Page 33 of Red Zone
Soft light. Clean lines. Everything in its place.
No voices. No chaos. No spirals.
Just breathe.
I close my eyes and let the water hit my back, soaking my hair, warming my skin. I curl my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them, chin resting on top.
Inhale. Two. Three. Four. Hold. Two. Exhale. Two. Three. Four.
I repeat it again. And again. Until the ringing in my ears dulls and the tightness in my chest loosens, if only a little.
Why did I let him touch me?
Why did I kiss him?
He’s a player—in every way. I’ve known it since the moment I met him. Flashy smile. Arrogant swagger. The kind of guy who doesn’t believe in consequences because he’s never had to deal with them.
I can’t be that girl.
The one who loses focus. Who risks everything for a few minutes of being wanted.
I’ve worked too hard to get here. Every interview, every sleepless night, every perfectly curated strategy for my career. I can’t let one heated moment with Carter Hayes undo all of it.
Especially not him.
Not the quarterback.
Not the guy who makes me want to forget how carefully I’ve built this life.
I stay in the shower until my fingers wrinkle and the hot water runs lukewarm.
But the heat inside my chest?
It doesn’t go anywhere.
The next morning, I sit at the kitchen counter, a chipped mug of peppermint tea cupped between my hands and a blanket wrapped around my shoulders like armor. Steam curls up toward my face, warming the tip of my nose as I stare at my laptop screen. The game is later today, and I’m already deep in prep work—watching highlight reels, reading over press schedules, and double- checking graphics that I queued up last night.
My head still aches faintly, a ghost of the spiral that gripped me last night, but the hot water and purple glow of my bathroom sanctuary helped enough to get me to sleep, even if it was only a few restless hours. I’ll be fine. I always am.
The sound of bare feet padding across the hardwood makes me glance up. Madison shuffles into the kitchen, still half asleep in an oversized tee and fuzzy socks, her hair sticking out at odd angles.
“You’re up early,” she mumbles, rubbing her eyes.
I check the time and my stomach drops. “Shit. We’re gonna be late. Get dressed—we have to leave like now.”
Madison blinks, confused. “Wait, what? For what?”
“My study group meets before the game,” I say, slamming my laptop shut and downing the rest of my tea in one gulp. “And you promised to tag along to hit the coffee shop after.”
“Oh right,” Madison groans. “Okay, okay, I’m moving.”
Two minutes later, we’re heading to my car. Madison climbs into the passenger seat with a yawn, folding her legs under her and curling up like a cat. She shivers as the leather seat hits her bare thighs.
“It’s freezing.”
“There’s a hoodie in the back if you want?—”
Too late.
