Isn't It Bromantic (Bromance Book Club #4) - Lyssa Kay Adams Page 0,77

quiet noise on the floor drew his gaze to the right.

He blinked. Rose up on his elbows. Blinked again.

A chicken was in his room.

A chicken in a diaper.

Vlad sat up fully and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. But when he looked again, the chicken was still there. She walked slowly near his dresser, beak pecking at something she’d found on the floor.

Dear God, he’d broken his brain last night. He was officially seeing things.

“Oh, good. You’re awake.”

Vlad nearly jumped out of his skin. Mack stood at his bedroom door holding a tray of food. “Brought you a friend,” he said, nodding at the chicken as he walked in. He set the tray on the nightstand. Curls of steam rose from a mug of tea and a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and cut-up fruit.

“Is that Hazel?” Vlad could barely speak over the sandpaper of his throat.

“Yep. These are her eggs you’re about to eat too.”

Hazel was Vlad’s favorite chicken. Probably not everyone in the world had a favorite chicken, but Vlad did. She was from a farm outside the city where Mack’s wife had once lived and worked, and when Vlad was there one time, he and Hazel had bonded because a mean rooster named Randy had been attacking her.

Vlad held out his arms. Mack bent, scooped up the hen, and deposited her on Vlad’s lap. Hazel cooed and settled down with her legs tucked beneath her. Vlad ran his hands over her soft feathers until the hen’s eyes closed. She was a good chicken. Vlad bit his lip to keep it from trembling and cleared his throat. “What time is it?”

“Almost noon.”

Elena was probably already on a plane back to Chicago by now. Or maybe she was driving his car. Either way, she was far, far away.

“Malcolm, Del, Noah, and Colton will be up in a few minutes,” Mack said, reaching for the chicken. “You need to eat.”

“I am not sure I can.” Vlad pressed a hand to his stomach.

“Give it a try. You need to soak up the damage from last night.”

Vlad pulled the tray to his lap, studied the food, and opted to start with the tea. “Elena is going back to Chicago,” he said.

Mack set Hazel on the floor. “We know.”

“How do you know?”

“She texted Colton to ask him to check on you.”

She was still watching out for him. Even after everything they’d said to each other last night. His stomach clenched, and not because of his gastrointestinal sensitivity. This was pure mental anguish.

The rest of the guys came in a few moments later. Vlad braced himself for the cross-check. The yelling about what an idiot he was for what happened at the party and for letting Elena leave.

“Just say it,” he grumbled.

“Say what?” Malcolm asked, leaning casually against the bedframe.

“Tell me I’m an idiot who screwed up the best thing that ever happened to me and I’m an idiot for letting her go.”

Colton shrugged. “I mean, yeah, that sort of sums it up well.”

Mack dragged his hands over his hair. “What happened last night after we left?”

“It doesn’t matter. She’s going back to—”

“Russia. Yeah, so we’ve heard.” Mack shook his head. “But we also watched you lose your fucking mind over another guy even thinking about kissing her last night after you insisted you were at peace with the divorce, so maybe it’s time to cut the shit and just be straight with us.”

Vlad poked at his eggs. He wished he could hug Hazel again.

“You don’t want a divorce,” Malcolm said. “And neither does she.”

“That’s not true. She’s leaving.”

“Because you’re letting her.”

“No,” he said, choking on that damn emotion he knew he couldn’t hold back much longer. “Because I told her the truth, and it was too much for her.”

Mack groaned. “The truth about what? You keep talking in circles.”

Vlad shook his head. He knew how these guys worked. Once you started talking, it was all over. They wouldn’t let you stop until you had spilled your guts and were a weeping mess on the floor. The good thing about his friends is that they would be there to pick you back up again with some tissue for your snotty nose and a shoulder for your heavy head. The bad thing was, emotions were flying at him like a speeding puck across the ice. At least with the puck, he could visualize the scene and make the kind of split-second decision that had made him one of the best defensemen in