Page 38 of Red Zone (PCU Storm #2)

LYLA

I can’t stop replaying what I saw the other night.

Carter—in 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 else laugh 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 glance 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—when 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— His hand comes down on my thigh, warm and steady, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I jump just slightly and glance 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 glance at him as we pull into the driveway. He’s already letting go of my leg, his easy smirk gone now, replaced 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.

“Lyla,” he says warmly, stepping aside to let us in. “And Carter—good to see you, son. Come on in.”

“Thanks, Coach,” Carter says easily, offering his hand. “Appreciate you having me.”

They shake, my dad clapping 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 brunette coming 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—all teenage attitude, phone in hand, barely glancing 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 dad launches into some story about a bowl game from his playing days, Carter nodding and laughing in all the right places, 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 salad,” 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 game last 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 low laugh 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 actually laughs—and 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 players 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 glances at me—and 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 quiet laugh, staring down at his plate. “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 glances 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 glass 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—polite as ever—shifts her attention across the table.

“So, Carter,” she says warmly, smiling at him. “What about you? Where’d you grow up?”

Carter glances 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 place I stayed too long.”

Nicole tilts her head, curious. “Oh? Military family?”

He lets out a low, quiet laugh at that—but 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—Nicole chatting about the dessert she’s planning 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 glances at Carter.

Because even though he handles himself perfectly—polite, charming, even funny—there’s still something about the way he answered that question.

Something in the way he looked down at his plate 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 uncomfortable.

He covers it well—still smiling, still nodding—but 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 too late.”

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 to laugh, 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 welcome 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, Lyla June.”

I can’t really remember the last 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 the last 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 himself laugh, low and warm from the passenger seat.

“Gonna let me in on the joke or keep laughing 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 quiet laugh. “But you do realize your dad’s been my coach for the last four years, right? The guy definitely knows I grew up in the system.”

That makes me laugh, in spite of myself.

“Yeah, well,” I shoot back. “Then he should also know how uncomfortable 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, glancing 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.”