Page 193 of Red Zone
“Got a second?” I ask, trying to sound more confident than I feel.
She gestures for me to come in.
“Sure, Lyla. What’s on your mind?”
I set my planner down and flip it open to the page with my heading.
“I know Carter’s current campaign is already in motion,” I start carefully. “But I think there’s another direction that could be a better long-term fit. Something that actually connects to who he is and makes an impact here at PCU.”
Claire arches a brow but doesn’t interrupt, so I keep going.
“It starts as a fundraiser. A campaign to raise money for a summer football camp here at PCU, open to high school students in foster care. One week of skills, drills, and mentorship with our players. But long-term? It becomes something permanent. A way for the program to give back every year.”
Her brows rise slightly as I finish, and she leans back in her chair, arms crossed.
“You’ve been busy,” she says.
I smile faintly, even though my stomach is still twisting.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say softly. “And I really believe this is worth it.”
She studies me for another beat, then gives a small nod.
“All right,” she says. “Write it up. We’ll talk numbers and feasibility once you have something formal to pitch to the board. But…”
Her lips twitch into the faintest smile. “I like where your head’s at.”
I exhale the breath I didn’t even realize I was holding and nod, keeping my chin held high as I turn for the door.
“Oh, and Lyla?” Claire starts. “I just wanted to let you know, that while, yes, you did technically break the rules by being romantically involved with a player, we also know that the person who reported you was doing so maliciously and that what was said was untrue. She is being punished accordingly.”
Giving her a tight smile, I walk out into the hall.
While it doesn’t undo what happened, it does make me feel better that my work isn’t being questioned. For the first time in weeks, I feel like I’m moving toward something that really matters.
And I won’t stop until I see it through.
49
CARTER
Ithought staying away from her would get easier.
It hasn’t.
If anything…it’s worse.
It’s been weeks now, and every single day I catch myself looking for her without even thinking about it. On the sidelines. In the hallway. In the stands.
And when I do see her—head down, busy with her tablet or her planner—it guts me.
Because I don’t just miss her.
I miss us.
The way she’d lean into me when she laughed. The way she’d look up at me like I was more than just another player with a jersey and a number.
I never realized how much I needed someone to look at me like that.
