Page 37 of Red Zone (PCU Storm #2)

CARTER

“ H ow’d finals week go, dude?”

Logan’s voice cuts through the quiet of the Jeep as he slams 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 classroom that actually needs me.

We hoist the last of the wrapped presents into the big plastic bins by the loading dock of the community 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—toys, 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 claps his hands together for warmth and throws me a sideways look. “So, you got any big plans over winter break?”

I freeze just slightly, my smile slipping.

Plans. 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—that 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 black 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—like she’s got something to prove.

I raise an eyebrow but don’t say anything, slamming the door shut and grabbing my keys.

The driver’s door opens a second later, and Logan’s friend climbs out—all easy confidence and tailored flannel, walking like he owns the place.

“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 for coming to get me, man.”

They meet halfway in the driveway, clapping 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?” Logan laughs as he dodges a fake punch as they both walk toward the idling sedan.

Logan glances back at me after throwing his bag in the trunk, his grin faltering just a hair. “You good, Hayes?”

I force a smirk, flashing 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 collapse 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 of laughter, 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 voice comes through after the fourth ring.

“Hey,” I say, settling back against the headboard. “It’s me.”

A beat, then a soft laugh, 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, glancing 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—finals, the charity thing, how Beck almost set off the smoke alarm with his cookies. She laughs at that, really laughs, 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 little laugh, 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 place or yours this time?”

She huffs out a breath—amused, not annoyed—and for once, she doesn’t deflect.

“You can come 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 place 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—lights low, a candle burning on the counter, her laptop 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 minutes later she comes back with two steaming cups of instant noodles, handing me one of them, along with a fork.

“Didn’t think you’d complain,” 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 in comfortable silence.

It’s…easy.

Maybe too easy.

I’m halfway through my cup when she glances over at me, her expression thoughtful.

“So…” She starts, twirling noodles around her fork. “What’re your plans 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 little laugh. “Just me. Always just me.”

That hangs between us for a second.

She doesn’t say anything right away—just 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 should come to my dad’s,” she says matter-of-factly.

I blink at her. “What?”

“For Christmas Eve,” she clarifies. “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 little laugh, 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 plan.

“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, glancing at her with the faintest smile.

“Yeah,” I say quietly. “Yeah I do.”