Page 193 of Twins for Three Bad Boys

He smiles then. “Well. All right.”

Dad drains the last of his beer and sets the bottle aside. “Then you know what matters.”

“I know what matters,” I say. “I just don’t know how the hell to do it right.”

“No one does,” he says flatly. “They do it anyway.”

I glance between them. “You two suddenly got wise, or have I been on the road too long?”

Caleb snorts. “Dad got old. I got therapy.”

Dad scowls. “You got expensive.”

Caleb raises his bottle. “Mental health costs money, old man.”

I laugh harder than the joke deserves, some tension finally breaking loose in my chest.

Later, after the plates are cleared and Dad’s gone inside to lock up, and Caleb’s taken a call from Vanessa in the front yard, where he apparently thinks no one can hear him softening his voice, I stay on the porch alone.

Bolt is curled beside my chair, twitching in sleep.

The night is thick and warm. Not Redwood Run’s cool hush. This is heavier. Crickets loud in the grass. Far off traffic humming. The smell of wet earth and citronella.

I pull my phone out and stare at June’s contact for a long moment.

It’s late, she’s probably asleep. Or maybe not. Maybe she’s curled on her side in that room at Wayne’s house, one hand tucked under her cheek, mind running too fast for rest. Maybe Wayne’s awake too, sleeping light as he always does. Maybe Fletcher’s in his place, cleaning tools that don’t need cleaning because he doesn’t know what to do with his hands when his feelings get loud. Maybe all of them are waiting for the future to show its face before they decide how to breathe inside it.

I miss them.

That should probably terrify me more than it does.

Instead, it feels clarifying.

I hit call before I can overthink it, and she answers on the fourth ring, voice sleep soft and wary. “Rex?”

My whole chest eases at the sound of her. “Hey, darlin’.”

There’s a rustle, sheets moving. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Everything’s okay. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.” A pause. “Well. You did. But I don’t mind.”

I smile into the dark. “That’s generous.”

“I’m very generous when half asleep.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Her small laugh slides through me warm as whiskey.

Then she asks quietly, “Where are you?”

“Florida.”

“With your family?”

“Yeah.”