"Sure, you didn't."
I take a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm. This is what he wants—to provoke me, to make me the bad guy again.
"Look," I say carefully. "I get that this sucks for you. I do. But taking shots at me isn't going to change anything."
"What's going to change is you realizing that Sloane isn't going to stick around." His voice is bitter. "She'll get what she needs from you, and then she'll move on. That's what she does."
"You don't know her."
"I know her better than you ever will." He turns away again. "But go ahead. Play happy family. See how long it lasts."
The flight attendant arrives with the beverage cart, mercifully ending the conversation. I order water. Grentley orders nothing.
We don't speak again for the rest of the flight.
The hotel in St. Louis is nice—one of those places with a lobby full of modern art and staff who are too polite to acknowledge when hockey players trash their rooms. Not that we do that anymore. We're professionals now.
Most of us, anyway.
I'm unpacking when Alder knocks and lets himself in.
"How was the flight?" he asks, though his tone suggests he already knows.
"Terrible."
"Figured." He sits on the other bed, his tongue clicking his removable fake tooth, which matches mine. "Grentley say anything useful?"
"Just the usual. That I'm using Sloane. That she's going to leave me. That I'm a piece of shit." I shove clothes into a drawer. "Standard stuff."
"He's projecting."
"I know."
"Do you?" Alder leans forward. "Because you look like you're letting it get to you."
"I'm not."
"Tucker."
I pause unpacking and turn to face my twin. "What if he's right?"
"About what?"
"About Sloane leaving. About this not lasting." I run a hand through my hair. "What if once they're born, she realizes she doesn't actually want me around?"
"Have you asked her?"
“She keeps saying we are co-parents. But … we don’t have any paperwork or anything.”
"And you're okay with that?"
"I don't have a choice."
"You always have a choice." Alder stands, moving to the window. "But you have to actually tell her what you want. Not just go along with whatever she says because you're scared."
"I'm not scared."
He gives me a look. "You're terrified. I can see it. You're afraid that if you push for more, she'll run. So, you're playing it safe, being the perfect roommate, hoping she'll realize on her own that she wants you."
