In The Between

✧･Chapter 11 Jealous

I settle back into my seat like nothing happened, like I didn't just walk out of a bathroom feeling like the air had left my lungs. Like I didn't just hear her say my name in a way that still hasn't stopped echoing.

Chris is already talking again beside me, something about Lucia's stance improving, but I only catch every other word. I nod when it feels appropriate, keep my eyes forward, and try to convince my body to stop acting like it's still standing in that bathroom with her.

It doesn't listen.

Lucia is locked in on the field, completely absorbed, glove ready, eyes sharp in a way that makes me smile automatically. That part of this is easy, but everything else feels slightly out of reach, like I'm sitting just a step outside of it.

A few seats down, Helena leans toward June, signing something quickly, her expression animated. June responds without hesitation, her hands moving fluidly, a small smile pulling at her mouth. Helena laughs under her breath and signs something back, slower this time.

Then the space beside Chris shifts.

I don't even have to look to know it's her. The air changes first, then the sound, then the part of me that goes too still too fast.

"Hey," Claire says casually, like she's just joining a conversation already in progress.

Chris looks up first. "Oh- hey!"

I wait a second longer than I need to before turning, like I can somehow delay the impact of seeing her again. But of course, that doesn't work.

She's standing just off to the side of our row, easy and unbothered like she didn't just follow me into a bathroom and undo everything I thought I had under control.

Her sunglasses are gone now, her hair slightly wind-tossed, that damn worn-in baseball tee hanging off her shoulders like she's never once tried to take up less space than she does.

It annoys me how much I notice.

Chris shifts, making room without thinking. "You're joining us over here now?"

"Yeah," Claire says with a small shrug as she slides into the empty spot beside him. She doesn't sit next to me, doesn't even look at me right away.

That should feel like relief, but it doesn't. Then Helena glances over briefly, her eyes flicking between us for just a second too long before she turns back to the field, like she's choosing not to get involved yet. Somehow,

Claire leans forward slightly, elbows resting on her knees as she watches the game. "How's she doing?"

"Good," Chris answers immediately, a little proud. "She's been all over it today."

"Yeah?" Claire hums.

Lucia makes another clean play, and Claire nods once in approval. "She's serious about it."

"She always has been," I say before I can stop myself.

The words come out quieter than I expect, but they still land. Claire doesn't look at me right away. When she does, it's brief and controlled, like she's measuring how much of me she wants to deal with at once.

"Yeah," she says finally. "I've been told."

Something tightens in my chest at that. Not the words, but the way she says them, like they carry something more than they should.

Chris doesn't notice as he's too focused back on the game, relaxed and easy, completely unaware of the shift sitting right between us.

I try to focus on that, on the field, on anything that feels normal.

But my attention keeps slipping anyway, drifting sideways toward her in pieces instead of whole.

The way she shifts her weight, the way she tucks her hair behind her ear, the quiet laugh she lets out at something Chris says - easy and familiar, like she fits into moments I'm not part of.

I adjust in my seat, crossing one leg over the other, forcing my attention back to Lucia. She's still out there, completely locked in, calling out to her teammates like she's been doing this forever. That should be enough to hold me here and it almost does, until Claire shifts.

It's small at first, just a slight lift of her head, like she's heard something behind her. Then her shoulders follow, subtle but different enough that I catch it. She turns, not toward us, but past us and then she smiles.

Not the polite kind she's been using since she got here, but something easier. Something real, that smile I hadn't seen in years and it hit me deep in my chest.

My eyes follow before I can stop myself. A man is making his way up the bleachers, casual and confident, a grin already forming like he knows exactly who he's looking for. He says her name before he even reaches her.

"Claire? Oh my God, I thought it was you!"

She's already halfway to standing by the time he gets there, like it's instinct more than thought.

"Hey! Wow, it's been so long!" She says, and something in her voice shifts again-softer, familiar in a way that makes something in my chest tighten before I can name why.

He steps in and hugs her and it's not quick. Long enough that I notice. Long enough that I shouldn't.

Chris doesn't react, still watching the game. Helena glances over once, then looks away again like she's decided this isn't her business. But I'm still watching.

The way Claire laughs when she pulls back, the way he says something low that makes her roll her eyes like she's heard it a hundred times before, the brief, easy touch of her hand against his arm when she responds.

Something in my stomach turns, slow and unwelcome. It's stupid. Claire has history, of course she does. Of course there are people who know her like that, people who get that version of her without trying.

I swallow and force my eyes back to the field. Lucia is rounding second, completely unaware of anything outside her own momentum.

Claire is still talking to him, leaning in slightly so she can hear over the noise, smiling in that effortless way she falls into when she's not thinking about it. I don't like how natural it looks and I hate that I notice it.

"Who's that?" Chris asks casually beside me, nodding toward her.

It takes me a second to answer. "I don't know." The words come out flat, and it feels like a lie even if it isn't one. Because I don't know why I'm watching them like this. I don't know why my chest feels tight or why something in me reacts every time she smiles like that.

I shift again, crossing my arms tighter, forcing my focus back to the field, but it doesn't last. Because Claire laughs again and I look again.

And I immediately wish I hadn't. She's fully turned toward him now, shoulders angled in like the rest of us don't exist, like the game and the noise and everything else has dropped out of focus. Like it's just him and her.

He says something that makes her huff a quiet laugh, her head tipping back slightly, unguarded in a way I didn't realize I was keeping track of until I see it happening somewhere else.

My fingers tighten against my arm before I register it. It shouldn't matter... but it sits wrong in my chest anyway, low and sharp, like something I can't quite ignore.

Chris leans forward slightly. "She knows a lot of people here, huh?"

"Yeah," I say automatically, my voice flatter than I intend.

Of course she does. People like Claire don't just disappear and come back without history trailing behind them. That's all this is... history, nothing more. But my eyes keep flicking back anyway, like I don't trust myself not to check.

The man leans in closer to say something, and Claire steps in just slightly to hear him better. His shoulder brushes against hers, and she doesn't react. Doesn't shift away, just stays there like it means nothing.

Something sharp pulls in my stomach.

Lucia cheers from the field, loud and bright, and I latch onto it immediately, clapping once and forcing a smile as she looks toward the stands. "Good job!" I call, steady enough to pass.

She grins and turns back to the game, already moving on. I try to do the same. I try to stay with her, with something simple, but it slips almost as quickly as I grab onto it, because Claire laughs again.

It's quieter this time, but I hear it anyways, I always do. I don't mean to look, but I still do.

She's turned fully toward him now, her posture open, relaxed in a way that feels effortless. He says something, and she reaches out without thinking, her fingers brushing lightly against his arm.

It's small and casual, and it shouldn't matter, but something in my chest tightens like it does. Because I've done that.

The memory hits before I can stop it - my hand on her arm that night, hesitant at first, like I wasn't sure if I was allowed. The way she stilled for a second, then didn't pull away. The way she leaned into it instead, just slightly, like she was meeting me halfway.

I swallow and look back at the field, but I'm not really seeing it anymore.

When I glance back again, she's smiling, head tilted just enough as she listens. There's something easy about it, something unguarded, and it pulls at me in a way I don't like.

I remember being that close.

Close enough to feel her breath near my ear, warm and uneven. Close enough that when she spoke, it felt like it stayed on my skin longer than it should have. The way her voice dropped when she said my name, softer than I'd ever heard it before.

I shift in my seat, trying to shake it off, but it only makes me more aware of everything.

She laughs again, and this time I watch it - really watch it. The way her mouth curves, the way it reaches her eyes. I had that... for a moment, for one night, I had that version of her. The one that didn't hold back, the one that felt real in a way nothing else has since.

I remember her hands, the way they moved carefully at first, like she was giving me space to stop it. The way I didn't. The way I couldn't. The way everything about her felt warm and steady and too close all at once.

I let out a slow breath, my arms crossing tighter as I force my attention back to the field, but it doesn't stick. It keeps slipping, pulling back to her in pieces - the sound of her laugh, the way she leans in, the way she looks at him like she's fully there.

And I hate how much I notice.

I hate how easily my mind fills in the gaps with things I shouldn't be thinking about, like her voice in my ear, her hand at my side, the way her heartbeat sped up when I got too close, like mine did the same without asking.

I press my lips together, trying to shut it down, trying to call it what it isn't. Because this is nothing... it has to be.

Claire has history. Of course she does. People who know her, people who fit into her life without effort. That's all this is, that's all it's ever been.

I shift in my seat again, my grip tightening against my own arm as I finally let the thought settle, quiet but unavoidable.

I'm not just watching, i'm not just remembering.

I'm... jealous.

Lucia's voice cuts through everything, bright and loud from the field, and it's enough to snap me out of it for a second.

"Mama! Did you see that?"

I blink, like I've just been pulled up from somewhere too deep, and force my attention forward. She's grinning, bouncing slightly on her feet, glove still raised like she's waiting for confirmation.

"Yeah!" Helena calls back. "That was amazing!"

She beams, turning back toward her team like she's just been handed something she'll carry for the rest of the day.

The game starts moving again, the noise settling back into something steady, but I don't quite fall back into it the way I was supposed to. Everything feels slightly off now, like I've shifted half a step out of place and can't find my way back.

I don't look toward Claire again, I don't need to. I can still feel it-that tight, restless pull sitting in my chest, the awareness of her somewhere just behind me, just out of reach, like something I'm trying not to turn around and face.

A few minutes passes before I hear movement behind us again - footsteps on the bleachers, voices blending back into the space we're sitting in - and I know before I see her that she's coming back.

Chris shifts slightly beside me as Claire steps back into place, easy as ever, like she didn't just disappear with someone else and came back unchanged.

"Miss anything?" She asks, dropping into her seat.

"Not really," Chris says. "Same as before."

She hums, leaning forward again, elbows on her knees.

I don't look at her, at least, not right away. I keep my eyes on the field, even when I feel it, that familiar awareness settling in again, sharper now, heavier now that I know what to call it.

Then, like I have no control over it at all, my gaze flicks sideways and she's closer than I expect.

Not by much, just enough that I notice. Her knee brushes mine for half a second when she shifts, and it's nothing-barely there, probably accidental - but it sends something straight through me anyway, quick and unwelcome.

I pull my leg in slightly, like that'll fix it, but it doesn't.

"Nice play," Claire says, nodding toward the field.

"She's been on it today," Chris replies easily.

"I can tell."

I don't know why I speak again. "She's always like this," I say quietly. "Once she gets into something, she doesn't let it go."

When Claire answers, her voice is softer than before. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

I don't look at her, but I feel the weight of it anyway. Before anything else can settle into that space, Helena's voice cuts in from a few seats down.

"Okay, that's it - we're celebrating this!" She says, already halfway to standing. "Did you see that last play? She's killing it."

June laughs beside her, signing quickly, her hands moving in sharp, excited motions. Helena watches, then nods, translating without missing a beat.

"June says we should do something tonight."

Chris glances over. "Yeah? I'm in."

"Good," Helena says, like that settles it. "Then come over." She adds, pointing between us. "We'll throw something together. Nothing crazy, just food, maybe cake. Lucia will lose her mind."

June signs something else, slower this time, and Helena's grin softens just slightly as she watches.

"And June says it's not optional," she adds.

Chris laughs. "Alright, alright. We'll be there."

Helena's gaze shifts then, landing on Claire. There's a flicker of something knowing in her expression, but her tone stays light.

"You too."

Claire doesn't hesitate. "Yeah," she says easily. "I'll come."

Something in my chest tightens again at that.

"Good," Helena says, satisfied, already turning back toward the field as the game picks up again.

The conversation fades, the plan settling into place like it's simple, like it doesn't mean anything more than what it is and I sit there, eyes forward, hands folded tighter than they need to be, trying to focus on the game, on Lucia, on anything that isn't the quiet awareness sitting right beside me.

It doesn't work, because even without looking, I can feel her there. Familiar in a way that doesn't feel safe anymore.

And the worst part is... I already know tonight isn't going to make any of this easier.

It's only going to make it worse.