Page 56 of Red Zone (PCU Storm #2)

Lyla

H itting submit on my last final of the term has never felt more rewarding.

After this term, I’m officially halfway through my accelerated graduate program—one step closer to landing a full-time role with a team.

As soon as Carter and I got settled into our apartment in Chicago, he was gone more than he was home.

So I did what I do best—threw myself into work.

His team is vying for a wild card spot in the playoffs, and even though he’s not first string this year, he’s been getting field time over the last few games.

Last month, their starter got sacked—hard—ending with a sprained wrist and giving Carter the chance to finish out the game. He crushed it. They won. And he’s been riding the high ever since.

I smile faintly, remembering how excited he was that night. How he found me in the crowd right after the game, then immediately called Jaxon with a boyish grin like he couldn’t wait another second to tell him.

It felt like everything had come full circle.

We’ve been chasing these dreams for as long as I can remember—him, the NFL; me, a career in athlete branding. And now we’re here. Together. In a city I used to think was too big for someone like me. In a life I never thought I was allowed to want.

But I still want more.

Not in a greedy way—I’m perfectly content with what I have now, but I know I am capable of more, of whatever I put my mind to. I want to make an impact. To prove to myself I belong in rooms I used to be terrified to enter. To earn my place and let my work speak for itself.

I close my laptop and glance at the clock. It’s late.

Carter’s flight isn’t supposed to land until tomorrow, but I miss him. We’ve gotten good at navigating the distance—even when we’re technically in the same city. He has practice. I have meetings. But something about him not being in our apartment makes it feel emptier.

I’m halfway to the freezer for a snack when I hear the door.

My pulse stutters. I freeze, and take a slow step forward, peeking into the living room.

And then I see him.

Grinning from the doorway like he didn’t just send my heart into overdrive.

He’s here.

“Hey, Princess.”

I don’t waste a second. I launch myself into his arms and cling to him like my life depends on it—because in some ways, it does.

When he’s home, the urges—the spirals, the obsessions—are quieter. But the longer he’s gone, the worse they creep back in.

Burying my face in his neck, I breathe him in. He chuckles, warm and solid beneath me.

“Missed me, huh?” He tightens his arms around my waist, and I know he missed me just as much.

“What are you doing here? I thought your flight was tomorrow.” I pull back to take him in. The stubble along his jaw, the familiar blue of his eyes—deeper in person than they ever look on FaceTime.

“It was supposed to be. But I couldn’t wait any longer, so I grabbed the next one out after Coach approved.” He sets me down, cupping my face in his hands, his mouth hovering dangerously close to mine. “Figured I’d take the opportunity to surprise my girl.”

I can’t wait another second. I press my mouth to his, feeling his smile—then the groan that follows as my tongue teases the seam of his lips. Eight days apart is seven days too long.

His mouth moves with mine, unhurried, like he’s memorizing me all over again.

I swear, no one kisses like Carter. Like it’s both a promise and a confession. Like he’s been starving for it—for me—and now that he’s had a taste again, he’s not letting go.

When we finally break apart, his forehead rests against mine, his breath still a little uneven.

“I missed you,” he murmurs, voice rough.

I smooth my hands over his shoulders, grounding myself in the solid weight of him. “I missed you too.”

“No, I mean…” He pauses, eyes searching mine. “I missed you. Everything about you. The way you hum when you’re checking stats, our very organized home. The way you hog the covers and pretend you don’t.”

I smile, even as my chest tightens. “You do the same thing with the throw blanket.”

“Yeah, well, that thing’s soft as hell.” He leans back slightly, his hands still gripping my hips.

“But it’s not you. I’m only the big spoon with you, baby.”

God. How does he do that? Make my entire body come alive with a simple word.

Before I can say anything else, he picks me up and starts walking further into our place. I let out a small yelp, clinging to his neck.

“Come on,” he says, grinning. “I need a shower after flying all day.”

My lips twitch. “Conserving water is important, you know.”

He barks out a laugh. “Yeah? You offering to help the planet?”

I raise a brow. “I’m a very environmentally conscious girl, what can I say?”

“Oh, I know you are.” He carries me toward our bedroom, kicking the door closed behind him.

“You’re about to make this a very clean world-saving effort.”

I laugh against his neck, heart full and happy.

Because he’s home.

And so am I.

Carter

The season didn’t end the way I wanted.

Not even close.

We clawed our way into a wild card spot, held our own for most of the first half, then watched the lead slip away like water through our fingers. And just like that—boom.

Done.

Out.

No more meetings. No more film sessions. No more gut-punch losses on the field.

Just off-season.

And apparently, ring shopping.

I shift uncomfortably in the leather chair across from the showroom display as a well-dressed associate disappears into the back to “pull a few options” for me. Whatever that means.

Beside me, Jaxon leans back casually, spinning a bottle of water between his hands like he owns the damn place.

He’s got that same stupid smug look on his face he had when he finally proposed to Madison.

Like he knows something I don’t.

“Why do you look so calm?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

He shrugs. “Because I’ve already done this part.”

“Yeah, but you’re still not married.”

Jaxon laughs. “She says we’re not in a rush. I say I can’t wait much longer. I swear if I catch her watching one more wedding video without setting a date…”

I smirk. “Sounds rough.”

He shoots me a look. “You’re about to be right here with me, man. Give it a week after you propose, and you’ll be practicing vows in the shower.”

“I already do that.”

He blinks.

“Not like—seriously,” I add quickly. “But…sometimes I say stuff in my head, and it sounds kind of like vows.”

“Uh huh.”

I rub the back of my neck, letting out a breath. “I just want to do it right.”

“You will.”

I nod, but the nerves don’t go away. “She’s not expecting it. I haven’t even mentioned a timeline. It’s been all grad school deadlines and job interviews and?—”

“She’s not expecting it,” he says, cutting me off. “But she’s ready.”

The truth of it settles in my chest.

Yeah. She is.

We’ve been through hell to get here—sneaking around, keeping secrets, falling harder than either of us planned. And she still showed up for me. Still believed in me. Still made space for us, even when everything else in her life felt like it was slipping out of her control.

Now it’s my turn.

My fingers tap against my leg, restless.

“You’re sure she’s a round diamond girl?” I ask, glancing at Jaxon.

He grins. “Nah. She’s a Lyla. You’ll know it when you see it.”

I let out a breathy laugh, right as the associate returns carrying a velvet tray.

Dozens of rings. None of them feel right—until the last one.

Simple. Timeless. Slightly curved band. Elegant without being overly flashy.

It looks like something she’d admire once, quietly, and never tell anyone about.

It looks like her.

My heart kicks, solid and certain.

Yeah.

This is it.

I check the time on my phone for what feels like the hundredth time.

Lyla’s halfway through her interview, and I’m halfway through mentally blacking out in the booth of some upscale steakhouse I never would’ve picked if I had functioning brain cells. But this isn’t about me.

It’s about asking the man across from me if I can marry his daughter.

Coach Harding lifts his glass of water, slow and steady like we’re in the damn playoffs again, and takes a sip. Doesn’t say a word.

Just watches me.

I clear my throat, suddenly regretting every bite of the dry-ass bread I shoved in my mouth five minutes ago to avoid talking too soon.

“So,” I start, hands clenched under the table. “Thanks for meeting me.”

He gives me a curt nod. “Figured it was important, considering you insisted.”

“Yeah.” I nod too. “Yeah, it is.”

Another long sip of water. The silence between us is so thick I can hear the jazz piano from the other side of the restaurant like it’s mocking me.

I reach into my pocket and pull out the small velvet box, not opening it—just holding it there like it weighs a hundred pounds.

“I want to marry Lyla,” I say, finally. “And I want to ask her the right way. But I couldn’t do that without coming to you first.”

His face gives absolutely nothing away.

I wait.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, and steeples his fingers like we’re reviewing game film. “You think you’re ready for that responsibility?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You think you can handle her? Protect her? Put her first?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You think you’re man enough to keep up with a Harding woman when she’s hellbent on conquering the damn world?”

That makes me smile, just barely. “Yes, sir. I already am.”

He stares at me a beat longer than necessary, then exhales.

And finally—finally—his lips twitch.

“Jesus, Hayes. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

I let out a breath that’s basically a mix of a laugh and groan. “Honestly? I might.”

“You’re lucky I like you,” he says, sitting back and reaching for his glass again. “Otherwise, I’d have let you sweat it out for another ten minutes.”

“Oh, you did.”

He smirks. “Good. Builds character.”

I shake my head, but I’m grinning now, too, the tension slowly bleeding out of my shoulders.

“Truth is,” he says, sobering slightly. “You’ve been good to her. Better than I expected. You’ve kept her grounded and let her fly at the same time. That’s not easy.”

I nod, swallowing hard. “She’s everything to me.”

“I know.” He raises his glass. “You have my blessing. Just don’t make me regret giving it.”

I raise mine, too, relief crashing into me like a win I didn’t even realize I needed this badly.

“Thank you, sir.”

He gives me a look. “Don’t ‘sir’ me anymore. We’re almost family now.”

I blink.

Then grin. “Still gonna call you Coach.”

“Fair enough,” he says, setting his glass down. “Just don’t expect me to go easy on you in the wedding toast.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

As soon as I get home, I bury the velvet ring box beneath a stack of socks in the bottom drawer of my dresser.

Lyla wouldn’t touch that drawer if her life depended on it—swears I fold everything like a psycho. Which, fine. I do. But I’ve been hiding things in plain sight since we started this whole secret relationship thing, so really, this feels fitting.

I barely have time to get settled on the sofa when the front door bursts open and Lyla comes flying in, followed by her dad.

“I fucking nailed that!”

Her voice is breathless, her hair slightly windblown with a few wild curls breaking free, framing her face and her smile—God, her smile—hits me like a sucker punch straight to the chest.

“They loved my campaign plan,” she continues, dropping her bag and shrugging off her blazer without missing a beat. “Said they’d never seen someone walk in that prepared, especially with the stats to back up their pitch.”

She’s pacing now, still buzzing from adrenaline, talking a mile a minute. Her hands move when she talks, like she can’t quite keep all the energy inside. And I’m just sitting there, completely gone for this girl.

For my girl.

She flops down beside me and starts pulling up the presentation slides on her phone, still going on about the stats she pulled and the new NIL initiative the department is launching.

I can’t stop smiling.

Can’t stop watching the way her eyes light up. The way she tucks her feet under her. The way she looks at me mid-sentence like I’m her favorite person in the room.

She’s everything.

And she’s mine.

I glance toward Coach, who’s watching us quietly from the other couch, and for a second, I think he’s going to say something. Instead, he catches my eye and—winks.

That smug bastard.

I cough to cover my laugh and look back at Lyla, who’s now leaning her head on my shoulder, scrolling through the feedback email on her phone.

She doesn’t even know it yet.

Doesn’t know there’s a ring in the drawer upstairs. Doesn’t know I’ve been mentally mapping out every possible way I could ask her to marry me.

Something big?

Something quiet?

In the mountains? At the beach? In our apartment? At the field where it all started?

It has to be perfect. Not for anyone else.

Just for her.

And she’ll say yes—I know she will—but I still want it to be the kind of moment she’ll remember forever. The kind she can tuck away in that perfect, anxious, brilliant brain of hers for the days that feel a little too loud.

I slide my arm around her shoulders and kiss the top of her head.

She sighs softly, leaning into me like she always does when she’s finally letting herself rest.

I close my eyes, one hand resting over hers.

Soon.

Not quite done with Carter and Lyla? Keep reading for bonus content!

You can read Jaxon & Madison’s story here in Broken Play.