Page 45 of Red Zone (PCU Storm #2)

CARTER

I t’s been three days, and I still can’t stop thinking about it.

The way she looked up at me, her lips parted, her cheeks pink like she wanted me to close the gap.

The way I leaned in without even thinking, like it was the most natural thing in the world to kiss her right there, in the middle of the hallway, with half of campus walking by.

And the way she stopped me.

Soft. Almost apologetic. But still, she stopped me.

We’re in public.

I slam my door shut, the sound echoing through the quiet football house.

I know she’s right.

I know it’s not a good look for her. Not here. Not now.

Her whole career depends on people taking her seriously, and no one’s going to do that if they think she’s just sleeping with the quarterback to climb the ladder.

It has nothing to do with me.

It doesn’t matter where I came from or how I grew up or how I’ve never once had anyone choose

me when it really counted.

It’s just…bad optics.

That’s what I keep telling myself anyway.

Even if it feels like shit every time she pulls away.

I grab my jacket off the hook and head out the door, the cold night air biting at my skin.

It’s Saturday. Hockey house party. Beck insisted I come with him.

Said something about needing his “trusty wingman” now that he’s decided it’s time to get back into the dating scene after his breakup.

I didn’t even want to go at first, but the idea of sitting here all night and stewing over Lyla is worse.

So here I am, walking across campus, hands shoved deep in my pockets, trying to convince myself this isn’t about her.

That everything I feel when she looks at me like I’m more than just the kid from nowhere—that’s just in my head.

That I can shove it all back down and be fine.

By the time I get to the hockey house, the music’s already thumping through the walls, and a line of people snakes out the door.

I find Beck leaning against the porch rail, a beer in his hand, dark hair falling into his eyes as he scans the crowd.

When he spots me, he grins and lifts his drink in greeting.

“About time, Hayes,” he calls over the noise. “Thought you were gonna bail on me.”

I force a smirk.

“Nah,” I say, clapping him on the shoulder. “Wouldn’t leave you hanging.”

Because that’s what I do.

Show up.

Even when nobody does the same for me.

We walk up the porch steps, Beck straightening his collar like he’s about to walk into a damn job interview.

“You’re nervous,” I mutter, hiding a smirk as I tug my hood down.

He scoffs, but the way he keeps glancing at the door gives him away.

“Not nervous,” he says. “Just…rusty. You know. It’s been a while since…”

I clap him on the shoulder as I push the door open. “You’ll be fine, Romeo. Just don’t tell her you’re looking for a replacement for your ex, and you might even get a number tonight.”

He flips me off, but his lips twitch like he’s trying not to laugh.

The place is packed, music thumping through the floorboards, the air thick with beer and cheap perfume.

I follow Beck as he threads through the crowd toward the kitchen. That’s when I spot Grayson leaning against the counter with a beer in hand, his usual easy grin in place, surrounded by three hockey guys I recognize from the team.

He sees me at the same time and straightens, lifting his bottle in greeting.

“Hayes,” he calls over the music. “Look at that—the quarterback shows his face at a hockey party. World must be ending.”

Beck chuckles as we walk over.

“Grayson,” I say, smirking faintly.

He claps me on the back and nods toward his teammates.

“Boys, you know QB1. Carter Hayes. And his…moral support?” He gestures to Beck with a teasing grin.

“Beck,” Beck says dryly, shaking his hand.

“These are some of my teammates. Weston, Kai, and Asher,” Grayson says, introducing the other guys, who nod and give me their little chin lifts of respect.

We stand there for a minute, making small talk. The hockey team is having a hell of a season, on track to hit the regionals next month if they keep it up.

Beck’s already scanning the room like he’s on a mission.

Grayson leans in a little closer to me, lowering his voice just enough that it barely cuts through the music.

“So…how’s Lyla?” he asks casually.

I stiffen, my grip tightening slightly on my cup.

Why does he care?

And why is he asking me?

I force a shrug, keeping my tone neutral.

“She’s fine,” I mutter.

Grayson hums like he doesn’t quite believe me but lets it go, turning back to his teammates.

I down the rest of my beer, needing something to take the edge off.

“Gonna grab another,” I say, already moving toward the cooler.

On my way, I catch sight of Beck on the couch—and I can’t help but snort into my drink.

He’s sitting ramrod straight, a gorgeous brunette practically draped across his lap, playing with

the collar of his shirt.

And Beck?

He’s staring straight ahead like she just told him she’s a wanted fugitive and not just some hot girl at a party.

Poor bastard. Still hung up on his ex.

I shake my head and chuckle under my breath as I crack open another beer.

That’s when I feel a hand slide onto my arm.

“Carter,” a sweet, syrupy voice purrs behind me.

I turn, and sure enough—it’s Savannah.

She steps closer, her nails grazing over my sleeve, her smile sharp and practiced.

“You’ve been hard to pin down lately,” she says, her voice dripping with false warmth. “What, are you tied down to someone? Or just playing hard to get?”

I shake her hand off, meeting her gaze evenly.

“Just busy,” I say flatly.

But she doesn’t even flinch. If anything, her grin widens, like she takes it as a challenge.

“Oh, come on,” she teases, leaning in closer so her perfume hits me like a wall. “You don’t have to pretend with me. Everyone knows you’re not the type to stay tied down or get serious. Not with all the options you’ve got. You could have anyone in this room.”

I let the silence hang for a second, staring her down, before I finally answer.

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

That earns me the faintest arch of her brow.

She circles me just slightly, running her hand down the edge of the cooler like she owns the place.

“Fine,” she says lightly, cocking her head at me. “If it’s not about the options, then what? What’s stopping you from just…having some fun? You don’t have to prove anything to anybody. This is your moment. Why waste it?”

I take a slow sip of my beer before answering.

“Because I’m focused,” I say quietly, my voice firm.

That actually makes her blink.

“Focused?” she echoes, like it’s a foreign concept.

“On my future,” I clarify, setting my beer down and straightening up. “On getting out of here. On making sure I actually have something to show for all of this when it’s over. That’s what I care about. Not…” I wave vaguely toward the rest of the room. “Whatever this is supposed to be.”

Her smile falters just barely before she recovers it, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

“Well,” she purrs, stepping back. “That’s very noble of you. Not many guys your age would walk away from an opportunity like me.”

I can’t help the faint smirk that tugs at my lips as I pick my beer back up.

“Guess I’m not like most guys.”

Savannah studies me for another second, her smile more brittle now, before letting out a soft laugh and turning on her heel.

“Your loss,” she calls lightly over her shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.

I drain the rest of my beer and set the empty bottle on the counter before pushing off, heading back into the living room.

The music’s louder now, the party even more packed, but I can still pick Beck out instantly.

He’s exactly where I last saw him—sitting on the couch, stiff as a board, the gorgeous brunette practically wrapped around him while he stares straight ahead like she’s about to bite him.

I shake my head and stop in front of him, crossing my arms.

“Having fun?” I ask, loud enough for him to hear over the music.

His eyes snap to me, wide, like I just caught him committing a crime.

“Yeah,” he says quickly. Too quickly. “Totally. Fun. Good time.”

The girl next to him giggles and leans into his shoulder, twirling a piece of her hair around her finger.

I raise a brow at him. “You look like you’re being held hostage.”

That earns me a glare, but even he can’t keep up the act.

I clap him on the shoulder and nod toward the door.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

He doesn’t argue.

We weave through the crowd, him muttering something about how she was probably crazy anyway as I open the door and let the cold air hit us.

By the time we make it to the sidewalk, the thump of bass from the house is already fading into the quiet of the street.

Beck shoves his hands into his hoodie pocket and exhales, his breath fogging in the air.

“Thanks,” he says after a beat.

I glance at him, smirking faintly.

“Anytime. You looked like you were about five seconds away from faking a phone call.”

He actually laughs at that, shaking his head.

“Yeah, well,” he says with a shrug. “Guess I’m not ready to…you know. Move on. Not yet.”

I don’t say anything right away, just shove my hands in my pockets and keep walking beside him.

Because if I’m being honest…

Neither am I.