Page 110 of Arranged To Be Mine

“Jesus Christ, it smells like a distillery in here.”

Callum’s voice. I cracked one eye open to find three of my brothers standing in my living room, staring at me like I was some kind of science experiment gone wrong. Drew, Callum, and Micah.

“Go away,” I muttered, closing my eye again.

“Not happening.” Drew moved into the room. I heard him picking up empty bottles. “How long have you been like this?”

“What day is it?”

“Thursday.”

I did the math. Or tried to. The numbers kept slipping away from me. “A while.”

“That’s not an answer.” Micah appeared in my line of vision, arms crossed, looking like a disappointed parent. “When did you last eat something that wasn’t liquid?”

I thought about it. The pizza I’d ordered three days ago? Or was it four? “Recently.”

“Bullshit.” Callum grabbed the beer from my hand before I could react. “You look like death warmed over. Scratch that. Worse. What’s worse?”

“Dogshit. Cow shit.” Drew’s commentary was really unnecessary.

“Feel like it too.” I made a weak grab for the beer. He held it out of reach. “Give that back.”

“No.” He disappeared into the kitchen. I heard the fridge open and close, followed by the distinct sound of bottles being poured down the drain.

“That’s expensive whiskey,” I called out, not moving from the couch.

“Then you shouldn’t have been drowning in it.”

Drew sat down on the coffee table across from me, studying my face like he was trying to see inside my brain. “Want to tell us what happened?”

“No.”

“Too bad.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “We’re not leaving until you talk.”

“Then get comfortable. I’ve got nothing to say.”

Micah sighed and dropped into the armchair. “We already know the basics. You’ve been MIA from work. Your assistant called Mom in a panic because you’ve been canceling appointments left and right.”

“It’s definitely girl trouble,” Drew said. “Seen this before. It’s Darcy. What the hell happened?”

I flinched at her name. Couldn’t help it. Even through the haze of alcohol, hearing it hurt.

“There it is,” Callum said, returning from the kitchen with a glass of water and what looked like a sandwich. “Eat this.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I don’t care.” He shoved the plate into my hands. “Eat it anyway.”

I stared at the sandwich with leafy green lettuce and slices of tomato. Both reminded me of her and her stupid garden. My brothers weren’t going anywhere. I knew from experience they could outwait me. I took a bite. It tasted like cardboard, but I chewed and swallowed anyway.

“Now talk,” Drew said.

So I did. The words came out messy and disjointed, fueled by days of drinking and wallowing. I told them about the launch and the situation in the hotel room.

“She said she didn’t have time for this,” I finished, my voice rough. “For me. Like I was just another item on her to-do list that she couldn’t fit in.”

Callum whistled low. “That’s rough.”