Page 45 of Red Zone
I turn to wipe the sink when a knock rattles the front door.
I freeze.
Then the panic floods in.
Carter.
I glance at the clock.
He came.
Of course he did.
And now I can’t breathe.
Not from nerves or embarrassment. From that tightening, burning, scraping feeling in my ribs.
The one that builds when I lose control of the rhythm. When everything feels too loud, too close, too wrong.
Another knock.
“Lyla?”
His voice is muffled through the door. Calm. Curious.
I don’t answer.
My hand grips the edge of the counter like it’ll ground me, but my knuckles go white.
Another beat. Then three soft knocks.
“Hey,” he says again. “You okay?”
I manage to unlock the door, but I don’t open it all the way. Just enough for him to see me—barefoot, damp clothes, chest rising and falling way too fast.
He pauses.
Takes me in.
“Never a good sign when the night starts with tears,” he says quietly.
I swallow, trying to force air into my lungs. It doesn’t work. “It’s not tears,” I whisper. “It’s everything. It’s just…everything.”
His face softens. “What can I do?”
My throat burns. My voice is barely there.
“I don’t know. I just—I thought I could do this. But I can’t be messy. I don’t get to be messy. If I let it go—if I let me go—I won’t come back from it.”
He takes a small step forward. Doesn’t touch me. Just meets my eyes.
“Then let me help,” he says, steady. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll do it.”
That alone has my eyes burning with more tears.
Not the mess. Not the spiral.
But the fact that someone besides Madison is actually offering to stay through it.
