Page 213 of Red Zone
And something inside me just gives.
Because I can’t hold it in anymore.
I shift in my chair so I’m fully facing her now, leaning forward, elbows on my knees, my eyes locked on hers.
“I’ve never…” I start, my voice rough, low. I pause, swallow hard, then try again. “I’ve never told anyone I loved them before.”
Her breath catches, and her hand tightens slightly on the edge of the chair.
“I wasn’t even sure I knew what love was,” I continue, my words coming faster now, like a dam breaking. “Not growing up the way I did. Not bouncing from house to house, watching people walk out like it was nothing. I thought maybe it wasn’t something meant for guys like me.”
She blinks, and I swear I see her eyes glint under the string lights.
“But then you came along,” I say, my voice soft but steady now. “And you ruined all of that. You made me feel like I was more than just…a number. A jersey. A fucking foster file.”
I lean closer, enough that I can see every freckle on her cheeks, every detail of her eyes.
“And now?” I shake my head, a humorless little laugh slipping out. “Now I don’t know how not to love you.”
The silence between us is heavy, but it’s the kind of heavy that feels alive.
Her lips tremble like she’s about to say something, but before she can, I whisper out loud, “I love you, Lyla Harding. And I don’t care who knows it. I don’t care what anyone thinks. I’m done staying away.”
54
LYLA
Did he just say he was in love with me?
I blink up at him, my heart hammering so loud in my chest I’m sure he can hear it.
Carter Hayes—calm, confident, charming—is sitting here on my dad’s back patio, under the soft glow of string lights, telling me he loves me like it’s the simplest truth in the world.
And I…I can’t breathe.
He’s leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his dark eyes fixed on mine like he’s afraid to even blink in case I disappear.
“I…” I start, but the word catches in my throat.
Because what do you even say when the thing you’ve been trying so hard not to want is suddenly right in front of you, laid bare?
I glance down at my hands, twisting my fingers in my lap.
He loves me.
Me.
Not some version of me that’s polished and put-together and perfect.
Not the intern who keeps her head down and her planner full.
Just…me.
And the terrifying part?
I already know I love him too.
I’ve known for weeks.
