Page 28 of Red Zone (PCU Storm #2)

LYLA

I must’ve fallen asleep.

The heating pad’s gone cold on my stomach, the blanket’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?—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

My heart lurches.

I freeze, straining to listen.

It’s late. Too late for anyone to just be stopping by.

For a second, I wonder if I imagined it—just another part of whatever feverish, restless dream I’d been having. But then it comes 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 blanket 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?—

“Lyla.”

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.

“Lyla, 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—my 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 plastic grocery bags.

His eyes scan over me quickly—messy hair, blanket 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 explains everything. “We had plans.”

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 blanket 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—just 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 island.

“Chicken broth,” he says, pulling out the carton and setting it down. “Cup noodles. Chocolate—both bars and some fancy truffles, ’cause I didn’t know which kind you’d want. Ice cream.” He glances up at me. “Cookie dough.”

I stare at the growing pile on the counter, my brows knitting.

“Midol,” he finishes quietly, placing the small blue box on top of the chocolate.

Then he brings out five boxes of different pads and tampons.

“And these. I tried really hard to remember which kind you grabbed last time, but they legit all looked so similar. 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 voice coming 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 island, tugging the blanket tighter around myself as he straightens and starts unpacking the rest of the bags. Like he owns the place. 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 glances over his shoulder at me, unbothered. “Making you something to eat.”

I blink. “I’m fine. You don’t?—”

“Sit,” he says, cutting me off as he sets a small pot on the burner and flicks it on.

My mouth opens to argue—because of course it does—but 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 island, 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 glances 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 la Hayes.” He places 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 the laughter at that, which seems to make him relax 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 plans. 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 chocolate.

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 blanket, trying not to think about all the things I’m beginning to feel.

Or how easy it feels—for just a second—to 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 uncomfortably 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 minutes later, and I sit up straighter, suddenly hyperaware of how pathetic I must look—blanket around my shoulders, hair a mess, still in sweats.

Carter steps back inside, slinging a small black duffel bag over his shoulder. He kicks the door shut behind him with his heel and glances 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—six-foot- something, golden boy quarterback—standing in my apartment, casually asking to use my shower, purple lights and all.

“I—uh—” 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 a laugh, but he just nods and heads down the short hallway toward the bathroom, instantly comfortable 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 blanket 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 to come 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 Carter comes 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 here—comfortable, casual, like he belongs—makes 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 glances up at me, unimpressed. “What, you thought I’d go through all the trouble of bringing you chocolate and soup just to bail before the movie?”

I roll my eyes but grab the remote anyway, scrolling through the streaming menu until I land on a rom-com 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 beat later, a faint grin tugging at his mouth. “I just ordered food. Not everyone can survive on ice cream and carbs, Harding.”

I huff out a laugh despite myself and let my head fall back against the couch cushion.

“You’re ridiculous,” I murmur.

“You’re welcome,” he shoots back, his eyes still on his phone.

I laugh 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 plays 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—of course he does—but doesn’t say anything. Just glances 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 relax 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 a laugh. “Guess I don’t know how to sit still like this,” he admits.

Then he glances 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—not 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 blanket in my lap, 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 blanket. My chest feels tight—not the sharp, angry kind of tight I’m used to, but something heavier. Sadder.

“She…” My voice comes 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 blanket to my mouth, letting the silence stretch for a moment.

When I finally glance 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 his lap.

“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.