Page 208 of Red Zone
I shift slightly, my body heavy and sore, and that’s when I notice Madison curled up on top of the comforter next to me, her arm draped lazily across her stomach as she sleeps.
And on the other side—on the floor, leaning against the side of my bed—is Carter.
His head is tipped back against the mattress, arms folded over his chest, his long legs stretched out in front of him.
Even in sleep, his jaw is tight, like he’s still on edge.
I just watch him for a second.
Because even though I know he shouldn’t be here—shouldn’t still care—he is.
And that fact alone makes my chest ache.
The door creaks softly, and I glance up to see my dad step in, his big frame filling the doorway.
When he sees my eyes open, he gives me a small, relieved smile and crosses the room, careful not to wake Madison or Carter.
“How’re you feeling?” he murmurs, crouching down next to the bed so his voice stays low.
I shift, wincing faintly at the stiffness in my arms and shoulders.
“Sore,” I admit. “But…okay. Mainly just embarrassed.”
My dad chuckles under his breath, reaching out to squeeze my hand.
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he says gently. “Your body’s reaction to stress isn’t something you chose. And it’s not something to be ashamed of.”
I bite my lip, my throat tightening as I look away.
He gives my hand another squeeze, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.
“I’m honestly surprised you’ve gone this long without one,” he continues, his voice low but warm. “Doesn’t mean you should make a habit of it, though. You hear me?”
I huff out a soft laugh, even though my eyes sting.
“Yeah, Dad. I hear you.”
He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the top of my head before straightening just slightly.
Then he glances down at Carter, still asleep against the bed, and murmurs just loud enough for me to hear?—
“That boy was terrified tonight. Just thought you should know. I’ll swing by in the morning to check on you.”
And then, he squeezes my hand one last time and quietly slips back out of the room.
I don’t move right away after my dad leaves.
I just stare at Carter.
Even asleep, he looks tense. His brow faintly furrowed, his arms crossed over his chest like he’s holding himself together by sheer will.
I study the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw, the way his lashes fan against his cheek, the rise and fall of his chest.
And for just a second, I let myself imagine what it would feel like to reach out. To smooth the crease from his forehead. To tell him I’m sorry.
But before I can think too hard about it, my head starts pounding again.
A deep, throbbing ache that makes it hard to keep my eyes open.
