Page 121 of Red Zone
Fans are streaming into the stands, music is thumping through the speakers, and players are going through their warmups in sharp, choreographed bursts of motion.
I adjust my PCU jacket and double-check the mic levels on my recorder as I scan the field. This is what I do—get the quick hits, the polished sound bites, content the department loves to post mid-game to keep engagement high.
I spot Jaxon first, helmet tucked under his arm as he chats with one of the defensive coaches.
When I wave him over, he grins and jogs the few steps to meet me near the sideline.
“You ready to go?” I ask, holding up my phone and mic.
“Always,” he says with a grin.
“Big game today. Fans want to know—what’s your mindset heading in?”
Jaxon gives me the easy smile that’s made him a fan favorite. “Mindset’s the same as always—do my job, trust the guy next to me, and make sure we leave it all out here. That’s what this team does. It’s what we’re about.”
I nod, smiling faintly. “Perfect. Thanks, Jax.”
“Anytime, Harding,” he says, jogging back toward the huddle.
Next up is Beck, who of course takes his sweet time jogging over when I flag him down. He gives me a lopsided grin, already chewing his gum obnoxiously.
“Well, well, well,” he drawls. “If it isn’t our resident ice queen.”
“Beck,” I sigh, biting back a smile. “I need thirty seconds, not your stand-up routine.”
He winks. “You wound me. What do you want to know?”
“Same as always—game day mindset.”
“Mindset is simple,” Beck says, smirking for the camera. “Don’t get hit too hard. Make the big plays. And, uh…” His eyes flick to the stands. “Try to look good doing it.”
I roll my eyes, but he just grins wider.
“Thanks, Beck,” I say dryly.
“Anytime, sista.”
Finally, I spot Carter—helmet on, head down as he ties the laces on his cleats.
I hesitate a second longer than I mean to before calling his name.
He glances up at me, and the corner of his mouth kicks up into the faintest smirk.
He jogs over, slowing just as he reaches me.
“You need me for something?” he asks, voice low enough that no one else can hear.
I hold up the mic between us. “Ten-second sound bite.”
“Ah,” he says, his eyes glinting. “Guess I can spare you five seconds.”
“Don’t do me any favors,” I mutter, already hitting record.
“So?” he murmurs, leaning just a little closer. “What do you want me to say?”
“Your mindset going into tonight.”
His gaze holds mine for a second too long, before trailing all the way down my body. “My mindset?”
