Page 221 of Twins for Three Bad Boys

“No!” Tiffany yells back. “You were obsessed! You still are! Look at you, the second someone says her name, you come running! I’ve never seen you move so fast.”

He goes very still.

And in that stillness, I see the recognition. The ugly little shift of a man realizing that the thing he thought was about control or pride or being wronged might actually have been an obsession all along.

That he has built months of his life around not letting me go quietly.

I don’t know whether to scream or laugh again.

So I do the latter.

It bursts out of me before I can stop it, full of bitter relief. Because of course. Of course that’s what this is. Not love. Not grief. Not even heartbreak. Just entitlement.

Tiffany jerks toward me again when she hears me, but Rex tightens his grip, and she gets nowhere. “She thinks this is funny!”

“No,” I say, looking her dead in the eye. “I think you’re pathetic.”

Tiffany lets out a sound so raw it barely registers as human.

And then she spits at me.

It hits the floor, but the intention is enough to send Mrs. Kline over the edge.

“That is enough!” Mrs. Kline shouts, voice like a whip.

She sounds less like a principal and more like a woman realizing her career is standing on gasoline.

Good.

“Tiffany,” she says, shaking with fury as she steps forward, every word clipped. “You are terminated. Effective immediately. You will collect your personal belongings under supervision and leave this building.”

Tiffany stares at her. “You can’t do that!”

“I absolutely can,” Mrs. Kline says. “And I should have done it the second I heard your tone in this hallway, never mind after your admissions and this physical assault.” Her gaze flicks to me, then to Wayne, Fletcher, and Rex, then back to Tiffany. “If you’re not out of this building in ten minutes, I will call the police.”

Tiffany looks wildly from face to face, like she still thinks someone is going to rescue her from the consequences of her own actions.

No one does.

Not even Max.

He looks tired. Ashamed. Older somehow. The whole performance of being in control has finally collapsed in on itself and left him standing in the rubble with nowhere to hide.

“Tiff,” he says quietly.

She recoils as if he slapped her. “Don’t call me that.”

He exhales. “Just stop.”

“Stop?” she cries out. “That’s all you have to say? After everything I did for you?”

“For me?” His laugh is hollow now. “You didn’t do any of this for me.”

“Bullshit!” she screams.

Rex looks at Wayne. “We still avoiding cops today?”

“Trying,” Wayne mutters.