Page 73 of Red Zone
Our apartment smells like soy sauce and vanilla, which is weirdly comforting.
Madison and I are curled up on the couch, surrounded by takeout containers and a half-eaten pint of cookie dough ice cream.
I’ve got my laptop balanced on my thighs, blue light reflecting off the screen while I edit slides for my athlete branding campaign. Madison is poking at the remains of her lo mein, even though she’s mostly abandoned it in favor of spiraling.
“I don’t know what to pack,” she says for the third time, dragging a blanket over her lap and letting her head flop sideways against the couch cushion.
“You do know his mom loves you, right?” I say, without looking up.
She sighs. “I know. That’s not the problem.”
I glance over, arching a brow. “Then what is?”
Madison presses her lips together, then says, “It’s just…this trip feels like more. You know? Like, we’re not just seeing his family. We’re staying with them. For multiple days. It’s different than when we were kids.”
“Okay?”
“It’s like crossing a line I’m not sure I’m ready to admit I already crossed.”
I close my laptop halfway and set it aside. “You’re scared it means something more.”
She nods; eyes still fixed on the string of Christmas lights we never took down from the bookshelf. “I mean, it already does. But going home with him feels like…a step I can’t take back.”
“You don’t want to take it back.”
“No, I don’t,” she admits quietly. “That’s what terrifies me.”
I watch her for a moment, then nudge the ice cream closer. “Okay. Well, in that case, you don’t need to pack anything. Just plan to be naked the whole trip.”
She blinks. “Excuse me?”
I grab a spoonful of cookie dough and flash her a look. “Solves the packing problem and guarantees Jaxon will worship the ground you walk on. Total efficiency.”
She laughs despite herself, grabbing a throw pillow and launching it at me. “You’re unhinged.”
“You’re in love.”
That shuts her up for half a second.
She sinks back into the couch. “I don’t really know what I’m feeling right now.”
“You’re allowed to be scared,” I say, quieter now. “You just don’t have to let fear decide for you.”
Madison doesn’t answer, but her hand finds mine between us on the couch, giving it a small squeeze before stealing my ice cream.
I fake a glare her way. “You bitch.”
Madison laughs as her head drops back against the couch, her legs stretched out like she’s officially given up on being productive for the night. She’s still holding the pint of my cookie dough ice cream in one hand, the spoon lazily resting against her lips as she stares at the ceiling like it personally offended her.
“Oh yeah,” she says suddenly, turning to look at me. “You still going to your grandma’s with your dad for Thanksgiving?”
My stomach tightens.
I keep my eyes on my laptop screen and pretend to reread the same sentence I’ve already revised twice. “Yeah. That’s still the plan.”
Madison smiles and digs her spoon back into the pint she so shamelessly stole. “Good. I know it’s not exactly a dream getaway, but at least you’ll be around people who love you. And your grandma makes, like, ten types of pie, doesn’t she?”
“Eleven,” I say automatically, forcing a smile.
