More Than Need You (More Than Words 2)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

My life is over. Not literally, of course. But life as I dreamed of it? I doubt there’s much I can do to revive that. It’s been five days since Britta left me and the palatial paradise we shared, taking my son with her. As promised, she hired someone to retrieve the rest of her things, along with Jamie’s clothes, toys, and necessities. The house has felt like over ten thousand square feet of pure emptiness since then. Sure, my sister is still here. She means well. She tries to talk to me, cheer me up.

It’s not helping. Nothing is.

On Monday, Maxon lost his shit when Britta quit. I guess he didn’t believe me when I forewarned him. In fact, he and Keeley spent most of the Sunday afternoon following Britta’s departure with me. I’m sure dealing with my catastrophic breakup is not what they wanted to do on their first full day of marriage. But I’m grateful they came.

“I don’t think what Britta did was fair to you,” Harlow insisted just last night. “She laid landmines in front of you, then got angry when you stepped on them. She set you up to fail.”

It’s sweet that she wants to be so loyal and take my side. But she’s wrong. I didn’t see the landmines because I didn’t even stop to look. I made the same mistake now that I did three years ago by treating Britta with distrust before love. And, righteously cloaked in all my wronged fury, I cut her because she made me bleed.

I don’t have the energy to argue with Harlow—or anyone. I haven’t slept in days. I certainly can’t lie in the bed Britta and I shared. I can’t find any peace.

Hell, I don’t think I even deserve it.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pry my eyes open and realize the sun is coming up at my back. I wince at the brightness of the cloudless dawn. I have a splitting headache, and my back is killing me. But drinking Lagavulin out of the bottle and falling asleep at two a.m. on a lounger splayed across the lanai will do that. All I can think of is that my dream wedding should have been tomorrow. If I’d been smart, I would have cancelled everything and gotten what refunds I could. That might have saved me a small fortune. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Some stupid part of me can’t stop hoping…

The phone buzzes again. I fish it out of my pocket to turn it off. I don’t want any more well-meaning texts and phone calls. Especially since I don’t know yet what to say or do. I want to fight for Britta…just as much as I’m sure she’ll hate me even more if I do. I don’t need my tribe’s feel-good chatter telling me to give it another go.

With a sigh, I look at the screen. Keeley has been texting me for an hour. Call me. Call me now. Call me, damn it.

I can’t accuse her of being inconsistent.

Moving like someone a few days shy of becoming a centenarian, I unfold myself from the lounger and head inside, empty bottle in hand. I feel like shit. I’m sure I look like it, too. I can’t remember my last meal. I don’t even miss food.

I don’t miss anything except Britta and Jamie.

God, I sound pathetic. And hungover. Definitely that.

When I walk in the house, Harlow is standing in the kitchen, coffee cup in hand. She watches as I toss the bottle in the trash. Shaking her head, she gives the steaming mug to me, regarding me with a disparaging glance. Yes, I’m sure I look sketchy. I probably smell it, too.

“Want to talk yet?” she asks as I grab the cup and take a sip of the wickedly black brew. She makes java unapologetically strong.

“Do I have a choice?” I force myself to swallow. That shit could acid-wash the chrome off a bumper.

“Not really.”

Didn’t think so. “Is it just you or the whole intervention team?”

“Just me…for now.”

I don’t ask for clarification. If Harlow can reason with me, she won’t call for reinforcements. Got it.

“Can I shower first?”

“Are you finally going to do something today besides drink, beat the shit out of the punching bag upstairs, and sulk?”

“Gosh, Harlow. You really have to stop sparing my feelings. Just say what’s on your mind.”

She laughs. “Well, if your sarcasm is back, I hope that means the rest of you will be soon, too. Shower. I’ll make you breakfast. You’re going to eat it. Then—”

“I need to decide whether I’m going to give up and be a miserable bastard for the rest of my life or fight—again—for the woman who will always own my heart. Is that what you were going to say?” I raise a brow at her.

Her green eyes flare in surprise. “Something like that.”

I sigh. There’s no escaping her pep talk. I have to suck it up. And maybe…maybe it will be good for me to have another female’s perspective. Though with a bastard of a father and two competitive older brothers, Harlow’s feminine outlook on life ranks somewhere between auto mechanic and rugby player.

“I’ll be back in fifteen.” I head for the stairs.

“Make it ten,” she shouts after me.

I acknowledge her with a wave of my hand and find a bottle of ibuprofen in the medicine cabinet. As I start the shower, I try not to look at Britta’s empty counter or remember her swiping everything in her suitcase as, tears rolling, she left me for good.

I’m not very successful.

After a punishingly hot shower and a few more sips of caffeine, I feel marginally better. My brain even starts to kick in again, what-iffing and unfolding scenarios. How much will I always regret it if I give Britta the moral victory and simply leave her alone? How shitty will I feel? A lot. Terribly. But this isn’t about me. How unloved will Britta feel if I don’t even try? How bitter? What about Jamie? He needs a father.

And I can’t leave everyone shattered because I didn’t have the balls to try again.

Harlow is shouting that my time is up when I toss on a pair of clean shorts and a T-shirt, then run my electric razor vaguely over my stubble. I slide into flip-flops and run down the stairs. My headache protests, pounding until it feels as if my brain is trying to push my eyes out of their sockets. I grimace and cradle my head as I enter the kitchen.

“Maybe that will teach you to stop substituting Scotch for dinner.”

I glare her way. “A beacon of compassion… What did I ever do to deserve such a wonderful sister?”

That makes her laugh. “I am wonderful. I’m going to straighten your shit out.” She shakes her head. “Men are so dumb.”

She’s plating eggs as I toss myself onto a stool at the breakfast bar and nurse more coffee. “I’ll ask you what that means only because you’ll tell me whether I want to know or not.”

Harlow pauses, hand on hip. “Stop being snarky.”

“Sorry. Predictably, I’m not in a great mood. But yes, I know I need to do something today. I know I can’t walk away forever and prove to Britta once and for all that I’m an incredible shithead.”

“I was going to say dumb ass, but the rest of the speech is about right.” She flips a couple of pancakes onto my plate, then slams butter and syrup down in front of me. “You weren’t an asshole, Griff. You were stupid. I still stand by my statement that she set you up. But given your history together, I would have needed some proof to take back the dirtbag who crushed me once, too. This is a heap of complicated.”

“Yep.” I shovel in some eggs because I know I’m going to need energy later. “I don’t know how to simplify that.”

“This is why men are so stupid.” She shakes her head. “There’s a reason you keep doing the impulsively idiotic thing. Something makes you believe the worst. Do you do that to all people or just women? You don’t even have to tell me. But you need to tell Britta. Whatever it is, no matter how ugly. Unless you come clean, she will never understand you. If you don’t and if she gives you another chance, you will be doomed to repeat this cycle again.”

Leave it to brutally honest Harlow to cut through five days of my confusion and lay it all out in a few sentences while forking in some pancakes. Granted, I’d somewhat arrived at this conclusion last night in my Scotch-induced stupor.

But it suck

s.

Telling Britta about Julia gave her the power to hurt me. Telling her the rest… She could utterly destroy me.

Then again, can’t she already, simply by not being with me?

“I know.”

“Then why are you sitting here with me?”