Butterflies in Honey (Growing Pains #3)(109)

Krista turned on her heel and walked out of the room. Tears were streaming down her face, but she knew she was doing the right thing. Everything she said was true, and it locked into place as she said it out loud. She felt like she took the last spark of hope she was harvesting for him, plucked it out of her heart, and dropped it in the trash on her way out the door.

As she got in the car, the familiar bubble of pain was back. The Sean hurt box was wide open and throwing a party in the empty Hope room. Life truly sucked.

Krista cried harder that night than she had in a long time. Harder than she cried when she left him for L.A. She had hoped he would prove he wanted her forever this time, that he would’ve learned his lesson. Instead, they ended up in the same place.

At one point, Jasmine came into Krista’s room and crawled in bed with her. Apparently everyone was expecting this, so when she heard Krista come home in tears, she knew what probably happened.

The next day, Sean didn’t call. Krista didn’t even get an email for work-related issues. The day after, he didn’t call, either. She saw him passing in the hall by the break room and got a stiff nod as he dictated something to Janice. Sean never passed her by without a twinkle in his eye and a few casual words. Not since he first got to L.A. Actually, not ever. Not in their whole history of knowing each other.

Sean hadn’t called, but Cassie did. Once or twice a day since Sean and Krista got back together, and about three or four times in the last couple of days. Krista was the sister Cassie had always wanted, and she was cashing in, both with general chatter and with a support network. She and Krista got along better than great, and they were constantly in communication about events, big and small. As this event was huge, Cassie weighed in via voicemail (Krista generally didn’t answer her phone at work):

“Krista, I texted that horse’s ass. He ignored me! Can you believe the nerve? So screw him! You got me in the divorce, kid. I will marry you myself when I move down there, don’t you fret. I’m texting him that he is a dick every hour—hah! Actually…I’m going to start texting him profanities. He’ll hate that! Hang in there, okay? Love you! Oh, and tell K-Jaz that Operation: Flaming Dog Poop is a go!”

All day Thursday Krista hoped Sean would at least call to talk. Or send a quick word to apologize for flaking. A distant part of her hoped she was all wrong, and he planned to go with her the next day after all. When 4:00 rolled around, her hope had all but vanished. She had been staring at her email, hoping, but when she finally looked up, Ben and Kate were sitting across her desk.

“Oh. Hey guys. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“We are headed to happy hour. Since this is technically your Friday, you’re coming,” Ben said with steel in his voice. That wasn’t like Ben. Kate, definitely. Not mousy Ben.

“I should at least wait until five.” Krista glanced at the clock. It was a quarter past five. She had been staring off into space for over an hour. Yikes.

Kate and Ben were looking at her with pity written plainly across their face.

“Pity party, table for one?” Krista said with a small smile.

“Been there,” Kate said. Ben agreed grimly.

Krista turned off everything and followed them out of the office. She was definitely lack-luster. Vacation alone was dismal at best. Vacation alone because your partner flaked on you was worse.

They settled in a booth at the local watering hole as Jasmine and Marcus came through the door.

“Geegee! Good to see you. What time are you headed to San Diego?” Marcus asked in a voice that was infused with Prozac.

“Don’t try to cheer me up, Marcus. It irritates me. I am leaving tomorrow at about noon. I have to load up all my gear.”

“What gear are you taking? I know you’re already packed,” Jasmine said.

“When were you packed, last week?” Ben asked.

“I had to repack last night.” Krista stuck her tongue out at Ben. “There were some things I no longer had to bring. Gear. Surfing stuff, mostly.”

Krista gulped down her beer and held up her empty bottle for the waitress to notice and fix.

“I hear there’ll be big surf down there. They think Saturday, right?” Jasmine asked. Her voice was tight.

“Yeah, why?”

“I heard it on the news. Big surf, as in, bigger than a novice is probably used to. As in, don’t surf it, Krista.”

“If it is really that big, I don’t plan to. But it doesn’t come in huge waves all across the coast line. I’ll pick a beach that isn’t pro, don’t worry. I don’t have a death wish.”

“Not usually,” Ben said. “But when you are broken hearted you tend to misuse the rational side of your brain. I think you should stick to alcohol. It isn’t deadly.”

“It can be,” Krista replied in defense. “Look, you guys, I’m not going to mess with the ocean. Saturday night I’ll get so shit-faced I’ll forget all my woes and won’t be able to go on Sunday. One day of moderate waves. Relax. And if you are that worried about it, drive down and meet me.”

Looks went around the table, but no one said anything. Krista tapped a fake microphone. “Is this thing on?”

“Just don’t be a f**king idiot, Kris. That is all we are asking,” Kate said with a smirk.

“Okay, dish.” Marcus leaned forward on the table.