Page 34 of Red Zone
She’s already reached back and pulled it into her lap.
Carter’s hoodie.
My eyes bulge as I see the gray fabric, the slightly frayed collar, the faded letters across the chest. My stomach does a slow, nauseating flip. Madison tugs it over her head, oblivious, still half-asleep.
“Mmm, this smells good,” she says, snuggling into the soft cotton and pulling the hood up.
I clutch the steering wheel with both hands, eyes forward, trying to pretend my best friend isn’t currently wearing the remnants of my almost-mistake. I know Madison has always said there was never anything more than a friendship with…well, benefits between her and Carter.
“I’ll drop you at the coffee shop,” I say, my voice way too even. “Then I’ll meet you back there in an hour.”
Madison gives a sleepy thumbs up, eyes already drooping again.
My jaw tightens as I focus on the road. The hoodie burns in my peripheral vision. And no matter how hard I try to ignore it, I can still feel Carter’s hands, his lips, his voice low in my ear— I blink hard, swallowing.
One hour.
I just have to hold it together for one more hour.
I slide into a seat at the back of the business building’s third-floor conference room, tucking my tablet, notebook and color-coded notepads neatly in front of me. My group is alreadygathering, a mix of seniors and grad students all buzzing with caffeine and nerves.
Our TA starts with a rundown of our next assignment—a mock marketing case study with full creative freedom. We’ll each pick a subject or brand to build a strategy around. It can be anything, as long as we treat it like a real client campaign.
People around me start tossing ideas back and forth. Sustainable fashion brands. Local coffee shops. Nonprofits. Influencers. I jot notes but nothing clicks right away.
Until it does.
Athletes.
That’s what I care about—what I know. And not just any athlete. Someone with momentum.
Buzz. Untapped potential.
Jaxon Montgomery.
He’s new to PCU but already front and center in the school’s media. Quiet but charismatic.
Focused. Marketable. And best of all? He’s not Carter.
I flip to a blank page in my notebook and start writing. Core values. Transfer storyline. Rising star appeal. Off-the-field personality. I could build a whole mock NIL campaign around him—something polished, aspirational, but grounded in who he actually is. Maybe a docu-style video series. Social media content showcasing his routine, his favorite food spots, his playlist. A campaign designed to build connection, not just clout.
Around me, my group members brainstorm their own ideas—beauty brands, fitness apps, pet rescues. I barely hear them.
This is my lane.
By the time the session wraps up, I’ve filled a page and a half with scribbled ideas and a plan already forming in my mind.
I pack up my things and head for the door, my brain buzzing.
I’ll ask Jaxon about it later. Just casually.
Time to shift into game-day mode.
And maybe, just maybe, time to reclaim some control.
The walk from the business building to the coffee shop is short, but my legs feel heavy with every step. My brain is still spinning—half with ideas for the project, half trying not to replay last night in vivid detail. I tug my coat tighter around myself, hoping the brisk breeze will slap some sense into me.
Madison is waiting for me, sitting outside at a corner table under a rust-red patio umbrella, her legs tucked up beneath her like she lives there. She’s still in Carter’s hoodie, a large iced coffee in front of her, phone in hand. She looks up as I approach and grins like she didn’t just walk around in my biggest secret.
