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Trying to ignore the ache spreading through her chest, she rolled off him and scuttled to the edge of the bed.

"Hey. Where do you think you're going?"

"Home," she said, clearing her throat when her response sounded like a mouse on helium. "I need to start packing."

The bed shifted and she stood, not wanting him to reach for her, touch her, not now. She couldn't bear it.

"What's wrong?" The warmth had leeched from his voice, replaced by the circumspection he'd sported when they'd first met.

She didn't blame him. He had every right to be mistrustful of her, considering she was about to drive a stake through his heart.

Quickly re-dressing, she inhaled a deep breath and turned to face him. Bad move. The ache in her chest turned into a sharp, stabbing pain as she saw his big brown eyes filled with solemnity, his dark rumpled curls, his tanned torso, highlighted by the crisp whiteness of his sheets. He looked oddly vulnerable, half tucked in bed, and she belatedly wished she'd waited until they were both dressed to do this.

"I've been offered an amazing job in London."

"Congratulations." He sat up straighter and the damn sheet covering his lower half slipped. "What are you going to do?"

"I've accepted it and leave in three days." A small white lie but she needed to end this here and now. Now that they'd declared their feelings, no point in dragging this out. Better to end this relationship now before she hurt him any more.

"But…I mean, I knew this was coming…what about us…" He shook his head, confusion contorting his brow. "So that's it? We don't talk about what this new job means for us? We end this before it's really begun?"

Tears burned the back of her eyes as she nodded. "We both knew going into this it had a limited time frame. I’m over Vegas. Time to move on."

His lips compressed in a thin, stubborn line, his glare mutinous. "But that was before…fuck, we just said we loved each other."

Ashlin couldn't take this anymore. She couldn't hash this out. She'd tried once before to convince a guy what was best for both of them. It hadn't worked back then and she couldn't bear to go through it again. It would kill her.

So she reached for the most hurtful, hateful lie she could think of to end things with Wyatt once and for all.

"A woman will say anything for her first orgasm in years." She forced a smirk, while something inside her broke. "This has been fun while it lasted, so thanks."

She made a run for the door, his angry, incredulous ‘what the fuck' doing little to eradicate her final memory of Wyatt: the desolation twisting his face into an expression akin to grief.

She'd done that to him.

And she'd never forgive herself for it.

Wyatt slouched on the couch in his hotel room, wearing two-day-old running shorts and surrounded by empty mini-bar bottles. He'd already called room service twice tonight to replenish supplies but they'd ignored his third call so maybe he'd been cut off. Fuck them. He'd get dressed and go out to continue drinking himself into oblivion.

But as he sat forward and his head moved, the memories crashed over him anew and he sank back with a groan.

He'd survived the last ten days by focusing on work all day and drinking all night. He'd had minimal interaction with anyone, citing off-site testing, to avoid going to Burlesque Bombshells the first few days when there'd been a chance of running into Ashlin.

Ashlin.

Fuck, she'd ripped out his heart, trampled it and tossed it away.

How the hell had he got it so wrong?

He'd put himself out there for the first time ever. Had let himself fall for her. Had fucking
told
her.

And she'd left without a backward glance.

He was such a chump. All she'd wanted was to get off and once he'd done that for her, she'd bolted. To the other side of the world.

He pressed his fingertips into his temples, knowing it would do little to stave off the blinder of a headache threatening to squeeze his skull. It wasn't the alcohol as much as thoughts of Ashlin and how meaningless she'd considered their relationship that caused it.

A knock sounded at the door. He ignored it for a moment, until he realized it could be Room Service taking pity on him and ready to replenish the minibar.

He padded across the room, not caring that he staggered a little. The faster he reached oblivion tonight the better. However, when he opened the door, it wasn't a hotel employee that greeted him.

Glaring at his brothers, he growled. "Who the fuck are you, the three musketeers?"

Zane grinned, Steele frowned and Kurt pushed his way into the room. "Get dressed, bozo."

"What the hell for?"

"Because I don't want to have to kick your sorry ass in those stinking shorts." Kurt shoved him toward the bathroom. "Go shower. Dress. And get back here in five minutes."

"Bully," Wyatt muttered, eyeballing Zane and Steele. "What are you all doing here?"

"Consider this an intervention," Steele said, his resolute tone brooking no argument. "We're done watching you wallow and we're not leaving here without you."

Zane nodded. "It's what brothers do. Stick together in the tough times."

Wyatt made a run for the bathroom, before the tears stinging his eyes spilled over and he made an ass of himself.

Kurt had never stood by him for anything, but he'd taken time out of his busy schedule to fly here, probably on the urging of his Aussie half-siblings, and it spoke volumes.

As for Zane and Steele, the fact they cared enough about him to be here now meant more than they'd ever know.

He may be a sorry-ass in love but he'd sure lucked in with his siblings.

A shower and a shave helped him sober up and a few minutes later he sauntered out of the bathroom to find his suite cleared of empty bottles and three pairs of accusing eyes.

Sheepish, he chose a seat opposite his brothers. If he had to face an inquisition, best to get it over with. "Before you say anything, I'm fine and while I appreciate the visit—"

"Shut the hell up," Kurt said, folding his arms. "We're here to help."

"I don't need your help—"

To Wyatt's surprise, Kurt seemed to deflate before his eyes, his big, broad shoulders slumping. "I know I've been a lousy brother. But seeing how close these two are" —he jerked a thumb in Zane and Steele's direction— "and how much they care about you in a short space of time, makes me feel like a real shit." He fidgeted with his shirt cuffs, oddly defenseless in a way Wyatt had never seen. "I'm sorry for being a self-absorbed prick all these years. I'll try to do better."

Wyatt blinked. Squeezed his eyes shut and opened them. "Who are you and what the hell have you done with my brother?"

Kurt's rueful smile made Wyatt want to hug him. "Blame these two bozos. They must breed them super soft down under."

"Fuck you," Steele said, no spite in his comeback.

"Is it too soon for a group hug?" Zane said and they all chuckled.

Wyatt wished the ache in his chest would ease. "Seriously, guys, I appreciate you checking in on me but I'm doing okay—"

"Bullshit," Steele said, taking over from Kurt. More surprising, Kurt let him, which convinced Wyatt his brother was serious about turning over a new leaf. "You're either holed up at Bombshells working or hiding out here, drinking yourself into a stupor if the number of bottles we cleared away were any indication."

Steele crossed his arms, his body language so much like Kurt that the pain in Wyatt's chest amplified. "What's going on? Is this about the redhead?"

Wyatt didn't want to talk about Ashlin. He didn't want to divulge to his three super stud brothers that he was a grade A loser with women. So he lied.

"Ashlin and I agreed on a short term fling, so that’s that. But a major freelance job fell through so I've potentially lost a shitload of money."

His brothers frowned collectively.

"Are you in financial strife?" Kurt sat forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. "Because I can help you out, just say the word."

Feeling a heel for lying, Wyatt shook his head. "Thanks, but I'm good. Just shook my confidence, you know?"

"Yeah, I know." Kurt winced and pointed at his right knee. "Been having a bit of trouble with this and the docs are talking surgery, so I'm not feeling as invincible as usual."

Wyatt gaped. Kurt admitting any weakness was like discovering an un-hackable computer: completely mind-blowing.

"Snap," Zane said. "When my knee blew and I had a reconstruction, took me ages to heal up here." He tapped his head. "But it was a blessing in disguise, considering it made me re-evaluate a lot of shit and I ended up here." He grinned, and Wyatt envied his half-sibling's eternal optimism. "Come on, guys, you know you want that group hug real bad."

"You're an idiot," Steele said, mock-wrestling Zane until he yelled 'truce’.

Kurt cleared his throat and glanced away. Wyatt knew the feeling. Seeing Zane and Steele's closeness made his throat tighten too, but considering Kurt cared enough to be here meant there was hope for them too.

After a quick swipe at his eyes, Kurt stood. "Come on, bozos, enough of the mushy shit. Let's hit that cocktail party."

"What cocktail party…" Realization dawned. Tonight was the monthly party Chantal threw for her employees at Burlesque Bombshells. Which meant it had been four weeks since Ashlin had bowled up to him at that party and turned his world upside down.

No way in hell did he need to stroll down that particular memory lane.

Zane stood. "We're not leaving here without you."

Steele nodded, standing between Zane and Kurt to form an intimidating line. "So you do this the easy way and come with us, or we drag you with us anyway."

"You're all frigging bullies," Wyatt muttered. "I'm not a party guy—"

"Stay an hour. For us?" Zane's pleading expression could've convinced a nun to dance burlesque.

"You're pathetic," Wyatt said, but he knew he was beaten. "One hour tops, okay?"

"Done." Kurt slapped him on the back. "Come on, bro. Let's go bond some more."

For once, Wyatt didn't have a smart-ass comeback for his brother.

"You all packed?" Miranda lounged on the sole chair in Ashlin's bedroom, totally rocking a strapless red satin sheath that ended above her knees.

"Yeah." Ashlin zipped her last suitcase and plopped on the bed beside it. "Thanks for the help, by the way. Not."

Miranda laughed and gestured at her outfit. "Couldn't risk a zip snagging this." She held her hands at length, studying her nails. "Or ruining this manicure."

Ashlin stared at Miranda's crimson nails. "Since when do you get your nails painted anything other than clear?"

"Since I need to make a point." Miranda stood and cocked a hip. "I have to make that supercilious idiot weep at the cocktail party tonight."

Ashlin snickered. "You've still got a thing for Steele?"

"I don't have anything but a distinct dislike for that jerk," Miranda said, making a mockery of her statement when she blushed. "He rubs me up the wrong way."

"Don't forget he's transient and it may not be worth starting up if you really like him," Ashlin said, wishing she'd had the wisdom to take her own advice.

Miranda nudged a suitcase aside and sat next to her. "Is that why you ended things with Wyatt? Because you're moving to London?"

Ashlin’s heart ached as it always did when she thought of Wyatt; too often. "It's more complicated than that."

"Life's complicated, honey.” Miranda studied her, tiny worry lines between her immaculately waxed brows. “If he's worth it, you work it out."

Wyatt was so worth it but Ashlin wasn't, that was the problem.

"Look, you've had me feed you Intel all week so you wouldn't run into him at Bombshells, so it must be pretty intense between you two if you wanted to avoid him that bad." Miranda patted her knee. "Whatever it is, I've never seen you back down from a challenge, so why don't you give it a go? Long distance can work."

"The distance isn't the problem." It's what she'd done the last time she'd been in London that ensured she could never be with Wyatt beyond short-term. "I've done some stuff in my past."

Miranda squeezed her knee and let go. "We all have."

"Yeah? What's the perfect Italian girl done in her past that's so bad?" Considering Miranda’s clean living, hippy lifestyle, Ashlin couldn't imagine her doing anything worse than littering. "Served up store-bought pasta rather than homemade? Missed Mass two Sundays in a row?" Ashlin covered her mouth in mock horror. "Maybe slept with a boy so you're not a virgin on your wedding night?"

She'd expected Miranda to laugh. She hadn't expected her eyes to fill with tears.

"Shit, sweetie, I'm sorry. I was joking." Ashlin hugged her friend. "You okay?"

Miranda sniffled then nodded. "Everyone's got a past. Trust me on that. So whatever you did, whatever you can't forget, get a grip on it and move on."

Ashlin wished she could. But not living up to Dougal's expectations had ruined her for years. Not living up to Wyatt's expectations would destroy her completely.

"Running from the past doesn't change anything." Miranda gripped her shoulders and gave her a little shake. "I made a stand and here I am today. When are you going to make your stand and confront whatever's putting that haunted look in your eyes?"

Haunted?
Was it that obvious?

Miranda's grip tightened. "Honey, Chantal and I know something's been bugging you for as long as we've known you. But we've never pushed because we love you. And like I said, we've all got baggage. Hell, I've got a full airport's worth." Miranda pulled her in for a quick hug before releasing her. "But if it affects you to the point you look perpetually sad? You've got to do something about it." Miranda pressed a hand to her heart. "Trust me, I know. Boy, do I know."

Ashlin quelled her curiosity. She had no right to ask about Miranda's past when she had no intention of divulging her own.