“We’re here to save you,” Gavin said, “but I think we’re going to need gas masks.”

“Fuck off.”

Gavin held his hand over his nose and mouth. “Seriously, Mack. It smells like 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.

“Come sit down and eat,” Malcolm said, walking behind him with a plate.

Mack ignored him as he hit the power button again, but he got the same empty-battery image.

“I’m not going to tell you again,” Malcolm said.

Mack’s stomach growled again, so he gave in. He sat in a chair along the island, and Malcolm set the plate and a bottle of water in front of him.

Mack leaned forward and stared at his plate. “What is this?”

“Chicken pot pie.”

“You found that in my freezer?”

“No, I brought it.”

Mack lifted an eyebrow. “Why?”

“You’re seriously going to complain about the food I brought? You’ve been living on bourbon and Cheez-Its for a week.”

“Whiskey. Not bourbon.”

“Same fucking thing.”

“It’s not, actually,” Gavin said. “All bourbon is whiskey, but not all whiskey is bourbon.”

“Christ,” Malcolm muttered, tugging on his beard. He pointed at Mack’s plate. “My mom used to make me those when I was sick. I thought you could use some comfort food.”

Mack tested a couple of bites. His taste buds rejoiced, but his stomach rebelled at the presence of real food. The pot pie turned to rock as soon as it hit his gut. He guzzled the water instead.

Across from him, the guys stood in a straight line, watching expectantly. “I’m alive,” he muttered. “You can go now.”

Del snorted as if to say, yeah, right. “You think we’d leave you alone right now?”

“I want to be alone.”

“No, you don’t,” Gavin said.

“Yes, I do.”

“Tough,” Malcolm said. “Friends don’t leave friends alone.”

The Russian pointed at the pot pie. “Is there cheese in that?”

Mack shoved the plate across the counter at him. The Russian picked it up and started eating the pot pie with his hand like a sandwich.

Gavin gaped at him. “Dude, how can you be hungry? We stopped at a fucking drive-through on the way here.”

“That was breakfast,” the Russian mumbled with his mouth full. “This is lunch.”

Malcolm pulled out the chair next to Mack’s and sat down. “Tell us what happened.”

“You know what happened.”

“We only know what happened before you left the chamber gala, not after,” Del said.

“And you expect me to believe that he”—Mack nodded at Gavin—“hasn’t filled you in on the rest?”

“Thea told me about your father.” He paused before adding, “I haven’t seen Liv. She’s kind of hiding out like you and avoiding everyone.”

Mack clenched his hands into fists to ward off the sudden urge to drop his forehead to the counter and cry. If Liv’s quiet anger had been painful, Gavin’s quiet sympathy was torture. Part of him wished Gavin would hurt him. Hit him. Scream at him.

“Come on, man,” Del said quietly. “You know how this works. If you don’t tell us what happened, we can’t help you fix it.”

“There’s nothing to fix. It’s over.”

“Spoken like a true romance hero when all seems lost,” Malcolm said.

Mack groaned. “I don’t want to talk about stupid book shit anymore.”

Then guys exchanged a collective eye roll. “Mack,” Malcolm sighed. “You know full well what this is. It’s the low point of your story. You can’t give up.”

“Are you listening to me? This isn’t a story. It’s my real fucking life, and it sucks. She said it’s over, and that’s all there is.”

“Which is basically what every romance heroine says when the hero fucks up,” Del pointed out. “But that’s not the end. Come on, man. You know all this.”

“All I know is that Liv was right all along.” His chest caved in just from saying her name out loud. “I’ve read too many romance novels, and all it got me is a broken fucking heart.”

“Those romance novels have saved all our marriages, man,” Del said. “You did that for us. You kept us going, kept us reading and hanging on even when we felt exactly like you do now. You really think you can scare us off just because you’re finally experiencing the black moment?”

“The black moment?” Mack pointed to the back door. “Out. All of you.”

They ignored him. “What exactly did she say?” Malcolm prodded.

“Christ,” Mack muttered, scrubbing his hands down his face. “What does it matter? It’s over.”

“What. Happened.” Del growled, his frustration evident not only in his voice but in the tense thinness of his lips.

Mack exploded. “Just what I knew would happen! I told her everything! I poured my heart out to her, but the minute she learned the truth about me and my past, she didn’t want me anymore.” Exhaustion and resignation turned his muscles to mush. His shoulders slumped, and his hands fell uselessly into his lap. “I told her everything, and it wasn’t enough.”

Malcolm crossed his arms and adopted an intimidating stance. “So that’s it? You’re not even going to fight for her?”

“There’s nothing to fight for. She made it clear that she wants nothing to do with me.”

“Bullshit,” Del barked. “There has to be more to it than that. Liv wouldn’t send you packing over this.”