Chapter Twenty-Six
Cris
Benji and I are running in a veritable deluge.
I pause under a tree and then question my safety as thunder rolls by overhead, low and ominous. We’re a few miles from the car, making this run an epically bad idea. Which seems to be the theme for my life lately.
“I guess a thirty percent chance is still a chance,” my best friend calls over another peal of thunder. Rain is splattering his face and hair. We’re soaked to the bone. I’m starting to get a chill from it. I didn’t pack a coat since the sun was shining when we left. I should have known this was coming, which also mirrors my circumstance with Benji.
“I see we’re the only morons here,” I grumble. The park is abandoned. I turn to march in the opposite direction. It’s going to be a long, wet walk but we don’t have a choice at this point. I bump his arm as I pass him. “Meet you at the car.”
“Hey, you all right?”
I shouldn’t say anything, but as soon as he asks I know I’m not going to be able to help myself. My body has chosen a side in the sadness/rage debate. Rage won. “No, Benji. I am not all right.”
“Aren’t you supposed to find meaning in this?” He gestures to the sky as he blinks water out of his eyes. “You are a life coach.”
There’s a lightness to his voice like he’s back to normal. And since my life isn’t back to normal, that pisses me off.
“Oh, am I?” I shout over the driving rain. “Am I supposed to be totally Zen soaking wet and freezing my ass off? If you recall, I suggested we work out in the gym. The dry, temperature-controlled gym. You were the one who dragged us out here. Why don’t you dispense the wisdom for a change?”
“What the hell’s your problem?” he barks when I turn toward the parking lot again.
“I knew this was going to happen. I absolutely knew it.” I also know I’m upset about way more than being caught in the rain or not bringing a jacket. I saw this coming and didn’t do a damn thing to protect myself. Yes, the rain. Also, falling in love with my best friend. I’m officially an idiot. Someone buy me a jester hat. Believing we would somehow survive this experiment intact wasn’t naive, it was grand-scale delusional.
“You haven’t been yourself the last few days,” he accuses.
“Me?” I stop walking. “What about you? You were the one who would hardly look at me on Monday. You were the one giving me forced smiles in the kitchen today. And what’s up with that lovey-dovey phone call with Trish two days after I was in your bed?”
Oops. I wasn’t supposed to bring that up.
His eyebrows crash together. “What are you talking about?”
“You didn’t know I heard that, did you? I wasn’t going to listen, but then you used the voice.”
“What is ‘the voice’?” He looks completely confused, and I can’t decide if he’s trying to avoid trouble or if he has short-term memory loss.
Memory loss is an outside possibility, but just in case, I explain. “I heard you on the phone saying you would meet Trish Thursday at seven o’clock. That’s two days from now. What was your plan? Sleep with both of us? Or dump me before you crawl into her bed?” Steam escapes the fissure in my heart like a geyser might erupt at any moment. “I had no idea you would move on at lightning speed. I know I’m not supposed to be taking this personally, but it’s kind of hard not to.”
He has gone from confused to really, really angry. Adrenaline pours into my bloodstream, sending a thrill through my veins. He’s finally as upset as I am, making him the perfect target for the accusation arrow I’ve loaded into my bow.
“You’re mad about my plans with Trish. On Thursday. At seven o’clock.”
It hurts to hear him state it so plainly. Nevertheless, I incline my chin. “Yes.”
“You’re invited.”
My turn to be confused. “What?”
“To the viewing. Her mother passed away on Monday. She called to ask if I would come, told me I didn’t have to, and then said to make sure to thank you for the flowers she knows you picked out and sent when her mother was sick. And then she said, and I quote, ‘I’d love to see Cris if she can make it too.’”
Rain splats the top of my head and tightens my blond curls into ringlets. I digest what he told me slowly. Shame creeps in as a low roll of thunder takes the worst of the storm with it.
I am a jackass.
A shiver climbs my spine. “I didn’t know her mother passed away.”
“So I gather,” he says, his voice pure steel. “And yet it was easier for you to believe I was planning to have sex with her on Thursday night?”