It took more than a second to blink. He wasn’t sure if the men sitting at the table were really there.

“You need a goddamn shower.”

“Christ, we should’ve done this a week ago.”

Winters, Roman, and Rocco sat around his kitchen table, burgers in hands, and stared at him. The aroma of fast food made his mouth water and stomach turn simultaneously.

Brock had worked by their sides for years, and he’d abandoned them. Put their lives in danger. He’d done the worst thing a leader could do, and that was lie and lead them astray.

Why were they there?

They were Titan. He was a piece of shit, unworthy to be in the same room.

Winters kicked a chair out toward him. The loud scratching across the floor reverberated in his ears. “Sit your ass down. Before you fall and split your head.”

He didn’t want to. He wanted to escape from the glares and coming accusations, but Winters was right. Brock faltered forward, using the chair before he hit the floor. He tried to clear his throat, but it was too dry and abused from days of drinking and dying. “Whatever you want, get it over with.”

If they were there to kill him, it’d be welcome. So why hadn’t they? His blurry brain didn’t care. He just wanted them out, because he had a date with a half-empty bottle of something amber-colored that sat on the counter.

Winters slapped the table. “Brock?”

“Yeah?” Brock’s eyes strayed from the men to the bottle, and his mouth watered.

Roman crossed his arms and looked at Rocco. Winters ignored them all and finished his burger.

Rocco probably had Brock’s job now. He’d be a natural team leader. Smart. Respected. It’d be a good fit. Titan and Rocco deserved each other. Loyal. Trustworthy. Unstoppable. Damn it, I need a drink.

Rocco cleared his throat. “You trying to kill yourself?”

“Yup.” Why bother with a lie?

“You’re doing a good job of it.”

His head tilted to the side, and not because he wanted to move. It was more of a list, a weight too heavy to hold up. “Not really.”

Winters crumbled the wrapper and licked his thumb. “We’re not going to let you do that, fucker.”

Absurd. It took a lot of energy, but Brock laughed. It came out in a garbled, scratchy cough. “Yeah, all right. Don’t let me die.”

Rocco shook his head. “Eat. Shower. This is your intervention, or whatever it’s called.”

“Whether you like it or not,” Roman leaned forward on the table, “we’ve been a team for years, and screwing up isn’t a death sentence.”

Yeah, it was, actually. “It is when you’ve done what I’ve done.”

“We all know what you did.” Roman’s intense stare burned into him. “Shit got harsh, Brock. You made a wrong decision.”

“I crossed the line.”