Page 99 of Lose You Twice

“I don’t know,” I say, because lying to a six-year-old feels worse than being hit. “But I’ll see you again soon, okay?”

Daisy considers that, then nods. “Okay. You can practice braids.”

“Good plan,” Lily says.

Wren’s face does something soft and panicked before she turns away. “Inside. Now.”

The twins follow her toward the school entrance, both ponytails bouncing. Daisy slips her hand into Wren’s. Lily walks on Wren’s other side, talking up at her.

I sit alone in my car and watch them walk into the school, unable to stop the thoughts spinning circles in my mind.

Daisy asked if I’d be there when they got home, and for one terrifying second, I wanted to say yes.

I wanted my place in their chaos back.

My chest tightens until breathing takes effort.

I look down at the pink hair tie around my wrist and let out a quiet, helpless laugh.

Yeah.

I’m completely fucked.

15

WREN

Thankfully no more awkward mornings with Kai were spent this week.

Not because the universe suddenly developed mercy. That would be suspicious. Mostly, Harlow stopped looking like death in leggings by Tuesday, Mom’s schedule went back to its regular level of impossible instead of aggressively impossible, and Kai Mercer did not appear on my porch at 6:45 with his stupidly calm face and his punctual little savior complex.

Which was good.

Great, actually.

Excellent for everyone involved.

It meant I could try and get the image of him doing the twins’ hair out of my mind. It also meant I didn’t have to think about waking up in that hotel bed with his arm around my waist and my cheek against his chest.

Except I have been.

Constantly.

It’s not like we crossed any actual lines. I can’t control what I do in my sleep, and obviously he can’t either. Maybe it was cold, and we needed the heat from each other to stay warm.

Fine.

Maybe the line had been gently vandalized.

But now it’s Saturday, and Saturday means game day. Game day means work. Work means towels, jerseys, water bottles, and pretending I have no emotional bandwidth for reliving Kai’s body warm under mine.

That’s the flavor of lie I’m choosing for today.

“Calloway,” Donnelly says from beside the rolling cart. “You’ve counted those laces twice.”

“Sorry,” I say, shuffling them back into their respective bins. “Just being thorough.”

He grunts, which I’ve learned can mean anything from fair point to I’m choosing not to argue because you’re young and annoying. With Donnelly, it’s a guessing game.