Page 134 of Make the Play

I don’t like how easily he reads me, or how much I need that reassurance right now.

“I’m fine,” I say, forcing a smile as I shove his hand away. I need to get myself together before I end up full-on crying in front of him.

“Yeah, well, just in case you’re not fine,” Chase says, leaning back, still watching me with that calm, steady gaze. “You’re allowed to lose your shit. I won’t tell anyone.”

There’s something about the way he says it—so sincere and non-judgmental—that almost breaks me. I can feel it, the dam cracking.

Rolling my eyes, I reach for a lifeline. “Gonna go check on the kids,” I mutter, pushing to my feet.

I make it three steps before Chase’s voice catches me.

“Zoe.”

My hand lands on the banister, fingers curling tight as I turn slowly. My breathing feels shallow as my ribs close in around the memory I’ve spent years trying to outrun.

Then he’s in front of me. Not touching or speaking, just standing there, waiting for the dam to break.

I try to smile, but it dies on my lips. And then the tears spill before I can stop them. Quiet and hot and so sudden, I barely register as they carve lines down my cheeks.

“I’m fine,” I whisper.

“You’re not.”

I open my mouth to argue, to deflect with something sharp and sarcastic, but the words get caught in my throat.

“Damn it,” I choke out, my shoulders shaking as the tears come.

Before I can think twice, his arms wrap around me. One hand presses to my back, the other slides up to my neck, and I’m pulled into his chest.

All the fear, the stress, the worry about Charlie, about losing her the way I lost my mom and sister, it all comes pouring out.

“She’s all I have,” I croak against his shirt. “She’s my person. She’s my only—”

“I know.” He tightens his arms around me, jaw pressed to the top of my head.

“And I know that makes me sound pathetic—”

“It doesn’t.”

“Jake didn’t mention her at first.” My voice breaks again. “And I knew she was probably fine—Iknewthat—but I couldn’t stop thinking, what if she wasn’t?”

He doesn’t speak, just traces steady circles between my shoulder blades, drawing the panic out inch by inch.

“I remember being at the hospital,” I say, the words brittle in my throat. “Sitting in this cold plastic chair with my dad. I had a balloon, one of those shiny foil ones with a duck on it.”

I pause, swallowing against the lump in my throat.

“The nurses kept looking everywhere but at me. My sister didn’t make it. And my mom…” I shake my head. “She was just… gone.”

Chase still doesn’t speak, just holds me tighter, steady as a heartbeat.

“I was six, and I didn’t understand all of it, not really. But I remember thinking,I don’t ever want to feel like this again.”

He exhales, his breath slow and heavy against my hair, gathering every shattered piece of me into his chest to keep it safe.

“I don’t think that’s irrational,” he says quietly. “I think that’s you trying to survive the worst thing a kid can go through.”

I close my eyes and let his words settle into the hollow ache behind my ribs.

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