Page 136 of Twins for Three Bad Boys

I shove my chair back so abruptly, it scrapes against the porch boards.

“Evan…” I start.

And then I’m on my feet and barely making it two steps before I gag. I clamp a hand over my mouth and run.

Behind me, I hear his chair clatter.

“June!”

I make it to the kitchen sink, and it’s immediate. Violent. My whole body folds in on itself.

The sound is awful. The force of it is worse. My hands grip the counter so hard my knuckles ache.

It keeps coming.

And coming.

“Dad!” Evan shouts, panic cracking through even though Wayne isn’t home. “Dad!”

I try to wave him off, but another wave hits, and I can’t speak.

By the time it stops, I’m shaking.

Sweat prickles along my spine. My knees wobble.

Evan is standing a safe distance away, eyes enormous.

“You’re dying,” he breathes.

“I am not,” I say hoarsely, rinsing my mouth.

“You threw up like three times,” he insists.

“Thank you for counting.”

I try to stand up straight.

The room tilts again.

Evan edges closer, uncertain. “Did I make bad grilled cheese?”

A soft, broken laugh escapes me.

“No, buddy. Your grilled cheese was elite.”

He studies my face carefully.

“You’re really white,” he says.

“I am pale and mysterious.”

“You’re sweaty.”

“Okay, we’re done with observations.”

Another wave threatens, and I press a hand to my stomach.

It feels… wrong.