Page 139 of Red Zone
Even if she doesn’t know it yet, she’s part of that too.
37
CARTER
“How’d finals week go, dude?”
Logan’s voice cuts through the quiet of the Jeep as he slams the hatch shut and leans back against the bumper, waiting for my answer.
I wipe my hands on my jeans and give him a dry smile. “About as good as you’d expect for a guy who spent more time on a charity drive than cracking a book. But hey…I passed. That’s what counts.”
Logan chuckles and shakes his head. “Bare Minimum Hayes strikes again.”
I let that roll right off me. I’ve never pretended to be an academic overachiever. Not when there’s real life outside a classroom that actually needs me.
We hoist the last of the wrapped presents into the big plastic bins by the loading dock of the community center. Inside, volunteers are already lining them up under a massive Christmas tree.
“Looks good this year,” Logan says, stepping back to take it all in.
It does. The bins are overflowing—toys, books, new coats. I almost can’t believe how much we pulled together in just a couple weeks. My NIL money covered most of it, but seeing the guys pitch in with their own cash and time? That’s what really got me.
Logan claps his hands together for warmth and throws me a sideways look. “So, you got any big plans over winter break?”
I freeze just slightly, my smile slipping.
Plans. Right.
Like I ever do.
I force a shrug and start fiddling with the edge of one of the bins. “Nah. Just stickin’ around campus, probably. Lifting. Running drills. Same as always.”
It’s not a lie. Not really.
But it’s not the truth either.
I don’t say what I’m really thinking—that there’s nobody waiting for me anywhere else. No home to go back to, no family to eat dinner with or stockings to hang. This is it.
This team. This school. That’s all I’ve got right now.
Logan studies me for a second, like he wants to call me on it, but he just nods and smirks.
“Figures. Well, if you get bored, my mom makes a mean pot roast. Door’s always open, man.”
Something in my chest tightens at that.
It’s such a simple offer, but it hits harder than it should and means more than he knows. But I also don’t enjoy feeling like a stray dog being let inside to warm up and be fed.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “Thanks, man.”
We load the empty bins back into the Jeep and climb in. The heater whines to life, and Logan starts humming along with some Christmas song on the radio as we pull away from the curb.
I stare out the window at the lights strung up around the little downtown, trying not to think too much.
Because winter break isn’t just quiet.
It’s lonely.
And no amount of wrapped presents or Christmas cookies can change that.
