Page 145 of Red Zone
And I sit there next to him, smiling and pretending it’s nothing more than it is.
Just friends.
Even if my heart’s not so sure anymore.
Dinner is warm, even if the air still hums with that familiar undercurrent of tension. It’s just…how it always is here. Polished silverware, polite smiles, Nicole reminding everyone to “try the salad,” and Emmy clearly angling to say something snide at the first opportunity.
But Dad surprises me tonight.
He actually seems present.
“So, Carter,” he says, leaning back in his chair as he cuts into his roast. “What’d you think of that Big Ten championship game last weekend? You catch it?”
Carter smirks faintly, leaning his elbow on the table. “Caught every second, Coach. Hell of a finish. Thought Ohio State was about to steal it at the end there.”
Dad lets out a low laugh and shakes his head. “Folded like a house of cards. You ever let a defense push you back like that, Hayes?”
“Not if I can help it,” Carter says with an easy grin.
Dad actually laughs—and it sounds real. Not forced, not clipped.
It’s…strange. In a good way.
They go back and forth for a few minutes, Carter holding his own even when Dad starts throwing in the kind of pointed questions he saves for players he actually respects. And the more they talk, the more I notice the sharp edges in my dad’s voice dulling, like the weight he carries doesn’t feel so heavy when he’s talking football.
Then, after a lull in conversation, he glances at me—and his eyes soften.
“You remember,” he says suddenly, almost like he’s asking himself. “That Christmas at the old house? When you were about…eight?”
I blink at him, my fork paused halfway to my mouth.
“I…yeah,” I say quietly. “I remember.”
Carter looks between us but doesn’t say a word.
Dad smiles faintly at the memory, leaning back in his chair. “Your mom woke us all up at four in the morning because it had started snowing. Wouldn’t let me go back to bed until I helped her get you bundled up and out in it. She…she made snow angels with you in the yard, right there in her pajamas.”
My chest tightens at the memory, and I set my fork down carefully.
Dad shakes his head with another quiet laugh, staring down at his plate. “She tracked half the yard back into the kitchen and ruined a whole pot of cocoa, but she couldn’t have cared less. Said it was the best Christmas she ever had.”
The table is quiet for a long beat.
I clear my throat and give him a small smile. “It was mine too.”
He glances up at me, and for the first time in what feels like years, his smile almost reaches his eyes.
And then, of course, Emmy pipes up.
“Well,” she says primly, straightening her shoulders. “I made Coach cocoa this year. And it wasn’t ruined.”
Nicole shoots her a warning look, but Emmy just picks up her glass of water and takes a delicate sip, satisfied with herself.
Carter’s jaw flexes almost imperceptibly, but he doesn’t say anything, just looks over at me with something in his eyes that feels like quiet understanding.
I force a small smile back at him, even though my heart is still somewhere out in that yard on a snowy Christmas morning.
The quiet after Dad’s story stretches for a few beats, the air at the table feeling just a little lighter, like everyone’s remembering what this night is supposed to feel like.
