“It’s so bad, Johnny,” I whimpered, removing my jacket. “Like, the worst kind of bad ever.” “Oh, mine’s worse, Shan,” he muttered, pacing the floor. “Trust me. It’s like insanely bad.” “Can you just look at mine first?” I begged, feeling close to a panic attack. “I stole your brothers, baby!” he blurted out and then froze. “Sorry,” he squeezed out. “I love you.” Grimacing like he was in physical pain, he added, “Please don’t break up with me.” “Huh?”
