“I mean you’ve had a bug up your ass all day. What’s wrong?”

I shake my head. “Nothing’s wrong.”

I keep walking.

“Dude, we shared a uterus,” Sam says. “Spill your guts.”

“It’s nothing,” I mutter.

“You’ve got every hair on my body standing up.” He holds out his arm for me to see. “So, spill it so I can stop feeling all the spooky twin shit.” He shivers dramatically.

They say twins can sense when something is wrong. That’s true with us. We’ve always been that way. Even when we’re separated, I know when something is bothering Sam. I know when he’s in trouble. I know when something is wrong. And I wouldn’t take no for an answer if I asked him about it.

“It’s just…” I shake my head. “Nothing.”

He tosses the ball into the air and catches it. “You having second thoughts about getting married?”

“How did you know?”

He grins.

“I fucking hate you,” I say.

I walk in silence for a minute and he lets me. He just tosses the ball up and catches it, over and over.

“I want to have kids and shit,” I mumble.

Sam cups a hand around his ear and leans toward me like an old man. “What?” he croaks.

“I want kids!” I stop walking and stare at him.

He shrugs like I just said the most stupid thing in the world. “So knock her up. What’s the big deal?” His eyes open wide. “Wait, is there something wrong with your junk? Some reason you can’t knock her up?” He looks toward my shorts and up to my face, over and over. “You caught some weird disease in prison, didn’t you? Lowered your sperm count?” He throws up his hands like he’s surrendering. “Hey, I’m not judging.” He dodges when I try to hit him, but he’s grinning.

“You’re not amusing,” I mutter, but I’m also biting back a smile.

He puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “Seriously, your junk isn’t the problem, is it?” He can’t hold the serious face but a moment. Then he grins.

“Reagan likes my dick just fine, thank you very much.”

“Dude, TMI.” He pretends to be startled. Then he sobers. “Then what is it?”

“I don’t think she wants kids.”

His brow furrows. “What makes you think that?”

“She said it around the campfire. You heard her.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not what she said.”

“Yes, she did.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he says. “She didn’t. She said you two have kids around you all the time. That’s what she said.”

“Exactly.” I blow out a breath.

“She’s right.”

“What?”

He shrugs. “She’s right. You do have kids around you all the time.”

“We do not,” I protest.

“Yes. You. Do.” He glares at me. “Not that it’s a bad thing. But you always have at least one of the kids from the program with you. And Edward and Gonzo. They pretty much live at your house.”

I snort. “They’re not kids anymore.” Edward is a mechanic now and he’s a damn good one. Gonzo is in college.

“And your little-brother program. And the juvenile-offender program. Not to mention all Matt’s kids. And now Paul and Friday have PJ, along with Hayley. And Em and Logan have Kit. There are fucking kids crawling the walls twenty-four/seven. Sometimes I have to get a hotel room just so I can take a nap when I visit. It’s ridiculous.”

I consider what he’s said. It’s true. Reagan never complains, but we do have a lot of kids all over the place. They’re everywhere. Last week, Matt lost one of the twins and we found him hiding in the drapes.

“You think that’s what she meant?”

He nods.

I heave a sigh. “Okay.”

“You should talk to her about it.”

I nod. I should. Here I am worrying when there might not even be a problem.

“You want to marry her, right? This isn’t just an excuse to get out of it?”

“Fuck no.”

“Good, because her dad will make good on his promise to chop your nuts off if he finds out you’re never going to marry her.”

“Oh, I’m marrying her, no matter what.”

He grins. “You like your nuts. I know.”

“I love her. Even more than my nuts. And I’m kind of attached to them.”

He laughs. “So did I fix your problems?”

“Yeah.”

He cups his hand around his ear again.

“Yes!” I bellow into his hand. He jumps back and pretends to be offended.

He’s quiet as he starts to walk. The hair on my arms stands up. Oh fuck.

“So, what’s up with you?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Nothing new.”

I hold up my arm.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Fucking twin shit.”

I motion for him to continue.

“So I think I made a mistake,” he says.

“You? I didn’t think you made mistakes.” I laugh.

He glares at me. “Very funny.”

“What did you do?”

“You remember Peck?” He looks at me out of the corner of his eye.

“Yes,” I say slowly. She’s in a band Emily plays with, Fallen from Zero. “The drummer, right?”