Page 105 of Tourist Trap

"Okay," he says, and it takes a moment for me to realize he's agreeing, not just repeating me. "Okay. If we are at a point where time is running out and I don't have the money, I'll let you kick in. But that's you kicking into our life, okay? That means you're stuck here, stuck with me."

I smile then, wide and full, my heart soaring.

"I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."

THIRTY-SIX

MILES

As always seems to happen, once my life settles into something good and easy, it comes crashing down. Two weeks after the block party, Claire is out with Lainey and June having a girls' game night, and I'm relaxing, waiting around for her to make her way home to me when there's a knock at our front door.

Thinking it must be Claire forgetting her keys again, I walk over to the door, a smile on my face as I open it, only to find my brother, who looks a lot more disheveled than the last time I saw him but with a cocky smile on his lips.

My face falls instantly.

"Not happy to see me, big bro?" he asks, snark in his words.

"No, I, uh—" I start because the real answer isno, I'm not happy to see him,but I also know giving him that answer will be a bad idea.

The fact of the matter is that Paul only comes to me when he needs something, and him standing on my doorstep is never a good sign. He left Seaside Point when he was eighteen for college, visiting occasionally, and the longest he spent here since graduating was the summer he met Claire, which I now realize he brought her everywhere he knew I'd be just to rub salt in the gaping wound he'd made.

Still, whatever drama he's brought to my doorstep is not something I want the entire boardwalk to bear witness to, so I step aside and open the door wider. "Come on in."

He gives me a look that seems much too happy and makes my stomach churn.

When he walks into the house we lived in for years after our dad died, before Mom got a place of our own, he looks around, taking in the small changes Claire has made since moving in.

She moved her shell collection down to an end table she bought at a thrift store last week and started hanging pictures and art, some of it from piles of things she found from my grandmother in a guest room that either Paul didn't want or didn't sell. In the corner near the door are a pair of running sneakers and my work boots neatly lined up with at least four of Claire's flip-flops in a messy, colorful pile next to them.

His eyes zero in on that before he looks at me again, the intrigue gone from his face, venom replacing it.

For the first time, I let myself wonder what the fuck happened to him. What made him hate me so deeply? I used to wonder what I did wrong, but I've come to realize I did everything I could to repair this relationship, but a one-sided effort only goes so far.

"So, you're dating my sloppy seconds?" he asks bluntly.

My first instinct is to punch him.

My second isalsoto punch him.

My third is to tell him to leave.

I don't get to do any of those before he continues running his mouth, my jaw tightening and my hands curling into fists at my sides as I force myself not to use them.

"I should have known, you know. You always wanted her, always were looking for some reason to get close to her, take what was mine."

I take in a deep breath becauseviolence is not the answer.

"Paul, come on?—"

"You can have her." He says it like he's doing me a favor, though neither of us needs his stamp of approval. But then a smile spreads on his lips, and I know this won't be good. "You can have her. I was only with her to fuck with you, after all. Mission accomplished."

My jaw goes tight at the thought of him using Claire that way, at the confirmation of what I knew in the back of my mind. But it's one thing to think it; it's another for your flesh and blood to admit it to your face they wanted to make you miserable.

"You think I didn't see the way you looked at her? The wayshelooked at you?" He shrugs. "You two can go run off into the fucking sunset for all I care. Too bad you won't have this place to raise your demon spawn in."

My brow furrows, and nausea churns in my gut, knowing how much Paul loves his dramatics and knowing somewhere deep down where this is going.

"What are you saying?"

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