Page 144 of Red Zone
And for the first time in a long time, I feel myself wondering if maybe he’s someone I could actually get used to having around.
That thought sends a little shock through me, and I tear my eyes back to the road.
God. What am I even doing?
We hit a stretch of silence, just the faint hum of tires on pavement and the croon of Bing Crosby in the background. My mind keeps drifting anyway—when I called him instead of Madison, the look of happiness on his face as he and his teammates were preparing the Christmas gifts, back to how easy it is to talk to him when no one else is around, back to— His hand comes down on my thigh, warm and steady, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I jump just slightly and glance over at him.
He smirks faintly and gives my leg a quick squeeze before letting his fingers rest there.
“You’re thinking too hard, Princess,” he murmurs, his tone low and teasing.
And for some reason, it makes my heart skip in a way I really wish it wouldn’t.
I force myself to breathe, to focus on the road. His hand stays there on my thigh, warm and grounding, like he doesn’t even realize what it’s doing to me. Or maybe he does.
Either way, I don’t say anything.
By the time we turn into my dad’s neighborhood, the sky’s a deep navy and the houses are lit up with strings of lights and wreaths. Familiar, perfect little postcard homes, the kind people dream of.
The kind Carter’s never had.
I sneak another glance at him as we pull into the driveway. He’s already letting go of my leg, his easy smirk gone now, replaced with something quieter. His walls are going back up.
I cut the engine and sit there for a beat before getting out, smoothing my dress and forcing a smile.
“Ready?” I ask.
He just nods and opens his door.
The porch light’s already on, and my dad opens the front door before we even knock.
“Lyla,” he says warmly, stepping aside to let us in. “And Carter—good to see you, son. Come on in.”
“Thanks, Coach,” Carter says easily, offering his hand. “Appreciate you having me.”
They shake, my dad clapping him on the shoulder like he’s already one of the family.
I shrug out of my coat and hang it by the door, schooling my face into something neutral. Just
friends. That’s all we are. That’s what everyone sees.
“Carter, this is my girlfriend, Nicole,” my dad says, motioning to the tall brunette coming in from the kitchen. “And her daughter, Emmy.”
Nicole smiles politely, stepping forward to shake Carter’s hand.
“Nice to meet you,” she says.
“You too, ma’am,” Carter replies smoothly.
And then Emmy steps forward—all teenage attitude, phone in hand, barely glancing up as she mumbles a disinterested, “Hey.”
“Hey,” Carter replies with the faintest twitch of a smirk, like he’s already clocked how unimpressed she is.
We’re ushered into the living room, where the fire’s going and the table’s already set for dinner.
My dad launches into some story about a bowl game from his playing days, Carter nodding and laughing in all the right places, settling in like he’s been doing this his whole life.
