Page 4 of Twins for Three Bad Boys

I clutch the box to my chest and nod at Denise because if I speak, I’ll shatter.

As I walk toward the front doors, I pass the bulletin board that says Kindness Starts With You! in bright paper letters.

It feels like a cruel joke.

When the doors swing shut behind me, the cold hits my face hard.

I inhale, then cross the parking lot like a ghost and shove the box into my backseat.

By the time I climb into the driver’s seat, my hands are shaking. I grip the steering wheel and just sit there for a long moment, staring at it.

My hands are still.

My heart is not.

And now I have to go home to face Max…

Our apartment building looks the same as always as I pull up outside.

Three stories of peeling paint and sad potted plants and someone’s bike chained to the railing.

I carry the box up the stairs, arms trembling.

At the top, the hallway is quiet.

When I reach our door, I notice it’s not fully closed, just slightly ajar. That small detail makes my skin prickle.

Max never leaves the door ajar. He’s obsessed with locks.

My hand shakes as I push it open.

The apartment smells wrong… perfume, expensive, laid over the usual mix of cologne and stale candle wax.

My breath catches.

I step inside.

The living room is dim. The blinds are half closed. There’s a shirt that isn’t Max’s draped over the couch.

My stomach drops, hard.

What the hell is going on?

The bedroom door is cracked.

I tell myself not to.

I tell myself to turn around.

But my feet move anyway. My body knows the truth before my mind can accept it.

I push the door open.

Max is on the bed, shirtless, hair messed up, mouth slightly open like he’s been laughing.

There’s a girl straddling him.

Her blonde hair falls forward, hiding her face, but she’s definitely naked.