Page 190 of Red Zone
When I make it to her door, I turn back, giving myself one more second to soak it in. To soak her in.
“Bye for now, Princess.”
Tears are silently making their way down her cheeks, and my chest feels like it’s caving in on itself.
“Bye, Carter.”
At the door to the apartment, I pause, my hand on the knob, and almost turn back.
Almost.
But instead, I shove my hands in my pockets and step out into the dark.
Because if I don’t leave now…
I never will.
48
LYLA
The next few weeks crawl by in this strange, suffocating blur.
Carter isn’t mine anymore.
Not that he ever really was.
But now…now it’s official.
We keep our distance.
We don’t call; we don’t text. When I’m in the athletic department, I keep my head down. When I walk into the coffee shop, I scan the room to make sure he’s not there.
We pass each other in the hallway sometimes—him with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, jaw tight and eyes forward—and every time it feels like another little crack in my chest.
I’ve gotten good at pretending.
Pretending I don’t notice him.
Pretending I don’t still ache every time I see him laugh with someone who isn’t me.
Pretending that walking away was the right thing.
It’s exhausting.
And to make it worse, they reassigned him to a new intern.
She’s good. Capable. Sweet enough. But she doesn’t know him like I do.
And the first thing she did was scrap the foster care initiative I’d built for him.
She didn’t even think twice.
Apparently, she thought it was “too heavy” and “not aspirational enough” for his brand.
I tried to keep quiet about it at first—tried to remind myself that it wasn’t my place anymore.
But this afternoon, watching her present a whole new campaign to the team—full of flashy sponsorships and superficial taglines—I just snapped.
