Page 137 of Red Zone
It feels heavier this year.
Not because the bags actually weigh more—but because this year I can afford more.
The NIL money has been a blessing, no question. More than I ever thought I’d see at this age.
And if I can use it to keep just one kid in the system from feeling like they don’t matter?
Then it’s worth every dollar.
I’m halfway back to the hatch for another load when the front door swings open and Logan steps out, hoodie sleeves shoved to his elbows, his eyes lighting up when he spots me.
“Yo! Carter’s here!” he calls back into the house, jogging over to grab a couple bags out of my hands.
Before I can even say anything, a couple more guys spill outside, grinning and clapping me on the back.
“What’s all this?” one of them asks, taking a bag and peeking inside.
“Donations,” I say simply, nodding toward the house.
“You’re a better man than me, Hayes,” Logan says with a low whistle as he carries two big bags inside.
I just shake my head faintly, grabbing the last two myself and following them in.
The house is even louder once I step inside—Christmas music blaring from someone’s speaker, the dining table completely covered in rolls of wrapping paper, scissors, tape, and bows.
Half the guys are already crowded around, carefully—or not so carefully—wrapping toys and clothes with clumsy fingers.
Logan drops his bags on a chair and grins. “We’re about halfway through the pile. School really went all out this year, huh?”
I just nod again, setting the rest of the bags down by the table.
It’s not really a lie, letting them think it’s just a school donation drive.
But this year…it’s me.
Because I know what it feels like to open a package from some nameless charity and feel like just another statistic.
If these kids can see that someone—a real person, one who has faced the same unknowns and uncertainties as they have, cared enough to make sure they have something to open this year…
Maybe it’ll help keep one of them on the right path.
Even if just for a little while.
I grab a roll of paper and slide into an empty chair, nodding at the pile of unwrapped gifts in the corner.
“All right,” I say, cracking a faint smile as the guys look up at me expectantly. “Let’s get to work.”
Jaxon grins at me from the end of the table, his hands already halfway through wrapping what looks like a toy firetruck. “Figured we’d get the rookies warmed up before the boss showed up.”
It makes me laugh, even though the word boss feels weird. I’m just…me. Just trying to do something good with the money I’ve been blessed with.
Still. I can’t deny how good it feels to see them all here—joking, eating, arguing over whose bow-tying technique is better. I slide right into the chaos, handing out scissors, tape, and the little cards I had printed up for the kids.
Nobody here knows the full story—that these aren’t just names on a list to me. That I’ve been one of those names. Sitting in some quiet group home, pretending not to care when Christmas came and went without so much as a knock on the door.
Jaxon nudges me with his elbow at one point. “You good?”
I nod, flashing him a smile. “Yeah. Just taking it all in.”
