Page 65 of The Love Destroyers

I almost remind Ellie that she definitely, one hundred percent does not need a man in her videos. Most of her viewers are probably men, and most of her most-viewed videos are of her doing mundane shit by herself. But I have a feeling her objection runs deeper. She wants to make herself look good. I get it. Hell,I’ve been there. Maybe I’d be more sympathetic if she didn’t seem so self-involved.

“I can talk to you from off-camera,” I suggest. “I talk a good game.”

She lifts the phone up, and for a second, I think she’s going to ignore my objection and snap a photo of me. I guess I’d have to let her unless I want to punt the bunny and grab the phone—a maneuver that would surely get me ejected from both this house and Operation Love Destroyers. But instead she dials a number and lifts the phone to her ear.

“Dan.” she says as she starts stalking in the other room. “We have aproblem…”

Dan being the name she knows Damien by.

Her voice trails away, and I shake my head at the little rabbit. “Well, that didn’t take long, did it?”

Ellie emergesin a silver shift dress half an hour later and informs me that “Dan” came up with aningenioussolution. I’m going to wear a mask on camera, and it’s going to be a whole bit for her fans—Ellie and her mystery masked date. Who is he? Why is he wearing the mask? Why the fuck are we watching this?

“People will be all over it,” she says with a grin. “This is going to be so lit. I mean…how much hotter is it to go on vacation with a masked man than some boring suit daddy? You’re okay with flirting with me, aren’t you?”

“Enchanted.”

Her goal, of course, is to make Jeffrey jealous.

I could give a shit about that, but hopefully his jealousy will draw him into Nicole’s web. It may not be useful to us if only Ellie shows up at the Grove Park Inn.

So I smile and nod—even though I know my brother would tell me to get the fuck out of here, pronto. Playing the driver is one thing, putting my face in vicinity of her camera is another one, given her social media reach. But I’m not going to back down now.

We hustle out to the car, but the two-hour trip to the Grove Park Inn is anything but quick. The first time we stop, it’s to purchase a mask. Ellie spendsan hourconsidering various alternatives, from horror movie staples to ex-presidents, before I convince her to go with a simple ski mask so I can eat and drink on camera. The next time we stop it’s because Carrot has decided to prove he is not a stuffed animal by pooping on me. It triggers my vomit reflex—and I sit by the side of the road dry-heaving for a few minutes after changing my shirt, watched by Ellie, Nicole, Carrot, and probably hundreds of people in passing cars. Thank Christ I brought a few changes of clothes.

The third stop is for Cracker Barrel, which is just “precious,” followed by two scenic overlooks that are “on the way” yet somehow add half an hour each, and we have to make a sixth stop because Nicole downed five energy drinks and needs to pee so badly she pulls over on the side of the road and hikes down an embankment. By the time we finally arrive at the valet parking stand at The Grove Park Inn, an enormous hotel that resembles a gingerbread house, my head is pounding and I regret being born.

What might have been mildly amusing if I didn’t have an injury has become excruciating.

Ellie releases a high-pitched squeal that punctures my eardrums as a man approaches up with a rolling cart for the bags. “Ooooh, it’ssoooocute.”

Nicole glances at me in the rearview mirror, her eyes lit with humor.

“Let’s get you checked in,” I say. I put the bunny in his wire cage, much smaller than the habitat at Ellie’s house, then get her three huge-ass bags situated on the cart, leaving my duffel inside the trunk.

Ten minutes later, I’m leaving with the bunny.

No matter how docile or drugged, Carrot is not welcome. Only service animals are permitted.

Ellie went full Karen on the staff. She pleaded, she cried, she called her therapist and asked him to testify that Carrot was medically necessary for her. But he refused, and she fired him on the spot.

Truthfully, I feel there was a chance they’d have accepted Carrot as a guest if she hadn’t insisted that I livestream the whole thing on her phone. No one wants to bend the rules on camera.

In the end, I felt I had no choice but to offer to find separate accommodations for the rabbit. I figured Ellie would object, but by then, she was content to let Carrot become my problem.

She kissed him thirty times—while he emoted as much as a furry potato—told him Mommy would miss him, and took off to freshen up so we can get to Buchanan Brewery by seven. Which is less than an hour and a half away given how much time it took us to get here.

So now I’m standing in the hotel garage. Nicole said she’d meet me here to pick up the rabbit, who we’re going to pawn off on Chuck. I don’t want to spoil his dinner date with Mrs. Rosings, especially since he spent at least two hours at the grocery store agonizing over which special ingredients to buy for their crème brûlée-fest, but Carrot can be left at the apartment without supervision. This bunny has as much personality as a hot water bottle wrapped in a scarf.

I lift the fluffy rabbit, who watches me docilely and without interest. His eyes blink lazily, so at least he’s conscious.

“You’re still stoned as fuck, aren’t you?” I ask him.

“So you’re talking to animals now?”

I look over and see Mr. Nicole—Damien—emerge from behind one of the big cement pillars with my duffel bag. He looks completely relaxed, like maybe he spent the day at the spa with Emma. Or perhaps this is just what people look like when they haven’t spent the entire afternoon in the car with a motion-sick bunny and a self-involved woman.

I glance around, but no one else is near us, just a sea of cars—some stupidly expensive, some cheap, but none truly extraordinary. Most are utilitarian and black, grey, or white—the kind of car purchased by someone who wants to get around, not someone who enjoys the thrill of the journey. “What are you doing here, man?”

---