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And then he stepped away, looking down at her pretty face one last time before hurrying down the stairs. He didn't look back because he knew he'd lose it. He just kept going, putting one foot in front of the other until he was behind the wheel of his SUV.
If it had been that hard to walk away just now, how was he supposed to move forward without her?
God, he was so fucked up.
28
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Eli struggled to sit up from his spot on the couch. He rubbed the grit from his eyes and swung his legs over the side. What the fuck was that hammering?
Bang. Bang. Bang.
His phone, abandoned on the floor, lit up with a text message from Ryder.
Eli, open this door before I call the cops and have them break it down. I know you read my other texts. Open. The. Fucking. Door.
Shit. He glanced around the messy room, then down at his wrinkled, crusty t-shirt. How many days had he worn the same clothes? He didn't even know what day it was.
Trudging to the front door, he flicked the deadbolt and yanked it open.
Ryder stood in the hall, along with Shaw and Brandon.
"Jesus Christ." Ryder gaped at him, and his sandy-colored brows shot up in the air. "Eli... what the hell is going on?"
"I was sleeping."
He stared at them as he scratched his scraggly beard. They were all clean-shaven, with no lingering traces of their playoff beards. He hadn't gotten around to shaving his off yet.
He hadn't gotten around to a lot of things lately.
"Were you sleeping in a dumpster?" Brandon asked, brushing his shaggy dark hair out of his face. He gestured at the stains on Eli's shirt. Wrinkling his nose, he took a step back. "Fuck dude, have you even showered in the past few weeks? Goddamn. You reek."
"If all you're going to do is bitch at me, then you all can fucking leave," Eli snapped, abandoning his post at the door and walking toward the kitchen. "I don't need this shit."
The three men followed Eli toward the kitchen and stopped short.
"Oh my God." Shaw stared in horror at the piles of boxes, unwashed dishes, empty beer cans, and open snack bags. "D, this is..."
"A fucking travesty," Ryder finished. "You've avoided us for three weeks, Eli. And it looks like there's about three weeks of pizza crusts and half-eaten sandwiches in here. When was the last time you showered?"
"I don't know." He grabbed a beer from the fridge. "Don't remember. What is this, some kind of cleanliness intervention? I'll take one when I take one."
Shaw crossed his arms. "Maybe it is. You've ignored all of my texts. You're ignoring everything and everyone. We're here because we're worried about you, D."
"I'm fine."
Brandon held his arms out at his sides. "How the fuck is living in this dumpster fire fine? It stinks in here, Eli! There's rotting food on your counter and moldy dishes everywhere. And you smell worse than all of it. Talk to us. We're your friends. We want to help you."
"You can't help me," he muttered through gritted teeth.
"We can sure as hell try," Ryder said. "This isn't healthy, buddy."
"You've had a lot going on lately," Brandon told him. "Your mom being ill, all this stuff with your family, and now Holly being pregnant. It's a lot to deal with, even when you have good stuff like the Cup win."
"Have you talked to Holly?" Shaw asked.
"Just drop it, okay? I don't want to talk about any of this shit." He looked down at the floor. "Just leave me alone."
