Page 132 of Between the Lines

“I’ll get my coat.”

I have beaten Zoey four times, and she is not giving up. It seems like my romantic evening with Claire has completely backfired.

I have to admit though, Iamhaving fun.

“You left your rook completely open when you executed that last move.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I know. Rack ‘em up, AP. Let’s go again.”

From the leather chair beside our table, Claire glances up from the book she definitely isn’t reading and rolls her eyes at me, her expression screaming theSeriously?I can see her restraining. I shrug, and line my pieces back up.

“Hey, Zo? Weren’t we here for books?”

“Yeah, after this one,” Zoey says with a dismissive wave.

Claire lifts her watch, shoots me a mean-mugged glare, and taps on the watch face like she’s counting down the minutes. I wink at her, and proceed to wipe out her sister’s pieces in less than four minutes, giving absolutely no mercy.

“You’re joking, right?”

I lean back in my chair and fold my arms over my chest, donning a triumphant grin.

“Go get your books. Leave this poor man alone.”

Zoey’s scowl could set this building ablaze. But as she stomps off—down the stairs to the teen section—I’m suddenly lighter.

I take the matching chair to Claire’s and press my knee into hers.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” she sighs the word like she’s completely blissed out on finally being alone. “We have roughly seven minutes until she comes back with a stack of checked-out books and a demand for a rematch.”

I huff a laugh.

“She has guts, I’ll give her that.”

“Oh, she sure does. And attitude fordays.”

“Are you two close?”

She blows out a breath, resting her chin in her hand. “It’s complicated. Zoey reminds me of who I could have been had I not been so tied down. It’s like walking a delicate tightrope of parent, sister, and friend, while also juggling all of the aspirations I once had for myself,whilealsoreminding myself that she isn’t me. I’m like a one-woman circus over here.”

Her wordsbreakme—but my broken heart isn’t only for her. It’s forme.

For the way that I’ve projected all of my hopes for my dead life onto my brother. To ensure that, after sacrificing so many years to cancer, he gets everything he deserves. To give him everythingIwanted once I decided Ididn’tdeserve it.

If Claire knew I was letting Freud slip in right now, she’d have a field day teasing me.

But maybe that’s the key—I should tell her.

About my part in my parents’ accident. About the pieces of me that died and were buried by my own hand after that accident.

Maybe I should crack open the last pieces of my chest and let her in, because she’s experienced this too—the burden that guilt layers on like mortar in all of the delicate cracks and hardens a person. Maybe not in exactly the same manner, but I’ll bet she would beunderstanding, patient, and empathetic. Claire would know exactly how to handle the rubble of my past and how it fits into my future.

Zoey returns before I can so much as scratch the surface, which is maybe for the better. This conversation is clearly better had alone and behind closed doors—and, once I’ve thoroughly organized my talking points and psyched myself up enough to admit the deepest parts of me that no one else has ever seen.

After two more matches—one of which, Zoey comesveryclose to besting me in—we decide to retire for the evening. Parting from Claire without holding her or kissing her is the worst form of torture, and I tell her so in a text as soon as I watch them pull out into the dark night. My heart is in my throat, only the promise of a text message when she arrives both at her parents’ to drop off Zoey, and another when she’s back at Penelope’s, keeping me mildly sane.

I’m pacing the study with my phone in my hand when my doorbell rings. Claire, standing on my doorstep, knocks the wind from me.

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