Page 7 of Red Zone
“But I didn’t get in, and instead of telling him the truth, I just didn’t show up. Took two years at community college instead before coming here last fall.”
“Wait, why? Did you tell him you didn’t get in or…”
“I panicked. So, I made the decision for him. He left the next day for training camp, and I never showed up that fall.”
I study her. She’s great at pretending, but sadly for her, so am I. I can read her easily, it’s not that simple. “And now? After all this time, he shows up here?”
“I had no idea he’d be here. I may or may not have ignored every one of his texts and calls, even filtered his name out on my social media, when or if I ever checked it.”
“I think you’re leaving out the part where feelings were obviously involved.”
She looks up at that. “I never said?—”
“You didn’t have to. It’s written all over your face.”
I study her for a second, not pushing any further. Eventually, she speaks again.
“It doesn’t matter. Too much time has passed. Too many things left unsaid.”
“You know,” I say, my words starting to slur a little. “For someone so smart, you’re kind of an idiot.”
She laughs. “Gee, thanks.”
“No, seriously.” I sit back up, tapping her on the shoulder to make sure she hears me and knows that I mean it. “You’re running from the one person who actually gets you. The one who was there, and stayed, through all your shit. Because what? You’re afraid he might care too much?”
“I can’t be responsible for someone else missing out on the future they deserve, especially him,” she insists. “I won’t be that person.”
“Did you ever think maybe you robbed him of the future he wanted by leaving?” I ask, another yawn working its way out, my eyelids getting heavier by the second before finally closing. But I continue, “That maybe he knew the risks and thought they were worth it anyway?”
I don’t know if she responds or not, because when I wake up hours later, I’m in my room alone.
3
LYLA
I’m fine.
That’s the lie I repeat as I walk through the glass doors of the PCU athletic complex on Monday morning with my head high and stomach tangled in knots. The hum of fluorescent lights overhead, the squeak of sneakers on polished floors, and the rhythmic thud of weights from the nearby gym are setting my OCD on edge this morning.
Some days, the extra hustle and noise doesn’t get to me. But, when I’m already feeling guilty and still spiraling over the fact that I have no fucking filter in social interactions, you could say I’m on edge this morning.
I shouldn’t still be thinking about Friday night. About the party game. Definitely not about him.
But my brain won’t let it go.
Carter is a mystery that I want to solve. Why? I have no clue, but there’s just something about him that almost draws me in. Madison considers him a great friend, and I do believe she has great taste, so there has to be more to him than what I’m seeing.
Not because I care, obviously. But because from what I see on the outside, Carter Hayes doesn’t do real.
He does cheap beer, late nights, and that smug smile that makes girls trip over themselves to get his attention and lose their panties soon after.
I push the thought down and force my focus back to the tablet in my hand. I’ve got a schedule to finalize and a player media meeting in ten minutes. No time to unravel.
I step into the main media suite, where a dozen interns are already hunched over laptops and production boards. My favorite camera assistant, Gabe, waves as I walk by.
“You’re late,” he teases.
“You’re needy,” I reply without looking up, dropping into my seat just as the director walks in.
