Page 39 of Red Zone (PCU Storm #2)

CARTER

F or the first time in my life, Christmas didn’t come 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, plastic tree in a group home corner, already half-tilted because nobody bothered fixing it.

Just…her.

Lyla.

Her dad’s house, the awkward smiles, the tense little undercurrents I was starting to read between her and Emmy—all of it somehow felt better than anything I’d known before.

And when she’d leaned over the table later, quietly asking if I’d want to stay the night at her place—help her actually make cookies the right way this time—I 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 was laughing, and that was enough.

Even when things got…messy.

By the time the last 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 shower later, mumbling something about “conserving water,” I couldn’t help laughing. 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 clank of plates 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 plates 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 particular.

Jaxon glances 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 elaborate—and 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 plates 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 flat 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 plates, muttering something under his breath I don’t quite catch.

I’m just finishing my last set of squats when someone clears their throat behind me.

I glance 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 Lyla.”

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—on keeping things together, on work, on…everything—that 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 place 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 low laugh—not harsh this time, but almost proud.

“You know,” he says slowly. “I wasn’t sure about you at first. But you’ve become 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, clapping 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.

Classic.

But before I can even grab a beer, I see him.

Jaxon.

Cutting through the crowd like he owns the place, dark hoodie hanging loose on his frame, hair still damp from practice, eyes locked on one person—Madison.

And Jesus Christ.

The way she looks at him, the way his hands immediately find her waist and his mouth claims hers without hesitation—like 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 plant one last kiss on her before she finally comes up for air.

“All right, all right,” I call out, shaking my head as I raise my beer. “Save some of that for later, huh?”

Jaxon chuckles, glancing 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. Lyla’s already in, so you two don’t really have a choice.”

Madison glances over and sees Lyla 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, everyone laughing and yelling over each other.

I settle on the floor next to Lyla, who gives me a little nudge and smirk as Madison sits in Jaxon’s lap nearby.

The game kicks off like always—harmless 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.”

Lyla 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.

Lyla blushes beside me. I can feel her stiffen, like she’s bracing for the whispers.

I glance 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—the 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 but laughs, 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.

Lyla’s hands grab my arm at the last 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.

Lyla digs her fingers into my arm. “Not arguing that, just—not right now.”

Logan smirks, taking another sip of his drink like he’s already won. “Relax, Hayes. Not my fault the kid finally grew a pair.”

I lunge again, and Lyla 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, Lyla 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’s laugh is still ringing in my ears.

I don’t even hear her at first—not 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 blazing, 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.”

Lyla doesn’t flinch, doesn’t back down.

“And that somebody had to be you? Right in the middle of everything?”

Her glare could cut through glass, but there’s something else under it—something 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 already complicated 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 me laugh—bitter 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?—”

“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 nothing comes out.

So I lean in, my hand coming 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.