I didn’t like the way Chloe said my name. Not because it was loud—Chloe was always loud—but because she said it as she owned it. Like my name was a handle she could grab whenever she wanted to drag me somewhere. “Matty!” My shoulders tightened before my brain could decide if I was even in trouble. That was the last three years in one reflex. My biological dad happened, Chloe happened, and suddenly every hallway, every room, every conversation came with an invisible scoreboard I was already...