“That’s brutal,” Liam says quietly.
“Yeah.” I swallow, my throat tight. “I grew up thinking finding your scent match was it, you know? Endgame. Turns out fate made some sort of clerical error.”
No one jokes this time.
“So, yeah," I shift on the cushion. "No one back home is freaking out about me. Mia knows I’m here and is totally freaking out, but… romantically speaking, it’s just me… "But what about you three? Nobody wondering why you've been off the grid for three days?"
“Nope,” Felix says. “That kind of thing hasn't happened since our scent match.”
The room goes very still and I blink. “Your… what?”
“Our scent match,” Liam says, exhaling like he’s forcing the words out.
“The ex we just told you about,” Silas adds. The words sound like they scrape on the way up.
The air feels dense.
Their ex was also their scent match? Waw…
“She got a job offer in London,” Felix says, staring at his hands. “Big deal. Packed a bag, kissed us goodbye, said she needed to ‘re-evaluate her life trajectory’—her words—and got on a plane.”
My heart twists. “She just… left?”
“She said…” Silas starts. His jaw works. He looks down at the floor like he’s reading from it. “She said we weren’t…”
His voice drops off.
“Making her happy anymore,” Liam finishes, barely above a whisper. “So she was going to find whatever did.”
Felix lets out a laugh that isn’t really a laugh. “Right before Christmas too. Great timing."
He’s smiling, but it sits wrong on his face.
I exhale slowly. “Is that why you…? The game date?”
Silas nods. “Yeah.”
“And I just barged in here demanding you play on that exact day like some kind of… corporate wrecking ball.” I wince. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“It's fine, it's probably our fault,” Felix says. “We've been too busy shoving our heads in the sand to tell anyone.”
“Which is clearly the hallmark of emotional maturity,” Liam says dryly.
A weak laugh escapes me.
Felix blows out a breath and straightens a little, like he’s physically resetting the mood. “But hey, look at us,” he says. “Four people stuck in a blizzard, drinking overpriced whiskey, all dumped by our supposed scent matches. What are the odds.”
“Universe has a weird sense of humor,” I say. “Zero out of ten. Would not recommend the service.”
“Maybe we should start a support group,” Liam muses, his mouth twitching. “Very exclusive membership.”
“‘Abandoned by Scent Matches Anonymous,’” I suggest.
“ABSMA,” he says. “That acronym is hideous.”
“Fitting,” Felix says flatly.
The quiet that follows is heavy but… shared.
