“Where is Ashton?” I ask, mainly to drown my grumbling stomach with my voice.
“Eh.” He flashes me a tired smile, traces of Fun Mal appearing in his crinkled, smiling eyes. “Our fine lad took off in the middle of the night, while we were sleeping. TMC reported he got on his private jet at Dublin Airport and took off to Thailand to ride elephants.”
“You’re kidding me.” I can practically feel my eyes bulging out of their sockets.
Mal shakes his head, then coughs. It’s dry and loud and almost makes him pop a shoulder. “Ryner just called to give me the gist of it.”
“He must be freaking out.”
Mal shrugs. “That’s what you get for signing a forty-million-dollar contract with a heroin-shooting, coke-snorting, LSD-enthusiast rock star and expecting him to be holed up in Ireland for two months. Here. Look at this.”
He turns his open laptop to me and hits a TMC link. Ashton is sitting on an elephant, swinging his arms back and forth, sandwiched between a guide and a gorgeous woman who can’t be much older than eighteen.
“Elephants, motherfuckers! The biggest force of nature since dinosaurs! Woo-hoo!” he bellows.
I cover my mouth, struggling not to smile.
“Actually, you’re thinking of blue whales. They’re the biggest animals on Earth,” his assistant, the chick who gave Mal her number, mutters from beside the elephant as she walks with the rest of Ashton’s entourage.
“Yeah, but I mean, like, mammals,” Ashton huffs.
“Whales are mammals.”
Ashton lets out a piercing scream. “Well, that’s just fucking great. Get me down from this stinking asshole right now. They all look like wrinkly, purple balls, anyway.”
I click the X icon to close the video, trying not to let the two million views and counting on the sidebar freak me out.
I turn to Mal. “You look like death.”
I decide to cut him some slack about the napkin and bring it up later. He doesn’t seem eager to discuss it at the moment. My first priority is to make sure he doesn’t walk out this door anytime soon. Lightning booms outside, the rain beating down hard on the roof. The light flickers off for a second.
Again with this supernatural nonsense.
“Cheers.” He lifts his tea mug in the air, taking a sip.
I round the breakfast nook and press my palm against his forehead. He is burning.
“You’re not leaving,” I whisper.
“I’m afraid I’m not asking for permission, Rory.”
“You’re not,” I insist, wiping the sweat off his forehead. “You’ll die out there. And then I’ll be all alone here, which would suck.”
I meant it as a joke, but I forgot about Kath. It’s a foot-in-mouth moment. How did she die? Was she sick? Did you take care of her? Until I find out, I should be more careful with my words.
“You’re not alone.” He gives me a friendly peck on the forehead. “There are mice in the attic.”
“Mal,” I warn, following his gaze and looking at the car keys between us. I shake my head. “Promise me you won’t leave.”
“What did I say about promises, Rory? I only make them if I intend to keep them. What about you?” More coughs.
There is only one place he needs to be right now. In bed.
Mal was right. The living room is not a place to sleep, and it’s my fault he’s in this condition. I should’ve given in to the sleeping bag in his heated room. Yet, I insisted we not share space. Now he’s sick as a dog because he tried to please me.
I scoop up his keys, turn around, and run to Ashton’s room, locking myself inside. Mal is at my heel, and after I slam the door, he slaps his palm over it with a growl.
“Rory!”
“Get into bed!” I yell back.
“I need to go.”
“Not in this state. I don’t care who it is, Mal. You’re not going. If you want, I can call and make an excuse for you.”
I hear his forehead sliding along the wooden door as he squats down, probably too exhausted to stand. He chuckles bitterly. “I very much doubt they’d like to hear from you.”
Ouch. And there’s the jerk again.
“Who is it?” I ask, trying to sound unaffected. My voice is frayed around the edges, though, cracking mid-sentence.
“Rory, darlin’, this is not a joke.”
“You can’t leave the house, Mal, unless you’re going to urgent care—in which case I’m driving.”
There’s silence from the other end. The first minute, I’m guessing he’s contemplating my offer. The second minute, I suspect he might’ve fainted. I open the door timidly, looking left and right, but he isn’t there.
I step outside, frowning.
“Mal?”
I stride into the living room. The front door is slightly ajar. Surely, he didn’t…
The keys are in my hand, and it’s raining hail, so there’s no chance he just left. My eyes dart to the breakfast nook. The cake is gone. The little gift bag, too.