Page 87 of Red Zone
We sit in silence for a moment, eating pie in the dim glow of the living room lamp. I can feel the weight of everything I’m keeping to myself slowly eating at me. I’m not lying to hurt her.
I’m lying because I don’t have the words for what this weekend really was. For what it felt like when Carter looked at me like I was the only thing anchoring him to the world.
And the second I admit that out loud—it won’t be casual anymore.
So, I fold the blanket, again. And I finish the pie. Then I tell her I’m going to bed early.
I slip back into Carter’s shirt that I came home in this morning. It still smells just like him—fresh, minty, with a touch of something a little spicy. I don’t know why, but it brings me a sense of peace.
Finishing my nighttime routine, I’m just getting into bed when my phone goes off.
Quarterback: Thanks for being alone with me this weekend, Princess
Quarterback: Don’t dream about me too much tonight
Unfortunately for me, I do.
Thursday morning, we have our mid-season check in with the marketing team.
I’ve been staring at the same Google sheet for thirty minutes, rechecking numbers I already know are right.
It’s just a habit.
Dad sits at the head of the table, posture straight, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Across from me is Megan Talbot, the department’s director of marketing and branding—a sharp-eyed woman in her late thirties who’s been working double-time this semester building out NIL resources for the program.
And then there’s me.
The intern with a lot to prove and basically everything to lose.
Each of the starters is scheduled to come in today to review their mid-season media performance—engagement, follower growth, brand inquiries, all of it. Part of a new pilot program Megan launched to help players understand their value before they even leave school.
Jaxon walks in first.
“Morning,” he says easily, flashing a smile at Megan, then glancing briefly at Coach. He meets my eyes and offers a quiet, respectful nod.
“Let’s pull up your metrics,” Megan says, already tapping into her laptop. “You’ve had a twenty- two percent increasein total reach since the start of October. Engagement’s solid. You’ve gotten two verified DMs since last week. One from a local athletic gear brand, the other from a national hydration startup.”
Jaxon leans forward. “The one with the blue logo?”
Megan nods. “They’re legit. We’ll schedule a call.”
Coach gives a small grunt of approval. “Keep your head down. Keep producing on the field, Jaxon. Great work.”
Jaxon gives a short nod. “Thank you, sir.”
He exits a minute later, professional as ever, and the room resets. I adjust the sheet in front of me, fingers tightening slightly on the pen I’m holding—because I know who’s next.
Carter strolls in like he owns the place.
Baseball cap turned backward, hoodie pushed up to his elbows, and that lazy, cocky smirk on his face like nothing touches him.
But I know better now.
He clocks me immediately. Doesn’t flinch. Just shoots me a wink and slides into the chair across from me.
“Nice of you to show up, Hayes,” Megan says dryly.
“Had to finish an important Zoom call,” he says, stretching out.
