Page 69 of Red Zone
I make my way across campus to the athletic center. My head’s still buzzing from class, a mix of adrenaline and caffeine, and okay—maybe the tiniest bit of residual Carter energy from earlier.
But I push that thought aside.
Focus, girlfriend. Project. Internship. Career.
The hallway smells like gym floors and protein powder, and I’m two steps away from the media room when I hear it.
“Lyla.”
My stomach dips.
I turn and find my dad standing in the doorway to his office, arms folded, brow raised. His tone is neutral—but with him, that’s never a guarantee it’ll stay that way.
“Got a second?”
I glance down the hall, then back at him. “Sure.”
I step inside, instinctively straightening my posture like I’m in trouble. His office looks the same as always—football helmets on the shelf, schedule magnets on the filing cabinet, a single framed photo of me from junior year track. No pictures of his girlfriend. No pictures of Nicole. It’s the only part of his life that still feels like mine.
He motions to the chair across from him, and I sit.
“So,” he starts, steepling his fingers. “There’s been a change in plans for Thanksgiving.”
Here we go.
“Nicole’s mom isn’t doing well,” he says, voice gentler than expected. “She took a turn this week. Nothing critical yet, but…bad enough that they want to be there. Just in case.”
I nod slowly. “So, you’re going to Ohio.”
He blinks, like he’s surprised I remember where Nicole is from.
“She asked me to tag along. It means a lot to her. Emmy’s coming too.”
“Of course she is,” I murmur.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.” I plaster on a tight smile. “So…what does that mean for me?”
He hesitates. “We figured you’d want to stay here, but of course, you’re welcome to come with us too. You’ve got your internship, and I know things have been…busy for you.”
Right. We figured. As if I was part of the conversation.
“Grandma’s not doing anything this year anyway, with the neighbor situation,” he adds, like that somehow makes this better. “You just let me know, and we will adjust accordingly. Are you and Madison doing Friendsgiving again this year?”
“Yeah. Sure. I think I’d rather stay back and rest up.” And avoid feeling like I’m the unwanted tagalong.
He nods, reaching for the stack of papers on his desk. “I’ll leave the emergency card with the secretary in case you need anything while I’m gone, work wise. You know how to reach me outside of that.”
“Great,” I say, standing. “Have a safe trip. Lucky we get a bye week for the long weekend. I’ll see you Monday.”
“Lyla—”
But I’m already out the door.
I don’t cry. Not in the hallway. Not for something I should’ve seen coming.
I make it to the media room and close the door behind me, bracing my hands on the table while the silence becomes louder, threatening to swallow me.
