Page 208 of Twins for Three Bad Boys

Wayne studies me, checking to see if I really mean that. Then he nods. “All right.”

The air outside feels different from Redwood Run. Familiar in a way that doesn’t sit right anymore.

We walk without rushing, no real destination at first, just them letting me lead without saying what we’re doing or where we’re going.

I don’t even realize where I’m taking them until we’re halfway down the street.

“My old bus stop’s up there,” I say, nodding ahead. “I used to stand there every morning, rain or shine, trying to convince myself I liked the routine.”

Rex glances at the bus stop, then at me. “You didn’t?”

I huff a small laugh. “No. I just thought I was supposed to.”

Fletcher’s gaze tracks the street, taking everything in the way he always does. “You walked this every day?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Same time. Same route. Same everything. It felt… safe, I guess. Predictable.”

“And now?” Wayne asks.

I pause, looking at the same stretch of pavement that used to feel solid.

“Now it feels small,” I admit.

I show them the café I used to go to before work, the one I thought had the best coffee in the world, until I moved to Redwood Run and realized I had no idea what good coffee actually tastes like.

“That place?” Rex says, skeptical.

“Hey,” I protest lightly. “I didn’t know any better.”

“You really didn’t,” Fletcher agrees.

I nudge his arm. “Rude.”

There’s a softness to it, though.

To all of this.

Like I’m walking through something I used to let used to define me but doesn’t anymore, and they’re here to see it. The thought settles comfortingly in my chest as we keep walking.

A few more steps, and then I stop.

Because I recognize the place without needing to think about it, and the recognition hits like a physical blow, sharp and immediate.

The apartment building stands exactly as it used to.

Same faded paint peeling along the edges of the balconies. Same narrow windows with blinds half drawn. Same crooked railing on the second floor where someone always hung a towel that never quite dried properly.

Nothing’s changed.

Somehow, that makes it worse.

My stomach twists, and for a second, I’m not here with the guys anymore—I’m standing in that apartment hallway again, carboard box of possessions in my arms, my whole life spilling out across the floor while Max looks at me like I’m the inconvenience.

The smell hits me next, phantom and unwelcome, cheap perfume layered over candle wax, transporting me back to the moment when I knew something was wrong before I even opened the bedroom door.

My fingers curl into the sleeves of my sweater as I jerk my chin at the building. “That’s where I used to live.”

The words feel wrong in my mouth.