The Good Boys Club (Mythical Mishaps #2)

39. A Howl Lot of Trouble

A Howl Lot of Trouble

Twenty Minutes Earlier

Cian

I’d been an idiot. I’d spent the last decade and a half of my life completely blinded to everything because I was obsessed with another idiot.

I did my master’s at RU because it meant living with him for two years longer.

I stayed in Remy, took a job at a shitty tech start-up because he wanted to study for a doctorate.

I stayed at that shitty tech job until I’d exhausted every last ounce of joy from it because he was nearby.

I never entered into a real relationship. Always held myself back on the off chance he fancied experimenting more. On the snowball’s chance in hell he might want me the same way I wanted him . . . that he could ever see me as more than a friend.

I never allowed myself to fall in love with anyone else. Never gave anyone else a proper shot.

I let this boy—this tall, unscrupulously handsome, funny, carefree, sunshine boy—shape everything in my life. With his dimples, and his perfect smile, and his never-ending supply of compliments and cuddles.

His love language was touching, and until him, I’d been touch starved.

I haven’t been able to move on with anything in my life because I made him everything.

Mash hadn’t held me back. Mash hadn’t blocked me from moving out of Remy, or applying for my dream job. He’d never stopped me from falling for anyone else. I did all those things.

I’d made him the sun and the moon and the very air I breathed. I’d made him everything to me.

Every fucking thing.

I was a shadow, and he was the sunshine.

I made it so I couldn’t function without him.

I’d been such an idiot.

The coffee at Pack Bean was good, though.

I swirled the cup in my hand and knocked back the dregs, tipped the werewolf barista—he was cute but very sleepy for someone who worked at a caffeine dispensary—and headed to my car.

It was time.

Time to . . . move on.

Mash made it very clear last night what his intentions had been. He knew what he was saying. Just because he wouldn’t remember any of it today, didn’t mean he wasn’t in control of his actions. Shifting wasn’t exactly the same as being drunk. I needed to stop making excuses for him.

Like everyone, Mash simply wanted me to not be me. Embody someone else, for someone else. Pretending, always pretending.

Did he really expect me to say yes to every single one of his harebrained ideas? To pretend to be a werewolf for all eternity? Pretend to be his mate so his family wouldn’t harass him? Obviously, only until a more suitable person came along. What was I supposed to do then? Still pretend to be his mate while he was courting them? While he was off fucking whoever he was fucking?

Why did I do this to myself?

I couldn’t any more . . . I can’t . . .

I sat in my car and gave myself five seconds to tilt my head backwards against the leather headrest and close my eyes.

If Dylan West wouldn’t give me a job at Byte Tech, I would hit up every tech company in Remy and Bordalis with my CV.

Hell, I’d even extend that to all major cities. St. Clouds? Sure, I could work in the casinos. Pannor in the Human Realms? Why not? I was human passing if I wanted to be. City of the Undead? . . . Actually, that might be where I drew the line. Too many vampires.

The email I sent Dylan the second I clocked the coffee shop’s Wi-Fi sign may have been a little rash—a little desperate—but fuck it, what did I have to lose?

It was time for me to try new things.

Time to pull myself the fuck together.

I programmed my apartment’s postcode into my car’s navigation system, and because Mash wasn’t here to complain about it, I Bluetoothed my most miserable, most angsty, most “whiny sad-boi hipster drivel” playlist through the speakers.

Four hundred miles in a straight line until the country border.

Very quickly, the storefronts and houses of Lykos gave way to forests, forests, and more forests. Trees tunnelled over the road, blocking out the early sun, making it feel so much later than it was. I regretted not stocking up on snacks and drinks before leaving, but almost none of the shops had been open this morning. Probably because of the full-moon shift last night. Hopefully the little wagons Mash and I passed on our journey here would be serving food. Not that I was hungry. I could never eat when stressed. Mash on the other hand . . .

I needed to stop thinking about Mash.

But I missed him.

No, I didn’t. I only thought I missed him. I was out of my comfort zone, that was all. It was too easy to confuse those things. The absence of comfort didn’t mean I was making a mistake. It just meant . . I was widening my horizons. Right? Eventually, my comfort zone would expand to something beyond Mash.

Shit, I should have left him a note. I owed him that much. I ran without saying goodbye, though. What the fuck had I been thinking?

“There’s no way you’d’ve been able to say goodbye face to face.”

I had to speak the words out loud. Needed them imprinted—tattooed—on my brain.

“Mash wouldn’t have let you leave. He just fucking wouldn’t. He would have thrown you over his shoulder and pinned you to the fridge and told you you’re not going anywhere.”

Like that one time in uni when I’d mentioned applying for jobs in Bordalis.

“No, my darling,” he’d said, lifting me off the ground, holding me up with only his pelvis. “You can never leave me. And I will never leave you. That is both a promise and a threat. Mostly a threat.”

And I’d laughed, and went along with everything he’d ever said or suggested because I was so far gone for the man. He could have told me to light myself on fire and I would have.

Fuck, I missed him.

“No, Cian, you need to get out.”

I should at the very least send him a text message. The dash clock read nine oh two. He’d be waking up soon—if he wasn’t already awake and wondering where I went. Shit.

The lay-by I pulled the car into was so shrouded in foliage it activated the automatic headlamps of my car. It felt like midnight. I cut the engine and fired a text to Mash.

Me:

I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye. I couldn’t do it in person. I love you too much. I want too much. More than you can ever give me, and it’s not fair on either of us any more.

I deleted it. Retyped.

Me:

I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye. It’s not a decision I’ve made lightly. I’ve spent fifteen years pretending not to be so in love with you I barely remember my own name, and I can’t go on any longer. I’m doing this for myself. For my growth. I hope you’ll understand.

Deleted.

Me:

I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye. Mash, you are everything to me, but we want different things. You want a fuck buddy, and I want to crawl inside your skin until we are one being. You want me to be your fake mate to keep your family off your case, and I want to burn Lykos to the ground, imprison you in the charred remains of the clock tower, and feed you sliders and baklava until you love me back. Haha, jk. Not, though. Not kidding. I love you so fucking much. I am so terrified. I don’t know how to live without you by my side.

Deleted.

Me:

I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye. I’ll miss you so much, but I need some space to think about my life.

Sent.

I didn’t have any service out here in the middle of fuck knows where, and Mash’s signal at Howling Pines was patchy at best, so it would no doubt be a while before he read it.

I let out my breath and butted my forehead against the steering wheel. My stomach churned restlessly. I stilled.

Actually . . .

Me:

I can’t do this. I love you, Mash, and I need to know. Before I go, I need to find out for definite if there’s any chance you could ever love me the way I love you. Which, by the way, is fucking loads. Don’t go anywhere, I’m coming back to Howling Pines.

Sent.

“Okay, Ci, time to face the sad-boi hipster music.”

I’d spent so long concerned with who everyone else wanted me to embody, I’d overlooked how much I was pretending. I never let myself live honestly, always too afraid to admit the truth.

Even if Mash didn’t want what I wanted, I could finally stop hiding behind my fear. I was going to tell him everything.

I turned the key. The dash lit up, and the engine emitted the most pathetic wheezing noise I’d ever heard it make. It sputtered out again.

“What the hell?”

It did the same on the second try.

The third try, it didn’t even bother whining or lighting up, just pffted at me.

“Petrol!” I hadn’t refuelled the car since we arrived here eight weeks ago. Ferrying us back and forth to Clem’s had obviously used more gas than I’d first calculated.

Okay, think. Taking my average driving speed into account, and the time I’d been on the road, I reckoned I was about twenty miles out of Lykos, and about twenty-six miles from Howling Pines. If I remembered correctly, there was a petrol station, maybe five to ten miles south. The sensible thing would be to walk to the garage and buy a jerry can, but how long would that take? I needed to get back to Howling Pines . . . back to Mash.

I wanted to be there when he showed up at the marquee. To apologise for not being beside him when he woke. To explain everything. Help him wash the forest from his tired body. Feed him. Feed all his family.

I already missed being in Clem’s kitchen.

One quick glance around my surroundings told me I was completely alone. I removed my boots and placed them in the footwell of the passenger side, and tucked my socks inside them. The cold asphalt bit into the bare soles of my feet. Next to go was my jumper—I folded it up on the seat—then my trousers. Another look around and off came my pants, my watch, my glasses. At the last minute, I remembered my beanie. I slipped my phone and wallet into the folds of my clothes so passersby wouldn’t have easy pickings. I locked the car, found a rock nearby and hid my car key underneath it.

Under the rock by the oak tree. Under the rock by the oak tree, I said in my head.

And then I shifted.