More Than Need You (More Than Words 2)

she’s not invested enough in the relationship to hear anything except that I screwed half of Maui or believe that I never forgot her.

“No, I’m being honest with her. I’m explaining how we met. It’s important.” Keeley focuses on Britta once more. “So he was playing a lot of musical beds, it’s true. But the only woman he ever wanted to talk about was you.”

Britta freezes. I wish like hell I could see her face now. I wish I knew what she was thinking.

She shakes her head. “Please don’t think you have to make our relationship more romantic than it actually was. I don’t care what he did after we separated. I’m getting married in April, and once he’s done pretending he wants to be a daddy, then—”

“I’m not pretending,” I lean in and growl in Britta’s ear. “About Jamie or about you.”

Keeley reaches around Britta to slap my arm. I’m grateful that Maxon seems to be distracting Rob and Alania or this entire conversation would be deeply humiliating.

“Shut up, moron. I’m telling her some things she needs to know that you’re too proud and macho to say. You and Maxon are so alike sometimes…” She shakes her head. “I’m saving you at least two weeks of torment.”

“Keeley…” I’m basically begging now. Short of gagging her or dragging Britta away, I can’t stop this info dump.

Compassion crosses her face and she sends me a smile meant to comfort me. “Trust me.”

“He’s physically incapable of that,” Britta scoffs.

I clamp my lips together and grip the arms of my chair. If I don’t, I’ll only do whatever it takes to stop this public lynching and prove Britta right. I can’t deny that Keeley understands people and relationships. If anyone can improve this situation fast, it’s her.

“I do trust you.” I sigh, contradicting Britta’s jibe. “This just isn’t what I had in mind.”

“I know.” She doesn’t say anything more. She simply waits for me to give her permission to continue or shut her down. “But it’s your call…”

I look like a sex-addicted nut job if I let her continue or a control freak with something to hide if I don’t. Fuck me.

With a wave of my hand, I tell Keeley silently to go on. It’s not as if I’m going to be able to stop her for long anyway. And hell, maybe she’s right.

She nods her approval before focusing on Britta again. And she’s wearing an expression that says she understands my angel, woman to woman.

Britta turns to me as if she’s surprised—no, totally shocked—that I’m allowing Keeley to smear my character. She blinks at me like she’s desperate to figure out why.

“She’s telling you the truth.” I nod.

Still gaping, Britta turns back to Keeley. “What happened next?”

“I talked to him a few times before he slammed his way out of Dr. Wilson’s office. I figured out right away that he was tightly wound. No one else was going to help him. He wouldn’t let anyone try. He merely snarled like a lion. I think I’m the only one who saw the thorn in his paw, so to speak. I knew I could help, and I hate to see people hurting. Not only is doing nothing bad karma, I just…” She shakes her head. “I want everyone to be happy. So I struck up a conversation. Griff wasn’t terribly forthcoming at first, but I started figuring him out. I realized he didn’t need another lover. He didn’t even require a therapist. I mean, it could only help him, sure… But what he needed most was a friend. He had no one.”

“Because he left everyone,” Britta points out.

I hear the defensiveness. I hear her saying that she would have stayed by my side and loved me with her whole heart if I’d given her a chance. It hurts.

“If you’re going to do this, could you at least make me sound less pathetic?” I grouse at Keeley.

“Why? I won’t lie to the woman. Geez…” She shakes her head and ignores me again. “I pointed out to him that sometimes it’s easier to talk to a stranger, so he took me out for coffee. About five hours later, I figured out that he wasn’t close to either of his parents. His sister was busy with school and lives on the mainland. And he had wounded the two people he loved most as deeply as they’d hurt him. Even if you and Maxon actually had wronged Griff—though I know you didn’t—he wasn’t sure how to atone for leaving you both without a word. He was even less versed in apologizing, especially for an act so egregious.” Keeley frowns as if the speech is about to get painful—as if it wasn’t already. “He never knew about Jamie. And the endless parade of skanks was his attempt to find some sort of intimacy that he missed like hell sharing with you. I know you might not think he deserves a second chance, but if you don’t at least listen to what he has to say, you’re going to ruin him for good.”

“That’s enough.” I can’t hear this anymore. And I certainly don’t want Britta’s pity. “Let’s go get Jamie and go…home.”

While I can’t say for sure what’s going to happen if I don’t intervene, I’m pretty sure the conversation would only get more excruciating and invasive. It’s already beyond what I can take.

But when I grab Britta’s hand, she yanks it out of my grip and glares at Keeley. “How dare you? You don’t know what it was like to get naked pictures of the man I loved with a woman I despised mere days after he left me. What it was like to find out shortly after that my stomach flu was really pregnancy hormones. Or how it felt to have to call my mom, a single mother who always preached about having a husband before kids, and tell her that I was expecting a baby but the man was long gone. I moved alone. I gave birth alone. I’ve been raising my son alone.” Britta’s talking in a low voice, but she sounds shaken and angry. “Don’t give me a speech about ‘poor Griff.’ He lost his temper, and rather than asking questions, he made terrible assumptions. He didn’t trust me and wasn’t man enough to apologize when he realized he was wrong. You can’t imagine what I went through, so don’t preach at me to take pity on him.”

“You’re right. I can’t even begin to imagine,” Keeley agrees softly. “I’m only speaking as someone I hope will be your friend someday. Adding more misery to this situation isn’t likely to make either of you happy. At the very least, you have a child together. Jamie needs parents who can be cordial and provide him plenty of love. But honestly, I think you and Griff are both still in love with each other and need to give it a chance. If you don’t, you’ll always regret it.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

After Keeley gave Britta her more than two cents, my angel takes an interest in wine—about three quarters of a bottle. She’s always been a Pinot Noir drinker. The fact that she downs that much rosé of dubious distinction tells me she’s confused and distressed.

I’m sorry I’ve backed her in a corner. But she’s never going to come out unless I push her out. I wish things between us were simpler, that I could just wrap her in my arms, tell her I love her, and that she would believe me and openly love me back.

Those days are long gone.

Rob and Alania take off. They’re late for dinner with her family. As they walk out, a guy schleps in with a bunch of equipment and starts setting it up in the corner. One look tells me it’s a karaoke machine. I should have guessed that Maxon would bring Keeley someplace she could sing.

I turn to her. “You planning to sing at Gus’s sports bar again?”

“Maybe.” She shrugs. “I’m mostly hoping to sing for weekend entertainment once Maxon and I get moved into our new house and open officially as an awesome bed-and-breakfast. I’ve already got a spot for the yoga, and I’m working on recipes that use locally sourced food. You and Britta should come try a couples’ meditation session. I’ve got a great spot.”

Her little smile tells me Keeley is up to something. When she’s got a scheme, she’s a danger to be avoided at all costs.

That’s my cue to leave.

“Angel…” I turn to Britta and put my arm around her. “You ready to go?”

“I’m finishing this glass.” She drags her wine closer. “How else am I going to put up with yo

u all evening?”

I ignore her jibe and the resulting pain. “We need to pick up Jamie in the next thirty minutes.”

She looks at her watch, then blinks, panic tightening her face. “Is that really the time?”

I see the instant Britta realizes she’s had too much to drink and can’t drive.

“It’s okay,” I assure her. “I’m fine. Maxon can park your car at the office. We’ll pick it up tomorrow.”

That suggestion upsets her even more.

She covers her face with her hands. “I’m never irresponsible. Oh, my god…. What’s wrong with me?”

I’ve rattled her, and she’s seeking temporary escape, a release of her pressure valve. I have a better suggestion than booze, but I don’t think she’s currently in any shape to talk about sharing incendiary orgasms that will have her letting go of all her anger and unshed tears.