡°Early shift tomorrow with media prep.¡± Madison looks up, blinking like she¡¯sing out of a daze. ¡°You good?¡± I nod. ¡°Yeah. Just tired.¡± She watches me for a beat longer than necessary, like she¡¯s trying to read between the lines. ¡°Okay,¡± she says finally. ¡°Yell if you need anything. And by ¡®yell,¡¯ I mean wake me up nicely or I¡¯ll end you.¡± A smile tugs at my mouth. ¡°Noted.¡± I turn toward the hallway but pause before disappearing. ¡°Thanks for tonight.¡± She shrugs. ¡°Always.¡± And just like that, the tension in my chest loosens. Not all the way. But enough. The hallway is dark except for the soft glow from the bathroom. I pass my bedroom door and head straight for it. Routine first. Then I can sleep. I flick the bathroom light on. Wait one second. Flick it back off. On again. Twice. Always twice. My therapist once told me the world wouldn¡¯t end if I didn¡¯t. But my body didn¡¯t believe her. I twist my hair into a loose braid, fingers working on autopilot. Left over right. Right over left. I tie it off with the soft scrunchie from the middle drawer¡ªalways the gray one, never pink. The pink one doesn¡¯t sit right. It¡¯s too tight, too scratchy. Skincare next. I wash my face with cold water, then apply toner, serum, and moisturizer in that exact order. Three pumps, never two. One for the skin, one for bnce, one just in case. I wipe down the counter afterward, even though I already wiped it earlier. One more time won¡¯t hurt. Back in my room, I smooth theforter, even though I¡¯m about to get under it. Adjust the pillow. Then again. Corners have to match. Edges straight. Lamp off. Then on. Then off again. The silence is louder in here. But the order dulls it. Only when everything is in its ce¡ªhair braided, skin cool and clean, lights checked, doors locked, pillow just right¡ªdo I finally allow myself to breathe. And maybe sleep. If my brain will let me.
By the time Monday afternoon rolls around, my head is pounding. Not the dull ache kind, either. It¡¯s sharp¡ªlike my brain¡¯s too swollen for my skull and every sound slices through me. I didn¡¯t sleep much this weekend. Not well, anyway. I¡¯ve triple-checked everything on my tablet. Color-coded time blocks. Highlighted yer assignments. Two backup schedules, one handwritten just in case someone ¡°can¡¯t find the PDF.¡± There are two notepads stacked beside me¡ªone for general notes, one for social media briefs. Pens aligned at perfect angles. Everything is in order. It has to be. The office buzzes around me¡ªkeyboards cking, printers humming, someone tapping a foot way too loud under the table. I adjust the edge of my notepad again. Then once more. My hands are shaking. I¡¯m not even sure why. Lack of sleep? Pressure? The feeling that one thing out of ce might tip everything over? ¡°Hey, sorry, excuse me?¡ª¡± I look up just in time to see the other intern¡ªEric, maybe¡ªstumbling as he tries to juggle a cup of coffee, hisptop, and what looks like a breakfast sandwich he definitely didn¡¯t need thiste in the day. The coffee slips. Time slows. The cup tips, spinning in midair before sttering across my desk like a crime scene. It hits my notes first. Then the corner of my tablet and down the side of myptop. My pens roll away. The pages soak instantly, ck ink bleeding out into unreadable messes. ¡°Oh my god,¡± Eric gasps, fumbling napkins. ¡°L, I¡¯m so¡ªshit, I¡¯m so sorry?¡ª¡± I don¡¯t move. I just stare. My whole body locks up. My chest tightens. I try to grab the tablet to get it out of the way, but my fingers slip. I pat at the notepad with one of Eric¡¯s napkins but it¡¯s useless, it¡¯s ruined, it¡¯s all?¡ª My breathing stutters. Fast. Sharp. Out of rhythm. It¡¯s just paper. Just notes. I can rewrite them. I can?¡ª But I can¡¯t stop. My lungs won¡¯t fill right. My vision¡¯s narrowing at the edges. My heart¡¯s pounding like it¡¯s trying to escape. Everything¡¯s too loud. Too fast. Too much. ¡°L.¡± A new voice cuts through the noise. Lower. Calmer. Familiar. I don¡¯t need to look up to know who it is. Carter. He steps in close, not touching me, but anchoring the space between the chaos and my shaking hands. ¡°Breathe.¡± His voice is softer now. Not teasing. Not cocky. Just steady. ¡°I am,¡± I whisper, though it¡¯s barely audible. ¡°You¡¯re not. Try again. In through your nose. Come on.¡± I drag in a breath. It catches halfway. ¡°Slower,¡± he says. ¡°Match me.¡± He exaggerates a slow inhale, and I follow. Then an exhale. And another. I blink, the edges of the rooming back into focus. The noise dulls. My pulse starts to settle. My hands are still trembling. Carter crouches beside my desk, eyeing the mess but notmenting. ¡°You okay?¡± I nod, though I¡¯m not sure it¡¯s true. ¡°Yeah,¡± I manage. ¡°I just¡­it¡¯s stupid.¡± He shakes his head. ¡°It¡¯s not.¡± I don¡¯t know what to say to that. Eric hovers behind him, still apologizing under his breath like a broken record. Carter shoots him a look. ¡°Go find a towel or something,¡± he says, not unkindly. ¡°We¡¯ve got this.¡± Eric stumbles away, grateful for the out. Carter reaches for my soaked notepad, holding it up between two fingers. ¡°RIP. She fought hard.¡± Despite myself, a small, wobblyugh slips out. He nces at me. ¡°There she is.¡± I wipe at my eyes, even though I¡¯m not crying. Not exactly. ¡°Thanks.¡± ¡°Anytime,¡± he says, standing again. ¡°You want me to grab you another coffee? Or murder Eric with a stapler?¡± I shake my head. ¡°I think I¡¯m okay.¡± He holds my gaze for a second longer than necessary. Then, just as he turns to leave, he tosses over his shoulder, ¡°For the record¡­I like your chaos. Kinda suits you.¡± I stare after him, still catching my breath. That was a different side of Carter Hayes. Maybe there¡¯s more to him after all. Red Zone: Chapter 9 The party is low-key; the kind of chill hangout people throw the night before a game when they don¡¯t want to get yelled at during film review. Music¡¯s low, beers are half-warm, and everyone pretends like they¡¯re not keeping one eye on the time. I lean against the kitchen counter, sipping a soda because Coach would bench my ass for showing up hungover. Logan¡¯s nearby, talking to Beck about some y they want to try out next week, but I¡¯m not really listening. Because she just walked in. L. Hair down. Jean jacket over a tight little top. Her smile¡¯s easy, herugh softer than usual. And it¡¯s not for me. It¡¯s for Grayson Bet. Fucking hockey yers. He¡¯s standing too close, leaning in just enough that it looks like they¡¯re sharing a secret, and she¡¯sughing like she doesn¡¯t have a care in the world. I take another sip, jaw tight. I want to be the reason for thatugh. Logan says something about defensive schemes, but I¡¯m already moving, feet carrying me across the room before I can talk myself out of it. I stop right in front of them. ¡°Hey, Harding. Can I talk to you for a sec?¡± L blinks up at me, smile gone. ¡°I¡¯m in the middle of something, Carter.¡± Grayson raises a brow, clearly amused. ¡°We¡¯re just talking, man.¡± I don¡¯t look at him. Don¡¯t need to. ¡°Just a minute.¡± She sighs, folding her arms. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Because if I don¡¯t say what I need to, I¡¯ll probably regret it.¡± That gets her attention. Her eyes narrow, calcting. ¡°Please,¡± I add, and it sounds foreign in my mouth. I don¡¯t beg. She nces at Grayson, then back at me. Something shifts in her expression. ¡°Fine. One minute.¡± I nod and turn, knowing she¡¯ll follow. And she does. I take her to my room, shutting the door behind us. She stands near the wall, arms crossed, chin lifted like armor. ¡°You jealous or just bored?¡± she asks, voice cool. ¡°Would it make a difference?¡± Her mouth twitches, almost a smirk. ¡°So, what is it, Hayes? You need your ego stroked tonight?¡± ¡°Nah,¡± I say, leaning against the dresser. ¡°Just couldn¡¯t stand watching you smile at someone who didn¡¯t earn it.¡± She scoffs. ¡°You think you earned it?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve definitely worked harder than Grayson Fucking Bet.¡± ¡°This isn¡¯t the field, Carter. You don¡¯t win people like you win games.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t I?¡± Her arms drop, fists clenching at her sides. ¡°You really think you can just pull me into your room, say something cocky, and expect me to¡­what? Fall all over you?¡± ¡°No,¡± I say, stepping closer. ¡°I expect you to admit you¡¯re just as confused by this thing between us as I am.¡± She res up at me. ¡°There is no thing.¡± ¡°You sure?¡± I ask, voice low. ¡°Because the way you look at me sometimes? Like you want to p me and kiss me in the same breath?¡± Sheughs without humor. ¡°More like just p you.¡± ¡°Then why are you still standing here?¡± Her jaw flexes. ¡°Because I¡¯m trying to figure out how big a mistake this would be.¡± I step closer again. ¡°I¡¯m not looking for a forever thing, Harding. But don¡¯t pretend you don¡¯t think about it too.¡± Her breath catches. She hates that I¡¯m right. ¡°Tell me to back off,¡± I say, voice tight. ¡°Tell me you don¡¯t want this. I¡¯ll let it go.¡± She says nothing. I lift a hand, brushing a curl behind her ear. Her breath hitches. Her gaze flicks to my mouth. Then back to my eyes. And just like that, she lunges forward. It¡¯s not a sweet kiss. It¡¯s teeth. Tongue. Anger. Fire. It¡¯s every insult, every re, every unspoken thing we¡¯ve been shoving down since day one. Her hands fist in my shirt. Mine grip her waist like she¡¯s an anchor. We stumble back against the door, our breathing hard, lips swollen. And when she pulls back, she whispers, voice hoarse, ¡°This doesn¡¯t mean anything.¡± I nod, but don¡¯t believe it. ¡°Whatever you say, Princess,¡± I say, trying to catch my breath. ¡°This okay?¡± Her eyes are darker than I¡¯ve ever seen them. She nods once. That¡¯s all I need. I reach for her. One hand around the back of her neck, the other sliding around her waist, pulling her in fast enough to steal her breath. Our mouths crash together again. Her hands tug me closer, and I groan against her lips, feeling her melt and push back all at once. We move toward the bed, her jacket slipping off her shoulders, my hands roaming her sides. I grip her hips, lifting her just enough to drop her onto the mattress, crawling over her without hesitation. Her legs wrap around my waist instinctively. Her fingers are already tugging my shirt up, knuckles grazing bare skin. I break the kiss just long enough to rip it over my head and toss it across the room. Her eyes sweep down my chest, and that look alone nearly undoes me. She leans up, pressing kisses down my jaw to my neck, biting hard enough to make me hiss. I grip the hem of her shirt, eyes asking for permission. She nods, breath hot against my skin. Off it goes. And then she¡¯s under me in nothing but a bra and jeans, skin flushed and eyes dark. I kiss her corbone, then lower, my mouth iming every inch she¡¯ll give me. My hands find her back, pausing at the sp of her bra. I look at her again, and my voice is rough when I ask, ¡°Okay?¡± She nods, biting her lip. I unhook it slowly, savoring the moment, then toss it aside and kiss her like she¡¯s the only thing keeping me alive. Her nails dig into my back, our bodies grinding together with too many clothes still in the way. My hips roll into hers, and I feel her arch beneath me, her breath catching. She tugs at my belt, fumbling with the buckle. I help her with the button on her jeans, fingers brushing hot skin as I slide the denim down her thighs. She gasps when I press my hand along the inside of her thigh. I¡¯m hard and aching, her body warm and soft beneath me, everything about this spiraling into need. She palms the front of my jeans, and I swear under my breath, grinding into her hand as I kiss her again, harder, deeper. Her hands are at my waistband, my fingers at hers?¡ª The door bursts open. ¡°Shit¡ªsorry!¡± someone says, drunk andughing. ¡°Didn¡¯t know anyone was in here. I was looking for the bathroom.¡± I jerk away instinctively as the door shuts, heart hammering, while L practicallyunches off the bed. Her eyes go wide as she scans the room for something¡ªanything¡ªto cover herself. She dives for the floor, snatching up the first thing she sees: my hoodie. It¡¯s oversized and already inside out, but she pulls it over her head like her life depends on it. The sleeves hang past her hands, and it swallows her frame, the hem brushing her thighs before she yanks her jeans back up quickly. Her hair is a mess, skin flushed and lips kiss-swollen as she bends to grab her shirt from the floor with trembling fingers. Her breathing is still ragged, chest rising and falling beneath the fabric as she shoves her shirt into the front pocket, barely looking at me. I¡¯m about to say something¡ªanything¡ªwhen she cuts me off. ¡°Don¡¯t.¡± Her voice is sharp, brittle around the edges. ¡°This was a mistake.¡± ¡°L¡ª¡± She yanks open the door. ¡°Forget it ever happened, Hayes.¡± And then she¡¯s gone. I fall back onto my bed, still shirtless, staring up at the ceiling. What the hell just happened? Red Zone: Chapter 10 Ipractically trip down the stairs. My shoes hit the hardwood with a smack, and the cold air outside ps me in the face the second I swing open the front door. My heart¡¯s still racing, my limbs buzzing with too much adrenaline and not enough oxygen. Carter¡¯s hoodie swallows me, and I clutch the hem like it might shield me from the memory of what almost just happened. God, what was I thinking? I fumble in the pocket and yank out my shirt. My hands are shaking as I shove my arms into it underneath the thick hoodie fabric and peel the hoodie off, careful to not give anyone a show. I toss it into the backseat of my car without a second thought, like the act of physically separating myself from it will erase the way his hands felt on my skin. Only after I slide into the driver¡¯s seat and m the door shut do I realize something important. Shit. My bra. Still on his damn bedroom floor. Panic threatens to w up my throat, but I shove it down long enough to grab my phone and text Madison. L: Going home. I don¡¯t wait for a response. I just drive.
The apartment is quiet when I get in. Too quiet. I shut the door behind me, lock it, then unlock and relock it. Twice. My fingers twitch as I kick off my shoes, cing them in the open cubby, and head straight for the bathroom. Sometimes lights are too much¡ªtoo bright, too sharp¡ªso I gave it a little makeover right when we moved in. Now, a string of purple LED lights runs around the mirror and along the edge of the ceiling. The second I flip the switch, a soft violet glow floods the room, instantly easing the ache building in my skull. I turn on the sound machine next¡ªwaves crashing gently against a shore¡ªand peel off my clothes with trembling hands. Everything feels too loud. The scrape of my zipper, the rustle of fabric, the thud of my jeans hitting the floor. The shower¡¯s already on, steam curling out behind the curtain. I step in and sink to the tile floor before the water can fully hit me. Let ite to me. That¡¯s what my therapist taught me. Don¡¯t force the calm. Let it arrive. Picture the room. The room in my mind is purple. Always purple. Soft light. Clean lines. Everything in its ce. No voices. No chaos. No spirals. Just breathe. I close my eyes and let the water hit my back, soaking my hair, warming my skin. I curl my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them, chin resting on top. Inhale. Two. Three. Four. Hold. Two. Exhale. Two. Three. Four. I repeat it again. And again. Until the ringing in my ears dulls and the tightness in my chest loosens, if only a little. Why did I let him touch me? Why did I kiss him? He¡¯s a yer¡ªin every way. I¡¯ve known it since the moment I met him. shy smile. Arrogant swagger. The kind of guy who doesn¡¯t believe in consequences because he¡¯s never had to deal with them. I can¡¯t be that girl. The one who loses focus. Who risks everything for a few minutes of being wanted. I¡¯ve worked too hard to get here. Every interview, every sleepless night, every perfectly curated strategy for my career. I can¡¯t let one heated moment with Carter Hayes undo all of it. Especially not him. Not the quarterback. Not the guy who makes me want to forget how carefully I¡¯ve built this life. I stay in the shower until my fingers wrinkle and the hot water runs lukewarm. But the heat inside my chest? It doesn¡¯t go anywhere.
The next morning, I sit at the kitchen counter, a chipped mug of peppermint tea cupped between my hands and a nket wrapped around my shoulders like armor. Steam curls up toward my face, warming the tip of my nose as I stare at myptop screen. The game ister today, and I¡¯m already deep in prep work¡ªwatching highlight reels, reading over press schedules, and double- checking graphics that I queued upst night. My head still aches faintly, a ghost of the spiral that gripped mest night, but the hot water and purple glow of my bathroom sanctuary helped enough to get me to sleep, even if it was only a few restless hours. I¡¯ll be fine. I always am. The sound of bare feet padding across the hardwood makes me nce up. Madison shuffles into the kitchen, still half asleep in an oversized tee and fuzzy socks, her hair sticking out at odd angles. ¡°You¡¯re up early,¡± she mumbles, rubbing her eyes. I check the time and my stomach drops. ¡°Shit. We¡¯re gonna bete. Get dressed¡ªwe have to leave like now.¡± Madison blinks, confused. ¡°Wait, what? For what?¡± ¡°My study group meets before the game,¡± I say, mming myptop shut and downing the rest of my tea in one gulp. ¡°And you promised to tag along to hit the coffee shop after.¡± ¡°Oh right,¡± Madison groans. ¡°Okay, okay, I¡¯m moving.¡± Two minutester, we¡¯re heading to my car. Madison climbs into the passenger seat with a yawn, folding her legs under her and curling up like a cat. She shivers as the leather seat hits her bare thighs. ¡°It¡¯s freezing.¡± ¡°There¡¯s a hoodie in the back if you want?¡ª¡± Toote. She¡¯s already reached back and pulled it into herp. Carter¡¯s hoodie. My eyes bulge as I see the gray fabric, the slightly frayed cor, the faded letters across the chest. My stomach does a slow, nauseating flip. Madison tugs it over her head, oblivious, still half-asleep. ¡°Mmm, this smells good,¡± she says, snuggling into the soft cotton and pulling the hood up. I clutch the steering wheel with both hands, eyes forward, trying to pretend my best friend isn¡¯t currently wearing the remnants of my almost-mistake. I know Madison has always said there was never anything more than a friendship with¡­well, benefits between her and Carter. ¡°I¡¯ll drop you at the coffee shop,¡± I say, my voice way too even. ¡°Then I¡¯ll meet you back there in an hour.¡± Madison gives a sleepy thumbs up, eyes already drooping again. My jaw tightens as I focus on the road. The hoodie burns in my peripheral vision. And no matter how hard I try to ignore it, I can still feel Carter¡¯s hands, his lips, his voice low in my ear¡ª I blink hard, swallowing. One hour. I just have to hold it together for one more hour.
I slide into a seat at the back of the business building¡¯s third-floor conference room, tucking my tablet, notebook and color-coded notepads neatly in front of me. My group is already gathering, a mix of seniors and grad students all buzzing with caffeine and nerves. Our TA starts with a rundown of our next assignment¡ªa mock marketing case study with full creative freedom. We¡¯ll each pick a subject or brand to build a strategy around. It can be anything, as long as we treat it like a real client campaign. People around me start tossing ideas back and forth. Sustainable fashion brands. Local coffee shops. Nonprofits. Influencers. I jot notes but nothing clicks right away. Until it does. Athletes. That¡¯s what I care about¡ªwhat I know. And not just any athlete. Someone with momentum. Buzz. Untapped potential. Jaxon Montgomery. He¡¯s new to PCU but already front and center in the school¡¯s media. Quiet but charismatic. Focused. Marketable. And best of all? He¡¯s not Carter. I flip to a nk page in my notebook and start writing. Core values. Transfer storyline. Rising star appeal. Off-the-field personality. I could build a whole mock NIL campaign around him¡ªsomething polished, aspirational, but grounded in who he actually is. Maybe a docu-style video series. Social media content showcasing his routine, his favorite food spots, his ylist. A campaign designed to build connection, not just clout. Around me, my group members brainstorm their own ideas¡ªbeauty brands, fitness apps, pet rescues. I barely hear them. This is myne. By the time the session wraps up, I¡¯ve filled a page and a half with scribbled ideas and a n already forming in my mind. I pack up my things and head for the door, my brain buzzing. I¡¯ll ask Jaxon about itter. Just casually. Time to shift into game-day mode. And maybe, just maybe, time to reim some control.
The walk from the business building to the coffee shop is short, but my legs feel heavy with every step. My brain is still spinning¡ªhalf with ideas for the project, half trying not to reyst night in vivid detail. I tug my coat tighter around myself, hoping the brisk breeze will p some sense into me. Madison is waiting for me, sitting outside at a corner table under a rust-red patio umbre, her legs tucked up beneath her like she lives there. She¡¯s still in Carter¡¯s hoodie, arge iced coffee in front of her, phone in hand. She looks up as I approach and grins like she didn¡¯t just walk around in my biggest secret. ¡°You¡¯rete,¡± she says, lifting a to-go cup toward me. I drop into the seat across from her, grateful for the steam rising from the lid of the coffee she hands me. She knows me too well. ¡°Thanks,¡± I mutter, blowing across the lid. She watches me over the rim of her coffee. ¡°So¡­anything you¡¯d like to tell me?¡± I blink, too quickly. y it cool. ¡°Like what?¡± Madison gives me a look. The look. The one that says don¡¯t even try me right now. ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know,¡± she says casually, taking a slow sip. ¡°Like why Carter¡¯s hoodie was in your backseat, and is now on my body?¡± I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again. ¡°Nothing happened,¡± I say, too fast. Her eyebrows shoot up. ¡°That¡¯s a weird way to start a sentence about nothing.¡± I sigh, curling my fingers tighter around the warm cup in my hands before telling her what happenedst night. ¡°It was a stupid mistake. It didn¡¯t mean anything.¡± Madison snorts. ¡°Right. Totally believable. You identally climbed on top of him and made out until your clothes were half off.¡± ¡°I¡¯m serious,¡± I say, sharper than I mean to. ¡°It¡¯s not going to happen again.¡± Madison holds up both hands in mock surrender. ¡°Okay, okay. No judgment. I just¡­don¡¯t think you¡¯re the type to do things that don¡¯t mean anything.¡± I look away, swallowing hard. That¡¯s the problem. Red Zone: Chapter 11 The stadium hums with that pre-kickoff buzz¡ªlow and rising, like a storm about to break. Helmet in hand, I stretch my neck side to side, rolling out the tension I¡¯ve been carrying all week. Another Saturday, another shot to prove I¡¯m not just hype. Another chance to get us one step closer to yoffs. ¡°Yo,¡± Jaxon jogs up beside me, already strapped in and ready. ¡°You good?¡± I nod, eyes scanning the tunnel ahead. ¡°Always.¡± He lifts a brow like he doesn¡¯t quite believe me but doesn¡¯t push it. That¡¯s one thing I like about him¡ªhe keeps his intensity on the field and doesn¡¯t ask questions off it. ¡°You see the defense we¡¯re up against?¡± he says, bouncing on the balls of his feet. ¡°Linebackers look hungry.¡± I grin. ¡°Then let¡¯s make ¡¯em starve.¡± Jaxon smirks and ps my shoulder as I fasten my helmet. ¡°Let¡¯s eat.¡± We bump helmets before stepping into the tunnel, the roar of the crowd swelling like thunder as we jog out onto the field.
Up in the stands, I catch a sh of red curls. L. She¡¯s not on the sidelines today¡ªprobably some media reshuffle or scheduling thing¡ªbut she¡¯s here. Sitting next to Madison, arms folded, sunsses on, lips set in that no-bullshit line I know too well. I look away before I do something dumb. Like stare too long. My teammate standing next to me looks like a lovesick puppy, smiling big enough you¡¯d think we¡¯d already won the championship this year. ¡°Dial in, Montgomery. You can flirt with your girl after you rack up some yards.¡± His eyes snap to mine, and he chuckles low. Focus. Mind clear. Game time.
The snap is clean. The pocket forms. I¡¯ve got a second and a half, maybe two. I spot Jaxon breaking right¡ªhis defender a step behind. ¡°Go,¡± I mutter, alreadyunching. The ball sails perfectly into his hands. He cuts upfield, dodging a tackle and picking up fifteen yards before stepping out of bounds. The crowd erupts. The chains are moved farther up the field. I nod, heartbeat syncing with the rhythm of the game. Next y¡ªfake handoff, roll left, find Montgomery again in the t. He drags two defenders with him before he¡¯s pulled down. We¡¯re marching. A couple more runs, one near-sack I barely escape, and then we¡¯re in the red zone. I call the audible, lock eyes with Jaxon. He nods once. Snap. Three steps. nt. Throw. Touchdown.
Theye out swinging¡ªmore aggressive, tighter coverage. I get hit hard on a third down scramble, helmet bouncing off turf. I bite back a curse and get up before anyone can ask if I¡¯m good. Because I am. I always am. Coach barks into the headset. New n. We go no-huddle, pick up the tempo, wear them down. They start making mistakes¡ªmissed tackles, blown coverage. Fourth quarter, two minutes left. We¡¯re up by three, but they¡¯re pushing hard. Defense holds on fourth-and-short. Turnover on downs. All we have to do is run out the clock. Ball¡¯s in my hands. I kneel. Once. Twice. The final whistle blows.
The locker room is a war zone of sweaty gear, shouting, and back ps. Someone sts music, Beck¡¯s already halfway through his Gatorade, yelling about how he ¡°freakin¡¯ pancaked that running back. Jaxon and I p hands, a mutual grin passing between us. ¡°Nice pull on thatst catch,¡± I say, voice rough from yelling. He smirks. ¡°You keep throwing like that, I¡¯ll keep catching.¡± Fair. I strip out of my pads and toss my jersey into the bin, muscles sore in all the best ways. My knuckles are scraped. My legs are lead. But this¡ªthe post-win high? Can¡¯t bottle it. Can¡¯t fake it. I catch my reflection in the locker mirror. Just for a second. Still here. Still standing. And damn if that doesn¡¯t count for something.
The party¡¯s already in full swing by the time I show up. The football house is packed¡ªmusic shaking the walls, solo cups scattered across every surface, someone already passed out on the couch and it¡¯s not even ten. The scent of cheap beer, cologne, and fresh sweat clings to everything like static. Feels like a ritual at this point. Win a game, get wrecked. Rinse and repeat. I shoulder my way through the crowd, nodding at familiar faces, letting the post-game buzz carry me. Beck¡¯s in the kitchen, making a big show of pouring a mixed drink for a girl who¡¯s clearly only here for the social media footage. ¡°QB1!¡± someone shouts, and a cup is thrust into my hand before I can see who gave it to me. I raise it out of habit, take a sip¡ªsweet and spiked. Too much sugar, not enough bite. I drain it anyway. I¡¯m halfway through the living room when I see her. L. Red curls loose tonight. Tight jeans. A ck top that dips low in the front and higher in the back, exposing just a sliver of her spine every time she shifts her weight. She¡¯s talking to someone near the firece¡ªGrayson Bet again, grinning like he¡¯s the man who invented flirting. Sheughs at something he says, not overly loud or fake, just soft and real. Genuine. My stomach twists. I should walk away. Find someone else. Anyone else. Instead, I hover like an idiot by the drink table, watching her. She doesn¡¯t see me right away. Which is fine. Totally fine. I¡¯m not staring. I¡¯m observing. Big difference. She turns slightly, catches sight of me, and her smile fades. Her jaw tightens. And then¡ªbecause of course she does¡ªshe turns back to Grayson, gives a little nod like he said something brilliant, and keeps talking. She¡¯s not going to make this easy. Good. I finish the rest of my drink in one swallow, set the cup down, and push off the counter, headed straight toward her. Let¡¯s y, Princess. Grayson leans in closer. Too close. I can¡¯t hear what he says, not over the music and chatter and whatever chaos Beck is stirring up behind me, but L¡¯s eyes sh, then sheughs again¡ªlight, genuine, and aimed at him. The kind ofugh she never gives me. She reaches out, touches his arm lightly, and for some reason that does it. That stupid little touch. I down what¡¯s left of someone else¡¯s abandoned drink, the burn not nearly enough, and lean back against the doorframe like I own the ce. Because I do. Tonight, I do. And yet she¡¯s across the room, standing with Grayson Fucking Bet like he didn¡¯t trip over his own stick three games into the hockey seasonst year. She doesn¡¯t owe me anything. We agreed¡ªone night, no feelings, no fallout. But watching her toss her hair over her shoulder, watching the way Grayson drinks in every move she makes like he¡¯s already won? Yeah. No. She grabs his hand and leads him into the crowd. Into the pulsing mess of bodies swaying in time with the bass thundering through the floorboards. ¡°E.T.¡± by Katy Perry kicks on¡ªremixed, bass boosted, filthy with tension¡ªand the whole room shifts. She turns, just enough for her eyes to find me. And she doesn¡¯t look away. She doesn¡¯t stop, either. Her hips sway with the beat, back pressed into Grayson¡¯s front like she doesn¡¯t even feel him there. But her eyes¡ªthose sharp green eyes¡ªnever leave mine. It¡¯s not dancing. It¡¯s war. Right now, she¡¯s winning. And she knows it. Somehow, I¡¯m getting hard like a fucking idiot just watching her move against someone else. Who knew your brain could short-circuit from jealousy and lust at the same time? Jaxon ps my shoulder, dragging my attention away before I do something reckless. ¡°You uh¡­you good, man?¡± he asks, eyes scanning the crowd. ¡°You¡¯re standing here like a statue, and I¡¯m pretty sure you¡¯re two minutes fromunching Hockey Boy through a window.¡± ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± I mutter. It¡¯s not even convincing to me. Jaxon smirks like he knows I¡¯m lying. ¡°You keep telling yourself that. But¡ª¡± he trails off, eyes catching on something¡ªor someone¡ªacross the room. His smirk fades a little, reced by something softer. ¡°Huh.¡± I nce over at him, then follow his gaze. Madison. She¡¯s across the room now, holding a drink and talking to some girl from her psych ss. Jaxon doesn¡¯t say anything else, but he doesn¡¯t have to. His expression shifts¡ªjust for a second. It¡¯s not loud. Not obvious. But it¡¯s there. He¡¯s not looking at the party anymore. He¡¯s looking at her. And I don¡¯t want to see it. I don¡¯t want to see any of it. Without a word, I step away, pushing past a couple making out in the hallway, past the noise, past the static hum of bodies and bad decisions. I take the stairs two at a time and don¡¯t stop until I¡¯m in my room, the door clicking shut behind me. The walls are quieter up here. But my thoughts aren¡¯t. I throw myself onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling until my jaw aches from how tight I¡¯m clenching it. I should¡¯ve grabbed another drink. Should¡¯ve found someone to distract me, to erase her from my brain for one fucking night. But no. I came up here instead. And now I¡¯m hard as hell, pissed off, and still stuck on the girl who walked away wearing my hoodie but is now dancing the night away pressed against some hockey bro like I never existed. My hand moves without much thought¡ªpalm pressing low over the front of my jeans, trying to ease the tension that¡¯s been riding me since she walked into the party. It doesn¡¯t help. I shut my eyes. Try to imagine someone else. But it¡¯s her I see. That ck top clinging to her skin. The curve of her waist. Her mouth slightly parted as sheughs, eyes locked on mine like she knows exactly what she is doing. L. I hiss through my teeth as I unbutton my jeans and slip my hand inside, wrapping my fingers around my throbbing cock. I picture her climbing onto myp as I start stroking myself, the way she had that night¡ªhow warm and soft she felt, the little sounds she made when I bit her neck, the way she gasped when I reached for her bra sp and she nodded¡ªbarely, but enough to let me know she wanted it too. My rhythm builds, faster now. I chase the memory, that heat, that high as my balls start tightening, my muscles starting to contract. I relive the way her hips rolled against mine, her fingers gripping my hair like she couldn¡¯t get close enough. I imagine what it would¡¯ve felt like to finally be inside her. How tight, how wet¡ªfuck. Ie with a quiet groan, my free hand fisting the sheets beside me as my cum covers my lower abdomen. It takes a second for my body to settle, but when it does, shame follows right after¡ªlow and bitter in my gut. I pull my shirt the rest of the way off and toss it to the side, then get up and head to the bathroom, flipping on the light. Grabbing a washcloth, I make quick work of cleaning up my own mess. I toss it into the bin before sshing cold water on my face, trying to rinse off the guilt clinging to my skin. There¡¯s no way this ends without me getting burned, but that doesn¡¯t stop me from dreaming about a redhead with a sharp tongue all night. Red Zone: Chapter 12 I see him leave. Carter pushes away from the doorway without a word, cutting through the crowd like he¡¯s on a mission. His shoulders are tense, his jaw is tight, and he doesn¡¯t even nce back. Good. Let him be mad. Let him feel even a sliver of what I¡¯ve been trying to shake since I walked out of his room wearing his hoodie, pretending I didn¡¯t care. ¡°Hey,¡± Grayson says beside me, voice low. ¡°Wanna get out of here? We could find somewhere quieter. Just chill.¡± He¡¯s not being pushy. Not really. His hand rests lightly on my lower back. He smells like cologne and beer and effort. But he¡¯s not who I want. I offer him a small smile and shake my head. ¡°I¡¯ve got an early day tomorrow.¡± His face falls a little, but he nods. ¡°Fair enough.¡± I say goodbye, weave through the crowd, and step out into the cooler night air. The music dulls behind me as I walk down the block to where I parked. The silence is jarring after the chaos inside, but it helps. Every breath steadies me a little more. Still, by the time I get home, my thoughts are racing. I don¡¯t change. Don¡¯t shower. Don¡¯t even bother putting my hair up. I just grab myptop, make a cup of tea I know I won¡¯t finish, and settle at the kitchen counter with my notes spread out across the ind, my cookie dough ice cream already halfway gone. The Jaxon idea won¡¯t let go. NIL potential, personal branding, local sponsorship angles¡ªit¡¯s all buzzing in my brain like a swarm. I start outlining a content calendar, sketching ideas for photo shoots and campaign slogans, slowly building out my n. I¡¯m so focused on my work that I barely hear the door close. Madison drops her bag on the counter and ces Carter¡¯s hoodie on the back of the couch like it¡¯s any other sweatshirt¡ªnot the exact one I practically sprinted out of his room wearing the other night. She groans as she plops down on the stool next to me. ¡°Why are you still up?¡± ¡°Couldn¡¯t sleep,¡± I say, my fingers flying over my keyboard. ¡°Started outlining the campaign for that mock NIL project.¡± She rubs her eyes. ¡°Please tell me you picked someone boring, so we don¡¯t have to have this conversation.¡± I huff augh. ¡°I was thinking¡­Jaxon.¡± Madison¡¯s head tilts. ¡°Yeah, that makes sense. Quiet. Chill. Total media goldmine if someone actually handled it right.¡± ¡°Exactly. He¡¯s got potential. Controlled. Marketable. Not a walking PR disaster.¡± There¡¯s a beat of silence, and I feel her eyes on me before she even speaks. ¡°But you know who would be a real challenge?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t.¡± ¡°Carter.¡± I shut myptop a little harder than necessary. Madison raises both hands. ¡°I¡¯m just saying¡ªif you pulled off a brand campaign around him? That¡¯s portfolio-defining.¡± Iugh, but there¡¯s no humor in it. ¡°Right. A cocky quarterback with a Godplex who can¡¯t keep it in his pants? That¡¯s not a brand. That¡¯s a cautionary tale.¡± She arches a brow, and I backtrack. ¡°Sorry. There¡¯s nothing wrong with fucking between two perfectly consensual adults. No judgement here.¡± Sheughs a little before getting serious again. ¡°You don¡¯t think there¡¯s more to him?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t care if there is,¡± I snap, then immediately wince. ¡°Sorry. It¡¯s just?¡ª¡± ¡°You¡¯re spiraling,¡± she says gently, like she¡¯s seen it a hundred times before. Because she has. I stare down at my now empty carton of ice cream. ¡°I can¡¯t get involved with someone like him, Mads. Not just because of my dad, or the internship, or the fact that I¡¯d probably have to market him someday. It¡¯s because¡­¡± I trail off, forcing myself to meet her eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t do chaos anymore. I can¡¯t. My life only works when it¡¯s controlled and structured and¡ªsafe.¡± Madison is quiet, but she nods slowly. ¡°You don¡¯t think Carter could ever be safe?¡± I blink hard. ¡°I think Carter could burn my whole life down if I¡¯m not careful.¡± She reaches out and squeezes my hand¡ªjust a steady, grounding presence. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t let him,¡± she says softly. ¡°But I do think you¡¯re missing out, even if it¡¯s tonic. I¡¯ve never quite understood why you¡¯ve always hated him. He¡¯s really not a bad guy.¡± I can¡¯t help but wonder if she might be right. I decide to change the subject instead. ¡°Sooooo¡­. You and Jaxon seemed to be getting awfully close tonight.¡± That gets her headed straight to her room. ¡°Goodnight.¡± I can¡¯t help butugh as she walks down the hall, which causes her to flip me the bird before she makes it to her door. Settling back into my seat, I click over to Carter¡¯s stat sheet, wondering if maybe Madison is right. Maybe there is more to him than I¡¯m willing to admit.
The next two weeks blur together in a haze of footage, edits, and tightly wound nerves. Media prep for the uing rivalry game has consumed everything¡ªhighlight reels, yer interviews, social clips, graphic schedules. Every day feels like a countdown to war. Which is fine. Busy is good. Busy means I don¡¯t have time to think about a certain quarterback or what almost happened in his bed. And so far? I¡¯ve managed two weeks and five days without speaking to him. Not even a ¡°hey.¡± Not a nod in passing. Honestly, it should qualify as a personal victory. Which is why I¡¯m mentally patting myself on the back as I slip into the weight room at the athletic center. It¡¯s Wednesday afternoon, just past the main practice block, and I know no one is supposed to be in here right now. That¡¯s half the reason I came¡ªjust to clear my head and run off the stress on the treadmill without tripping over someone¡¯s sweaty bench press routine. I toss my bag down, pull off my long-sleeve tee, and settle into a steady jog in just my sports bra and leggings. The treadmill hums beneath my feet as I find a rhythm. My ponytail swings with each step, music sting in my ears. Heart pounding. Muscles burning. Control. Routine. Safe. After twenty minutes, I slow it down, letting my breath level out. A full cooldown, just the way I like it. I¡¯m already reaching for my towel and water bottle when I hop off the treadmill, still bobbing my head to the music pulsing through my headphones. I turn toward the exit, satisfied with the sweat and the stillness in my thoughts?¡ª And m into something solid. Hard. Warm. And naked? I stumble back, breath caught in my throat, eyes flying up just in time to see a familiar chest. A very familiar chest. Carter. Shirtless. Hair damp, sweat glistening across his corbones and down his stomach like some kind of twisted cinematic punishment. His hands shoot out to steady me, one brushing my hip before dropping back like I burned him. My headphones slip off one ear and dangle uselessly over my shoulder. ¡°Shit,¡± he mutters, looking down at me with those storm-cloud eyes. ¡°You okay?¡± My skin is still buzzing from the contact, but I square my shoulders and nod, heart thudding way too hard. ¡°Fine,¡± I say, pulling my headphones the rest of the way off. ¡°Didn¡¯t expect anyone to be in here.¡± ¡°Same,¡± he says, voice low and rough around the edges. We stand there, too close, too silent, the air thick with something we¡¯ve both been pretending wasn¡¯t there for weeks. I finally take a step back, grabbing my towel like a shield. ¡°I was just leaving.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± he says, eyes dragging from my face to my bare stomach and back up again, slow enough I feel it like a touch. ¡°I can see that.¡± His hands don¡¯t drop. They¡¯re still on my waist¡ªhot, steady, like he¡¯s forgotten how to let go. My breath catches. Every part of me tenses, but not in fear. In anticipation. In that electric, aching pause where the smart thing to do is walk away. Again. But I don¡¯t move. And neither does he. My eyes flick to his, and the storm I find there nearly knocks the wind out of me. He looks like he¡¯s at war with himself. Like he¡¯s been holding something back for weeks, and it¡¯s starting to slip. ¡°What are you doing?¡± I whisper. His fingers flex slightly, like he¡¯s grounding himself. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± The wordsnd between us, raw and reckless. Then his hand slides up, not fast¡ªcarefully¡ªas if he¡¯s giving me time to stop him. His palm brushes the side of my rib cage, then curves behind my back, pulling me in until we¡¯re chest to chest, sweat and heat and breath tangled between us. I shouldn¡¯t want this. I shouldn¡¯t let this happen again. But his eyes are locked on mine like I¡¯m the only thing in the world. And when his mouth crashes into mine, I let it happen. With zero reservation. Just fire and frustration and weeks of avoidance copsing into one desperate, burning kiss. He groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against my lips as he presses me back into the wall beside the treadmill, his hands anchoring me there like he can¡¯t risk me disappearing again. I grip his shoulders without thinking, fingers digging into sweat-slick skin, and I hate that I remember exactly how he feels under my hands. I hate it. And I want more. His mouth is on mine like it never should¡¯ve left. His body is all around me¡ªhands on my hips, chest pressed to mine, heat rolling off him like he was built to ruin people, and I¡¯m just the next one in line. My head tilts back as his lips trail down my jaw, and I feel his teeth graze just under my ear. A breath escapes me¡ªtraitorous and shaky¡ªand my fingers grip harder onto his shoulders like I need to hold on or I¡¯ll drown. But then?¡ª Footsteps echo from the hallway outside. Reality ms into me like a brick. I jerk back, palms on his chest, breath ragged. ¡°We can¡¯t do this. Not here.¡± He blinks, still catching up, hands hovering like he doesn¡¯t want to lose contact. ¡°Why not?¡± ¡°Because we could get caught,¡± I whisper harshly, ncing toward the door. ¡°Because this is a university gym. Because I can¡¯t be the girl sneaking around with the star quarterback in between reps.¡± He doesn¡¯t move. Doesn¡¯t step back. Just tilts his head slightly, looking down at me like he¡¯s trying to read through every excuse I¡¯m putting up like armor. ¡°Then let¡¯s not sneak,¡± he says, voice low. ¡°Let¡¯s just do it.¡± I stare at him. He licks his lips, jaw tight. ¡°One night. That¡¯s all I¡¯m asking.¡± I suck in a breath. ¡°One night,¡± he repeats, softer now. ¡°We get it out of our systems. You don¡¯t owe me anything after that. We don¡¯t have to talk. Don¡¯t have to act like it means anything. But don¡¯t pretend you don¡¯t want this too.¡± My heart pounds against my ribs like it¡¯s trying to warn me. I cross my arms over my chest, trying to ignore the way my body is still buzzing from his hands, his mouth, the way he said one night like it would be simple. Like I wouldn¡¯t walk away from it wrecked. My voicees out steadier than I feel. ¡°Okay, then. What exactly is your brilliant n, Hayes?¡± He raises a brow. ¡°You really want me to spell it out?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I snap, heat crawling up my neck. ¡°Because you keep saying one night like that makes it clean or easy, and newssh¡ªit¡¯s not.¡± He leans back slightly, hands resting on his hips, eyes dragging over me like he already knows how the night would go. Like he¡¯s imagined it. ¡°You and me,¡± he says, voice low and even. ¡°No games. No strings. One night to stop pretending we don¡¯t want it. Then we move on.¡± I scoff, but there¡¯s a tremble in it. ¡°You think we can just hook up once and then what¡ªcasually avoid each other for the rest of the season?¡± He shrugs. ¡°You¡¯ve been doing a hell of a job avoiding me already.¡± My re sharpens, but it doesn¡¯tnd. He¡¯s still too close. Looking at me like he could peel away every defense I¡¯ve ever built with just his mouth and a few well-ced hands. ¡°I¡¯m serious, L,¡± he says, voice dipping lower. ¡°Whatever the hell this is? It¡¯s been under my skin since the second you walked out of my room in my hoodie. So, either we burn it off or it keeps building until we do something even more reckless.¡± I hate how much sense that makes. And I hate that part of me wants to say yes. Not because I trust him. But because I don¡¯t trust myself around him anymore. ¡°Fine. One night. I mean it. Once.¡± I look around to make sure we¡¯re still alone, then take a step around him. ¡°Madison is going out with Jaxon this weekend. You cane over then. I¡¯ll text you when it¡¯s clear.¡± The smirk that takes over his face makes me want to p it right off. ¡°See you then, Princess.¡± Red Zone: Chapter 13 ¡°USE PROTECTION!¡± I yell from the porch as Madison jogs toward Jaxon¡¯s truck, phone in hand and the world¡¯s most smug expression on her face. She lifts a middle finger in response and blows me a kiss, not even bothering to turn around. I shake my head andugh, but it¡¯s a thin sound. Hollow around the edges. The second the door shuts behind me, the silence is loud. I head straight for the bathroom and start what¡¯s supposed to be my everything shower¡ªbody scrub, hair mask, full reset. But the second I step under the water, something in my chest tightens. I scrub harder than usual. Wash my hair twice. Then three times. I shave, even though I don¡¯t need to, just to keep moving. The steam fogs up the mirror and coats the walls, but I don¡¯t step out. I just stand there under the spray, forehead pressed to the tile, trying to force the thoughts out of my head. What if I can¡¯t keep this together? What if this is a mistake? What if I ruin everything? By the time I get out, the bathroom feels like a sauna. My towel clings to my skin. My hands are trembling, but I ignore it. I¡¯m fine. I¡¯m fine. I towel off just enough to stop dripping, then braid my wet hair fast and messy, and step into my room. That¡¯s when it starts. The desk is cluttered. I didn¡¯t notice it before, but now it¡¯s all I can see. I move to straighten the piles¡ªassignments, notebooks, pens¡ªexcept one pen is missing a cap, and now I can¡¯t think about anything else. I drop to the floor and start pulling open drawers. Where¡¯s the damn cap? By the time I find it, my chest is tight. Like I¡¯ve run five miles uphill. My muscles buzz with tension. I don¡¯t sit down. I clean. Fast. Frantic. Dresser. Closet. Nightstand. Every drawer gets reorganized. Shoes lined up perfectly. Water sses removed and put in the sink. The smell of bleach stings my nose, but I keep going. The coffee table has rings on it. The throw pillows are off-center. The rug has a wrinkle. Fix it. Fix it. Fix it. By the time I wipe down the entire kitchen counter¡ªfor the second time¡ªmy braid has soaked through the back of my T-shirt. My hands shake as I line up three mugs on the drying rack. Perfect. Almost. I turn to wipe the sink when a knock rattles the front door. I freeze. Then the panic floods in. Carter. I nce at the clock. He came. Of course he did. And now I can¡¯t breathe. Not from nerves or embarrassment. From that tightening, burning, scraping feeling in my ribs. The one that builds when I lose control of the rhythm. When everything feels too loud, too close, too wrong. Another knock. ¡°L?¡± His voice is muffled through the door. Calm. Curious. I don¡¯t answer. My hand grips the edge of the counter like it¡¯ll ground me, but my knuckles go white. Another beat. Then three soft knocks. ¡°Hey,¡± he says again. ¡°You okay?¡± I manage to unlock the door, but I don¡¯t open it all the way. Just enough for him to see me¡ªbarefoot, damp clothes, chest rising and falling way too fast. He pauses. Takes me in. ¡°Never a good sign when the night starts with tears,¡± he says quietly. I swallow, trying to force air into my lungs. It doesn¡¯t work. ¡°It¡¯s not tears,¡± I whisper. ¡°It¡¯s everything. It¡¯s just¡­everything.¡± His face softens. ¡°What can I do?¡± My throat burns. My voice is barely there. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I just¡ªI thought I could do this. But I can¡¯t be messy. I don¡¯t get to be messy. If I let it go¡ªif I let me go¡ªI won¡¯te back from it.¡± He takes a small step forward. Doesn¡¯t touch me. Just meets my eyes. ¡°Then let me help,¡± he says, steady. ¡°Tell me what you need, and I¡¯ll do it.¡± That alone has my eyes burning with more tears. Not the mess. Not the spiral. But the fact that someone besides Madison is actually offering to stay through it. I swipe at my cheeks, but the tears don¡¯t stop. Not when he¡¯s standing there looking at me like I¡¯m not some hurricane of a girl who can¡¯t handle her own brain. ¡°I just¡ª¡± My voice wavers. ¡°I usually clean. Or organize. Or¡­I don¡¯t know. If everything is in its ce, then I can breathe again.¡± Carter doesn¡¯t hesitate. ¡°Okay,¡± he says simply, then pushes the door open the rest of the way and steps inside. I blink at him, still wrapped in the frayed edges of panic. ¡°What are you doing?¡± He shrugs. ¡°Helping.¡± He looks around like he¡¯s scanning the room for a battle n. ¡°What¡¯s next?¡± I sniff, a shakyugh escaping before I can stop it. ¡°The pantry. The cans aren¡¯t facing the right way.¡± He nods like this is the most normal request he¡¯s ever heard. ¡°Cool. Let¡¯s conquer the pantry.¡± I hover for a second, stunned. Then I follow him to the kitchen, grabbing a dish towel and the all- purpose spray on autopilot. He swings the pantry door open. ¡°Labels out, right?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± I whisper. ¡°Boom. I¡¯m on it.¡± He starts turning the cans one by one without asking questions, not even when I correct the order twice. I wipe down the shelves beside him, my heartbeat starting to slow for the first time all night. He doesn¡¯t talk. Doesn¡¯t ask why I¡¯m like this. Doesn¡¯t make a joke. He just moves with me. Step for step. I restock the cereal in height order. He stacks the gran bars by vor. He even wipes down the spice rack, humming quietly under his breath. And just like that¡ªthe panic starts to dull. I nce over at him, a stray curl falling into my face. ¡°You¡¯re¡­weirdly good at this.¡± He grins, shing that smug, infuriating dimple. ¡°I¡¯ve got range.¡± I roll my eyes, but my lips twitch anyway. ¡°Don¡¯t get cocky.¡± He shrugs. ¡°Toote.¡± Another beat passes, quieter this time. I take a deep breath and lean against the counter, towel still in my hands. ¡°I hate this part of me,¡± I admit, voice low. Carter doesn¡¯t miss a beat. ¡°I don¡¯t.¡± I blink at him, stunned by the simplicity in his voice. The way he says it like it¡¯s not a big deal. Like I didn¡¯t just unravel in front of him. ¡°You don¡¯t?¡± I ask softly. He shrugs, still rearranging boxes like it¡¯s nothing. ¡°One of my old foster brothers had OCD. His looked different than yours¡ªhis thing was numbers. Everything had to be even. Fours and eights and twelves. We couldn¡¯t microwave anything unless it ended in double zero¡¯s or thirty or he¡¯d freak out.¡± He pauses, straightens thest row of cans, then turns to face me. His expression is calm. Steady. Not pitying¡ªjust present. ¡°I used to get so annoyed,¡± he says, a wry twist to his lips. ¡°But one night, he told me that if he didn¡¯t follow the rules in his head, he thought something bad would happen to the people he cared about. Like it was his job to hold the world together.¡± My throat tightens. Carter rests his elbows on the counter, watching me. ¡°You don¡¯t look crazy to me, L. You look like someone who¡¯s trying really fucking hard to hold it together. And I get that.¡± The air leaves my lungs in a slow, aching breath. I grip the edge of the counter, staring down at my bare feet on the tile. ¡°You don¡¯t talk about that stuff much,¡± I murmur. ¡°The foster care part.¡± He shrugs again, more guarded this time. ¡°Most people don¡¯t ask.¡± I nce up at him. ¡°I¡¯m not most people.¡± He smirks faintly. ¡°Yeah. I got that.¡± The silence stretches, but it¡¯s not heavy now. Not tense. Just¡­full. Full of things neither of us are used to saying out loud or admitting. I shift closer to him without really thinking. ¡°What happened to him? Your foster brother.¡± ¡°Got adopted eventually. A really good family. I lost touch, but I always hoped he was okay.¡± As the silence stretches and the adrenaline finally starts to drain from my limbs, a creeping sense of embarrassment curls into my stomach. This was supposed to be¡­not this. I nce over at him, then quickly away. ¡°You know, I did technically text you for a booty call. And instead, you¡¯re now intimately familiar with my pantry.¡± Carter lets out a lowugh, that cocky dimple making another appearance. ¡°Not the wild night I had in mind, but honestly? Still kinda hot.¡± I shoot him a t look, and he smirks. ¡°I mean, it¡¯s organized. Labels out. Color-coded. Arousing, really.¡± I groan and bury my face in my hands. ¡°God, kill me now.¡± He bumps my knee with his. ¡°Hey. If you want a rain check, I¡¯m a very flexible guy.¡± I nce at him, cheeks warm, but there¡¯s no pressure in his voice. No smug expectation. Just¡­patience. Humor. Ease. It disarms mepletely. I sit up straighter and say, ¡°You want ice cream?¡± His eyebrows lift. ¡°Are you offering me a booty-call rain check and dessert?¡± But I¡¯m already headed toward the kitchen, pulling open the freezer door with a grin. And then I freeze. Empty. No ice cream. Not even a freezer-burned pint of something questionable in the back. Panic hits in a stupid, sudden wave. My breath catches. My shoulders lock. My fingers tighten around the freezer handle like maybe if I close it and reopen it, something will appear. It doesn¡¯t. And now my brain is spiraling again. How could I forget to rece it? What kind of idiot forgets the one thing she knows calms her down when everything goes sideways? Behind me, I hear Carter¡¯s footsteps approach. Then his voice, soft but certain. ¡°L.¡± I don¡¯t turn. I can¡¯t. My throat is too tight again. His hand brushes gently against my back. ¡°Come on. Let¡¯s go fix this.¡± I nce over my shoulder. ¡°Fix what?¡± He grins. ¡°You¡¯re out of ice cream. That¡¯s practically a crisis.¡± He heads for the door, grabbing his keys off the table. ¡°Get your shoes. I¡¯ll drive.¡± Ten minutester, I¡¯m sliding into the passenger seat of his truck, still slightly dazed that this is happening. Carter opens the door for me, then gives a dramatic, sweeping bow. ¡°Your chariot awaits, Princess.¡± I roll my eyes, but I¡¯m smiling. ¡°You¡¯re ridiculous.¡± ¡°And yet, here you are.¡± He shuts the door with a grin. And for the first time in days, I let myself rx fully into the seat. Maybe organizing the pantry wasn¡¯t the worst kind of intimacy after all. Red Zone: Chapter 14 The drive is quiet, but not ufortable. Just¡­still. The kind of quiet that feels suspended, like the world¡¯s holding its breath with us. L¡¯s tucked into the passenger seat, hair damp and messy from the shower she barely finished. The overhead lights from passing intersections cast soft glows over her skin, flickering like frames in a film reel. I nce over, and that¡¯s when I notice it. Her right thumb, pressing into the center of her left palm. Over and over. It¡¯s subtle. But rhythmic. Almost practiced. She¡¯s spiraling again. I don¡¯t say anything. Just reach across the console and slide my hand into hers, weaving my fingers between hers like I¡¯ve done it a hundred times. She goes still. But doesn¡¯t pull away. Her thumb pauses mid-press, resting now against my skin. She stares down at our joined hands for a second. A long, weighted beat. And then¡ª Her lips twitch. Just the faintest upward curve. She turns her face toward the window, but not before I catch it. And for some reason, that one tiny smile¡ªbarely there, but real¡ªsettles something in my chest I didn¡¯t know was restless. I don¡¯t know what this is. But I know I don¡¯t want to let go. Not just yet. The fluorescent lights of the grocery store hum above us as we push through the entrance. L grabs a basket instead of a cart¡ªshe says it makes it easier to feel in control of the list in her head. I let her lead the way, trailing half a step behind as we navigate the emptyte-night aisles. We pass the pharmacy section, and I clock the bright neon signs¡ªpain relievers, razors, condoms. I don¡¯t say anything at first, but then I raise a brow and nudge her with my elbow. ¡°Should we restock? You know, in case next time you forget to cancel the booty call, and I actually show up prepared?¡± Sheughs under her breath, rolling her eyes. ¡°You wish.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t pretend you weren¡¯t thinking about it.¡± ¡°Only so I could un-think it.¡± But she¡¯s smirking now, that sharp spark back in her voice. We keep walking, and I think that¡¯s it¡ªuntil she slows down in front of the tampons. She eyes the shelves, scanning for her usual brand, then nces at me sideways. ¡°You¡¯re being rmingly chill about walking through this aisle.¡± I shrug. ¡°I¡¯ve lived with enough foster sisters to know what¡¯s what. Not exactly traumatized by some cardboard boxes and pastel packaging.¡± She snorts. ¡°Wow. A man with emotional maturity and a functioning understanding of women¡¯s bodies. You¡¯re gonna ruin your reputation.¡± I grin. ¡°Toote. Already did that when I alphabetized your pantry.¡± Sheughs, real and unguarded this time, and something warm curls in my chest. We move on toward the frozen section, the air cooling against our skin as we step into the glow of freezer doors. ¡°Pick your poison,¡± I say, opening one of the ss doors with a flourish. She peers in, all faux-serious. ¡°Do not underestimate the power of a well-timed mint chip.¡± ¡°Wouldn¡¯t dream of it, Princess.¡± And when she grabs the pint and drops it into the basket, her fingers brush mine¡ªand neither of us pulls away.
The faint sound of voices outside the apartment door snap me out of whatever daze I¡¯d fallen into. I nce at the screen¡ªstill muted chaos¡ªand then down at L. I lean in gently. ¡°Hey,¡± I murmur, brushing my knuckles lightly against her arm. ¡°L, wake up.¡± She stirs, eyes blinking open. ¡°What?¡ª¡± ¡°I think Madison and Jaxon just got back. I heard them outside.¡± Her eyes go wide in an instant. ¡°Shit.¡± She¡¯s up in a sh, pushing her hair behind her ears and shoving me toward the hallway. ¡°Go¡ªmy room. Quick.¡± I hesitate. ¡°L?¡ª¡± ¡°Please, Carter. Just¡ªgo. I¡¯ll handle it.¡± And maybe it¡¯s the way she avoids looking at me. Maybe it¡¯s the shift in her tone, like she¡¯s trying to undo everything that happened between us tonight. Either way, it stings. I slip into her room, but I don¡¯t stay there. Not for long. A tight breath leaves my lungs as I nce at the window. Screw it. I utch it and climb out, careful not to make a sound as I descend the fire escape. But when my feet hit the pavement and I start toward my Jeep, I freeze. Jaxon¡¯s leaning against it, arms crossed, watching me with that knowing smirk he wears so damn well. ¡°Busy night?¡± he says, lifting a brow. And just like that, my chest tightens again¡ªfor a whole different reason. ¡°Don¡¯t start,¡± I mutter, dragging a hand through my hair as I approach. He smirks but doesn¡¯t push. ¡°Didn¡¯t think you were the type to sneak out of a window.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not.¡± I unlock the door, then pause, ncing back at him. ¡°But I also didn¡¯t want to get caught ying hide-and-seek with Madison¡¯s best friend.¡± Jaxon huffs a quietugh. ¡°Fair.¡± We stand there for a beat, just breathing in the cool night air. The street¡¯s quiet, moonlight cutting long shadows across the lot. ¡°You good?¡± he asks, softer now. I nod, even though I¡¯m not sure I am. ¡°Cool,¡± he says, pushing off the car. ¡°Let¡¯s get out of here before someone sees you doing the walk of shame.¡± I roll my eyes but follow him anyway, sliding into the driver¡¯s seat as he climbs into his own truck and heads for the house.
Later that week we¡¯re back in the athletic building recouping after morning weight lifting, waiting on smoothies from the ce near the student center. I¡¯ve got my hoodie pulled low, earbuds in but no music ying, when I hear her voice. L. She¡¯s standing a few feet away, talking to Jaxon. ¡°For my marketing ss. It¡¯s this whole NIL project thing, kind of like a mock rep situation. I just need someone to be the client.¡± ¡°I¡¯d do it,¡± Jaxon says, scratching the back of his neck. ¡°But between practice, film, and everything else¡­I don¡¯t have a lot of time.¡± My body moves before my brain catches up. ¡°I¡¯ll do it.¡± They both look over. Jaxon smirks like he already knows my angle. L blinks. ¡°You?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± I say, stepping in. ¡°I¡¯ve got time.¡± It¡¯s not entirely a lie. Jaxon ps me on the shoulder. ¡°Perfect. You¡¯ll be in good hands. L¡¯s a psycho about spreadsheets.¡± ¡°I¡¯m organized,¡± she corrects, arching a brow at me like she¡¯s already second-guessing the offer. But she doesn¡¯t say no. And maybe I should¡¯ve yed it cool. Maybe I should¡¯ve let someone else be her test dummy. But the truth is, I want the excuse. To talk to her more. To see her more. She crosses her arms, one brow still lifted. ¡°Just so we¡¯re clear¡ªthis project is a huge part of my grade. I need someone who¡¯s going to actually show up and take it seriously. If you¡¯re just trying to be cute or whatever?¡ª¡± ¡°I can be cute andmitted,¡± I say, shing a grin. ¡°I¡¯ll give it my best. Promise.¡± She doesn¡¯t smile, but there¡¯s a flicker of amusement behind her eyes. ¡°Good. Then I¡¯ll need ess to your social media. Especially Instagram. If I¡¯m supposed to manage your image, I need to see what kind of train wreck I¡¯m dealing with.¡± ¡°Train wreck? Damn. Brutal.¡± She holds out her hand. ¡°Login.¡± I fish my phone from my pocket, open the app, and hand it to her without a second thought. ¡°Go wild.¡± She scrolls for a second, then her eyes narrow. ¡°You have like¡­a hundred unread messages. From girls. Going back months.¡± I lean against the wall casually. ¡°And?¡± ¡°You don¡¯t answer any of them?¡± I push off the wall, take a slow step forward, and rap my knuckles against it twice. A subtle, sharp sound that makes her blink up at me. ¡°Got my eyes on someone else,¡± I say simply. Then I walk off, hands in my pockets, not bothering to look back. Because I don¡¯t need to see her face to know she¡¯s watching me go. Red Zone: Chapter 15 The conference room smells like coffee and turf. Not the good kind of turf, either¡ªthe sweat-drenched, cleat-stomped kind that lingers in your nose long after two-a-days. I take the seat farthest from my dad and try to ignore the stack of notes in front of me, trembling just slightly in my hands. Megan Talbot, the head of marketing, breezes in a minuteter, all business casual confidence and red lipstick. She offers me a kind smile as she sets her tablet down beside my dad, who doesn¡¯t look up from his own notes. ¡°All right,¡± Megan says, clicking her pen. ¡°Let¡¯s dig into the mid-season review.¡± Dad finally lifts his head, his jaw already tight. ¡°Let¡¯s not waste time. We¡¯re five games in. How are we looking?¡± Megan nces at me, then back at him. ¡°L, want to walk us through the social engagement numbers?¡± ¡°Sure,¡± I say, clearing my throat. I open my binder and nce at the neatly color-coded charts I spent all weekend building. ¡°So far, our engagement is up fifteen percentpared tost season. Jaxon¡¯s touchdown post hit two hundred and seventy-two thousand impressions. Carter Hayes¡ªdespite barely using his ount¡ªis seeing the highest growth in follower count, mostly from reposted highlight reels.¡± My dad grunts. ¡°Winning helps.¡± Megan ignores thement. ¡°And video performance?¡± I nod. ¡°Reels and TikToks do better than static posts. Fans are responding more to clips with personality¡ªmic¡¯d up practices, sideline reactions, even pre-game rituals. Anything that makes the yers seem more real and rtable.¡± Megan smiles. ¡°Exactly the kind of insight we need. Which leads me to?¡ª¡± ¡°Hold on,¡± my dad interrupts, leaning back in his chair. ¡°I¡¯ve got a suggestion.¡± Here we go. Heces his fingers together like he¡¯s about to deliver the gospel. ¡°You know, if you¡¯d let me call Coach Dous with the Titans, he could have you working under a real media team by the end of the year.¡± My stomach coils. Megan looks between us like she¡¯s sensing the shift in air pressure. ¡°With all due respect, Coach,¡± I say tightly, ¡°I want to earn my ce in this industry. Not be handed one because of myst name.¡± His brow creases. ¡°You¡¯ve earned plenty. This would just get your foot in the door.¡± I sit straighter. ¡°And when they look at me, all they¡¯ll see is the door you opened. I want more than that. I need more.¡± Megan raises her brows and gives me a small, impressed nod. ¡°Spoken like a real strategist.¡± My dad doesn¡¯t say anything. I take a breath, flipping to a new page in my binder. ¡°Which brings me to something I¡¯ve been working on. A new campaign.¡± Megan perks up. ¡°Hit me.¡± ¡°We¡¯ve focused a lot on stats and curated posts,¡± I begin. ¡°But what if we pivot a little¡ªto personality? Show who these yers are outside the helmet. Their habits, routines, ylists, even what they eat before games. Favorite pregame socks. Anything that makes them feel like someone instead of just a yer.¡± Megan¡¯s smile grows. ¡°You¡¯re thinking give the audience someone to root for, not just cheer at.¡± ¡°Exactly.¡± She taps her pen against her tablet. ¡°You¡¯re proposing short-form stories. Maybe build a weekly spotlight series. Could be gold.¡± I nod, the idea clicking into ce even as I speak. ¡°We start with someone the fans don¡¯t know much about. Maybe someone unexpected.¡± Megan nces at my dad, who¡¯s still unreadable. ¡°Fine,¡± he mutters. ¡°Just don¡¯t let it be a distraction for the yers. I need them focused.¡± Megan waves him off. ¡°Just because we don¡¯t get smelly and sweaty, doesn¡¯t mean we aren¡¯t working too, Coach.¡± I can¡¯t help the way my lips twitch. As we wrap up the meeting, Megan pulls me aside with a knowing smile. ¡°You¡¯ve got the spark, L. Don¡¯t let anyone make you doubt it.¡± I nod, my heart pounding, and gather my things. My dad walks off without another word. I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll be hearing about thister, but oh well. Right now, I¡¯m happy as can be, and there¡¯s a certain person I can¡¯t wait to share the news with.
I find Carter out on the practice field, sitting in the grass with a towel around his neck and a water bottle resting against his thigh. He¡¯s sweat-drenched, wild-haired, and annoyingly attractive, as always. He looks up when I approach, blinking against the sun. ¡°Here to critique my footwork?¡± I grin. ¡°Here to tell you I crushed that meeting. Megan approved the campaign I suggested. I¡¯m building a yer feature series. And I want you to be the first full-profile.¡± His brows rise, impressed. ¡°Damn. Look at you.¡± ¡°I need someone fans don¡¯t already think they know. Someone interesting. Someoneplicated.¡± He smirks. ¡°So naturally, you thought of me.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t make me regret it,¡± I deadpan. ¡°Never.¡± He stretches, arms over his head. ¡°So, what does this mean?¡± ¡°It means I need time with you. Like, actual time. I want to go deeper¡ªinto your story. Background, mindset, routines. We¡¯ll do interviews, video clips, Instagram strategy, maybe even a few challenges to humanize you a little.¡± Carter raises a brow. ¡°You wanna go deeper with me?¡± I shoot him a t look. He chuckles, not even sorry. ¡°Just making sure I heard that right.¡± I shake my head, but I¡¯m still smiling. God help me.
Sunday afternoon rolls in slow, golden and still warm enough for shorts. Thank you, California. Carter pulls up to my apartment right on time, engine rumbling, windows down like he¡¯s stepped out of a vintage college movie. I lock the door behind me and jog out, tablet in hand and phone already prepped to record. He leans across the passenger seat, pushing the door open. ¡°Ready to go deeper?¡± I slide in, biting back a smile. ¡°You¡¯re not gonna let that go, are you?¡± ¡°Not a chance.¡± We drive inpanionable silence for a few minutes, music low, the wind ying with the ends of my hair. I nce at him, about to ask where we¡¯re headed, when he turns onto a road I don¡¯t recognize. ¡°You¡¯ll see,¡± he says, catching my look. ¡°Figured if you want the full Carter Hayes experience, we might as well start at the beginning.¡± Ten minutester, we¡¯re pulling up to an old brick school building with a rusted goalpost still standing tall behind a patchy field. The sign out front reads: East Ridge High School. He throws the car into park and looks over at me, a little quieter now. ¡°This is where I figured out who I didn¡¯t want to be. Thought that might help you figure out who I am.¡± I nce out the window, taking in the rundown bleachers and the faded scoreboard. ¡°Looks like it¡¯s been through a lot.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± he says, voice low. ¡°Kinda like me.¡± We sit there for a moment, neither of us speaking. Then he shifts, one arm draped over the steering wheel. ¡°I¡¯ve never left California on my own,¡± he says. ¡°Outside of away games, I mean. I¡¯ve always been right here.¡± I turn toward him. ¡°You never wanted to?¡± He shrugs. ¡°I used to dream about it. But dreams felt kinda useless back then.¡± There¡¯s a beat of silence before he adds, ¡°Off the record? My parents were young. Stupid young. My mom was also an addict. I was taken from them as a toddler. I don¡¯t even remember meeting them.¡± My breath catches, but I don¡¯t interrupt. ¡°I stayed with this one family for a few years. Thought maybe they¡¯d keep me. But they got divorced, and neither of them wanted to adopt me alone. So, I bounced. Group homes, foster homes, you name it. Never long enough to unpack fully.¡± He looks out at the field. ¡°This was the first ce I felt like I could breathe. A coach here took a chance on me, and I ended up with a family that let me stay. Nothing fancy. Just consistent.¡± I swallow hard, unsure what to say that won¡¯t sound like pity. He doesn¡¯t want that. I can feel it. ¡°You turned out all right,¡± I say softly. His mouth twitches into a half-smile. ¡°Still a work in progress.¡± He nces at me, and the quiet between us shifts¡ªless awkward, more shared. Like we¡¯re both carrying things we rarely let anyone else see. ¡°Anyway,¡± he says, sitting back, trying to brush off the heaviness. ¡°I thought it might give your project some real content. Unless you¡¯d rather film me doing push-ups and talking about protein shakes?¡± I shake my head. ¡°No. This is exactly what I was hoping for.¡± Because this¡ªthe honesty? It¡¯s more captivating than any highlight reel. ¡°What¡¯s next?¡± I ask, half talking about the project, half talking about whatever this thing is between the two of us. Carter nces over at me, his fingers drumming softly on the steering wheel. ¡°Well, officially? We could grab some footage of the field, maybe shoot a few clips with me talking about where I got started. You know¡ªbrooding backstory to win hearts and boost engagement.¡± Iugh lightly, but he doesn¡¯t. Not really. He¡¯s looking at me differently now. Like he¡¯s trying to decide if he wants to hand over something else that matters. ¡°And unofficially?¡± I press, my voice quieter now. His eyes flick to mine. ¡°Unofficially¡­I don¡¯t know. But it¡¯s getting harder to pretend there¡¯s not something more between us.¡± A beat passes. The wind slips through the cracked window, warm and soft against my cheek. I break eye contact first, ncing back at the field. ¡°You sure you want to mix whatever this is with something tied to my grade?¡± He smiles, but it¡¯s more thoughtful than cocky. ¡°If it means I get to spend time with you, yeah. I¡¯ll risk a C.¡± I roll my eyes, but my heart kicks up. ¡°You better not tank my GPA, Hayes.¡± ¡°No promises.¡± I open the door and step out, needing the movement to keep my thoughts from spiraling. He follows, walking beside me toward the end zone like it¡¯s nothing at all. Like he hasn¡¯t justid out pieces of his past like loose change he doesn¡¯t expect anyone to pick up. I nce at him, walking just close enough that our arms almost brush. Red Zone: Chapter 16 Spendingst Sunday with L was eye-opening. Not in the dramatic, lightning-strike, soul-altering kind of way. Just quiet. Subtle. The kind of shift you don¡¯t notice until you¡¯re lying awake at two a.m., reying every second like it matters more than it should. Because maybe it does. She asked real questions. She listened like she gave a damn about the answers. And she didn¡¯t look at me like I was some broken charity case with a sob story. She looked at me like I was worth seeing. Like she wanted to know the real shit underneath the pads and the cocky smirk. And that¡¯s terrifying. I scrub a hand through my hair and check the time. 7:03 a.m. Time to get moving. I head down the hallway and bang once on Beck¡¯s door, then push it open without waiting for a response. ¡°Rise and shine, lover boy.¡± He groans from under hisforter. ¡°It¡¯s Sunday.¡± ¡°Yeah, and we¡¯ve got a bunch of kids waiting to be wowed by our dazzling charm and superior athleticism. Get your ass up.¡± Next stop, Jaxon. His room¡¯s neater than Beck¡¯s¡ªof course¡ªbut he¡¯s sprawled face down on his mattress like he lost a fight with sleep itself. I lean in after knocking twice. ¡°Hey, Montgomery. You alive?¡± He lifts his head just enough to shoot me a re. ¡°Barely.¡± ¡°Come on. It¡¯s for the kids.¡± Ever since I graduated high school and came to PCU, I¡¯ve made it a point to give back to themunity that helped raise me, that helped mold me into the man I am today. A big piece of that is the football team that I dedicated four years to, keeping me so busy that I stayed out of trouble. He groans but sits up, rubbing his face. ¡°You¡¯re lucky I like you.¡± Ten minutester, we¡¯re in my car, drive-thru coffee in hand, heading toward East Ridge High. I don¡¯t say it out loud, but it feels different bringing them here. Like the past and the future are finally brushing up against each other in a way that doesn¡¯t make my skin crawl. The field¡¯s already buzzing when we get there¡ªcones set up, stations marked, a group of wide- eyed kids buzzing with energy and nervous excitement. A few coaches are milling around, tablet-in-hand types, while parents set up folding chairs and snap photos. The moment we step onto the field, all the kids zero in. ¡°That¡¯s Carter Hayes!¡± one of them yells, pointing. ¡°And Jaxon Montgomery!¡± another chimes in. Beck grins and points at himself. ¡°Y¡¯all gonna learn who I am real quick.¡± I smirk. ¡°Only if you stop trying to do backflips during warmups.¡± ¡°Zero promises.¡± We split up¡ªJaxon takes the receiver station, Beck handles defensive drills, and I end up with the quarterbacks. Teaching them how to grip the ball, how to nt and throw. Most of them can¡¯t even reach the five-yard mark, but they¡¯re trying, and that¡¯s what matters. One kid in particr, Luis, keeps ncing at me like he¡¯s trying to gather courage. ¡°You got a question, man?¡± I ask, kneeling beside him. He nods, then whispers, ¡°Were you always good?¡± I shake my head. ¡°Not even close.¡± He looks relieved. ¡°You keep showing up,¡± I tell him. ¡°That¡¯s what matters. You show up, put in the work¡ªyou¡¯ll be surprised what you¡¯re capable of.¡± His chest puffs out just a little. We keep running drills, and every time I nce over, I see Jaxonughing with the kids, Beck making them do pushups for fun, the sun glinting off cones and cleats, the whole ce humming with a kind of joy that¡¯s rare. Earned. This¡ªright here? This is what it¡¯s supposed to feel like. Not surviving. Not just getting through the day. Belonging.
By the time we wrap up, we¡¯re sweaty, starving, and half sunburned. Jaxon¡¯s peeling off a sweaty T-shirt, and Beck¡¯s downing thest of a Gatorade like it¡¯s oxygen. ¡°That was actually kinda fun,¡± Jaxon says, tossing his towel over his shoulder. I nod. ¡°Yeah. Worth waking your ass up for.¡± Beck pulls his phone from his pocket, taps a quick message, then looks at me. ¡°Hey, can you stop at Angie¡¯s? She¡¯s not home, but I left my charger there Friday before she left for her friend¡¯s bachelorette weekend.¡± ¡°Yeah, no problem.¡± It¡¯s not out of the way, and I figure we¡¯ll stop for food after. Everyone¡¯s in good spirits, tired in a satisfied kind of way. We pull up to Angie¡¯s ce¡ªa modest townhouse, cute little garden g out front. Beck hops out, jogs up the steps, and punches in the code. Jax and I are halfway through debating whether to hit a burger ce or get tacos when hees flying back out. No charger in hand. Just fury. ¡°What the¡ª¡± Jaxon starts but stops when Angie appears behind Beck. She¡¯s in nothing but a towel. ¡°Beck, wait¡ª¡± she calls, chasing him barefoot onto the porch. He doesn¡¯t turn around. Doesn¡¯t yell. Just gets in the car, jaw locked tight. My stomach drops. He ms the door and stares straight ahead. ¡°She was in bed. With someone else.¡± ¡°Jesus,¡± I mutter. ¡°Eleven fucking years,¡± Beck says, voice low, raw. ¡°Since we were kids. And she¡ªshe?¡ª¡± He chokes on the words. No one says anything for a long minute. Jaxon¡¯s face is a mix of shock and anger. ¡°You want us to go say something?¡± Beck shakes his head. ¡°What¡¯s the point?¡± I put the car in drive. And for the first time in a long time, none of us say a word on the way home. We don¡¯t need to. Half in shock, half in solidarity. I always knew she was evil, but I didn¡¯t think it would be this bad. When we pull into the driveway, Beck¡¯s already unbuckling before I put the car in park. ¡°I¡¯m just gonna chill in my room,¡± he mutters. ¡°Whatever you need, man,¡± Jaxon says gently. Beck nods once, eyes still rimmed red. He disappears inside without another word. Jaxon and I head into the kitchen. I grab two waters from the fridge and hand him one. ¡°He didn¡¯t even get mad,¡± I say, twisting the cap off. ¡°That¡¯s what¡¯s messing me up. If it were me¡­¡± ¡°You¡¯d burn her apartment down,¡± Jaxon says, cracking a tired smile. ¡°Damn right I would.¡± We both go quiet, the silence heavy. Jaxon leans against the counter, arms crossed. ¡°You think he¡¯ll be okay?¡± ¡°He will be,¡± I say, more certain than I feel. ¡°Not today. Not this week. But we¡¯ve got him.¡± Jaxon nods slowly, then nces toward the hallway. ¡°We gotta keep him busy. Keep his mind off it.¡± ¡°Agreed.¡± And we do. Because that¡¯s what brothers do. Even the ones you choose. Dragging my phone out of my pocket I see I¡¯ve got a few texts, but one stands out. L: You alive? Or did the kids run you into the ground? I smirk and type back. Barely survived. I think one of them tried to challenge me to a push-up contest. L: And? I let him win. Obviously. Can¡¯t go around crushing ten-year-old dreams. L: Wow. Personal growth. Don¡¯t get used to it. A beat passes, then: L: You freeter? I have some stuff I want to go over. For the princess? Always. L: I¡¯m hungry, so I¡¯m bringing snacks. Dealing with you is stressful enough without sustenance. Jaxon walks back into the kitchen just as I¡¯m grinning at my screen. He eyes me, grabbing a Gatorade from the fridge. ¡°What¡¯s that look?¡± ¡°What look?¡± I say, too quickly. He smirks. ¡°That stupid smile you¡¯re trying to hide. That I¡¯m falling for my coach¡¯s daughter look.¡± I toss a chip bag at him. ¡°Shut up.¡± Jaxon justughs, already halfway down the hall. ¡°It¡¯s going good, huh?¡± I don¡¯t answer. Because maybe it is. Red Zone: Chapter 17 The athletic center is quiet on Sunday afternoons. Empty halls. Low lights. The perfect ce to get some work done without running into anyone. Madison¡¯s spending the day with Jaxon, and I needed somewhere¡ªanywhere¡ªthat wasn¡¯t my apartment. Somewhere I wouldn¡¯t get distracted by things that needed cleaning or organizing or re-folding. Carter texts that he¡¯s parked out front, and I let him in through the back door. ¡°You always this sneaky?¡± he asks, shing a grin as he steps inside. I roll my eyes. ¡°I prefer strategic.¡± He¡¯s wearing joggers and a backwards hat, and unfortunately for my concentration, a in white tee that hugs his chest just enough to be annoying. We take over the media room¡ªdim lights, huge screen, plush chairs. I spread myptop, notes, and storyboard across the table like a battleground. He sinks into a chair next to me. ¡°You weren¡¯t kidding about the snacks.¡± I slide a protein bar across the table. ¡°Don¡¯t say I never do anything for you.¡± We get to work. For the first hour, it¡¯s all about my project. He walks me through some ideas for short-form content. I take notes, adjust camera angles in my head, and storyboard transitions while he critiques his own highlight reel. It¡¯s¡­normal. Almost professional. Until I lean over to adjust the brightness on myptop, and my shoulder brushes his arm. ¡°Sorry,¡± I mutter. He doesn¡¯t move. ¡°Noints here.¡± I give him a look, trying not to smile. ¡°Focus, Hayes.¡± ¡°I am focused,¡± he says, voice lower now. ¡°Just not on the footage.¡± Heat creeps up my neck. ¡°I should probably have you sign a release form,¡± I say, aiming for deflection. He leans in, close enough that I feel his breath near my cheek. ¡°If I say yes, do I get to request you conduct the interview shirtless?¡± My mouth opens. Closes. ¡°You¡¯re ridiculous.¡± He shrugs, smug. ¡°You invited me here.¡± ¡°To work.¡± ¡°Mm-hmm.¡± There¡¯s a beat of silence. Then I reach for my pen, but his hand gets there first. Fingers brush. Pause. My stomach flips. His eyes drop to my lips and stay there. ¡°L,¡± he says, my name rough around the edges. I know I should pull back. I should remind him this is about his brand. His image. My future. Instead, I whisper, ¡°Yeah?¡± He doesn¡¯t ask this time. Just closes the space between us and kisses me. And I let him. It starts slow, careful. But then his hand slides to the back of my neck, and I shift closer without thinking. His tongue teases mine, deepening the kiss, and a soft sound escapes me before I can catch it. He pulls me into hisp like it¡¯s the most natural thing in the world, like we¡¯ve been doing this for years instead of fighting it for thest three months. My fingers tangle in his shirt, tugging at the hem. He groans softly, and I feel him harden beneath me. ¡°You¡¯re killing me,¡± he mutters against my throat. I bite back a smile. ¡°You started it.¡± His hands skim under my sweatshirt, warm and steady. Not rushing. Just¡­exploring. We¡¯re losing focus. Rapidly. And I don¡¯t want to stop. But I have to. I pull back, breathless. ¡°We can¡¯t do this here.¡± His hand stays at my waist. ¡°Why not?¡± ¡°Because,¡± I say, heart hammering, running my nose up his throat, brushing my lips over his again. ¡°Because this is the athletic center. Because we¡¯ll get caught. Because this is a bad idea.¡± He lifts a brow. ¡°You said thatst time.¡± ¡°And I was right.¡± He watches me for a beat. Then, voice low, ¡°So what¡¯s your n, then?¡± I don¡¯t have one. So, I say the only thing I can, ¡°We finish the project.¡± He exhales augh. ¡°Sure. Let¡¯s go with that.¡± But the way he¡¯s looking at me says he knows exactly how this ends. And the worst part? I think I do too. We try to focus again. Try being the key word. I sit cross-legged on the floor now,ptop bnced on my knees, with Carter lounging back in the armchair behind me as we go through potential reels and ovey edits. At some point, he shifts, pulling his phone from his pocket. ¡°Jaxon says he¡¯s taking Madison to his parents¡¯ for dinner,¡± he says, looking up at me. ¡°Won¡¯t be back untilte.¡± My stomach flips. ¡°Oh,¡± I say, pretending like that doesn¡¯t mean anything. Carter stretches and stands, offering me a hand. ¡°Come on. Let¡¯s take this back to your ce. Better Wi-Fi.¡± I raise a brow. ¡°You just want snacks again.¡± He grins. ¡°And maybe a couch that doesn¡¯t smell like gym socks.¡± I roll my eyes, but I take his hand anyway. Because we both know this isn¡¯t just about finishing the project anymore. And neither of us is pretending otherwise.
Carter pulls in behind me. I step out of my car and barely get halfway to the door before he jogs up behind me. ¡°Wait,¡± he says, and I turn just as he grabs the doorframe behind me, boxing me in with that stupid grin that does dangerous things to my resolve. Before I can ask what he¡¯s doing, his mouth is on mine. He kisses me like he¡¯s been holding back for hours¡ªwhich he has¡ªand I melt into him with a needy sound I don¡¯t mean to make. My back hits the front door, his hands on my waist like he¡¯s afraid I¡¯ll disappear if he doesn¡¯t hold tight. He breaks away just enough to whisper against my lips, ¡°Been wanting to do that since the first kiss.¡± I reach back and fumble with the doorknob, trying to find the keyhole, but my brain is foggy. Carterughs, low and rough. ¡°Need help, Princess?¡± I re up at him. ¡°If you¡¯d stop distracting me?¡ª¡± He leans in, lips brushing mine again. ¡°Not a chance.¡± I finally get the door unlocked, and we walk inside. Carter almost trips over the rug right by the door. ¡°Shit.¡± Heughs, and it sends a wave of heat straight to my core. His eyes lock onto mine again after he shuts the door, and everything seems to fade on the edges. This is really happening. Taking my face in his hands, he kisses me again. It¡¯s slower this time¡ªless urgency, more meaning¡ªbut it doesn¡¯t stay that way. His hands slide down to my hips, then lower, gripping tight as he backs me toward the couch. Each step feels heavier. Hotter. His mouth devours mine, tongue tangling, breath turning ragged. I fall onto the cushions with a soft gasp as he follows, hands bracing on either side of my head. My fingers curl into his shirt, tugging it up. He breaks the kiss just long enough to yank it over his head and toss it aside, his chest flushed and hard, rising with uneven breaths. God, he¡¯s beautiful. And he¡¯s looking at me like I¡¯m the only thing in the world that makes sense. ¡°You okay?¡± he asks, voice gravelly. I nod. ¡°Yeah.¡± His hand trails under my sweatshirt again, but this time it¡¯s firmer, possessive. I arch up into him, gasping when his lips move down to my throat. Every nerve sparks. Every thought disappears. And when his hand grazes under my bra, fingers spreading along my ribs, I moan and pull him down again. It¡¯s happening. And neither of us wants to stop. Red Zone: Chapter 18 L¡¯s mouth is warm under mine, her hands pulling me closer as we melt into the couch. Every time she shifts, her hips grind against me, and it¡¯s absolute torture. Good torture. The kind that makes you forget about every single reason this is supposed to be a bad idea. All other thoughts on why this probably isn¡¯t the best idea are thest thing on my mind. I¡¯m too focused on her. On the heat of her skin under my hands. On the soft little gasps she makes when I suck on her neck. She arches into me, and I groan against her corbone. I¡¯m so hard it physically hurts. She leans up, breathless, lips swollen from kissing. ¡°Do you want to¡­go to my room?¡± I blink. Then grin. ¡°I¡¯d love to,¡± I say, dragging my palm down her side. ¡°But you might have to carry me.¡± She huffs augh, eyes rolling. ¡°Seriously?¡± I drop my head to her shoulder, still smiling. ¡°I¡¯m not even kidding. I¡¯m so hard I might tip over.¡± She covers her face with both hands,ughing harder now. ¡°Oh my god.¡± I kiss the side of her neck, then whisper, ¡°Lead the way, Princess.¡± She pulls herself off the couch, grabbing my hand. I follow¡ªbarefoot and half-dressed, not giving a damn about anything other than getting her behind a closed door. And I mean it when I say I¡¯m probably going to trip again. She stops at the hallway, eyes on me like she¡¯s not sure we should do this. I give her that half-smile that I save for the real moments. ¡°Still a yes?¡± L nods, quiet but firm. ¡°Yeah.¡± Then she turns and walks toward her room. And I follow like a man who knows exactly what he¡¯s about to lose control over.
Her bedroom is soft light withvender-scented air, and it only takes two steps inside before my mouth is back on hers. She kisses me like she needs me, like she¡¯s been holding back for way too long. And I¡¯m done pretending I don¡¯t feel the same. I walk her backward until the backs of her knees hit the bed, then push the sweatshirt off her shoulders. My hands find her waistband, and she lifts her arms again without hesitation. Her leggings and pantiese off in one smooth motion, and I step back just long enough to take her in. Fuck, she¡¯s stunning. She reaches for me next, tugging at my joggers, and I help her out, kicking them aside. We¡¯re both stripped down, hearts racing. Every inch of my skin is on fire, but all I want is to feel her. I press her down gently onto the bed, following her. My lips trace her corbone, down to her chest, and I pause to take one nipple into my mouth, swirling my tongue over it until she gasps and threads her fingers through my hair. I give the other breast the same attention, taking my time, watching her fall apart slowly. Her back arches, her thighs press together, and I trail my kisses lower. ¡°Carter¡­¡± she whispers, voice barely there. I nce up. ¡°Yeah?¡± Her cheeks are pink. She bites her lip. ¡°No one¡¯s ever¡­kissed me down there before.¡± I pause. Just for a second. Looking her right in the eyes, I can¡¯t stop the smirk that takes over my face. I move slowly and say, ¡°You want me on my knees, baby?¡± She swallows, eyes wide, giving me a subtle nod. I slide down her body, trailing kisses over her ribs, her stomach, then lower still. I press my mouth to the soft skin inside her thigh, breathing her in. She smells likevender and something sweet¡ªsomething that¡¯s only her. Her breath hitches. I nudge her knees wider and run my hands up the backs of her thighs, gripping gently. My thumbs brush over her hip bones. I kiss the inside of one thigh, then the other, slowly working her up. She trembles, her hips shifting restlessly. Finally, I press one slow, open-mouthed kiss right where she¡¯s aching. She moans, loud and unfiltered, fingers tangling in the sheets. I drag my tongue over her clit¡ªslow and deliberate. I find a rhythm, alternating between soft sucks and gentle flicks, paying attention to every tiny reaction. Every gasp. Every roll of her hips. One of her hands flies to my head, tugging at my hair. Fuck, that turns me on even more. Her thighs squeeze around me, and I grip her hips tighter, grounding her. ¡°You can let go,¡± I murmur against her. ¡°I¡¯ve got you.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want to suffocate you.¡± I chuckle at that, causing her to gasp again, ¡°Put that on my gravestone¡ªwent out doing what he loved most, eating your pussy.¡± She whimpers, thighs trembling. ¡°Oh, fuck. Please don¡¯t stop.¡± So, I don¡¯t. I slide one hand lower, slipping a finger inside as I keep my mouth on her clit, curling gently until I find that spot that makes her cry out. Then I do it again. And again. Her body tightens. Her breath stutters. And when she finallyes apart, legs shaking, hips rising off the bed, my name on her lips like a confession?¡ª I know I¡¯ll never be the same. And I never want to stop being the one who gets to worship her like this. She¡¯s breathless, flushed, and practically melts into the mattress when I crawl back up beside her. Her hair¡¯s a mess, cheeks pink, and her eyes are fluttering closed. ¡°Fuck,¡± she whispers, voice hoarse. ¡°That was unreal.¡± I grin, leaning on my elbow. ¡°You good?¡± She nodszily. ¡°Better than good. Toys are fine, but¡­the real thing?¡± She lets out a softugh. ¡°Way better.¡± I chuckle and brush my fingers down her side. ¡°I¡¯ll take that as apliment.¡± She reaches for me and brushes her hand over my abs, eyes trailing down to where I¡¯m still hard. ¡°You¡¯re¡­not done.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry about me,¡± I say quickly. ¡°You¡¯re tired.¡± She bites her lip like she¡¯s debating something. ¡°I could help you out.¡± Tempting as hell. But instead, I nudge her hip and slide off the bed, quickly throwing my joggers back on. ¡°Come on. Let¡¯s clean you up.¡± She groans like I¡¯m making her run sprints. ¡°You¡¯re too nice, Hayes.¡± I turn on the tap in her tub and test the water temperature, adjusting it until it¡¯s just right. Then I help her off the bed and guide her to the edge. ¡°You¡¯re serious?¡± she asks, blinking at the bath. I nod. ¡°You¡¯re tired. You keep yourself going at a pace that would put most people six feet under. Rx for a bit.¡± She steps in slowly and eases down, letting out a deep sigh as she sinks into the warmth. Her eyes drift shut for a moment, steam curling around her. I sit on the floor beside her, arm resting on the edge of the tub, eyes on her face. It¡¯s quiet for a while¡ªjust the sound of waterpping and our breathing. Then, softly, she says, ¡°What do you see for your future?¡± I look at her, surprised by the question. ¡°I mean¡­off the record,¡± she adds. ¡°Not what you¡¯d say in an interview. What do you really want?¡± I take a breath, rubbing the back of my neck. ¡°I want the league, obviously. NFL¡¯s the dream. But beyond that? I want stability. I want to not have to keep looking over my shoulder or worrying where I¡¯m gonnand next.¡± She nods slowly, watching me. ¡°I want a ce that¡¯s mine,¡± I add. ¡°People who choose to stay.¡± There¡¯s a pause. ¡°Sounds like a solid n,¡± she whispers. My fingers drift along the edge of the tub. ¡°What about you?¡± She lifts a shoulder. ¡°A career in athlete branding, someday at the pro level, hopefully. Definitely telling deeper stories. Helping people be seen for who they really are. As more than an athlete.¡± I smile. ¡°You¡¯ll kill it.¡± She smiles back, then leans her head against the tile. Her fingers brush mine over the rim of the tub. Then, quieter, she adds, ¡°It¡¯s weird. Stress doesn¡¯t always feel like stress for me. It just¡­builds. And then, sometimes, it¡¯s like my brain pulls the fire rm.¡± I nce at her, urging her to continue, not with words, but by giving her my full attention. ¡°When I was younger, it started with these episodes where I couldn¡¯t move. Like my body just literally shut off. It started with just my right arm, then both my arm and leg. Eventually, it affected all four limbs at once. I used a wheelchair off and on for a while since the episodes wouldst anywhere from half an hour to a couple of days. They thought it was a type of seizure at first, but it was¡­moreplicated. The seizures actually cameter, but they¡¯re pretty controlled now. The six months without my license as a senior in high school were brutal, but we made do. It all stemmed from something called a stress conversion disorder. Basically, my body stores up all the stress it feels and experiences, then when the dam breaks, it shuts down.¡± I don¡¯t say anything¡ªjust let her keep going. ¡°Now, it¡¯s mostly my OCD. Routines help. Lists, order, patterns. It¡¯s the only way I feel in control.¡± I nod slowly. ¡°That¡¯s why you always have your tablet and all the different notebooks for different things, the color-coded sticky notes too.¡± Her eyes are bright with surprise. ¡°You stalking me?¡± I smirk, ¡°No, just observant, Princess. But you are fun to watch, especially when you¡¯re walking away.¡± I wiggle my brows at her, earning a small ssh of bath water. And we sit there, fingers brushing, the water still warm, the air still quiet. I don¡¯t know what it is about her, but I feel like I could watch paint dry with her next to me and still feel excited. ¡°All right, time to get out before you turn into a prune.¡± I grab the towel off the hanger, holding it open for her, and she carefully gets out of the tub, looking more and more tired by the second. Her cheeks are still flushed, but her eyes are telling how tired she really is. ¡°I don¡¯t mean to sound like a bitch, but you need to leave if you want me to go to bed.¡± I meet her gaze, wondering what flipped the sudden switch. ¡°Why?¡± Without saying anything, she starts nibbling on her bottom lip, one of her nervous tells. I carefully free it using my thumb and leave my hand resting on the side of her face. Her shoulders start tensing and releasing, seemingly on their own ord. ¡°Come on, Princess. Tell me.¡± She huffs out a breath, ¡°I have a¡­routine that I have to do before I can get in bed, or I can¡¯t fall asleep.¡± ¡°Like a skincare routine?¡± I ask as I plop myself down on her bed, making myself right at home. That earns me augh. ¡°Well, that too, but I also have to do things in a certain order. It¡¯s weird and would honestly freak people out if they saw it all.¡± Ah, I get it now. She has apulsion routine and thinks I¡¯ll judge her for it. ¡°Hey now, I am a college athlete. A really damn good one, if I do say so myself.¡± She rolls her eyes so hard I think they might get stuck up there. ¡°I know all about routines and superstitions. You show me yours and I¡¯ll show you mine.¡± She gives me a look¡ªhalf amused, half like she¡¯s trying to figure out if I¡¯m serious. ¡°You¡¯re not going to think I¡¯m crazy?¡± she asks, her voice quieter now. More cautious. I cock a brow. ¡°I just had my mouth on your pussy thirty minutes ago. I think we¡¯re past the point of judgment.¡± That earns me a realugh, and fuck, I like the sound of it. ¡°Okay, fine. But you asked for it.¡± She gets up and tugs an oversized T-shirt down over those legs that have been driving me insane all night. I try to y it cool, stay rxed on my elbows, but my eyes don¡¯t miss a thing. She moves around the room with purpose. Not rushed, not frantic¡ªbut calcted. Specific. First, she walks to the light switch and flips it off, then back on. Once. Twice. Then she leaves it off and whispers, ¡°Off means rest.¡± I keep my mouth shut and just watch. Next, she crosses to her dresser and checks each drawer, tapping her fingers along the handles in a rhythm. Tap, tap, pause. Tap, tap, pause. Every time, she murmurs something under her breath too quiet for me to hear, but I don¡¯t need to. I know a ritual when I see one. I¡¯ve known kids who had them to feel safe. I¡¯ve had them, when bouncing between foster homes felt like the only thing I could control was the order Iced my cleats. She¡¯s at the closet next. Opens it. Closes it. Opens it again. Runs her hand over the hangers. Then closes it with a nod, like it passed some kind of test. I don¡¯t say a word. She finally turns back toward me, eyes flicking up to see if I¡¯mughing. I¡¯m not. I sit up, rest my arms on my knees. ¡°Is that all?¡± She huffs a breath, embarrassed. ¡°Almost. Skincare¡¯s next. I told you, it¡¯s weird.¡± ¡°No,¡± I say, voice low. ¡°It¡¯s you.¡± Her eyes dart to mine. ¡°And it¡¯s not weird. It¡¯s just¡­how you make sense of the world. Right?¡± She doesn¡¯t answer right away. Just slips into the bathroom while I decide to move to the chair at her desk, waiting around like some dumbass for her to kick me out. A few minutester, I hear the faucet shut off, the gentle clink of bottles being set down, and then she reappears, wiping her hands with a towel before dropping it into the hamper, and looking ten percent less guarded. She crawls into bed slowly, adjusting her pillows, fluffing them twice on each side, aligning the nket with the edge of the mattress. And when she¡¯s finally still, her eyes find mine. ¡°You¡¯re still here.¡± ¡°I am.¡± I smirk. ¡°Told you¡ªcollege athlete. We¡¯re superstitious. You don¡¯t mess with a win.¡± She snorts under her breath, but her expression softens. ¡°You gonna show me your routine now?¡± I move back toward the bed, climbing up onto the mattress like it¡¯s suddenly sacred ground. ¡°Nah. Mine¡¯s boring.¡± ¡°What is it?¡± I lean closer, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear. ¡°Win the game.¡± She snorts. ¡°Such a deep soul, Hayes.¡± ¡°Maybe someday you¡¯ll see just how deep I can really go.¡± I wink at her as she swats at me. ¡°Night, Princess.¡± ¡°Goodnight, quarterback.¡± I leave her room, half wishing I could stay, half wondering what the fuck just happened. Mostly wondering how fucked I¡¯m about to be as I realize I might be catching something instead of throwing. And that thing I am catching, it might just be feelings for my coach¡¯s daughter. Fuck. Red Zone: Chapter 19 Madison¡¯s already curled up on the couch by the time I emerge from the kitchen with the popcorn, one leg tucked under her and a fuzzy nket draped across herp like a throne. She¡¯s in her favorite hoodie, no makeup, and her hair is twisted on top of her head like she gave up halfway through trying. This is our safe zone. Sweatpants. Snacks. Zero judgment. I drop the popcorn bowl between us and crack open a soda. ¡°Your majesty.¡± She peeks over the nket. ¡°You may stay.¡± I roll my eyes, but I¡¯m smiling. ¡°Movie pick?¡± ¡°You mean my rightful turn?¡± ¡°You chosest time!¡± ¡°That was a joint decision,¡± she argues, grabbing a fistful of popcorn. I shoot her a look. ¡°You bullied me into The Notebook and cried harder than Rachel McAdams.¡± ¡°Emotional range is not a weakness.¡± She sniffs. ¡°It¡¯s a superpower.¡± We fall into an easy rhythm, the kind we¡¯ve built over years. A little bickering, a lot of snacks, and the quietfort of knowing someone sees you¡ªeven when you¡¯re not at your best. But the words keep bouncing around in my skull like a pinball machine, and if I don¡¯t say them soon, they¡¯re going to chew their way out of me. I exhale. ¡°Okay, I have to tell you something, and you¡¯re not allowed to make it weird.¡± Madison freezes mid-chew, then grins way too wide. ¡°Oh my god. Did you finally hook up with Grayson Bet?¡± ¡°What? No!¡± ¡°Damn. Okay, wait.¡± She sits up straighter, interest officially piqued. ¡°Is this about a guy?¡± I pause. She gasps. ¡°Oh my God. It is. You have the secret hookup face. Tell me everything.¡± I groan and cover my eyes with one hand. ¡°You¡¯re literally the worst.¡± ¡°I¡¯m the best,¡± she says, practically vibrating now. ¡°Spill. Right now.¡± I drop my hand and look at her dead-on. ¡°Fine. It was Carter.¡± Her jaw drops open so fast I hear the popcorn hit the floor. ¡°CARTER HAYES?¡± ¡°Shhh!¡± I hiss, even though no one else is here. She grabs a pillow and smacks me with it. ¡°You two finally put yourselves out of the sexual tension war you were in, and you¡¯re just gonna casually snack next to me like you didn¡¯t rearrange your entire spinal alignment?¡± Iugh despite myself. ¡°It wasn¡¯t like that.¡± She squints at me. ¡°L.¡± ¡°It wasn¡¯t! We didn¡¯t even have sex.¡± ¡°Details. Now. Don¡¯t spare me.¡± I inhale and let the words fall out without stopping them. ¡°We were at that post-game party a couple weekends ago. I was already tipsy and pissed off, and then Carter showed up all¡­Carter. He kissed me. I kissed him back. Then, I ran into him at the gym one day, kissed again. And then the other day he, uh¡­¡± I pause. ¡°Went downtown, if you catch my drift. Really well, I might add. Sadly, no notes to give. But that wasn¡¯t even the weird part.¡± Madison blinks, looking a little stunned. ¡°Continue.¡± ¡°He didn¡¯t even let me reciprocate. No¡­he made me take a bath instead.¡± Her eyes literally look like they¡¯re about to bulge out of her head. ¡°Oh my God, L.¡± ¡°It was a one-time thing,¡± I say quickly, before she can make it a bigger deal. ¡°It waste, I was tired¡­. It just happened. Just a one-time thing to get it out of our systems.¡± She grins again, annoyingly knowing. ¡°You¡¯re saying that like you¡¯re trying to convince yourself.¡± I throw a piece of popcorn at her. ¡°Shut up.¡± She catches it in her mouth like a smug little gremlin. ¡°I¡¯m not judging. I¡¯m just impressed. You finally cracked the Carter Hayes code.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want things to be weird with us,¡± I say, voice softening. ¡°I know you and Carter used to¡ªwhatever. Hook up. I needed to make sure I wasn¡¯t breaking some kind of girl code.¡± Madison waves a hand. ¡°Please. That thing with me and Carter is ancient history and had all the emotional depth of a spoon. You¡¯re not breaking anything.¡± I study her face. ¡°You sure?¡± She nods. ¡°Swear on my favorite mascara.¡± ¡°Damn. That¡¯s serious.¡± We fall quiet for a beat. Then she nudges me. ¡°But just so you know? I don¡¯t buy that ¡®one time¡¯ crap. He was never like that with me. Ever. And you, my girl, currently have cheeks the same color as your hair.¡± ¡°I am not flustered.¡± ¡°You are a flustered liar.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s change the subject before I smother you with this couch cushion.¡± She chuckles. ¡°Fine. Thanksgiving?¡± I sag in relief. ¡°Yeah. I¡¯m going with my dad to see my grandma. Her house still smells like cinnamon and cats, but I kind of love it. His girlfriend and her daughter areing too.¡± ¡°Emmy is going?¡± ¡°Yep.¡± ¡°The one who said you were ¡®too Type A to be fun¡¯?¡± I sigh. ¡°Mmhmm. Should be a st.¡± She cringes. ¡°Yikes. Well, I¡¯ll be eating my body weight in carbs at Jaxon¡¯s house.¡± I raise a brow. ¡°He invited you home?¡± ¡°Yep.¡± I grin. ¡°You gonna survive seeing the whole Montgomery n after this many years?¡± ¡°Unclear. But if I die, bury me in ck and make it dramatic.¡± I snort and toss a nket over her. ¡°Deal.¡±
The hum of low conversation fills the ssroom as I flip open myptop and click into the project proposal doc I stayed up way toote working on. My professor¡¯s nowhere to be found¡ªprobably still stuck in her office¡ªand the TA, Callie, is making the rounds, crouching down at tables, giving feedback in her usual overly peppy tone. She¡¯s actually nice. But I¡¯ve seen her reduce grown frat bros to tears with her ¡°constructive criticism.¡± I¡¯m next. Deep breath. Callie slides into the seat beside me and rests her elbow on the table like we¡¯re besties. ¡°Okay, L. What are you thinking for your final?¡± I sit up straighter. ¡°So, I¡¯ve been focusing on athlete branding¡ªspecifically NIL strategy for college yers.¡± Her brows lift. ¡°Go on.¡± ¡°There¡¯s this whole gap between how athletes present themselves on the field versus online. Most of them don¡¯t have a team behind them, and the ones that do¡ªthey¡¯re usually handed cookie-cutter content that doesn¡¯t reflect who they are. I want to build a campaign for a mock athlete brand, focusing on authenticity and storytelling. Not just highlight reels and sponsorships.¡± Callie nods slowly, her eyes narrowing¡ªnot in a bad way. In a calcting, this-has-potential kind of way. ¡°I want to show how a strategic identity¡ªtone, visuals, even timing of posts¡ªcan elevate a yer¡¯s value, not just for NIL deals but long-term marketability. Think, building a legacy, not just chasing the next free hoodie.¡± Callie taps her fingers against the table. ¡°And your target demo?¡± ¡°College athletes. D1 level, ideally. But the campaign would be scble for recruits or even walk-ons. Anyone trying to build their profile from the ground up.¡± She pauses, then grins. ¡°Damn. Okay, that¡¯s¡­really solid. Have you picked an athlete to use as your subject?¡± I hesitate for half a second too long. Because I have. I just don¡¯t want to admit it out loud. ¡°Is it¡­someone you know?¡± she presses. ¡°Yeah,¡± I admit, cheeks warming. ¡°Quarterback. High profile. Local.¡± Callie raises one perfectly shaped brow. ¡°Anyone I¡¯d know?¡± I shake my head quickly. ¡°He¡¯s not really the point. It¡¯s more about how storytelling can humanize athletes and shift public perception¡ªespecially with yers who have a reputation that doesn¡¯t reflect who they actually are.¡± ¡°Like¡­if someone was known as a party boy, but they¡¯re actually moreyered than that?¡± My jaw tightens. ¡°Exactly.¡± Callie leans back, studying me like she¡¯s trying to read between the lines. ¡°I love it. Just make sure you stay focused on the strategy, not the guy. Sound fair?¡± I nod. ¡°Totally fair.¡± She gives me a knowing smile, then pushes off the table and moves to the next group. I stare at my screen for a second too long, blinking down at the words Q4 deliverables: brand voice and audience engagement analysis. I¡¯m not doing this for Carter. Not really. Okay, maybe a little. But he¡¯s just the subject. The variable in my case study. Still¡­my heart skips when I think about how he looked at me Sunday night. Not like I was a hookup he regretted. Like I was a person he saw. I shake it off and start typing notes. This is about me. My goals. My career. And if he just so happens to be the reason I¡¯m inspired? That¡¯s nobody¡¯s business but mine.
I make my way across campus to the athletic center. My head¡¯s still buzzing from ss, a mix of adrenaline and caffeine, and okay¡ªmaybe the tiniest bit of residual Carter energy from earlier. But I push that thought aside. Focus, girlfriend. Project. Internship. Career. The hallway smells like gym floors and protein powder, and I¡¯m two steps away from the media room when I hear it. ¡°L.¡± My stomach dips. I turn and find my dad standing in the doorway to his office, arms folded, brow raised. His tone is neutral¡ªbut with him, that¡¯s never a guarantee it¡¯ll stay that way. ¡°Got a second?¡± I nce down the hall, then back at him. ¡°Sure.¡± I step inside, instinctively straightening my posture like I¡¯m in trouble. His office looks the same as always¡ªfootball helmets on the shelf, schedule mas on the filing cab, a single framed photo of me from junior year track. No pictures of his girlfriend. No pictures of Nicole. It¡¯s the only part of his life that still feels like mine. He motions to the chair across from him, and I sit. ¡°So,¡± he starts, steepling his fingers. ¡°There¡¯s been a change in ns for Thanksgiving.¡± Here we go. ¡°Nicole¡¯s mom isn¡¯t doing well,¡± he says, voice gentler than expected. ¡°She took a turn this week. Nothing critical yet, but¡­bad enough that they want to be there. Just in case.¡± I nod slowly. ¡°So, you¡¯re going to Ohio.¡± He blinks, like he¡¯s surprised I remember where Nicole is from. ¡°She asked me to tag along. It means a lot to her. Emmy¡¯sing too.¡± ¡°Of course she is,¡± I murmur. ¡°What was that?¡± ¡°Nothing.¡± I ster on a tight smile. ¡°So¡­what does that mean for me?¡± He hesitates. ¡°We figured you¡¯d want to stay here, but of course, you¡¯re wee toe with us too. You¡¯ve got your internship, and I know things have been¡­busy for you.¡± Right. We figured. As if I was part of the conversation. ¡°Grandma¡¯s not doing anything this year anyway, with the neighbor situation,¡± he adds, like that somehow makes this better. ¡°You just let me know, and we will adjust ordingly. Are you and Madison doing Friendsgiving again this year?¡± ¡°Yeah. Sure. I think I¡¯d rather stay back and rest up.¡± And avoid feeling like I¡¯m the unwanted tagalong. He nods, reaching for the stack of papers on his desk. ¡°I¡¯ll leave the emergency card with the secretary in case you need anything while I¡¯m gone, work wise. You know how to reach me outside of that.¡± ¡°Great,¡± I say, standing. ¡°Have a safe trip. Lucky we get a bye week for the long weekend. I¡¯ll see you Monday.¡± ¡°L¡ª¡± But I¡¯m already out the door. I don¡¯t cry. Not in the hallway. Not for something I should¡¯ve seening. I make it to the media room and close the door behind me, bracing my hands on the table while the silence bes louder, threatening to swallow me. It¡¯s not the change in ns that hurts. It¡¯s that they made them without me. Again. I set my bag down. Sit. Stand. Pace. You¡¯re not part of the n. No one said that out loud, but that¡¯s what it meant. My dad, Nicole, Emmy¡ªthey make the decisions. I just¡­adjust. And now I¡¯m supposed to smile and be mature while they take a holiday I was invited to and turn it into a family road trip I don¡¯t belong on. I sit down at the editing desk, open myptop, and stare nkly at the project timeline. My hands shake on the keyboard. Deep breath in. Out. In. Out. Except it¡¯s not working. The air feels too thick, my chest too tight. I blink hard, but my vision won¡¯t clear. I try to click into the media folder¡ªjust something, anything to distract myself¡ªbut I can¡¯t even remember my password right now. My mind is swirling as if I¡¯m stuck in a vortex. My fingers curl into fists. Stop. Focus. Fix it. But the buzzing starts in the back of my head. My palms itch. My spine locks. And suddenly I can¡¯t move. Can¡¯t even think. I can¡¯t be here. I shove my chair back with too much force and stumble toward the corner by the supply shelf, knees giving out as I hit the wall. My back slides down to the floor. My breathinges in short, shallow bursts. I press my fists to my thighs, counting under my breath, trying to get control back. Three taps left leg. Three taps right. One-two-three. One-two-three. But it¡¯s not helping. The walls are too bright. The lights hum too loud. The pressure in my chest builds until it feels like something¡¯s caving in. The door creaks open. ¡°Whoa¡ªL?¡± Jaxon. I squeeze my eyes shut. His footsteps pause, then shift quickly across the floor. ¡°Hey. Hey, it¡¯s okay.¡± His voice is soft, uncertain. ¡°You¡¯re all right. I¡¯m right here, okay?¡± He crouches in front of me, one knee to the ground, hands lifted like he¡¯s not sure if he should touch me. ¡°I¡¯m not gonna crowd you,¡± he says, calm but obviously panicking under the surface. ¡°Can you look at me?¡± I manage to lift my gaze. His face is tight with concern, but not pity. Just worry. Pure and simple. ¡°You¡¯re having a panic attack, right?¡± he asks gently. ¡°Madison gets them sometimes. I¡¯ve seen this before. You¡¯re safe, L.¡± I blink fast. Try to breathe. He keeps talking¡ªgrounding me, even if the words don¡¯t quite register. And then the door opens again. ¡°What the fuck is going on?¡± Carter¡¯s voice is harder. Louder. Immediate. Jaxon doesn¡¯t move. ¡°She¡¯s not okay, man.¡± I can¡¯t see him clearly, but I feel Carter¡¯s presence the second he crosses the room. His energy shifts the air like gravity. ¡°She needs quiet,¡± Carter snaps. ¡°Move.¡± Warm hands brush my cheeks. ¡°Hey. It¡¯s me. I¡¯ve got you.¡± I can¡¯t speak. Can barely move. His arms slide under me, and I don¡¯t fight it. He lifts me off the floor like I weigh nothing and walks us straight to the storage closet off the side of the room. It¡¯s small and dark, the air cooler. The second the door shuts behind us, everything is swallowed in a sea of darkness. Carter sinks to the floor with me in hisp, my back to his chest, one of his arms wrapped tight around my waist, the other holding my left hand, pushing into the center of it. ¡°Breathe with me, all right?¡± he whispers, voice lower now. ¡°Match me.¡± He inhales slow and deep. Exhales just as steady. I try. My chest jerks on the first attempt, but he doesn¡¯t flinch. ¡°Again,¡± he says softly. ¡°You¡¯re not alone. I¡¯m right here.¡± In. Out. In. Out. Slowly, the tremble in my limbs begins to fade. My heartbeat evens. My fingers unclench. I¡¯m still curled into him when the tears finallye, silent and hot and fast. Carter just holds me tighter. Red Zone: Chapter 20 My breathing¡¯s steadier now. The weight pressing on my chest has eased enough to let me remember where I am and why I started spiraling to begin with. Carter¡¯s arms are still wrapped around me, one hand tracingzy, calming shapes on the back of my wrist. His body is solid behind me, warm and grounding. We¡¯re curled up on the floor like some kind of messed-up teenage drama scene, except¡­this is the third time he¡¯s seen me lose it, and he¡¯s still standing here. Well, sitting. Just when the silence starts to stretch too long, he clears his throat. ¡°If you wanted to feel me up, Red, all you had to do was ask.¡± I choke on augh. ¡°Oh my God,¡± I whisper, elbowing him weakly in the ribs. He grunts dramatically. ¡°See? There it is. The spark¡¯s back.¡± ¡°You¡¯re such an ass.¡± ¡°True,¡± he says proudly. ¡°But I¡¯m your emotionally avable ass, at least for the next ten minutes.¡± I shake my head, smiling despite myself. He nudges his chin gently against the side of my head. ¡°Seriously, though¡­you okay?¡± I nod slowly. ¡°Getting there.¡± ¡°You want to talk about it?¡± I hesitate, then let out a breath. ¡°My dad changed our Thanksgiving ns. Well¡ªNicole did. Her mom¡¯s sick, so now they¡¯re going out of town. And instead of asking if I wanted toe, they just¡­decided. Told me after the fact like it was a memo.¡± Carter doesn¡¯t say anything right away, just tightens his arm around me slightly. ¡°It¡¯s not even about the holiday. It¡¯s just¡­¡± I pause. ¡°It¡¯s a reminder that I¡¯m not really a part of that family. Not fully. I¡¯m the footnote. The guest who overstayed.¡± He leans in closer, his voice lower now. ¡°You know that¡¯s bullshit, right?¡± I shrug. ¡°Well,¡± he says. ¡°If it helps, I¡¯d absolutely fight someone¡¯s grandma for you.¡± Iugh again. ¡°That might be the sweetest, most concerning thing anyone¡¯s ever said to me.¡± ¡°You¡¯re wee.¡± He pauses, then adds, ¡°But seriously¡­you shouldn¡¯t have to earn your ce with people who are supposed to love you unconditionally.¡± My throat tightens again, but the tears don¡¯te this time. Just quiet understanding. ¡°I didn¡¯t expect you to show up,¡± I say softly. His voice is quiet now too. ¡°Yeah, well. I¡¯ve got this annoying little habit of sometimes giving a shit.¡± I lean back against his chest, letting my eyes flutter shut. For a second, I let myself forget everything else¡ªmy dad, the internship, the weight I carry every day. His voice rumbles low against my ear. ¡°Hate to break up the emotional breakthrough, but I¡¯ve got film in ten.¡± I groan, not even trying to hide the disappointment in my voice. ¡°Seriously?¡± ¡°Sadly Coach would probably frown on me skipping film review just because I¡¯m busy holding his daughter in a closet. Alone. In the dark.¡± I roll my eyes, but my smile gives me away. ¡°You¡¯re impossible.¡± Carter shifts behind me, adjusting just enough to nce down at me. ¡°You good? Like¡­good enough to be alone?¡± I nod. ¡°Yeah. I think so.¡± He watches me a beat longer, like he¡¯s checking for cracks. Slowly, he stands and offers his hand. I take it. He pulls me up gently, and for a second, we just stand there, way too close in the dim light. His fingers brush the edge of my shirt like he¡¯s debating saying something else. Then he smirks. ¡°If you need to ¡®go deeper¡¯ anymore today, I¡¯m happy to offer those services.¡± ¡°Wow,¡± I deadpan. ¡°How generous of you.¡± Chuckling, he shoots me onest wink before slipping out the door.
Our apartment smells like soy sauce and vani, which is weirdlyforting. Madison and I are curled up on the couch, surrounded by takeout containers and a half-eaten pint of cookie dough ice cream. I¡¯ve got myptop bnced on my thighs, blue light reflecting off the screen while I edit slides for my athlete branding campaign. Madison is poking at the remains of her lo mein, even though she¡¯s mostly abandoned it in favor of spiraling. ¡°I don¡¯t know what to pack,¡± she says for the third time, dragging a nket over herp and letting her head flop sideways against the couch cushion. ¡°You do know his mom loves you, right?¡± I say, without looking up. She sighs. ¡°I know. That¡¯s not the problem.¡± I nce over, arching a brow. ¡°Then what is?¡± Madison presses her lips together, then says, ¡°It¡¯s just¡­this trip feels like more. You know? Like, we¡¯re not just seeing his family. We¡¯re staying with them. For multiple days. It¡¯s different than when we were kids.¡± ¡°Okay?¡± ¡°It¡¯s like crossing a line I¡¯m not sure I¡¯m ready to admit I already crossed.¡± I close myptop halfway and set it aside. ¡°You¡¯re scared it means something more.¡± She nods; eyes still fixed on the string of Christmas lights we never took down from the bookshelf. ¡°I mean, it already does. But going home with him feels like¡­a step I can¡¯t take back.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t want to take it back.¡± ¡°No, I don¡¯t,¡± she admits quietly. ¡°That¡¯s what terrifies me.¡± I watch her for a moment, then nudge the ice cream closer. ¡°Okay. Well, in that case, you don¡¯t need to pack anything. Just n to be naked the whole trip.¡± She blinks. ¡°Excuse me?¡± I grab a spoonful of cookie dough and sh her a look. ¡°Solves the packing problem and guarantees Jaxon will worship the ground you walk on. Total efficiency.¡± Sheughs despite herself, grabbing a throw pillow andunching it at me. ¡°You¡¯re unhinged.¡± ¡°You¡¯re in love.¡± That shuts her up for half a second. She sinks back into the couch. ¡°I don¡¯t really know what I¡¯m feeling right now.¡± ¡°You¡¯re allowed to be scared,¡± I say, quieter now. ¡°You just don¡¯t have to let fear decide for you.¡± Madison doesn¡¯t answer, but her hand finds mine between us on the couch, giving it a small squeeze before stealing my ice cream. I fake a re her way. ¡°You bitch.¡± Madisonughs as her head drops back against the couch, her legs stretched out like she¡¯s officially given up on being productive for the night. She¡¯s still holding the pint of my cookie dough ice cream in one hand, the spoonzily resting against her lips as she stares at the ceiling like it personally offended her. ¡°Oh yeah,¡± she says suddenly, turning to look at me. ¡°You still going to your grandma¡¯s with your dad for Thanksgiving?¡± My stomach tightens. I keep my eyes on myptop screen and pretend to reread the same sentence I¡¯ve already revised twice. ¡°Yeah. That¡¯s still the n.¡± Madison smiles and digs her spoon back into the pint she so shamelessly stole. ¡°Good. I know it¡¯s not exactly a dream getaway, but at least you¡¯ll be around people who love you. And your grandma makes, like, ten types of pie, doesn¡¯t she?¡± ¡°Eleven,¡± I say automatically, forcing a smile. ¡°Damn. Save me a slice of that caramel apple one.¡± ¡°Only if you save me from choking on the annual Harding family awkward silence.¡± Sheughs and nudges my leg with her foot. ¡°We¡¯ll FaceTime. You can judge Jaxon¡¯s childhood bedroom decor and watch me lose at Monopoly.¡± I nod, letting out a sound that passes as agreement. But the guilt wedges deeper between my ribs. Because the truth is, I¡¯m not going anywhere. My dad¡¯s heading to Ohio with Nicole and Emmy, and I wasn¡¯t invited. And yeah, I could tell her that. Could let her cancel her trip and stay behind to keep mepany. But she¡¯s happy. Finally. She¡¯s about to spend a holiday with someone who adores her, in a home where she¡¯s wanted. So, I lie. And I let her keep the damn ice cream.
The apartment¡¯s quiet, except for the asional thud of Madison dragging her suitcase out of her closet and grumbling about underwear. I¡¯ve been pretending to focus on myptop for thest twenty minutes, but I haven¡¯t typed a single word. My phone buzzes on the couch cushion beside me. Carter Hayes: you die or are you just ghosting me now that I¡¯ve seen you cry? I roll my eyes and smile at the same time, already typing back. Bold of you to assume I cried. Maybe I was faking it to get you to shut up. Carter Hayes: you¡¯re hotter when you lie. And you¡¯re cockier when I let you help me breathe. Carter Hayes: I¡¯d offer mouth-to-mouth next time Carter Hayes: for safety reasons Carter Hayes: strictly medical You¡¯re unbelievable. Carter Hayes: and yet you keep replying. Weird. It¡¯s either this or listen to Madison try to pick a ¡°wholesome sleepover outfit¡± to wear in front of Jaxon¡¯s mom. Carter Hayes: lmao Carter Hayes: I vote nothing. bold choice. power move. That¡¯s literally what I told her! Carter Hayes: I knew there was a reason I liked you Carter Hayes: besides the hair Carter Hayes: and the mouth Carter Hayes: and the thighs Carter Hayes: and the attitude Carter Hayes: but mostly the attitude Carter Hayes: arguing with you is basically forey Are you done? Carter Hayes: not even close, but I¡¯ll stop before I start writing poetry about your eyes or some weird sappy shit. I stare at the screen, biting back a grin that feels too easy after the day I¡¯ve had. Thanks again. For earlier. Carter Hayes: don¡¯t thank me Carter Hayes: just let me be your go-to closet guy from now on Closet guy? That¡¯s the title you¡¯re going with? Carter Hayes: better than side piece Carter Hayes: or emotionally avable QB1 Carter Hayes: fine. new title: emotional support hottie You¡¯re ridiculous. Carter Hayes: but I made you smile Carter Hayes: and I¡¯d do it again Carter Hayes: dream of me I roll my eyes, cheeks warm, and type onest message. Only if you behave in them. Goodnight, Hayes. Carter Hayes: no promises. Night, Princess. Red Zone: Chapter 21 The ng of weights hitting the rack echoes through the weight room. It¡¯s early, too early for a campus on holiday week autopilot, but Jaxon and I are already three sets in¡ªbecause apparently, rest days are for the weak and not the NFL-bound. Jaxon adjusts his grip on the bar, exhaling slowly as he lowers it into a bench press. ¡°Last set,¡± I say, standing behind him. ¡°Let¡¯s go, Montgomery. Push like Madison¡¯s watching.¡± ¡°Jesus,¡± he mutters, arms shaking. ¡°That¡¯s messed up.¡± ¡°That¡¯s motivation, my man.¡± He lets out a strained breath and presses through the final rep, muscles taut, jaw clenched. When he racks the bar, he sits up and rolls his shoulders out. ¡°Swear you¡¯re more annoying without pads on,¡± he says, wiping sweat from his face with a towel. I sh a grin. ¡°Nah. I¡¯m charming in every setting.¡± ¡°Whatever helps you sleep at night, bro.¡± Beck walks past us with a shake of his head, dropping a pair of dumbbells on the rack. ¡°I can¡¯t believe I dragged my ass in here the first day of our break.¡± ¡°You asked toe,¡± I remind him. ¡°Yeah, and now I regret it,¡± he groans, stretching out his back. ¡°Y¡¯all are built different.¡± ¡°That¡¯s called muscle memory and trauma,¡± I say, grabbing my water bottle. Beck flips me off without looking. ¡°I¡¯m hitting the showers. Don¡¯t let Jaxon start another TED Talk about recovery hydration.¡± ¡°Noted,¡± I say, watching him disappear down the hallway. Jaxon towels off his neck, then drops onto the bench next to me. ¡°He¡¯s been bettertely.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± I say, voice quieter now. ¡°Not sure if it¡¯s better-better or just numb-better.¡± Jaxon nods slowly. ¡°It¡¯s been what¡­a month since the breakup?¡± I run a hand through my hair. ¡°Month and a half, give or take.¡± Jaxon winces. ¡°Still brutal.¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± I lean back against the wall, exhaling. ¡°He¡¯s mostly in the ¡®I hate everyone¡¯ phase now. You know¡ªdark music, extra reps, no eye contact.¡± ¡°And no random hookups?¡± I shake my head. ¡°Nah. I think that¡¯s what¡¯s throwing everyone off. He¡¯s just¡­sad. And mad.¡± Jaxon nods. ¡°Honestly, that¡¯s probably a good thing. A normal response at least. Eleven years is a lot of history.¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± I pause, ncing toward the locker room. ¡°Still sucks to watch. I¡¯ve seen him drunk text her three times, then delete it before he hits send. It¡¯s like watching a guy try to punch his way out of a pool.¡± Jaxon gives a low whistle. ¡°You talk to him much about it?¡± ¡°Here and there,¡± I say. ¡°But I think he needs time. And a few more lifts where he pretends the bench press bar is that guy¡¯s face.¡± Jaxon cracks a smile. ¡°We¡¯ve all been there.¡± He¡¯s not wrong. I¡¯ve done my own time in the heartbreak trenches¡ªmine just came earlier, messier, and buried so deep it doesn¡¯t look like heartbreak anymore. ¡°Thanksgiving ns?¡± I ask, changing the subject. He grins. ¡°Heading out after this. Madison¡¯sing with.¡± ¡°Big move.¡± He shrugs, but I can see the softness behind it. ¡°She¡¯s family now.¡± I let the words hang there for a second, more affected than I want to admit. Must be nice to know someone¡¯s got you like that. No second-guessing. No backup n. ¡°Nice,¡± I say, keeping it casual. ¡°Meanwhile, I¡¯m looking forward to three days of eating like trash and arguing with ESPN in the living room.¡± Jaxonughs and stands, grabbing his bag. ¡°Try not to burn the ce down while I¡¯m gone.¡± ¡°No promises.¡± He ps me on the back before heading toward the locker room. I sit there for a minute longer, the echo of Beck¡¯s sadness and Jaxon¡¯s stability lingering like static. Everyone¡¯s moving on. Healing. Building something and working towards a future. I¡¯m still figuring out what the hell to do with the pieces I¡¯ve got.
When I finally decide to head back to the house, Jaxon¡¯s already hit the road with Madison, Beck¡¯s off doing whatever sad-boy soul-searching he needs to do, and all of our other housemates are gone. Campus feels weirdly quiet for a November afternoon. Then again, most people have families to see. Just not me. I toss my duffel into the back of my Jeep and slide into the driver¡¯s seat, but I don¡¯t start the engine. Just sit there for a second, thumb hovering over my screen. I¡¯ve had the same contact open for thest three minutes, grinning at the updated contact name. Princess I scroll up and reread our messages fromst night before sending off another text. You part of the PCU ghost town yet or still pretending to be productive? It doesn¡¯t take long. Princess: Still here. Working. I grin, rxing into the seat. Of course. So you¡¯re just¡­alone in your apartment with sad girl ylists and a pint of ice cream you didn¡¯t share? Princess: You say that like it¡¯s a bad thing Princess: alone = peaceful Princess: ice cream = essential Princess: music = 5 Seconds of Summer. Obviously So basically you¡¯re living the dream Minus the part where you¡¯re alone Princess: Some of us like being alone Princess: Less mess, less noise, less¡­people ah yes but have you considered being alone¡­together Three dots appear. Pause. Disappear. Reappear. Princess: Is that your idea of a pickup line? Nope that was a suggestion and a very generous offer from a guy who knows his way around a couch, a nket, and streaming passwords Princess: ¡­you¡¯re such a menace and yet you¡¯re still typing Princess: You¡¯re lucky I¡¯m bored you¡¯re lucky I¡¯m cute Princess: don¡¯t fight it, Red you already let me hold you in a closet next logical step: movies, snacks, emotional denial together in sweatpants Princess: ¡­you do have a weirdly convincing argument I¡¯ll provide the snacks this time you bring that scary good attitude of yours deal? She doesn¡¯t answer right away. I let her take her time. I know her well enough now to get that she doesn¡¯t jump into things, even when she wants to. Finally she responds. Princess: Fine. But I get the remote Princess: and you don¡¯t talk during the movie Deal. See you soon. I don¡¯t know what she¡¯s doing on her end of the phone, but on mine, I¡¯m staring at thatst message longer than I should. At the beginning of something that¡¯s probably going to ruin me. But honestly? I¡¯ve never looked forward to being alone this much in my life.
I hear the knock before the doorbell rings, and I already know it¡¯s her. No one else knocks like that. Two knocks, pause, two knocks. I swing the door open, and there she is¡ªhood up, red curls escaping in wisps around her face, cheeks pink from the cooler weather, or maybe from nerves. She¡¯s holding a grocery bag like it might bite her. ¡°You came,¡± I say, stepping aside. She gives me a t look. ¡°Don¡¯t make it weird.¡± I grin and take the bag from her, peeking inside. ¡°Ice cream? I told you I¡¯d cover the snacks this time, but I won¡¯tin.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t push it, Hayes.¡± I toss the ice cream and whatever other mystery snacks she brought into the freezer, then shut the door with my foot. Turning to face her, I p my hands together. ¡°All right, Red. What do you want for round one?¡± Her brow lifts. ¡°Wow. Forward. No warm-up? No small talk?¡± I smirk. ¡°I meant snacks.¡± She steps in closer, that wicked little glint in her eyes. ¡°You sure about that?¡± Jesus. My brain short-circuits for half a second. I blink. ¡°Okay, that¡¯s¡­not what I had in mind, but¡ªlook, I¡¯m not saying no.¡± Sheughs, all smug and amused, and grabs a bag of chips off the counter. ¡°Rx. Keep it in your pants, quarterback.¡± ¡°Hard to, especially when you say shit like that,¡± I mutter under my breath, following her toward the stairs. She nces over her shoulder. ¡°Youing?¡± I catch the double meaning. I know she knows what she¡¯s doing. Two can y that game. ¡°Not until you do,¡± I shoot back. She snorts and nearly chokes on herughter. ¡°God, you¡¯re exhausting.¡± ¡°And yet, here you are.¡± ¡°Temporary insanity.¡± We head upstairs with snacks in hand, and I flip through the streaming apps while she tucks herself into the corner of my bed. ¡°What happened to me getting the remote?¡± she asks as she finishes making herselffortable. ¡°Well, I figured since you ended up bringing snacks, that means I get the remote.¡± She rolls her eyes, but doesn¡¯t argue, that almost there smile ghosting her lips. Eventually, we settle on a movie neither of us will probably remember¡ªsomething with explosions and bad one-liners. But the snacks are good, and her knee keeps bumping mine. She¡¯s close enough that I can feel her warmth, hear her breathing shift when something in the movie makes herugh. It feels like something I could get used to. She tosses a piece of popcorn at me, and of course, I catch it in my mouth like the elite athlete I am. She rolls her eyes. ¡°Show-off.¡± ¡°You say that like it¡¯s not my full personality.¡± ¡°I say that because it is your full personality.¡± I lean back on one elbow, facing her more than the screen now. ¡°You¡¯re one to talk, Red. You¡¯ve got enough attitude to start your own rebellion.¡± She smirks, unbothered. ¡°And yet, you keep spending time with me. Wonder why that is?¡± I nce down at where her thigh is pressed lightly against mine. ¡°Maybe I like living dangerously.¡± Her eyes flick toward mine, and the air changes. We both feel the shift but neither of us wants to name it yet. She leans over to grab her drink, and her hoodie slides off one shoulder, revealing smooth skin and a thin strap of whatever tank she¡¯s wearing underneath. I look. She notices but doesn¡¯t fix it. Instead, she reaches down, taking it offpletely. My jaw might be on the floor. She¡¯s in a cropped ck tank, showing off a bit of skin between where it ends above her belly button and the shorts she¡¯s wearing. ¡°You¡¯re staring,¡± she says, amused. ¡°You wore that and didn¡¯t expect me to stare?¡± She shrugs, sipping her soda. ¡°Maybe I was just hot.¡± ¡°Oh, you are,¡± I say without missing a beat. ¡°That wasn¡¯t in question.¡± Sheughs, but this time it¡¯s quieter. More breath than sound. She shifts a little closer. Doesn¡¯t move away when my thigh lines up with hers again. My hand¡¯s still resting between us, fingers curled loosely on theforter. She nces at it, then back at me. ¡°You¡¯re thinking something,¡± she says. ¡°Dangerous assumption.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve got the face.¡± ¡°Well, I¡¯ve only got one.¡± ¡°The one where you¡¯re either about to make a joke or do something stupid.¡± I grin. ¡°Why not both?¡± She raises an eyebrow. ¡°What are you gonna do, Hayes?¡± I drag my thumb slowly across the edge of the nket between us. ¡°I haven¡¯t decided yet.¡± But I know what I want to do. Want to lean in. Want to kiss that smirk right off her face. Want to see if that sharp tongue of hers goes quiet when I put my mouth on hers. Her gaze flicks to my mouth¡ªand that¡¯s all it takes for me to toss every single reason for being a gentleman out the window. Fuck it. I grab her face, haul her to me, and kiss her like I¡¯ve been wanting to all damn day. Because I have. There¡¯s no slow build, no testing the waters. I crash into her mouth, and she meets me with the same fire¡ªpulling me in by the front of my hoodie like she¡¯s been craving it just as bad as I have. It¡¯s messy and hot and a little desperate. Her teeth scrape my bottom lip, and I groan, pushing her back onto the bed without breaking the kiss. She tastes like sugar and sarcasm. Her hands are everywhere¡ªclutching my hoodie, threading into my hair, dragging me closer like she can¡¯t get enough, like she¡¯s more than willing to give anything I¡¯m willing to take. Good. Because I¡¯m fucking starving. I settle between her legs; our bodies pressed together like we¡¯re trying to make up for every second we pretended we didn¡¯t want this. She bites my lip. I lose it. I grab her thigh and hike it over my hip, grinding down into her like it¡¯s instinct¡ªbecause it is. She arches beneath me with a sound that makes my brain short-circuit. ¡°Jesus, Red,¡± I breathe against her mouth. ¡°What the hell are you doing to me?¡± She smirks, breathless, her eyes wild. ¡°Payback for every time you¡¯ve smirked at me in that stupid backwards hat.¡± Iugh, low and rough, then kiss her again¡ªharder this time, hands sliding under her crop top, fingers brushing bare skin and pulling a gasp from her lips. This isn¡¯t just heat¡ªit¡¯sbustion. All the tension we¡¯ve danced around for weeks finally ripping free and demanding to be felt. And I want all of it. Every damn piece of her. If I wasn¡¯t in deep before¡­fuck me, I¡¯m drowning now. Red Zone: Chapter 22 Her body fits against mine like it is meant to be here¡ªhip to hip, mouth to mouth, her legs wrapping tighter around me as the kiss turns frantic. She rolls her hips once¡ªslow, intentional¡ªand fuck. I feel it everywhere. A groan rips out of my throat before I can catch it. My hands grip her thighs, pinning her beneath me, grinding down without thinking. She gasps into my mouth, then does it again. Harder. That¡¯s it. That¡¯s the moment I lose whatever thin thread of self-control I had left. I press into her, hips rolling against hers like it¡¯s the only thing keeping me alive. There¡¯s nothing between us but thin fabric and too many unsaid things, and even through theyers I can feel how ready she is. How hot and wet she is. Her nails dig into my shoulders, her head tipping back as she moans my name¡ªsoft but wrecked. ¡°Carter¡­¡± The way she says it, like a prayer and a curse in one, sends electricity straight down my spine. ¡°Fuck, L,¡± I growl. ¡°You keep doing that and I¡¯m gonnae in my pants.¡± ¡°Good,¡± she pants. ¡°Maybe then you¡¯ll shut up.¡± I grind against her again, rougher this time, and she bucks up to meet me¡ªdesperate, wild, perfect. We fall into a rhythm, messy and uncontrolled, breathing each other in like it¡¯s the only oxygen left in the world. Clothes stay on. Barely. My shirt twisted in her fists. It¡¯s not about getting naked. It¡¯s about relief. About release. Finally letting ourselves want. And she wants. I can feel it in every gasp, every drag of her hips against mine, every breathless curse she whispers into my neck as I rut against her like a guy who¡¯s been dreaming of this for months¡ªwhich, let¡¯s be real, I have. My cock¡¯s hard as hell and pressed tight against the soft heat between her legs. There¡¯s nothing gentle about the way I move. Nothing held back. And the best part? She matches me, move for move, fire for fire. When she moans again, louder this time, and bites down on my shoulder to muffle it, I know we¡¯re close¡ªboth of us, teetering on the edge. I pull back just enough to look her in the eyes. Her pupils are blown, lips swollen, breath ragged. ¡°You good?¡± I ask, voice barely steady. She grabs the front of my shirt and yanks me back down. ¡°I¡¯m better than good,¡± she whispers against my lips. ¡°Don¡¯t stop.¡± So I don¡¯t. I fuck her through our clothes until her thighs tremble, and she gasps my name again, broken and sweet. And then I follow, hips stuttering,ing undone right there with her¡ªhot, breathless, wrecked. I roll off her slightly, and justy there, the sounds of us breathing mixing with the sounds from the long-forgotten movie. Minutes go by, and we¡¯re still tangled together. Her leg is draped over mine, her fingers resting just beneath the hem of my shirt, like she forgot to move them¡ªand I hope she forgets a little longer. I¡¯ve had sex before. Casual, fast, a necessary means to an end. But this? This was fully clothed and still managed to wreck me. Her crop top is bunched up beneath her ribs, her neck flushed, and her lips¡­kiss-bitten and parted like she¡¯s still catching her breath. She¡¯s not saying anything. Neither am I. But I can feel her. All of her. The rise and fall of her chest. The heat of her skin under my palm. The way her fingers twitch, just barely, when I shift. And I know I should get up. Say something cocky, make a joke, hit the reset button before this gets too real. But I don¡¯t move. Because I¡¯m starting to think I could get used to this¡ªher weight against me, herugh still caught between us, that electricity under my skin that only seems to settle when she¡¯s close. Which is¡­bad. Really bad. She exhales, slow and quiet. ¡°What is this?¡± I look down at her, the tension between us barely cooled. She doesn¡¯t sound mad. Doesn¡¯t sound like she regrets it. Just¡­uncertain. Like she¡¯s waiting for me to screw this up. I consider giving her the ssic Carter line¡ª¡°just fun¡± or ¡°whatever we want it to be.¡± Something easy. Safe. But I can¡¯t bring myself to lie. So, I tell her the truth. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Her hand curls into my shirt. I brace myself for her to pull back, to shut this whole thing down. Instead, she says, ¡°Okay. Well¡­if we¡¯re gonna keep doing this, we need rules.¡± I nod slowly. ¡°Yeah?¡± She meets my eyes. ¡°It stays casual. No strings. No feelings. We hook up, we blow off steam, and then we go back to normal. Friends. Teammates. Whatever this weird almost-friends thing is.¡± I pause. Because everything in me wants to agree. To nod and y it cool. Pretend that the second her leg brushed mine, I didn¡¯t feel like I¡¯d been hit in the chest. Pretend that herugh doesn¡¯t live somewhere under my ribs now. Pretend that I¡¯m not already screwed. But I do what I¡¯m supposed to. I nod. ¡°No strings. Just fun.¡± ¡°Exactly,¡± she says. But her voice is softer now. Not smug. Not distant. Just¡­tired. I reach up and brush a strand of hair away from her face. ¡°For what it¡¯s worth,¡± I murmur. ¡°I like fun with you.¡± She smiles, faint and wary. I lean in and kiss her cheek, just once¡ªgentle and simple, nothing like what we just did. And that¡¯s the most dangerous part. Because now I want more than that. And I shouldn¡¯t. ¡°All right,¡± I say, forcing a grin as I shift back onto my elbows. ¡°Not to ruin the whole emotional rity thing we¡¯ve got going, but I¡¯m gonna need to change before these sweatpants be a problem.¡± She snorts, but I see the color rise in her cheeks. ¡°Or¡­¡± I add, dragging out the word. ¡°We could shower. Together. Y¡¯know, to conserve water and protect the.¡± She shakes her head with augh, already sitting up. ¡°You¡¯re unbelievable.¡± I grin, holding out my hand once I¡¯m up. She takes it.
The bathroom fills with steam almost instantly. L stands at the sink, hair up in a loose, messy knot, tugging her top the rest of the way off with zero shame. She¡¯s down to just her underwear, then nothing at all and my brain short-circuits for a full two seconds. I strip my shirt off and toss it into the corner. ¡°This is about saving the, right?¡± ¡°Exactly,¡± she deadpans, stepping into the shower first. ¡°Strictly environmental.¡± Losing the rest of my clothes, I follow her in, and the water hits hot and steady. She moves to one side to give me room, even though the space is tight¡ªand maybe that¡¯s the point. Our bodies keep brushing. My hands twitch at my sides, resisting the urge to grab her hips, drag her closer, and kiss her until the ss fogs over for a whole different reason. But I don¡¯t. Because something¡¯s shifted. She tilts her head back, letting the water soak her hairline. Her eyes are closed, lips slightly parted, and there¡¯s no teasing in her expression now. Just exhaustion. And something that looks an awful lot like peace. She¡¯s still for a beat. ¡°I haven¡¯t felt this calm in a while.¡± I nce at her, surprised. ¡°Because of me?¡± She smirks without opening her eyes. ¡°Don¡¯t tter yourself.¡± I chuckle under my breath, reaching for the body wash. I squirt some into my palm and without overthinking it, I move behind her and gently start rubbing it over her shoulders. She tenses for a second¡ªjust one. Then exhales and lets me do it. Her back rxes under my hands. I take my time, moving in slow, deliberate circles, watching the soap slide over her skin and swirl down into the drain. My fingers trail along the curve of her spine, light and careful. ¡°I used to hate showers,¡± she murmurs. ¡°Seriously?¡± ¡°Too many panic attacks after school. It felt like the water was trapping me. Like I couldn¡¯t breathe.¡± I go still. ¡°You good now?¡± I ask softly, not joking anymore. She nods. ¡°Yeah. I think. It just depends on the day. This?¡± She nces over her shoulder, her eyes meeting mine through the steam. ¡°This is okay.¡± My hand stays on her waist longer than it should. It¡¯s not about sex. Not right now. It¡¯s about her letting me see this version of her. Quiet. Unarmored. Trusting. And that? That¡¯s way more dangerous than anything we did on my bed.
We towel off and change into dry clothes¡ªboth of us stealing from my dresser like it¡¯s not a big deal that she¡¯s about to be wearing my clothes. She ends up in a faded T-shirt that hits mid-thigh. I don¡¯t say anything about how good she looks in my clothes, but goddamn. We settle back onto my bed with the lights off and a new movie ying in the background. This one¡¯s quieter. Slower. The kind of thing people put on when they know they won¡¯t be paying attention for long. Her head finds my chest. My hand finds her hip. And somewhere in between the second act and the end credits, we fall asleep.
I shift groggily when I feel her start to move. She¡¯s careful about it¡ªquiet. Peeling the nket off slowly like she¡¯s trying not to wake me. Her bare legs brush against mine as she slides out of bed, soft footfalls barely creaking the floor as she grabs her phone and hoodie from the chair. I keep my eyes closed. Just for a beat. Then I crack them open. ¡°Where are you going?¡± She freezes like she got caught breaking curfew. ¡°Didn¡¯t mean to wake you.¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t.¡± My voice is thick with sleep, lower than usual. ¡°It¡¯s one in the morning.¡± ¡°I know.¡± She pauses. ¡°I just thought I should go.¡± ¡°Why?¡± She hesitates, clutching her hoodie tighter in both hands. ¡°Because¡­this wasn¡¯t supposed to turn into a sleepover.¡± I sit up slowly, running a hand through my hair. Her eyes dart to me, guarded and unsure. ¡°L,¡± I say, softer now, patting the space beside me. ¡°Get back in bed.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t bring anything,¡± she says quietly, like she needs a reason to justify it. ¡°You¡¯re wearing my clothes. Good enough.¡± She bites her lip, torn. ¡°Just stay,¡± I say again. ¡°You¡¯re already here.¡± Another pause. Then she exhales and nods once¡ªbarely more than a breath¡ªand climbs back into bed. She curls against my chest, stiffer than before at first. Like her walls are still halfway up. But when I rest my palm on her back and she doesn¡¯t move away, I know she heard what I didn¡¯t say. The second her breathing evens out again, I know I¡¯m fucked. Because I agreed with her that this was just fun. A way to relieve the tension between us. Just a way to let off steam. But this? This isn¡¯t casual. This is the red zone. And I¡¯m in way too deep to walk away. Red Zone: Chapter 23 By early Saturday afternoon, I¡¯ve changed the sheets on my bed twice, deep-cleaned the coffee maker, restocked the fridge, and rearranged the entryway shoe rack¡ªbecause apparently, the only thing that calms my nerves after spending three days tangled up with Carter Hayes is reorganizing my environment until my brain stops spinning. We watched movies. Slept in the same bed. Ate toaster waffles like a married couple. He brushed my hair off my face one morning and kissed my shoulder like it wasn¡¯t a big deal. But it was. To me, it was. So, I came home. Not because he pushed me away. He didn¡¯t. He kissed me goodbye, slow and quiet, like it meant something to him. And that was exactly why I had to leave. I did the only thing I know how to do when things get too big. I made myself small again. The door clicks open, and I hear the familiar sound of Madison dragging her duffel inside, keys jangling, and boots thudding onto the wee mat. I pop up from the couch like I haven¡¯t been nervously refolding the same nket for the past twenty minutes. Madison steps inside, Jaxon¡¯s hoodie swallowing her frame. She drops her bag, then her whole body onto the couch. ¡°I brought back pie. And news. In that order.¡± I arch a brow. ¡°You go first. I¡¯ll go grab tes.¡± ¡°Skip the tes, just bring spoons.¡± By the time I return with spoons and a can of whipped cream, she¡¯s kicked her boots off and curled into the corner of the couch, eyes wide and already half-smiling. ¡°Well?¡± I nudge. ¡°How was it?¡± Sheughs. ¡°It was actually really fun. I was a little nervous about how it would be going there for the first time since¡­well, since we¡¯re kind of together?¡± A blush creeps up her cheeks, and she can¡¯t help but grin. ¡°Did he ask you to be his girlfriend?¡± Don¡¯t get me wrong. I am beyond happy for my best friend, and I truly hope she has her shit figured out. She deserves to be happy, more than anyone else I know. I just worry that she hasn¡¯t figured out the healing she needs to in order for this tost long term. ¡°No, nothing like that. I don¡¯t really know how to exin it, and I get a little anxious if I think about it too much, honestly.¡± After a beat, she turns to me. ¡°And what about you? How was your trip?¡± Here ites. The lie I¡¯ve been rehearsing for hours. ¡°I didn¡¯t end up going,¡± I say with a small shrug. ¡°Didn¡¯t feel great, and with everything going around¡­didn¡¯t want to risk making Grandma sick. So, I just stayed home.¡± Madison tilts her head. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you say anything? I could¡¯vee back or even stayed home to begin with.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t want you to do that. You and Jaxon needed this.¡± I offer a tight smile. ¡°I just needed a couple days to rest. Nothing a little couch rotting couldn¡¯t fix.¡± More like nothing a few orgasms couldn¡¯t fix. I scrunch my nose at the thought, but it¡¯s not wrong. Madison doesn¡¯t question it. Just reaches over and squeezes my arm. ¡°Next year, we are definitely going back to Friendsgiving.¡± ¡°Deal.¡± We sit in silence for a moment, eating pie in the dim glow of the living roommp. I can feel the weight of everything I¡¯m keeping to myself slowly eating at me. I¡¯m not lying to hurt her. I¡¯m lying because I don¡¯t have the words for what this weekend really was. For what it felt like when Carter looked at me like I was the only thing anchoring him to the world. And the second I admit that out loud¡ªit won¡¯t be casual anymore. So, I fold the nket, again. And I finish the pie. Then I tell her I¡¯m going to bed early. I slip back into Carter¡¯s shirt that I came home in this morning. It still smells just like him¡ªfresh, minty, with a touch of something a little spicy. I don¡¯t know why, but it brings me a sense of peace. Finishing my nighttime routine, I¡¯m just getting into bed when my phone goes off. Quarterback: Thanks for being alone with me this weekend, Princess Quarterback: Don¡¯t dream about me too much tonight Unfortunately for me, I do.
Thursday morning, we have our mid-season check in with the marketing team. I¡¯ve been staring at the same Google sheet for thirty minutes, rechecking numbers I already know are right. It¡¯s just a habit. Dad sits at the head of the table, posture straight, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Across from me is Megan Talbot, the department¡¯s director of marketing and branding¡ªa sharp-eyed woman in herte thirties who¡¯s been working double-time this semester building out NIL resources for the program. And then there¡¯s me. The intern with a lot to prove and basically everything to lose. Each of the starters is scheduled toe in today to review their mid-season media performance¡ªengagement, follower growth, brand inquiries, all of it. Part of a new pilot program Meganunched to help yers understand their value before they even leave school. Jaxon walks in first. ¡°Morning,¡± he says easily, shing a smile at Megan, then ncing briefly at Coach. He meets my eyes and offers a quiet, respectful nod. ¡°Let¡¯s pull up your metrics,¡± Megan says, already tapping into herptop. ¡°You¡¯ve had a twenty- two percent increase in total reach since the start of October. Engagement¡¯s solid. You¡¯ve gotten two verified DMs sincest week. One from a local athletic gear brand, the other from a national hydration startup.¡± Jaxon leans forward. ¡°The one with the blue logo?¡± Megan nods. ¡°They¡¯re legit. We¡¯ll schedule a call.¡± Coach gives a small grunt of approval. ¡°Keep your head down. Keep producing on the field, Jaxon. Great work.¡± Jaxon gives a short nod. ¡°Thank you, sir.¡± He exits a minuteter, professional as ever, and the room resets. I adjust the sheet in front of me, fingers tightening slightly on the pen I¡¯m holding¡ªbecause I know who¡¯s next. Carter strolls in like he owns the ce. Baseball cap turned backward, hoodie pushed up to his elbows, and thatzy, cocky smirk on his face like nothing touches him. But I know better now. He clocks me immediately. Doesn¡¯t flinch. Just shoots me a wink and slides into the chair across from me. ¡°Nice of you to show up, Hayes,¡± Megan says dryly. ¡°Had to finish an important Zoom call,¡± he says, stretching out. Coach clears his throat. Carter straightens. Slightly. Megan doesn¡¯t waste time. ¡°Okay. Let¡¯s go over your numbers.¡± I pull up his tab and flick it to the main screen. ¡°Since thest game, your Instagram¡¯s up fifty-eight percent in follower growth. TikTok¡¯s doubled¡ªmostly due to fan clips of that third-down scramble and the ¡®QB1 can get it¡¯mentary under every video.¡± Carter grins, not even pretending to be humble. Megan continues, ¡°You¡¯ve received four NIL brand reach-outs this week. All verified. One¡¯s an energy drink that¡¯s already working with top-tier prospects. If you maintain this trajectory, you¡¯re looking at national exposure going into bowl week.¡± Coach Harding leans forward. ¡°And you¡¯re staying focused?¡± ¡°Yes, sir.¡± Megan nces at me. ¡°L, anything to add from the content side?¡± I hop right in. ¡°Carter¡¯s mic¡¯d-up footage from practice is the highest-performing clip we¡¯ve run all semester. His engagement¡¯s not just about stats¡ªit¡¯s personality-driven. He¡¯s the kind of profile that builds momentum organically. People want to root for him.¡± Carter raises an eyebrow at me, amused. ¡°You been watching me closely, Princess?¡± My dad¡¯s brows raise, but I look straight at Carter. ¡°It¡¯s my job, literally.¡± Dad cuts in before the moment can linger. ¡°Good work. But it doesn¡¯t mean anything if you don¡¯t finish the season strong.¡± Carter nods, all charm gone for just a second. ¡°Understood.¡± Megan wraps it quickly after that. ¡°You¡¯ll get a follow-up from our NIL coordinator. Keep your content clean and stay consistent.¡± Carter stands, nces at Coach, then gives me one more look before walking out. The room settles again, but my pulse doesn¡¯t. Because I can y professional. I can read metrics and schedule posts, pretend I don¡¯t remember how his hands felt on my hips just two nights ago, how his lips didn¡¯t burn a path everywhere they touched. But every time Carter Hayes looks at me like I¡¯m more than just a game? I forget how to keep score. Red Zone: Chapter 24 The second I¡¯m out of that damn conference room, I pull my phone from my pocket and scroll to her name. She sat there the whole meeting, cool and polished, rattling off my numbers like I was nothing more than a stat sheet she couldn¡¯t care less about. Like she wasn¡¯t in my bed three nights justst week, wearing my shirt and looking at me like I was breaking through her walls one chip at a time. It irritated the fuck out of me. But¡­I was also slightly impressed. Because she¡¯s so good at it. At beingposed, seemingly untouchable. And it makes me want to kiss the shit out of her. I don¡¯t even bother overthinking it. Meet me outside the weight room in 10 Don¡¯t make mee find you Her replyes quickly. Princess: Busy.ter. I smirk. nah. now. just a minute of your time. promise. No response. But ten minutester, the air shifts around me as she rounds the corner¡ªlike it always does. Her hair¡¯s piled on top of her head, a few dark strands slipping loose to frame her face, and she¡¯s clutching herptop like a shield. That purple PCU hoodie she¡¯s wearing fits her too perfectly, hugging her curves in a way that makes my mouth dry. Pair it with those leggings, and yeah¡ªgood thing I worepression shorts this morning. She nces up and spots me leaning against the wall. A faint pink blooms across her cheeks, and my chest does this stupid little thing. ¡°Has anyone ever told you that you¡¯re quite needy?¡± she says lightly, stopping just close enough for me to catch the faint scent of her shampoo. ¡°You came,¡± I shoot back, my voice low. ¡°You¡¯re lucky I¡¯ve decided to bless you with my time.¡± ¡°Always am,¡± I say, grabbing the edge of her sleeve and tugging her toward the maintenance closet by the weight room door. She stiffens just enough for me to notice. ¡°Carter¡ª¡± ¡°Rx,¡± I murmur, already opening the door. ¡°Just need a minute.¡± The closet is dark and narrow, warm from the weight room air. The faint smell of disinfectant and rubber mats fills my lungs as I close the door behind us. Perfect. I rest one hand against the wall above her head, stepping just close enough to feel the tension roll off her shoulders. Her eyes glint in the dim light, and I swear I catch the way her breath hitches even though she tries to hide it. ¡°This really couldn¡¯t wait?¡± she murmurs. I shake my head, leaning in just a little. ¡°Nope.¡± ¡°What do we need to be in a dark closet for?¡± she asks, her voice softer now. I grin slowly, letting my gaze drag down to her lips. ¡°This.¡± Then I kiss her. She freezes at first, hands caught awkwardly between us still clutching herptop, but then she melts. Her fingers twist into my hoodie, yanking me closer, and that soft little noise she lets out when I press her back against the wall? I feel it everywhere. My hand finds her jaw, angling her head as I deepen the kiss. My other slides to her hip, thumb brushing the waistband of her leggings. The warmth of her body against mine is maddening, and she tastes faintly like the coffee she drinks too much of, bitter and sweet at the same time. When I finally break away to breathe, my forehead stays pressed to hers. My pulse is still hammering in my ears. ¡°Been thinking about you all damn day,¡± I murmur, my thumb tracing along her cheekbone. She res half-heartedly, breathless. ¡°You dragged me in here just to kiss me?¡± I grin wider. ¡°Yeah. Got a problem with it?¡± Her lips twitch like she¡¯s trying not to smile. This time she kisses me, and fuck, that does things to me I can¡¯t even name. We¡¯re both so caught up that neither of us notices her phone buzzing until it goes off a third time. She groans into my mouth before finally pulling back, fumbling it out of her pocket. ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± I mutter, already chasing her lips again. But she holds up a finger, scrolling through her notifications. ¡°Work,¡± she sighs. ¡°I have a meeting in five.¡± I drag my hands down her hips, giving her a look that says everything I¡¯m thinking. She rolls her eyes like she can read my mind anyway. ¡°You know,¡± I murmur, leaning in just close enough to brush my mouth over her ear. ¡°It¡¯s kinda sexy. Sneaking around like this.¡± That earns me a sharp, incredulous look. I smirk. ¡°We should do it more often.¡± Herugh is quiet, low in her throat, and she shakes her head. ¡°You really are trouble, with a capital T.¡± ¡°Guilty as charged.¡± But she¡¯s already adjusting herptop under her arm, reaching for the door. She stops just before stepping out and nces back over her shoulder. That dangerous little grin she gives me before leaning in to kiss me onest time? It leaves me wrecked. ¡°Stay put for a few minutes,¡± she murmurs against my mouth. ¡°Last thing we need is anyone seeing us leave at the same time.¡± I nod, watching her slip out. When the door shuts behind her, I lean back against the wall and run a hand through my hair. My lips are still tingling. My chest feels too tight. I¡¯m grinning like an idiot. Which probably means I¡¯ve officially taken one too many hits to the head. I stay in the closet a few more minutes, trying to calm myself and my friend in my pants down, trying to stop thinking about how good she smelled, like a fresh summer breeze mixed with vani. I don¡¯t know exactly what it is, but the thought of it alone could easily make me hard again. Finally, I ease the door open and step out into the hallway, my hands shoved in my pockets like nothing happened. The corridor is empty¡ªat least at first, until a voice behind me cuts through the quiet. ¡°Yo, Hayes.¡± I turn to see Jaxoning down the hall, towel slung around his neck from the obvious workout he just put in. ¡°Hey,¡± I say casually, forcing myself to straighten up and fall into step with him. He eyes me for a second, a faint smirk ying at his lips. ¡°You look a little¡­flushed.¡± ¡°Weight room,¡± I lie smoothly. He chuckles low in his throat, clearly unconvinced, but he doesn¡¯t push. We walk out into the cool evening air, and Jaxon starts talking about tomorrow¡¯s film review, but I¡¯m only half-listening. Because my mind¡¯s already back on my coach¡¯s daughter. On her lips. Her breath against my neck. Trouble with a capital T? Yeah, but I think she¡¯s the trouble I¡¯m getting into. And I¡¯m already in too deep to care. Red Zone: Chapter 25 Sunday night, I¡¯m about to get ready for bed when my phone vibrates. Quarterback: you busy? Always. Quarterback: wrong answer. Quarterback: be ready in 10. I don¡¯t reply. But ten minutester, his headlights sh through my apartment window. And like the idiot I apparently am, I grab my jacket and go. We drive for twenty minutes. Music low. His fingers tapping the steering wheel. Neither of us saying much. I almost ask where we¡¯re going. But something about the way he nces over at me every so often, the corner of his mouth twitching like he knows I hate surprises, keeps me quiet. We end up at this little run-down strip mall off the highway, half the letters of the sign burnt out. The kind of ce you¡¯d never find unless you knew exactly where to look. An arcade. He parks, cuts the engine, and grins over at me. ¡°You any good at pinball?¡± I blink at him. ¡°Are you serious?¡± He shrugs before hopping out of the car, unbothered. ¡°Why not?¡± Opening my door, he offers me a hand. ¡°Mdy.¡± I can¡¯t stop the smile that seems to be present more and more whenever he¡¯s around. An hourter, I¡¯mughing harder than I have in months. We¡¯ve yed everything¡ªair hockey, pop-a-shot, skee ball. He¡¯s annoyingly good at all of them. But the w machine? That¡¯s my machine. ¡°You¡¯re terrible,¡± I say, watching the stuffed giraffe slip from his grasp again. ¡°Rigged,¡± he mutters, dropping another token in. ¡°No, you¡¯re just bad at it.¡± ¡°You think you can do better?¡± ¡°I know I can.¡± ¡°Prove it.¡± I slide in front of him, take the controls and, on the first try, snatch the giraffe clean. His jaw drops as I hold the prize up triumphantly. ¡°Told you.¡± He shakes his head, smiling wider than I¡¯ve ever seen him. ¡°You¡¯re ridiculous.¡± ¡°Better than being bad at w machines.¡± He leans down, close enough that I can feel his breath on my ear when he murmurs, ¡°Careful, Princess. You keep running your mouth, I might have to shut you up.¡± I freeze. Because suddenly the air between us feels very different. And judging by the heat I see burning in his blue eyes, I can tell he feels it too.
It¡¯s freezing when we step out of the arcade. My hands are still warm from the hot chocte we got, my stomach sore fromughing, but the night air cuts through all of it. Carter¡¯s carrying the ridiculous giraffe I won in one hand, keeping his fingersced through mine with the other. We reach his Jeep, parked under a flickering light at the far edge of the lot. He stops at the driver¡¯s side, leans back against the door, and watches me with that infuriatinglyzy confidence. I cross my arms. ¡°Why are you looking at me like that?¡± ¡°That little thing you do,¡± he says, nodding at me. ¡°Like when you¡¯re trying not to smile, but you can¡¯t help it.¡± I roll my eyes. ¡°You¡¯re imagining things.¡± He shakes his head, lips curving into a grin that¡¯s all teeth. ¡°Nah. You¡¯re cuter than you think.¡± Before I can fire back, he grabs my hand, tugging me closer until I¡¯m standing between his legs, pressed to him. His hands settle on my hips, warm even through my jacket. He tilts his head slightly, his voice dropping low. ¡°You¡¯ve been driving me insane all night,¡± he murmurs. ¡°Y¡¯know that?¡± I swallow. ¡°Not my fault you can¡¯t handle losing.¡± He lets out a quietugh, but it doesn¡¯t reach his eyes this time. ¡°You keep running your mouth¡­¡± ¡°And you¡¯ll do what, Hayes?¡± I whisper. His grin sharpens. ¡°Shut it for you.¡± ¡°Hmm, I think you said the same thing ear?¡ª¡± His mouth crashes into mine, hard enough to make me stumble back slightly. He follows, hands sliding up under my jacket, his fingers sying wide over my waist as he deepens the kiss. It¡¯s messy, desperate almost. I gasp when his hands dip lower, gripping my hips and dragging me even closer. His thigh wedges between mine, and before I know it, I¡¯m pressing down, chasing the friction that makes my knees weak. He groans into my mouth, and the sound shoots straight through me. My fingers fist into the front of his hoodie, pulling him closer, even though we¡¯re already flush. ¡°You¡¯re crazy, Hayes,¡± I mutter against his lips, breathless. His grin is quick and crooked. ¡°Look who¡¯s talking.¡± One of his hands slides up, tugging at the edge of my scarf just enough to brush his thumb against the hollow of my throat. The touch makes me shiver. ¡°You do that on purpose,¡± I breathe. ¡°Do what?¡± he says, all false innocence. ¡°Make it impossible to think.¡± He chuckles, but it¡¯s low and rough, and he presses his forehead to mine. ¡°Have to make sure we¡¯re on a level ying field somehow.¡± When we finally break apart, my hair¡¯s a mess, my lips are swollen, and his hoodie is wrinkled from where I was holding onto him like my life depended on it. I take a shaky breath, stepping back just enough to get my bearings. ¡°You are dangerous,¡± I tell him, but my voicees out softer than I mean it to. He smirks, still leaning against the Jeep. ¡°So are you,¡± he says simply. He straightens, rubbing the back of his neck, and blows out a breath like he¡¯s forcing himself to put more distance between us. ¡°All right,¡± he says finally, the corner of his mouth tugging into a crooked grin. ¡°Come on. Let me be the opposite of what I want to be and get you home at a semi-respectable hour.¡±
I watch the lights blur past outside the window while Carter fiddles with the radio,nding on some mellow indie station and leaving it there. Finally, he nces at me, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. ¡°So,¡± he says casually. ¡°How¡¯s the term treating you outside of the athletic department? You¡¯re probably destroying your GPA just babysitting all of us, huh?¡± I snort. ¡°My GPA is fine, thank you very much. I mainly just have my internship left, outside of project management, which right now they kind of tie into one another for the most part.¡± He nces over again, brow quirking like he wasn¡¯t expecting me to admit that. ¡°It¡¯s just¡­more than I thought it¡¯d be,¡± I continue, surprised at myself for saying it out loud. ¡°The workload. The expectations. Everyone needing something from you all the time.¡± He hums. ¡°Yeah. Tell me about it.¡± And then, quieter, ¡°You¡¯ve been killing it, though. Just so you know.¡± I nce at him, wary. ¡°I¡¯m serious,¡± he adds. ¡°This whole thing¡ªthe branding, the social stuff, the way people talk about me now? That¡¯s not just me. That¡¯s you too.¡± I blink, caught off guard by how sincere he sounds. ¡°You¡¯ve been really helpful,¡± he says, his fingers tightening on the wheel. ¡°Not just on paper. Like¡­it¡¯s easier to believe I can actually do this now. Whateveres next.¡± Something in my chest tightens. ¡°What doese next for you?¡± I ask, ¡°Are you nning on finishing out your senior year, or are you gone once the draftes?¡± He keeps his eyes on the road but chances a quick nce my way before answering. ¡°Believe it or not, I¡¯ve never been too great at school. Shocking, I know. My major is in business, but I hope I never have to use it. Football has always been the dream for me.¡± I release the breath I didn¡¯t realize I was holding. I shouldn¡¯t be shocked by his answer, but maybe just hearing him confirm that he¡¯ll be leaving in a few months out loud, makes it that much more real. Another reason among the ever-growing list that what we are doing is a terrible idea. There¡¯s no ending to this in which at least one of us doesn¡¯t end up burned. If not both of us. We pull into my apartment lot, and he parks, but neither of us moves to get out. The clock on the dash says it¡¯s past one. But we just¡­sit there. And for a second¡ªone perfect second¡ªit feels like we¡¯re just two normal people in a car, nothingplicated about it. But then he leans his head back against the headrest and turns to look at me, his smile faint. ¡°So,¡± he says. ¡°There¡¯s a party after the game next weekend.¡± I nod. ¡°There always is.¡± He¡¯s quiet for a beat. ¡°You wanna skip it?¡± That catches me off guard. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Skip it,¡± he repeats, smirking now. ¡°We can be alone together. Again.¡± I stare at him, unsure if he¡¯s serious. But he doesn¡¯t look away. And even though every sensible part of me is screaming not to¡ªI hear myself agree. ¡°Okay.¡± His grin is slow and wicked as he taps the wheel. ¡°Good,¡± he says softly. ¡°It¡¯s a date.¡± ¡°Weird name for a booty call, but whatever makes your little heart happy.¡± ¡°Oh, trust me, Princess. I will make you very happy.¡± I roll my eyes as I grab my bag and climb out, but my cheeks are warm the whole walk to my door. Looking back, I see his Jeep still sitting there, him watching to make sure I make it all the way inside safely before he takes off. Red Zone: Chapter 26 My week is one of the busiest I¡¯ve ever had. Everything is going so perfectly, I just know there¡¯s going to be something that crumbles at some point. And sure enough, by the time the next Saturday morning rolls around, my stomach feels like it¡¯s been tied in a knot and left there overnight. It has to just be nerves. That¡¯s what I tell myself as I stand in the kitchen, organizing the fridge shelves, even though they don¡¯t need organizing. Labels facing forward. Drinks lined up perfectly. It¡¯s stupid how much it helps. The tea kettle whistles, and I pour myself a cup, wrapping my hands around it to hide the fact that they¡¯re mmy. My head aches in that dull, heavy way it always does when I don¡¯t sleep enough. It¡¯s fine. I¡¯m fine. Game day mornings are always stressful. This one¡¯s no different. By the time I¡¯ve gone through my routine of packing my bag, double-checking the social post schedule, and triple-checking the camera batteries, I almost believe it.
After thest-minute pre-game meetings, I fall into step with my team, triple checking graphics, confirming sideline camera positions, and making sure the interns know what shots we¡¯re prioritizing today. It¡¯s controlled chaos, my day to run the show on the sidelines. Exactly how I like it. Except¡­ Halfway through my checklist, I feel myself start to sweat through my jacket. I stop just inside the tunnel, bracing a hand on the cool concrete wall as another cramp twists through my stomach. ¡°You good?¡± I look up to see Jaxon jogging by, helmet under his arm. He slows when he sees my face. ¡°You okay?¡± he asks, brow furrowing. I force a smile. ¡°Fine. Just game day nerves.¡± He watches me for a second longer before nodding and heading into the locker room. I take a slow breath and straighten up, adjusting my jacket. Just a few more hours. I can get through a few more hours. By the second quarter, I¡¯m seriously questioning that. The cramps keeping, worse now, sharp enough to make me clench my teeth. My lower back aches. My skin feels hot and sticky, and it¡¯s getting harder to focus on the field. That¡¯s when it hits me. Of course. It¡¯s just my period. Right on schedule, like clockwork. Perfect. I push through until halftime, forcing smiles and barking reminders through the headset like nothing¡¯s wrong. But as soon as the yers file into the locker room, I slip toward the media room, pull out my phone, and fire off two quick texts. The first to Madison and the second to Carter. Heading home. Not feeling great. Will grab your notester. Raincheck on tonight. Sorry. I shove my phone back into my pocket before I can overthink it and make my way out of the stadium quietly, keeping my head down. The drive home feels like it takes forever. Less than ten minutes after walking into my apartment, I¡¯m out of my jacket, into sweats, and curled up on the couch with a heating pad pressed to my stomach before the second half of the game even kicks off. As much as it sucks to miss it, and to cancel on Carter, it¡¯s almost a relief to finally stop pretending everything¡¯s fine. My body feels like it¡¯s trying to kill itself from the inside out. I¡¯ve always struggled with painful periods, but this is definitely the worst it¡¯s been in a long time.
As the post-game interviews begin, I find the remote and turn off the TV. My couch just about swallows me whole. I¡¯m curled up on my side, knees brought up toward my chest, the heating pad clutched to my stomach like it¡¯s the only thing keeping me alive. The tea I made earlier has gone cold on the coffee table. I can still smell the faint trace of peppermint, though it did nothing but burn my tongue and make me nauseous. The cramps are still sharp and low, constant now, a steady ache that res into stabbing pain every time I shift. My phone buzzes somewhere behind me, but I don¡¯t move to check it. I know it¡¯s probably Madison or Carter, and the thought of trying to sound okay for either of them feels impossible. Instead, I stare at the dark screen of the TV across from me and let my mind wander somewhere I usually try not to let it go. I wonder what it would¡¯ve been like to have my mom here for this. It¡¯s such a small thing, but I can¡¯t help imagining her sitting beside me when I was twelve, brushing my hair back and exining what to expect. Telling me what to keep in my backpack at school. Reassuring me it was all normal. Instead, it was a pamphlet from the nurse¡¯s office and an awkward box of pads left in my bathroom by my dad, who couldn¡¯t even look me in the eye that day. I close my eyes and breathe through another wave of pain. Even now, yearster, I wish she could be here to tell me how to handle all the parts of being a woman that feel so impossible some days. Not just the physical stuff¡ªthough God knows this is miserable enough¡ªbut everything else too. The pressure. The way my chest feels tight all the time, like I¡¯m already letting everyone down before I¡¯ve even had a chance to prove myself. Would she tell me it¡¯s okay to rest? That it doesn¡¯t make me weak to stay home and take care of myself instead of forcing a smile through the game while my uterus is trying to make me fold over in pain? The heating pad shifts, and I press it harder to my stomach. I can feel the perfectionist part of me simmering beneath the pain, whispering that I¡¯m being dramatic. That I should¡¯ve stayed. That people probably noticed me leaving and think I¡¯m ky now. But I literally feel like I¡¯m going to throw up if I move at all right. I curl tighter into the cushions and tell myself to stop being so emotional. Eventually, I drag the throw nket from the back of the couch over me and tuck it under my chin, praying the Advil kicks in soon since I¡¯m out of Midol, making a mental note to stock up on that next time I make a run to the store. Red Zone: Chapter 27 Something just hits different about the energy of the home crowd. It¡¯s the kind of noise you don¡¯t just hear¡ªyou feel it. In your chest. In your teeth. Every shout, every stomp rattles down to your bones. I roll my shoulders back and nce at the y clock as I jog toward the huddle, my heart hammering like it¡¯s trying to punch through my ribcage. First quarter. Second drive. Ball on the thirty-five. ¡°Trips right, forty-six counter,¡± I call, voice low and sharp. ¡°On one. You know the drill. Clean and fast.¡± The guys nod, breaking the huddle, and I can already feel it¡ªthe rhythming alive in my blood. The field feels smaller when you¡¯re in the zone like this. Like every yard belongs to you, but only if you¡¯re hungry enough to take it. I drop into position behind center, fingers flexing as I scan the defense. Linebacker shading left. Safety creeping up. Man coverage outside. How predictable¨C exactly what I was hoping for. ¡°Set¡ª¡± The snap hits my hands clean, and I take a quick three-step drop, eyes already downfield as I sell the fake. Their end bites, crashing in hard, and I tuck the ball, cutting back inside. The pocket copses fast, but I feel it before it happens. My feet shift instinctively, and I roll out left, keep my eyes up, keep moving. There he is, right on time. Jaxon streaking right up the seam. I nt. Release. The ball sails clean and tight through the air, a perfect spiral before dropping right into his hands as he crosses midfield before being taken down at their forty-yard line. The crowd explodes. I jog up to reset, pping the back of his helmet on the way. We drive. y after y, eating up yards, the rhythm building with every snap. A nt here, a quick draw there. Hard count to draw them offsides. Then another shot downfield to Jaxon on a fade route¡ªperfect cement, just inside the pylon. Touchdown. The stadium erupts. I jog off to the sideline, my chest heaving, a grin tugging at the corner of my mouth despite myself. I can already feel the sweat running down my spine, my lungs burning with that good kind of ache. Coach ps my shoulder as I grab some water, and I take a second to scan the sideline out of habit¡ªjust in time to catch sight of her. Her gaze finds me for just a second before she looks away. That¡¯s all I get. But it¡¯s enough to make the corner of my mouth curve even higher. For a while, that¡¯s enough to keep me locked in, but by halftime, something feels¡­off. I don¡¯t see her. Not in her usual spot with the media team. Not anywhere. I shake it off at first. But when wee off the field and head into the locker room at the half, it¡¯s still gnawing at me. I snag Jaxon as we¡¯re grabbing water. ¡°Hey,¡± I say, voice low, ncing around. ¡°Did you see L?¡± He gives me a weird look. ¡°What do you mean? She was with the media team, wasn¡¯t she?¡± ¡°She¡¯s not there now.¡± Jaxon shrugs, wiping sweat off his face. ¡°Didn¡¯t notice. Maybe she went to grab something or has to be up in the box?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± I mutter, but the tight feeling in my chest doesn¡¯t ease. I force myself to dial back in as Coach startsying into the halftime adjustments. I keep my eyes on the whiteboard. Keep my hands busy taping my fingers. Anything to keep from letting my mind wander where it wants to go. By the time we storm back out of the tunnel, the noise is deafening again. I shove everything else out of my head. I settle back into the rhythm. Drive after drive, pushing downfield. Adjusting reads. Dodging pressure. Feeling that sweet burn every time the chains move. One more touchdown. Then another. The clock winds down to zero. Final whistle blows. We win. The stadium goes nuts, but my chest still feels too tight as I jog off toward the locker room. I barely hear anything Coach says on the way in. Barely register the chaos of guys shouting, helmets mming into lockers, music already sting. All I can think about is whether she¡¯s okay or not. And before I even think about showering, before I even unstrap my pads, I head right to my locker and yank my phone out of my bag. I unlock it, scrolling straight to her name. And there it is. A single text waiting. Princess: Raincheck on tonight. Sorry. I stare at the screen, my thumb hovering over the keys. Something about the way she phrased it sits wrong. And all at once, the adrenaline in my veins feels sharp and sour. I¡¯ve never known L Harding to tap out. Not from anything. She¡¯s the kind of girl who stays on her feet no matter what¡¯s thrown at her¡ªcalm, collected, like nothing in the world can shake her. Even when she¡¯s pissed at me, even when I push every single one of her buttons, she never lets it show. Never flinches. I¡¯m still staring down at my phone when Jaxon walks up, his own phone in his hand, jersey and pads long gone, but still in the rest of his uniform. ¡°Hey,¡± he says, dropping onto the bench next to me. He nces at my phone, then back at me, a knowing look crossing his face. ¡°You still looking for L?¡± I don¡¯t even try to deny it. ¡°Yeah,¡± I mutter. ¡°You see her?¡± He shakes his head. ¡°Nah. But I texted Madison when we got in here. She said L left before halftime.¡± That weird, tight feeling in my chest doesn¡¯t go anywhere. ¡°Why?¡± He shrugs faintly. ¡°Madison said she thinks it¡¯s that time of the month. Didn¡¯t feel great, so she went home.¡± It should be enough to let me rx. Tough it off and go hit the showers. But I¡¯ve seen L brush off migraines and stress that would crush most people¡ªwithout so much as a crack in herposure. If she left? The longer I sit here pretending it¡¯s not bothering me, the more my legs itch to move. So, I don¡¯t even bother showering. I get out of my gear and slip into some shorts. Then I yank my hoodie over my head, grab my bag, and head for the door. ¡°Hayes, don¡¯t forget media has you scheduled for post-game today.¡± I turn to find an intern that definitely isn¡¯t L holding a door open further down the hall. ¡°Can¡¯t today, sorry.¡± I continue walking toward the exit that will get me to the parking lot. ¡°What do you want me to tell them? Coach Harding won¡¯t be happy.¡± Understatement of the century. ¡°You can tell them whatever you want, but I¡¯m leaving.¡± Making my way outside, I climb into my Jeep, toss my bag into the passenger seat, and sit there for a second with my hands on the wheel. I could just drive straight over. Knock on her door. It would definitely get me there quicker. I grin faintly despite myself and turn in the opposite way of her apartment. Yeah. If I¡¯m gonna show up, I may as well not show up empty-handed. The store¡¯s only a little bit out of the way. By the time I pull into the parking lot, the grocery store is fairly quiet, which it probably always is right after a home game on the weekend. Fluorescent lights hum overhead as I grab a basket and head down the aisles. I don¡¯t even need to think about it much¡ªapparently, I¡¯ve got her list memorized already. I grab a carton of chocte chip cookie dough ice cream from the freezer section, shoving it into the basket before it can start melting in my hands. Then I double back and snag a box of Midol from the pharmacy aisle, dropping it in next to the ice cream. Staring at the shelves of feminine hygiene products, I try to remember which one exactly she gotst time, but I can¡¯t. Who knew there were so many different sizes, types, and even ones that are made with different materials? Did she get one hundred percent cottonst time? Were they small or medium? I end up throwing five options in my basket, though two end up under my arm as my basket is officially full. On the way to checkout, I pass the candy aisle and look for some chocte. Because she¡¯ll want it, even if she rolls her eyes at herself for wanting it. I grab a couple of the dark chocte bars I¡¯ve seen her eating before, then some chicken broth, as well as a pack of instant noodles. Heating those up or cracking open a meal prep is about as talented as I can get in the kitchen. The basket¡¯s heavier than I expected by the time I hit the checkout, and the cashier gives me a faintly amused look as she rings me up. ¡°Looks like somebody¡¯s got himself ady in distress,¡± she says warmly, scanning the box of Midol. I huff a quietugh through my nose and shrug, leaning against the counter. ¡°Something like that.¡± She nces up, studying me for a beat, her hands stilling for a moment over the chocte bars. Then her smile shifts¡ªgentler, a little sad maybe. ¡°You know,¡± she says softly. ¡°Not every man shows up when it¡¯s hard. Not every man even notices when a woman¡¯s hurting or ever does much about it. But you¡­it looks like you¡¯re paying attention. Doing what you can to make her morefortable. That matters more than you think.¡± I freeze for just a second, her wordsnding heavier than I expected. Because the thing is¡­I hadn¡¯t thought of it like that. I just couldn¡¯t get her text out of my head. I couldn¡¯t stand the thought of her curled up somewhere hurting and me doing nothing. But now, hearing this stranger say it out loud¡ªyou¡¯re here, you¡¯re paying attention, that matters¡ªsomething in my chest tightens. Because L deserves that. Even if she doesn¡¯t want to let herself believe it yet. Even if I don¡¯t know what the hell to do with what I¡¯m feeling. I clear my throat and force a small smile. ¡°Thanks,¡± I murmur, rubbing the back of my neck. ¡°I¡¯ll¡­tell her you said that.¡± She chuckles faintly and hands me the bag. ¡°You do that, hon. And you make sure she knows she picked herself a good one. A love like that doesn¡¯te around often.¡± I nod, gripping the bag a little tighter as I head for the door. But in the cool night air, sliding back into my Jeep, the cashier¡¯s words echo in my head. A love like that doesn¡¯te around often. Love? Maybe I don¡¯t have much else figured out yet. But I know this much?¡ª For her? I¡¯ll show up. Every time. Red Zone: Chapter 28 I must¡¯ve fallen asleep. The heating pad¡¯s gone cold on my stomach, the nket¡¯s bunched at my feet, and my whole body aches from being curled in the same position too long. My mouth tastes dry, my head is pounding, and for a second I just lie there, staring at the faint streetlight glow on the ceiling, trying to convince myself to move. And then?¡ª Knock. Knock. Knock. My heart lurches. I freeze, straining to listen. It¡¯ste. Toote for anyone to just be stopping by. For a second, I wonder if I imagined it¡ªjust another part of whatever feverish, restless dream I¡¯d been having. But then ites again. Louder. More insistent. Knock. Knock. Knock. I sit up slowly, blinking hard against the dizziness. My stomach cramps angrily as I swing my feet to the floor and wrap the nket around my shoulders, fingers gripping the edges tight. I creep toward the door, my socks whispering against the hardwood, every muscle tense. Nobody texted. Nobody called. Whoever it is¡­they just showed up. There¡¯s a beat of silence, and then?¡ª ¡°L.¡± The voice is low, muffled through the door. Familiar in a way that somehow makes my chest ache and my stomach twist all at once. I blink, my hand freezing on the edge of the doorframe. ¡°L, open up. It¡¯s me.¡± Carter. Of course it is. I swallow hard, leaning my forehead against the wood for half a second while I try to steady myself. Why is he here? Why can¡¯t he just¡­leave me alone tonight? And yet¡ªmy fingers are already flipping the deadbolt before I¡¯ve even finished asking myself the question. I pull the door open. And there he is. Hood up, hair still a little damp from sweat like he didn¡¯t bother showering. One hand is shoved into the pocket of his hoodie, the other gripping several stic grocery bags. His eyes scan over me quickly¡ªmessy hair, nket around my shoulders, probably pale as hell. And then his mouth curves, just faintly. ¡°Hey,¡± he says softly. I grip the edge of the door a little tighter. ¡°What are you doing here?¡± He lifts the bags slightly, like that exins everything. ¡°We had ns.¡± I blink at him, my throat thickening. ¡°You came all the way here¡­didn¡¯t you get my text?¡± ¡°I came because of it,¡± he says, his voice quiet but steady. I can¡¯t think of a single thing to say to that. So, I just stand there in the doorway, staring at him, with my chest rising and falling too fast. Until he finally cocks his head toward the inside of the apartment and says, ¡°You gonna let me in? Or am I standing out here all night?¡± I step aside, tugging the nket tighter around my shoulders. He ducks his head as he steps in, brushing past me, and just like that, my apartment feels smaller somehow. Warmer. He doesn¡¯t wait for me to say anything¡ªjust makes his way to the kitchen, setting the grocery bags down like he¡¯s done it a hundred times before. I hover by the door for a second before finally following him in, my sock covered feet silent against the floor. He¡¯s already unloading the bags by the time I reach the ind. ¡°Chicken broth,¡± he says, pulling out the carton and setting it down. ¡°Cup noodles. Chocte¡ªboth bars and some fancy truffles, ¡¯cause I didn¡¯t know which kind you¡¯d want. Ice cream.¡± He nces up at me. ¡°Cookie dough.¡± I stare at the growing pile on the counter, my brows knitting. ¡°Midol,¡± he finishes quietly, cing the small blue box on top of the chocte. Then he brings out five boxes of different pads and tampons. ¡°And these. I tried really hard to remember which kind you grabbedst time, but they legit all looked so simr. I know I got the brand right, but I couldn¡¯t remember the size or whatever.¡± For a moment, I don¡¯t say anything. My throat feels tight, my brain stuck somewhere between confusion, shock, gratitude¡­and the urge to kiss him. Finally, I manage, ¡°What¡­what is all this?¡± He shrugs, leaning on the counter with his elbows. ¡°Care package. For the girl who refuses to admit when she¡¯s hurting.¡± I blink at him, startled. ¡°You didn¡¯t have to do that,¡± I murmur, my voiceing out softer than I mean for it to. ¡°Yeah,¡± he says, that faint smirk tugging at his mouth, though his eyes stay steady on mine. ¡°I kinda did.¡± Something in his voice makes my stomach do this strange, sinking thing that has nothing to do with the cramps. I hover awkwardly by the end of the ind, tugging the nket tighter around myself as he straightens and starts unpacking the rest of the bags. Like he owns the ce. Like he belongs here. He grabs the carton of broth and the cup of noodles, moving toward the stove without waiting for permission. ¡°What are you doing?¡± I ask, my voice a little too high. He nces over his shoulder at me, unbothered. ¡°Making you something to eat.¡± I blink. ¡°I¡¯m fine. You don¡¯t?¡ª¡± ¡°Sit,¡± he says, cutting me off as he sets a small pot on the burner and flicks it on. My mouth opens to argue¡ªbecause of course it does¡ªbut when I catch the look he gives me, calm and steady and somehow more stubborn than I¡¯ll ever be, the words die on my tongue. I sigh and sink onto one of the stools at the ind, resting my elbows on the counter. For a minute, the only sound in the apartment is the faint hum of the stove and the clink of him opening the noodle cups and emptying them into the pot. He works like he¡¯s done it before, quiet and deliberate, his broad shoulders shifting under his hoodie as he stirs. ¡°You really didn¡¯t have to do this,¡± I say finally, softer now. He nces at me over his shoulder, one corner of his mouth twitching up. ¡°I know, but I wanted to. Prepare to be amazed by my chef skills. I¡¯ve been told I am the best at making ramen a Hayes.¡± He ces a steaming cup of noodles and a fork in front of me. ¡°Meaning, I can make a thing of instant noodles like nobody¡¯s business.¡± I can¡¯t hold back theughter at that, which seems to make him rx more. ¡°Thank you, Carter. Really. I appreciate this.¡± ¡°No problem, Princess. I gotta run out to my truck really quick, but I¡¯ll be right back,¡± he says, his back to me as he heads for the door. ¡°You don¡¯t have to stay if you have other ns. I¡¯m sure there¡¯s a party or something, since we can¡¯t¡­¡± My cheeks flush with heat. ¡°You know.¡± His smirk is downright criminal as he waggles his brows at me. ¡°Oh, I know. I¡¯m good with a night of ice cream and couch rotting. I¡¯ll be right back.¡± The door closes with a soft clink behind him, and I find myself staring into my noodles. I don¡¯t know what to do with myself or really what to think. Because¡­this? This doesn¡¯t make sense. Carter Hayes doesn¡¯t show up at girls¡¯ doors with grocery bags full of Midol and chocte. Carter Hayes doesn¡¯t stand in a kitchen making food. Carter Hayes isn¡¯t supposed to care. At least from everything I¡¯ve heard from everyone, except Madison. And yet¡­he¡¯s here, which means maybe she¡¯s been right all along. Carter Hayes might just be a damn good guy. I rest my chin on my hand, my fingers fiddling with the frayed edge of the nket, trying not to think about all the things I¡¯m beginning to feel. Or how easy it feels¡ªfor just a second¡ªto let someone else take care of me. My chest tightens, and I shake my head, muttering under my breath. ¡°What are you doing to me, Hayes¡­¡± Through the front window, I catch a faint glimpse of him out in the parking lot, leaning into his Jeep as he digs something out of the backseat. I watch him for a long moment, my heart thudding ufortably hard. Because the worst part isn¡¯t that he came. It¡¯s that¡­a part of me doesn¡¯t want him to leave. The door clicks open a few minutester, and I sit up straighter, suddenly hyperaware of how pathetic I must look¡ªnket around my shoulders, hair a mess, still in sweats. Carter steps back inside, slinging a small ck duffel bag over his shoulder. He kicks the door shut behind him with his heel and nces at me, his eyes skimming over my face like he¡¯s checking to see if I¡¯ve moved or passed out in the few minutes he was gone. When he catches me watching him, he just gives me that little half-smile of his and holds up the bag. ¡°Didn¡¯t shower at the stadium,¡± he says, his voice low, almost sheepish. ¡°You mind if I use yours real quick? If we¡¯re gonna be sitting within a mile radius of each other, probably for the best.¡± For a second, I just blink at him, my brain tripping over the image of Carter Hayes¡ªsix-foot- something, golden boy quarterback¡ªstanding in my apartment, casually asking to use my shower, purple lights and all. ¡°I¡ªuh¡ª¡± My voice catches, and I clear my throat, trying to sound more normal. ¡°Yeah. No. I mean, yeah, it¡¯s fine.¡± His mouth quirks at the corners like he¡¯s fighting augh, but he just nods and heads down the short hallway toward the bathroom, instantlyfortable here, in my space. I watch him go, my stomach tightening with something I don¡¯t want to name. The quiet stretches out again as the bathroom door clicks shut, and the faint sound of water running fills the apartment. I tug the nket tighter around myself and stare down at the little pile of groceries still spread across the counter before putting the ice cream in the freezer. He didn¡¯t have toe here. He definitely didn¡¯t have to stay. But here he is. Taking care of me. Acting like it¡¯s the most natural thing in the world. And I have no idea what to do with the way it makes me feel.
I¡¯m finishing off my noodles and moving back to the couch right as Carteres out of my room. He¡¯s changed into clean sweatpants and a faded gray T-shirt, his skin still flushed from the shower, and for some reason the sight of him herefortable, casual, like he belongs¡ªmakes my chest tighten all over again. I¡¯m already curled up on the couch when he drops down beside me, his big frame sinking into the cushions as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. ¡°Pick something,¡± he says, nodding toward the remote on the coffee table. ¡°Dealer¡¯s choice.¡± I arch a brow at him. ¡°You¡¯re staying?¡± He nces up at me, unimpressed. ¡°What, you thought I¡¯d go through all the trouble of bringing you chocte and soup just to bail before the movie?¡± I roll my eyes but grab the remote anyway, scrolling through the streaming menu until Ind on a rom that doesn¡¯t require too much brain power. He gives me a faint smirk as the opening credits roll, then settles back, already typing something on his phone with his thumb. For a moment, I watch him out of the corner of my eye, biting my lip, my stomach still tight. He doesn¡¯t even realize what he¡¯s doing to me just by being here. Finally, I blurt it out. ¡°You really don¡¯t have to stay, you know.¡± His thumbs pause over his phone screen, and then he looks at me, expression calm but firm. ¡°Yeah,¡± he says simply. ¡°I do.¡± I blink at him, startled, but before I can respond he goes back to his phone. ¡°Besides,¡± he adds a beatter, a faint grin tugging at his mouth. ¡°I just ordered food. Not everyone can survive on ice cream and carbs, Harding.¡± I huff out augh despite myself and let my head fall back against the couch cushion. ¡°You¡¯re ridiculous,¡± I murmur. ¡°You¡¯re wee,¡± he shoots back, his eyes still on his phone. Iugh again, softer this time. When the food¡¯s ordered and his phone finally disappears back into his pocket, we settle into a quiet rhythm. The movie ys in the background, casting a soft light across the living room. At some point, I shift closer to him, leaning into the warmth of his shoulder without even thinking about it. He notices¡ªof course he does¡ªbut doesn¡¯t say anything. Just nces down at me, the corner of his mouth twitching like he¡¯s trying not to smile. I close my eyes for a moment, letting myself rx into him, even though it feels dangerous somehow. When I open them again, he¡¯s watching the screen, his jaw working like he¡¯s chewing on something. ¡°You¡¯re quiet,¡± I murmur. That earns me a soft huff of augh. ¡°Guess I don¡¯t know how to sit still like this,¡± he admits. Then he nces down at me, his gaze steady. ¡°Or maybe I¡¯m just trying to figure you out.¡± That catches me off guard, and I straighten slightly, tilting my head to look at him. ¡°Figure me out?¡± He nods, eyes narrowing just a little¡ªnot in judgment, but like he¡¯s studying me. ¡°I know¡­what happened to your mom,¡± he says carefully, his voice low. ¡°But I don¡¯t know much about her. Or about¡­you. Back then. Before all this.¡± I blink at him, my throat going tight. Of all the questions he could¡¯ve asked, that¡¯s the one I wasn¡¯t ready for. Not about work. Not about my internship. Not about the game. But about her. And about me. I swallow hard and shift the nket in myp, buying myself a second before answering. ¡°What do you want to know?¡± I ask softly, my voice quieter than I intend it to be. His eyes stay locked on mine, warm and steady. ¡°Anything,¡± he says. ¡°Everything you want to share.¡± I swallow again, my fingers worrying at the edge of the nket. My chest feels tight¡ªnot the sharp, angry kind of tight I¡¯m used to, but something heavier. Sadder. ¡°She¡­¡± My voicees out shakier than I expect, and I have to clear my throat before I can keep going. ¡°She was the best person I¡¯ve ever known,¡± I say finally, my eyes fixed somewhere on the coffee table in front of me. ¡°She was just¡­kind. To everyone. Even people who didn¡¯t deserve it. She never judged anyone. Ever. She just¡­loved people.¡± I feel my lips curve into a faint, bittersweet smile as I think about her. ¡°She was one of those people who walked into a room and somehow made everyone feel like they belonged there. People were just¡­drawn to her. They couldn¡¯t help it.¡± I stop, my breath hitching slightly, and press the corner of the nket to my mouth, letting the silence stretch for a moment. When I finally nce up at him, Carter¡¯s just watching me. There¡¯s no pity in his expression. No awkwardness. Just quiet understanding, his hands loosely folded in hisp. ¡°Sounds like she was an amazing person. I¡¯d have loved to meet her,¡± he says after a beat, his voice low but certain. ¡°I do know one thing, though. She¡¯d be beyond proud of the amazing woman her daughter has grown up to be.¡± Something in my chest cracks at that, and I have to look away before he sees too much. But even as I blink back the sting behind my eyes, I feel myself leaning just a little closer into his side. His arms wrap around my shoulders, bringing me even closer. With him this close, it¡¯s impossible to ignore how much I want something I swore I¡¯d never let myself want again. Red Zone: Chapter 29 When Megan calls me into her office on Tuesday morning, I spend the whole walk there convinced I¡¯m about to get chewed out for something. I run through every detail of my to-do list in my head¡ªdid I miss a post? Forget to upload stats? Mess up a graphic? But nothing jumps out. Still, my stomach is in knots by the time I knock on her door. ¡°Come in!¡± Her voice is brisk as always, but when I step inside, Megan is smiling. That alone throws me. She waves me toward a chair across from her desk. ¡°Shut the door, L. Have a seat.¡± I do as I¡¯m told, clutching my notebook like a shield. ¡°I¡¯ll get right to it,¡± she says, folding her hands on the desk in front of her. ¡°You¡¯ve been doing excellent work this semester. Not justpetent¡ªexceptional. The way you handled Carter¡¯s initial branding review? Clean. Creative. Professional. And Madison¡¯s mentioned more than once how reliable you¡¯ve been at games.¡± I blink, startled at the praise, and feel heat rise in my cheeks. ¡°Thank you, Ms. Talbot. That really means a lot.¡± She nods once, sharp and decisive. ¡°Which is why,¡± she continues. ¡°I think you¡¯re ready for something bigger. I¡¯d like you to take over managing actual NIL deals. Not just strategy. Not just content nning. You¡¯d be the point of contact and lead rep for three athletes we¡¯ve already identified as priorities this year.¡± My heart stutters. ¡°Three?¡± I echo. Megan slides a neat little stack of folders across the desk toward me. ¡°You¡¯ll still work under me, of course. But I want you handling everything day-to-day¡ªnegotiations, brand approvals, crisis management if needed.¡± I nce at the folders, my pulse picking up as I read the names typed on the tabs: Carter Hayes. Grayson Bet. Savannah Cole. My brows draw together at thatst one, and Megan seems to read the question on my face before I ask it. ¡°The third is a gymnast,¡± she exins. ¡°Savannah Cole. You may have seen the news already¡ªa private video of her was leaked over the weekend. It¡¯s a mess. Her family wants someone who can rebuild her reputation and keep her head above water while we clean it up. I think you¡¯re the perfect fit. Seeing what you¡¯ve been able to aplish with Hayes has proven that.¡± I look back up at her, my throat dry. ¡°You think¡­I can handle all that?¡± I ask quietly. Her lips twitch, just barely¡ªwhat might even qualify as a smile in Megan Talbot terms. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be offering it to you if I didn¡¯t.¡± For a second, all I can do is stare at the folders. My chest is tight, but not in the panicked way it usually is. This is¡­something else. Bigger. Scarier. But also¡ªsomething that feels a little like pride. And when I nce back up, Megan¡¯s already watching me, expectant. ¡°Well?¡± she prompts. ¡°Can I tell them you¡¯ll take it?¡± I swallow hard. Then nod. ¡°Yes,¡± I say, steadier than I feel. ¡°I¡¯ll take it.¡±
The second I step out of Megan¡¯s office, the folders clutched tight to my chest, my legs feel like they¡¯re made of lead. The hallway is quiet. Too quiet. Like the whole building is waiting to see what I¡¯ll do with this. I should be thrilled. Excited. Grateful. And I am. But mostly I feel like I might throw up. I stop just outside the double doors and lean against the wall, sucking in a slow breath. And before I even think about it, I¡¯m pulling my phone out of my pocket and scrolling to his name. It only rings once before he picks up. ¡°Harding,¡± he says, voice warm and amused. ¡°To what do I owe the honor?¡± ¡°I¡ª¡± My voice cracks, and I press a hand to my forehead. ¡°I¡¯m freaking out.¡± That gets a softugh out of him. ¡°Yeah? I gathered that. What happened?¡± I nce down at the folders in my arms, the weight of them somehow heavier now that I¡¯m trying to exin. ¡°Megan called me into her office. Said she¡¯s¡­promoting me. Sort of. She¡¯s putting me in charge of three athletes¡¯ NIL deals. Like, everything. Negotiations. Branding. Crisis management. Day-to-day strategy. Everything.¡± I can hear the smile in his voice even before he speaks. ¡°That¡¯s big time, Princess. Look at you.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t call me that right now,¡± I mutter weakly. Heughs again, but it¡¯s softer this time. ¡°Hey. I¡¯m serious. That¡¯s damn impressive, L. I¡¯m proud of you.¡± Something in my chest twists, and I bite down on my lip to keep it from showing in my voice. ¡°Thanks,¡± I say quietly. ¡°So, who are the three lucky souls?¡± he asks. I nce at the tabs, reading them aloud. ¡°You. Grayson Bet, whom you know. And¡­a gymnast. Savannah Cole.¡± I hear the faint scrape of a chair on his end, like he¡¯s leaning back. ¡°Huh. Lucky me.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t start,¡± I say automatically, though my lips twitch despite myself. He chuckles under his breath. Then, after a beat, he asks lightly, ¡°So what¡¯d Madison say?¡± I freeze, the words catching in my throat. Because it hits me all at once?¡ª I didn¡¯t call her. I called him. Before my best friend. Before anyone. I called Carter Hayes. And I have no idea what to do with the way that realization makes my heart skip.
By the time Friday rolls around, I¡¯m running on equal parts adrenaline and iced coffee. Megan scheduled my first client meeting for the morning, telling me to ¡°get a feel for her tone and priorities before pitching anything.¡± Which is corporate-speak for don¡¯t let her eat you alive. So here I am, sitting in a quiet corner of the athletic department conference room, my notebook open, folders neatly stacked, waiting for Savannah Cole. She shows up exactly five minuteste¡ªof course. And she looks every bit the golden girl her social media makes her out to be: perfectly styled blonde hair in a sleek ponytail, fullshes, wless skin, PCU warmup jacket fitted like it was tailored just for her. Even her sneakers are spotless. ¡°Hi, Savannah,¡± I say as I stand to greet her, forcing my best professional smile. ¡°Thanks for meeting with me today.¡± She slides into the chair across from me without offering a handshake. ¡°Yeah,¡± she says, already scrolling through her phone. ¡°Of course. Megan said you¡¯re my¡­handler or whatever now?¡± I keep my smile in ce and sit back down. ¡°You could say that. I¡¯ll be managing your NIL deals going forward¡ªfielding offers, presenting options, making sure everything aligns with your goals and brand.¡± At that, she nces up and arches one perfectly shaped brow. ¡°My brand is me. Everyone already wants me. I don¡¯t really think I need help making sure of that.¡± I bite the inside of my cheek and nod, scribbling a note just to keep my hands busy. ¡°Understood,¡± I say calmly. ¡°But with everything that happened this week, it¡¯s important we control the narrative and set you up with brands that support your image long-term.¡± Her eyes narrow slightly at my mention of ¡°everything that happened¡± but she doesn¡¯t correct me. Instead, she leans back in her chair, arms crossing over her chest. ¡°Well,¡± she says, her tone clipped now. ¡°Just so we¡¯re clear¡ªthere are brands I absolutely won¡¯t work with, no matter what. No exceptions.¡± ¡°Of course,¡± I say quickly. ¡°If you have a list, I can?¡ª¡± ¡°I don¡¯t need a list,¡± she cuts in, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder. ¡°There¡¯s one in particr. Posie and Company.¡± I pause, pen hovering over the page. ¡°Posie and Company?¡± She smirks, like she¡¯s just waiting for me to ask. ¡°That¡¯s who Avery Daniels signed withst month,¡± she says, her tone dripping with disdain. ¡°She¡¯s mediocre at best, and she only got the campaign because her dad knows someone at corporate. So, no. Absolutely not. I won¡¯t be seen in the same lineup as her. Ever.¡± I jot it down, keeping my expression neutral, even though inwardly I¡¯m already recalibrating everything I¡¯d researched about potential partners. ¡°Got it,¡± I say smoothly. ¡°Posie and Company is off the table.¡± Savannah hums in approval, already scrolling through her phone again. For a second, I let my pen hover over my notes, ncing up at her carefully. I jot another note, then nce back up at her, forcing myself to keep calm and professional. ¡°Is there anything else you think I should know? Anything that¡¯s especially important to you that we haven¡¯t covered yet?¡± Savannah taps her manicured nails against the table, pretending to think. ¡°Just remember what I said¡ªbigger and better. I don¡¯t care what anyone else on this campus is doing. I¡¯m not here to y second to anyone. Make sure the brands you pitch understand that.¡± I nod, closing my notebook. ¡°Understood.¡± I start to stack my folders, relieved to finally have an excuse to leave, when my phone buzzes against the table. I nce down instinctively, only to see his name light up the screen. Quarterback. Savannah¡¯s eyes catch it immediately. Her smirk is sharp enough to cut ss. ¡°Well, well,¡± she drawls, her gaze flicking from the screen to me. ¡°Is that Carter Hayes?¡± I flip the phone over to hide the screen, my heart skipping ufortably in my chest. ¡°Work,¡± I say simply. Her brow lifts, and she leans back in her chair, crossing her arms. ¡°Sure,¡± she says, her tone almost teasing. But there¡¯s something harder behind her smile, something calcting. ¡°I¡¯d be careful with that, though. Boys like him¡­they don¡¯t usually stick around. Not when someone betteres along.¡± That digs deeper than I want it to, but I don¡¯t let it show. Instead, I stand and gather my things, my voice cool and even as I reply. ¡°Thanks for your concern, Savannah. I¡¯ll be in touch with a first draft of your pitch deck by the end of next week.¡± I don¡¯t wait for her to say anything else. But as I walk out of the room, her words echo in my head anyway¡ªquiet and cruel, harder to shake than I want to admit. Red Zone: Chapter 30 That night, the apartment is quiet except for the faint hum of the dishwasher and the asional scratch of my pen against my notes. I¡¯m still sitting at the kitchen ind,ptop open, with Savannah¡¯s folder spread out in front of me. I¡¯ve been working on her draft pitch deck for hours now, trying to block out her voice from earlier, those sharp little words that keep reying anyway. Boys like him don¡¯t usually stick around. Not when someone betteres along. I press my pen harder into the paper than necessary and tear off a sticky note, setting it aside. My phone buzzes next to me, breaking my concentration. It¡¯s a text from Carter. Quarterback: you home? I stare at the screen for a second, then type back before I can overthink it. Yeah. It only takes two more seconds before I hear it¡ªthree firm knocks on my door. I blink, ncing toward the hallway, my chest already tight. When I open the door, he¡¯s leaning against the frame like he owns it, hoodie loose over his shoulders, hair still damp like he just got back from the gym. And in his hand? A paper bag from my favorite burger ce. ¡°Figured you hadn¡¯t eaten,¡± he says, holding it up like an offering. I just stand there for a second, staring at him, something unspoken catching in my chest. Finally, I step aside and tug the door open wider. ¡°You¡¯re impossible,¡± I mutter under my breath, even as I feel my lips curve despite myself. He grins faintly as he brushes past me into the kitchen. ¡°Yeah,¡± he says easily, setting the bag on the counter and ncing over his shoulder at me. ¡°You tell me that a lot, but you seem to like me anyway.¡± He¡¯s not wrong. We sit at the ind, the two of us side by side, the paper bag crinkling between us as he pulls out two burgers and a container of fries. He pushes one wrapped burger toward me, then the fries, and leans back on his stool to unwrap his own like he¡¯s done this here a hundred times. ¡°Don¡¯t just stare at it,¡± he says when I hesitate, quirking a brow at me. ¡°You¡¯re not impressing anyone by pretending you¡¯re not hungry.¡± I roll my eyes and peel the wrapper back, ignoring the little curl of something warm in my chest when his mouth twitches into a faint smirk. For a while, it¡¯s quiet, just the sound of the wrappers and the faint noise of the TV in the living room. The burger¡¯s exactly what I didn¡¯t know I needed¡ªwarm and salty and grounding somehow¡ªand even though I¡¯m still thinking about Savannah¡¯s words, the ache in my chest softens with every bite. Carter pops a fry into his mouth and nces sideways at me. ¡°You¡¯re quiet,¡± he says finally. I shrug, wiping my hands on a napkin. ¡°Just a lot on my mind. Work stuff.¡± He watches me for a beat, like he wants to push, but just nods like he gets it. We fall into another stretch of silence, the kind that¡¯s somehowfortable with him. Every now and then his knee brushes against mine under the ind, and each time it sends this stupid, low thrum through me that I try to ignore. It isn¡¯t until he¡¯s down to thest few fries that he leans back on his stool and asks, almost casually, ¡°When¡¯s Madison getting home?¡± I pause mid-bite, blinking at him. I shake my head faintly, my lips quirking into something small and wry. ¡°I don¡¯t think she is tonight,¡± I say, setting my burger down. His brows lift slightly. ¡°She texted me earlier,¡± I add, tearing off a corner of my napkin to give my hands something to do. ¡°Said she¡¯s probably staying at your guys¡¯ ce.¡± Carter lets out a quietugh and shakes his head like he¡¯s not even surprised. I ball up the wrappers, and Carter grabs the bag, tossing everything in the trash before turning back to me with that little grin of his. ¡°All right,¡± he says, leaning against the counter. ¡°You¡¯ve worked enough for one night. Couch. Now.¡± I arch a brow at him. ¡°You¡¯re very bossy, you know that?¡± He smirks. ¡°And yet, here you are, still listening to me.¡± I shake my head but slide off the stool anyway, grabbing my nket as I pass him. He follows me into the living room like he owns the ce, dropping onto the couch beside me and stealing the remote before I can even reach for it. ¡°What are you¡ªhey!¡± I protest when he scrolls past the dramas I usually pick. He ignores me, settling on some ridiculous episode of Baking Wars¡ªoverly dramatic music, bakers shouting about souffl¨¦s copsing, sprinkles flying everywhere. I stare at the screen for a second before sinking back into the cushions with a reluctantugh. ¡°Good at football, hot as hell, and he likes to watch baking shows,¡± I mutter. ¡°Yeah,¡± he says lightly, draping his arm over the back of the couch. ¡°All of that and more, Princess. You¡¯re wee.¡± The banter falls away as the show ys on, the warmth of him next to me sinking into my side. His thigh brushes mine every so often, his fingers idly twisting the corner of the nket where it drapes across both ourps. This feels¡­easy. Which only makes it more dangerous. Halfway through the next episode, he shifts slightly, angling his body toward me. I nce over to find him watching me¡ªnot the TV¡ªwith that calm, unreadable look he sometimes gets. ¡°What?¡± I ask softly, trying to keep my voice even. He tilts his head, his eyes steady on mine. ¡°This might sound weird and it also might not be my ce to ask, but¡­¡± he rubs his hand up and down his arm, obviously nervous. ¡°Beck had mentioned a while ago that you two had a thing during one of the times he and Angie were off before they were on again.¡± I try my best to make sure my lips don¡¯t twitch into a smile. ¡°What did he tell you?¡± ¡°That he was sad, you were lonely, and one thing happened after the other.¡± I can¡¯t help but burst outughing at that. ¡°We hung out, that¡¯s it. I think he kissed me on the cheek a couple times, but that¡¯s about the extent of anything. I could tell he needed a friend, and we did go on a couple dates, so I would consider it sorta dating? I¡¯m not really one to take anything to the physical level unless the feelings are there to back that up. But it was never serious, and nothing physical happened. It¡¯s cute that you¡¯re jealous, though.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not jealous. I was just¡­clearing the air,¡± he says, his cheeks turning a little bit redder than normal. Crossing my arms over my chest and turning to face him fully, I bite back. ¡°Oh really? Would you like me to clear the air with any and all women at this college you¡¯ve been rumored to be with?¡± He groans at that, mumbling a barely coherent ¡°no¡± as he sinks under the nket he¡¯s now using as a shield. ¡°Aw, what¡¯s wrong, Hayes?¡± I move over to where I can poke him in the side. ¡°You don¡¯t want to go over your dating history with me?¡± He groans even louder from under the nket, his voice muffled. ¡°Not exactly high on my list of favorite topics, no.¡± I grin, scooting a little closer, and peel the nket down just enough to see his face. His cheeks really are pink now, his jaw tight, even though he¡¯s trying to y it off. ¡°Why not?¡± I ask, feigning innocence. ¡°Afraid I¡¯ll keep a running tally?¡± He res up at me, though it¡¯s more sheepish than menacing. ¡°Because it doesn¡¯t matter anymore.¡± That throws me for just a second. I blink at him, my teasing faltering. ¡°What do you mean?¡± He exhales and sits up a little, dragging a hand through his messy hair. The nket slips off his shoulders, pooling in hisp as he finally looks at me straight on. ¡°Because you¡¯re here,¡± he says simply. The statement hangs in the air between us, quiet but heavy, stealing the breath right out of my lungs. I¡¯m still floundering for words when his lips twitch. ¡°You¡¯re overthinking,¡± he murmurs, and before I can even process what that means, his hand shoots out and grabs my side, giving it a quick, sharp squeeze. I yelp, jerking away instinctively, and that¡¯s all the opening he needs. ¡°Oh, no,¡± I warn, but he¡¯s already grinning, leaning in closer. ¡°Ticklish, huh? Good to know,¡± he says, and then he attacks¡ªhis fingers digging into my ribs and my stomach until I¡¯m gasping and writhing under the nket,ughter spilling out before I can stop it. ¡°Carter¡ªstop!¡± I halfugh, half-gasp, trying to twist away. But he doesn¡¯t stop. If anything, he doubles down, his grin downright evil as he shifts over me, his knees bracketing my hips as he pins me to the couch. ¡°You think you can just talk shit and not pay for it?¡± he says through his ownughter, shifting closer as I squirm away. I try to shove his hands off me, but he¡¯s stronger, faster, and suddenly we¡¯re both sliding off the couch,nding in a heap on the carpet. I¡¯m breathless, halfughing, half-protesting, my hair falling into my face as I try to crawl away. But then his hands are on either side of me, and I realize he¡¯s straddling me now, pinning me to the floor. Theughter dies between us almost instantly. He¡¯s leaning over me, breathing hard, his hoodie hanging loose as his eyes lock on mine. Instantly, the air shifts. No more teasing. No more pretending. I swallow hard, my pulse thudding in my ears as he studies me. His voice drops, quiet but sharp, cutting right through me. ¡°Why do you let me touch you like this,¡± he murmurs, his gaze searching mine. ¡°If you don¡¯t want this to mean anything?¡± I can¡¯t breathe. Because for the first time all night, I don¡¯t have a single clever thing to say back. The air feels thick between us, every inch of space charged. He is staring down at me like he¡¯s trying to figure out how far he can push before I finally crack. My lips part, but no soundes out. And he notices. Of course he notices. His jaw tightens, and he dips his head just slightly, his breath brushing across my cheek. ¡°If you don¡¯t want me to kiss you,¡± he murmurs, his voice low and rough. ¡°You need to tell me right now.¡± My chest rises and falls too fast, my heart hammering against my ribs as his words settle over me. ¡°I¡¯m serious, L,¡± he adds, his eyes locked on mine. ¡°You tell me to stop, and I swear I will. But if you don¡¯t¡­¡± His words hang between us, but I don¡¯t say anything. I can¡¯t say anything. Instead, I let my actions speak for me. My fingers curl into the front of his hoodie, tugging him down to me until his lips meet mine. It¡¯s like a spark igniting gasoline¡ªinstant, hot,pletely consuming. He exhales sharply against my mouth, his body sinking lower as he deepens the kiss, one hand sliding under the back of my neck to tilt my head just the way he wants it. I gasp when his tongue sweeps against mine, my hands tightening in the fabric of his hoodie as he presses me harder into the carpet. Every inch of him is heat and muscle, impossible to ignore, and the sound he makes¡ªlow and rough when I arch up into him¡ªgoes straight to my core. His hand moves to my waist, fingers flexing as he drags my hips up against his. The friction steals what little breath I have left, and I feel my legs shift automatically, parting just enough for him to settle more fully between them. The kiss turns messier, hungrier, his teeth catching my bottom lip as my nails rake across his shoulders. I can feel his chest rising and falling against mine, his heartbeat pounding just as fast as mine, and the weight of him on top of me has my thoughts scattering into nothing but heat. But then reality cuts through the haze just enough for me to remember where we are. Madison. The possibility of her walking in at any second. I tear my mouth away from his, my chest heaving as I whisper, ¡°Carter¡­¡± He freezes instantly, his eyes searching mine, concern shing there. But instead of telling him to stop, I tug at his hoodie again, my lips still barely brushing his as I murmur, ¡°We¡­we should go to my room. In case Madison decides toe home.¡± For a beat, he just stares at me, his pupils blown, his breathing ragged. Then he grins¡ªslow, dangerous¡ªand pushes himself up just enough to help me to my feet. ¡°Lead the way, Princess,¡± he murmurs, his voice so dark and low it makes my knees weak. And when I turn to head down the hall, I can already feel his hand on my hip, following close behind. Red Zone: Chapter 31 It¡¯s the night before thest game of the regr season, and I should be at home resting. I should definitely not be following my coach¡¯s daughter down the hallway to her bedroom, but here we are. She¡¯s nervous, even though she¡¯s trying to y it cool. I can tell by the way her fingers tighten on mine that she feels this just as much as I do. The sound of my footsteps behind her is loud in the quiet apartment, and for a second, I wonder if she can hear how fast my heart¡¯s beating too. She pushes her bedroom door open and steps inside, ncing over her shoulder at me. ¡°Are youing in or just going to stand there looking guilty?¡± she murmurs. I huff out a quietugh, shaking my head as I follow her in. ¡°Maybe a little of both.¡± Her room is once again in perfect condition¡ªorganized, soft colors, not a single thing out of ce. And yet, right now, she looks anything but put together. Her cheeks are still flushed, her lips are still kiss-bruised from the living room, and her messy bun has started to fall apartpletely. Stopping at the foot of her bed, she turns to face me, crossing her arms over her chest. For a second, I just stand still, taking her in. The way the softmplight catches in her hair. The way she¡¯s biting her lip like she doesn¡¯t know what to say or do next. Then I close the distance between us. Her arms fall as I step into her space, my hands finding her hips and pulling her flush against me. ¡°You make it really hard to behave myself, ya know,¡± I murmur, leaning down just enough to brush my lips against hers. She lets out a softugh, breathless already. ¡°Says the one who¡¯s breaking every rule in the book.¡± ¡°Worth it,¡± I mutter back, before kissing her again. And just like in the living room, our heat ignites instantly. Her hands slide up my chest, fisting in the front of my shirt as she deepens the kiss, and I feel her back arch as I walk her backward until her knees hit the bed. She sinks down onto the mattress, pulling me with her, and before I know it I¡¯m kneeling on the edge, leaning over her, my fingers digging into the sheets on either side of her head. I force myself to slow down just enough to really look at her¡ªbreathing hard, eyes dark, hair falling loose around her face. And it hits me again¡ªhard¡ªthat she has no idea what she¡¯s doing to me. I drop my head, resting my forehead against hers as I catch my breath. ¡°L,¡± I say quietly. ¡°What?¡± she whispers. I lift my head just enough to meet her eyes, my thumb brushing absently over her hip. ¡°You ever gonna tell me,¡± I murmur. ¡°Why you let me touch you like this¡­if you don¡¯t do physical unless it¡¯s serious?¡± She freezes beneath me, her breath catching, her lips parting like she wants to answer¡ªbut can¡¯t. Her silence stretches between us, but she doesn¡¯t look away. And she doesn¡¯t stop me. That¡¯s all the answer I need. Something shifts inside me¡ªlike a lock clicking open¡ªand I dip my head, pressing my mouth to hers again. Slower this time. Deeper. She sighs against my lips, her hands sliding up to curl under my hoodie and around my shoulders, her fingers warm where they dig into my skin. Her lips are soft and insistent, her breath sweet as she exhales into me. And for the first time in my life, kissing someone feels like more than just a means to an end. I pull back just long enough to look at her¡ªreally look at her. She¡¯s so beautiful it almost hurts to look at her like this. I run my thumb along her jaw, watching her shiver when I do, and murmur roughly, ¡°You have no idea what you do to me.¡± Her eyelids flutter, and she whispers, ¡°Then show me.¡± That¡¯s all it takes for any restraint I had left to snap. I kiss her again, harder this time, swallowing the quiet gasp she makes when my hand slides under her hoodie and brushes over her warm skin. I feel every line of her as she arches into me, heat radiating from her where our bodies meet. I sit back just enough to tug her hoodie over her head and toss it to the floor. Her skin is glowing in the warm light of themp and I quickly realize she is naked under her sweatshirt. ¡°What¡¯s this, Princess? Nothing underneath?¡± I lower my head to kiss her bare corbone, and she lets out a sound that makes my pulse spike. I make my way down to her breasts, her nipples waiting for me to pay them equal attention. ¡°That¡¯s okay, I¡¯ve never been patient when opening presents anyway.¡± I take my time sucking one into my mouth while rubbing the other between my thumb and forefinger, getting her so worked up that she begins writhing beneath me. She tastes like vani and salt, and the way she moves under my mouth¡ªher back arching, her fingers threading into my hair¡ªnearly undoes me. I press her back against the sheets, dragging my hand slowly up her side, learning every inch of her like I¡¯ve got all the time in the world. Because this isn¡¯t just about me wanting her. I need her. Her breath hitches when I lean down and kiss the curve of her shoulder, then lower, kissing the side of her neck as my hands skim over the top of her breasts. She¡¯s shaking now, just a little, but she doesn¡¯t stop me¡ªshe lifts her hips instead, making it easier for me to slide her shorts down her legs. I pause for half a second to look at her,id out beneath me in nothing but her ckce thong, and something in my chestes alive at the sight. Mine. No one has ever undone me like this. I let my eyes drag over her¡ªevery inch of her skin, her chest rising in uneven breaths, the faintest tremor in her legs where they shift under me. Her thong clings to her hips, delicate and perfect, and for a second I just¡­stay there. Because this isn¡¯t just sexual tension anymore. It¡¯s more than that. It¡¯s her. I already know the mental image of her,ying before me like this, is something I¡¯ll never be able to forget. My hands skim up the outside of her thighs, fingers brushing over smooth, warm skin, feeling the heat radiating off her as she lets out this little broken sound that shoots straight through me. When I lean down again and press my mouth to her stomach¡ªslow, deliberate¡ªher back arches, her fingers gripping the sheets like she doesn¡¯t know what else to hold on to. ¡°Carter,¡± she breathes, my name slipping from her lips in a quiet, pleading whisper. I nce up at her, keeping my lips just above her waistband. ¡°Tell me what you need.¡± Hershes lower, her voice barely there. ¡°You. Please. Just you.¡± That¡¯s all it takes. I kiss lower, over the soft curve of her hip, then to thece between her thighs, feeling the shiver that runs through her as my breath hits her. ¡°Keep your eyes on me,¡± I murmur, hooking my fingers into the thong and dragging it down her legs. The sight of her bare before me¡ªvulnerable, perfect¡ªmakes my chest ache. I push her thighs wider with my hands, spreading her open, and just take her in for a second. ¡°God, L,¡± I groan low in my throat. ¡°You¡¯re beautiful.¡± Her breath hitches, her cheeks flush as her hands clutch at the sheets. Then I lower my head and kiss the inside of her knee, then higher, letting my tongue trace a slow line over the sensitive skin there until she gasps. When my mouth finally presses to her center, she cries out softly, her hips jerking in surprise. I tten my tongue against her at first, slow and deliberate, savoring the heat and the taste of her. Then I slide the tip of my tongue up to circle her clit, gentle at first, then firmer when she moans my name. ¡°That¡¯s it,¡± I murmur against her, dragging my tongue in a figure-eight, alternating between ttening it and teasing her with just the tip, savoring every quiet gasp she gives me. Her hands fist in my hair as I pick up the pace, adding the lightest suction around her clit while my tongue flicks faster, then slowing down just to make her whimper. ¡°You like that?¡± I rasp, pressing a kiss to her slick heat before diving back in. ¡°Y-yes¡ªplease¡ªdon¡¯t stop?¡ª¡± I groan against her, adding two fingers and curling them just right, feeling her tense and then melt around me. Her thighs threaten to close around my head, but I keep them spread, my tongue working her in quick, precise strokes now, flicking against her clit faster, harder, until her whole body arches and she cries out my name, riding out every part of her pleasure. I don¡¯t stop until she¡¯s shaking, until her hips fall back to the sheets and she¡¯s gasping, her chest heaving. When I finally pull back, I press a kiss to her inner thigh and crawl over her, kissing her mouth softly, letting her taste herself on my lips. Her hands tug at my hoodie, and I grin faintly as I strip it off, tossing it aside. I lean down and press my mouth to hers, slow and hungry, feeling her hands already working at the waistband of my sweats. But when I push them down and settle over her again, her fingers still against my hip. I pause, ncing down at her face. Her cheeks are flushed, her chest still heaving, but her eyes meet mine¡ªsteady, even now. ¡°You¡­¡± she whispers, catching her breath. ¡°You brought protection, right?¡± It takes me half a second to catch her meaning¡ªthen my stomach tightens. She¡¯s trusting me with this. She wants this. Wants me. And I¡¯d rather cut my own arm off than let her think I wouldn¡¯t have been ready for her. I duck my head, letting my lips brush hers as I murmur, ¡°Yeah, I got you.¡± She exhales a soft littleugh and loosens her grip on my hip, letting her hands drift up my chest again as I shift back, just enough to reach into my wallet on the nightstand. You can¡¯t me a guy. I¡¯d rathere prepared than not. I tear the foil open with my teeth and roll it on, my eyes locked on her the whole time. Her gaze flicks down, her lips parting slightly, and the way she watches me almost undoes me right on the spot. When I¡¯m back between her thighs, she tilts her hips up instinctively, bringing my hard dick in line with her center, her legs wrapping around my waist as my hands frame her face. ¡°You okay?¡± I murmur, my voice low and rough, but gentle. She nods without hesitation, her fingers curling around the back of my neck as she whispers, ¡°Yes. Please.¡± I press my forehead to hers, breathing her in for onest moment before I finally push into her, slow and deliberate. She gasps softly, her nails dragging over my shoulders, and I groan her name against her skin as her warmth surrounds me. ¡°You feel¡ª¡± I break off with a quietugh, shaking my head as I press deeper. ¡°Fuck, you feel perfect.¡± And when she tightens her legs around me, pulling me closer, all I can think¡ªover and over¡ªis how impossible it¡¯s going to be to ever let her go. Her hips instinctively tilt up, meeting me halfway. Her warmth envelops me inch by inch, tight and soft, and the feeling almost knocks the breath out of my chest. I groan her name low against her cheek, trying to keep my control, but it¡¯s impossible when she¡¯s clinging to me like this. Her legs tighten even more around my waist, hooking at the small of my back to draw me in deeper, and I feel her whole body shiver under me, pussy practically choking my cock, as I bottom out inside her. We stay there for a beat¡ªboth of us breathing hard, her forehead pressed to mine, her eyes fluttering shut as she adjusts to me. I drag my hands slowly down her sides, feeling every curve of her body shift beneath me. Her skin is hot and smooth under my palms, her ribs expanding with each breath, her hips rocking faintly as though her body¡¯s already searching for more. I pull out just enough to feel her clench around me, then push back in, slow and deep. She presses into me, her lips parting on a quiet, breathy moan of my name that sends heat pooling low in my gut. ¡°Goddamn, L¡­¡± I groan, my hands gripping her hips now, holding her steady as I start to move in a slow, steady rhythm. Every roll of my hips draws another sound out of her¡ªsoft little gasps, quiet whimpers that she tries to bite back but can¡¯t. Her fingers clutch at my back, her nails digging in as she meets me thrust for thrust, my hands moving to her ass, tilting her hips just enough to let me slide deeper with each stroke. The sheets rustle beneath us, and her legs flex around me, her knees drawing higher to let me press closer, angling my hips just right. She lets out a sharp little cry when I hit the spot that makes her whole body jump, and I don¡¯t even try to hide my smile as I lower my mouth to her ear. ¡°There?¡± I rasp, my breath hot against her skin. ¡°Right there?¡± She nods frantically, whispering, ¡°Don¡¯t stop¡ªdon¡¯t stop?¡ª¡± So I don¡¯t. I maintain a slow, deliberate rhythm, doing exactly what she says, making sure there¡¯s constant friction over her clit as I move. Her head tips back into the pillow, her lips parted, her chest rising and falling rapidly as I watch here apart beneath me. I dip my head, kissing the hollow of her throat, her corbone, the tops of her breasts, tasting the salt on her skin as she arches into me. Her hands find my hair, tugging hard as she tightens around me, her legs mping around my waist as her whole body trembles. ¡°That¡¯s it,¡± I groan against her shoulder, my thrusts starting to falter as she gasps my name, her hips jerking under me. ¡°Come for me, Princess. Squeeze my cock with that tight little pussy.¡± She goes over the edge with a broken little moan, her walls fluttering around me, and the sight of her like thispletely undone,pletely mine¡ªtips me right over with her. I press as deep as I can go, burying myself inside her as my release rips through me, my face buried in her neck, her name falling from my lips over and over like a prayer. Even then, I can¡¯t stop moving right away¡ªrocking into her in smaller, slower motions as the aftershocks roll through both of us. When I finally still, my chest is heaving, but I stay right there¡ªforehead to hers, my hands smoothing over her sides as she tries to catch her breath. Her body is still trembling faintly beneath me, her legs softening but still loosely wrapped around my hips, her hands fisted in my hair like she doesn¡¯t want to let me go just yet. And God help me¡­ I don¡¯t want to let her go either. Red Zone: Chapter 32 The first thing I feel when I wake up is warmth. Not just the kind from the heavy nket tangled around me¡ªbut the steady, solid kind thates from the weight of someone else¡¯s arm draped over my waist. For a second, I almost think I¡¯m dreaming. But then as the faint light of morning filters through my curtains, I shift just enough to feel the sheets slide against bare skin, and the memory ofst night crashes back like a wave. Carter. His breath is warm against my neck, his chest pressed flush to my back, arm snug around me like he¡¯s been holding on all night. I let my eyes flutter shut again, just for another second, and focus on the slow rise and fall of his breathing. It¡¯s¡­unsettling, how much I like it. Last night was the first time in years that my brain allowed me to go to sleep without moving through the entire routine that normally takes me at least an hour toplete before bed. I¡¯ve never experienced the sense of calm that Carter brings me, ever. I have to admit, I might have to keep him around for that effect alone. I shift slightly under the nkets, and he stirs behind me. ¡°Mmm¡­¡± he murmurs low in his throat, his arm tightening instinctively around my waist as his face nuzzles into my hair. ¡°What time is it?¡± ¡°Too early,¡± I whisper back. My voice sounds soft even to my own ears. He hums in agreement, his fingers absently tracingzy circles on my hip like he has no ns of moving anytime soon. And honestly? I don¡¯t hate it. I close my eyes again, thinking maybe¡ªjust maybe¡ªI can have another five minutes like this. Which is exactly when my bedroom door swings open. ¡°L?¡± Madison¡¯s voice calls, sounding way too happy for this hour. ¡°Are you?¡ª¡± She freezes in the doorway. I bolt upright in bed, clutching the nket to my chest on instinct, my heart jumping into my throat. Carter groans behind me, clearly less panicked than I am, and drapes an arm back over his eyes with a muttered, ¡°Morning, Madison.¡± I can practically feel the smirk in his voice. Madison blinks at us, her eyebrows shooting straight to her hairline as she takes in the scene: me, still tangled in the sheets, my hair a mess, my cheeks burning¡ªand Carter, clearly very naked, half-covered by my nket, lounging like he owns the ce. ¡°Oh,¡± she says finally, drawing out the word, her lips twitching. ¡°Well. Don¡¯t let me interrupt¡­¡± ¡°Madison!¡± I squeak, throwing a pillow at her. She dodges it easily, already backing out of the doorway with her hands up in mock surrender. ¡°Hey, don¡¯t mind me,¡± she teases, grinning now. ¡°Just making sure you were alive. You¡¯re usually up by now.¡± I groan, flopping back against the pillows as she closes the door behind her,ughter trailing down the hall. Carter chuckles low behind me, shifting onto his side to prop his head up on his hand. ¡°You¡¯re kinda cute when you¡¯re flustered,¡± he murmurs, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from my face. I shoot him a look, even though my cheeks are still hot. I flop back against the pillows, burying my face in my hands. ¡°Oh my god,¡± I groan. ¡°She¡¯s never going to let me live this down.¡± Beside me, Carter just smiles,pletely unbothered, and shifts onto his back with his arms folded behind his head. ¡°She didn¡¯t seem mad,¡± he teases. I peek through my fingers to re at him, his grin infuriatingly smug. ¡°Don¡¯t tter yourself, Hayes.¡± He smirks but doesn¡¯t argue, just stretches like he¡¯s got all the time in the world. That is, until his phone buzzes on the nightstand. He grabs it, squints at the screen¡­and freezes. Then he sits straight up. ¡°Shit. What time is it?¡± My eyes fly to the little clock on my dresser, and my stomach drops. ¡°9:43,¡± I say, already scrambling upright. ¡°Film starts in?¡ª¡± ¡°Seventeen minutes,¡± he finishes, already on his feet. We bothunch into motion at the same time¡ªme sweeping my hair into a messy bun, him bending to grab his hoodie from the floor. ¡°You didn¡¯t set an rm?¡± I scold, wrapping the nket tighter around myself as he fumbles with his sweatpants. He shoots me a grin over his shoulder. ¡°I was kind of distractedst night, if you recall.¡± My cheeks flush as he straightens up and pulls his hoodie on over his head. ¡°Not my fault you¡¯re bad at time management,¡± I mumble. He just smirks, leaning down to grab his sneakers. ¡°Worth it.¡± When he¡¯s dressed, he steps to the door, then pauses. And turns back to me. He crosses the room in two strides, cups my jaw in one hand, and kisses me¡ªquick but firm, enough to make my stomach flip. When he pulls back, his grin is still there, a little softer this time. ¡°I¡¯ll see you at the game,¡± he murmurs, brushing his thumb over my cheek. I swallow and manage to find my voice. ¡°Don¡¯t screw it up out there, Hayes.¡± He shakes his head, backing toward the door. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Harding. You¡¯re my good luck charm now.¡± And then he¡¯s gone, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving me standing there with my nket wrapped around me, still feeling the imprint of his lips on mine. And I have no idea how I¡¯m supposed to focus on anything else today.
By the time I finish taking a shower and get dressed, the apartment is quiet again. The steam still clings to my skin as I tighten theces of my boots, my heart stubbornly refusing to calm down, even though Carter¡¯s been gone for almost an hour. I nce at myself again in the mirror, tugging at the hem of my PCU jacket, trying to make sure I don¡¯t look like someone who spent the entire night wrapped up in the one person she swore she¡¯d never get tangled up with. No luck there. My cheeks are still a little flushed, and there¡¯s a softness in my eyes I don¡¯t quite recognize. I huff out a breath, grabbing my bag and phone before heading down the hall toward the kitchen. When I round the corner, Madison is already there, waiting. She¡¯s sitting at the ind, dressed for the game in a pair of dark jeans and a white sweater, her hair pulled back into a low ponytail. She¡¯s cradling a mug of tea in her hands, elbows resting on the countertop as she watches me walk in. There¡¯s a faint, knowing little smile ying at her lips. I stop halfway into the kitchen, suddenly hyperaware of how quiet the apartment is. She takes a slow sip from her mug, her eyes never leaving mine. ¡°You¡¯re alive,¡± she says finally, her voice deceptively light. I blink at her, adjusting the strap of my bag over my shoulder. ¡°Barely,¡± I mutter, trying to sound casual as I cross to the counter and grab my water bottle. But she doesn¡¯t let up. That little smile stays firmly in ce as she sets her mug down and leans her chin on her hand. ¡°You know,¡± she says mildly. ¡°If you wanted me to stay gone longer, you could¡¯ve just said so.¡± I groan, pressing my hand to my forehead. ¡°Don¡¯t start, Maddy.¡± Sheughs softly, picking her mug back up. ¡°I¡¯m just saying,¡± she murmurs into her tea. ¡°You might want to work on your subtlety before Coach Harding figures it out.¡± That makes me freeze for just a second. But when I nce at her again, she¡¯s still smiling¡ªgentle now, not teasing. ¡°You like him,¡± she says simply. I swallow hard and turn back to the counter, screwing the lid on my water bottle tighter than necessary. ¡°It was a one-time thing,¡± I mumble instead, ignoring the way my stomach twists at her words. ¡°Just needed to get it out of our systems and all that.¡± She snorts. ¡°Hate to tell you, but that never works out for the fictional couples in my romance books.¡± Looking into my bag, I make sure everything is there before turning toward the door. ¡°You riding with me oringter?¡± Getting the hint that I¡¯m done with the conversation, she hops up and grabs her bag. ¡°I enjoy seeing a certain wide receiver in his football pants a little too much to pass up the opportunity for extra sight seeing.¡± I can¡¯t help butugh at her as we head toward my car, even though my thoughts are stuck on a certain quarterback. One time. That¡¯s all we agreed on¡­. Right?
The stadium is already buzzing by the time I make it down to the field. Fans are streaming into the stands, music is thumping through the speakers, and yers are going through their warmups in sharp, choreographed bursts of motion. I adjust my PCU jacket and double-check the mic levels on my recorder as I scan the field. This is what I do¡ªget the quick hits, the polished sound bites, content the department loves to post mid-game to keep engagement high. I spot Jaxon first, helmet tucked under his arm as he chats with one of the defensive coaches. When I wave him over, he grins and jogs the few steps to meet me near the sideline. ¡°You ready to go?¡± I ask, holding up my phone and mic. ¡°Always,¡± he says with a grin. ¡°Big game today. Fans want to know¡ªwhat¡¯s your mindset heading in?¡± Jaxon gives me the easy smile that¡¯s made him a fan favorite. ¡°Mindset¡¯s the same as always¡ªdo my job, trust the guy next to me, and make sure we leave it all out here. That¡¯s what this team does. It¡¯s what we¡¯re about.¡± I nod, smiling faintly. ¡°Perfect. Thanks, Jax.¡± ¡°Anytime, Harding,¡± he says, jogging back toward the huddle. Next up is Beck, who of course takes his sweet time jogging over when I g him down. He gives me a lopsided grin, already chewing his gum obnoxiously. ¡°Well, well, well,¡± he drawls. ¡°If it isn¡¯t our resident ice queen.¡± ¡°Beck,¡± I sigh, biting back a smile. ¡°I need thirty seconds, not your stand-up routine.¡± He winks. ¡°You wound me. What do you want to know?¡± ¡°Same as always¡ªgame day mindset.¡± ¡°Mindset is simple,¡± Beck says, smirking for the camera. ¡°Don¡¯t get hit too hard. Make the big ys. And, uh¡­¡± His eyes flick to the stands. ¡°Try to look good doing it.¡± I roll my eyes, but he just grins wider. ¡°Thanks, Beck,¡± I say dryly. ¡°Anytime, sista.¡± Finally, I spot Carter¡ªhelmet on, head down as he ties theces on his cleats. I hesitate a second longer than I mean to before calling his name. He nces up at me, and the corner of his mouth kicks up into the faintest smirk. He jogs over, slowing just as he reaches me. ¡°You need me for something?¡± he asks, voice low enough that no one else can hear. I hold up the mic between us. ¡°Ten-second sound bite.¡± ¡°Ah,¡± he says, his eyes glinting. ¡°Guess I can spare you five seconds.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t do me any favors,¡± I mutter, already hitting record. ¡°So?¡± he murmurs, leaning just a little closer. ¡°What do you want me to say?¡± ¡°Your mindset going into tonight.¡± His gaze holds mine for a second too long, before trailing all the way down my body. ¡°My mindset?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I say, trying to sound sharper than I feel. His smirk deepens just slightly. ¡°Focused. Determined. And¡­¡± His eyes drag slowly over my face before meeting mine again. ¡°Already thinking about whates after.¡± Heat creeps up my neck as I lower the mic, trying to keep my expression neutral. ¡°Thanks, Hayes,¡± I say briskly, stepping back. He just grins faintly, leaning in to murmur, ¡°Anytime, Princess¡± sending me a wink that I feel between my legs before jogging back toward the huddle. I take a slow, steadying breath and force my shoulders straight. Professional. Efficient. Untouchable. At least, that¡¯s what I keep telling myself. Red Zone: Chapter 33 There¡¯s nothing like this. Nothing in the world like standing on the field under the lights, with thousands of fans screaming your name, and knowing everyone¡¯s watching to see if you¡¯ll rise or choke. And tonight, I¡¯m not nning to choke. Final regr season game. Myst one in this uniform if things go how they¡¯re supposed to in the spring. But right now? All that matters is beating these guys. And maybe¡ªif I¡¯m being honest¡ªimpressing the girl who keeps ncing at me from the sidelines when she thinks I¡¯m not looking. The ref blows the whistle. The first quarter starts fast. We take the kickoff, and I¡¯m already calling my cadence, reading the defense as we line up. ¡°Blue eighty! Set¡ªhike!¡± The ball¡¯s in my hands, the line¡¯s crashing down around me, and the pocket holds just long enough for me to spot Beck cutting across the middle. I fire it in, and he snags it out of the air before getting dragged down at the thirty. First down. I p his helmet when we jog back to the huddle, my breath already clouding in the chilly air. Next y¡¯s a run. Then another nt. Then a fake screen that I keep myself, ducking around a linebacker and diving over the line to move the chains again. Every drive, every snap, we chip away at them. And every time Ie off the field, my eyes find her. L. She¡¯s standing at the thirty with her notepad and mic, hair pulled back tight, her cheeks pink from the cold. She keeps pretending to scribble something every time I look her way. But I see the way her gaze lingers on me just a second longer than it should. By the second quarter, we¡¯re up by a touchdown. But they¡¯re tough. Theye back swinging, hitting a big run right up the middle that ties it up with three minutes left before halftime. We regroup on the sideline, and I pace like a caged animal while the defense does their job. When the ball¡¯s back in my hands, I call the guys into the huddle. ¡°This is ours,¡± I bark, my voice cutting through the noise of the stadium. ¡°No panic. No stupid shit. Just do your jobs.¡± They nod, and I can feel the energy shift. Snap. Drop back. Hit Jaxon on a corner route that gets us twenty. Snap. Fake handoff. Roll right. Thread the needle to Beck between two defenders. The clock¡¯s running down, but I don¡¯t care¡ªI¡¯m locked in. Thirty seconds left, we¡¯re on the eight-yard line. I call the y at the line, nod to my center, and take the snap. The pocket copses, and I can feel a linebacker right at my back, but I spin, keep my eyes downfield, and see Jaxon just as he breaks free toward the corner of the end zone. I let it fly. Perfect spiral. He hauls it in, drags his toes inside the line. Touchdown. The crowd explodes, and my guys mob me as we jog off the field. Halftime. Up by seven. In the locker room, everyone¡¯s loud, pumped, but I sit on the bench and grab some water, my mind already on the next two quarters. And¡ªif I¡¯m honest¡ªon her. Her face keeps shing through my head. The way she lookedst night, lying beneath me, whispering my name like she actually meant it. I shake it off because I have a job to do. Wee out after halftime, and it¡¯s a slugfest. They push back hard in the third quarter, hitting a deep ball that ties it up. Then we answer with a long drive, Jaxon pulling down two impossible catches to put us in field goal range. We go up by three. Theye back with a field goal of their own. Fourth quarter. Tied. This is where we find out what we¡¯re made of.
We get the ball on our own twenty with three minutes left. I call the guys in. ¡°All we need is three,¡± I say, my voice low and steady. ¡°We¡¯ve done this a hundred times. You do your jobs, I¡¯ll do mine.¡± They nod, and we line up. Snap. I drop back, see the rushing, and dump it off to the running back for eight. Next y, I keep it myself on a read option, diving forward for another first down. The clock¡¯s ticking. One minute left. We¡¯re on their thirty-five. I fake a nt to Beck and hit Jaxon on a deep out, putting us on the twenty. The crowd¡¯s deafening now. Thirty seconds. We spike it to stop the clock. Second down, I take the snap and roll right, looking for Beck in the corner. Covered. I nt my foot and cut back left, weaving through traffic until I¡¯m inside the ten before they drag me down. The guys haul me up, and I grin, already calling the next y. Fifteen seconds. First and goal. I nce at the sideline just once, and I see her there¡ªwatching me, eyes wide, her notepad forgotten at her side. This one¡¯s for her. I take the snap, fake the handoff, and loft a quick fade to Jaxon in the back corner. Hees down with it. Touchdown. Game. The stadium erupts, my teammates piling on me as the final whistle blows. We¡¯ve won. We¡¯re going to the yoffs. And for the first time in my life, that¡¯s not even the best part of my night. When we finally file back into the locker room, the guys are still hollering, throwing towels, spraying water like champagne. But I sit at my locker, peel off my helmet, and let myself breathe for the first time in four quarters. Because all I can think about is getting cleaned up, walking back out there¡­ And seeing her again. The locker room¡¯s loud after the game. I¡¯m leaning back on the bench, still halfced into my cleats, letting the adrenaline finally bleed off. Good game. We¡¯re yoff bound, our first undefeated season in decades. And I can already feel the corners of my mouth twitching just thinking about seeing Lter. I¡¯m mid-way through unwrapping the tape from my wrist when I hear it. ¡°Did you see Montgomery run straight for Madison? That girl¡¯s got a type, huh?¡± The words cut through the noise. I freeze, my fingers stilling, my head lifting toward the voice. Some second-string wide receiver,ughing like he thinks he¡¯s clever. Another guy chuckles. ¡°What do you mean?¡± The first one snorts. ¡°I mean, first Carter, now Jaxon? Girl sure knows how to pick her athletes.¡± Laughter ripples through the room. But not from me. Because the second I nce toward Jaxon, I know. His whole body¡¯s gone still, his jaw tight enough to crack, his eyes locked on the idiot who said it. And by the time I¡¯m on my feet, it¡¯s already toote. Jaxon stands. Turns. And the whole room goes quiet. Shit. Everyone knows what¡¯sing. ¡°Jax,¡± I start, but he¡¯s already moving. The guy¡¯s mid-smirk when Jaxon grabs him by the jersey and ms him into the lockers so hard it makes the entire row rattle. ¡°Say that shit again,¡± Jaxon growls, low and dangerous, his face inches from the kid¡¯s. ¡°I dare you.¡± The receiver¡¯s eyes go wide, his handsing up defensively as he sputters. ¡°I¡ªI didn¡¯t mean?¡ª¡± I step up behind Jaxon,ying a hand on his shoulder. ¡°Hey, Jax¡ªman. Let it go. He¡¯s not worth it.¡± Jaxon doesn¡¯t even flinch. His voice stays calm, but there¡¯s an edge to it, sharp enough to cut. ¡°You got something to say about my girl, you say it to me. And I¡¯ll make sure you never say it again.¡± The guy swallows hard. ¡°I¡ªI swear, man. I didn¡¯t mean anything by it.¡± Jaxon just holds him there for another second before shoving him back and stepping away. The air is thick and heavy, everyone watching him like he might still throw a punch. But he doesn¡¯t. He just grabs his duffle, yanks his hoodie over his head, and storms toward the door. I catch his arm before he can leave, leaning in just enough to lower my voice. ¡°Jax. Breathe, man. Don¡¯t do something stupid.¡± He shakes me off, not even looking back as he shoves his phone into his pocket and stalks out of the locker room. And everyone else? They know better than to say a damn word. The door ms behind Jaxon, and the silence he leaves behind is thick. The wide receiver he lit up sits frozen on the bench, staring down at his hands. And everyone else? They just¡­stare. At the floor. At the lockers. At me. I run a hand over my face, letting out a sharp breath before stepping into the middle of the room. ¡°Y¡¯all think that shit¡¯s funny?¡± I say, my voice calm but carrying. A few heads snap up. I let my eyes sweep the room, from one guy to the next, until they all meet my stare. ¡°Because it¡¯s not. You don¡¯t talk about a teammate¡¯s girl. You don¡¯t talk about his family. You don¡¯t talk about anything that isn¡¯t your business. Ever.¡± No one says a word. I take another step forward, my tone hardening. ¡°You want to know what a team is? It¡¯s having each other¡¯s backs. On the field and off. It¡¯s shutting your damn mouth when you don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about. And it¡¯s knowing that what you say in here reflects on all of us out there. You disrespect one of us, you disrespect all of us.¡± I nce at the kid who started it, and he nods quickly, looking like he wants to crawl into the floor. ¡°Good,¡± I say simply, my voice dropping back down. Then I shake my head, turning back toward my locker. Behind me, the air stays quiet, heavier now. And just as I¡¯m about to sit back down and strip off my pads, a voice cuts through the silence. ¡°Hayes.¡± I look up. Coach Harding stands in the doorway of his office, arms folded, expression unreadable. ¡°Step in here a minute,¡± he says. Oh fuck. My stomach tightens, but I just nod, set my stuff down, and follow him inside. Coach Harding shuts the office door behind me, and the muted buzz of the locker room fades. I stand just inside, trying to keep my expression neutral, even though my stomach¡¯s already in knots. He drops into his chair, leaning back and folding his arms across his chest, his sharp gaze fixed on me like he can see right through me. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, my hands balling into fists at my sides. ¡°You wanted to see me, Coach?¡± He doesn¡¯t answer right away. Just studies me, his lips pressed into a thin line. My chest gets tight. Here ites. I knew this day woulde eventually. The way he¡¯s looking at me, like he already knows what I¡¯ve been doing. Like he already knows I spent the night with his daughter. Like he¡¯s about to tear me apart piece by piece for daring to even look at her, let alone?¡ª ¡°You want to tell me what¡¯s going on?¡± he asks finally, his voice low. I swallow hard, my mind scrambling for something to say. ¡°Look, Coach,¡± I blurt. ¡°I know what you¡¯re thinking?¡ª¡± His brow furrows. ¡°You do?¡± I nod quickly, heat crawling up the back of my neck. ¡°And I just¡ª¡± I hesitate, then sigh. ¡°It wasn¡¯t nned, okay? And I know it¡¯s crossing a line, and I swear I¡¯m not trying to hurt her or?¡ª¡± He cuts me off with a raised hand, his eyes narrowing. ¡°What the hell are you talking about, Hayes?¡± I blink. ¡°Uh¡­nothing?¡± His brow stays furrowed, but he shakes his head slightly, muttering something under his breath. Then he straightens and grabs a stack of papers from his desk, sliding them toward me. I nce down at them. Logos. NFL logos. Team letterheads. Notes. ¡°You¡¯ve got three teams asking for extra film on you,¡± he says tly. I stare. ¡°And another two asking if they cane watch you at practice next week.¡± For a second, I can¡¯t even speak. Coach leans back in his chair, arms folded, his eyes still on me. ¡°You¡¯ve been putting up numbers all season,¡± he says. ¡°You¡¯ve been carrying yourself like a pro, on and off the field. And they¡¯re noticing.¡± I finally force myself to look up at him, my heart still hammering for apletely different reason now. ¡°They¡­they really asked about me?¡± I manage. ¡°They did.¡± His mouth curves into the faintest smile. ¡°And if you keep your head on straight, they¡¯ll keep asking.¡± I let out a shaky breath, sinking into the chair across from his desk. Because for the first time, it actually feels real. ¡°Now, what were you saying about not hurting her?¡± The blood immediately leaves my face. ¡°Oh, I thought you were talking about something else. Hey, I gotta go. I¡¯ll see you at film on Monday.¡± I¡¯m out of the office before I can read his expression, but I can hear him grumble as I tear out of there. ¡°Fucking football yers¡­¡± Can¡¯t argue with the sentiment. Especially when I¡¯m falling for his daughter. Red Zone: Chapter 34 I stare at my phone for a solid five minutes before I finally work up the nerve to call him. It rings once. Twice. ¡°Hey.¡± His voice is low and warm, and stupidly it already makes my chest feel lighter. ¡°Hi,¡± I say, trying to sound casual. ¡°You busy?¡± A beat of silence. Then a faintugh. ¡°For you? Never.¡± I bite back a smile, fiddling with the hem of my sweatshirt. ¡°I was just wondering if you wanted to hang out for a little bit. Nothing big. Just¡­you know.¡± His voicees back, teasing now. ¡°You asking me on a date, Harding?¡± ¡°Shut up,¡± I mumble, cheeks heating. ¡°It¡¯s just milkshakes or something.¡± Heughs again, and I swear I can hear the smile in his voice when he says, ¡°Be ready in five. I¡¯m picking you up.¡± Before I even hang up, my heart¡¯s racing like I sprinted a mile.
Five minutester, true to his word, his Jeep rumbles to a stop in front of my apartment. I grab my jacket and slip outside, tugging the hood up against the night air. When I slide into the passenger seat, he just nces at me with that lopsided grin of his and mutters, ¡°Hey, Red.¡± I roll my eyes. ¡°Hey, Hayes.¡± We don¡¯t say much as he pulls onto the main road, his hand draped loosely over the gearshift, the faint hum of the radio filling the quiet. It¡¯s nice. Simple. Exactly what I needed after today. When we pull into the little diner on the edge of town, the one with the faded neon milkshake sign, Carter nces at me with a faint smirk. ¡°Vani or vani?¡± I arch a brow. ¡°Who says I¡¯m getting vani?¡± ¡°Because you always do.¡± I pretend to look offended. ¡°Not true.¡± He just shakes his head and gets out, rounding the Jeep to open my door before I can even move. And okay. Maybe I let myself smile at that, just a little. A few minutester, we¡¯re back in the Jeep, milkshakes in hand. I take a long sip of the salted caramel cookie crunch, my favorite, letting the sweetness settle before I finally work up the courage to ask. ¡°So¡­¡± I start slowly. Carter nces at me out of the corner of his eye, a straw between his lips. ¡°So?¡± I chew on the edge of my straw for a second, then blurt, ¡°What happened in the locker room after the game?¡± That earns me a raised brow. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Because¡­¡± I hesitate, then sigh. ¡°Jaxon came over. And he was upset. Like, really upset. Madison tried to talk to him, but he wouldn¡¯t say much. He just shut down. I figured they needed some privacy, so I just hung outside until you came.¡± Carter¡¯s jaw tightens slightly as he stares at the road ahead. ¡°Something happen with him?¡± I press gently. Carter exhales slowly, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. ¡°Some dumbass decided to run his mouth about Madison. Jax handled it.¡± My stomach twists. ¡°Handled it how?¡± He nces at me, then back at the road, a wry smile tugging at his mouth. ¡°Let¡¯s just say I¡¯ve never seen a locker room go that quiet, that fast.¡± I shake my head, the ache in my chest deepening. ¡°I just¡­I hate that he was hurting. He doesn¡¯t usually let it show like that.¡± For a second, Carter doesn¡¯t say anything. Then his hand drops from the wheel, resting lightly over mine where it sits in myp. ¡°He¡¯s got her,¡± he says quietly. ¡°That¡¯s all that matters.¡± I nce at him, my heart doing that annoying little flutter thing it does whenever he surprises me by being serious. I turn my hand over and slip my fingers through his and don¡¯t let go of his hand. Not for the rest of the drive. I almost don¡¯t notice when he turns off the main road, the streetlights fading behind us as we bump down a narrowerne toward the water. It smells like salt out here, like brine and cool air, and the faint roar of waves grows louder with every turn of his tires. I nce at him, but he just keeps his eyes on the road, his free hand draped over the steering wheel like he¡¯s been here a hundred times before. A few secondster, the pavement gives way to gravel, and he eases the Jeep into a small, half-lit lot at the end of the road. Beyond it, I can see the long, dark line of a jetty stretching into the ocean. The rocks glisten faintly in the moonlight, and the waves crash rhythmically against the shore, filling the Jeep with peaceful sounds. Carter throws it into park and cuts the engine, leaning back in his seat with a little sigh like he¡¯s been waiting to get here all night. ¡°This is nice,¡± I say quietly, ncing out at the water. ¡°Yeah,¡± he says, and I can hear the faint smile in his voice, even though I don¡¯t look at him yet. ¡°Not a lot of peoplee out here thiste. Just the waves, the rocks¡­and you.¡± I nce over at that, rolling my eyes just enough to cover the way my cheeks heat. ¡°Do you always ruin nice moments like this?¡± I mutter, taking another sip of my milkshake. He chuckles softly. ¡°Not always. Just when you¡¯re here to see it.¡± For a minute, we sit infortable silence, the only sounds are that of the ocean and the faint slurp of his straw as he polishes off thest of his shake. We sit there for another long minute, the waves crashing in steady rhythm outside the Jeep. Eventually Carter leans back again, his fingers drummingzily on his empty milkshake cup. ¡°You know,¡± he says finally, ncing sideways at me. ¡°You don¡¯t have to feel sorry for Jax. He¡¯s tougher than he looks. And Madison¡¯s the only thing that gets under his skin like that.¡± I smile faintly at that, shaking my head. ¡°Still. I¡¯ve never seen him like that before.¡± ¡°Well¡­¡± Carter smirks, tossing his cup into the backseat. ¡°That wasn¡¯t the only fun part of the night. Your dad also wanted a word with me.¡± That makes me blink, my head snapping toward him. ¡°My dad?¡± Carter shrugs like it¡¯s nothing. ¡°Yeah. He called me into his office after the game.¡± I gape at him. ¡°Oh my god. Why didn¡¯t you lead with that?¡± He grins, clearly enjoying himself. ¡°What happened? Did he¡ªdid he say something?¡± I press, sitting up straighter. Carter leans an elbow on the steering wheel, his expression faintly smug. ¡°I thought he was going to,¡± he admits. ¡°Swear to god, my stomach dropped as soon as he shut the door. I almost outed myself right there, like an idiot. Started rambling about how it wasn¡¯t nned and how I didn¡¯t mean to cross a line?¡ª¡± I p my hand over my mouth, but theugh still bursts out anyway. ¡°Oh no,¡± I say between giggles. ¡°You caved under pressure before he even used you of anything?¡± Carter shoots me a mock re, but his grin is quick to follow. ¡°Yeah, yeah,ugh it up, Princess. d the possibility of my dick being removed from my body is so funny to you.¡± I rx back in my seat, still grinning, and sip thest of my milkshake. ¡°So what did he actually want?¡± I ask once myughter dies down. Carter¡¯s smirk fades into something softer as he looks out at the ocean, the moonlight making the sharp lines of his face look even more defined. ¡°He said NFL scouts are already asking about me. That teams have been calling him for film.¡± That pulls me up short. ¡°Oh,¡± I say quietly, my chest tightening a little. He nces at me, and there¡¯s something almost shy in his expression. ¡°Didn¡¯t really feel real until he said it,¡± he admits. I watch him for a second, his jaw tight, his fingers flexing against his knee like he doesn¡¯t quite know what to do with the weight of it all. And it makes me feel¡­weirdly protective. ¡°Well,¡± I say softly, bumping his shoulder with mine. ¡°Guess you better keep your head on straight then, huh?¡± He nces down at me, his grin tugging back into ce. ¡°What, you don¡¯t think I can handle the pressure?¡± I tilt my head, giving him a mock-serious look. ¡°Hmm¡­jury¡¯s still out on that one.¡± Heughs, shaking his head. Then his smile fades a little, and he leans closer, his voice dropping low. ¡°But seriously, L¡ªthis thing between us¡ªis it what you want?¡± I freeze for just a second, his words sinking in as his gaze searches mine. Do I want this? I swallow, my fingers twisting in myp before I finally meet his eyes. ¡°I¡­¡± My voicees out softer than I mean for it to. ¡°I do. But we¡¯ll have to keep it quiet. For now. Between your spot on the team and¡­and my internship¡­it¡¯s just safer that way.¡± He studies me for another long moment before he nods, leaning back again. ¡°Fine,¡± he says with a little shrug, but there¡¯s a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. ¡°Guess I can y secret boyfriend for now. Sneaking around is kinda hot.¡± I roll my eyes at the term, but my cheeks warm anyway. ¡°Don¡¯t get ahead of yourself, Hayes,¡± I mutter, trying not to smile as I turn back toward the waves. But I can still feel his gaze on me, steady and warm, like he already knows what I won¡¯t say out loud yet. By the time we pull back into my apartmentplex, the milkshake cups are long empty and the radio is ying low in the background. Carter cuts the engine but doesn¡¯t move to get out. Neither do I. The lot is quiet at this hour¡ªjust a few scattered cars and the glow of the streetlight casting long shadows on the pavement. I nce at him, but he¡¯s leaning back in his seat, one hand draped over the wheel, the other restingzily on his thigh. Like he¡¯s in no rush to go anywhere. And neither am I. The air in the Jeep is warmer now than it was earlier, but a faint chill still seeps through the cracked window, carrying with it the smell of salt and asphalt and him. We sit there in silence for a while, watching a stray cat dart between cars, listening to the faint hum of the streetlight. Eventually, he shifts in his seat, turning his head just enough to look at me. ¡°You gonna tell me what you¡¯re really thinking right now?¡± he asks, his voice low and easy. I nce at him, startled, and find his eyes already on mine. The corner of his mouth curves up slightly, but it¡¯s not the cocky smirk I¡¯m used to. It¡¯s softer. Like he already knows he¡¯s gotten under my skin. I hesitate, then turn in my seat to face him fully, tucking one knee under me as I lean back against the door. The streetlight catches on the faint scruff at his jaw, on the shadows in his eyes. And before I can even think about stopping myself, I ask quietly, ¡°Do you ever wonder what happens if we get caught?¡± He studies me for a long moment, then lets out a light chuckle, shaking his head like the thought doesn¡¯t scare him at all. ¡°Not really,¡± he says simply, his gaze still locked on mine. And somehow, that answer scares me more than anything. I lean back against the seat, still facing him, my shoulder pressing lightly into the door. The silence stretches again, but this time it feels different. Not heavy. Not ufortable. Just¡­full. And when his lips part, like he¡¯s about to say something else, I hold my breath¡ªwaiting. ¡°Tell me something no one else knows about you. Something you think no one would care to know or care about.¡± Iugh, getting morefortable before answering him. We talk for hours, about anything and everything. From the dreams we have for our futures to our favorite colors and bands. When I quietly shut my bedroom doorter that morning, it¡¯s only a few hours until the day begins, and I can¡¯t wait to see him again. Red Zone: Chapter 35 By the time I leave my Wednesday morning lecture, my phone is already buzzing with notifications. Emails, calendar reminders, and one text from Carter that just says don¡¯t work too hard, Princess. I can¡¯t help the faint smile that pulls at my lips, even as I duck into the athletics building and head toward my first meeting of the day. Grayson Bet is already waiting when I get there, leaning back in the chair outside the conference room like he owns the ce. ¡°L,¡± he greets, shing me that easy, hockey-boy grin. ¡°Grayson,¡± I reply, setting myptop bag on the table as we step inside. Grayson is the easiest of my three NIL athletes to deal with. He¡¯s good-natured, polite enough to listen to feedback, and genuinely seems excited about the dealsing his way. He¡¯s also not making it hard to focus, unlike Carter. We spend twenty minutes reviewing the current offers¡ªlocal sportswear brands, a mid-tier energy drinkpany, and an appearance deal at a youth hockey camp. ¡°This one,¡± he says decisively, tapping his finger against the camp contract. ¡°That¡¯s the one I care about. The rest we can talk aboutter.¡± I make a note, ncing up at him. ¡°You know, most guys your age would¡¯ve picked the paycheck over themunity event.¡± Grayson just shrugs, grinning again. ¡°My mom would never let me hear the end of it if I didn¡¯t show the kids some love.¡± Iugh under my breath and pack up my notes. ¡°Good choice. I¡¯ll follow up with them and circle back once we have more details.¡± We shake hands, and just like that, he¡¯s gone¡ªoff to practice, leaving me alone in the conference room to prep for my next meeting. Savannah. I don¡¯t even have to look at the clock to know she¡¯s going to show up fashionablyte. Sure enough, ten minutester, she breezes in wearing oversized sunsses and a designer warmup set, her glossy blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail. ¡°Sorry, ran over,¡± she says, not sounding sorry at all. I keep my voice polite as I gesture to the seat across from me. ¡°That¡¯s fine. I wanted to go over thetest list of brands that have reached out to sponsor you.¡± Her sunssese off, and she props her chin on her hand, giving me a perfectly bored look. I flip myptop around so she can see the list. ¡°Here are the names¡ªmostly fitness brands and a few apparel lines. And¡­yes. Posie and Company is still interested.¡± Savannah makes a face, sitting up straighter. ¡°No,¡± she says tly. ¡°I know you¡¯ve mentioned you¡¯re not interested,¡± I start carefully. ¡°But they¡¯vee back with an increased offer and a much shorter contract term. It would still be one of the more lucrative deals you¡¯ve had?¡ª¡± She cuts me off with a wave of her manicured hand. ¡°I don¡¯t care if they offer me stock in thepany. I¡¯m not working with the same brand that signed Avery Daniels. End of story.¡± Her tone leaves no room for argument, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from sighing. Instead, I just nod and make a note. ¡°I¡¯ll let them know,¡± I say evenly. ¡°Thank you,¡± she replies, leaning back and pulling her phone out of her bag like the meeting is already over. I close myptop, gather my things, then stand. And as I leave the room, I can¡¯t help but wonder if she realizes how much easier she makes it to root against her.
Coming into the second half of the week, I can¡¯t help but feel like my brain has been wrung out like a dish rag. Finals week at PCU is brutal, and no amount of color-coded nners or perfectly timed study breaks can make up for the way my nerves coil tighter with each passing day. It¡¯s like trying to sprint a marathon. By Thursday morning, I¡¯ve already sat through two exams, written one case study, and outlined a research paper on consumer psychology that¡¯s still waiting to be typed. But there¡¯s onest thing on my checklist before I can even think about breathing again: my final presentation for Marketing Strategy. I smooth down my zer as I stand at the front of the ssroom, trying not to let the quiet murmur of my ssmates get under my skin. On the screen behind me is the title slide: Social Media-Driven NIL Deals: Growth Strategies and Long-Term Impact My professor nods from her seat. ¡°Whenever you¡¯re ready, Ms. Harding.¡± I take a breath, clutching my clicker, and start. ¡°Over the past semester, I¡¯ve worked closely with several of PCU¡¯s student-athletes to develop and execute targeted marketing strategies designed to maximize the visibility and value of their NIL deals,¡± I begin, my voice steady, even though my stomach is still tight. I click to the next slide¡ªgraphs, charts, snapshots of campaign engagement numbers. ¡°These are the results: an average thirty-seven percent increase in follower engagement, a twenty-two percent uptick in unique impressions, and¡ªmost importantly¡ªfour additional brand contracts signed as a direct result of the social media growth.¡± I nce at the professor, then back at the room, feeling a little more confidence creep into my voice. ¡°Not only does this approach improve current earning potential, it positions these athletes for longevity with their brands after graduation, fostering rtionships that extend beyond their ying careers.¡± I move through the next few slides¡ªoutlining strategies for brand alignment, crisis management, and audience retention. And by the time I hit my final point, something strange happens. I actually smile. Because as much as I¡¯ve second-guessed myself this semester, the numbers don¡¯t lie. This n works. My n works. I finish with a neat little bow, field a couple of softball questions, and gather my things as the professor thanks me. When I finally sink back into my seat, my hands are still a little shaky. But my heart feels just a little lighter. Because for the first time in weeks, I let myself feel it. Pride.
The first yoff game is a blur of noise, adrenaline, and freezing wind. The stadium is packed to the brim, and the energy crackling off the field is electric from the very first snap. PCU dominates from the opening drive. Jaxon and Carter are locked in, the defense holds strong, and by the fourth quarter, the student section is already chanting for the next round. When the final whistle blows and the scoreboard shes a two-touchdown win, the roar of the crowd rattles through my bones. And then, as always, it¡¯s my turn to work. I stand near the thirty-yard line with my mic and notepad, waiting as yers jog off the field one by one. My jacket is zipped all the way to my chin, but the wind still bites at my cheeks as I stop each of the key yers in turn. Jaxon is first¡ªcalm and focused as ever. ¡°Great win tonight, Jaxon,¡± I say over the noise. ¡°What do you credit for the team¡¯s energying out so strong?¡± He shes that practiced, easy smile. ¡°We¡¯ve been preparing for this moment since summer camp. Everyone bought in. Everyone did their job. And now we¡¯re one step closer to where we want to be.¡± ¡°Thanks,¡± I say with a small nod. Beck is next, sweaty and grinning ear to ear, tossing his gloves to a kid in the front row. ¡°You yed lights out tonight,¡± I tell him as he stops in front of me. ¡°Eh,¡± he says with a wink. ¡°What can I say? Some of us were born for the yoffs.¡± I roll my eyes but jot his quote down anyway before waving him on. And then, of course, thest one toe off the field is Carter. Helmet under his arm, hair damp with sweat, ck eye paint smeared. He jogs toward me with that lopsided grin already tugging at his mouth. ¡°Harding,¡± he greets, voice low and warm, stopping just a little too close. I adjust my mic, forcing my expression into something resembling neutral. ¡°Hayes. Impressive game.¡± ¡°You noticed,¡± he says, his smirk deepening. I clear my throat. ¡°What was the key for you tonight? You seemed locked in from the very first drive.¡± He leans in slightly, eyes glittering under the lights. ¡°Just had a little extra motivation.¡± I lift a brow, keeping my professional tone. ¡°Care to borate on what that motivation was?¡± Carter¡¯s gaze holds mine, yful but steady. ¡°Let¡¯s just say there was someone on the sidelines tonight that I didn¡¯t want to disappoint.¡± My cheeks heat instantly, but I don¡¯t drop my professional fa?ade. ¡°Thanks for your time, Hayes,¡± I say coolly, lowering the mic and scribbling down his quote as he jogs past. But the smile tugging at his lips as he nces back at me tells he knows exactly what he just did. Red Zone: Chapter 36 The holidays are weird for me. Always have been. Driving through campus tonight, it feels like the whole world is strung up in lights¡ªevery tree trunk wrapped in little white bulbs, wreaths on every dorm door, carols ying through speakers by the quad. And I like it. I really do. There¡¯s something about it that makes me feel¡­I don¡¯t know. Softer. Like the air is easier to breathe when it smells faintly like pine and sugar cookies. I¡¯ve got a soft spot for the Grinch too. Don¡¯t ask me why. Probably something about a guy who thinks he doesn¡¯t belong but still can¡¯t help giving a damn anyway. And yeah, I watch the Holiday Baking Championship. Every year. Even when the guys give me shit for knowing the difference between Italian and Swiss meringue. It¡¯s my guilty pleasure, all right? But even with all that, when the lights are glowing and the music¡¯s ying, there¡¯s still this weight that settles in my chest. Because this time of year also reminds me of everything I didn¡¯t have growing up. There¡¯s no family waiting for me back home. No tree. No stupid traditions or inside jokes. Just memories of bouncing from one foster house to the next, never staying long enough to feel like I was really wanted anywhere. I never say any of this out loud¡ªnot to the guys, not to anyone. Far as the team knows, I¡¯m just Carter Hayes. QB1. Party guy. Always up for augh. Always good with the girls. But nobody in that locker room knows what it feels like to sit alone on Christmas morning in a stranger¡¯s living room while their real kids tear open presents and you just¡­watch. Nobody but Coach Harding. He¡¯s the only one who knows the whole story, because he was the one who helped me get here. He took a chance on meing right out of high school. In one of our first meetings, he asked me what would be the main roadblock keeping me from attending PCU that fall. I was honest, telling him that I was barely able to keep enough food on hand with working at the local grocery store, and definitely hadn¡¯t been able to save for college. He looked at me that day, without pity, and told me he¡¯d be honored if I¡¯de y for him that fall. My grades weren¡¯t the best, but he still took a chance and talked the school into offering me a full-ride schrship toe y ball. I don¡¯t know if I¡¯d still be ying if it weren¡¯t for him. I don¡¯t even know if I¡¯d still be in school. And maybe that¡¯s why, even now, I do what I can to make sure kids like me don¡¯t feel forgotten this time of year. Every December since my freshman year, I¡¯ve organized a holiday charity event through the athletic department. Food, coats, gifts¡ªwhatever we can collect for local kids in the system. Some of the guys on the team volunteer to help, which is great, but none of them know why it matters to me. Why it feels like the least I can do. And I don¡¯t want them to know. Because then it¡¯s not about the kids anymore¡ªit¡¯s about me. And that¡¯s not the point. I pull into my spot outside the football house, cutting the engine and sitting there for a minute, watching my breath fog up the windshield. The street¡¯s lined with little houses covered in twinkling lights. I tell myself they don¡¯t mean anything. But deep down, a part of me still wishes I belonged somewhere like that. Somewhere I didn¡¯t have to wonder if I was wanted. And maybe that¡¯s why I work so hard to make everyone else believe I already do. I finally grab my keys and climb out of the Jeep, my boots crunching against the frosted driveway. It¡¯s loud inside already¡ªshouts andughter spilling out through the front door every time it opens. A couple of the guys are hanging on the porch, beers in hand, still riding the high of the yoff win. I head around back to the hatch of the Jeep, flipping it open and starting to unload the bags I¡¯d stuffed back here earlier. stic bags full of toys, winter coats, little sneakers still in their boxes. One bag. Two. Three. It feels heavier this year. Not because the bags actually weigh more¡ªbut because this year I can afford more. The NIL money has been a blessing, no question. More than I ever thought I¡¯d see at this age. And if I can use it to keep just one kid in the system from feeling like they don¡¯t matter? Then it¡¯s worth every dor. I¡¯m halfway back to the hatch for another load when the front door swings open and Logan steps out, hoodie sleeves shoved to his elbows, his eyes lighting up when he spots me. ¡°Yo! Carter¡¯s here!¡± he calls back into the house, jogging over to grab a couple bags out of my hands. Before I can even say anything, a couple more guys spill outside, grinning and pping me on the back. ¡°What¡¯s all this?¡± one of them asks, taking a bag and peeking inside. ¡°Donations,¡± I say simply, nodding toward the house. ¡°You¡¯re a better man than me, Hayes,¡± Logan says with a low whistle as he carries two big bags inside. I just shake my head faintly, grabbing thest two myself and following them in. The house is even louder once I step inside¡ªChristmas music ring from someone¡¯s speaker, the dining tablepletely covered in rolls of wrapping paper, scissors, tape, and bows. Half the guys are already crowded around, carefully¡ªor not so carefully¡ªwrapping toys and clothes with clumsy fingers. Logan drops his bags on a chair and grins. ¡°We¡¯re about halfway through the pile. School really went all out this year, huh?¡± I just nod again, setting the rest of the bags down by the table. It¡¯s not really a lie, letting them think it¡¯s just a school donation drive. But this year¡­it¡¯s me. Because I know what it feels like to open a package from some nameless charity and feel like just another statistic. If these kids can see that someone¡ªa real person, one who has faced the same unknowns and uncertainties as they have, cared enough to make sure they have something to open this year¡­ Maybe it¡¯ll help keep one of them on the right path. Even if just for a little while. I grab a roll of paper and slide into an empty chair, nodding at the pile of unwrapped gifts in the corner. ¡°All right,¡± I say, cracking a faint smile as the guys look up at me expectantly. ¡°Let¡¯s get to work.¡± Jaxon grins at me from the end of the table, his hands already halfway through wrapping what looks like a toy firetruck. ¡°Figured we¡¯d get the rookies warmed up before the boss showed up.¡± It makes meugh, even though the word boss feels weird. I¡¯m just¡­me. Just trying to do something good with the money I¡¯ve been blessed with. Still. I can¡¯t deny how good it feels to see them all here¡ªjoking, eating, arguing over whose bow-tying technique is better. I slide right into the chaos, handing out scissors, tape, and the little cards I had printed up for the kids. Nobody here knows the full story¡ªthat these aren¡¯t just names on a list to me. That I¡¯ve been one of those names. Sitting in some quiet group home, pretending not to care when Christmas came and went without so much as a knock on the door. Jaxon nudges me with his elbow at one point. ¡°You good?¡± I nod, shing him a smile. ¡°Yeah. Just taking it all in.¡± We¡¯re halfway through wrapping when I notice something strange. It smells¡­good. Like really good. Like sugar, cinnamon, and maybe something burning. I look up just in time to see Beck emerge from the kitchen, hands covered in flour, a sheepish grin on his face. ¡°Uh¡­anyone know how to work an oven timer?¡± he asks. The entire table bursts outughing. Jaxon groans and tosses his roll of tape on the table. ¡°What did you do now?¡± ¡°Nothing!¡± Beck protests. ¡°I just thought, you know¡­cookies would be a nice touch. Like, for the kids. Or¡­us.¡± He holds up his hands. ¡°But the recipe¡¯s got, like, steps and measurements and all kinds of witchcraft, man.¡± I can¡¯t help it¡ªI startughing too. Jaxon stands up, shaking his head like he¡¯s dealing with a toddler. ¡°I swear, you¡¯re hopeless.¡± ¡°Hey,¡± Beck says, following Jaxon back toward the kitchen. ¡°Just wait till you taste ¡¯em. You¡¯ll see.¡± From my seat at the table, I can hear them bickering in the kitchen. Jaxon telling Beck he used too much flour, Beck insisting that ¡°more is better,¡± then the sound of pans ttering and the oven door squeaking open. It¡¯s ridiculous. And yet¡­it¡¯s perfect. These guys aren¡¯t just teammates. Not tonight. Tonight they¡¯re brothers. Even if we¡¯re all a little broken. Even if the family we were born into didn¡¯t stick. Somehow, here¡ªwith flour on the counters and pizza boxes stacked high andughter filling the air¡ªwe found each other anyway.
Later, just after dark, the door opens again. And there she is. L. Her red hair is up in that messy bun she always wears, a camera bag slung across her body. She hesitates for a second in the doorway, like she wasn¡¯t sure she¡¯d be wee, and then steps inside when she spots me. ¡°Coach asked me to grab some photos and clips for the athletic department,¡± she says by way of exnation, though her voice isn¡¯t quite as sharp as usual. I just nod, watching her as she pulls her camera out and starts moving through the room. She¡¯s quiet, but the guys wee her like she¡¯s one of us. They pose, theyugh when she catches them making dumb faces, and even Jaxon hams it up for her lens. And me? I can¡¯t stop watching her. How she softens when one of the freshmen offers her a slice of pizza. How she crouches down to get the perfect shot of the gift piles. How she smiles¡ªnot that polite smile she wears for her dad, but a real one¡ªwhen one of the guys thanks her for helping out. Found family. That¡¯s what tonight feels like. Even if she doesn¡¯t know it yet, she¡¯s part of that too. Red Zone: Chapter 37 ¡°How¡¯d finals week go, dude?¡± Logan¡¯s voice cuts through the quiet of the Jeep as he ms the hatch shut and leans back against the bumper, waiting for my answer. I wipe my hands on my jeans and give him a dry smile. ¡°About as good as you¡¯d expect for a guy who spent more time on a charity drive than cracking a book. But hey¡­I passed. That¡¯s what counts.¡± Logan chuckles and shakes his head. ¡°Bare Minimum Hayes strikes again.¡± I let that roll right off me. I¡¯ve never pretended to be an academic overachiever. Not when there¡¯s real life outside a ssroom that actually needs me. We hoist thest of the wrapped presents into the big stic bins by the loading dock of themunity center. Inside, volunteers are already lining them up under a massive Christmas tree. ¡°Looks good this year,¡± Logan says, stepping back to take it all in. It does. The bins are overflowing¡ªtoys, books, new coats. I almost can¡¯t believe how much we pulled together in just a couple weeks. My NIL money covered most of it, but seeing the guys pitch in with their own cash and time? That¡¯s what really got me. Logan ps his hands together for warmth and throws me a sideways look. ¡°So, you got any big ns over winter break?¡± I freeze just slightly, my smile slipping. ns. Right. Like I ever do. I force a shrug and start fiddling with the edge of one of the bins. ¡°Nah. Just stickin¡¯ around campus, probably. Lifting. Running drills. Same as always.¡± It¡¯s not a lie. Not really. But it¡¯s not the truth either. I don¡¯t say what I¡¯m really thinking¡ªthat there¡¯s nobody waiting for me anywhere else. No home to go back to, no family to eat dinner with or stockings to hang. This is it. This team. This school. That¡¯s all I¡¯ve got right now. Logan studies me for a second, like he wants to call me on it, but he just nods and smirks. ¡°Figures. Well, if you get bored, my mom makes a mean pot roast. Door¡¯s always open, man.¡± Something in my chest tightens at that. It¡¯s such a simple offer, but it hits harder than it should and means more than he knows. But I also don¡¯t enjoy feeling like a stray dog being let inside to warm up and be fed. ¡°Yeah,¡± I say quietly. ¡°Thanks, man.¡± We load the empty bins back into the Jeep and climb in. The heater whines to life, and Logan starts humming along with some Christmas song on the radio as we pull away from the curb. I stare out the window at the lights strung up around the little downtown, trying not to think too much. Because winter break isn¡¯t just quiet. It¡¯s lonely. And no amount of wrapped presents or Christmas cookies can change that. The drive back to the football house is quiet, just the steady hum of the heater and the faint sound of Logan tapping out a rhythm on the dashboard. I can tell he¡¯s already half-checked out, probably running through the weekend in his head. When we turn onto our street, there¡¯s already a car idling in the driveway. A sleek ck sedan, headlights cutting through the dark, exhaust curling in the chill air. Logan lets out a low whistle. ¡°Damn. He¡¯s early.¡± I pull in beside them and throw the Jeep in park. The passenger door of the sedan cracks open before we¡¯re even out, and a girl leans out just far enough for me to catch the look she¡¯s giving me. Daggers. Absolute daggers. Not subtle either¡ªlike she¡¯s got something to prove. I raise an eyebrow but don¡¯t say anything, mming the door shut and grabbing my keys. The driver¡¯s door opens a secondter, and Logan¡¯s friend climbs out¡ªall easy confidence and tailored nnel, walking like he owns the ce. ¡°Yo, Logan!¡± he calls, spreading his arms. ¡°You ready to hit the road or what?¡± Logan grins and grabs his duffel from the back of my Jeep. ¡°Hell yeah. Thanks foring to get me, man.¡± They meet halfway in the driveway, pping each other on the shoulder and trading that kind of bro handshake only lifelong best friends can pull off. Logan gestures between the two of us. ¡°Cameron, this is Carter Hayes.¡± Cameron holds out his hand for me to shake, so I return the gesture. ¡°Nice to meet you. Impressive stats this season, even if you¡¯re wearing the wrong colors.¡± I smirk at that, ¡°Ah, that¡¯s right. You¡¯re on the basketball team up at Ashwood.¡± ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± Cameron smacks Logan on the shoulder before heading back toward his vehicle. ¡°Y¡¯all stole my guy away from me, and now he¡¯s all kinds of confused.¡± ¡°Too bad we continue to smoke your guys¡¯ football team, huh?¡± Loganughs as he dodges a fake punch as they both walk toward the idling sedan. Logan nces back at me after throwing his bag in the trunk, his grin faltering just a hair. ¡°You good, Hayes?¡± I force a smirk, shing him a thumbs-up. ¡°Golden. Don¡¯t worry about me. Go enjoy your break.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t mind Miss Perfect. She¡¯s all bark, no bite.¡± ¡°Get fucked, Brooks.¡± The girl in the front seat flips him the bird over her shoulder, not even looking his way. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you love to.¡± ¡°Dude, that¡¯s my sister. Fucking hell, you two are already giving me a headache and we haven¡¯t even left yet,¡± Cameron grumbles, putting the car in reverse and sending a small wave before pulling out onto the street. I just stand there for a second, watching the taillights fade, and mutter to myself: ¡°What the hell was that about?¡± Because whatever that was¡­it sure as hell didn¡¯t look like just a little harmless trash talk. And knowing Logan? It probably won¡¯t end quietly. Or well.
The house is quiet when I walk back in. I head straight upstairs, kick off my shoes, and copse on my bed without bothering to turn on the lights. The TV remote¡¯s still on my nightstand from the other night, so I grab it and flick on the screen. Holiday Baking Championship fills the room with warm light and the sound ofughter, and it¡¯s better than silence. But not by much. I grab my phone, scrolling past group texts and junk notifications until I find her name. Princess My thumb hovers for a second before I tap out a message. you still up? I set the phone on my chest, pretending to watch the TV as I wait. The bakers are arguing about royal icing versus buttercream, but I can¡¯t focus on a damn thing. No reply. I stare at the screen a little longer. Then I sigh, swipe, and hit call. The line rings in my ear, and I close my eyes, listening. One. Two. Three. Come on, Harding. Just pick up. Click. ¡°Hello?¡± Her voicees through after the fourth ring. ¡°Hey,¡± I say, settling back against the headboard. ¡°It¡¯s me.¡± A beat, then a softugh, like she can¡¯t help herself. ¡°Yeah,¡± she says. ¡°I figured. Took you long enough.¡± That makes me smile. ¡°Didn¡¯t know you were waiting on me.¡± ¡°I wasn¡¯t,¡± she says, but her tone betrays her. I let that hang there, grinning at the ceiling. ¡°What¡¯re you up to?¡± I ask after a second. ¡°Nothing,¡± she admits. ¡°Just¡­winding down. It¡¯s quiet here. Feels weird.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± I murmur, ncing at the bakers arguing on my TV. ¡°Tell me about it. The football house feels like a tomb already.¡± She hums like she knows exactly what I mean. We fall into easy talk after that¡ªfinals, the charity thing, how Beck almost set off the smoke rm with his cookies. Sheughs at that, reallyughs, and it does something to me. I¡¯m still smiling when she finally goes quiet, and I hear her shift on the other end of the line. ¡°You don¡¯t have to sit in the quiet alone,¡± she says softly, almost shyly. ¡°You know that, right?¡± My chest goes a little tight at that. And before I can stop myself, I say it. ¡°We can be alone together.¡± The line goes still for half a second, and then she lets out another littleugh, warmer this time. ¡°That sounds¡­better than this,¡± she says. I know Madison went home with Jaxon for the holidays, and I¡¯d really rather she not be alone. I can practically hear her smiling. And it makes mine widen as I murmur, ¡°So¡­my ce or yours this time?¡± She huffs out a breath¡ªamused, not annoyed¡ªand for once, she doesn¡¯t deflect. ¡°You cane to me this time. See you in ten?¡± she asks. I¡¯ve got my shoes back on and am walking out the door before I know it, driving the few blocks separating her ce from mine.
The light over her door glows soft and gold against the dark, and when she opens it for me, she¡¯s already barefoot, wearing leggings and an oversized sweatshirt. ¡°Hey,¡± she says, her voice softer in person than it was on the phone. ¡°Hey,¡± I echo, stepping inside. Her apartment is quiet but cozy¡ªlights low, a candle burning on the counter, herptop still open on the coffee table. She shuts the door behind me and waves a hand toward the couch. ¡°You hungry? My skills aren¡¯t much better than yours in the kitchen, so your choices are ice cream, cup of noodles, or cup of noodles.¡± I chuckle at that. ¡°Cup of noodles sounds perfect.¡± I kick my shoes off and sink into the cushions, watching her move through the little kitchen. A couple minutester shees back with two steaming cups of instant noodles, handing me one of them, along with a fork. ¡°Didn¡¯t think you¡¯din,¡± she says with a faint smirk. ¡°Not a chance,¡± I tell her, tearing open the packet of seasoning. ¡°You kidding? This beats whatever¡¯s left in the fridge at my house.¡± She sits next to me, folding her legs under her, and for a little while we just eat infortable silence. It¡¯s¡­easy. Maybe too easy. I¡¯m halfway through my cup when she nces over at me, her expression thoughtful. ¡°So¡­¡± She starts, twirling noodles around her fork. ¡°What¡¯re your ns for Christmas?¡± I freeze for just a second, caught off guard by the question. Then I shrug, keeping my eyes on the cup in my hands. ¡°Nothing big. Just¡­hanging out, I guess.¡± ¡°Just hanging out?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± Her brows knit like she doesn¡¯t quite buy it. ¡°With who?¡± I swallow and force a littleugh. ¡°Just me. Always just me.¡± That hangs between us for a second. She doesn¡¯t say anything right away¡ªjust stares down at her noodles like she¡¯s thinking something over. And then she sets her cup on the coffee table and turns back to me. ¡°You shoulde to my dad¡¯s,¡± she says matter-of-factly. I blink at her. ¡°What?¡± ¡°For Christmas Eve,¡± she rifies. ¡°Dinner. He always does something. You don¡¯t have to stay the whole night, but¡­you shouldn¡¯t just sit around by yourself.¡± I let out a littleugh, caught somewhere between surprised and touched. ¡°You¡¯re inviting me to Coach¡¯s house? He¡¯d just love that.¡± Her lips twitch, like she knows it¡¯s not exactly a perfect n. ¡°Let me worry about him,¡± she says. ¡°What do you say, Hayes? Wanna spend Christmas Eve with me and my mess of a family?¡± And for the first time all day, something in my chest eases. I set my empty cup next to hers and lean back against the couch, ncing at her with the faintest smile. ¡°Yeah,¡± I say quietly. ¡°Yeah I do.¡± Red Zone: Chapter 38 The dashboard clock glows 5:42 as we head out of town, the winter sky already dark. The faint hum of Christmas music ys from the radio, but my thoughts are louder. I can¡¯t stop reying what I saw the other night. Carter¡ªin the middle of that football house chaos, smiling faintly to himself as his teammates wrapped presents for kids they¡¯d never meet. Kids like him. Because that¡¯s what this was really about, wasn¡¯t it? Not a school fundraiser, not a PR stunt. He¡¯d done it quietly, without telling anyone what it really meant to him. He¡¯d just¡­given. His own money. His own time. And sat there watching everyone elseugh and wrap gifts, like just seeing it was enough for him. Generous. Selfless. Two words I never would¡¯ve thought to use for Carter Hayes when I first met him. And yet¡­here we are. I grip the steering wheel a little tighter and sneak a quick nce at him. He¡¯s sitting back in the passenger seat, one hand resting casually on his thigh, watching the road like he hasn¡¯t got a care in the world. But I know better now. Underneath all that swagger, there¡¯s¡­more. More than he lets anyone see. And for the first time in a long time, I feel myself wondering if maybe he¡¯s someone I could actually get used to having around. That thought sends a little shock through me, and I tear my eyes back to the road. God. What am I even doing? We hit a stretch of silence, just the faint hum of tires on pavement and the croon of Bing Crosby in the background. My mind keeps drifting anyway¡ªwhen I called him instead of Madison, the look of happiness on his face as he and his teammates were preparing the Christmas gifts, back to how easy it is to talk to him when no one else is around, back to¡ª His handes down on my thigh, warm and steady, snapping me out of my thoughts. I jump just slightly and nce over at him. He smirks faintly and gives my leg a quick squeeze before letting his fingers rest there. ¡°You¡¯re thinking too hard, Princess,¡± he murmurs, his tone low and teasing. And for some reason, it makes my heart skip in a way I really wish it wouldn¡¯t. I force myself to breathe, to focus on the road. His hand stays there on my thigh, warm and grounding, like he doesn¡¯t even realize what it¡¯s doing to me. Or maybe he does. Either way, I don¡¯t say anything. By the time we turn into my dad¡¯s neighborhood, the sky¡¯s a deep navy and the houses are lit up with strings of lights and wreaths. Familiar, perfect little postcard homes, the kind people dream of. The kind Carter¡¯s never had. I sneak another nce at him as we pull into the driveway. He¡¯s already letting go of my leg, his easy smirk gone now, reced with something quieter. His walls are going back up. I cut the engine and sit there for a beat before getting out, smoothing my dress and forcing a smile. ¡°Ready?¡± I ask. He just nods and opens his door. The porch light¡¯s already on, and my dad opens the front door before we even knock. ¡°L,¡± he says warmly, stepping aside to let us in. ¡°And Carter¡ªgood to see you, son. Come on in.¡± ¡°Thanks, Coach,¡± Carter says easily, offering his hand. ¡°Appreciate you having me.¡± They shake, my dad pping him on the shoulder like he¡¯s already one of the family. I shrug out of my coat and hang it by the door, schooling my face into something neutral. Just friends. That¡¯s all we are. That¡¯s what everyone sees. ¡°Carter, this is my girlfriend, Nicole,¡± my dad says, motioning to the tall brteing in from the kitchen. ¡°And her daughter, Emmy.¡± Nicole smiles politely, stepping forward to shake Carter¡¯s hand. ¡°Nice to meet you,¡± she says. ¡°You too, ma¡¯am,¡± Carter replies smoothly. And then Emmy steps forward¡ªall teenage attitude, phone in hand, barely ncing up as she mumbles a disinterested, ¡°Hey.¡± ¡°Hey,¡± Carter replies with the faintest twitch of a smirk, like he¡¯s already clocked how unimpressed she is. We¡¯re ushered into the living room, where the fire¡¯s going and the table¡¯s already set for dinner. My dadunches into some story about a bowl game from his ying days, Carter nodding andughing in all the right ces, settling in like he¡¯s been doing this his whole life. And I sit there next to him, smiling and pretending it¡¯s nothing more than it is. Just friends. Even if my heart¡¯s not so sure anymore.
Dinner is warm, even if the air still hums with that familiar undercurrent of tension. It¡¯s just¡­how it always is here. Polished silverware, polite smiles, Nicole reminding everyone to ¡°try the sd,¡± and Emmy clearly angling to say something snide at the first opportunity. But Dad surprises me tonight. He actually seems present. ¡°So, Carter,¡± he says, leaning back in his chair as he cuts into his roast. ¡°What¡¯d you think of that Big Ten championship gamest weekend? You catch it?¡± Carter smirks faintly, leaning his elbow on the table. ¡°Caught every second, Coach. Hell of a finish. Thought Ohio State was about to steal it at the end there.¡± Dad lets out a lowugh and shakes his head. ¡°Folded like a house of cards. You ever let a defense push you back like that, Hayes?¡± ¡°Not if I can help it,¡± Carter says with an easy grin. Dad actuallyughs¡ªand it sounds real. Not forced, not clipped. It¡¯s¡­strange. In a good way. They go back and forth for a few minutes, Carter holding his own even when Dad starts throwing in the kind of pointed questions he saves for yers he actually respects. And the more they talk, the more I notice the sharp edges in my dad¡¯s voice dulling, like the weight he carries doesn¡¯t feel so heavy when he¡¯s talking football. Then, after a lull in conversation, he nces at me¡ªand his eyes soften. ¡°You remember,¡± he says suddenly, almost like he¡¯s asking himself. ¡°That Christmas at the old house? When you were about¡­eight?¡± I blink at him, my fork paused halfway to my mouth. ¡°I¡­yeah,¡± I say quietly. ¡°I remember.¡± Carter looks between us but doesn¡¯t say a word. Dad smiles faintly at the memory, leaning back in his chair. ¡°Your mom woke us all up at four in the morning because it had started snowing. Wouldn¡¯t let me go back to bed until I helped her get you bundled up and out in it. She¡­she made snow angels with you in the yard, right there in her pajamas.¡± My chest tightens at the memory, and I set my fork down carefully. Dad shakes his head with another quietugh, staring down at his te. ¡°She tracked half the yard back into the kitchen and ruined a whole pot of cocoa, but she couldn¡¯t have cared less. Said it was the best Christmas she ever had.¡± The table is quiet for a long beat. I clear my throat and give him a small smile. ¡°It was mine too.¡± He nces up at me, and for the first time in what feels like years, his smile almost reaches his eyes. And then, of course, Emmy pipes up. ¡°Well,¡± she says primly, straightening her shoulders. ¡°I made Coach cocoa this year. And it wasn¡¯t ruined.¡± Nicole shoots her a warning look, but Emmy just picks up her ss of water and takes a delicate sip, satisfied with herself. Carter¡¯s jaw flexes almost imperceptibly, but he doesn¡¯t say anything, just looks over at me with something in his eyes that feels like quiet understanding. I force a small smile back at him, even though my heart is still somewhere out in that yard on a snowy Christmas morning. The quiet after Dad¡¯s story stretches for a few beats, the air at the table feeling just a little lighter, like everyone¡¯s remembering what this night is supposed to feel like. And then Nicole¡ªpolite as ever¡ªshifts her attention across the table. ¡°So, Carter,¡± she says warmly, smiling at him. ¡°What about you? Where¡¯d you grow up?¡± Carter nces up, his fork pausing just briefly before he sets it down and leans back slightly. ¡°Little bit of everywhere, honestly,¡± he says, his voice calm but measured. ¡°Didn¡¯t really have one ce I stayed too long.¡± Nicole tilts her head, curious. ¡°Oh? Military family?¡± He lets out a low, quietugh at that¡ªbut it doesn¡¯t reach his eyes. ¡°Something like that,¡± he says. I study him from the corner of my eye. Most people wouldn¡¯t even notice the faint edge in his tone. But I do. I always do. Nicole nods politely, clearly not picking up on the subtle deflection. ¡°Well, wherever it was, you clearly picked up good manners along the way.¡± That earns him a faint smirk from my dad too. ¡°She¡¯s not wrong about that,¡± Dad adds. ¡°I¡¯ve seen a lot of kids roll through my program thinking they¡¯re hotshots before they¡¯ve earned it. Not you.¡± Carter just gives a small, easy smile at that. ¡°Appreciate that, Coach. Means a lot.¡± And just like that, the conversation drifts back to safer ground¡ªNicole chatting about the dessert she¡¯s nning to bring to her sister¡¯s house tomorrow, Dad groaning about the next football recruiting trip he has to take, and Emmy scrolling on her phone like none of it matters to her anyway. But I keep sneaking nces at Carter. Because even though he handles himself perfectly¡ªpolite, charming, even funny¡ªthere¡¯s still something about the way he answered that question. Something in the way he looked down at his te for just a second too long. Like there¡¯s more there than he¡¯s willing to say. I can tell the exact moment Carter starts to get ufortable. He covers it well¡ªstill smiling, still nodding¡ªbut there¡¯s a slight shift in his posture, his hand flexing once on his thigh under the table. Nicole¡¯s still talking about something, but her eyes keep flicking back to him like she¡¯s looking for more, like she¡¯s not ready to let him off the hook yet. And maybe it¡¯s selfish, but I don¡¯t want to watch him squirm. Not here. Not tonight. So, I set my napkin down and clear my throat. ¡°Well,¡± I say brightly, pushing my chair back. ¡°We should probably get going. Still have to stop by and see Carter¡¯s mom before it gets toote.¡± The table goes quiet for a beat, every pair of eyes snapping to me. Even Carter blinks at me, startled. ¡°Carter¡¯s mom, huh?¡± Dad asks, a small smirk raising the corner of his mouth, his eyes starting to sparkle like he¡¯s in on a private joke. I give him my most polite daughter smile. ¡°Mm-hm. Promised we¡¯d pop in and say hi before Christmas. You know. Family stuff.¡± Carter¡¯s lips twitch like he¡¯s about tough, but he presses them together and stands up too. ¡°Yep,¡± he says smoothly, grabbing his jacket, his voice sounding almost strained. Nicole nods understandingly, and even Dad doesn¡¯t argue, just gives Carter another firm handshake at the door. ¡°You¡¯re wee here anytime, Hayes,¡± he says gruffly. ¡°Thanks, Coach,¡± Carter replies. Dad pulls me in for a hug, kissing the top of my head. ¡°Merry Christmas, L June.¡± I can¡¯t really remember thest time he called me that, the realization bringing tears to my eyes instantly. ¡°Merry Christmas, Dad.¡± We say our goodbyes, Emmy dramatically announcing she¡¯ll ¡°just die¡± if she doesn¡¯t get thest slice of pie before we leave, and then we¡¯re finally back outside in the cold, walking to my car. It isn¡¯t until I¡¯m pulling out of the driveway that Carter finally lets himselfugh, low and warm from the passenger seat. ¡°Gonna let me in on the joke or keepughing by yourself?¡± ¡°See my mom, huh?¡± he says, looking over at me with that maddening smirk. I feel my cheeks heat, but I keep my eyes on the road. ¡°It worked, didn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°Oh, it worked,¡± he says, shaking his head with another quietugh. ¡°But you do realize your dad¡¯s been my coach for thest four years, right? The guy definitely knows I grew up in the system.¡± That makes meugh, in spite of myself. ¡°Yeah, well,¡± I shoot back. ¡°Then he should also know how ufortable you get when people start asking about it.¡± Carter just grins wider, leaning his head back against the seat like he¡¯s enjoying this a little too much. ¡°Princess,¡± he says, ncing over at me with a look that sends an unexpected little flutter through my chest. ¡°You keep paying this much attention to me, acting like you care and all that, people are gonna start talking.¡± I roll my eyes, but I can¡¯t quite hide my smile as I mutter, ¡°Let ¡¯em talk, quarterback. Let ¡¯em talk.¡± Red Zone: Chapter 39 For the first time in my life, Christmas didn¡¯te with that usual knot in my chest. No dread. No heavy silence in some foster house kitchen, watching other kids get picked up by family while I sat there pretending not to care. No cheap, stic tree in a group home corner, already half-tilted because nobody bothered fixing it. Just¡­her. L. Her dad¡¯s house, the awkward smiles, the tense little undercurrents I was starting to read between her and Emmy¡ªall of it somehow felt better than anything I¡¯d known before. And when she¡¯d leaned over the tableter, quietly asking if I¡¯d want to stay the night at her ce¡ªhelp her actually make cookies the right way this time¡ªI didn¡¯t even have to think about it. That¡¯s how we ended up in her tiny kitchen, half the flour on the counter, half of it on my shirt, and at least one batch of sugar cookies permanently fused to the pan. Not that I cared. She wasughing, and that was enough. Even when things got¡­messy. By the time thest tray came out of the oven, we¡¯d somehow managed to get more frosting and powdered sugar on each other than on the cookies. She¡¯d flicked flour at me, so of course I grabbed the whipped cream sitting on the counter from taking an ice cream break and got her back. One thing led to another, and before I knew it, she was pinned against the counter, breathless, her hands gripping the front of my shirt like she couldn¡¯t decide whether to shove me away or pull me closer. We never did finish decorating the rest of those cookies. Or cleaning the kitchen, for that matter.
When she finally dragged me to the showerter, mumbling something about ¡°conserving water,¡± I couldn¡¯t helpughing. But I sure as hell didn¡¯t argue. And now? Let¡¯s just say I¡¯ve got a whole new appreciation for whipped cream. And it¡¯s got nothing to do with sundaes. The nk of tes brings me back to reality and out of my daydream as I walk into the weight room. Jaxon¡¯s already at a bench, pressing what looks like half the gym¡¯s weight on the bar, and Logan¡¯s by the rack, loading up tes like he¡¯s got something to prove. I drop my bag and wander over, pulling a towel off the stack. ¡°Morning, sunshine,¡± I say to nobody in particr. Jaxon nces up mid-rep and grins like the idiot he is. ¡°Hey. Somebody finally decided to show up.¡± Logan doesn¡¯t look up at all. I smirk and start stretching out. ¡°How was Christmas?¡± That earns me two very different reactions. Jaxon lowers the bar, racks it, and sits up, running a hand through his hair. The grin hasn¡¯t left his face. ¡°Pretty damn good,¡± he says. ¡°Best one I¡¯ve had in years. Maybe ever.¡± He doesn¡¯t borate¡ªand he doesn¡¯t need to. I can tell by the stupid look on his face that it probably involved Madison. Logan, on the other hand¡­ He scowls down at the tes he¡¯s loading and mutters, ¡°Fine.¡± That¡¯s it. Fine. Which is exactly why I push. ¡°Fine?¡± I echo, raising a brow. ¡°That all? You sound like you had the time of your life, Brooks.¡± He shoots me a t look over his shoulder. ¡°Drop it, Hayes.¡± Of course I don¡¯t. I step up next to him, leaning a shoulder against the rack. ¡°What¡¯s the matter, man? Your buddy Cam give you crap for eating all the mashed potatoes or something?¡± His scowl deepens, which only makes me grin wider. Then it clicks. I snap my fingers. ¡°Ohhh. That¡¯s it. What¡¯s Cam¡¯s sister¡¯s name?¡± Logan freezes, just for a second. Bingo. ¡°That what¡¯s got you all moody?¡± I press, my grin sharp now. ¡°Your best friend¡¯s sister giving you hell?¡± He finally looks at me then, eyes narrowed, jaw tight. ¡°You know,¡± he says slowly. ¡°You¡¯ve got a real bad habit of running your mouth.¡± I chuckle, holding my hands up in mock surrender. ¡°Hey,¡± I say, backing off just slightly. ¡°I¡¯m just saying¡­whatever happened must¡¯ve been pretty damn memorable for you to look like that.¡± Jaxon, who¡¯s been watching this whole exchange with an amused smirk, finally chimes in. ¡°He¡¯s not wrong, man. You¡¯ve been walking around here like somebody stole your puppy.¡± Logan just shakes his head and goes back to stacking tes, muttering something under his breath I don¡¯t quite catch. I¡¯m just finishing myst set of squats when someone clears their throat behind me. I nce over my shoulder and find Coach Harding standing just inside the weight room doors. His arms are crossed, his expression unreadable. ¡°Hayes,¡± he calls. ¡°Got a minute?¡± I rack the bar and grab my towel, shooting Jaxon and Logan a shrug on my way out. The walk down the hall to his office feels longer than it probably is, every step echoing a little too loud in the quiet. Coach closes the door behind me once we¡¯re inside, motioning to the chair across from his desk. ¡°Sit.¡± I do, leaning forward on my knees as he lowers himself into his chair. For a second, he just studies me, and I swear I can feel the weight of whatever he¡¯s about to say hanging in the air. Finally, he exhales and rubs the back of his neck. ¡°Carter,¡± he starts, his voice lower than usual. ¡°I wanted to ask you something. About L.¡± That catches me off guard, but I keep my face neutral. ¡°I¡¯m listening,¡± I say. He sighs and leans back in his chair, staring at some invisible point on the wall. ¡°I worry I¡¯ve¡­ignored how she¡¯s really feeling. For too long. I¡¯ve been so focused on everything else¡ªon keeping things together, on work, on¡­everything¡ªthat I don¡¯t know how to read her anymore.¡± He finally meets my eyes. ¡°But I see the way she is with you. How she looks at you. And I figured¡­¡± He trails off for a beat. ¡°I figured maybe you¡¯d know better than I do right now.¡± I sit there for a long second, caught between surprise and the urge to run for my life. I shake my head. ¡°She¡¯s doing the best she can,¡± I say honestly. ¡°She¡¯s stronger than you probably even realize.¡± He nods faintly at that, but his frown deepens. ¡°You think she¡¯s upset with me?¡± he asks. I let out a quiet breath, choosing my words carefully. ¡°With all due respect, Coach,¡± I say. ¡°It¡¯s not my ce to answer that. If you want to know how she¡¯s really doing, you should ask her yourself. Not me.¡± His jaw tightens, and for a second I think I¡¯ve overstepped. But then he sits back in his chair and lets out a lowugh¡ªnot harsh this time, but almost proud. ¡°You know,¡± he says slowly. ¡°I wasn¡¯t sure about you at first. But you¡¯ve be one hell of a man, Hayes. A damn good quarterback too. And I¡¯m proud of the way you¡¯ve handled yourself.¡± Something tightens in my chest at that. ¡°Thank you, sir,¡± I say quietly. He nods and stands, pping me on the shoulder as I get up. ¡°Don¡¯t let her down,¡± he says simply. I look him square in the eye and nod. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t dream of it,¡± I tell him.
The football house is already wall-to-wall chaos by the time I get there. Music pounding so hard it rattles the windows, people packed into every corner of the living room, bodies swaying to the beat, shouting over each other. ssic. But before I can even grab a beer, I see him. Jaxon. Cutting through the crowd like he owns the ce, dark hoodie hanging loose on his frame, hair still damp from practice, eyes locked on one person¡ªMadison. And Jesus Christ. The way she looks at him, the way his hands immediately find her waist and his mouth ims hers without hesitation¡ªlike nothing else in the room exists? Yeah. They¡¯re in their own world. I can¡¯t even help the smirk that creeps onto my face as I watch him nt onest kiss on her before she finallyes up for air. ¡°All right, all right,¡± I call out, shaking my head as I raise my beer. ¡°Save some of that forter, huh?¡± Jaxon chuckles, ncing back at me. ¡°What do you want, man?¡± I grin, taking a sip of my drink. ¡°We¡¯re starting a game in the living room. L¡¯s already in, so you two don¡¯t really have a choice.¡± Madison nces over and sees L already sitting cross-legged on the floor, smirking. Jaxon raises a brow at Madison, who groans like she¡¯s already regretting agreeing to this. ¡°Come on, baby,¡± he teases, tugging her hand. ¡°What¡¯s the worst that could happen?¡± They follow me into the living room, where the circle is already full, everyoneughing and yelling over each other. I settle on the floor next to L, who gives me a little nudge and smirk as Madison sits in Jaxon¡¯sp nearby. The game kicks off like always¡ªharmless at first. ¡°Never have I ever¡­gotten kicked out of a bar,¡± one of the linemen says. I grin, raising my drink proudly. ¡°Hell yeah I have.¡± L leans over and whispers something to Madison, probably about the time I got banned from O¡¯Malley¡¯s for trying to steal the bartender¡¯s hat. Whatever. Worth it. We go a couple more rounds before one of the linebackers decides to throw some heat. ¡°Never have I ever hooked up with my coach¡¯s daughter,¡± he says, looking right at me. I swear under my breath and take a drink, ignoring the heat creeping up my neck. L blushes beside me. I can feel her stiffen, like she¡¯s bracing for the whispers. I nce at her and catch Madison staring at her, too, whispering something I can¡¯t hear. Whatever. But then Logan¡¯s voice cuts through the noise. ¡°Never have I ever had sex.¡± My head snaps up, my jaw clenching as Logan smirks across the circle at Jaxon. Motherfucker. I watch Jaxon stiffen under Madison¡¯s hands, his knuckles white around his drink, but he doesn¡¯t move. Doesn¡¯t drink. Logan keeps pushing, his grin widening. ¡°I mean, you hadn¡¯t a couple months ago,¡± he goads. ¡°You¡¯re really trying to say you¡¯ve changed that fast?¡± I see it then¡ªthe way Jaxon¡¯s shoulders coil tight, his jaw locked, his knuckles ready to break something. And then Logan goes too far. ¡°So, you fucked her,¡± he sneers. ¡°Just to leave in a few months when you get drafted? What a gentleman.¡± The air shifts. Before I even think about it, I¡¯m moving. I lunge forward, shoving Logan so hard his drink sloshes all over him. ¡°You¡¯re a real piece of shit, you know that?¡± I snap. Logan stumbles back butughs, holding his hands up. ¡°What? Just making conversation.¡± I step closer, my chest heaving, my fists curling at my sides. ¡°You know exactly what you¡¯re doing, asshole,¡± I growl. Logan shrugs. ¡°What? Thought the golden boy could handle a little locker room talk.¡± That¡¯s when I swing. L¡¯s hands grab my arm at thest second, yanking me back before I can actually connect. ¡°Jesus, Carter!¡± she hisses, pulling harder. ¡°Not here. Not like this.¡± ¡°He deserves to get his ass kicked!¡± I snarl, still trying to get at him. L digs her fingers into my arm. ¡°Not arguing that, just¡ªnot right now.¡± Logan smirks, taking another sip of his drink like he¡¯s already won. ¡°Rx, Hayes. Not my fault the kid finally grew a pair.¡± I lunge again, and L yanks harder this time, dragging me back enough that I finally snap out of it. I point at Logan, my voice sharp. ¡°Watch your mouth. Or I¡¯ll shut it for you.¡± I spin on my heel, storming toward the kitchen to put some distance between me and that smug little shit, L hot on my heels. I shove through the doorway into the kitchen, leaning against the counter and gripping the edge hard enough my knuckles turn white. My chest is still heaving, jaw tight, vision red. Logan¡¯sugh is still ringing in my ears. I don¡¯t even hear her at first¡ªnot until her small hand wraps around my bicep and pulls. ¡°Carter,¡± she says, her voice sharper now. ¡°Hey. Look at me.¡± I finally do. She¡¯s standing in front of me, arms crossed, her eyes zing, even though her voice stays low. ¡°You wanna tell me what the hell that was back there?¡± she asks. I drag a hand down my face, forcing a breath. ¡°He was out of line,¡± I mutter. ¡°You know he was. Somebody had to shut him up.¡± L doesn¡¯t flinch, doesn¡¯t back down. ¡°And that somebody had to be you? Right in the middle of everything?¡± Her re could cut through ss, but there¡¯s something else under it¡ªsomething I can¡¯t quite name. I shake my head, pushing off the counter to pace a couple steps away. ¡°You really think I was gonna sit there and let him talk about you like that? Talk about Jaxon like that?¡± Her arms drop, but she stays quiet for a beat. Then she sighs, rubbing her temples. ¡°This is alreadyplicated enough,¡± she mutters. ¡°We don¡¯t need everyone on this team sniffing around trying to figure us out.¡± That stops me cold. I turn back to her slowly, my eyes narrowing. ¡°Figure us out?¡± I repeat. Her lips press together. I take a step closer, lowering my voice. ¡°You think I¡¯m running my mouth about you?¡± Her gaze flicks up to mine, sharp but¡­hesitant. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she admits. ¡°Have you?¡± That actually makes meugh¡ªbitter and low. ¡°Seriously? You really think I¡¯d tell anyone about¡­¡± I wave vaguely between us. ¡°Whatever the hell this is?¡± Her cheeks flush, but she doesn¡¯t look away. ¡°People talk,¡± she says. ¡°You know how it is. And you?¡ª¡± ¡°And me what?¡± I cut in, my voice dropping even lower as I take another step, close enough to see the way her breath hitches. ¡°You think I¡¯d disrespect you like that? That you don¡¯t matter to me?¡± Her lips part like she wants to say something, but nothinges out. So I lean in, my handing to rest on the counter next to hers. ¡°For the record,¡± I murmur, my eyes locked on hers. ¡°I haven¡¯t said a damn thing. To anyone. Because it¡¯s nobody¡¯s business but ours.¡± For a second, neither of us moves. The music from the party thumps faintly through the walls, but in here, it¡¯s just her and me. And whatever the hell this is. Red Zone: Chapter 40 The second the door to the kitchen shuts behind us, my hands start to tingle. I flex them at my sides, curl them into fists, open them again. Breathe in. Breathe out. I don¡¯t know why it¡¯s so hard to catch my breath, but it is. Carter¡¯s leaning back against the counter, watching me with that maddening calm of his, arms crossed over his chest like he¡¯s not the reason my pulse is mming in my throat. I turn my back on him, pacing a few steps before words start tumbling out of my mouth. ¡°This,¡± I say, waving one shaky hand between us. ¡°This is exactly why we said we were keeping this casual. This is¡­this is why.¡± He doesn¡¯t move, doesn¡¯t say anything. So I keep going. ¡°You¡¯re the quarterback,¡± I press, my voice rising just slightly. ¡°You are literally the face of this program. Everyone¡¯s watching you all the time. Every move you make.¡± Still nothing. ¡°And I¡¯m¡­¡± I trail off, dragging my fingers through my hair. ¡°I¡¯m your coach¡¯s daughter. I handle all your NIL deals. I run your social media ounts. This isn¡¯t¡­¡± My throat tightens. ¡°This isn¡¯t smart.¡± Finally, he straightens. Pushes off the counter. And when he looks at me, there¡¯s something fierce in his eyes that sends a shiver right down my spine. ¡°Fuck all that,¡± he says low, the words sharp and certain. I freeze. ¡°What?¡± He takes a step toward me, closing the gap, his voice soft but firm now. ¡°Fuck all of it. The bullshitbels. You and me? This isn¡¯t casual anymore. Never has been to be honest, not for me.¡± My breath catches, and I take a tiny step back as his handes up, his fingers brushing against my jaw. ¡°Say it¡¯s still casual for you,¡± he murmurs, leaning in just enough that I can feel his breath against my lips. ¡°And I¡¯ll back off. Right here, right now. But don¡¯t stand there and tell me you don¡¯t feel what I feel.¡± I open my mouth to respond¡ªthough what I¡¯d even say, I don¡¯t know¡ªwhen the door swings open. And a familiar, syrupy voice cuts through the tension like a knife. ¡°Well, well, Miss It¡¯s Just Work,¡± Savannah drawls, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. ¡°This doesn¡¯t really look like work, does it?¡± I jerk back from Carter like I¡¯ve been burned, my cheeks flooding with heat. But he doesn¡¯t move. Doesn¡¯t even flinch. Just stares at Savannah, his jaw tight, his hand still hovering near me like he doesn¡¯t care who the hell sees. And I can¡¯t decide if I want to melt into the floor¡­or pull him right back to me anyway. ¡°It¡¯s¡­it¡¯s not what it looks like,¡± I blurt, my voice too tight, too fast, already backing away from Carter and Savannah before either of them can respond. I need to get out of here. I need air. I spin toward the door, pushing it open into the crush of bodies outside. But I barely make it three steps into the hallway before a warm hand closes around my wrist. ¡°L¡ª¡± His voice. Low, steady, pulling me back when everything in me is screaming to keep moving. ¡°Hey. Stop.¡± I freeze, but I don¡¯t turn around. ¡°Just¡­calm down for a second and talk to me,¡± he murmurs, his grip loosening but still there. ¡°Please.¡± My breathes shallow, my fingers flexing at my sides. I can¡¯t. Not right now. Not when everyone¡¯s watching. Not when Savannah¡¯s still in that kitchen smirking like she knows everything. ¡°Carter, I?¡ª¡± Jaxon appears in the hallway, his shoulders stiff, his jaw tight, and the second Carter sees him, his brows knit with concern. ¡°Damn, man,¡± Carter says, straightening. ¡°What happened?¡± Jaxon exhales, shaking his head, his voice rough. ¡°She¡¯s gone.¡± The words hit me like a punch to the chest. Gone. Madison. I don¡¯t even think. My breath catches hard in my throat, and before either of them can say another word, my body is already moving. I shove past Jaxon, ignoring the startled look on his face, my only thought razor-sharp in my head. She can¡¯t be out there alone. Not like this. I hear Carter¡¯s voice behind me, calling after me, his tone edged with frustration and worry. ¡°L¡ª¡± But I don¡¯t stop. I just shake my head, pushing through the crowd toward the door, muttering under my breath, ¡°She shouldn¡¯t be alone right now.¡± Shoving through the crammed living room, I rush out the front door and turn toward our apartment. I catch up to her less than a block away, hunched over on the curb, her hands pressed to her face like she can¡¯t breathe. My heart cracks wide open at the sight of my best friend¡¯s shoulders shaking. ¡°Hey,¡± I say softly as I approach, crouching down in front of her. ¡°Maddy. Look at me, okay?¡± Her tear-streaked eyes blink up at me, dazed and broken, and it nearly brings tears to my own eyes. ¡°I-I can¡¯t¡­¡± she whispers, her breath hitching. ¡°I can¡¯t do this. Not again. Not after?¡ª¡± ¡°Shh,¡± I say immediately, cutting her off before she falls any deeper into whatever pit her mind¡¯s dragging her into. ¡°We¡¯re not talking about that right now. We¡¯re just breathing. That¡¯s all. Just breathe with me, okay? In¡­¡± I inhale and exaggerate it. She watches me like she¡¯s desperate to cling to something, anything, and after a shaky second, she follows. ¡°Good,¡± I murmur. My thumb rubs little circles against her knee, just like my mom used to do for me. ¡°You¡¯re okay. You¡¯re not alone. I¡¯ve got you.¡± When her breaths start toe steadier, I help her to her feet. ¡°Come on. Let¡¯s get you home.¡± She doesn¡¯t argue, just leans into me like she¡¯s forgotten how to stand on her own.
We make it back to our apartment in silence, outside of her huped breathing, trying to keep the hysteria in. Madison¡¯s fingers stay clenched around my arm the entire walk upstairs, like holding onto me is the only thing keeping her frompletely losing it, which is probably true. The second I shut the door, I guide her straight to her bathroom. ¡°Shower,¡± I tell her gently. ¡°It¡¯ll help.¡± She just nods, a ghost of herself, and I move on autopilot¡ªturning the water on, checking the temperature, pulling a clean towel from the shelf. I help her peel off her jacket and ease her sweater over her head when her arms barely move. ¡°Do you want me to stay?¡± I ask when she¡¯s standing there in her camisole and jeans, staring nkly at the tile. She swallows. Her voice is small. ¡°Please.¡± So I stay. I help her step out of her jeans and into the shower, then I sit on the closed toilet lid and stare nkly at the wall ahead. We can¡¯t both lose our minds on the same night, so I start counting numbers to try and change my train of thought. Because I can¡¯t stop thinking about him. About Carter. About how my heart raced when his hand brushed mine earlier. How he looked at me when he thought no one else was watching. How it feels when I catch myself wondering what it would be like if he actually meant all those little things he says, if it wasn¡¯t just¡­Carter being Carter. I rub my temple, trying to shove the thoughts down, but they keeping. Because the truth is, I¡¯m scared I¡¯m already in too deep. And tonight proved it. The second I heard Madison run out, I thought of her first. But the next second? It was him. Wondering if he¡¯d be the one toe after me. If he¡¯d care enough to try. I squeeze my eyes shut, swallowing hard, willing the knot in my chest to loosen. ¡°You¡¯re okay, Maddy,¡± I whisper, though I¡¯m not sure if it¡¯s for her or for me. Her muffled sob catches over the sound of the water, and I close my eyes tighter, because even though she¡¯s the one falling apart right now¡­ I don¡¯t think I¡¯m too far behind.
It¡¯s been three days since the party. Three days of making sure my best friend at least eats a few crackers and stays hydrated, trying to make sure that I keep my shit together long enough to help her through this. I thought keeping myself busy would help. I throw myself into work, into the endless stream of social content, into campaign nning. Smiling at the guys when they stop by to ask about their profiles or stats, politely brushing off Carter¡¯s littlements, even though every single one of them sticks in my chest like a burr. But apparently, keeping my head down isn¡¯t enough. Because today, Megan called me into her office. I walk in gripping my tablet tight enough to make my knuckles ache, trying to read her expression. But Megan¡¯s face is unreadable as always¡ªsmooth and polite, her neat hair tucked behind one ear, the team logo on the wall behind her perfectly straight. ¡°You wanted to see me?¡± I say, keeping my voice steady, even though my stomach¡¯s twisting. ¡°Shut the door, please.¡± That¡­isn¡¯t great. I do as she asks and take a seat. Megan folds her hands on her desk and looks at me for a long moment before speaking. ¡°I wanted to bring something to your attention,¡± she says evenly. ¡°A concern was raised about your performance.¡± My throat goes dry. ¡°My¡­performance?¡± She nods. ¡°I was approached by a yer yesterday who feels you¡¯ve been prioritizing certain athletes in your social campaigns and promotional efforts over others. That you¡¯re¡­ying favorites, to put it inly.¡± I blink at her, stunned. ying favorites? I shake my head. ¡°Megan, I¡ªI¡¯ve never?¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯m not saying it¡¯s intentional,¡± she interrupts gently. ¡°But perception matters. And the perception right now is that you¡¯re giving extra attention to some while neglecting others.¡± Heat creeps up my neck, my ears burning. ¡°Who¡ª¡± I stop myself before asking who said it. Because it doesn¡¯t matter. It shouldn¡¯t matter. I swallow hard and try to keep my voice level. ¡°I didn¡¯t realize anyone felt that way. I try to split my time fairly. I check in with everyone weekly, I update stats, I feature different yers on rotation?¡ª¡± Megan¡¯s expression softens, but she holds firm. ¡°I know. You¡¯re good at what you do, L. You¡¯re detail-oriented, you¡¯re creative, and you care. That¡¯s obvious. But this is a team. Every yer wants to feel like they matter. Even if they¡¯re not in the spotlight as much as some of the others.¡± Some of the others. It doesn¡¯t take a genius to know who she means. Carter. I feel the weight of his name in my chest, even though she hasn¡¯t said it. My mind spins back through all thete nights I¡¯ve spent tweaking his campaigns, analyzing his engagement metrics, coordinating his NIL meetings. How many times he¡¯s stopped by my desk with that infuriating grin, teasing and charming and impossible to ignore. But I¡¯ve never once given him more than any of the other athletes I¡¯ve been assigned. I don¡¯t even know who would suggest that. They¡¯ve all had brand offers, even though some haven¡¯t been in alignment with their brand and they¡¯ve passed. I force a shaky breath. ¡°I understand. I¡¯ll¡­I¡¯ll make adjustments. I¡¯ll make sure the team knows I¡¯m avable to everyone equally.¡± Megan nods. ¡°Good. That¡¯s all I wanted to hear. I know you can handle this. You¡¯ve got a bright future in this field¡ªdon¡¯t let little things like this trip you up.¡± ¡°Of course,¡± I murmur, standing. As I leave her office, my tablet still clutched in my hands, my cheeks feel hot and my stomach churns. The second I shut Megan¡¯s door behind me, I exhale through my nose and force my shoulders back. Act normal. No one else needs to know how close I am to crumbling. The office hallway is quiet this time of afternoon, most people either on calls or down at the field. I keep my head down and focus on the exit, already nning what I¡¯ll say to myself on the walk home¡ª It¡¯s fine, L. You can fix this. Just¡­fix it. I¡¯m halfway down the hall when a familiarugh freezes me in ce. Carter. He¡¯s leaning against the wall by the water cooler, his hat backward, his tanned arms crossed, chatting with one of the trainers. His ocean eyes catch on me instantly, and the grin he was wearing falters just slightly before he pushes off the wall. ¡°Hey,¡± he calls casually, like we¡¯re just two people passing each other on any other day. I force a smile that feels brittle around the edges. ¡°Hey.¡± ¡°Everything okay?¡± He tilts his head, studying me as he falls into step beside me. ¡°You look¡­tense. More tense than usual, I mean.¡± I roll my eyes, hoping the joke buys me a little cover. ¡°Thanks, Hayes. Always a charmer.¡± But he doesn¡¯tugh. His hand hovers near the small of my back like he might actually touch me, and that alone sends my pulse skittering. ¡°Seriously,¡± he murmurs when we round the corner and the trainer¡¯s out of earshot. ¡°You good? You were in with Megan just now, right?¡± I shouldn¡¯t have expected him not to notice. Of course he noticed. ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± I say quickly, too quickly. My fingers tighten on the edge of my tablet as we step into the stairwell. Carter stops halfway down the steps, blocking my path. I stop too, because what else can I do? He looks at me for a long beat, his jaw tight, blue eyes narrowed in that way they get when he¡¯s reading me like an open book. ¡°You don¡¯t look fine,¡± he says finally, softer this time. I force a littleugh and step past him, my voice light and fake. ¡°Just¡­work stuff. You know. Not a big deal.¡± He follows me the rest of the way down, quiet now. But when we hit the lobby doors, he reaches out, fingers brushing my elbow just enough to make me stop and turn. ¡°Whatever it is,¡± he says low, leaning just enough that his breath warms the side of my cheek. ¡°Don¡¯t let them get in your head. You¡¯re good at this, L. You¡¯re the best at this. Anyone who doesn¡¯t see that is a damn idiot.¡± I blink at him, caught off guard by how earnest he sounds. And for a second, just one second, I want to tell him. About theint. About how much of it probably is my fault. About how scared I am that he¡¯s the reason. But instead I swallow the words, because if I say them out loud, he¡¯ll know. He¡¯ll know just how far I¡¯ve already fallen. So I just nod, forcing another smile. ¡°Thanks, Carter. Really.¡± He holds my gaze for a moment longer before finally stepping back with a little smirk, his hands shoving into his pockets. ¡°Anytime, Princess.¡± And just like that, he¡¯s gone¡ªheading out the other door, whistling low under his breath like he hasn¡¯tpletely unmoored me without even trying. I am so royally fucked. Red Zone: Chapter 41 The locker room is quiet when I step in. For once. No music. No shouting. No tape balls flying through the air. Just the hum of the lights and the faint echo of my footsteps on the tile. I stop just inside the doorway and take it all in. Row after row of lockers. Jerseys hanging, some neatly, some already half-off their hooks. Helmets lined up on shelves, like soldiers waiting for orders. The faint smell of turf, sweat, and leather clings to the air. It¡¯s stupid, but it almost feels¡­holy. I walk down the center aisle, my fingers trailing the edge of the bench. This could be it. I¡¯ve been trying not to think about it all week, but now¡ªhere, standing in the ce I¡¯ve spent the better part of four years¡ªthere¡¯s no ignoring it. What if tonight is thest time I everce up for a real game? What if I don¡¯t get the call? What if every scout who ever came to watch me decided I wasn¡¯t good enough? What if all this¡ªeverything I¡¯ve worked for¡ªis over after tonight? The thought hits harder than I expected. I stop in front of my locker and just stare at my namete for a long minute. Hayes. I press my thumb to the letters like I¡¯m trying to memorize the feeling. This has been my whole life. My escape. My purpose. The only ce I ever felt like I actually belonged. I swallow the lump in my throat and shake my head hard. Stop it, man. You¡¯ve got a game to y. You can spiralter. I drag my palms over my face, forcing myself to breathe, forcing my focus back to what matters. Back to tonight. Back to right now. One y at a time. I¡¯m pulling my jersey out of my bag when a voice cuts through the silence. ¡°You¡¯re here early.¡± I turn and find Coach Harding standing in the doorway, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. He walks in, hands in his pockets, and nces around the room before settling his eyes on me. ¡°Nerves?¡± he asks. I give a weakugh, rubbing the back of my neck. ¡°Something like that.¡± He stops a few feet away and studies me for a second, like he always does when he¡¯s about to say something that¡¯ll stick. ¡°You know,¡± he starts. ¡°There¡¯s a lot of guys whoe through programs like this thinking talent is all it takes. They get here, coasting on what God gave them, and they me out fast when things get hard.¡± He gestures toward me with a little nod. ¡°That¡¯s not you.¡± I blink at him, unsure how to respond. ¡°You¡¯ve put in the work,¡± he goes on, his tone firm but proud. ¡°Every morning. Every lift. Every rep. You¡¯ve earned every yard you¡¯ve got. You¡¯ve earned the right to dream about that next level. And no matter what happens after tonight, you keep going. You hear me? You keep going, because you¡¯ve got what it takes.¡± I bite the inside of my cheek, staring down at the jersey in my hands. Coach ps me on the shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. ¡°I¡¯m proud of you, Hayes,¡± he says quietly. ¡°Whateveres next, you¡¯ve already made us proud.¡± I swallow the tightness in my throat and force a little grin. ¡°Thanks, Coach.¡± He pats me once more before heading toward his office, tossing a final nce over his shoulder. ¡°Now get your head right,¡± he calls with a faint smile. ¡°We¡¯ve got a championship to win.¡± I watch him go, then sit down in front of my locker, the weight of his words settling over me. He¡¯s right. I have put in the work. And no matter what happens after tonight¡­ I¡¯m not done yet. Not by a long shot.
The stadium is practically shaking. Fans on their feet, the student section already losing their minds, the band ring the fight song so loud it rattles in my chest. We stand on the sidelines, helmets on, eyes locked on the field where everything we¡¯ve worked for is waiting. I take a breath, scanning my teammates one by one¡ªfaces I¡¯ve bled with, sweated with, won and lost with. And then I step into the center of the huddle. They close in, forming a tight circle around me, their eyes all on me now. Waiting. This is my moment. Our moment. I lower my head, clenching my fists, feeling every ounce of energy, every second of work, every doubt and dream bubbling up inside me. Then I raise my eyes, steady and sure, and speak. ¡°Let¡¯s give ¡¯em hell, boys,¡± I say, my voice cutting through the noise, low and confident. ¡°It¡¯s our final time. Let¡¯s make it count.¡± There¡¯s a collective murmur of agreement, pads pping, fists knocking against helmets. ¡°Storm on three,¡± I call, raising my fist high above the huddle. Their hands rise with mine. ¡°One, two, three?¡ª¡± ¡°STORM!¡± ¡°Let¡¯s go baby!¡± Beck yells, shaking my shoulder as our offense takes the field for kickoff. We¡¯re leaving everything on that field today.
We huddle at our own thirty. The guys crowd in around me, pads creaking, helmets gleaming under the lights. ¡°All right,¡± I bark, nting my hand on the ball and pointing at Jaxon. ¡°We¡¯re starting fast. Trips right, ny-two nt, on one. Watch for pressure off the weak side, but it¡¯s there. Take what they give you. Let¡¯s go.¡± ¡°Trips right, ny-two nt, on one,¡± they echo, pping their hands as we break. We line up. Jaxon settles wide on the right, his stance loose but his eyes locked on the corner. Logan¡¯s in the backfield, already rocking forward on the balls of his feet. I lower under center, fingers curling around theces. The stadium noise fades into nothing. Just y. Snap. I drop back quickly¡ªone, two, three steps¡ªand my eyes are already on Jaxon. He nts hard, cuts in, shakes the corner just like we worked all week. He¡¯s open. I shift my weight, nt, and rip the throw over the middle. The ball zips just past the linebacker¡¯s fingertips and smacks into Jaxon¡¯s chest. He tucks it, keeps moving, bounces off a safety, and drives forward for another five before they finally bring him down. The ref¡¯s whistle pierces through the cheers. First down. We reset at the forty-four. I p my hands to settle everyone down, then lean into the huddle. ¡°They¡¯re already shifting coverage. Time to soften ¡¯em up. Logan, you¡¯re up. Power twenty-two dive, on one. Move those chains.¡± Logan grins behind his mouthguard. ¡°Let me eat, QB.¡± I give him a nod, going back to the fact that what happens off the field, stays off the field. We don¡¯t let any issues affect our teamwork on game day, or at least try not to. We break. I settle under center again, barking a fake cadence to throw off the linebackers, then call for the snap. I pivot clean, tuck the ball into Logan¡¯s gut, and let him do the rest. He explodes through the A-gap behind our right guard, lowering his shoulder as the defense copses in on him. Pads crack like thunder, but he keeps his legs pumping. Four, five, six yards before the pile finally falls forward. I hustle up behind him, help yank him to his feet, patting his helmet. ¡°That¡¯s it. Keep grinding.¡± Third and short now, just past midfield. I don¡¯t even wait for the y call¡ªI already know what we need here. I jog into the huddle, dropping my hand to my knee. ¡°Read option. Shotgun. Follow me. I¡¯m keeping this one. Let¡¯s move the damn chains.¡± The guys answer with a round of ps and ps. We line up, quick. Jaxon¡¯s wide again, drawing coverage. Logan¡¯s to my left. I nce at the linebackers¡ªboth creeping forward, eyes already locked on Logan. Perfect. The snap hits my hands. I ride Logan for half a second, selling the fake handoff, then yank the ball back into my chest and cut left. The edge rusher bites on Logan. I¡¯ve got daylight. I sprint upfield, cutting just inside the safety, feeling the turf tear under my cleats. A linebacker dives at my ankles¡ªtoote. I tuck the ball tighter and slide just past the first down marker, skidding to a stop at the twenty- one. The ref signals first down, and the sideline erupts behind me. I pop up, smacking my hands together as the guys rush up to me. Logan ps my helmet with augh, Jaxon jogging over to p my shoulder. ¡°You just love stealing my touches, don¡¯t you?¡± Jaxon grins, but his eyes are sharp. ¡°Quitining,¡± I throw back, grinning. ¡°We¡¯re in the red zone, aren¡¯t we?¡± I jog back to the huddle, heart hammering in my chest as the crowd noise swells around me, my eyes automatically searching for red curls, but she¡¯s not on the sideline today. One y at a time. And we¡¯re just getting started.
My chest heaves as I jog back to the huddle, wiping sweat from my forehead with the back of my glove. 21¨C27. We¡¯re down by six. Two minutes left. This is it. The crowd is deafening, a wall of noise and chaos all around us, but it doesn¡¯t touch me. Not here. Not now. All I hear is the sound of my own breath, sharp and steady. The pounding of my heart. The creak of my pads when I bend over, hands on my knees, and the faint metallic clink of my face mask when I snap it back down. I nce at the scoreboard again, then at my guys¡ªat Jaxon, standing across from me in the huddle. His chest rising and falling fast, but his eyes locked on mine. Waiting. I straighten up, voice steady as hell, even though my insides feel like they¡¯re on fire. ¡°We march down this fucking field,¡± I tell them, low and sharp. ¡°No second chances. No mistakes. We finish it. Right here. Right now.¡± A ripple of nods, a few fists hitting pads, and that silent current of understanding passes through all of us. This is our game. And I¡¯m not leaving this field without a damn fight. We break. We line up at the twenty-five. The defense crowds the box, daring us to run, but I¡¯ve already decided¡ªwe¡¯re not ying it safe. Not tonight. The snap is clean. I drop back, eyes scanning quick, pressure closing in fast. I see Beck shake free over the middle and fire it to him. He hauls it in, turns, fights forward another eight yards before getting shoved out of bounds. Clock stops. 1:20. We hurry up, the guys hustling back into position. The next snapes fast¡ªJaxon fakes outside, cuts hard back in, just like we drew it up. I step up into the pocket, take the hit, and rifle it to him over the middle. He catches it, tucks it, and keeps driving, dragging some poor bastard on his back for another five. First down. The chains move. Fifty seconds. We hustle again. The next y¡¯s a scramble¡ªpocket copses, and I barely escape a sack, dumping it off to Logan at thest second. He dives out of bounds at the fifteen to stop the clock. Thirty-eight seconds. We¡¯re here. We huddle one more time, breathless, buzzing, everything on the line. The calles in. I hear it, and my stomach flips. It¡¯s his route. I nce at Jaxon, and he meets my eyes like he already knows what I¡¯m about to say. ¡°Go get it,¡± I tell him, voice low. He nods once. We line up. I watch him take his spot out wide, see the corner lean on him, trying to get in his head. But Jaxon doesn¡¯t flinch. He just crouches low, ready to explode. I slide my hands under center. The snapes. I drop back, scanning left¡ªthen right¡ªthen locking on him. He burns his man, cutting left and then sharp back to the right, shaking him clean. I see it open up. And I let it rip. The ball spins through the air, perfect spiral, hanging there for what feels like forever. I watch him run under it¡ªlegs pumping like hell, hands reaching. And he¡¯s got it. Both feet in. Ball secure. Touch¡ª The hites out of nowhere. I see it happen but I can¡¯t stop it¡ªcan¡¯t even yell before the safetyes flying in from his blindside, helmet-to-helmet. The crack echoes, and my stomach drops. I watch him fold, his body snapping back and crumpling to the turf. The ball rolls loose. And he doesn¡¯t get up. Doesn¡¯t move. Everything around me goes quiet¡ªcrowd, teammates, everything. I just stand there, staring, my heart in my throat as trainerse running and the refs blow their whistles. My legs are moving before my mind even catches up. The whistle¡¯s still blowing, the crowd¡¯s still roaring¡ªor maybe they¡¯re gasping now, I can¡¯t even tell¡ªbut all I see is him. Jaxon. t on his back. Not moving. I sprint toward him, my cleats barely catching the turf as I close the distance. My chest feels like it¡¯s about to crack open. ¡°Jax¡ª¡± I drop to my knees hard, the impact jolting up my shins, but I don¡¯t care. ¡°Jaxon! Hey¡ªhey, man, c¡¯mon!¡± His eyes are closed, his chest rising shallow under his pads. His mouthguard¡¯s still in, his arms ck at his sides. ¡°You hear me? Open your eyes, man. Come on! Wake up. You¡¯re good. You¡¯re fine. Just¡­open your damn eyes, all right?¡± I can¡¯t even hear the trainers yet, but I know they¡¯reing. I press my hand to his chest, feeling it rise and fall. My throat¡¯s tight, my stomach turning inside out. ¡°You¡¯re okay,¡± I tell him anyway, even though I have no idea if it¡¯s true. My voice breaks halfway through, but I don¡¯t care. ¡°You¡¯re okay, you hear me? You¡¯re okay. You just¡­you just gotta wake up, bro. Please.¡± I hear cleats pounding the turf behind me, shouting voices¡ªtrainers calling for stretchers and medics. But all I can do is keep my hand on his chest and my other on his helmet, leaning close so he can hear me if hees to. The trainers finally skid to a stop at my back, shouting orders and dropping their bags, and I¡¯m quickly moved to the side, but I keep my eyes on my friend, still not moving on the ground. ¡°You¡¯re okay,¡± I whisper, more to myself now than to him. ¡°You¡¯re gonna be okay.¡± Red Zone: Chapter 42 The knock at the door is sharp, impatient. I nce at Madison, curled up on the couch under a nket, her eyes open but unfocused, staring at the muted TV screen. She doesn¡¯t move. Another knock, louder this time. I pull in a breath, already feeling the tension before I even stand. ¡°I¡¯ll get it,¡± I murmur, and she doesn¡¯t respond. When I peek through the peephole, it¡¯s exactly who I expected. Carter. I open the door just enough to slip through and close it behind me, stepping into the cool night air. ¡°Hey,¡± I say tly, folding my arms. He¡¯s standing there in a hoodie and joggers, his hat pulled low, jaw tight. His blue eyes flick to the door behind me, then back to me. ¡°Where is she?¡± he asks, his voice already edged with frustration. ¡°She¡¯s inside,¡± I answer, equally steady. When he moves like he¡¯s going to push past me, I nt my hand on his chest, stopping him. ¡°She doesn¡¯t want to see anyone right now,¡± I add firmly. Carter res down at me, incredulous. ¡°Are you kidding me, L? Jaxon¡¯s in a hospital bed right now, asking where she is. She left. She didn¡¯t even¡ª¡± He huffs out a humorlessugh, shaking his head. ¡°She didn¡¯t even let him know she was there. What¡¯s the point of her even showing up at all?¡± ¡°She was there,¡± I snap, narrowing my eyes at him. ¡°She sat there for hours, Carter. You don¡¯t know what that did to her¡ªwhat it¡¯s still doing to her. She¡¯s scared, okay?¡± ¡°Scared,¡± he repeats, almost spitting the word like it offends him. He paces a step away, then turns back to me, his hands on his hips. ¡°Yeah, well, Jaxon¡¯s scared, too, and he doesn¡¯t get to just check out. He doesn¡¯t get to quit on her, does he? So why the hell is it okay for her to quit on him?¡± ¡°She¡¯s not quitting,¡± I bite out, my voice rising. ¡°She just needs time.¡± ¡°Time?¡± Carter¡¯sugh is sharp, cold. ¡°He¡¯s lying in a hospital bed wondering if she even gives a damn. And you¡ª¡± His eyes cut to mine, piercing, like he¡¯s peeling me apart. My stomach flips because I know that look. ¡°And you,¡± he says quieter now, stepping closer. ¡°You sit here defending her, acting like you¡¯re not the same damn way. Scared. Running. Pretending like you don¡¯t feel it too.¡± The air leaves my lungs in one shaky breath. ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± I whisper, my arms tightening over my chest. But he doesn¡¯t back off. His gaze softens just enough to make it worse. ¡°You¡¯re scared too, L,¡± he murmurs, like it¡¯s a truth I can¡¯t undo. I swallow hard and force myself to look away, gripping the edge of my sleeve until my knuckles ache. ¡°You don¡¯t know me,¡± I say, low and brittle. But his faint smirk says otherwise. ¡°Yeah,¡± he says quietly, almost to himself as he steps back. ¡°I think I do.¡± And then he walks off, leaving me standing alone outside the door, my pulse still hammering, my throat too tight to breathe. I stay outside for a moment after he¡¯s gone, staring down the walkway where he disappeared, the faint sound of his footsteps fading into nothing. His words still buzz in my head, sharp and soft all at once. You¡¯re scared too. I bite the inside of my cheek, willing my heartbeat to slow, willing my face to smooth back into something neutral before I go back inside. When I finally open the door and step back into the quiet apartment, Madison hasn¡¯t moved. She¡¯s still curled up on the couch, staring at the muted TV, as if nothing happened. I shut the door softly behind me, letting my eyes drift to the kitchen. The counters are already spotless, gleaming under the dim light. But even from here, I can see a faint streak on the stainless steel fridge. My fingers twitch at my side. The knot in my chest tightens. And all I can think is?¡ª The kitchen could use another round of cleaning.
Winter term sses start tomorrow, and my backpack is already packed, sitting by the door back at my apartment. I thought getting back into a routine might settle me¡ªgive me something to focus on besides Carter¡¯s words and the way Madison still hasn¡¯t really been a functioning humantely. But instead of going home after my morning errands, I find myself here. In front of my dad¡¯s house. It¡¯s strange how different it looks now¡ªfresh white paint, a new door with frosted ss, even a wreath for winter. The house I grew up in never looked like this. I force my shoulders back and knock anyway. He answers in a sweater and jeans; his reading sses perched on top of his head. He smiles when he sees me, warm and familiar. ¡°Hey, kid. Wasn¡¯t expecting you.¡± I shrug faintly. ¡°Had some extra time. Thought I¡¯d stop by.¡± ¡°Well,e on in. Don¡¯t freeze out there.¡± He steps aside, and I peel my coat off as I follow him into the kitchen. Of course, it smells like coffee and whatever his girlfriend baked this morning. There¡¯s already a te of lemon bars on the counter. We sit at the table like we always used to, and he makes me a cup of tea without asking. He leans back in his chair, eyeing me for a beat. ¡°How¡¯s everything going? You ready for the new term?¡± I nod, curling my hands around the mug. ¡°Yeah. Just¡­trying to get back in the swing of things.¡± ¡°Madison okay?¡± he asks gently. I hesitate before answering. ¡°She¡¯s¡­getting there, maybe. It¡¯s been rough.¡± He nods, quiet for a second. Then he clears his throat. ¡°Are youing for dinner this weekend? Nicole wanted to know if we could celebrate your birthday Sunday before they head out to see her mom for the week.¡± Something in my chest twists at the mention of them. I set my cup down carefully, moving my hands to myp. ¡°Dad¡­¡± I start, my voice softer than I expect. He looks at me, waiting. ¡°I feel like¡­¡± The words stick in my throat, and I have to press my lips together and look down at the table for a second before I can finish. My dad waits, his brow furrowed, patient but concerned. I inhale slowly and force it out. ¡°Like you¡¯ve been trying to rece me. And Mom.¡± His eyebrows lift, his mouth parting like he wants to interrupt¡ªbut I hold up my hand and keep going, because if I stop now, I¡¯ll never say the rest. ¡°It feels like¡­like you¡¯re building this whole new family without me in it. You¡¯ve got Nicole, and her daughter, and her friends, and all these new traditions, and I¡­¡± My voice catches, my throat burning. ¡°I just feel like a guest in your life now. Like I¡¯m just¡­visiting. Like I don¡¯t really belong here anymore.¡± I bite my lip and shake my head, staring down at my hands. ¡°And I know it¡¯s not fair. I know you deserve to be happy. I really do want that for you. But every time Ie here and see how easily you¡¯ve moved on, how easily you¡¯ve built something with them¡­it feels like me and Mom were just¡­ceholders. Like we were just the family you settled for before you found the one you really wanted.¡± The confession leaves me shaky and raw, my fingers tightening around the edge of my teacup just to keep them from trembling. ¡°I know you don¡¯t mean to make me feel that way,¡± I add quietly, barely above a whisper. ¡°But you do. And I don¡¯t know how to stop feeling like I¡¯m not enough. Like I¡¯m already gone to you.¡± He stares at me for another moment, before getting up anding to my side of the table, reaching for my hand, and pulling me up from my chair. His arms wrap around me and bring me into a tight hug. ¡°You¡¯re never, ever not good enough,¡± he says quietly, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. His voice cracks just a little, enough that it makes my chest ache. ¡°You¡¯ll always be my little girl,¡± he continues, his gaze locking on mine, earnest and heavy with feeling. ¡°Always. And I¡¯m sorry, Ly. I¡¯m so damn sorry I ever made you feel like you weren¡¯t a part of this¡­like you weren¡¯t the most important part. That was never my intention.¡± He pauses, drawing in a shaky breath of his own. ¡°I¡¯ve watched you grow into this¡­this incredible young woman. You¡¯re strong, and smart, and you care so much about everyone around you. You¡¯ve aplished more than I ever dreamed for you, and I know you¡¯re just getting started. I¡¯m proud of you, L. So proud of everything you¡¯ve done and everything you¡¯re going to do. Your mom would be so, so proud of you too.¡± The lump in my throat swells until it feels impossible to swallow. My eyes sting, but I manage a small nod anyway, my lips pressed together tight. He squeezes my hand a little firmer, like he can feel the words I can¡¯t quite say yet. He doesn¡¯t push, doesn¡¯t try to exin it all away or defend himself. He just stays there, holding my hand, letting me feel what I need to feel. And for now¡­that¡¯s everything I need.
By the time myst meeting of Thursday morning wraps, my coffee¡¯s gone cold and my nner is littered with new notes, sticky tabs, and checkmarks. It feels good, though. Being back in my routine. Doing the work I know I¡¯m good at to keep my mind upied, to keep myself from reying myst conversation with Carter over and over again in my mind. I close my notebook and nce up to Grayson as he steps out of the conference room, backpack slung over his shoulder. ¡°Thanks again,¡± he says with that easy hockey-boy grin of his. ¡°You¡¯re a lifesaver, L.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t forget to send me the draft of your next post before it goes live,¡± I remind him, returning his smile just enough to stay professional. He winks. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t dream of it.¡± Grayson lingers in the doorway instead of walking off right away, his hand resting lightly on the frame. I nce up from gathering my notes, arching a brow. ¡°Something else you need?¡± I ask lightly. He hesitates, his easy grin fading into something a little more measured. ¡°Not exactly,¡± he says. Then he steps back in and closes the door halfway, like he doesn¡¯t want anyone else hearing what he¡¯s about to say. That alone makes my stomach tighten. I tuck my pen into the coil of my nner and meet his eyes. ¡°All right, what is it?¡± Grayson shifts his weight, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. ¡°I¡¯ve¡­been meaning to say something,¡± he starts. ¡°And, look, it¡¯s not really my business, so tell me to shut up if you want.¡± I narrow my eyes slightly, already wary. ¡°Okay¡­¡± He gives me an apologetic little smile. ¡°It¡¯s about Carter.¡± My stomach drops just a little at the sound of his name, though I keep my face neutral. ¡°What about him?¡± Grayson leans against the doorframe, his voice low but not unkind. ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s going on there,¡± he says, gesturing vaguely. ¡°But I¡¯ve noticed things. Even back at that party in the fall, he looked like he wanted to rip my head off just for talking to you.¡± I blink, caught off guard by that. ¡°And since then,¡± Grayson continues. ¡°It¡¯s not just that. I see him watching you on the sidelines. Like he forgets where he is sometimes. And the way he hovers after games? People notice that stuff, L. I notice.¡± I open my mouth, then close it again, unsure what to even say. Grayson watches me for a beat before pushing off the doorframe and softening his tone. ¡°I¡¯m not judging you,¡± he adds gently. ¡°I¡¯m really not. But this job you¡¯re doing? It¡¯s a good thing. A really good thing. And Carter¡­well, he¡¯s got everything riding on his image too.¡± He pauses, like he¡¯s choosing his next words carefully. ¡°I just don¡¯t want to see either of you mess up something you¡¯ve worked for because of¡­whatever this is between you. Even if you¡¯re not doing anything wrong, people can twist it. You know how fast a rumor can catch fire.¡± I swallow hard, my throat tight. Grayson straightens, shouldering his backpack again, and his usual grin flickers back into ce. ¡°Just¡­be careful, okay? You¡¯re good at what you do, L. Don¡¯t let anything get in the way of that.¡± I force a faint smile, even though my chest aches. ¡°Thanks,¡± I say quietly. He nods once, like that settles it, and then heads out the door with a little two-finger salute. When the door shuts behind him, I sit there for a long moment, staring at my nner without seeing it. Because as much as I hate to admit it¡­ He has a point. Red Zone: Chapter 43 Icut through the athletic offices with my hands shoved in my hoodie pocket, ignoring the sting in my shoulder from this morning¡¯s lift. On my way to meet with L. Same as every week. Same time, same room, same stack of notes she¡¯s already got ready before I even sit down. I could¡¯ve let her email me the updates like she offered after everything with Jaxon¡­but I didn¡¯t. Because letting her push me to the sidelines like I¡¯m just another name on her notebook? No fucking chance. Even if things between us are still tense. Even if she can barely look at me without her shoulders going stiff. I¡¯d rather take the awkward silence and her clipped little professional smile than nothing at all. So, here I am. Her door¡¯s at the end of the hall, cracked open already, but I slow when I hear a voice behind me. ¡°Well, if it isn¡¯t QB1 himself.¡± I nce over my shoulder. Savannah. She¡¯s leaning against the wall by the water cooler, twirling her car keys on her finger like she¡¯s got nowhere better to be. Her ponytail¡¯s perfect, her lip gloss just as sharp as her smile. ¡°Hey, Savannah,¡± I say tly, turning back toward L¡¯s office. But she doesn¡¯t let me go that easy. She pushes off the wall and falls into step next to me, her perfume thick in the air between us. ¡°You¡¯ve been looking good out there,¡± she purrs, her gaze sliding over me in a way that makes my skin crawl. ¡°I mean, you always look good, buttely? Next-level. Scouts have to be eating it up.¡± ¡°Just doing my job,¡± I mutter, keeping my eyes ahead. She tilts her head, shing me a slow grin. ¡°Well, you do it well. Must be nice having the main media girl wrapped around your little finger, huh? All those posts, the right angles, the interviews. Girl practically worships you.¡± I stop walking, finally turning to face her. Her grin only widens. ¡°Just saying,¡± she adds, stepping a little closer, lowering her voice. ¡°If you ever get tired of her giving you the cold shoulder¡­you know where to find me.¡± Her nails trail lightly along my arm as she passes me and keeps walking down the hall, hips swaying, herugh low and smug as it fades behind her. I stand there for a beat, jaw tight, hands curled into fists in my pockets. Then I shake it off and keep moving toward L¡¯s office. I push her door the rest of the way open and step inside, letting it click shut behind me. L¡¯s at the table, as usual¡ªneat little stack of folders by her elbow, her pen poised like she¡¯s been waiting on me. Her hair¡¯s pulled back, and she¡¯s got on one of those sharp little zers she wears when she wants to seem untouchable. But when she nces up at me, something about her feels¡­softer. ¡°Hey,¡± she says quietly. ¡°Hey,¡± I answer, slipping into the chair across from her. She takes a breath and flips open the top folder, sliding a single page toward me. ¡°I found something I wanted to show you,¡± she starts, her voice calm and measured. But there¡¯s something under it too¡ªsomething more. I nce down at the page. A logo I don¡¯t recognize. Text about a local foster care agency, programs they¡¯ve been expanding, an outreach and fundraising initiative they¡¯ve been nning for spring. I frown slightly, looking back up at her. ¡°They¡¯re¡­?¡± She folds her hands over the table. ¡°I know you¡¯ve already got a few options on the table for NIL campaigns,¡± she says. ¡°But I wanted to bring you this one. It¡¯s a local foster care agency¡ªone of the biggest in the county. They¡¯re trying to expand their resources, not just for cements but for older kids who are aging out of the system.¡± Her eyes meet mine then, steady, almost searching. ¡°I thought¡­after Christmas, when you organized that whole gift drive for the kids? You seemed so proud. So excited to be giving back. And I thought¡ªif you were open to sharing more of your story publicly¡ªthis would be the perfect fit. It¡¯s something that actually means more to you. And at the same time, your name would bring them more funding, more visibility, moremunity support.¡± I blink at her, thrownpletely off guard. I nce back down at the page, then up at her again. ¡°You¡­put all this together?¡± I ask, my voice low. She gives the faintest little nod. ¡°I thought it might be a better fit than just another athletic wear brand or energy drink.¡± I lean back in my chair, staring at the paper without really seeing it. It¡¯s not anger that hits me. Not even close. It¡¯s¡­shock. That she would go out of her way like this. That she¡¯d think of me like this. That she¡¯d notice what Christmas meant to me¡ªwhat giving back to those kids really did for me. Nobody¡¯s ever seen that part of me before. Hell, I didn¡¯t even think she noticed that day. But here she is. Her fingers are still folded in front of her, her voice soft when she adds, ¡°If you¡¯re not ready to tell your story publicly yet, Ipletely understand. But if you are¡­I think this could really matter. To you. To them. To everyone watching.¡± I just stare at her for another long second, my chest tight. I stare at the page she slid across the table, but I¡¯m not really seeing the words anymore. I¡¯m seeing her. The way she¡¯s watching me now¡ªquiet, almost nervous. Like she¡¯s bracing herself for me to shoot her down. And it hits me all at once¡ªhow much she cares. Not just about her job. Not just about keeping her little nner perfectly filled and her athletes perfectly polished. She cares about me. Enough to notice what giving back meant to me, even when I thought nobody was paying attention. Enough to use her own time to find something that would actually mean something to me. Enough to give me the choice of whether to share my story or not¡ªwithout judgment, without pressure. That kind of thing¡­nobody¡¯s ever done that for me before. My chest feels tight, and I swallow hard, dragging my thumb along the edge of the paper. And then this other feeling creeps in, quiet at first, but sharp enough that I can¡¯t ignore it. The way she makes my chest ache when she smiles. The way my heart drops every time she pulls away from me now. The way, even when we¡¯re tense like this, she¡¯s still the only one who makes me feel like I¡¯m seen. It startles me. Because I¡¯ve never felt it before. Not like this. Not this deep, not this sharp. And it scares the hell out of me, realizing what it is. I think I¡¯m falling for her. Or worse¡ªmaybe I already have. I tear my eyes away from her for a second, trying to reign in my thoughts. I¡¯ve never told anyone I loved them. Not once. Not foster parents. Not the other kids who lived in the houses with me. Never a hookup. No one. I don¡¯t even know what love is supposed to feel like. But this? This feels a hell of a lot like something I can¡¯t name, and it terrifies me. Because I don¡¯t know if she¡¯ll ever feel it back. And if she did¡­ I¡¯m not sure I¡¯d even know how to say the words. I finally look up at her. She¡¯s still sitting there, her hands folded on top of her notes, watching me with that calm, cautious look of hers. Like she doesn¡¯t know if I¡¯m going to say thank you or bite her head off. The corners of my mouth twitch faintly. ¡°Thank you,¡± I say finally, my voice rougher than I mean it to be. ¡°For¡­thinking of this. And for not just¡ª¡± I cut myself off, shaking my head slightly. ¡°Thank you.¡± Her shoulders seem to loosen a little, and she nods, scribbling something in her nner to break the moment. I stand, tucking the folder under my arm. ¡°Email me if they need anything else,¡± I murmur. She nods again without looking at me. And I leave before the ache in my chest can spread any further. By the time I¡¯m back outside, the air feels too heavy. My thoughts are all over the ce, too sharp to sit with, too much to carry. So, I do the only thing I know how to do. I head straight back to the gym. Even though I¡¯ve already worked out today. Even though my body¡¯s still sore from this morning¡¯s lifts. I just¡­need it. I throw my bag down by the wall, yank my hoodie off, and start warming up with a few tes. But I¡¯m not even ten minutes into my first set before I catch sight of him. Jaxon. He¡¯s at the squat rack, shirt soaked through, his knuckles raw from God knows how many pull- ups and bar grips. He doesn¡¯t even notice me at first¡ªhis eyes are locked on the mirror in front of him, jaw clenched, legs shaking under the bar. It hits me then, the way it has a few timestely: All he does anymore is this. Train. Push. Grind himself into the floor. Because it keeps him from thinking about her. About Madison. I¡¯ve heard from the guys that he¡¯s been skipping assignments. Dropping sses. Showing upte to meetings. Nobody¡¯s said it outright yet, but we all know what¡¯s eating at him. And seeing him like this¡ªburning himself out because she can¡¯t seem to make up her damn mind¡ªmakes my blood boil. Because the truth is? If she doesn¡¯t want him, fine. But she doesn¡¯t have to leave him hanging like this. Doesn¡¯t have to let him keep breaking himself just to feel like he¡¯s enough for her. I know what it¡¯s like to want someone to care for you. To be someone¡¯s reason for the smile they wear. But I also know how it feels when you dream of that for sixteen years before reality smacks into you, that no family will ever truly want you. I rack my weight with a sharp ng and wipe my palms on my shorts. Jaxon finally notices me then, ncing over mid-set. He smirks faintly, though it doesn¡¯t reach his eyes. ¡°What crawled up your ass?¡± he asks, breathless but light, like he¡¯s just making conversation. I force augh, shaking my head as I grab another te. ¡°Nothing,¡± I mutter. But as I watch him turn back to his bar, his arms shaking under the weight, my jaw tightens. I rack my next set of tes and nce over at Jaxon again, who¡¯s still grinding through his reps like his life depends on it. It¡¯s quiet for a minute, just the low hum of the gym¡¯s speakers and the faint tter of metal. Finally, between his sets, I speak up. ¡°You ever think,¡± I say, leaning back on the bench. ¡°That all this shit we do¡ªthe early mornings, the extra reps, the grind¡ªnone of it actually fixes anything?¡± Jaxon nces over at me, breathing heavy, and lets out a short, humorlessugh. ¡°Every damn day,¡± he mutters, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. He steps away from the rack, resting his hands on his hips, staring down at the floor like it¡¯s got the answer. I watch him for a second, the words seeming to get stuck in my throat. What does love feel like? I want to ask him. Because whatever this thing is eating me alive whenever L¡¯s around¡ªit¡¯s bigger than anything I¡¯ve felt before. And I don¡¯t really know what to do with it. But the way Jaxon¡¯s jaw is set, the way his eyes are hollow even behind the faint smirk he throws me¡ªit¡¯s clear this isn¡¯t the time to ask. He¡¯s already got enough of his own wreckage to carry. So instead, I just grab the bar again, settling back onto the bench. ¡°Doesn¡¯t stop us from showing up, though,¡± I say under my breath. Jaxon gives me a faint smile, though it¡¯s more sad than anything. ¡°Nope,¡± he says quietly. ¡°Doesn¡¯t stop us.¡± He steps back up to his rack, loading more weight, and I lie back, staring up at the ceiling. And I tell myself the question can wait. Even if the answer feels like the one thing I really need. Red Zone: Chapter 44 L I sink deeper into the bath, letting the waterp at my corbones, my knees pulled just slightly to my chest. The faint scent of eucalyptus andvender clings to the air. The only sounding from the crashing waves video ying from my phone. But none of my normal tricks are working to quiet my thoughts. I can¡¯t stop Grayson¡¯s words from repeating on a loop in my head. You¡¯re good at what you do, L. Don¡¯t let anything get in the way of that. He said it so casually, like the choice should be simple. But nothing feels simple now. Because he¡¯s not wrong. I¡¯ve worked so hard for this. Everyte night. Every summer ss. Every internship no one thought I was qualified for, but I wed my way through anyway. This is my dream. And risking it all for Carter? It feels reckless. I trail my fingers absently through the water, watching little ripples spread and fade. The worst part isn¡¯t even what it could do to me. It¡¯s what it could do to him. Carter¡¯s on the verge of everything he¡¯s ever wanted. The scouts are watching. The media¡¯s watching. Every move he makes is already under a microscope, and he doesn¡¯t even know how much. I see the way they would spin it. They¡¯d use him of using me. Paint him as a charity case. Say we were manipting his story for pity points, sympathy headlines, better endorsements. And God¡­he¡¯d hate that. He¡¯d hate himself for that. He doesn¡¯t want to be seen that way. Not ever. He¡¯s worked too damn hard to get here on his own. And if I let this thing between us keep growing¡ªif it blows up¡ªhe¡¯ll take the fall for it. Even if it¡¯s my fault too. I rest my forehead on my knees, closing my eyes. And then there¡¯s the question I can¡¯t stop asking myself, even when I try to bury it. Does he even see me¡­the way I see him? Does he see this as together-together? Does he even picture a future¡ªwith me still in it? Or am I just here right now because it¡¯s easy? Because he¡¯s lonely? Because I¡¯m convenient? The thought guts me. I know better than anyone what happens when people stop choosing you. When they wake up one morning and realize you were just something to fill the space until they found better. One or both of us is going to end up burned. I just can¡¯t tell if walking away now would hurt more¡­or less¡­than staying. The faucet drips. The eucalyptus scent clings to my skin. The steam curls higher, soft and suffocating all at once. And I sit there in the water, knees pulled tight to my chest, trying to figure out what the hell my next move should be.
By Wednesday morning, the coffee shop is already full of bleary-eyed students mingled with the smell of espresso. Winter midterms always bring the worst out in everyone¡ªhalf the tables are covered in openptops and highlighters, the other half in crumpled napkins and abandoned cups. I im my usual corner seat by the window and pull out my nner. Two exams today, another one Friday morning, and three more deadlines next week. My page is a mess of checkmarks and sticky notes. I nce toward the door out of habit, but of course¡­no Madison. She¡¯s been scarcetely. I tell myself it¡¯s just midterms keeping her busy too, but deep down, I know that¡¯s not it. I miss her. Not just because she¡¯s my roommate, not just because she knows how I like my tea and keeps me from overstudying. But because¡­I don¡¯t know how to talk about everything I¡¯m feeling without her. About him. I tug my notebook closer, flipping to my study outline, but my mind wanders anyway. Things with Carter have been¡­okay. Better than okay, really. We haven¡¯t talked about us, haven¡¯t defined anything, haven¡¯t even argued. But he still shows up. Likest week, when he showed up outside the apartment with a pint of cookie dough ice cream at eleven o¡¯clock, just because he ¡°felt like it.¡± We sat on the couch and passed the pint back and forth, and when we finally fell asleep, we were still wrapped up in each other, his hand resting warm and heavy on my hip. That¡¯s how it¡¯s been. Him showing up in quiet ways I never thought he would. But sometimes, when he thinks I¡¯m not looking, I catch him watching me with this question in his eyes. Like he¡¯s starting to notice I¡¯m not fully okay. Like he can tell I¡¯m starting to pull pieces of myself back. And I hate that. I hate that no matter how hard I try, part of me can¡¯t just let go of what Grayson said and believe this is enough. I rest my chin on my hand, staring down at my notes, the words blurring together. Because even though things are fine, even though everything seems to be going okay¡­ I can¡¯t stop wondering if that¡¯s really enough. By the time the man who gues my thoughts slides into the seat across from me, my tea is cold and my pen is poised uselessly over my notes. I blink up at him, startled. ¡°You¡¯re not supposed to be here,¡± I murmur, though I can¡¯t stop the little smile that tugs at my lips. He just shrugs, plopping his drink down and leaning his elbows on the table. ¡°Yeah, well,¡± he says, voice low and warm. ¡°You¡¯re not supposed to be here alone either. And since Madison¡¯s gone MIA¡­¡± I roll my eyes, but my chest feels lighter already. ¡°You didn¡¯t have toe.¡± He smirks faintly, leaning back in his chair. ¡°I know I didn¡¯t have to, L. Wanted to.¡± That shuts me up. He winks, tapping the top of my notebook. ¡°Come on, pack up. I¡¯m escorting you to your midterm.¡± And he does. Even with his hands shoved in his pockets and his hood up against the February chill, he falls into step beside me so easily, shortening his long stride to match mine perfectly. As we near the lecture hall, I start fidgeting with the strap of my bag, nerves bubbling up. He notices, of course he does, and stops before we make it all the way. Hooking a finger under my chin to tilt my face toward him, he calms my thoughts with those ocean blue eyes of his. ¡°Hey,¡± he says gently, his eyes soft but steady. ¡°You¡¯ve got this. You¡¯re gonna kill it.¡± I bite my lip, trying to stop the smile thates from his belief in me, even if I don¡¯t fully believe in myself. He grins then, leaning just a little closer as his voice drops lower. ¡°That¡¯s my girl.¡± Something in the way he says it sends heat rushing to my cheeks, my breath catching in my throat. His hand lingers under my chin, his thumb brushing lightly over my jaw. And then he leans in¡ªjust enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath on my lips, his eyes dropping to my mouth like he¡¯s already forgotten where we are. My heart stutters, my fingers tightening on my bag strap. And quietly, barely above a whisper, I murmur, ¡°Carter¡­we¡¯re in public.¡± He freezes, just for a beat. His smile falters faintly as reality sinks in, and he straightens, jamming his hands back into his pockets. ¡°Right,¡± he mutters, his shoulders stiffening. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t want anyone to see us like that.¡± ¡°Carter¡ª¡± He forces a smile, but it doesn¡¯t reach his eyes this time. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± he cuts in lightly. ¡°Go ace your exam. I¡¯ll¡­talk to youter.¡± Before I can say anything else, he turns and walks back down the hall, his head ducked, hands still stuffed deep in his pockets. I stand there for a moment, watching him go, guilt knotting tight in my stomach. And when I finally turn back toward the door, I catch sight of her. Savannah. Leaning casually against the wall a few yards away, her arms crossed, and her perfectly glossy lips curved into the faintest little smirk. She pushes off the wall, her heels clicking on the tile as she turns and strolls away without a word. My stomach drops. And at the worst time imaginable, my notes and my exam are the furthest thing from my mind. Red Zone: Chapter 45 It¡¯s been three days, and I still can¡¯t stop thinking about it. The way she looked up at me, her lips parted, her cheeks pink like she wanted me to close the gap. The way I leaned in without even thinking, like it was the most natural thing in the world to kiss her right there, in the middle of the hallway, with half of campus walking by. And the way she stopped me. Soft. Almost apologetic. But still, she stopped me. We¡¯re in public. I m my door shut, the sound echoing through the quiet football house. I know she¡¯s right. I know it¡¯s not a good look for her. Not here. Not now. Her whole career depends on people taking her seriously, and no one¡¯s going to do that if they think she¡¯s just sleeping with the quarterback to climb thedder. It has nothing to do with me. It doesn¡¯t matter where I came from or how I grew up or how I¡¯ve never once had anyone choose me when it really counted. It¡¯s just¡­bad optics. That¡¯s what I keep telling myself anyway. Even if it feels like shit every time she pulls away. I grab my jacket off the hook and head out the door, the cold night air biting at my skin. It¡¯s Saturday. Hockey house party. Beck insisted Ie with him. Said something about needing his ¡°trusty wingman¡± now that he¡¯s decided it¡¯s time to get back into the dating scene after his breakup. I didn¡¯t even want to go at first, but the idea of sitting here all night and stewing over L is worse. So here I am, walking across campus, hands shoved deep in my pockets, trying to convince myself this isn¡¯t about her. That everything I feel when she looks at me like I¡¯m more than just the kid from nowhere¡ªthat¡¯s just in my head. That I can shove it all back down and be fine. By the time I get to the hockey house, the music¡¯s already thumping through the walls, and a line of people snakes out the door. I find Beck leaning against the porch rail, a beer in his hand, dark hair falling into his eyes as he scans the crowd. When he spots me, he grins and lifts his drink in greeting. ¡°About time, Hayes,¡± he calls over the noise. ¡°Thought you were gonna bail on me.¡± I force a smirk. ¡°Nah,¡± I say, pping him on the shoulder. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t leave you hanging.¡± Because that¡¯s what I do. Show up. Even when nobody does the same for me. We walk up the porch steps, Beck straightening his cor like he¡¯s about to walk into a damn job interview. ¡°You¡¯re nervous,¡± I mutter, hiding a smirk as I tug my hood down. He scoffs, but the way he keeps ncing at the door gives him away. ¡°Not nervous,¡± he says. ¡°Just¡­rusty. You know. It¡¯s been a while since¡­¡± I p him on the shoulder as I push the door open. ¡°You¡¯ll be fine, Romeo. Just don¡¯t tell her you¡¯re looking for a recement for your ex, and you might even get a number tonight.¡± He flips me off, but his lips twitch like he¡¯s trying not tough. The ce is packed, music thumping through the floorboards, the air thick with beer and cheap perfume. I follow Beck as he threads through the crowd toward the kitchen. That¡¯s when I spot Grayson leaning against the counter with a beer in hand, his usual easy grin in ce, surrounded by three hockey guys I recognize from the team. He sees me at the same time and straightens, lifting his bottle in greeting. ¡°Hayes,¡± he calls over the music. ¡°Look at that¡ªthe quarterback shows his face at a hockey party. World must be ending.¡± Beck chuckles as we walk over. ¡°Grayson,¡± I say, smirking faintly. He ps me on the back and nods toward his teammates. ¡°Boys, you know QB1. Carter Hayes. And his¡­moral support?¡± He gestures to Beck with a teasing grin. ¡°Beck,¡± Beck says dryly, shaking his hand. ¡°These are some of my teammates. Weston, Kai, and Asher,¡± Grayson says, introducing the other guys, who nod and give me their little chin lifts of respect. We stand there for a minute, making small talk. The hockey team is having a hell of a season, on track to hit the regionals next month if they keep it up. Beck¡¯s already scanning the room like he¡¯s on a mission. Grayson leans in a little closer to me, lowering his voice just enough that it barely cuts through the music. ¡°So¡­how¡¯s L?¡± he asks casually. I stiffen, my grip tightening slightly on my cup. Why does he care? And why is he asking me? I force a shrug, keeping my tone neutral. ¡°She¡¯s fine,¡± I mutter. Grayson hums like he doesn¡¯t quite believe me but lets it go, turning back to his teammates. I down the rest of my beer, needing something to take the edge off. ¡°Gonna grab another,¡± I say, already moving toward the cooler. On my way, I catch sight of Beck on the couch¡ªand I can¡¯t help but snort into my drink. He¡¯s sitting ramrod straight, a gorgeous brte practically draped across hisp, ying with the cor of his shirt. And Beck? He¡¯s staring straight ahead like she just told him she¡¯s a wanted fugitive and not just some hot girl at a party. Poor bastard. Still hung up on his ex. I shake my head and chuckle under my breath as I crack open another beer. That¡¯s when I feel a hand slide onto my arm. ¡°Carter,¡± a sweet, syrupy voice purrs behind me. I turn, and sure enough¡ªit¡¯s Savannah. She steps closer, her nails grazing over my sleeve, her smile sharp and practiced. ¡°You¡¯ve been hard to pin downtely,¡± she says, her voice dripping with false warmth. ¡°What, are you tied down to someone? Or just ying hard to get?¡± I shake her hand off, meeting her gaze evenly. ¡°Just busy,¡± I say tly. But she doesn¡¯t even flinch. If anything, her grin widens, like she takes it as a challenge. ¡°Oh,e on,¡± she teases, leaning in closer so her perfume hits me like a wall. ¡°You don¡¯t have to pretend with me. Everyone knows you¡¯re not the type to stay tied down or get serious. Not with all the options you¡¯ve got. You could have anyone in this room.¡± I let the silence hang for a second, staring her down, before I finally answer. ¡°Maybe you don¡¯t know me as well as you think you do.¡± That earns me the faintest arch of her brow. She circles me just slightly, running her hand down the edge of the cooler like she owns the ce. ¡°Fine,¡± she says lightly, cocking her head at me. ¡°If it¡¯s not about the options, then what? What¡¯s stopping you from just¡­having some fun? You don¡¯t have to prove anything to anybody. This is your moment. Why waste it?¡± I take a slow sip of my beer before answering. ¡°Because I¡¯m focused,¡± I say quietly, my voice firm. That actually makes her blink. ¡°Focused?¡± she echoes, like it¡¯s a foreign concept. ¡°On my future,¡± I rify, setting my beer down and straightening up. ¡°On getting out of here. On making sure I actually have something to show for all of this when it¡¯s over. That¡¯s what I care about. Not¡­¡± I wave vaguely toward the rest of the room. ¡°Whatever this is supposed to be.¡± Her smile falters just barely before she recovers it, tossing her hair over her shoulder. ¡°Well,¡± she purrs, stepping back. ¡°That¡¯s very noble of you. Not many guys your age would walk away from an opportunity like me.¡± I can¡¯t help the faint smirk that tugs at my lips as I pick my beer back up. ¡°Guess I¡¯m not like most guys.¡± Savannah studies me for another second, her smile more brittle now, before letting out a softugh and turning on her heel. ¡°Your loss,¡± she calls lightly over her shoulder before disappearing into the crowd. I drain the rest of my beer and set the empty bottle on the counter before pushing off, heading back into the living room. The music¡¯s louder now, the party even more packed, but I can still pick Beck out instantly. He¡¯s exactly where Ist saw him¡ªsitting on the couch, stiff as a board, the gorgeous brte practically wrapped around him while he stares straight ahead like she¡¯s about to bite him. I shake my head and stop in front of him, crossing my arms. ¡°Having fun?¡± I ask, loud enough for him to hear over the music. His eyes snap to me, wide, like I just caught himmitting a crime. ¡°Yeah,¡± he says quickly. Too quickly. ¡°Totally. Fun. Good time.¡± The girl next to him giggles and leans into his shoulder, twirling a piece of her hair around her finger. I raise a brow at him. ¡°You look like you¡¯re being held hostage.¡± That earns me a re, but even he can¡¯t keep up the act. I p him on the shoulder and nod toward the door. ¡°Come on. Let¡¯s get out of here.¡± He doesn¡¯t argue. We weave through the crowd, him muttering something about how she was probably crazy anyway as I open the door and let the cold air hit us. By the time we make it to the sidewalk, the thump of bass from the house is already fading into the quiet of the street. Beck shoves his hands into his hoodie pocket and exhales, his breath fogging in the air. ¡°Thanks,¡± he says after a beat. I nce at him, smirking faintly. ¡°Anytime. You looked like you were about five seconds away from faking a phone call.¡± He actuallyughs at that, shaking his head. ¡°Yeah, well,¡± he says with a shrug. ¡°Guess I¡¯m not ready to¡­you know. Move on. Not yet.¡± I don¡¯t say anything right away, just shove my hands in my pockets and keep walking beside him. Because if I¡¯m being honest¡­ Neither am I. Red Zone: Chapter 46 Friday the Thirteenth. I¡¯ve never been superstitious. But after this morning? I may have to reconsider. It starts with an email. Subject: Need to see you in my office ASAP. From: Megan Talbot The timestamp is 7:02 a.m. I blink at it for a full thirty seconds before the panic sets in. I¡¯m still in my pajamas, hair in a messy bun, my nner open on the counter as I finish my tea. ¡°Oh my God,¡± I mutter, shoving my chair back and scrambling to my feet. I barely remember to turn off the kettle before darting to my bedroom. I throw on the first thing I can grab¡ªa blouse that needs to be steamed and ck pants that are definitely wrinkled¡ªand hop around trying to get them on while I shove my feet into ts. On my way out the door, I grab my tea without thinking and end up sloshing half of it down the front of my blouse. ¡°Perfect,¡± I groan, trying to dab at it with a napkin as I m the door shut behind me. The parking lot is, of course, already packed when I get to campus. I circle twice, gripping the steering wheel tighter with each turn. When I finally spot an open space near the building, a beat-up truck cuts in from the other direction and takes it right in front of me. I actually yell at my windshield. By the time I find a spot two lots over and speed-walk my way to the athletic office, my chest is tight, my pulse is pounding, and my tea stain is a full-on Rorschach test. I¡¯m five minuteste when I finally stumble into Megan¡¯s office, breathless. ¡°I¡ªI¡¯m so sorry,¡± I blurt, clutching my bag and smoothing my blouse like it¡¯ll help. ¡°The parking lot was?¡ª¡± She looks up from her desk, and one look at her expression shuts me up. She¡¯s not happy. Her mouth is set in a tight line, her brows slightly furrowed. ¡°Have a seat, L,¡± she says coolly. I swallow hard, slipping into the chair opposite her desk, my hands knotting together in myp. She lets the silence stretch just long enough to make my stomach twist before she finally speaks. ¡°You remember theint we addressed earlier this year,¡± she says, her tone measured. ¡°About you allegedly showing favoritism toward certain athletes?¡± I nod quickly, my throat dry. ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am. I thought we resolved?¡ª¡± Her eyes cut to mine, sharp enough to stop me. ¡°Well, unfortunately, someone has nowe forward iming they have proof that you¡¯re romantically involved with one of the yers. Carter Hayes, specifically.¡± My breath catches in my chest. The room suddenly feels too small, too hot, the faint hum of the fluorescent lights loud in my ears. I open my mouth, but nothinges out. Because even though I shouldn¡¯t be surprised¡­ It still feels like the floor just dropped out from under me. My tongue feels like sandpaper. The words are there, somewhere, but I can¡¯t grab on to them. I just¡­sit there, staring at Megan like maybe I misheard her. But her expression doesn¡¯t waver. She leans back slightly in her chair, her fingers steepled on the desk between us. ¡°This looks very bad for you, L,¡± she continues, her voice calm but clipped. ¡°I don¡¯t think you fully understand the position this puts us in. If a staff member or even a fellow intern is seen as having an improper rtionship with an athlete, it calls into question every decision they make on the job. Every sponsorship, every campaign, every piece of data can be called biased. And that undermines the entire program.¡± I swallow hard, but my throat stays dry. She shakes her head faintly. ¡°You need to decide what you want. This internship¡­or Carter.¡± The way she says his name¡ªlike it¡¯s a dirty word¡ªmakes my stomach twist. ¡°You cannot continue working in this role while having¡­whatever it is you have with him,¡± Megan says firmly. ¡°Not as long as he¡¯s still an athlete at this school. It¡¯s inappropriate. It looks bad. It¡¯s not a question of fairness¡ªit¡¯s a question of ethics. We cannot afford the appearance of impropriety here.¡± She exhales slowly, leaning back in her chair. ¡°In any other case,¡± she adds pointedly. ¡°This would already be grounds for immediate termination.¡± I feel my stomach drop even further. But then her eyes meet mine, steady and unflinching. ¡°The only reason you¡¯re even sitting here right now,¡± she says. ¡°Is because of your father¡¯s position in the athletic department and?¡ª¡± That finally cuts through the fog in my head. I sit up straighter, my jaw tightening as I find my voice again. ¡°I don¡¯t want special treatment,¡± I blurt, louder than I mean to. Megan blinks at me, clearly surprised by my interruption. I grip the edge of my seat, forcing my voice to be steady, even though my heart is hammering. ¡°I don¡¯t want to skate by just because of who my dad is. If you¡¯re going to make a decision, make it based on me. Not him. Don¡¯t¡­don¡¯t let him factor into this.¡± Megan studies me for a long, heavy beat after my outburst, her brow slightly arched. Then she leans forward, resting her elbows on the desk, and her voice cuts through the air, sharp but calm. ¡°If you¡¯d let me finish,¡± she says evenly. ¡°I was going to tell you that the work you¡¯ve put in¡­the long hours, the way you¡¯ve handled every athlete we¡¯ve thrown your way, the creativity you¡¯ve brought to every campaign¡ªthat is the reason we¡¯re even having this conversation right now.¡± I blink, my breath catching, but I don¡¯t say anything. Megan shakes her head faintly, almost like she¡¯s disappointed it even needed saying. ¡°You¡¯ve shown more potential than most people twice your age. You¡¯ve proven yourself invaluable to this department. But potential or not, you¡¯re on a knife¡¯s edge right now, L. You need to decide which direction you¡¯re going to fall.¡± Her words hit harder than I expect. She sees the potential in me. She really does. And she¡¯s telling me she doesn¡¯t want to see me throw it all away. But the weight of her warning still sits like lead in my stomach. She sits back in her chair, her eyes steady on mine. ¡°I¡¯m going to give you the weekend,¡± she says finally. ¡°Think about what you want. Come Monday, I expect you to have a decision. This internship or your¡­rtionship with Carter Hayes. You cannot have both.¡± I nod faintly, even though my chest feels like it¡¯s caving in. And when she dismisses me, I stand on shaky legs, clutching my bag as I slip out of her office. Because no matter which way I choose¡­ Someone¡¯s going to get hurt.
By Sunday afternoon, I know what I need to do. The apartment is quiet, the sunlight through my bedroom window the only light needed as I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at my phone. The message is already typed out. Can youe over? We need to talk. I stare at it for what feels like an hour before finally pressing send. The three little dots appear almost immediately, then disappear, and then: Quarterback: On my way. I set my phone down and bury my face in my hands, trying to steady the nervous thrum in my chest. When the knock finallyes, I feel like my legs are made of lead as I force myself up and open the door. Carter stands there in a hoodie and joggers, his hands shoved in his pockets, his hair slightly mussed like he¡¯s been running one too many hands through it today. But the second his eyesnd on me, his easy expression hardens. ¡°You okay?¡± he asks, stepping inside, his brow furrowing. I close the door behind him, hugging my arms around myself. ¡°I¡­¡± I trail off, searching for the right words. ¡°We need to talk.¡± That¡¯s all it takes. His jaw tightens. He doesn¡¯t sit, just stands there in the middle of the living room, watching me with a guarded look. I motion toward the couch, and we both sit¡ªthough not as close as we usually would. I stare down at my hands in myp, then force the words out before I lose my nerve. ¡°Megan called me into her office Friday morning,¡± I say quietly. ¡°Someone came forward. They¡­filed a formalint.¡± Carter stiffens. I can feel his gaze on me, but I keep my eyes on my hands. ¡°They imed we¡¯re¡­romantically involved,¡± I add. My voice is thin, shaky now. ¡°She gave me until tomorrow to decide. The internship¡­or you. I can¡¯t have both, Carter.¡± The silence between us feels like it could split the room in two. I can feel him staring at the floor, his jaw tight, but the silence between us is suffocating. So, I break it. ¡°I don¡¯t know for sure who filed theint,¡± I say softly, my fingers knotting in myp. ¡°Megan didn¡¯t say.¡± That gets his eyes on me, sharp and questioning. I take a shaky breath. ¡°But if I had to guess¡­it¡¯s probably Savannah,¡± I admit, my voice quiet. ¡°Grayson doesn¡¯t seem like the type.¡± Carter blinks at me, his brows furrowing. ¡°Grayson?¡± I shrug weakly. ¡°He¡¯s been nothing but respectful. If anything, he¡¯s warned me about how it might look. But Savannah¡­she¡¯s been watching. I noticed her the night of the first party when you almost¡­¡± I trail off, my cheeks heating. ¡°Kissed me. She saw mee back inside after.¡± Carter sits up straighter, the faintest crease forming between his brows. ¡°And then before my midterm,¡± I continue, ncing down. ¡°She was leaning against the wall down the hall. Watching. I didn¡¯t even notice her at first.¡± Carter exhales sharply, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. ¡°Shit,¡± he mutters under his breath. I nce at him, and that¡¯s when he shakes his head, almostughing, but there¡¯s no humor in it. ¡°She came onto me,¡± he says finally, his voice tight. My stomach flips. ¡°What?¡± ¡°At the hockey partyst weekend,¡± he goes on, his tone growing sharper. ¡°When Beck and I went. She cornered me by the cooler, put her hand on me. Told me I ¡®wasn¡¯t the kind of guy to stay tied down¡¯ and that I should ¡®have some fun.¡¯¡± My chest tightens, my breath catching. ¡°She what?¡± Carter looks at me now, eyes dark, jaw set. ¡°I shut her down,¡± he snaps, his voice firm but not at me. ¡°Told her she didn¡¯t know me as well as she thought she did. But she just smiled like she already won something and walked away.¡± I close my eyes and shake my head, the knot in my stomach pulling tighter. It makes sense now. Too much sense. The timing. The nces. The smug little smirk she gave me in the hallway that day. Carter leans back against the couch, dragging a hand down his face, his chest rising and falling with a quiet frustration, his jaw still tight, and for the first time I see it¡ªthe full weight of what this means settling over both of us. And neither of us says anything for a long moment. Because we both already know who¡¯s behind it. And we both know how bad this could get. Carter¡¯s hand drops from his face, and he leans forward again, his elbows resting on his knees as he stares at the floor. When he finally speaks, his voice is low but sharp, cutting through the silence. ¡°She¡¯s not gonna get away with this.¡± The words make my chest ache. I want to believe him¡ªGod, I do¡ªbut all I can do is shake my head, staring at my hands twisted in myp. ¡°She already has,¡± I whisper. His head snaps up, his eyes narrowing. ¡°Megan made it crystal clear,¡± I say, my throat tightening. ¡°We can¡¯t be together. Not as long as you¡¯re still ying here. If I want to keep my internship, my reputation, my future¡ªI can¡¯t be with you.¡± The weight of it sits between us like a storm cloud, heavy and impossible to ignore. His jaw clenches as he leans back, his hands gripping the edge of the couch, his knuckles white. But he doesn¡¯t argue. Because he knows I¡¯m right. And that hurts worse than anything else. Red Zone: Chapter 47 Ilean forward, staring at the floor. The silence between us stretches long and sharp before I finally force myself to look at her. ¡°What about you?¡± I ask, my voice low. Her eyes flick up to meet mine, startled. I swallow hard. ¡°What do you want, L?¡± She presses her lips together, like she doesn¡¯t know how to answer. ¡°Do you¡­¡± My throat feels tight as I force the words out. ¡°Do you want me to wait? Or are you saying this is it?¡± Her shoulders slump as she lets out a shaky breath, her gaze falling to herp. ¡°The draft isn¡¯t far from now,¡± she says, softly. ¡°Neither of us even knows where you¡¯ll end up. Or where I will. Everything¡¯s¡­uncertain.¡± I don¡¯t say anything at first, just watch as her fingers fidget with the hem of her sleeve. Because I already know what I¡¯m going to do. I already decided the second Megan gave her that ultimatum. But watching her now¡ªso unsure, so careful, trying so hard not to fall apart¡­it just¡­wrecks me a little more. So, I lean back, resting my arm along the back of the couch, my eyes still on her. ¡°You know,¡± I say quietly. ¡°We started this without thinking about where it was going. Without nning. Without even talking about it.¡± She nces up at me, confused, but I keep going. ¡°Maybe that¡¯s how we should end it too.¡± Her brow furrows slightly. I shift closer, my voice dropping. ¡°Just¡­one more time,¡± I murmur. ¡°One more night. Get it out of our systems. End it the same way it started.¡± Her lips part like she wants to protest, but no wordse out. And I can see it in her eyes¡ªshe¡¯s just as torn as I am. Because no matter how much she wants to do the right thing¡­ She wants me too. She swallows hard, her gaze dropping back to herp as my words settle between us. I can almost see the storm behind her eyes¡ªthe part of her that wants to say no, to protect herself, to keep the lines clean. And the part of her that doesn¡¯t. The part that still feels what I feel every time we¡¯re in the same room. Her hands twist in herp, and she shakes her head faintly. ¡°Carter¡­¡± she starts, her voice soft but firm. ¡°This isn¡¯t just a game. It¡¯s not something we can just¡­switch off when it¡¯s convenient. I don¡¯t know if I can?¡ª¡± I reach over, gently resting my hand on hers, stopping her words. ¡°I¡¯m not asking you to switch anything off,¡± I say quietly, my thumb brushing over her knuckles. ¡°I¡¯m saying¡­one night. No pretending it¡¯s nothing. No pretending it doesn¡¯t mean something. Just¡­one more time to feel it. Before we have to let it go.¡± Her lips press together, and she finally looks up at me, her eyes ssy but sharp. ¡°And then what?¡± she whispers. I take a breath, my jaw tightening as I search for the right words. ¡°And then,¡± I say, my voice low and steady. ¡°I¡¯ll walk away if that¡¯s what you really want. But at least we¡¯ll know.¡± Her breath hitches, and her fingers tighten slightly around mine. And that¡¯s when I see it¡ªthe faintest nod. Barely more than a breath. But it¡¯s enough. I squeeze her hand gently, my chest tight but lighter somehow, and she exhales, closing her eyes like she¡¯s already bracing herself for what¡¯sing next. Because so am I. She sits there for a long time, her eyes closed, fingers still tangled with mine. When she finally opens them, they meet mine¡ªand I swear there¡¯s something breaking and building all at once in her gaze. She lets out a quiet, shaky breath. Then she stands. My chest tightens as I watch her cross the room, her steps slow but sure. She pauses at her bedroom door, her hand resting on the frame, and for a second, she doesn¡¯t look back. But then she does¡ªjust over her shoulder, her hair falling loose, her eyes soft but heavy with something she doesn¡¯t have to say. I don¡¯t move right away. Not until she nods once, barely more than a breath. And then I¡¯m on my feet. I follow her, my pulse pounding, my fingers flexing as I take the few steps to the doorway. She¡¯s already inside, standing at the foot of the bed now, her arms hugging herself like she¡¯s not sure if this is the right choice. But when she nces up at me again, all I see is her. The girl who¡¯s been in my head since the first night she let me close enough to touch her. The girl who¡¯s been mine in ways she¡¯ll never admit out loud. And I swear to myself that if this is actually thest time¡­I¡¯ll make damn sure she never forgets it. I step inside, closing the door behind me. And even though neither of us says another word¡­ We both already know whates next. Her back is to me when the door clicks shut behind me. For a second, I just stand there, watching her in the dim light of her bedroom. She¡¯s still hugging herself, like she¡¯s bracing for impact. And something deep in my chest cracks at the sight of her¡ªso strong, so careful, and yet¡­standing there like she¡¯s waiting to fall apart. I cross the room slowly, closing the distance between us. When I reach her, I slide my hands over her arms, gently peeling them away from where they¡¯re crossed over her chest. She doesn¡¯t resist. I turn her to face me, and her eyes flick up, ssy, her lips parting slightly like she wants to say something but can¡¯t. So, I shake my head, just barely, and whisper, ¡°Don¡¯t. Not right now.¡± Her throat bobs as she swallows, and I lean down, pressing my forehead to hers. For a long beat, we just breathe. Then I kiss her. It starts soft, almost hesitant, like even now we¡¯re still afraid to break each other. But it doesn¡¯t stay that way. Her fingers find the hem of my hoodie, pushing it up and over my head. I tug at her blouse, letting it fall to the floor, memorizing every inch of skin I uncover like it¡¯s thest thing I¡¯ll ever see. And maybe it is. When Iy her back on the bed, the way she looks up at me almost undoes mepletely. I can¡¯t help but stare at just how perfect she is as I shed the rest of my clothes, leaving them to pile on the ground. Her hair fans out on the pillow, hershes wet from unshed tears, her chest rising and falling fast. I take my time peeling her out of the rest of her clothes, my hands dragging slowly over her hips, her thighs, the delicate slope of her stomach. Every inch of her feels like something I need to memorize. Her skin is warm and soft. She shivers under my palms, her breath catching when I press my lips to her corbone. Then lower. I kiss my way over her breasts, down her ribs, and across her stomach, feeling her fingers tangle in my hair as I go, until she lets out a quiet little whimper that makes my chest tighten. When I finally slip her underwear down her legs, I swear I have to close my eyes for a second just to keep from falling apart right then and there. She¡¯s beautiful. So fucking beautiful. Ie back up over her, kissing her deeply, our bare skin sliding together as she wraps her legs around my waist and pulls me closer. The feeling of her under me, arching into me like she¡¯s been waiting for this as long as I have, makes everything else¡ªevery doubt, every consequence¡ªfall away. Her hands roam my shoulders and my back, her nails dragging lightly down my skin as I grind against her just once, enough to draw a gasp from her lips. I reach for my wallet, tearing the foil packet open with shaking fingers, and she watches me, her chest still heaving, her cheeks flushed. When I finally push into her, slow and steady, her breath hitches and her eyes flutter shut. ¡°Look at me,¡± I whisper, my forehead pressed to hers, my voice hoarse. Her eyes open, wide and ssy, and I hold her gaze as I move in and out of her. Her hands clutch at my shoulders, legs tightening around me, and her lips part on a quiet moan that I swear sears itself into my memory. We find a rhythm together¡ªslow at first, then deeper, harder, until she¡¯s gasping my name softly and I have to bury my face in her neck just to keep myself together. Because those three words are right there, burning at the back of my throat. I love you. But I bite them back. I press my lips to her neck instead, breathing her in, holding her close like maybe if I hold her tight enough, I won¡¯t have to let her go. When it¡¯s over, both of us sated and breathless, I stay there for a long time, still inside her, our chests heaving in sync, her fingerszily tracing circles on my back. But when I finally pull back and see the tears still in her eyes, my heart twists. She tries to wipe them away, shaking her head. ¡°Hey,¡± I murmur, brushing my thumb over her cheek. ¡°Don¡¯t cry. I wasn¡¯t that bad, was I?¡± She lets out a shaky littleugh through her tears, but it cracks halfway, and she just shakes her head again. And that¡¯s when I know I have to leave. Because if I stay, I¡¯ll say those words. And if I say them, I won¡¯t survive hearing her say she can¡¯t say them back. So, I press onest kiss to her forehead before slipping out of bed. I dress quietly, my back to her as I tug my hoodie on, forcing my hands to stay steady. When I make it to her door, I turn back, giving myself one more second to soak it in. To soak her in. ¡°Bye for now, Princess.¡± Tears are silently making their way down her cheeks, and my chest feels like it¡¯s caving in on itself. ¡°Bye, Carter.¡± At the door to the apartment, I pause, my hand on the knob, and almost turn back. Almost. But instead, I shove my hands in my pockets and step out into the dark. Because if I don¡¯t leave now¡­ I never will. Red Zone: Chapter 48 The next few weeks crawl by in this strange, suffocating blur. Carter isn¡¯t mine anymore. Not that he ever really was. But now¡­now it¡¯s official. We keep our distance. We don¡¯t call; we don¡¯t text. When I¡¯m in the athletic department, I keep my head down. When I walk into the coffee shop, I scan the room to make sure he¡¯s not there. We pass each other in the hallway sometimes¡ªhim with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, jaw tight and eyes forward¡ªand every time it feels like another little crack in my chest. I¡¯ve gotten good at pretending. Pretending I don¡¯t notice him. Pretending I don¡¯t still ache every time I see himugh with someone who isn¡¯t me. Pretending that walking away was the right thing. It¡¯s exhausting. And to make it worse, they reassigned him to a new intern. She¡¯s good. Capable. Sweet enough. But she doesn¡¯t know him like I do. And the first thing she did was scrap the foster care initiative I¡¯d built for him. She didn¡¯t even think twice. Apparently, she thought it was ¡°too heavy¡± and ¡°not aspirational enough¡± for his brand. I tried to keep quiet about it at first¡ªtried to remind myself that it wasn¡¯t my ce anymore. But this afternoon, watching her present a whole new campaign to the team¡ªfull of shy sponsorships and superficial taglines¡ªI just snapped. So here I am, standing outside Megan¡¯s office again, clutching my nner to my chest, trying to calm my racing heart. I knock once before she calls me in. She nces up as I step inside, her brow already lifting. ¡°L,¡± she says, closing herptop. ¡°What can I do for you?¡± I clear my throat, forcing myself to stand a little straighter. ¡°I wanted to talk to you about Carter¡¯s campaign,¡± I say, my voice quiet but firm. Megan leans back in her chair, crossing her arms. ¡°Go on.¡± I grip the edge of my nner tighter, trying to steady my hands. ¡°I know I¡¯m not his intern anymore,¡± I begin. ¡°But I spent months building that foster care initiative for him. Because it matters. It¡¯s authentic to who he is, because it gives back to something that makes him who he is today.¡± Megan doesn¡¯t say anything, just watches me evenly, so I keep going. ¡°I know it¡¯s not shy. I know it doesn¡¯t scream ¡®star athlete¡¯ the way energy drinks and sneaker deals do. But it¡¯s real. And it could actually change lives¡ªnot just his, but the kids who¡¯d benefit from it.¡± I finally meet her gaze. ¡°And it¡¯s not about me. It¡¯s about doing right by him. He deserves that.¡± For a moment, Megan just studies me in silence. Then she exhales through her nose, tapping her fingers against the desk. ¡°You really believe in this, don¡¯t you?¡± she asks finally. I nod, my chest tightening. ¡°Yes,¡± I say simply. ¡°I do.¡± Megan regards me for a long, quiet moment with her fingers steepled under her chin. Then she sits forward, resting her elbows on her desk. ¡°You¡¯ve grown a lot this year, L,¡± she says evenly. The words catch me off guard. She gives a faint, wry smile at my expression, but her eyes stay sharp, focused on mine. ¡°When you started, you were good. But green. Afraid to speak up. Afraid to push back. Now? You¡¯re sitting in here telling me what you think is best for one of our biggest athletes¡ªbecause you believe it¡¯s the right thing for him. And that matters.¡± I swallow hard, my fingers tightening slightly more on my nner. Megan leans back, folding her arms, and lets out a quiet breath. ¡°Here¡¯s the thing,¡± she says. ¡°I can¡¯t hold your hand on this. If you think this is the right direction for him, you¡¯re going to have to fight for it. Convince me. Convince the team. Convince him.¡± I blink, startled. ¡°So¡­you¡¯re saying¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯m saying I believe in you,¡± Megan interrupts gently. ¡°And I believe in what you¡¯ve built here. But whether it actually happens? That¡¯s on you. Show me you¡¯re as good as you think you can be. Show me you¡¯re worth betting on.¡± Her words settle in my chest like a weight and a spark all at once. I nod slowly, the nerves and determination tangling together in my stomach. ¡°Okay,¡± I whisper. ¡°I will.¡± Megan smiles faintly and turns back to herptop, already pulling up her next email. ¡°You¡¯re dismissed, Harding,¡± she says without looking up. I clutch my nner to my chest as I stand, the faintest thread of hope cutting through the ache that¡¯s been sitting heavy in me for weeks. Because if nothing else¡­ Maybe I can still do this right.
I sit cross-legged on my living room floor, my nner open in front of me, surrounded by half a dozen sticky notes and three uncapped highlighters. The quiet hum of the heater fills the apartment, but my mind is too loud for it to matter. Megan¡¯s words keep reying in my head. Show me you¡¯re worth betting on. I drag my pen down another page and start sketching out what this could actually look like. Not just a few social media posts. Not just a press release. Something bigger. Something that actually leaves a mark here at PCU and sets the tone for what Carter¡¯s story really is. I flip to a fresh page and write the words at the top in block letters: PCU Summer Football Camp ¡ª For Future Stars. Underneath, I scribble: Open to High School age foster children. Summer football camp hosted at PCU. Drills, skills, and mentorship from college yers. It could start as a fundraiser¡ªuse Carter¡¯s name, his story and influence to build momentum. But eventually, the goal would be something permanent. A program thatsts. Something that gives other kids in his shoes a chance. Sometimes, all it takes is one person believing in you to change the entire course of your life¡ªwhether it¡¯s them believing in you¡­or them giving you the confidence to finally believe in yourself. I stare at the words for a long time, my chest tightening. This¡­feels right. When I finally snap out of my thoughts, it¡¯s already one in the morning. I close my nner and head toward my bed, hoping my brain will quiet enough to get some sleep.
The next morning, I¡¯m back at the athletic department early, my peppermint tea clutched in one hand and my notes in the other as I knock on the athletic director¡¯s office door. ire Andrews looks up in surprise when I peek my head in. ¡°Got a second?¡± I ask, trying to sound more confident than I feel. She gestures for me toe in. ¡°Sure, L. What¡¯s on your mind?¡± I set my nner down and flip it open to the page with my heading. ¡°I know Carter¡¯s current campaign is already in motion,¡± I start carefully. ¡°But I think there¡¯s another direction that could be a better long-term fit. Something that actually connects to who he is and makes an impact here at PCU.¡± ire arches a brow but doesn¡¯t interrupt, so I keep going. ¡°It starts as a fundraiser. A campaign to raise money for a summer football camp here at PCU, open to high school students in foster care. One week of skills, drills, and mentorship with our yers. But long-term? It bes something permanent. A way for the program to give back every year.¡± Her brows rise slightly as I finish, and she leans back in her chair, arms crossed. ¡°You¡¯ve been busy,¡± she says. I smile faintly, even though my stomach is still twisting. ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am,¡± I say softly. ¡°And I really believe this is worth it.¡± She studies me for another beat, then gives a small nod. ¡°All right,¡± she says. ¡°Write it up. We¡¯ll talk numbers and feasibility once you have something formal to pitch to the board. But¡­¡± Her lips twitch into the faintest smile. ¡°I like where your head¡¯s at.¡± I exhale the breath I didn¡¯t even realize I was holding and nod, keeping my chin held high as I turn for the door. ¡°Oh, and L?¡± ire starts. ¡°I just wanted to let you know, that while, yes, you did technically break the rules by being romantically involved with a yer, we also know that the person who reported you was doing so maliciously and that what was said was untrue. She is being punished ordingly.¡± Giving her a tight smile, I walk out into the hall. While it doesn¡¯t undo what happened, it does make me feel better that my work isn¡¯t being questioned. For the first time in weeks, I feel like I¡¯m moving toward something that really matters. And I won¡¯t stop until I see it through. Red Zone: Chapter 49 Ithought staying away from her would get easier. It hasn¡¯t. If anything¡­it¡¯s worse. It¡¯s been weeks now, and every single day I catch myself looking for her without even thinking about it. On the sidelines. In the hallway. In the stands. And when I do see her¡ªhead down, busy with her tablet or her nner¡ªit guts me. Because I don¡¯t just miss her. I miss us. The way she¡¯d lean into me when sheughed. The way she¡¯d look up at me like I was more than just another yer with a jersey and a number. I never realized how much I needed someone to look at me like that. Now it¡¯s all I can think about. It hits me at the worst times too. When I¡¯m running routes at practice, when I¡¯m watching film, even when I¡¯m trying to sleep. That night at her ce reys over and over in my head. The way she felt under me. The way she whispered my name like it meant something. The way her eyes filled with tears when I got dressed to leave. And still¡­I left. Because that¡¯s what she asked me to do, even if she couldn¡¯t bring herself to say it out loud. I drag a hand over my face, leaning back on my bed. The ceiling is cracked in one corner, and I stare at it like it¡¯s hiding the answers I¡¯ve been looking for. But it doesn¡¯t give me any hints. I thought I¡¯d gotten good at being wanted for what I can do on a field and nothing else. But she made me feel like more. And now that I¡¯ve had that¡­nothing else feels good enough. Not the game. Not the noise. Not even the dream I¡¯ve been chasing since I was a kid. Because none of it is her.
The hockey house is packed with the kind of party that spills out onto the porch, music shaking the walls and beer bottles already collecting in corners. We¡¯re through super regionals, one step closer to the championship, and the guys are riding the high hard. Jaxon and Beck are holding court over by the beer pong table, already a few games deep. Jaxon¡¯s got his game face on even here, but Beck? He¡¯s got that half-baked, too-big grin that alwayses out when he¡¯s trying too hard to forget something. I keep an eye on both of them anyway. Logan¡¯s leaning on the counter next to me, scrolling through his phone while we talk. ¡°You heard from anyone yet?¡± he asks casually, ncing up. ¡°A few,¡± I say, sipping my beer. ¡°Bears GM reached out this week. Raiders want to talk at Pro Day. Couple others sent over questionnaires. Nothing huge yet. All just¡­noise.¡± Logan grunts, putting his phone away. ¡°It¡¯s gonna get real after Pro Day. ce¡¯ll be crawling with scouts. You and Jaxon are gonna have all thirty-two here watching.¡± I smirk faintly and shake my head. ¡°No pressure.¡± He chuckles, but then the front door swings open and a group of girls steps inside,ughing and brushing snow off their jackets. Something about one of them catches my eye. The way she carries herself¡ªlike she owns the room already¡ªfeels familiar. I frown, tipping my beer slightly in her direction and murmuring to Logan, ¡°Hey¡­isn¡¯t that your buddy¡¯s sister?¡± Logan freezes midugh. His head snaps up, his eyes locking on the girl at the center of the group. And everything about him changes. Thezy grin is gone. His shoulders square up, his jaw tightens. He straightens and shoves off the counter without another word, stalking toward her. Her friends are still giggling, looking around like they¡¯re here for a good time. Logan looks like he¡¯s ready to ruin hers. I lean back, raising my beer to my lips, watching him close the distance. Whatever¡¯s about to happen¡­ It¡¯s definitely not gonna be good. I¡¯m still watching Logan weave through the crowd, all wound up and locked in on her, when someone ps me on the shoulder. ¡°QB1,¡± a familiar voice drawls behind me. I turn to see Grayson grinning, a beer in one hand and his other stuffed in his pocket. He looks like he¡¯s barely broken a sweat despite the chaos of the party. Hockey guys. ¡°Grayson,¡± I say with a faint smirk, reaching out to shake his hand. Pulling his hand out of his pocket, he shakes mine before leaning casually against the counter next to me, scanning the room. ¡°Didn¡¯t think you¡¯d show tonight. Heard you guys were celebrating your little football miracle.¡± I huff augh and shake my head. ¡°Not much of a miracle when we put in the work.¡± Grayson raises his beer and clinks it against mine anyway. ¡°Well,¡± he says. ¡°Congrats, Hayes. You guys earned it. Regionals ain¡¯t easy, and you made it look good.¡± I raise a brow at him and tip my beer back. ¡°Right back at you,¡± I reply, nodding toward him. ¡°Congrats on your win too. That overtime goal was something else.¡± Grayson¡¯s grin widens at that, like he can¡¯t help it. ¡°Not bad for a hockey boy, huh?¡± he teases, taking a sip. ¡°Not bad at all,¡± I admit, letting the corner of my mouth twitch up. For a second, it¡¯s easy to forget everything else¡ªthe tension in my chest, the ache I¡¯ve been carrying around thesest few weeks¡ªjust leaning against the counter with someone who gets it. But then my eyes drift back to the beer pong table, where Beck is still putting on a show and Jaxon¡¯s watching him quietly, phone still in his hand. And a little further past them, I catch Logan again¡ªstanding nose-to-nose with her now, his voice low but sharp, her arms crossed defiantly over her chest. Something tells me this night¡¯s not done being interesting. Not even close. I lose track of what Grayson¡¯s saying after a while. Something about yoffs and line changes and how the hockey guys are already nning a road trip if they make it to nationals. I nod and smile where I¡¯m supposed to, but my mind¡¯s somewhere else entirely. I can still feel her. Even when she¡¯s not here. That¡¯s the worst part¡ªwalking through rooms like this and catching myself scanning the crowd out of habit. Like some part of me still believes she¡¯ll be standing there with her nner tucked against her chest, pretending not to look for me too. So, when I finally peel myself away from the living room and head back into the kitchen for another drink, I don¡¯t expect much. Until I see her. At least, I think it¡¯s her. A sh of red hair catches my eye near the counter, the kind of color that turns gold under the light. But it¡¯s shorter now. Way shorter. Just grazing her shoulders instead of falling in waves down her back. She¡¯s half-turned, chatting with someone, one hand absently smoothing the ends of her hair like she¡¯s still not used to it. But I¡¯d know her anywhere. And before I can stop myself, the words slip out. ¡°You cut your hair.¡± She startles slightly, ncing over her shoulder at me. Her cheeks turn the faintest shade of pink, but she covers it with a tiny smirk. ¡°You noticed,¡± she says, tucking a strand behind her ear. ¡°Was starting to think you only paid attention to stats and game film.¡± I huff a quietugh, stepping closer. ¡°I notice,¡± I murmur, letting my eyes sweep over her once before meeting hers again. Her lips part slightly, and for half a second it feels like it used to¡ªjust her and me in our own little world. She drops her gaze, twisting a strand of hair between her fingers. ¡°Do you¡­like it?¡± she asks hesitantly. I tilt my head, letting a faint grin pull at the corner of my mouth. ¡°I love it,¡± I say simply. Her lips twitch into a small smile, and she finally meets my eyes again. And for a few blessed minutes, it¡¯s easy. We stand there, leaning against the counter, catching up like we¡¯re just two people who don¡¯t know how to stay away from each other. She tells me about Megan throwing her on another high-profile project. I tell her about the scouts I¡¯ve been hearing from and how I can¡¯t decide if I¡¯d rather end up on the West Coast or back East. And the whole time, all I can think about is how much I miss her. Herugh. Her hands. The way she used to look at me like I was worth more than just the game. I catch myself ncing at her mouth more than once, my fingers curling into fists at my sides to keep them from reaching out. Because right here, right now, all I want to do is close the space between us. Tuck that little strand of hair back behind her ear. And kiss her until she forgets why she ever told me that we couldn¡¯t be together. But instead, I just stand here. Trying to remember what it feels like to breathe. Her smile turns a little sly, her green eyes glittering as she tips her head just slightly. ¡°You¡¯re staring, Hayes,¡± she teases, her voice soft but with a little edge of mischief. ¡°Not very subtle.¡± I huff a dryugh, dragging a hand over the back of my neck. ¡°Yeah,¡± I admit, stepping just a little closer. ¡°Guess I¡¯m not.¡± The kitchen¡¯s empty now, the noise of the party dulled behind the closed door. Just me and her, standing a few feet apart, pretending we¡¯re still ying by the rules. But I can¡¯t. Not tonight. I close the gap, stopping just in front of her. Her breath hitches when I reach up, letting my fingers ghost over the ends of her newly cut hair. ¡°You have no idea how badly I want to kiss you right now,¡± I murmur, my voice low and rough. Her eyes flutter shut, just for a second. I let my hand fall back to my side and lower my forehead to hers instead, closing my eyes and breathing her in. ¡°I miss you,¡± I whisper. The silence stretches for a beat before I hear her whisper back, her voice so quiet I almost miss it, ¡°Carter¡­¡± It takes everything in me not to tilt her chin up and press my mouth to hers. Instead, I stay there for just another moment, her breath warm against my lips, before pressing one soft kiss to her forehead. She closes her eyes, her shoulders sinking, and I step back before I can change my mind. Without another word, I turn and push through the swinging door, letting the noise of the party swallow me whole. Red Zone: Chapter 50 The only thing keeping me sane these days is work. And I¡¯ve thrown myself into it with everything I have. My nner is a mess of tabs and color-coded notes, and myptop is constantly open to half a dozen spreadsheets at once. Every night I¡¯m here, sitting cross-legged on my living room floor, cold coffee forgotten on the table while I make calls and draft emails. It feels good. Better than good. For the first time since everything fell apart, I feel like I¡¯m building something that matters. The PCU Summer Football Camp. The name looks a little cleaner on my one-sheet now, with a polished logo and a mission statement that Megan actually nodded at in approval yesterday. One week of mentorship,munity, and skills development for high school athletes in foster care, hosted at PCU. The first step was pitching it formally to Megan and the athletic department. Convincing them it was worth pursuing¡ªand worth attaching Carter¡¯s name to. And that part was surprisingly easy. It was the next steps that got tricky. Sponsorships. Venues. Gear. Food. Transportation. Marketing. But slowly¡ªpiece by piece¡ªit¡¯sing together. Tonight, I¡¯ve got two sponsorship contracts sitting in my inbox ready for review, both from local businesses. And a promising email thread with a regional sportswear brand that could be huge if they sign on. I sit back against the couch, rubbing my eyes before pulling my hair up into a messy bun and clicking into my draft emails. ¡°All right,¡± I murmur to myself, scanning the contact list. ¡°Who¡¯s next?¡± I fire off three more cold emails before the hour¡¯s up, drafting a proposal for the sportswearpany while I wait. And as the numbers start to add up in my budget spreadsheet, as the potential donors list fills in just a little more, I can¡¯t help the quiet little smile that creeps onto my face. For the first time in weeks, it feels like I¡¯m not just surviving. I¡¯m doing something right. And I know, deep down, this isn¡¯t just about proving myself to Megan or saving my internship. It¡¯s about doing right by him. Even if he never knows it.
¡°Morning,¡± Madison mumbles, already shuffling toward the coffee pot. ¡°Fresh pot,¡± I say without looking up from myptop. ¡°Made it twenty minutes ago.¡± I hear her pour a cup behind me, while I keep scanning the spreadsheet in front of me, red- penning notes and making adjustments to the budget for the summer camp. ¡°When did you go to bedst night?¡± she asks, voice still thick with sleep. I shrug, still typing. ¡°Bold of you to assume I did.¡± She moves closer, and I can feel her eyes on the mess of papers and forms spread across the table. ¡°Since when are you applying to grad school?¡± she asks, her tone cautious. That makes me finally push my blue light sses up into my hair and lean back, rubbing at my tired temples. These things are supposed to help with the headaches thate from staring at screens all day, but so far I¡¯m still waiting for them to deliver on that promise. ¡°Since always?¡± I snap before I can stop myself. My voice is sharper than I mean for it to be, but I don¡¯t have the energy to soften it right now. ¡°You¡¯ve missed a lot of life thest few months, Madison.¡± I catch the little flinch in her shoulders before she sits across from me, her expression softening. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she says quietly. ¡°I¡¯ve been a shit friend.¡± The corner of my mouth quirks despite myself, my irritation ebbing just a little. ¡°Not a shit friend. Just¡­preupied.¡± I smirk faintly, hoping she knows I¡¯m teasing. ¡°Which, considering how long it took you to get your head out of your ass about Jaxon, is semi-forgivable.¡± She snorts, rolling her eyes. ¡°Tell me about the school.¡± I shift in my seat, ncing down at the brochure near my elbow before I speak. ¡°They have one of the top sports management programs,¡± I exin, my voice steadier now. ¡°Plus partnerships with three pro teams for internships.¡± I hesitate, twirling my pen between my fingers. ¡°And it¡¯s close enough that I could stay home if I needed to save money,¡± I admit quietly. ¡°But far enough that I don¡¯t have to.¡± My voice dips on thest part, and I know she hears it. ¡°Does your dad know?¡± Madison asks, her voice softer now too. My jaw tightens instinctively. ¡°He knows,¡± I say tly. ¡°He¡¯s¡­having feelings about it.¡± ¡°Good feelings or bad feelings?¡± I let out a humorlessugh, shaking my head. ¡°Controlling feelings,¡± I mutter. ¡°He wants me at his alma mater. Or taking the cushy internship he¡¯s setting up with his old teammate.¡± Madison frowns, like she already knows what my answer¡¯s going to be. ¡°And that¡¯s not what you want.¡± I meet her eyes and square my shoulders. ¡°No,¡± I say firmly. ¡°I want to do this on my own. No favors. No special treatment. Just me proving I¡¯m good enough.¡± And for the first time in a long time, I realize¡­ I¡¯ve never been more sure of where I¡¯m going¡ªor the kind of woman I want to be¡ªthan I am right now.
The printer hums and spits out another stack of glossy press packets, and I slide them into neat folders one by one, double-checking names as I go. I pause when I reach his. CARTER HAYES His name is printed in bold at the top. His stats fill half the page. A small note at the bottom listing the teams that have shown the most serious interest. Seattle. Miami. Denver. Chicago. Every single one of them¡­nowhere near here. Nowhere near the program I applied to. I trace his name on the folder with my thumb before slipping it into the stack with the others, my stomach tightening. For thest few weeks, I¡¯ve been telling myself ending it was the smart thing to do. That it was better this way¡ªcleaner. Less messy. But seeing this? It only drives the point home. Even if we¡¯d somehow held it together through the end of the season, we never would have survived what came next. He would have been gone. And I would have been left here, trying to piece myself back together. Better to rip the bandage off now. Before I got even more attached. But the ache in my chest when I tuck his press packet into the pile tells me I was already toote for that. Because no matter how much I try to deny it¡­ I know. I am already in love with Carter Hayes. And letting him go is the hardest thing I¡¯ve ever done.
Before Dad left my apartment earlier this week after dropping off the letter of rmendation, he made me agree to dinner. So here I sit in the chair opposite my dad¡¯s desk, my hands folded neatly in myp while he finishes scribbling something on one of the many papers littering his desk. I know he means well, truly. Thankfully, he¡¯s let up a little bit this week, which I¡¯m hoping means he took our conversation to heart. Deep down, I know he only wants the best for me. But sometimes what someone else thinks is the best doesn¡¯t necessarily mean it¡¯s the right option for you. There¡¯s still a part of me that is living in an alternate reality, where the application I submitted to the University of Chicago is epted and that a certain blond quarterback gets drafted to that area, too. Dad finally sets the pen down, leans back in his chair, and gives me one of those looks¡ªhalf stern, half soft¡ªthat I¡¯ve known my whole life. ¡°How¡¯re you holding up, kiddo?¡± he asks. The question catches me a little off guard, but I shrug. ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± I say automatically. He snorts. ¡°Sure you are.¡± I nce down at my hands, but he doesn¡¯t let me off the hook that easily. ¡°You¡¯re working too much,¡± he says. ¡°You look tired, no offense. And you¡¯re carrying something you¡¯re not talking about. I can see it.¡± I open my mouth to protest, but he just shakes his head and cuts me off. ¡°I hear Carter¡¯s been a real grumpy assholetely. Big ol¡¯ chip on his shoulder. Like he¡¯s mad at the world.¡± I blink at that. ¡°You¡­noticed?¡± ¡°Of course I noticed,¡± he says, leaning forward, resting his forearms on the desk. ¡°That boy trains like he¡¯s got something to prove every damn day. But he looks like he¡¯s missing something.¡± I swallow hard, trying to keep my face neutral, but he just studies me for a long moment before letting out a quietugh. ¡°You know,¡± he says, voice softening. ¡°When I fell in love with your mom, it scared the hell out of me.¡± That makes me look up, surprised. ¡°She was too good for me,¡± he continues, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. ¡°Too smart. Too stubborn. I almost let her walk away a dozen times. But she was it for me. My heart mate. And you don¡¯t get more than one of those in this life, L. If you¡¯re lucky, you find ¡¯em once.¡± He leans back, folding his arms over his chest, his eyes steady on mine. ¡°Don¡¯t let anything¡ªanyone¡ªkeep you from being with that person. Not pride. Not fear. Not even me.¡± My breath catches, and I bite my lip, looking back down at myp to hide the way my eyes sting. ¡°Heart mates are rare,¡± he says softly. ¡°If you¡¯ve found yours¡­don¡¯t let them go.¡± And as his words sink in, I realize the truth I¡¯ve been too scared to admit out loud: letting Carter go doesn¡¯t make the feelings disappear¡ªit only makes them harder to ignore.
The auction is next week, and there¡¯s still so much to do. Back at my apartment, my kitchen table is covered in silent auction sheets, sponsorship banners, and boxes of donated memorabilia that still need to be cataloged. Jerseys, autographed footballs, even a framed photo of the team hoistingst year¡¯s conference trophy. The phone at my ear crackles as I confirm thest catering order for the night of the event. ¡°Yes, three hundred. Chicken and vegetarian options, yes. Thank you.¡± I hang up, scrawl another note in my nner, then grab the stack of bid sheets and start double- checking the minimums. This auction will fund the first summer camppletely¡ªeverything from equipment to housing to food. And if it goes well, maybe even seed money for the second year. It has to go well. Because this isn¡¯t just another event. This is his name on the banner. His story in the press release. His legacy before he even leaves this ce. And maybe it¡¯s my way of holding on to a piece of him while I still can. Next week, the guys are traveling out of state to participate in Pro Day at one of therger schools. All the scouts and coaches that can¡¯t make it to PCU will be there. I catch myself thinking about it more than I mean to. Wondering what he¡¯ll wear. Who he¡¯ll impress. What his face will look like when he walks off the field knowing he¡¯s one step closer to everything he¡¯s ever wanted. And I wonder if he thinks about me at all. I set my pen down and rub at my tired eyes, willing myself to focus. Because if I¡¯m going to get through this auction, through this whole season¡­I have to stop letting him live rent-free in my head. Red Zone: Chapter 51 I¡¯m sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at my tie like it personally wronged me. It¡¯s already looped around my neck, but for some reason I can¡¯t bring myself to finish the knot. My jacket¡¯s slung over the back of my desk chair, and my dress shoes are waiting on the floor. And I just sit here. Lost in my own head. So much so that I don¡¯t even hear the door open until Jaxon¡¯s voice cuts through my thoughts. ¡°You almost ready, man?¡± I nce up to see him leaning against the doorframe, already dressed to the nines. His suit is perfectly tailored, his tie crisp and straight, and somehow, he still manages to look rxed as hell. I grunt in response, looking back down at the tie in my hands. Jaxon raises a brow. ¡°That a yes?¡± ¡°Almost,¡± I mutter, finally starting to work the knot. He watches me for a beat before stepping inside, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket like the whole night is just another game to him. ¡°You know what this thing¡¯s even for?¡± I ask, keeping my eyes on the tie. ¡°The auction?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± Jaxon shrugs like it¡¯s no big deal. ¡°Fundraiser for some summer camp. For foster kids, I think. Good cause.¡± That makes me freeze for half a second before pulling the knot tight. Summer camp. Foster kids. I swallow hard and nce at him, but his expression¡¯s already shifted back to neutral, like it¡¯s just another event to get through. I shove my hands into my pockets, staring down at the floor. The truth is, I hadn¡¯t even thought to ask what this whole night was about. Because all I¡¯ve been thinking abouttely¡­is her. And even now, with Jaxon standing there waiting, all I can picture is L. The way she looked at me in the kitchen at the hockey house. The way herugh used to sound when it was just us. The way she used to believe in me when I couldn¡¯t even believe in myself. I drag a hand over my face and force myself to grab my jacket, slipping it on as I straighten up. ¡°All right,¡± I say quietly. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± Jaxon ps me on the back as we walk out the door, but I can still feel it¡ªthe heaviness in my chest. Because I already know tonight¡¯s going to be harder than I thought.
The banquet hall is already buzzing by the time we get there. Tables draped in white linens, glittering centerpieces, soft music humming under the low din of conversation. I tug at my tie again as we walk in, trying to ignore the way everyone turns to watch us. It¡¯s like walking into a damn spotlight¡ªboosters, sponsors, alumni, coaches. All eyes on the yers. Jaxon shakes a few hands, shing that easy smile of his as we move through the crowd, focused on making it to our table and finding Madison. I just keep my head down. The first thing that really catches my eye is the giant banner stretched across the far wall. PCU Summer Football Camp: Building Futures, Changing Lives. Below it, in smaller letters: Proceeds benefit high school students in foster care. I stop in my tracks, staring at it. The words blur for a second before they snap back into focus, sharp and clear. Foster care. I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. Because now I know exactly who¡¯s behind this. It¡¯s her handwriting on the little tent cards scattered across the tables. Her quiet touch in the perfectly aligned sponsorship logos. Her fingerprints are all over this entire room. I can practically see her at the center of it all, head down, hair pulled back, scribbling notes in her nner, making sure everything is perfect. Because that¡¯s who she is. I never actually told her how much that Christmas event meant to me. The kids. The way it feels to give back in that way. But she remembered. She turned it into this. Something bigger. Something permanent. And I realize, standing there in the doorway, that she gets me in a way no one else ever has. Even now. Even when we¡¯re not¡­anything anymore. Jaxon nudges me, breaking me out of my thoughts. ¡°You good?¡± he murmurs. I force a faint smirk, though it feels brittle at the edges. ¡°Yeah,¡± I lie, adjusting my jacket as I step forward. But the whole time, all I can think about is her. L, somewhere in this room. And how badly I want to tell her what this means to me.
I follow Jaxon toward our assigned table, letting him handle all the polite nods and small talk while I hang back, scanning the room. It doesn¡¯t take long to find her. She¡¯s near the stage, standing just off to the side with a notepad in her hands, hair straightened, half pulled back, with that professional smile she wears when she means business. The sight of her almost knocks the breath out of me. She¡¯s in a simple ck dress, elegant but understated, and I swear I¡¯ve never seen her look more untouchable. She¡¯s smiling at one of the catering staff, pointing to something on the setup, and even from here, I can tell she¡¯s running the show. She¡¯s always been like that¡ªquietly holding everything together, making sure everyone else shines while she stays in the background. And now, watching her move from table to table, checking details, offering polite smiles and soft instructions, it hits me all over again just how much I miss her. And how much I still want her. She doesn¡¯t even nce my way, too focused on the task at hand. But I can¡¯t take my eyes off her. Jaxon leans over to murmur something about the bid sheets and what he wants to throw down on a signed jersey, but I barely hear him. Because all I can see is her. Finally, the lights over the stage brighten and ire steps up to the podium, tapping the mic. The room quiets instantly. ¡°Good evening, everyone,¡± ire begins, her voice smooth and polished. ¡°On behalf of the PCU Athletic Department, I want to thank you all foring tonight to support a truly special cause.¡± She goes on, exining the summer camp program, its mission, its goals. I keep my eyes on L the whole time, watching her shoulders straighten, her chin lift as she listens. She deserves to be up there, I think to myself. Like she somehow hears me, ire nces toward her and smiles faintly. ¡°And while I could stand here and tell you more,¡± ire continues. ¡°There¡¯s someone better to exin why this initiative matters so much. The person who¡¯s been the heart behind this event from the very beginning.¡± She gestures offstage. ¡°Please wee¡­L Harding.¡± The sound of her name, spoken over the speakers, sends a jolt through me. I watch as she freezes for just a second, her tablet pressed tight to her chest¡ªbefore she exhales, pastes on a graceful smile, and steps toward the podium. The apuse swells as she climbs the steps, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her heels clicking softly on the wood. And when she finally turns to face the crowd¡­ I feel it all over again. That pull. That ache. That quiet, undeniable truth. She¡¯s it for me. The apuse dies down as she adjusts the mic, her fingers just barely trembling. But when she looks out at the crowd, she¡¯s steady. She clears her throat softly, her voice clear and calm as it fills the room. ¡°Thank you, ire. And thank you all for being here tonight,¡± she begins, her eyes sweeping across the tables. Her gaze doesn¡¯tnd on me¡ªnot even for a second¡ªbut somehow, I still feel like she¡¯s speaking right to me. ¡°This initiative started as an idea after a holiday charity drivest December, when I saw firsthand what even the smallest gesture of support can mean to a young person who feels like the world has forgotten them.¡± She presses the clicker in her hand, and the big screen behind heres to life. A slide fills the screen: 60% of youth who age out of foster care are unemployed by age 24. The room shifts, quiet murmurs rippling through the crowd. ¡°But it doesn¡¯t have to be that way,¡± she continues, her voice stronger now. Another slide: Youth given ess to mentorship and skill-building programs are 70% more likely to finish school and avoid the juvenile justice system. Her words carry over the quiet. ¡°When you give kids opportunities¡ªwhen you teach them skills and show them someone believes in them¡ªthey find ways to believe in themselves. And that changes everything.¡± I swallow hard, my chest tightening with every stat she clicks through. Because every number up there? That was me. Every risk. Every failure waiting to happen. And she¡­she¡¯s the only person who¡¯s ever made me feel like I could be more than just another kid who slipped through the cracks. She pauses on the final slide: A future worth fighting for. Her voice softens just slightly, her eyes bright as she speaks herst words. ¡°Thank you for helping us build that future. Not just for one season. Not just for one name on the back of a jersey. But for every kid who¡¯s still waiting for someone to believe in them.¡± The apuse is loud and full, rising around me like a wave. She offers a polite little smile, stepping back from the podium as irees forward to take over again. But I can¡¯t stop watching her. I can¡¯t stop thinking about how she stood up there and told my story without ever saying my name, leaving the decision of if and when to sharepletely up to me. Red Zone: Chapter 52 The second I step up to the mic, I feel fine. A little nervous, maybe. But focused. Steady. The lights are bright, but the crowd blurs at the edges once I start talking. I move through the first few slides with ease, my voice even, my grip on the clicker strong. But halfway through¡ªright around the third statistic¡ªI feel it. That familiar tingle. It starts in my toes. Subtle. Almost ignorable. But it spreads quickly, crawling up the arches of my feet, into my calves like slow, fizzing static. My chest tightens. I keep talking. I smile. I finish my slides. I make it off the stage. Barely. The second I hit the floor, I start scanning for my dad. He¡¯s near the corner of the room, standing with a few alumni, holding a ss of water in his hand. I cut through the crowd without thinking, the tingling growing sharper now¡ªnumbness mingling with pins and needles. ¡°Dad.¡± He turns, eyebrows lifting when he sees my face. ¡°I need to go home,¡± I whisper, trying to keep my expression neutral, trying to stayposed. ¡°Now.¡± His eyes widen a fraction. He sees it immediately¡ªwhatever I¡¯m trying to hide. He doesn¡¯t ask questions. Just sets his ss down and moves fast, cing a hand firmly on my lower back as he guides me toward the exit with calm, quiet urgency. ¡°Okay. We¡¯ll take the side door,¡± he murmurs. ¡°You¡¯re okay. I¡¯ve got you.¡± I nod stiffly, but my throat¡¯s starting to tighten now, too, the early signs of my body slipping into fight-or-freeze. The static in my legs is buzzing. My bnce is slipping. My dad knows. He keeps his hand steady, his voice low and even. ¡°We¡¯re almost there, sweetheart. Just a few more steps.¡± But in my head, everything¡¯s already starting to go sideways. Because no matter how hard I fight it?¡ª My body is shutting down. And this time¡­it¡¯s happening in front of everyone. We¡¯re halfway through the lobby when my feet stop obeying me. It starts as a hitch in my step, a drag of my right foot that I can¡¯t correct no matter how hard I will it. Then my knees buckle. ¡°Dad¡ª¡± I gasp, clutching at his arm. ¡°I¡¯ve got you,¡± he says immediately, his voice low but sharp, already moving to brace me. But it¡¯s toote. The pins and needles explode up through my legs, and the numbness spreads like wildfire through my chest, my arms, my jaw. The world tilts. And then I¡¯m going down. My dad catches me before I fully hit the floor, lowering me carefully to the carpet just outside the double doors. ¡°It¡¯s okay, Ly,¡± he murmurs as he eases me onto my back. ¡°I¡¯ve got you. You¡¯re okay.¡± My body jerks once, hard, my breath stuttering out of me. He¡¯s already stripped off his jacket, folding it quickly and sliding it under my head¡ªnot pushing my chin up, not tilting my neck¡ªjust enough to cushion me. I can feel the fabric against my cheek as the buzzing overtakes everything. I can¡¯t move. I can¡¯t speak. But I can still hear him. ¡°You¡¯re okay,¡± he keeps saying, his palm warm and steady on my shoulder, his voice quiet butmanding over the murmurs starting to build around us. ¡°You¡¯re okay, sweetheart. Just breathe.¡± I focus on that¡ªon him¡ªuntil another sound cuts through the noise. A voice I know almost as well. ¡°Move. Let me through¡ªhey, back up!¡± Carter. I can hear himing closer, his tone sharp, almost angry, like the crowd itself has offended him just by being here. And then another, deeper voice joins his. ¡°Everybody back up. Give her space. Now.¡± Jaxon. The shuffle of footsteps, chairs scraping, the buzz of whispers pulling away. And then another presence drops to the floor on my other side, cool fingers brushing my hair back from my forehead. ¡°Oh, Ly,¡± Madison breathes, her voice soft but shaky. I feel my body tense to the point of pain, then it all goes dark.
When I open my eyes, it takes a few seconds to figure out where I am. The room is dark except for the soft glow of themp on my dresser, and everything smells faintly likeundry detergent andvender. I¡¯m home. I shift slightly, my body heavy and sore, and that¡¯s when I notice Madison curled up on top of theforter next to me, her arm drapedzily across her stomach as she sleeps. And on the other side¡ªon the floor, leaning against the side of my bed¡ªis Carter. His head is tipped back against the mattress, arms folded over his chest, his long legs stretched out in front of him. Even in sleep, his jaw is tight, like he¡¯s still on edge. I just watch him for a second. Because even though I know he shouldn¡¯t be here¡ªshouldn¡¯t still care¡ªhe is. And that fact alone makes my chest ache. The door creaks softly, and I nce up to see my dad step in, his big frame filling the doorway. When he sees my eyes open, he gives me a small, relieved smile and crosses the room, careful not to wake Madison or Carter. ¡°How¡¯re you feeling?¡± he murmurs, crouching down next to the bed so his voice stays low. I shift, wincing faintly at the stiffness in my arms and shoulders. ¡°Sore,¡± I admit. ¡°But¡­okay. Mainly just embarrassed.¡± My dad chuckles under his breath, reaching out to squeeze my hand. ¡°There¡¯s nothing to be embarrassed about,¡± he says gently. ¡°Your body¡¯s reaction to stress isn¡¯t something you chose. And it¡¯s not something to be ashamed of.¡± I bite my lip, my throat tightening as I look away. He gives my hand another squeeze, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. ¡°I¡¯m honestly surprised you¡¯ve gone this long without one,¡± he continues, his voice low but warm. ¡°Doesn¡¯t mean you should make a habit of it, though. You hear me?¡± I huff out a softugh, even though my eyes sting. ¡°Yeah, Dad. I hear you.¡± He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the top of my head before straightening just slightly. Then he nces down at Carter, still asleep against the bed, and murmurs just loud enough for me to hear?¡ª ¡°That boy was terrified tonight. Just thought you should know. I¡¯ll swing by in the morning to check on you.¡± And then, he squeezes my hand onest time and quietly slips back out of the room. I don¡¯t move right away after my dad leaves. I just stare at Carter. Even asleep, he looks tense. His brow faintly furrowed, his arms crossed over his chest like he¡¯s holding himself together by sheer will. I study the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw, the way hisshes fan against his cheek, the rise and fall of his chest. And for just a second, I let myself imagine what it would feel like to reach out. To smooth the crease from his forehead. To tell him I¡¯m sorry. But before I can think too hard about it, my head starts pounding again. A deep, throbbing ache that makes it hard to keep my eyes open. So, I let them fall shut.
The next time I wake up, sunlight is pouring through my window. My body feels heavy, but the headache has dulled to a faint hum. I shift slowly, blinking the sleep from my eyes, and nce toward the floor. But his spot is empty. No Carter. No trace that he was even here. Just me with Madison still curled up on the other side of the bed, and the faintest lingering ache in my chest. Red Zone: Chapter 53 I¡¯ve behaved. For weeks. I¡¯ve kept my head down. Stayed out of her way. Did what she asked. Even though it¡¯s practically killed me inside every damn day. But tonight¡­tonight is supposed to be the most important night of my life. The night I finally get what I¡¯ve been working for since I was a kid with nothing but a busted football and a dream nobody believed in. The night I prove them all wrong. Jaxon¡¯s already gone. First round, just like everyone knew he would be. He smiled that easy smile when his name was called, hugged Madison, and walked up on the stage like he was born for it. And I pped for him, loud and proud. But now it¡¯s my turn. The second round has barely started when my phone vibrates on the table. My stomach flips as I pick it up and put it to my ear. ¡°Carter Hayes?¡± a man¡¯s voice says on the other end, deep and certain. ¡°This is Coach Bradley with the Chicago Bears. How¡¯d you like toe y for us?¡± For a beat, I can¡¯t even speak. I just close my eyes and let out a breath I feel like I¡¯ve been holding my whole damn life. ¡°Yes, sir,¡± I finally manage, my voice low and rough. ¡°I¡¯d like that very much.¡± The next few minutes are a blur¡ªhandshakes, ps on the back, shes of cameras, people calling my name and congratting me. But none of it feels real. Because all I can think about is her. All I¡¯ve been thinking about, every single day I¡¯ve kept my distance, is her. Herugh. Her thirteen freckles on the right side of her face. The way she made me feel like I was more than just another kid trying to survive. The only thing that really matters. So, I smile for the cameras. I shake every hand. I give them the soundbite they want. But all I want to do is go home. And finally get back what I¡¯ve been missing all along. Her.
I slip out of the venue as soon as I can without drawing too much attention, still pulling my tie loose as I hit the quiet sidewalk outside. The cool night air cuts through the heat of the cameras and chatter behind me, but it doesn¡¯t slow my heart at all. Because now that it¡¯s done¡ªnow that my name¡¯s been called, the contract¡¯s waiting, the whole damn world finally watching me¡ªthere¡¯s only one thing on my mind. And she¡¯s not here.
As soon as the wheels of the ne touch down back at home, I pull out my phone and scroll, thumb hovering over the call button for half a second before pressing. It rings twice before it¡¯s answered. ¡°Hayes,¡±es Coach Harding¡¯s unmistakable grumble on the other end. ¡°Coach,¡± I say, forcing my voice steady. ¡°It¡¯s me. Just checking in to see if the package is where it¡¯s supposed to be.¡± There¡¯s a pause. Then a low snort. ¡°The package?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± I say dryly. ¡°You know. The package.¡± I can almost hear the eye roll through the phone. ¡°You kids and your stupid code names,¡± he mutters. ¡°You could just say her name, you know.¡± ¡°Is it there or not?¡± I press, already impatient. Another beat, then a sigh. ¡°Yes, Hayes. The package is in the target location. Safe and sound.¡± I close my eyes, relief washing through me. ¡°Thanks, Coach,¡± I murmur, my voice dropping. There¡¯s another gruff little sound from his end of the line. ¡°Don¡¯t screw this up,¡± he says. ¡°And don¡¯t tell her I yed along with your little spy movie crap.¡± I huff out something that¡¯s almost augh. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t dream of it.¡± And then I hang up, heading for my car. Because this weekend might¡¯ve been about football. But the only thing that really matters now is getting to her. And proving she¡¯s still mine.
Coach¡¯s house is louder than I¡¯ve ever heard it. The entire main floor is packed¡ªyers, families, coaches, department heads, even a couple reporters milling around the edges. Laughter bounces off the high ceilings, sses clink, and somebody¡¯s already set up a speaker ying a ssic rock ylist that feels very much like Coach chose it. It¡¯s supposed to be a celebration. For Jaxon. For me. For all of us who got the call this weekend. But walking into this house, all I can think about is L. I shake a few hands on my way through the crowd, epting backps and congrattions with a polite smile that doesn¡¯t quite reach my eyes. Jaxon catches me near the kitchen, holding a beer and looking infuriatingly rxed. ¡°Well, look who finally showed up,¡± he says with a grin, pping my shoulder. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t miss it,¡± I mutter, forcing a smirk. He narrows his eyes at me, then nces around like he knows what¡ªor rather who¡ªI¡¯m looking for. ¡°She¡¯s here,¡± he says quietly, dropping the grin. ¡°Out back. Probably trying to avoid the circus.¡± I hesitate. He leans in, his voice low. ¡°You already did the hard part, Hayes. Don¡¯t let this one go now.¡± Madison appears beside him then, slipping her arm through his with a knowing smile. ¡°You¡¯ll regret it if you do,¡± she adds softly. I nce between them, my chest tightening, then finally give a sharp nod. ¡°Thanks,¡± I murmur, already moving toward the back of the house. The sliding door clicks shut behind me, muffling all the noise ofughter and clinking ssesing from inside. Out here, the night feels calmer. The faint ripple of water in the pool. The soft hum of cicadas. String lights glowing overhead, casting everything in warm gold. And there she is. Sitting by herself on one of the lounge chairs near the deep end, heels off andying beside her. Her hair¡¯s loose, catching the breeze, and her dress drapes around her like it was made for her. For a second, I just stand there. Because even after everything, even after weeks of keeping my distance, nothing¡ªand no one¡ªfeels more like home than she does. I shove my hands in my pockets and make my way toward her. She must hear meing because she nces up just as I reach her chair. Her lips curve into the faintest smile. ¡°Hey.¡± ¡°Hey,¡± I say back, letting the quiet stretch between us for a moment before adding, ¡°Didn¡¯t think I¡¯d find you out here.¡± She gives a small shrug, her eyes dropping back to the water. ¡°Needed a break from the chaos. You know how these things get.¡± I huff a quietugh. ¡°Yeah. I do.¡± I hesitate, then pull out the chair next to hers and sit. For the first time in weeks, it feels like we¡¯re just us again. She nces at me after a beat, her smile softening. ¡°Congrattions, Carter. Chicago¡¯s lucky to have you.¡± Her voice is so gentle, so sure, it makes my chest ache. ¡°Thanks,¡± I murmur. Then, after a pause, I turn toward her, studying her profile in the golden light. ¡°You never told me,¡± I say carefully. ¡°Did you end up applying to grad school out there?¡± She bites her lip, like she¡¯s not sure how much to give me. But then she nods. ¡°Yeah,¡± she admits softly. ¡°I did.¡± Something warm unfurls in my chest, even as I try to keep my expression steady. ¡°Yeah?¡± I echo, my voice quiet now. She finally looks at me then, her green eyes brighter than I remember. ¡°Yeah,¡± she says again, firmer this time. I let a faint smirk tug at the corner of my mouth, my chest still tight as hell. I watch her eyes linger on the water, the faintest smile on her lips, and something in me just¡­slips. I lean my elbow on the back of my chair, turning toward her fully. ¡°You know,¡± I say casually, like I¡¯m just thinking out loud. ¡°With both of us potentially ending up in Chicago, seems like a pretty good excuse to save on rent.¡± Her head snaps toward me, her eyes going wide. Then¡ªjust as quick¡ªshe lets out a softugh, shaking her head. ¡°You¡¯re ridiculous,¡± she mutters, but there¡¯s the faintest pink creeping into her cheeks. I grin at her, trying to keep it light, even though my heart¡¯s hammering. ¡°Just saying,¡± I shrug, yful but a little too honest. ¡°Think of the money we¡¯d save. It¡¯d be practical.¡± She rolls her eyes, but she doesn¡¯t tell me no. ¡°Hey, Princess?¡± Her eyes snap up to mine, startled at first. Then they soften, her lips parting like she already knows something¡¯s shifted. I hold her gaze, letting the teasing slip away, letting her see exactly how much I mean it when I say, ¡°I¡¯m not just saying that to mess with you. This draft was big for me¡­but it doesn¡¯t mean shit if you¡¯re not in it somehow.¡± Her lips part, but she still doesn¡¯t say anything. And something inside me just gives. Because I can¡¯t hold it in anymore. I shift in my chair so I¡¯m fully facing her now, leaning forward, elbows on my knees, my eyes locked on hers. ¡°I¡¯ve never¡­¡± I start, my voice rough, low. I pause, swallow hard, then try again. ¡°I¡¯ve never told anyone I loved them before.¡± Her breath catches, and her hand tightens slightly on the edge of the chair. ¡°I wasn¡¯t even sure I knew what love was,¡± I continue, my wordsing faster now, like a dam breaking. ¡°Not growing up the way I did. Not bouncing from house to house, watching people walk out like it was nothing. I thought maybe it wasn¡¯t something meant for guys like me.¡± She blinks, and I swear I see her eyes glint under the string lights. ¡°But then you came along,¡± I say, my voice soft but steady now. ¡°And you ruined all of that. You made me feel like I was more than just¡­a number. A jersey. A fucking foster file.¡± I lean closer, enough that I can see every freckle on her cheeks, every detail of her eyes. ¡°And now?¡± I shake my head, a humorless littleugh slipping out. ¡°Now I don¡¯t know how not to love you.¡± The silence between us is heavy, but it¡¯s the kind of heavy that feels alive. Her lips tremble like she¡¯s about to say something, but before she can, I whisper out loud, ¡°I love you, L Harding. And I don¡¯t care who knows it. I don¡¯t care what anyone thinks. I¡¯m done staying away.¡± Red Zone: Chapter 54 Did he just say he was in love with me? I blink up at him, my heart hammering so loud in my chest I¡¯m sure he can hear it. Carter Hayes¡ªcalm, confident, charming¡ªis sitting here on my dad¡¯s back patio, under the soft glow of string lights, telling me he loves me like it¡¯s the simplest truth in the world. And I¡­I can¡¯t breathe. He¡¯s leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his dark eyes fixed on mine like he¡¯s afraid to even blink in case I disappear. ¡°I¡­¡± I start, but the word catches in my throat. Because what do you even say when the thing you¡¯ve been trying so hard not to want is suddenly right in front of you,id bare? I nce down at my hands, twisting my fingers in myp. He loves me. Me. Not some version of me that¡¯s polished and put-together and perfect. Not the intern who keeps her head down and her nner full. Just¡­me. And the terrifying part? I already know I love him too. I¡¯ve known for weeks. Maybe longer. I draw in a shaky breath, forcing myself to look up at him again. His expression hasn¡¯t changed. He¡¯s still watching me, quiet and steady, letting me process. Because that¡¯s what he does. He waits for me. And somehow, that¡¯s what makes my chest ache the most. I open my mouth, finally finding my voice. ¡°Did you¡­¡± I swallow hard, my lips trembling despite myself. ¡°Did you mean that?¡± He doesn¡¯t even hesitate. ¡°Every word,¡± he says, his voice low and certain. I¡¯m still staring at him, my breath caught somewhere between my lungs and my lips, when he reaches out. His warm, calloused hand finds mine, and before I can stop him, he gently tugs me out of my chair. And then, in one smooth motion, he pulls me down into hisp. I gasp softly, my hands instinctively finding his shoulders for bnce as I settle against him, my knees bracketing his thighs. ¡°Carter,¡± I whisper, ncing toward the house, my heart hammering. But he doesn¡¯t even flinch. His hands settle on my hips, steady and sure, his dark eyes never leaving mine. ¡°Say it,¡± he murmurs, his voice quiet but full of that same certainty that undid me minutes ago. I swallow hard, my fingers curling in the fabric of his jacket. ¡°I¡­¡± My voice shakes, but I force it out anyway. ¡°I love you too.¡± His jaw tightens just slightly, but his lips curve into the faintest, most breathtaking smile I¡¯ve ever seen. ¡°That¡¯s all I needed to hear,¡± he says, leaning his forehead to mine. For a moment, it feels like the rest of the world falls away. Like it¡¯s just him and me and this perfect little bubble where nothing else matters. But then reality creeps back in, sharp and cold. I nce over my shoulder again toward the house, the faint sound ofughter and clinking sses floating through the slightly open door. I start to shift back, my voice dropping. ¡°Carter¡­we can¡¯t?¡ª¡± He stops me with a faint shake of his head, his hands tightening just enough to keep me where I am. ¡°I know what you¡¯re gonna say,¡± he murmurs. ¡°You¡¯re gonna say we can¡¯t. Because of what Megan said. Because I¡¯m still an athlete at PCU.¡± I swallow hard, my cheeks burning as I nod. But then he leans just a little closer, his lips grazing my temple as he whispers?¡ª ¡°As of yesterday, I¡¯m not an athlete at PCU anymore.¡± I freeze, my breath catching. He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, his smirk faint but full of meaning. ¡°So, unless you¡¯ve got another excuse, Princess, you¡¯re out of reasons why I can¡¯t kiss the shit out of you right now.¡± Thest of my walls crumble. I blink up at him, his words still echoing in my head, my heart hammering so loud I swear he can hear it. He¡¯s right. And the little smirk tugging at his lips¡ªcocky and hopeful all at once¡ªtells me he knows it too. I tilt my head, narrowing my eyes at him just slightly, even though my chest feels like it¡¯s about to burst. ¡°Well then,¡± I murmur, my voice low and teasing despite the way my pulse is screaming. ¡°You wanna kiss me, Hayes?¡± His smirk deepens instantly, his grip on my hips tightening just slightly. ¡°You know I do,¡± he says, his voice rough around the edges. My lips twitch into the faintest grin, my heart finally giving in to what it¡¯s wanted all along. ¡°Prove it,¡± I whisper. Before the words are even fully out of my mouth?¡ª He does. The second the words leave my lips, his hands slide up my back, one cupping the back of my neck as he closes thest inch between us. His mouth captures mine, warm and insistent, and the world just disappears. It¡¯s not just a kiss. It¡¯s every unspoken word, every sleepless night, every second we¡¯ve spent pretending we could stay away from each other. His fingers tangle in my hair as he deepens it, and I can¡¯t help the soft sound that escapes me. He pulls me closer like he can¡¯t get enough, like he¡¯s been starving for this, for me. And I kiss him back just as desperately, threading my fingers into his cor, clinging to him as if letting go isn¡¯t even an option. When he finally pulls back, just barely, his forehead rests against mine. His lips are curved into the faintest smile, his voice low and wrecked when he whispers?¡ª ¡°Been waiting a long time for that, Princess.¡± I open my mouth to answer, but before I can, a voice from the patio door cuts through the haze. ¡°Well, it¡¯s about damn time!¡± We both freeze, whipping our heads toward the house to see Jaxon standing there with his arms crossed, grinning like an idiot. Madison¡¯s peeking around him, her hands on her hips, her smile every bit as smug. Carter groans softly, his head dropping to my shoulder. But even as the moment shatters, neither of us lets go. We finally untangle ourselves¡ªwell, mostly¡ªwhen Jaxon gives us a pointed look and jerks his chin toward the house. ¡°You two done making out like teenagers?¡± he teases. Carter mutters something under his breath that sounds a lot like jealous, but he slides his hand into mine anyway, giving my fingers a quick squeeze before we step back inside. The noise hits me all at once. But this time, with Carter¡¯s hand warm and steady in mine, it doesn¡¯t feel so overwhelming. People nce our way as we re-enter, a few of them doing double takes, but Carter doesn¡¯t even flinch. He just keeps his hand firmly in mine, his chin lifted, like he¡¯s not ashamed of what we just made very clear. We¡¯re us. And we¡¯re done hiding it. As we weave through the crowd, I feel his grip shift as he catches sight of my dad standing by the kitchen ind, deep in conversation with the athletic director. I slow slightly, but Carter just lets go of my hand long enough to p Jaxon on the shoulder and murmur, ¡°Take care of her for a second.¡± Jaxon quirks a brow but nods, pulling me gently toward Madison as Carter makes his way toward my dad. I watch from a few feet away as he stops in front of him. My dad turns, taking in the sight of him¡ªand then, unexpectedly, his face breaks into one of those rare, proud smiles I haven¡¯t seen in years. Carter holds out his hand, and my dad takes it without hesitation, gripping it firmly. ¡°Congrattions, Hayes,¡± my dad says, loud enough for me to hear over the buzz of the party. ¡°Chicago made a hell of a pick. You earned this. I couldn¡¯t be prouder of you.¡± Carter¡¯s shoulders ease just slightly, and even from here, I can see the faintest grin tug at his lips. ¡°Thanks, Coach,¡± he says, his voice quiet but steady. ¡°Means a lot. More than you know.¡± And for the first time in what feels like forever, everything finally feels¡­right. Red Zone: Chapter 55 The apartment is quiet when I finally unlock the door and step inside, Madison having gone home with Jaxon. I kick my heels off by the entryway, my dress swishing softly as I pad into the living room. The faint smell of myvender candle from earlier still lingering in the air. I hear the door click shut behind me¡ªand then the sound of heavy footsteps following. When I nce over my shoulder, Carter is there. Leaning against the doorframe, his jacket slung over one shoulder, his tie loose, and his dark eyes locked on me. Something about the way he¡¯s looking at me¡ªlike he¡¯s already decided I¡¯m his and nothing¡¯s going to change that¡ªsends a shiver all the way down my spine. Neither of us says anything. Not at first. He drops his jacket on the back of the couch and starts toward me, each step slow and deliberate, his gaze never leaving mine. When he¡¯s close enough, his handes up to brush a stray strand of hair from my cheek. ¡°You drive me fucking crazy,¡± he murmurs, his thumb lingering at my jaw. I can barely breathe. But I manage to whisper, ¡°Yeah?¡± He leans closer, his lips grazing the shell of my ear. ¡°You have no idea.¡± And then his mouth is on mine. This kiss is nothing like earlier, nothing like the sweet, careful way he held me by the pool. This is rougher. Hotter. Like he¡¯s been holding back for weeks, and he finally can¡¯t anymore. His hands slide into my hair, tilting my head so he can deepen the kiss, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, iming mepletely. I whimper softly, my fingers clutching at the front of his shirt as he backs me toward the couch. ¡°Carter,¡± I breathe when he finally pulls back enough to let me breathe. But he doesn¡¯t stop¡ªhe presses his forehead to mine, his hands dropping to my hips and gripping tight, his voice low and possessive. ¡°You¡¯re mine, L. You hear me? Say it.¡± I nod, my breathing in shaky gasps. ¡°I¡¯m yours.¡± His lips curve into a dark smile, and he captures my mouth again, harder this time, his teeth grazing my bottom lip before he pulls it between his. I let him push me back onto the couch, his body settling between my thighs as he kisses me like he can¡¯t get enough. When he finally pulls away, his eyes are darker than I¡¯ve ever seen them. ¡°You¡¯re mine,¡± he whispers, his hands gripping my hips tight. ¡°Say it again, Princess.¡± I shiver at the edge in his voice, but my ownes out steady. ¡°I¡¯m yours.¡± His lips curve into a dark smile before he dips his head to my neck, nipping just below my ear. ¡°Take this off,¡± he murmurs, tugging at the strap of my dress. I reach back, fingers fumbling with the zipper until the fabric slides off my shoulders, pooling at my waist. When he sees what¡¯s underneath¡ªthe ckce I¡¯d chosen without thinking about him but knowing he¡¯d love¡ªhis jaw tightens. ¡°You trying to kill me?¡± I can¡¯t help the small, wicked smile that slips out. ¡°Maybe.¡± He growls low in his throat, then leans forward to kiss down my neck, his hands already moving around my back to unhook my bra and toss it aside. ¡°Beautiful,¡± he mutters against my skin, his lips hot as he trails down to my chest, giving equal attention to both of my nipples. He takes his time exploring every inch of me with his hands and mouth, his fingers tracing the lines of my ribs and my hips, as though he needs to memorize everything. ¡°Lay back,¡± hemands softly. I do, sinking into the cushions as his hands slip under the waistband of my panties, dragging them down slowly, his gaze never leaving mine. He stops for a moment, his eyes raking over me like he can¡¯t quite believe I¡¯m real. ¡°You¡¯re perfect,¡± he whispers hoarsely. ¡°You don¡¯t even know.¡± I feel my cheeks heat, my chest tight with love. And then his mouth is on me. I gasp, my fingers sliding into his hair as his tongue works me open, his hands gripping my hips to hold me in ce as he takes his time working me over with his tongue and very skilled fingers. He doesn¡¯t stop when my thighs start to shake, doesn¡¯t stop when I cry out his name, doesn¡¯t stop until I fall apartpletely, my back arching off the couch. When I copse against the cushions, he presses onest kiss to my thigh before pulling back, his hands already unbuttoning his shirt. I watch through half-lidded eyes as he sheds the rest of his clothes, revealing the strong, lean body I¡¯ve missed during our time apart. He tears a foil packet from his wallet, rolling it on before settling over me, his weight and warmth surrounding mepletely. One hand cups my cheek, his forehead resting against mine as he pauses. ¡°You good?¡± he murmurs, his voice gentler now, though his eyes still burn with hunger. I nod, my hands curling around his shoulders. ¡°I love you,¡± I whisper. Something shifts in his expression then, a rawness shing across his face before he kisses me, like the words undid himpletely. ¡°I love you too, Princess,¡± he breathes against my lips as he pushes inside me. The stretch is slow, steady, filling mepletely, and I can¡¯t help the soft cry that escapes my throat. He groans low, his grip on my hip tightening as he starts to move¡ªdeep and deliberate at first, then harder, rougher, like he can¡¯t hold back anymore. My fingers dig into his back, my legs wrapping around him as his name falls from my lips again and again. His mouth finds my neck, then my shoulder, then my lips again, murmuring my name between every kiss, every thrust, like he¡¯s trying to brand me with it. He presses his forehead into the crook of my neck, his breath hot and uneven as he whispers against my skin, ¡°Mine.¡± Over and over. And when I fall apart beneath him again, his pace stutters, arms tightening around me as he follows, groaning my name into my neck as he spills into the condom. We stay like that for a long time¡ªtangled together, our bodies slick and trembling, the air between us heavy with everything we finally said tonight. He rolls to his side eventually, pulling me with him, his hand strokingzily down my spine as I bury my face in his chest. ¡°You okay?¡± he murmurs, his voice lower now, soft and possessive all at once. I nod into his skin, my fingers tracing a faint scar on his shoulder. ¡°I¡¯ve never been more okay,¡± I whisper. His arms tighten around me, his lips pressing into my hair. ¡°Good,¡± he mutters. ¡°Get used to it, Princess. You¡¯re stuck with me now.¡± His fingers curl possessively around my hip, his voice a low rumble against my hair as he whispers, ¡°Guess we¡¯ve been ying in the red zone all along, huh, Princess?¡± I smile into his chest, my heart full to the brim, and whisper back the only answer that feels right. ¡°And we finally scored.¡± Red Zone: EPILOGUE Hitting submit on myst final of the term has never felt more rewarding. After this term, I¡¯m officially halfway through my elerated graduate program¡ªone step closer tonding a full-time role with a team. As soon as Carter and I got settled into our apartment in Chicago, he was gone more than he was home. So I did what I do best¡ªthrew myself into work. His team is vying for a wild card spot in the yoffs, and even though he¡¯s not first string this year, he¡¯s been getting field time over thest few games. Last month, their starter got sacked¡ªhard¡ªending with a sprained wrist and giving Carter the chance to finish out the game. He crushed it. They won. And he¡¯s been riding the high ever since. I smile faintly, remembering how excited he was that night. How he found me in the crowd right after the game, then immediately called Jaxon with a boyish grin like he couldn¡¯t wait another second to tell him. It felt like everything hade full circle. We¡¯ve been chasing these dreams for as long as I can remember¡ªhim, the NFL; me, a career in athlete branding. And now we¡¯re here. Together. In a city I used to think was too big for someone like me. In a life I never thought I was allowed to want. But I still want more. Not in a greedy way¡ªI¡¯m perfectly content with what I have now, but I know I am capable of more, of whatever I put my mind to. I want to make an impact. To prove to myself I belong in rooms I used to be terrified to enter. To earn my ce and let my work speak for itself. I close myptop and nce at the clock. It¡¯ste. Carter¡¯s flight isn¡¯t supposed tond until tomorrow, but I miss him. We¡¯ve gotten good at navigating the distance¡ªeven when we¡¯re technically in the same city. He has practice. I have meetings. But something about him not being in our apartment makes it feel emptier. I¡¯m halfway to the freezer for a snack when I hear the door. My pulse stutters. I freeze, and take a slow step forward, peeking into the living room. And then I see him. Grinning from the doorway like he didn¡¯t just send my heart into overdrive. He¡¯s here. ¡°Hey, Princess.¡± I don¡¯t waste a second. Iunch myself into his arms and cling to him like my life depends on it¡ªbecause in some ways, it does. When he¡¯s home, the urges¡ªthe spirals, the obsessions¡ªare quieter. But the longer he¡¯s gone, the worse they creep back in. Burying my face in his neck, I breathe him in. He chuckles, warm and solid beneath me. ¡°Missed me, huh?¡± He tightens his arms around my waist, and I know he missed me just as much. ¡°What are you doing here? I thought your flight was tomorrow.¡± I pull back to take him in. The stubble along his jaw, the familiar blue of his eyes¡ªdeeper in person than they ever look on FaceTime. ¡°It was supposed to be. But I couldn¡¯t wait any longer, so I grabbed the next one out after Coach approved.¡± He sets me down, cupping my face in his hands, his mouth hovering dangerously close to mine. ¡°Figured I¡¯d take the opportunity to surprise my girl.¡± I can¡¯t wait another second. I press my mouth to his, feeling his smile¡ªthen the groan that follows as my tongue teases the seam of his lips. Eight days apart is seven days too long. His mouth moves with mine, unhurried, like he¡¯s memorizing me all over again. I swear, no one kisses like Carter. Like it¡¯s both a promise and a confession. Like he¡¯s been starving for it¡ªfor me¡ªand now that he¡¯s had a taste again, he¡¯s not letting go. When we finally break apart, his forehead rests against mine, his breath still a little uneven. ¡°I missed you,¡± he murmurs, voice rough. I smooth my hands over his shoulders, grounding myself in the solid weight of him. ¡°I missed you too.¡± ¡°No, I mean¡­¡± He pauses, eyes searching mine. ¡°I missed you. Everything about you. The way you hum when you¡¯re checking stats, our very organized home. The way you hog the covers and pretend you don¡¯t.¡± I smile, even as my chest tightens. ¡°You do the same thing with the throw nket.¡± ¡°Yeah, well, that thing¡¯s soft as hell.¡± He leans back slightly, his hands still gripping my hips. ¡°But it¡¯s not you. I¡¯m only the big spoon with you, baby.¡± God. How does he do that? Make my entire bodye alive with a simple word. Before I can say anything else, he picks me up and starts walking further into our ce. I let out a small yelp, clinging to his neck. ¡°Come on,¡± he says, grinning. ¡°I need a shower after flying all day.¡± My lips twitch. ¡°Conserving water is important, you know.¡± He barks out augh. ¡°Yeah? You offering to help the?¡± I raise a brow. ¡°I¡¯m a very environmentally conscious girl, what can I say?¡± ¡°Oh, I know you are.¡± He carries me toward our bedroom, kicking the door closed behind him. ¡°You¡¯re about to make this a very clean world-saving effort.¡± Iugh against his neck, heart full and happy. Because he¡¯s home. And so am I.

Carter

The season didn¡¯t end the way I wanted. Not even close. We wed our way into a wild card spot, held our own for most of the first half, then watched the lead slip away like water through our fingers. And just like that¡ªboom. Done. Out. No more meetings. No more film sessions. No more gut-punch losses on the field. Just off-season. And apparently, ring shopping. I shift ufortably in the leather chair across from the showroom disy as a well-dressed associate disappears into the back to ¡°pull a few options¡± for me. Whatever that means. Beside me, Jaxon leans back casually, spinning a bottle of water between his hands like he owns the damn ce. He¡¯s got that same stupid smug look on his face he had when he finally proposed to Madison. Like he knows something I don¡¯t. ¡°Why do you look so calm?¡± I ask, narrowing my eyes. He shrugs. ¡°Because I¡¯ve already done this part.¡± ¡°Yeah, but you¡¯re still not married.¡± Jaxonughs. ¡°She says we¡¯re not in a rush. I say I can¡¯t wait much longer. I swear if I catch her watching one more wedding video without setting a date¡­¡± I smirk. ¡°Sounds rough.¡± He shoots me a look. ¡°You¡¯re about to be right here with me, man. Give it a week after you propose, and you¡¯ll be practicing vows in the shower.¡± ¡°I already do that.¡± He blinks. ¡°Not like¡ªseriously,¡± I add quickly. ¡°But¡­sometimes I say stuff in my head, and it sounds kind of like vows.¡± ¡°Uh huh.¡± I rub the back of my neck, letting out a breath. ¡°I just want to do it right.¡± ¡°You will.¡± I nod, but the nerves don¡¯t go away. ¡°She¡¯s not expecting it. I haven¡¯t even mentioned a timeline. It¡¯s been all grad school deadlines and job interviews and?¡ª¡± ¡°She¡¯s not expecting it,¡± he says, cutting me off. ¡°But she¡¯s ready.¡± The truth of it settles in my chest. Yeah. She is. We¡¯ve been through hell to get here¡ªsneaking around, keeping secrets, falling harder than either of us nned. And she still showed up for me. Still believed in me. Still made space for us, even when everything else in her life felt like it was slipping out of her control. Now it¡¯s my turn. My fingers tap against my leg, restless. ¡°You¡¯re sure she¡¯s a round diamond girl?¡± I ask, ncing at Jaxon. He grins. ¡°Nah. She¡¯s a L. You¡¯ll know it when you see it.¡± I let out a breathyugh, right as the associate returns carrying a velvet tray. Dozens of rings. None of them feel right¡ªuntil thest one. Simple. Timeless. Slightly curved band. Elegant without being overly shy. It looks like something she¡¯d admire once, quietly, and never tell anyone about. It looks like her. My heart kicks, solid and certain. Yeah. This is it.
I check the time on my phone for what feels like the hundredth time. L¡¯s halfway through her interview, and I¡¯m halfway through mentally cking out in the booth of some upscale steakhouse I never would¡¯ve picked if I had functioning brain cells. But this isn¡¯t about me. It¡¯s about asking the man across from me if I can marry his daughter. Coach Harding lifts his ss of water, slow and steady like we¡¯re in the damn yoffs again, and takes a sip. Doesn¡¯t say a word. Just watches me. I clear my throat, suddenly regretting every bite of the dry-ass bread I shoved in my mouth five minutes ago to avoid talking too soon. ¡°So,¡± I start, hands clenched under the table. ¡°Thanks for meeting me.¡± He gives me a curt nod. ¡°Figured it was important, considering you insisted.¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± I nod too. ¡°Yeah, it is.¡± Another long sip of water. The silence between us is so thick I can hear the jazz piano from the other side of the restaurant like it¡¯s mocking me. I reach into my pocket and pull out the small velvet box, not opening it¡ªjust holding it there like it weighs a hundred pounds. ¡°I want to marry L,¡± I say, finally. ¡°And I want to ask her the right way. But I couldn¡¯t do that withouting to you first.¡± His face gives absolutely nothing away. I wait. He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, and steeples his fingers like we¡¯re reviewing game film. ¡°You think you¡¯re ready for that responsibility?¡± ¡°Yes, sir.¡± ¡°You think you can handle her? Protect her? Put her first?¡± ¡°Yes, sir.¡± ¡°You think you¡¯re man enough to keep up with a Harding woman when she¡¯s hellbent on conquering the damn world?¡± That makes me smile, just barely. ¡°Yes, sir. I already am.¡± He stares at me a beat longer than necessary, then exhales. And finally¡ªfinally¡ªhis lips twitch. ¡°Jesus, Hayes. You look like you¡¯re about to pass out.¡± I let out a breath that¡¯s basically a mix of augh and groan. ¡°Honestly? I might.¡± ¡°You¡¯re lucky I like you,¡± he says, sitting back and reaching for his ss again. ¡°Otherwise, I¡¯d have let you sweat it out for another ten minutes.¡± ¡°Oh, you did.¡± He smirks. ¡°Good. Builds character.¡± I shake my head, but I¡¯m grinning now, too, the tension slowly bleeding out of my shoulders. ¡°Truth is,¡± he says, sobering slightly. ¡°You¡¯ve been good to her. Better than I expected. You¡¯ve kept her grounded and let her fly at the same time. That¡¯s not easy.¡± I nod, swallowing hard. ¡°She¡¯s everything to me.¡± ¡°I know.¡± He raises his ss. ¡°You have my blessing. Just don¡¯t make me regret giving it.¡± I raise mine, too, relief crashing into me like a win I didn¡¯t even realize I needed this badly. ¡°Thank you, sir.¡± He gives me a look. ¡°Don¡¯t ¡®sir¡¯ me anymore. We¡¯re almost family now.¡± I blink. Then grin. ¡°Still gonna call you Coach.¡± ¡°Fair enough,¡± he says, setting his ss down. ¡°Just don¡¯t expect me to go easy on you in the wedding toast.¡± ¡°Wouldn¡¯t dream of it.¡±
As soon as I get home, I bury the velvet ring box beneath a stack of socks in the bottom drawer of my dresser. L wouldn¡¯t touch that drawer if her life depended on it¡ªswears I fold everything like a psycho. Which, fine. I do. But I¡¯ve been hiding things in in sight since we started this whole secret rtionship thing, so really, this feels fitting. I barely have time to get settled on the sofa when the front door bursts open and Les flying in, followed by her dad. ¡°I fucking nailed that!¡± Her voice is breathless, her hair slightly windblown with a few wild curls breaking free, framing her face and her smile¡ªGod, her smile¡ªhits me like a sucker punch straight to the chest. ¡°They loved my campaign n,¡± she continues, dropping her bag and shrugging off her zer without missing a beat. ¡°Said they¡¯d never seen someone walk in that prepared, especially with the stats to back up their pitch.¡± She¡¯s pacing now, still buzzing from adrenaline, talking a mile a minute. Her hands move when she talks, like she can¡¯t quite keep all the energy inside. And I¡¯m just sitting there,pletely gone for this girl. For my girl. She flops down beside me and starts pulling up the presentation slides on her phone, still going on about the stats she pulled and the new NIL initiative the department isunching. I can¡¯t stop smiling. Can¡¯t stop watching the way her eyes light up. The way she tucks her feet under her. The way she looks at me mid-sentence like I¡¯m her favorite person in the room. She¡¯s everything. And she¡¯s mine. I nce toward Coach, who¡¯s watching us quietly from the other couch, and for a second, I think he¡¯s going to say something. Instead, he catches my eye and¡ªwinks. That smug bastard. I cough to cover myugh and look back at L, who¡¯s now leaning her head on my shoulder, scrolling through the feedback email on her phone. She doesn¡¯t even know it yet. Doesn¡¯t know there¡¯s a ring in the drawer upstairs. Doesn¡¯t know I¡¯ve been mentally mapping out every possible way I could ask her to marry me. Something big? Something quiet? In the mountains? At the beach? In our apartment? At the field where it all started? It has to be perfect. Not for anyone else. Just for her. And she¡¯ll say yes¡ªI know she will¡ªbut I still want it to be the kind of moment she¡¯ll remember forever. The kind she can tuck away in that perfect, anxious, brilliant brain of hers for the days that feel a little too loud. I slide my arm around her shoulders and kiss the top of her head. She sighs softly, leaning into me like she always does when she¡¯s finally letting herself rest. I close my eyes, one hand resting over hers. Soon. The Novel will be updated first on this website. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!