Page 49 of Red Zone (PCU Storm #2)

CARTER

I thought staying away from her would get easier.

It hasn’t.

If anything…it’s worse.

It’s been weeks now, and every single day I catch myself looking for her without even thinking about it. On the sidelines. In the hallway. In the stands.

And when I do see her—head down, busy with her tablet or her planner—it guts me.

Because I don’t just miss her.

I miss us.

The way she’d lean into me when she laughed. The way she’d look up at me like I was more than just another player with a jersey and a number.

I never realized how much I needed someone to look at me like that.

Now it’s all I can think about.

It hits me at the worst times too. When I’m running routes at practice, when I’m watching film, even when I’m trying to sleep.

That night at her place replays over and over in my head.

The way she felt under me. The way she whispered my name like it meant something.

The way her eyes filled with tears when I got dressed to leave.

And still…I left.

Because that’s what she asked me to do, even if she couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud.

I drag a hand over my face, leaning back on my bed. The ceiling is cracked in one corner, and I stare at it like it’s hiding the answers I’ve been looking for.

But it doesn’t give me any hints.

I thought I’d gotten good at being wanted for what I can do on a field and nothing else.

But she made me feel like more.

And now that I’ve had that…nothing else feels good enough.

Not the game.

Not the noise.

Not even the dream I’ve been chasing since I was a kid.

Because none of it is her.

The hockey house is packed with the kind of party that spills out onto the porch, music shaking the walls and beer bottles already collecting in corners.

We’re through super regionals, one step closer to the championship, and the guys are riding the high hard.

Jaxon and Beck are holding court over by the beer pong table, already a few games deep. Jaxon’s got his game face on even here, but Beck? He’s got that half-baked, too-big grin that always comes out when he’s trying too hard to forget something.

I keep an eye on both of them anyway.

Logan’s leaning on the counter next to me, scrolling through his phone while we talk.

“You heard from anyone yet?” he asks casually, glancing up.

“A few,” I say, sipping my beer. “Bears GM reached out this week. Raiders want to talk at Pro Day. Couple others sent over questionnaires. Nothing huge yet. All just…noise.”

Logan grunts, putting his phone away. “It’s gonna get real after Pro Day. Place’ll be crawling with scouts. You and Jaxon are gonna have all thirty-two here watching.”

I smirk faintly and shake my head. “No pressure.”

He chuckles, but then the front door swings open and a group of girls steps inside, laughing and brushing snow off their jackets.

Something about one of them catches my eye.

The way she carries herself—like she owns the room already—feels familiar.

I frown, tipping my beer slightly in her direction and murmuring to Logan, “Hey…isn’t that your buddy’s sister?”

Logan freezes mid-laugh.

His head snaps up, his eyes locking on the girl at the center of the group.

And everything about him changes.

The lazy grin is gone. His shoulders square up, his jaw tightens.

He straightens and shoves off the counter without another word, stalking toward her.

Her friends are still giggling, looking around like they’re here for a good time.

Logan looks like he’s ready to ruin hers.

I lean back, raising my beer to my lips, watching him close the distance.

Whatever’s about to happen…

It’s definitely not gonna be good.

I’m still watching Logan weave through the crowd, all wound up and locked in on her, when someone claps me on the shoulder.

“QB1,” a familiar voice drawls behind me.

I turn to see Grayson grinning, a beer in one hand and his other stuffed in his pocket.

He looks like he’s barely broken a sweat despite the chaos of the party. Hockey guys.

“Grayson,” I say with a faint smirk, reaching out to shake his hand.

Pulling his hand out of his pocket, he shakes mine before leaning casually against the counter next to me, scanning the room. “Didn’t think you’d show tonight. Heard you guys were celebrating your little football miracle.”

I huff a laugh and shake my head. “Not much of a miracle when we put in the work.”

Grayson raises his beer and clinks it against mine anyway.

“Well,” he says. “Congrats, Hayes. You guys earned it. Regionals ain’t easy, and you made it look good.”

I raise a brow at him and tip my beer back.

“Right back at you,” I reply, nodding toward him. “Congrats on your win too. That overtime goal was something else.”

Grayson’s grin widens at that, like he can’t help it.

“Not bad for a hockey boy, huh?” he teases, taking a sip.

“Not bad at all,” I admit, letting the corner of my mouth twitch up.

For a second, it’s easy to forget everything else—the tension in my chest, the ache I’ve been carrying around these last few weeks—just leaning against the counter with someone who gets it.

But then my eyes drift back to the beer pong table, where Beck is still putting on a show and Jaxon’s watching him quietly, phone still in his hand.

And a little further past them, I catch Logan again—standing nose-to-nose with her now, his voice low but sharp, her arms crossed defiantly over her chest.

Something tells me this night’s not done being interesting.

Not even close.

I lose track of what Grayson’s saying after a while. Something about playoffs and line changes and how the hockey guys are already planning a road trip if they make it to nationals.

I nod and smile where I’m supposed to, but my mind’s somewhere else entirely.

I can still feel her.

Even when she’s not here.

That’s the worst part—walking through rooms like this and catching myself scanning the crowd out of habit. Like some part of me still believes she’ll be standing there with her planner tucked against her chest, pretending not to look for me too.

So, when I finally peel myself away from the living room and head back into the kitchen for another drink, I don’t expect much.

Until I see her.

At least, I think it’s her.

A flash of red hair catches my eye near the counter, the kind of color that turns gold under the light.

But it’s shorter now.

Way shorter.

Just grazing her shoulders instead of falling in waves down her back.

She’s half-turned, chatting with someone, one hand absently smoothing the ends of her hair like she’s still not used to it.

But I’d know her anywhere.

And before I can stop myself, the words slip out.

“You cut your hair.”

She startles slightly, glancing over her shoulder at me.

Her cheeks turn the faintest shade of pink, but she covers it with a tiny smirk.

“You noticed,” she says, tucking a strand behind her ear. “Was starting to think you only paid attention to stats and game film.”

I huff a quiet laugh, stepping closer.

“I notice,” I murmur, letting my eyes sweep over her once before meeting hers again.

Her lips part slightly, and for half a second it feels like it used to—just her and me in our own little world.

She drops her gaze, twisting a strand of hair between her fingers.

“Do you…like it?” she asks hesitantly.

I tilt my head, letting a faint grin pull at the corner of my mouth.

“I love it,” I say simply.

Her lips twitch into a small smile, and she finally meets my eyes again.

And for a few blessed minutes, it’s easy.

We stand there, leaning against the counter, catching up like we’re just two people who don’t know how to stay away from each other.

She tells me about Megan throwing her on another high-profile project. I tell her about the scouts I’ve been hearing from and how I can’t decide if I’d rather end up on the West Coast or back East.

And the whole time, all I can think about is how much I miss her.

Her laugh.

Her hands.

The way she used to look at me like I was worth more than just the game.

I catch myself glancing at her mouth more than once, my fingers curling into fists at my sides to keep them from reaching out.

Because right here, right now, all I want to do is close the space between us.

Tuck that little strand of hair back behind her ear.

And kiss her until she forgets why she ever told me that we couldn’t be together.

But instead, I just stand here.

Trying to remember what it feels like to breathe.

Her smile turns a little sly, her green eyes glittering as she tips her head just slightly.

“You’re staring, Hayes,” she teases, her voice soft but with a little edge of mischief. “Not very subtle.”

I huff a dry laugh, dragging a hand over the back of my neck.

“Yeah,” I admit, stepping just a little closer. “Guess I’m not.”

The kitchen’s empty now, the noise of the party dulled behind the closed door. Just me and her, standing a few feet apart, pretending we’re still playing by the rules.

But I can’t. Not tonight.

I close the gap, stopping just in front of her. Her breath hitches when I reach up, letting my fingers ghost over the ends of her newly cut hair.

“You have no idea how badly I want to kiss you right now,” I murmur, my voice low and rough.

Her eyes flutter shut, just for a second.

I let my hand fall back to my side and lower my forehead to hers instead, closing my eyes and breathing her in.

“I miss you,” I whisper.

The silence stretches for a beat before I hear her whisper back, her voice so quiet I almost miss it, “Carter…”

It takes everything in me not to tilt her chin up and press my mouth to hers.

Instead, I stay there for just another moment, her breath warm against my lips, before pressing one soft kiss to her forehead.

She closes her eyes, her shoulders sinking, and I step back before I can change my mind.

Without another word, I turn and push through the swinging door, letting the noise of the party swallow me whole.