Page 22 of Twins for Three Bad Boys

“They’ll outlive him.”

“That’s the goal.”

From Wayne, that’s high praise.

The big bay door rattles open a few minutes later, cold air rushing in along with nineteen years of sarcasm and caffeine.

“Jeez,” Hank Rivers says. “You two planning on moving cots in here or what?”

Wayne wipes his hands on a rag. “You’re late.”

Hank checks his phone. “I’m exactly on time.”

“You’re always exactly on time for you,” Wayne says. “You’re just wrong about it.”

Hank grins and drops his bag. “Fair.”

He takes a sip of coffee, eyes flicking between us. “So. When’s your new nanny starting?”

I pause mid-hum.

Right.

I’d forgotten.

Wayne’s jaw tightens.

“Today,” he says.

“Today?” Hank perks up. “Thought your mom was still filling in.”

“She is,” Wayne says. “But I need extra hands.”

Hank nods, a little more serious now. “Especially after the last one bailed.”

Wayne’s shoulders stiffen. “She didn’t bail.”

“Moved,” Hank corrects quickly. “Sorry.”

Wayne turns back to the engine without another word.

I keep my eyes on my weld. There are some topics you don’t force open. Wayne’s wife is one of them. Died in childbirth. Evan barely breathing when they handed him to Wayne for the first time. That kind of loss settles deep. Changes how you carry weight.

“She's meeting you at the house?” Hank asks.

“No,” Wayne says. “Here.”

Hank blinks. “The garage?”

“Public place,” Wayne says. “Less pressure.”

It makes sense that Wayne chose the garage instead of the house. He always wants the people working for him to feel comfortable while they adjust.

The sound of tires crunching on gravel cuts through the conversation.

I don’t look up, but I hear her voice moments later.

“Hi… sorry. Is this Last Mile?”