a camel exhibit in here. Have you been, like, pissing all over yourself or something?”
Mack grabbed a pillow and threw it. It landed ten feet from them. “Go away.”
With a dramatic gag, Gavin stepped over the pillow and a pile of dirty clothes and went into the bathroom. Mack heard the spray of the shower a moment later.
“Hose yourself off, asshole,” Gavin said when he walked back out. “Now. And then come downstairs. It’s time for a fucking intervention.”
The door slammed shut as they left.
Mack stared at the ceiling. Fuck them. He didn’t need an intervention. He needed to be left alone to wallow in his misery. He dragged a hand down his scruffy jaw, caught a whiff of his own stench, and realized they were right about at least one thing. He could use a shower.
His stiff muscles protested as he sat up and swung his legs off the bed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone this long without at least running. The hot water pounded at knots in his shoulders he’d been too depressed to even notice.
There was a poetic justice to it, of course. The founder of the Bromance Book Club, the man who believed the manuals had all the answers, who thought he knew everything there was to know about love, brought down by a woman.
Except, that wasn’t true, was it? He’d brought himself down. He’d violated one of the most important rules: never, ever lie. There’d been a thousand chances to tell Liv the truth, but he hadn’t. Even after she’d confided in him about her painful past, he’d convinced himself he just needed more time to find the right words. He’d ignored everything he’d ever learned from the books, forgotten every hard-fought lesson the heroes had had to learn, and now it was too late.
Mack scrubbed his hands over his face and leaned into the hot water. The scalding downpour became a punishment, a reprimand, a stinging cleanse. It would take a thousand blistering showers to wash away the tattooed imprint of her on his body, and even that wouldn’t be enough to scrub his brain or his heart of the memories of what it had been like to finally, fully, fiercely fall in love. The manuals never offered advice on how to survive an unhappy ever after. He was officially on his own.
Fifteen minutes later he finally emerged from his bedroom and headed downstairs. The Russian met him in the hallway leading to the kitchen. “You need a hug, yes?”
“Not really—mrph.” The Russian pulled him into an awkward, muscle-bound embrace. His face was smooshed against the Russian’s shoulder, and it actually felt kind of good, so he stayed there for a moment and closed his eyes. Hugs were underrated.
“You smell much better,” the Russian said, pulling back.
At least he had that going for him.
When Mack walked into the kitchen, he found the guys in various stages of cleaning. Malcolm wore rubber gloves that barely fit over his massive fingers and was scrubbing the sink, which was miraculously clear of the dirty dishes that had slowly piled up.
“This place was a mess, man,” Del said without looking up from where he was scraping at something sticky on the counter. “I’ve never seen it like that before.”
“I’ve had a bad few days.”
“No shit,” Gavin said. “There was a piece of pizza on the floor that was about to gain independent thought and stage a coup.”
“Christ, it’s only been four days.”
They all stopped and stared.
“What?” he barked.
“It’s been five days,” Gavin said.
His lungs vacated oxygen. Five days? He’d lost an entire day? How the fuck had that happened? Shit. Had Liv tried to call him? When was the last time he’d even checked?
“Where’s my phone?” he breathed.
Gavin shrugged. Mack turned and ran back upstairs. He ripped blankets off the bed, threw pillows over his shoulder. Nothing. Where was it? He dropped to the floor and looked under the bed. There. He grabbed it and turned it over. Tried to turn it on. Swore a blue streak when he realized it was dead. He grabbed his charger and ran back downstairs.
Malcolm was pulling something out of the microwave when he returned to the kitchen. The smell of whatever it was sparked a vicious growl in Mack’s empty stomach, but he barely glanced at it as he plugged in his phone. His thumbs tapped a nervous beat on the counter as he waited for the white screen of life to appear.