Page 48 of Red Zone
Empty.
No ice cream. Not even a freezer-burned pint of something questionable in the back.
Panic hits in a stupid, sudden wave. My breath catches. My shoulders lock. My fingers tighten around the freezer handle like maybe if I close it and reopen it, something will appear.
It doesn’t.
And now my brain is spiraling again.
How could I forget to replace it?
What kind of idiot forgets the one thing she knows calms her down when everything goes sideways?
Behind me, I hear Carter’s footsteps approach.
Then his voice, soft but certain.
“Lyla.”
I don’t turn. I can’t. My throat is too tight again.
His hand brushes gently against my back. “Come on. Let’s go fix this.”
I glance over my shoulder. “Fix what?”
He grins. “You’re out of ice cream. That’s practically a crisis.”
He heads for the door, grabbing his keys off the table. “Get your shoes. I’ll drive.”
Ten minutes later, I’m sliding into the passenger seat of his truck, still slightly dazed that this is happening.
Carter opens the door for me, then gives a dramatic, sweeping bow.
“Your chariot awaits, Princess.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And yet, here you are.” He shuts the door with a grin.
And for the first time in days, I let myself relax fully into the seat.
Maybe organizing the pantry wasn’t the worst kind of intimacy after all.
14
CARTER
The drive is quiet, but not uncomfortable. Just…still. The kind of quiet that feels suspended, like the world’s holding its breath with us.
Lyla’s tucked into the passenger seat, hair damp and messy from the shower she barely finished.
The overhead lights from passing intersections cast soft glows over her skin, flickering like frames in a film reel.
I glance over, and that’s when I notice it.
Her right thumb, pressing into the center of her left palm. Over and over.
It’s subtle. But rhythmic. Almost practiced.
