Page 155 of Twins for Three Bad Boys

Wayne is in the waiting room.

Wayne, who already lost a wife. Who has a five-year-old who calls me part of the landscape.

And Fletcher.

And Rex.

My stomach flips again, and this time it’s not nausea.

It’s logistics.

It’s math.

It’s oh no, whose baby is this?

I stand up too fast, and the room wobbles.

Great.

Pregnant and dramatic.

I walk out into the hallway in what I hope is a normal human fashion.

Wayne stands immediately.

“You okay?” he asks, eyes scanning me head to toe.

Say it.

Say it now.

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

He steps closer. “June.”

“I’m fine,” I blurt.

Lie.

Huge lie.

“They said it’s dehydration,” I add quickly. “Stress. I need to drink more water.”

That part is technically not false.

“And?” he presses.

“And nothing,” I say brightly. Too brightly. “I’m just… very dramatic.”

He narrows his eyes.

“You don’t look fine.”

“I promise,” I say, forcing a smile. “I’m okay. I just need rest.”

He studies me as if I’m an engine making a noise he doesn’t trust.

“You want me to stay home?” he asks.