Page 203 of Red Zone
The words blur for a second before they snap back into focus, sharp and clear.
Foster care.
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry.
Because now I know exactly who’s behind this.
It’s her handwriting on the little tent cards scattered across the tables.
Her quiet touch in the perfectly aligned sponsorship logos.
Her fingerprints are all over this entire room.
I can practically see her at the center of it all, head down, hair pulled back, scribbling notes in her planner, making sure everything is perfect.
Because that’s who she is.
I never actually told her how much that Christmas event meant to me. The kids. The way it feels to give back in that way.
But she remembered.
She turned it into this.
Something bigger. Something permanent.
And I realize, standing there in the doorway, that she gets me in a way no one else ever has.
Even now.
Even when we’re not…anything anymore.
Jaxon nudges me, breaking me out of my thoughts.
“You good?” he murmurs.
I force a faint smirk, though it feels brittle at the edges.
“Yeah,” I lie, adjusting my jacket as I step forward.
But the whole time, all I can think about is her.
Lyla, somewhere in this room.
And how badly I want to tell her what this means to me.
I follow Jaxon toward our assigned table, letting him handle all the polite nods and small talk while I hang back, scanning the room.
It doesn’t take long to find her.
She’s near the stage, standing just off to the side with a notepad in her hands, hair straightened, half pulled back, with that professional smile she wears when she means business.
The sight of her almost knocks the breath out of me.
She’s in a simple black dress, elegant but understated, and I swear I’ve never seen her look more untouchable.
She’s smiling at one of the catering staff, pointing to something on the setup, and even from here, I can tell she’s running the show.
She’s always been like that—quietly holding everything together, making sure everyone else shines while she stays in the background.
