Page 219 of Red Zone
“I’ve never been more okay,” I whisper.
His arms tighten around me, his lips pressing into my hair.
“Good,” he mutters. “Get used to it, Princess. You’re stuck with me now.”
His fingers curl possessively around my hip, his voice a low rumble against my hair as he whispers, “Guess we’ve been playing in the red zone all along, huh, Princess?”
I smile into his chest, my heart full to the brim, and whisper back the only answer that feels right.
“And we finally scored.”
THE END
EPILOGUE
Lyla
Hitting submit on my last final of the term has never felt more rewarding.
After this term, I’m officially halfway through my accelerated graduate program—one step closer to landing a full-time role with a team.
As soon as Carter and I got settled into our apartment in Chicago, he was gone more than he was home. So I did what I do best—threw myself into work. His team is vying for a wild card spot in the playoffs, and even though he’s not first string this year, he’s been getting field time over the last few games.
Last month, their starter got sacked—hard—ending with a sprained wrist and giving Carter the chance to finish out the game. He crushed it. They won. And he’s been riding the high ever since.
I smile faintly, remembering how excited he was that night. How he found me in the crowd right after the game, then immediately called Jaxon with a boyish grin like he couldn’t wait another second to tell him.
It felt like everything had come full circle.
We’ve been chasing these dreams for as long as I can remember—him, the NFL; me, a career in athlete branding. And now we’re here. Together. In a city I used to think was too big for someone like me. In a life I never thought I was allowed to want.
But I still want more.
Not in a greedy way—I’m perfectly content with what I have now, but I know I am capable of more, of whatever I put my mind to. I want to make an impact. To prove to myself I belong in rooms I used to be terrified to enter. To earn my place and let my work speak for itself.
I close my laptop and glance at the clock. It’s late.
Carter’s flight isn’t supposed to land until tomorrow, but I miss him. We’ve gotten good at navigating the distance—even when we’re technically in the same city. He has practice. I have meetings. But something about him not being in our apartment makes it feel emptier.
I’m halfway to the freezer for a snack when I hear the door.
My pulse stutters. I freeze, and take a slow step forward, peeking into the living room.
And then I see him.
Grinning from the doorway like he didn’t just send my heart into overdrive.
He’s here.
“Hey, Princess.”
I don’t waste a second. I launch myself into his arms and cling to him like my life depends on it—because in some ways, it does.
When he’s home, the urges—the spirals, the obsessions—are quieter. But the longer he’s gone, the worse they creep back in.
Burying my face in his neck, I breathe him in. He chuckles, warm and solid beneath me.
“Missed me, huh?” He tightens his arms around my waist, and I know he missed me just as much.
