Page 198 of Red Zone
Better than good.
For the first time since everything fell apart, I feel like I’m building something that matters.
The PCU Summer Football Camp.
The name looks a little cleaner on my one-sheet now, with a polished logo and a mission statement that Megan actually nodded at in approval yesterday.
One week of mentorship, community, and skills development for high school athletes in foster care, hosted at PCU.
The first step was pitching it formally to Megan and the athletic department. Convincing them it was worth pursuing—and worth attaching Carter’s name to.
And that part was surprisingly easy.
It was the next steps that got tricky.
Sponsorships. Venues. Gear. Food. Transportation. Marketing.
But slowly—piece by piece—it’s coming together.
Tonight, I’ve got two sponsorship contracts sitting in my inbox ready for review, both from local businesses. And a promising email thread with a regional sportswear brand that could be huge if they sign on.
I sit back against the couch, rubbing my eyes before pulling my hair up into a messy bun and clicking into my draft emails.
“All right,” I murmur to myself, scanning the contact list. “Who’s next?”
I fire off three more cold emails before the hour’s up, drafting a proposal for the sportswear company while I wait.
And as the numbers start to add up in my budget spreadsheet, as the potential donors list fills in just a little more, I can’t help the quiet little smile that creeps onto my face.
For the first time in weeks, it feels like I’m not just surviving.
I’m doing something right.
And I know, deep down, this isn’t just about proving myself to Megan or saving my internship.
It’s about doing right by him.
Even if he never knows it.
“Morning,” Madison mumbles, already shuffling toward the coffee pot.
“Fresh pot,” I say without looking up from my laptop. “Made it twenty minutes ago.”
I hear her pour a cup behind me, while I keep scanning the spreadsheet in front of me, red- penning notes and making adjustments to the budget for the summer camp.
“When did you go to bed last night?” she asks, voice still thick with sleep.
I shrug, still typing. “Bold of you to assume I did.”
She moves closer, and I can feel her eyes on the mess of papers and forms spread across the table.
“Since when are you applying to grad school?” she asks, her tone cautious.
That makes me finally push my blue light glasses up into my hair and lean back, rubbing at my tired temples. These things are supposed to help with the headaches that come from staring at screens all day, but so far I’m still waiting for them to deliver on that promise.
“Since always?” I snap before I can stop myself. My voice is sharper than I mean for it to be, but I don’t have the energy to soften it right now. “You’ve missed a lot of life the last few months, Madison.”
I catch the little flinch in her shoulders before she sits across from me, her expression softening.
