Page 199 of Red Zone
“I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “I’ve been a shit friend.”
The corner of my mouth quirks despite myself, my irritation ebbing just a little.
“Not a shit friend. Just…preoccupied.”
I smirk faintly, hoping she knows I’m teasing. “Which, considering how long it took you to get your head out of your ass about Jaxon, is semi-forgivable.”
She snorts, rolling her eyes. “Tell me about the school.”
I shift in my seat, glancing down at the brochure near my elbow before I speak.
“They have one of the top sports management programs,” I explain, my voice steadier now. “Plus partnerships with three pro teams for internships.”
I hesitate, twirling my pen between my fingers.
“And it’s close enough that I could stay home if I needed to save money,” I admit quietly. “But far enough that I don’t have to.”
My voice dips on the last part, and I know she hears it.
“Does your dad know?” Madison asks, her voice softer now too.
My jaw tightens instinctively.
“He knows,” I say flatly. “He’s…having feelings about it.”
“Good feelings or bad feelings?”
I let out a humorless laugh, shaking my head.
“Controlling feelings,” I mutter. “He wants me at his alma mater. Or taking the cushy internship he’s setting up with his old teammate.”
Madison frowns, like she already knows what my answer’s going to be.
“And that’s not what you want.”
I meet her eyes and square my shoulders.
“No,” I say firmly. “I want to do this on my own. No favors. No special treatment. Just me proving I’m good enough.”
And for the first time in a long time, I realize…
I’ve never been more sure of where I’m going—or the kind of woman I want to be—than I am right now.
The printer hums and spits out another stack of glossy press packets, and I slide them into neat folders one by one, double-checking names as I go.
I pause when I reach his.
CARTER HAYES
His name is printed in bold at the top. His stats fill half the page. A small note at the bottom listing the teams that have shown the most serious interest.
Seattle. Miami. Denver. Chicago.
Every single one of them…nowhere near here.
Nowhere near the program I applied to.
I trace his name on the folder with my thumb before slipping it into the stack with the others, my stomach tightening.
