Page 119 of Twins for Three Bad Boys

Maybe Max isn’t done trying to drag my name through the mud.

But right now, I’m here.

I’m not erased.

And I’m not alone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Fletcher

Wayne doesn’t talk while he works.

That’s how I know it’s bad.

The garage is loud enough to swallow most things. Compressor kicking on, radio fighting static, Hank swearing at a stripped bolt, but Wayne’s silence still cuts through it.

He tightens the same bolt three times.

It’s already secure.

I wipe my hands on a rag and lean against the bench.

“You gonna tell me what’s chewing on you,” I ask evenly, “or are we pretending it’s torque specs?”

His jaw flexes.

He doesn’t look at me when he says it. “I got an email.”

He lifts his phone and shows it to me. My chest goes cold in a way that feels physical as I soak in the words.

“That’s not her,” I say immediately. “Inappropriate? She’s so careful, right? Cautious. This seems…”

Wayne finally looks at me. “I know. But she was fired because of it, so the accusation must have been believable.”

Shit.

Things have been off since that night.

Rex and I talked the next morning, before he went back out on the road. We both felt it. The shift. The way June didn’t fracture under us. The way it felt intentional. Chosen.

We’re good, Rex and I.

Wayne isn’t.

He hasn’t said much of anything. Rex and I knew we’d have to give him some time to process things, but this complicates things.

Wayne’s been closing himself off inch by inch. And this? This email? It’s gasoline on a man who already lives behind brick walls.

I’ve seen June with Evan.

I’ve seen the way she crouches to his level when she talks to him. The way she listens like he’s telling her something important instead of just describing a dinosaur. The way she fixes the collar of his shirt without thinking—care is muscle memory for her.

There’s no world where that woman is reckless with a kid.

“You believe her?” I ask quietly.

“Yes,” Wayne says without hesitation.