Dave’s heavy breath distorts the speakers.

“You’ll find her one day,” Dylan says.

“Who?”

“Your Riley.”

“I fucking hope so,” Dave says through a chuckle. “You gonna marry her?”

“Isn’t that the plan? I mean, at the base of any relationship, isn’t that the end goal?”

“I guess.”

“Hey,” Dylan says, shifting to his side. “You gonna come to my wedding?”

“Fuck that, Banks. I’m going to be in your wedding.”

Fifty-Eight

Dylan

Logan returns to the living room of the log cabin one of Cameron’s clients had loaned us for the night, wearing a different pair of sweats and a scowl stronger than the whiskey we’re drinking. “Fucking burned my nutsack, assholes!”

Jake holds his stomach, trying to ease the ache from laughing so hard.

“Your face was fucking priceless man,” Cam says. “And the best part…” he breaks off in a fit of laughter. When he’s calm enough, he adds, “We fucking lit it and you moaned Amanda’s name!”

“I was confused!” Logan shouts, slumping down on the couch next to me. “It was so fucking warm, just like her mouth.”

Jake shakes his head. “That’s so wrong, dude.”

I get up from my seat and walk over to the table where my bag holding my supplies is.

“How are things with Riley?” Jake asks.

I shrug. “It’s going well. A little too well.” I grab what I need and pocket it before turning around. “I fucked up pretty bad,” I say, leaning back on the table. “I made a lot of mistakes… just waiting for it to catch up to me.”

Cam shrugs. “We all make mistakes, dude. We all hurt the people we love. It makes us human.”

I sit back down in my chair. “Not as bad as I have.”

“Hello,” Cam points to Logan, “I ran away for the year under the pretense of saving lives.”

“Fuck off,” Logan says, but he’s laughing.

“And me?” Cam points to himself. “Do I need to remind you of Slut-of-a-whore-gate? I fucking drew a picture of another girl, bro. I get stabby just thinking about it… and him.” He points to Jake now, then scowls. “Fuck you, Mr. Perfect.”

“Shut up,” Jake snaps, then pauses a moment. “I got drunk and made out with a girl at a party on an away game once.”

We stare at him. “Shut the fuck up,” Logan says. We don’t believe him. Not for a second.

“I just want to fit in,” Jake whines.

“You’d cry if you so much as looked at another girl. Micky would be the one talking you off the ledge,” Cam tells him, then looks over at me. “Truth? You messed up, Dylan. You had every right to. We deal with pain differently.”

“Maybe.” I shrug.

Cam yawns, loud and long and so damn perfect. “I’m fucking fading.”

“Pussy,” Jake says.

“Fuck you! Unlike the fucking rest of you fucking assholes, I fucking have a fucking job. I’m not just fucking cruising through the summer for the fuck of it. I’ve fucking been up since fucking five.”

“Holy shit.” Jake laughs. “Swear much?”

“Sorry. I’m always at work all professional and shit…” He loosens his tie. “…or Lucy’s little brother is always at the cabin and I have to tone down the cursing and it just feels good to fucking swear sometimes.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “You want to get it all out now because—”

“Fucking shit of an asshole motherfucking whore bastard son of a toe fucking titty whore!” He releases a breath, his eyes drifting shut. “So much better. Carry on.”

Ten minutes later, he’s fallen asleep in his chair, his glass of whiskey loose in his hand on the armrest. With his mouth open and his head tilted back, he snores quietly.

I smirk.

“Oh shit,” Logan whispers.

I pull out the Ziploc bag from my pocket—the one containing a tampon that’s been soaking in ketchup and tuna brine since I left the house.

“That’s fucking disgusting,” Jake says.

“You haven’t even smelled it yet.”

As silent as possible, the three of us get up and surround him. I open the bag, suppressing my chuckle when I see the guys cringe—their reaction to the smell. So fucking perfect.

I motion for them to hold down Cam’s hand the second I drop it in his mouth and, because they know me and know me well, they both nod, ready.

I suck in a breath, hold it, then lift the tampon an inch above his mouth. Then I drop it.

“WHAFFUGGGG!” Cam screams, his eyes snapping open. He tries to move but his hands are held down and he subconsciously closes his mouth. Then gags, coughs and splutters until he spits it out. His legs are kicking wildly, trying to get me, and I can tell the boys’ grip is weakening because they’re laughing too hard. I hold my stance, my legs apart, my arms crossed. Then he looks down at what he’d just spat out. “Fuck you!” he shouts, legs kicking, arms attempting to get free. “What the fuck is that?”

Logan’s lost it so much he can’t hold him down. He drops to the floor, his hand wiping the tears from his eyes. Cam gets free, his arm raised.

I throw a hand up between us. “What’s the third rule of mayhem?” I laugh out.