Page 61 of Red Zone

“So am I.” He released Lily’s grip, laying her palm on his chest before taking mine in his again. His thumb brushed over the back of my hand. “But we don’t have to figure it all out tonight. Right now, we’re here. That’s enough.”

I turned to look at him, his profile faintly illuminated by the light filtering through the curtains. He looked exhausted but resolute, his hand never letting go of mine.

“All right,” I whispered.

His lips curved into a faint smile that felt like a promise. “Good.”

I let my eyes drift shut as Lily’s breathing steadied, her small body curled against mine. The cracks in my world, once jagged and threatening to swallow me whole, didn’t feel like a weakness anymore. They felt like openings—places where the light of Liam’s love and unwavering commitment could seep through, warming the parts of me I thought would stay frozen forever. And I let myself believe in something more than survival. I believed in us.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

LIAM

The energy in the stadium was electric, the crowd’s roar vibrating through my chest as I stood on the sideline, helmet in hand. Fall Lake University had come alive for this playoff game, the stands packed with screaming fans waving banners and wearing every shade of our school colors. We had a real shot at the championship—it didn’t get bigger than that.

Coach clapped me on the shoulder, his grin wide but determined. “Focus, son. One play at a time.”

I nodded, adrenaline already thrumming through my veins. This game wasn’t just about getting into the championship. It was about proving that I was more than my mistakes, more than my father’s doubts, that I was good enough to go into the professional league. It was about Skye, Lily, and the life I was determined to build for us.

I took in my teammates, the ones who had cleared the grueling interviews to determine who was involved and who wasn’t after Coach Becket learned of the scandal. Coach Mack and Coach Ramirez were absent. The story hadn’t broken yet, thanks to Fiona. She’d done what she could to keep things under wraps, at least until after today’s playoff game. It was my chance,as well as my teammates’, to prove ourselves on the field while scouts watched.

The coin toss resulted in our offense taking the field. The game was a grind from the first snap. Michigan’s defense was relentless, but we were sharper. I could feel the rhythm of the team clicking into place. Kylian’s passes were lasers, precise and impossible to miss. On a third and long in the second quarter, he launched a deep spiral downfield, and I pushed every muscle in my body to get under it. The ball hit my hands like it belonged there, and I bolted toward the end zone, leaving defenders in my wake.

The crowd erupted as I crossed the line. My teammates mobbed me, their voices blending into the deafening roar of the fans. It wasn’t time to celebrate. We were there to win and immediately got back to work.

“Hell of a play!” Kylian shouted, slapping my helmet as we jogged to the sideline.

Our defense held the opposing team and in no time at all, we were back on the field. The roar of the crowd faded into the background as I stood on the line of scrimmage, my eyes locked on the defense. This was it—third and long, our playoff hopes hanging by a thread.

I braced at the scrimmage line, my knuckles whitening, but my mind wasn’t on the play. It was on them. Skye. Lily. I could see Lily’s face, scrunched up in concentration as she colored at the kitchen table, the way she’d looked at me last night when I tucked her in, her small arms wrapping tightly around my neck like she didn’t want me to leave. And Skye. Her voice soft and loving when she whispered good night. I wasn’t just playing for me anymore. I was playing for them.

The ball snapped, and I surged forward, adrenaline pounding in my veins. I couldn’t let them down. Not now. Not ever again.

We kept the pressure on, and by the time the clock hit zero, the scoreboard flashed our victory in bold numbers:38–24.The Falcons were headed to the championship.

The field was chaos, teammates celebrating, the band blasting the fight song, and fans screaming from the stands. Kylian was being interviewed by a reporter, but I noticed a scout for Tampa Bay and Buffalo hovering nearby. I’d barely made it off the field when a man in a sharp suit appeared at the sidelines, clipboard tucked under his arm.

“Liam Cartwright?” he asked, extending a hand.

“Yes, sir.” My heart pounded.

“Jimmy Garrett, scout for the Baltimore Ravens.” His handshake was firm, his tone businesslike but laced with enthusiasm. “We’ve been watching you all season, and I have to say, today sealed it. We’re very interested. We’ll be in touch soon to talk details.”

The words landed like a bolt of lightning. It was the shot I’d been chasing since I was a kid. “Thank you, sir,” I said, my voice steady despite the storm inside me.

As Garrett walked away, my thoughts reeled. The Ravens—an actual NFL team—wanted me. I barely had time to process the moment when Mark Thompson with the Kansas City Chiefs approached, cutting through the crowd with purposeful strides.

“Cartwright,” he called, his voice carrying over the noise of the sidelines.

“Yes, sir.” I turned, meeting his sharp gaze.

He extended a hand. “Today confirmed what I already suspected—you’re the kind of player we’re looking for.”

I blinked, my brain scrambling to keep up. “Thank you, sir,” I managed, shaking his hand.

“Not just your athleticism, though that’s impressive,” he continued, his voice steady and confident. “Your ability to read the field, adjust under pressure, and connect with your team—that’s what separates the good from the great. And you, Cartwright, have greatness written all over you.”

A grin broke across my face, wide and uncontainable. “I appreciate that, sir. It means a lot.”

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