Page 168 of Red Zone
He squeezes my hand a little firmer, like he can feel the words I can’t quite say yet.
He doesn’t push, doesn’t try to explain it all away or defend himself. He just stays there, holding my hand, letting me feel what I need to feel.
And for now…that’s everything I need.
By the time my last meeting of Thursday morning wraps, my coffee’s gone cold and my planner is littered with new notes, sticky tabs, and checkmarks.
It feels good, though.
Being back in my routine. Doing the work I know I’m good at to keep my mind occupied, to keep myself from replaying my last conversation with Carter over and over again in my mind.
I close my notebook and glance up to Grayson as he steps out of the conference room, backpack slung over his shoulder.
“Thanks again,” he says with that easy hockey-boy grin of his. “You’re a lifesaver, Lyla.”
“Don’t forget to send me the draft of your next post before it goes live,” I remind him, returning his smile just enough to stay professional.
He winks. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Grayson lingers in the doorway instead of walking off right away, his hand resting lightly on the frame.
I glance up from gathering my notes, arching a brow.
“Something else you need?” I ask lightly.
He hesitates, his easy grin fading into something a little more measured.
“Not exactly,” he says. Then he steps back in and closes the door halfway, like he doesn’t want anyone else hearing what he’s about to say.
That alone makes my stomach tighten.
I tuck my pen into the coil of my planner and meet his eyes.
“All right, what is it?”
Grayson shifts his weight, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.
“I’ve…been meaning to say something,” he starts. “And, look, it’s not really my business, so tell me to shut up if you want.”
I narrow my eyes slightly, already wary. “Okay…”
He gives me an apologetic little smile.
“It’s about Carter.”
My stomach drops just a little at the sound of his name, though I keep my face neutral.
“What about him?”
Grayson leans against the doorframe, his voice low but not unkind.
“I don’t know what’s going on there,” he says, gesturing vaguely. “But I’ve noticed things. Even back at that party in the fall, he looked like he wanted to rip my head off just for talking to you.”
I blink, caught off guard by that.
“And since then,” Grayson continues. “It’s not just that. I see him watching you on the sidelines. Like he forgets where he is sometimes. And the way he hovers after games? People notice that stuff, Lyla. I notice.”
I open my mouth, then close it again, unsure what to even say.
