Page 51 of Red Zone (PCU Storm #2)

CARTER

I ’m sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at my tie like it personally wronged me.

It’s already looped around my neck, but for some reason I can’t bring myself to finish the knot.

My jacket’s slung over the back of my desk chair, and my dress shoes are waiting on the floor.

And I just sit here.

Lost in my own head.

So much so that I don’t even hear the door open until Jaxon’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

“You almost ready, man?”

I glance up to see him leaning against the doorframe, already dressed to the nines. His suit is perfectly tailored, his tie crisp and straight, and somehow, he still manages to look relaxed as hell.

I grunt in response, looking back down at the tie in my hands.

Jaxon raises a brow. “That a yes?”

“Almost,” I mutter, finally starting to work the knot.

He watches me for a beat before stepping inside, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket like the whole night is just another game to him.

“You know what this thing’s even for?” I ask, keeping my eyes on the tie.

“The auction?”

“Yeah.”

Jaxon shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Fundraiser for some summer camp. For foster kids, I think. Good cause.”

That makes me freeze for half a second before pulling the knot tight.

Summer camp.

Foster kids.

I swallow hard and glance at him, but his expression’s already shifted back to neutral, like it’s just another event to get through.

I shove my hands into my pockets, staring down at the floor.

The truth is, I hadn’t even thought to ask what this whole night was about.

Because all I’ve been thinking about lately…is her.

And even now, with Jaxon standing there waiting, all I can picture is Lyla.

The way she looked at me in the kitchen at the hockey house. The way her laugh used to sound when it was just us. The way she used to believe in me when I couldn’t even believe in myself.

I drag a hand over my face and force myself to grab my jacket, slipping it on as I straighten up.

“All right,” I say quietly. “Let’s go.”

Jaxon claps me on the back as we walk out the door, but I can still feel it—the heaviness in my chest.

Because I already know tonight’s going to be harder than I thought.

The banquet hall is already buzzing by the time we get there.

Tables draped in white linens, glittering centerpieces, soft music humming under the low din of conversation.

I tug at my tie again as we walk in, trying to ignore the way everyone turns to watch us. It’s like walking into a damn spotlight—boosters, sponsors, alumni, coaches. All eyes on the players.

Jaxon shakes a few hands, flashing that easy smile of his as we move through the crowd, focused on making it to our table and finding Madison.

I just keep my head down.

The first thing that really catches my eye is the giant banner stretched across the far wall.

PCU Summer Football Camp: Building Futures, Changing Lives.

Below it, in smaller letters: Proceeds benefit high school students in foster care.

I stop in my tracks, staring at it.

The words blur for a second before they snap back into focus, sharp and clear.

Foster care.

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry.

Because now I know exactly who’s behind this.

It’s her handwriting on the little tent cards scattered across the tables.

Her quiet touch in the perfectly aligned sponsorship logos.

Her fingerprints are all over this entire room.

I can practically see her at the center of it all, head down, hair pulled back, scribbling notes in her planner, making sure everything is perfect.

Because that’s who she is.

I never actually told her how much that Christmas event meant to me. The kids. The way it feels to give back in that way.

But she remembered.

She turned it into this.

Something bigger. Something permanent.

And I realize, standing there in the doorway, that she gets me in a way no one else ever has.

Even now.

Even when we’re not…anything anymore.

Jaxon nudges me, breaking me out of my thoughts.

“You good?” he murmurs.

I force a faint smirk, though it feels brittle at the edges.

“Yeah,” I lie, adjusting my jacket as I step forward.

But the whole time, all I can think about is her.

Lyla, somewhere in this room.

And how badly I want to tell her what this means to me.

I follow Jaxon toward our assigned table, letting him handle all the polite nods and small talk while I hang back, scanning the room.

It doesn’t take long to find her.

She’s near the stage, standing just off to the side with a notepad in her hands, hair straightened, half pulled back, with that professional smile she wears when she means business.

The sight of her almost knocks the breath out of me.

She’s in a simple black dress, elegant but understated, and I swear I’ve never seen her look more untouchable.

She’s smiling at one of the catering staff, pointing to something on the setup, and even from here, I can tell she’s running the show.

She’s always been like that—quietly holding everything together, making sure everyone else shines while she stays in the background.

And now, watching her move from table to table, checking details, offering polite smiles and soft instructions, it hits me all over again just how much I miss her.

And how much I still want her.

She doesn’t even glance my way, too focused on the task at hand.

But I can’t take my eyes off her.

Jaxon leans over to murmur something about the bid sheets and what he wants to throw down on a signed jersey, but I barely hear him.

Because all I can see is her.

Finally, the lights over the stage brighten and Claire steps up to the podium, tapping the mic.

The room quiets instantly.

“Good evening, everyone,” Claire begins, her voice smooth and polished. “On behalf of the PCU Athletic Department, I want to thank you all for coming tonight to support a truly special cause.”

She goes on, explaining the summer camp program, its mission, its goals.

I keep my eyes on Lyla the whole time, watching her shoulders straighten, her chin lift as she listens.

She deserves to be up there, I think to myself.

Like she somehow hears me, Claire glances toward her and smiles faintly.

“And while I could stand here and tell you more,” Claire continues. “There’s someone better to explain why this initiative matters so much. The person who’s been the heart behind this event from the very beginning.”

She gestures offstage.

“Please welcome…Lyla Harding.”

The sound of her name, spoken over the speakers, sends a jolt through me.

I watch as she freezes for just a second, her tablet pressed tight to her chest—before she exhales, pastes on a graceful smile, and steps toward the podium.

The applause swells as she climbs the steps, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her heels clicking softly on the wood.

And when she finally turns to face the crowd…

I feel it all over again.

That pull.

That ache.

That quiet, undeniable truth.

She’s it for me.

The applause dies down as she adjusts the mic, her fingers just barely trembling.

But when she looks out at the crowd, she’s steady.

She clears her throat softly, her voice clear and calm as it fills the room.

“Thank you, Claire. And thank you all for being here tonight,” she begins, her eyes sweeping across the tables.

Her gaze doesn’t land on me—not even for a second—but somehow, I still feel like she’s speaking right to me.

“This initiative started as an idea after a holiday charity drive last December, when I saw firsthand what even the smallest gesture of support can mean to a young person who feels like the world has forgotten them.”

She presses the clicker in her hand, and the big screen behind her comes to life.

A slide fills the screen:

60% of youth who age out of foster care are unemployed by age 24.

The room shifts, quiet murmurs rippling through the crowd .

“But it doesn’t have to be that way,” she continues, her voice stronger now.

Another slide:

Youth given access to mentorship and skill-building programs are 70% more likely to finish school and avoid the juvenile justice system.

Her words carry over the quiet.

“When you give kids opportunities—when you teach them skills and show them someone believes in them—they find ways to believe in themselves. And that changes everything.”

I swallow hard, my chest tightening with every stat she clicks through.

Because every number up there?

That was me.

Every risk. Every failure waiting to happen.

And she…she’s the only person who’s ever made me feel like I could be more than just another kid who slipped through the cracks.

She pauses on the final slide:

A future worth fighting for.

Her voice softens just slightly, her eyes bright as she speaks her last words.

“Thank you for helping us build that future. Not just for one season. Not just for one name on the back of a jersey. But for every kid who’s still waiting for someone to believe in them.”

The applause is loud and full, rising around me like a wave.

She offers a polite little smile, stepping back from the podium as Claire comes forward to take over again.

But I can’t stop watching her.

I can’t stop thinking about how she stood up there and told my story without ever saying my name, leaving the decision of if and when to share completely up to me.