The Red Zone Read online

  The Red Zone

  Copyright © 2019 Amie Knight

  All rights reserved. No part of this novel may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted without written permission from the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This Book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If you would like to share this book with others please purchase a copy for each person. This Book The Red Zone is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and occurrences are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, events, or locations is purely coincidental.

  Editor: Emily Lawrence of Lawrence Editing

  Proofreading: Julie Deaton of Deaton Author Services

  Interior Design and Formatting: Stacey Blake of Champagne Book Design

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Epilogue

  Epilogue

  Other Books

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  There was only one person I could dedicate this one to. See, The Red Zone isn’t just a romance. It’s the story of a man’s homecoming and the unwavering love he has for his baby sister. So, it only seems fitting I dedicate The Red Zone to my baby brother. There’s only one brown-eyed boy I love more than him, and he happens to be his son. And after all, he did help me name this book.

  This one is for you, Will LaLiberte, since you insist on having a grown-up name even though, to me, you’ll always just be Ty. I love you, Scootie Pootie.

  Sometimes when I lay in bed at night that fateful day raced through my mind over and over again. On repeat. And this night was no different. Sweat would bead on my forehead and my heart would race.

  I may have been in my hometown of Summerville, Alabama, but my mind, it was in Florida. It was the best game of my career and the worst day of my life simultaneously. It haunted me. I thought I’d relive it as long as I walked this earth.

  I was at the top of my game, the height of a career I’d been building on since peewee football when my mom had to help me into my pads.

  My mom.

  Just thinking about her sent a pang of sadness through me that was indescribable. Unimaginable. We’d been beyond close, best friends even.

  That pang had never stopped and that day never failed to flit through my mind like an old movie reel, flashes of light, quietly speaking voices. It always started with me playing the best game I’d ever played.

  I was on the field, sweat thick and slick under my helmet. The smell of fresh grass heavy in the air and on my dirty uniform. The clock was counting down and we were there, right in the red zone. I could smell victory. Because that day I’d played one hell of a game. We were in the fourth quarter and the pressure was on and damn if I wasn’t excited because the fourth quarter was my fucking jam. I was what my team called a fourth quarter player and when I was in the red zone I was even better. They didn’t call me Lukas “Last Minute Lucy” for nothing. I could pull a game out of my ass at the last minute like a magician could produce a rabbit from a hat.

  I surveyed the field and checked the defensive formation, made the count, and the center snapped the ball back. I faked left, made like I was going to pass, but saw a hole in the other team’s defense and ran like the wind. I was fast. Twenty yard line. Ten yard line. I felt a hand on my ankle as I landed in the end zone, but it didn’t stop me. I lay there, my smile big behind my mouthguard.

  We’d won, which was no surprise to me. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind we were headed straight for the Super Bowl that year. We’d had a killer season, after all.

  The after game festivities were as usual with interviews and fans and autographs. I distinctly remembered looking up in the stands that day after the game where my momma and Ella usually sat when we played at home. She’d told me the week before she wouldn’t make it since Ella had a school dance that weekend.

  The locker room was loud with the aftermath of a hell of a game. I barely heard my cell phone ringing from my locker after I showered. I didn’t recognize the number, so I almost didn’t even answer it, but some unknown force implored me to. I lifted it to my ear while drying my hair with a towel.

  “Hello.”

  Jones, one of our linebackers, gave me a slap on the ass and I waved him off with my middle finger and a smile.

  “Luk,” a soft female voice said from the phone.

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s Aunt Merline.” Her voice was barely above a whisper and I could hear it trembling with emotion.

  And this feeling came over me. It was like I knew. My stomach dropped. My face felt hot and my hand shook around the phone I held tightly to my ear.

  I swallowed hard. “What’s wrong?”

  She was my mother’s sister, but she never called me. Sure, I saw her when I went home for holidays and breaks, but that was the extent of our relationship.

  She gasped and hiccupped out a sob that I felt in the deepest, darkest depths of my soul. “It’s your momma, baby.”

  My head shook of its own accord. No. There couldn’t be anything wrong with my momma. I’d just talked to her on the phone right before the game. She’d called and told me to break a leg as usual. She was a drama geek and I was a football player, so I informed her like I always did that you never said that to a quarterback. She’d laughed the way she always had. Carefree. Like she didn’t have a care in the world when she shouldered more than most people could. But that was just my momma. Amazing.

  It couldn’t be. Aunt Merline was wrong. She had to be. Just no. She and Ella were all I had left. Them and football. That was my life.

  “No.” It was a whisper, a plea, a prayer. I’d already lost my father to a drunk driver when I was fourteen. How could my mother be gone now, too?

  “It was a heart attack. Instantaneous. She didn’t suffer. It was quick.”

  Why did people say that? That they didn’t suffer. Was that supposed to make me feel better? Make me feel like a pivotal part of me wasn’t missing? My eyes stung. My chest burned. I dropped the towel from my hand and placed my palm there right over my heart, where it hurt the worst.

  I leaned into my locker, my head nearly inside. I didn’t want to be here in this room. I needed to be alone. A lone tear slipped down my cheek and my jaw worked, but nothing came out. What could I say?

  “You there?” Aunt Merline croaked out.

  I took a deep breath that felt like I was inhaling water instead of air and swallowed again, because there was a question I desperately needed the answer to.

  I pushed the words out that my body wanted to hold hostage even as my brain was screaming them. “How’s Ells?”

  A deep sigh came from the other end of the line. “I don’t know if she gets it. I don’t know if she understands, Luk.” Silence was heavy over the phone until she finally said, “I think you better come home.”

  And that was that. It was the beginning of the end for me really. I’d
leave behind my team and the Super Bowl ring in exchange for a mediocre team closer to my hometown and much farther away from my dreams.

  I always knew what would happen when my momma passed. I’d get Ella. After all, she’d never be able to live on her own and I’d rather die than see her in one of those homes. She needed me and I needed her. And as I lay here at night, I couldn’t help but think of how I was failing her. It’d only been two months since my mother died. Since I’d been traded to the Alabama Cougars. Since I’d been juggling more than I could handle. I felt like I was drowning every day. So I swam. And swam and swam. Against the tide, into waves that knocked me clear over and took me right back to shore, and still I tried again.

  I did it for her, the little girl who had stolen my breath from the beginning of her life. I’d been fourteen when they’d told my mom she was having a girl. It had felt like fate to Momma and me. Daddy had left us the greatest gift before he’d passed.

  My momma had sat me down with tears shining in her eyes and explained that our lives were going to change forever and not just because she was having another baby. No, this baby would have a genetic disorder called Down syndrome and she’d need extra attention and care and most importantly love. And God, did we love her. She was the shining light in all of my grim days since my mom had passed.

  And I’d never give her up. I’d swim and drown. I’d jump and I’d fall. I’d try and I’d fail. But I’d just keep going. For her. Because Ella was my everything even when I felt like I had nothing.

  I pulled down the flap-doohickey sun blocker thingy and looked at myself in the car mirror. Oh, sweet baby Jesus. My usual wavy, red tendrils were more like frizzy, red snakes at this point, but that was the price you had to pay for not remembering to set your alarm clock the morning before you had to be at work early. My vibrant green eyes shot daggers back at me from the mirror. And crap, but I had parent/teacher conferences today. My poor parents were just going to have to suffer right along with me. Did they think I liked looking like this? Just as I flipped the doohickey back up to the roof of the car, the car behind me honked and my foot came off the brake in shock before I stomped it back down. And that’s when I felt it; the warm, wet feeling of my still hot coffee that was sitting in the console, in my pretty Ms. Knox tumbler Alex had given me for Christmas last year, soaking into the cream linen of my nice work pants. Oh. My. God. This could not be happening and why the hell did that car honk at me? I frantically searched for a napkin or anything to try to clean up the mess and came up empty.

  Morning traffic was still at a dead stop in front of me, so I rolled down my car window and leaned my head out, fluffy red clown hair and all.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” I yelled at the man in a black Lexus SUV behind me. I already knew what was wrong with him. He was a pompous, entitled asshole and I could tell from his flashy car alone.

  His window came down and his head popped out, expensive sunglasses covering his eyes. I couldn’t get a good look at him, but I was sure he was good-looking like most men who acted like douches. “You need to be watching the road instead of giving yourself a look over in the mirror, sweetheart,” he snapped.

  I pulled my fluffy head back into the car in complete shock. Oh no, he didn’t. I had half a mind to get out of the car and charge over to his window and scream in his face like a banshee. What the hell did it matter if I checked my face in the mirror when traffic was stopped? And where the hell did he get off calling me sweetheart? Freaking lunatic. God, I wanted to get out of my car and give him a piece of my mind. My face was hot with anger and I sure was fired up. My mother referred to these tendencies and outbursts as my redheadedness. Her mother had been born with this affliction as well. And when my redheadedness wanted to come out there was no stopping it. Well, there was. Today what stopped it was warm coffee crawling up my butt crack.

  I pushed my head out of the window again with the strength of a gale force wind. “I’m not your sweetheart! You turd!” I yelled before I rolled the window back up of my small, blue Mazda 3 and ground my teeth. Traffic started moving in front of me, thank the sweet Lord, because I was only two seconds away from a full-on hissy fit. Yet another symptom of my redheadedness.

  I cranked up the radio, blasting “Little Red Corvette” because in my mind there wasn’t anything that a little Prince couldn’t fix. Traffic had only made me slightly late for school. I was only a bit behind my usual schedule, so I was still in before the students and I dashed through the hallways of The Cottage School. I darted in and out of dark corners as I practically ran to my classroom like a secret agent. In my head Mission Impossible music played in the background as I darted and weaved, determined for no one to see my coffee pants.

  I made it to my room with time to spare and ran to the supply closet in the corner behind my desk for a change of clothes. When you taught children with special needs, you had to be ready for anything. Especially a clothing change. Alas, today I had no one to blame but myself.

  I was leaned up and into the closet when I heard a tiny voice from behind me. “Did you poop in your pants, Ms. Lettie?”

  I spun around, shocked and mortified, backing my coffee stained behind up and mostly into the small closet. With a red face, I answered, “No, Joshua. I spilled my coffee in the car this morning.”

  His face screwed up in confusion. “But how did you spill coffee on your butt?”

  “An accident in the car,” I said lightly, like it wasn’t a big deal so he would stop talking about it. But I should have known better. I taught kids with autism. Down syndrome. And almost none of them had a filter. Especially sweet Josh. He was a child with high functioning autism and I could almost always count on him keeping it 100 percent real. Sometimes that was awesome. Sometimes it sucked. Like today.

  “Like a poop accident?”

  I let out a nervous giggle, my eyes darting around the room to make sure no one else heard him and thankfully, we were still blessedly alone. My ninth graders could be merciless when they went in on me. There were only six of them. They were only thirteen years old, but I was outnumbered and most days outsmarted by my kiddos.

  “No, Joshua. I told you it wasn’t a poop accident and I really wish you would stop saying poop. It’s not a nice word.”

  I turned my back toward the bathroom that was luckily adjoined to my classroom, a luxury a lot of the special ed teachers didn’t have at The Cottage House. Today I thanked God that this was the case as I backed toward the bathroom, my change of clothes clutched to my chest.

  The Cottage House was a private school for children with special needs that ranged from ADD to autism. We had a wide range of children, which made my job all that more important and fun.

  I was relieved to see Joshua had moved on and was unpacking his belongings into his desk as I closed the door to the bathroom.

  “I’ve already seen the poop, Ms. Lettie. It’s too late.” I heard through the door.

  I couldn’t help but smile as I changed my clothes even though I was supremely embarrassed because this was it for me. These kids. They were my life. My everything. They made my days brighter. They were my reason. My momma had told me a long time ago to find a job that gave me a reason to get up every morning. And they were it. Poop talk and all.

  I now wore a pair of yoga pants and a The Cottage School sweatshirt, but at least it didn’t look like I’d soiled myself.

  The classroom was filling up fast and the laughter and boisterous voices pervaded the space, making my smile wider.

  “Hey, Ms. Lettie.” I heard from behind me.

  Ella, one of my kiddos with Down syndrome stood there, her soft caramel eyes shining up at me. Her sweet grin melted my heart. I knew we weren’t supposed to play favorites, but I couldn’t help it. Ella was absolutely one of my most favorite people in the entire world. And not just because I’d known her for what felt like forever. She was the beginning of it all for me. She’d been my very first reason.

  “Hey, Ellie Bellie!”
<
br />   She laughed like she always did when I called her that and immediately went in for a hug and I was right there with arms wide-open. If I’d learned anything in my years teaching special needs, it was that lots and lots of cuddles were required. It had taken time for me to get used to all the hugs, but now I was one of those people, a religious hugger, and I knew all the healing properties another person’s arms around you held even if it did take me time to figure it all out.

  I held Ella close, cherishing our relationship. It really was one of a kind and even though I was already short on time, I would conjure up some for this. It was a specialty of us teachers, pulling extra time out of thin air. I had student-teacher conferences today during my lunch and planning period, which meant I needed to get my day going right away. And I wasn’t at all nervous about seeing Luk, Ella’s brother, again. After all, I’d only been his tutor in high school. He probably didn’t even remember me. I mean, I barely remembered him. I didn’t think about him at all. Especially late at night when I was in bed. I particularly didn’t think about how big and broad he was or how gorgeous his lips were. It had been ten years. That would be desperate and I definitely wasn’t that.

  Pulling out of our hug, I tapped her sweet button nose with my finger and hurried up to the front of the classroom. “Alrighty, friends. Let’s put our things away so we can get started.”

  I turned toward the board to write today’s schedule when I heard from behind me in a very poor attempt at a whisper, “Ms. Lettie had an accident in her pants on the way to school.” Quiet giggles broke out across the classroom from behind me.

  I snapped my head around, my face one of complete no nonsense, and everyone quieted as my eyes perused the classroom at the pace of a snail. I cleared my throat and turned back to the board slowly to continue writing and barely held in my laughter. These kids always made me laugh even if at often times it was at my expense.

  Age 14

  I tapped my foot, my pencil against the glossy top of the library table, and every freaking thing I could tap quietly because what I really wanted to do was bang my head on the dang table in front of me.