Home > Pause (Larsen Bros # 2)(6)

Pause (Larsen Bros # 2)(6)
Author: Kylie Scott

Forget pink champagne, I require hard liquor.

The team from the inn hangs back after offering felicitations. There’s a nervous sort of energy to them. Fair enough, considering their boss is my former best friend Celine, the husband fucker. No wonder I no longer have a job. As if I could ever go back there. Us both sleeping with the same man makes for quite the conflict of interest in the workplace. Not that I’ve slept with Ryan, or anyone, in the last ten or so months. How awkward.

My old neighbors are likewise an awkward situation waiting to happen. Any and all previous socializing was done as part of a couple. Picnics, potlucks, things like that. We were like mirror images of each other. Two upwardly mobile professional around-thirty-year-old couples. And I am now distinctly uncoupled, out of work, and have mobility issues. No wonder I didn’t want a party. Not that anyone asked me. Hear me whine.

One close friend of mine in days of yore was Ryan’s sister Natasha. But she’s been suspiciously quiet since I woke up. It’s amazing how people prefer to disappear over facing their own foibles. Or their family’s foibles. I’m certainly not immune to engaging in this behavior, but it doesn’t make it any easier to be on the receiving end.

Although Mom has been cautious with the guest list, everyone here knows that my husband banged one of my best friends. Awesome. Whelp, no point in avoiding my guests. I square my shoulders and face the crowd with a smile.

The question is, who are you when your job, your relationship, and one of your best friends are gone? I’m adrift in a sea of what the fuck. I’d like to think that Celine will come crawling on her hands and knees, begging me to return to working at the inn. But the fact is, I’m not irreplaceable. And they’ve had over half a year to replace me. At this point, I doubt I’ll even be getting a well-deserved glowing reference.

“So good to see you!” Erin smacks a kiss on my cheek.

“You too,” I say.

Angie grabs my hand and presses it to her bulging belly. “Say hello.”

“Hello, little one,” I say dutifully. It’s impossible not to be happy for Erin and Angie. There’s such an air of joy to them, a feeling of growth. They also don’t give a crap that Ryan isn’t standing at my side. What a relief. I don’t know them very well, but what I do know I like.

“You look distinctly uncomfortable,” says Briar. She’s a short, curvy black woman with killer style and a law degree. “Is it physical or emotional?”

“Both.”

“Ah. Sit down and drink up then.”

“Good idea.”

We grab some chairs in the corner of the dining room, facing the table laden with tastefully wrapped gifts and small decorative plates of appetizers. Hummus on slices of cucumber, fruit and prosciutto bites, and a cheese board. Mom believes in healthy food to speed my recovery and protein to build up my muscle mass. To balance this, there’s also a beautiful cake with buttercream frosting surrounded by berries. When she passes by with a plate of goodies, I grab her spare hand. “Thanks for this.”

She delicately snorts in a ladylike manner. “Please, you hate it. But life goes on. I wasn’t going to just let you ignore your birthday. Happy twenty-seventh, sweetheart.”

“Thank you.”

And despite giving my shabby outfit a skeptical glance, she just nods. God bless Mom. She can’t help herself. We really are every bit as judgmental as Leif says. And there I go again, thinking about him. It’s not helpful. Though at least it doesn’t hurl me into a pit of despair like contemplating my husband does.

Interestingly, Dad isn’t here. But Dad hates any socializing that doesn’t take place on the golf course. Perhaps I’m more like my antisocial father these days. Though I’m never going to play golf.

At any rate, Leif was right: my mom in action is a beautiful thing. I have deep thoughts about Leif more often than I should. I’d been so embarrassed by Ryan showing up and trying to start a fight that I got out of there pronto after he left. No one needs that kind of drama in their life, or the person who invited it in.

On the other hand, knowing someone supportive who’d survived the same accident was nice. Comforting. Even if it was brief. Perhaps I’ll find the courage to see him again. Maybe. In the meantime, I’m going to stop thinking about him. Right now.

“I should go put on something more suitable,” I say, not moving an inch.

Briar crosses her legs. “Catch your breath first.”

“If I’d known this was happening I’d have at least shaved my legs.”

“Never mind. I hear the Viking look is in this season.”

“Nice.” I laugh. “Are you suggesting I could braid them?”

Her brows rise. “Now that would be something.”

Over by the front windows, the group from the inn is huddled together. Lots of side-eye going on. Lots of whispering. Ugh.

“Ignore them,” says my friend.

“Have you heard from her lately?” I ask.

Briar, Celine, and I met as neighboring dorm buddies and moved up to sharing an apartment in our senior year. Many a fun time was had. I met Ryan when we were freshmen. We’ve been together ever since. And it wasn’t perfect, but it was good. There were times we had to work at it. Times when we had to fight for it. But we always did and I thought we’d be together forever. Right up until we weren’t. Talk about life slapping you in the face.

“Not since I told her exactly what I thought of her so-called unfortunate lapse of judgment. If she expected me to be understanding, then she was severely disappointed.” Briar takes another sip of her drink. “I don’t care how scared and exhausted either of them were. You don’t open your legs to comfort your still very much alive friend’s husband.”

“Hmm.”

“What does hmm mean?”

I sigh. “She texted me again the other day. I didn’t respond. It was the usual, ‘We’re both so sorry. Neither of us meant to hurt you. Please try and understand. We still love you and care about you very much.’ I think it’s the ‘us’ and the ‘we’ that aggravates me. The continued implied coupledom. The unity. He’s my fucking husband. Or he was. I don’t know what he is now.”

Briar just shakes her head.

“He was so sorry, you know? He even cried,” I say. “I can’t remember the last time he cried. When his grandma died, maybe?”

“And?”

“I’ve tried to understand. I mean, it must have been hell for him, going through all of that.” My shoulders slump. “I’ve tried to put myself in his position and imagine if it was him on that bed and me not knowing if he’d ever wake up. And even if he did wake up, not knowing if he’d be the same person.”

She sighs.

“I still wouldn’t turn to his damn friend,” I add. “I wouldn’t disrespect him that way.”

“Exactly.” Briar tries for a smile, but it doesn’t quite work. “She always did use too many exclamation points when she messaged or texted.”

“Ugh. Yeah. Wait, are we being unnecessarily petty?”

“I debate your use of ‘unnecessary.’”

“Lady, you make me laugh. You know, he’s been pushing for me to move back home and do couple’s counseling,” I say, staring off at nothing. “But I’m not sure we can come back from this. How can I possibly trust him again?”

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