Page 42 of Red Zone (PCU Storm #2)

LYLA

T he knock at the door is sharp, impatient.

I glance at Madison, curled up on the couch under a blanket, her eyes open but unfocused, staring at the muted TV screen. She doesn’t move.

Another knock, louder this time.

I pull in a breath, already feeling the tension before I even stand.

“I’ll get it,” I murmur, and she doesn’t respond.

When I peek through the peephole, it’s exactly who I expected. Carter.

I open the door just enough to slip through and close it behind me, stepping into the cool night air.

“Hey,” I say flatly, folding my arms.

He’s standing there in a hoodie and joggers, his hat pulled low, jaw tight. His blue eyes flick to the door behind me, then back to me.

“Where is she?” he asks, his voice already edged with frustration.

“She’s inside,” I answer, equally steady.

When he moves like he’s going to push past me, I plant my hand on his chest, stopping him.

“She doesn’t want to see anyone right now,” I add firmly.

Carter glares down at me, incredulous. “Are you kidding me, Lyla? Jaxon’s in a hospital bed right now, asking where she is. She left. She didn’t even—” He huffs out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “She didn’t even let him know she was there. What’s the point of her even showing up at all?”

“She was there,” I snap, narrowing my eyes at him. “She sat there for hours, Carter. You don’t know what that did to her—what it’s still doing to her. She’s scared, okay?”

“Scared,” he repeats, almost spitting the word like it offends him. He paces a step away, then turns back to me, his hands on his hips. “Yeah, well, Jaxon’s scared, too, and he doesn’t get to just check out. He doesn’t get to quit on her, does he? So why the hell is it okay for her to quit on him?”

“She’s not quitting,” I bite out, my voice rising. “She just needs time.”

“Time?” Carter’s laugh is sharp, cold. “He’s lying in a hospital bed wondering if she even gives a damn. And you—” His eyes cut to mine, piercing, like he’s peeling me apart.

My stomach flips because I know that look.

“And you,” he says quieter now, stepping closer. “You sit here defending her, acting like you’re not the same damn way. Scared. Running. Pretending like you don’t feel it too.”

The air leaves my lungs in one shaky breath.

“Don’t,” I whisper, my arms tightening over my chest.

But he doesn’t back off. His gaze softens just enough to make it worse.

“You’re scared too, Lyla,” he murmurs, like it’s a truth I can’t undo.

I swallow hard and force myself to look away, gripping the edge of my sleeve until my knuckles ache.

“You don’t know me,” I say, low and brittle.

But his faint smirk says otherwise.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, almost to himself as he steps back. “I think I do.”

And then he walks off, leaving me standing alone outside the door, my pulse still hammering, my throat too tight to breathe.

I stay outside for a moment after he’s gone, staring down the walkway where he disappeared, the faint sound of his footsteps fading into nothing.

His words still buzz in my head, sharp and soft all at once.

You’re scared too.

I bite the inside of my cheek, willing my heartbeat to slow, willing my face to smooth back into something neutral before I go back inside.

When I finally open the door and step back into the quiet apartment, Madison hasn’t moved.

She’s still curled up on the couch, staring at the muted TV, as if nothing happened.

I shut the door softly behind me, letting my eyes drift to the kitchen. The counters are already spotless, gleaming under the dim light.

But even from here, I can see a faint streak on the stainless steel fridge.

My fingers twitch at my side.

The knot in my chest tightens.

And all I can think is?—

The kitchen could use another round of cleaning.

Winter term classes start tomorrow, and my backpack is already packed, sitting by the door back at my apartment. I thought getting back into a routine might settle me—give me something to focus on besides Carter’s words and the way Madison still hasn’t really been a functioning human lately.

But instead of going home after my morning errands, I find myself here.

In front of my dad’s house.

It’s strange how different it looks now—fresh white paint, a new door with frosted glass, even a wreath for winter. The house I grew up in never looked like this.

I force my shoulders back and knock anyway.

He answers in a sweater and jeans; his reading glasses perched on top of his head. He smiles when he sees me, warm and familiar. “Hey, kid. Wasn’t expecting you.”

I shrug faintly. “Had some extra time. Thought I’d stop by.”

“Well, come on in. Don’t freeze out there.”

He steps aside, and I peel my coat off as I follow him into the kitchen. Of course, it smells like coffee and whatever his girlfriend baked this morning. There’s already a plate of lemon bars on the counter.

We sit at the table like we always used to, and he makes me a cup of tea without asking.

He leans back in his chair, eyeing me for a beat. “How’s everything going? You ready for the new term?”

I nod, curling my hands around the mug. “Yeah. Just…trying to get back in the swing of things.”

“Madison okay?” he asks gently.

I hesitate before answering. “She’s…getting there, maybe. It’s been rough.”

He nods, quiet for a second. Then he clears his throat.

“Are you coming for dinner this weekend? Nicole wanted to know if we could celebrate your birthday Sunday before they head out to see her mom for the week.”

Something in my chest twists at the mention of them.

I set my cup down carefully, moving my hands to my lap.

“Dad…” I start, my voice softer than I expect.

He looks at me, waiting.

“I feel like…”

The words stick in my throat, and I have to press my lips together and look down at the table for a second before I can finish.

My dad waits, his brow furrowed, patient but concerned.

I inhale slowly and force it out.

“Like you’ve been trying to replace me. And Mom.”

His eyebrows lift, his mouth parting like he wants to interrupt—but I hold up my hand and keep going, because if I stop now, I’ll never say the rest.

“It feels like…like you’re building this whole new family without me in it.

You’ve got Nicole, and her daughter, and her friends, and all these new traditions, and I…

” My voice catches, my throat burning. “I just feel like a guest in your life now. Like I’m just…

visiting. Like I don’t really belong here anymore. ”

I bite my lip and shake my head, staring down at my hands.

“And I know it’s not fair. I know you deserve to be happy.

I really do want that for you. But every time I come here and see how easily you’ve moved on, how easily you’ve built something with them…

it feels like me and Mom were just…placeholders.

Like we were just the family you settled for before you found the one you really wanted. ”

The confession leaves me shaky and raw, my fingers tightening around the edge of my teacup just to keep them from trembling.

“I know you don’t mean to make me feel that way,” I add quietly, barely above a whisper. “But you do. And I don’t know how to stop feeling like I’m not enough. Like I’m already gone to you.”

He stares at me for another moment, before getting up and coming to my side of the table, reaching for my hand, and pulling me up from my chair. His arms wrap around me and bring me into a tight hug.

“You’re never, ever not good enough,” he says quietly, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.

His voice cracks just a little, enough that it makes my chest ache.

“You’ll always be my little girl,” he continues, his gaze locking on mine, earnest and heavy with feeling. “Always. And I’m sorry, Ly. I’m so damn sorry I ever made you feel like you weren’t a part of this…like you weren’t the most important part. That was never my intention.”

He pauses, drawing in a shaky breath of his own.

“I’ve watched you grow into this…this incredible young woman.

You’re strong, and smart, and you care so much about everyone around you.

You’ve accomplished more than I ever dreamed for you, and I know you’re just getting started.

I’m proud of you, Lyla. So proud of everything you’ve done and everything you’re going to do.

Your mom would be so, so proud of you too. ”

The lump in my throat swells until it feels impossible to swallow. My eyes sting, but I manage a small nod anyway, my lips pressed together tight.

He squeezes my hand a little firmer, like he can feel the words I can’t quite say yet.

He doesn’t push, doesn’t try to explain it all away or defend himself. He just stays there, holding my hand, letting me feel what I need to feel.

And for now…that’s everything I need.

By the time my last meeting of Thursday morning wraps, my coffee’s gone cold and my planner is littered with new notes, sticky tabs, and checkmarks.

It feels good, though.

Being back in my routine. Doing the work I know I’m good at to keep my mind occupied, to keep myself from replaying my last conversation with Carter over and over again in my mind.

I close my notebook and glance up to Grayson as he steps out of the conference room, backpack slung over his shoulder.

“Thanks again,” he says with that easy hockey-boy grin of his. “You’re a lifesaver, Lyla.”

“Don’t forget to send me the draft of your next post before it goes live,” I remind him, returning his smile just enough to stay professional.

He winks. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Grayson lingers in the doorway instead of walking off right away, his hand resting lightly on the frame.

I glance up from gathering my notes, arching a brow.

“Something else you need?” I ask lightly.

He hesitates, his easy grin fading into something a little more measured.

“Not exactly,” he says. Then he steps back in and closes the door halfway, like he doesn’t want anyone else hearing what he’s about to say.

That alone makes my stomach tighten.

I tuck my pen into the coil of my planner and meet his eyes.

“All right, what is it?”

Grayson shifts his weight, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.

“I’ve…been meaning to say something,” he starts. “And, look, it’s not really my business, so tell me to shut up if you want.”

I narrow my eyes slightly, already wary. “Okay…”

He gives me an apologetic little smile.

“It’s about Carter.”

My stomach drops just a little at the sound of his name, though I keep my face neutral.

“What about him?”

Grayson leans against the doorframe, his voice low but not unkind.

“I don’t know what’s going on there,” he says, gesturing vaguely. “But I’ve noticed things. Even back at that party in the fall, he looked like he wanted to rip my head off just for talking to you.”

I blink, caught off guard by that.

“And since then,” Grayson continues. “It’s not just that. I see him watching you on the sidelines. Like he forgets where he is sometimes. And the way he hovers after games? People notice that stuff, Lyla. I notice.”

I open my mouth, then close it again, unsure what to even say.

Grayson watches me for a beat before pushing off the doorframe and softening his tone.

“I’m not judging you,” he adds gently. “I’m really not. But this job you’re doing? It’s a good thing. A really good thing. And Carter…well, he’s got everything riding on his image too.”

He pauses, like he’s choosing his next words carefully.

“I just don’t want to see either of you mess up something you’ve worked for because of…whatever this is between you. Even if you’re not doing anything wrong, people can twist it. You know how fast a rumor can catch fire.”

I swallow hard, my throat tight.

Grayson straightens, shouldering his backpack again, and his usual grin flickers back into place.

“Just…be careful, okay? You’re good at what you do, Lyla. Don’t let anything get in the way of that.”

I force a faint smile, even though my chest aches.

“Thanks,” I say quietly.

He nods once, like that settles it, and then heads out the door with a little two-finger salute.

When the door shuts behind him, I sit there for a long moment, staring at my planner without seeing it.

Because as much as I hate to admit it…

He has a point.