Page 425 of Face Off

“I know.”

Every careful sentence he sent me began in this corner while Milwaukee continued beyond the windows. I imagine him returning after a game, sitting beneath the lamp, and deciding how much truth he could place onto paper without handing me his heart before he trusted me to hold it again.

Briggs presses the bag of chips into my stomach.

“Eat one before you begin using guilt as a recreational activity.”

My eyes snap toward him. “I wasn’t.”

“You made the face.”

“What face?”

“The one where you convert regret into evidence that you’re accomplishing something.”

“I came four hundred miles.”

“Yes, which counts as action. Silently punishing yourself beside his stationery does not.”

I stare at him. “Do you do this to everyone?”

“Only people I like. Strangers pay by the hour.”

“I thought you didn’t psychoanalyze your friends.”

“I’m not psychoanalyzing you. Your shoulders folded, your breathing changed, and you looked at that chair like you planned to climb inside the past and slap yourself. Those are observations.”

“Annoying observations.”

“The accurate ones usually are.”

I take a chip because arguing while hungry would allow him to feel vindicated.

Briggs grins. “Excellent choice. Self-regulation through carbohydrates.”

“Now you’re doing it intentionally.”

“Obviously.”

He guides me toward the dining area. Books cover half the table. Ryan’s gym bag rests on one chair, and a sweatshirt with Briggs’s number on the sleeve hangs over another.

“Is that yours?”

“No.”

“It has your number on it.”

“Then it might be.”

“You leave your clothes here?”

“I’m establishing residency through adverse possession.”

“I don’t think that applies to hoodies.”

“You don’t have a psychology degree.”

“Neither does the attorney who would tell you that’s not how adverse possession works.”