Page 44 of Red Zone (PCU Storm #2)

LYLA

L yla I sink deeper into the bath, letting the water lap at my collarbones, my knees pulled just slightly to my chest.

The faint scent of eucalyptus and lavender clings to the air. The only sound coming from the crashing waves video playing from my phone.

But none of my normal tricks are working to quiet my thoughts.

I can’t stop Grayson’s words from repeating on a loop in my head.

You’re good at what you do, Lyla. Don’t let anything get in the way of that.

He said it so casually, like the choice should be simple.

But nothing feels simple now.

Because he’s not wrong.

I’ve worked so hard for this. Every late night. Every summer class. Every internship no one thought I was qualified for, but I clawed my way through anyway.

This is my dream.

And risking it all for Carter?

It feels reckless.

I trail my fingers absently through the water, watching little ripples spread and fade.

The worst part isn’t even what it could do to me.

It’s what it could do to him.

Carter’s on the verge of everything he’s ever wanted. The scouts are watching. The media’s watching. Every move he makes is already under a microscope, and he doesn’t even know how much.

I see the way they would spin it.

They’d accuse him of using me. Paint him as a charity case. Say we were manipulating his story for pity points, sympathy headlines, better endorsements.

And God…he’d hate that.

He’d hate himself for that.

He doesn’t want to be seen that way. Not ever.

He’s worked too damn hard to get here on his own.

And if I let this thing between us keep growing—if it blows up—he’ll take the fall for it. Even if it’s my fault too.

I rest my forehead on my knees, closing my eyes.

And then there’s the question I can’t stop asking myself, even when I try to bury it.

Does he even see me…the way I see him?

Does he see this as together-together?

Does he even picture a future—with me still in it?

Or am I just here right now because it’s easy?

Because he’s lonely?

Because I’m convenient?

The thought guts me.

I know better than anyone what happens when people stop choosing you.

When they wake up one morning and realize you were just something to fill the space until they found better.

One or both of us is going to end up burned.

I just can’t tell if walking away now would hurt more…or less…than staying.

The faucet drips. The eucalyptus scent clings to my skin. The steam curls higher, soft and suffocating all at once.

And I sit there in the water, knees pulled tight to my chest, trying to figure out what the hell my next move should be.

By Wednesday morning, the coffee shop is already full of bleary-eyed students mingled with the smell of espresso.

Winter midterms always bring the worst out in everyone—half the tables are covered in open laptops and highlighters, the other half in crumpled napkins and abandoned cups.

I claim my usual corner seat by the window and pull out my planner.

Two exams today, another one Friday morning, and three more deadlines next week. My page is a mess of checkmarks and sticky notes.

I glance toward the door out of habit, but of course…no Madison.

She’s been scarce lately.

I tell myself it’s just midterms keeping her busy too, but deep down, I know that’s not it.

I miss her.

Not just because she’s my roommate, not just because she knows how I like my tea and keeps me from overstudying. But because…I don’t know how to talk about everything I’m feeling without her.

About him.

I tug my notebook closer, flipping to my study outline, but my mind wanders anyway.

Things with Carter have been…okay.

Better than okay, really.

We haven’t talked about us, haven’t defined anything, haven’t even argued.

But he still shows up.

Like last week, when he showed up outside the apartment with a pint of cookie dough ice cream at eleven o’clock, just because he “felt like it.”

We sat on the couch and passed the pint back and forth, and when we finally fell asleep, we were still wrapped up in each other, his hand resting warm and heavy on my hip.

That’s how it’s been.

Him showing up in quiet ways I never thought he would.

But sometimes, when he thinks I’m not looking, I catch him watching me with this question in his eyes.

Like he’s starting to notice I’m not fully okay.

Like he can tell I’m starting to pull pieces of myself back.

And I hate that.

I hate that no matter how hard I try, part of me can’t just let go of what Grayson said and believe this is enough.

I rest my chin on my hand, staring down at my notes, the words blurring together.

Because even though things are fine, even though everything seems to be going okay…

I can’t stop wondering if that’s really enough.

By the time the man who plagues my thoughts slides into the seat across from me, my tea is cold and my pen is poised uselessly over my notes.

I blink up at him, startled.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” I murmur, though I can’t stop the little smile that tugs at my lips.

He just shrugs, plopping his drink down and leaning his elbows on the table.

“Yeah, well,” he says, voice low and warm. “You’re not supposed to be here alone either. And since Madison’s gone MIA…”

I roll my eyes, but my chest feels lighter already.

“You didn’t have to come.”

He smirks faintly, leaning back in his chair. “I know I didn’t have to, Lyla. Wanted to.”

That shuts me up.

He winks, tapping the top of my notebook. “Come on, pack up. I’m escorting you to your midterm.”

And he does.

Even with his hands shoved in his pockets and his hood up against the February chill, he falls into step beside me so easily, shortening his long stride to match mine perfectly.

As we near the lecture hall, I start fidgeting with the strap of my bag, nerves bubbling up.

He notices, of course he does, and stops before we make it all the way. Hooking a finger under my chin to tilt my face toward him, he calms my thoughts with those ocean blue eyes of his.

“Hey,” he says gently, his eyes soft but steady. “You’ve got this. You’re gonna kill it.”

I bite my lip, trying to stop the smile that comes from his belief in me, even if I don’t fully believe in myself.

He grins then, leaning just a little closer as his voice drops lower. “That’s my girl.”

Something in the way he says it sends heat rushing to my cheeks, my breath catching in my throat.

His hand lingers under my chin, his thumb brushing lightly over my jaw.

And then he leans in—just enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath on my lips, his eyes dropping to my mouth like he’s already forgotten where we are.

My heart stutters, my fingers tightening on my bag strap.

And quietly, barely above a whisper, I murmur, “Carter…we’re in public.”

He freezes, just for a beat. His smile falters faintly as reality sinks in, and he straightens, jamming his hands back into his pockets.

“Right,” he mutters, his shoulders stiffening. “Wouldn’t want anyone to see us like that.”

“Carter—”

He forces a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes this time.

“Don’t worry about it,” he cuts in lightly. “Go ace your exam. I’ll…talk to you later.”

Before I can say anything else, he turns and walks back down the hall, his head ducked, hands still stuffed deep in his pockets.

I stand there for a moment, watching him go, guilt knotting tight in my stomach.

And when I finally turn back toward the door, I catch sight of her.

Savannah.

Leaning casually against the wall a few yards away, her arms crossed, and her perfectly glossy lips curved into the faintest little smirk.

She pushes off the wall, her heels clicking on the tile as she turns and strolls away without a word.

My stomach drops.

And at the worst time imaginable, my notes and my exam are the furthest thing from my mind.