Page 2 of Red Zone (PCU Storm #2)

CARTER

I t’s funny how quickly noise can feel like silence when you’re used to chaos.

The house is packed—music blasting, 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 classes. 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 play my role. Smile like I own the place. 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—PCU’s star quarterback on a full ride. One good season away from the draft. One last 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.

Lyla Harding.

Just then, she walks in. Red curls up in a messy knot, tight dress hugging her body in all the right places, 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’s comfortable, Lyla 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 glance 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 minutes later, her drink already half gone. She hip-checks me and grins. “You look like you’re contemplating 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.”

She laughs. “You poor thing.”

I grin back, easy and familiar. Madison and I have history—of 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, occasionally 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 glances over at Lyla, who’s refilling her cup at the counter with a tight jaw and a killer glare.

“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—can’t deny that. But he’s also tight.

Coiled. Like he’s waiting for something to give him permission to explode.

He tries to play 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 Lyla 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 in laughter 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.”

Lyla 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 normally comes 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 he landed on. “I dare you to tell me why you never showed up to Michigan State for freshman orientation three years ago.”

Madison’s eyes flare with shock, my brows probably coming close to hitting my hairline while hers swiftly turn into anger. “That’s not how this game works.”

Lyla stands, breaking the tension. “I think we’ve all had enough of this game. Madison, come 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, hand coming 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 Lyla 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—though, 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 someone command 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—something 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 myself comfortable for the long conversation ahead. Damn, my bed is some kind of comfortable 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 out late. Some nights he wouldn’t come 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—when my dad would come 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 in common than just needing something to take the edge off last 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 planned out since freshman year of high school. Same dorm, same schedule if we could manage it.”

Well, that explains 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 at community college instead before coming here last 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?—”

“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.”

She laughs. “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 hours later, I’m in my room alone.