Page 144 of Between the Lines

“I’m so sorry to bother you both,” the blonde continues. “But you look a lot like… Are you Charlotte? FromThe Gamble?”

Chaos is silent for a long beat. The two women exchange a look, and one of them giggles again. “Yes,” Charlotte finally says.

“Oh my god, that’ssocool. It’s been years! What are you up to now?” She smiles like they’re friends.

The other woman doesn’t wait for Charlotte to reply. “No way. That song you made up, the ‘Sugar Puff’ one? We played it that whole summer. It’s still on our nostalgia playlist”

“I didn’t make up that song.” Charlotte’s voice is small.

The blonde pulls out her phone. “Do you mind if we take a selfie together? Ihaveto tell my sister I met you. We were obsessed with your season! Like, watch-party-level obsessed.”

“Do you like, get paid when your meme is used?” the guy behind the women asks. “No, right? Because that’s wild.”

Charlotte takes a small step back, into the curve of my body. I wrap my arm more firmly around her.

“We’re just heading out.” I make my voice deep and unfriendly. It’s worked wonders with journalists over the years. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”

They blink at me. “Oh. Right.”

“If you’ll excuse us,” I say and lead us past them. Charlotte’s steps are quick beside mine.

“That hasn’t happened in… a while,” she says once we’re in the car.

“Are you okay?”

She nods and looks out the window. But I can sense her withdrawing into herself, pulling away from me. Tightening the hatches and bracing for a storm.

I don’t want her pulling away.

Her hand rests on her lap. I reach out and thread our fingers together without saying a word. Her breath hitches, and her hand squeezes mine.

Once we’re back home, she walks ahead of me into the house. Still silent.

Damn it. This wasn’t the ending to the night I’d hoped for. I wanted a break from the panic attack, from Jeff and Blake, and the story she doesn’t want to tell.

I shut the door behind us. “Charlotte.”

She shakes her head softly and walks with quick steps toward the kitchen. I follow her at a slower pace, shoving my hands into my pockets.

They ache to reach for her.

“That hasn’t happened in a while,” she says again, dejection in her voice. She pours herself a glass of water and leans against the kitchen counter, hands gripping the glass to her chest.

“I’m sorry about that.”

She shakes her head again. Her eyes look glossy, andfuck, are those unshed tears? My chest tightens with shame—potent and thick—that I’ve been a part of causing her this anguish.

I never wanted this.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” Her voice is thin, her hand tight around the glass of water.

“Don’t apologize to me. Please.”

She takes a deep breath, and her eyes move from mine to the window. It’s the Charlotte I saw in the parking lot. The woman who’s reeling from something she thought she’d conquered long ago.

“That was embarrassing. It doesn’t usually… well. It happens. God, I’m so ashamed.”

I take a step closer. The distance between us feels ocean-wide. “Chaos, stop.”

---