Nothing But This (Broken Pieces 2)

“Fine, what about dinner, then?” he suggested idly. “Tomorrow night?”

“I’m working.”

“I know. I meant afterward.”

“That’ll be after midnight.”

“If you prefer, we could call it a midnight snack?”

“All right.” Her response needed absolutely no thought. There was no way she was going to deny herself the pleasure of his company. The chance to spend time with him and get to know him better.

He smiled. A small lifting at the corners of his mouth; his pleasure wasn’t evident on his lips so much as in his eyes, which lit up in an expression that could only be described as delight.

“Fantastic.” His free hand dropped to her other butt cheek, and he squeezed appreciatively, moving her until she was straddling him. “Are you sore?”

“It’s not too bad.”

“Good,” he purred. “Now kiss me.”

Chapter One

Present day

“Where’s Greyson?” Libby moaned. Her brother-in-law, Harris, smoothed her hair back from her damp forehead.

“He’s on his way,” Harris promised, and Libby sobbed as she reached for his hand and squeezed painfully. She hated that Greyson wasn’t here. She had tried to ignore the first signs of labor, denying reality because she couldn’t quite believe she would be doing this without her husband.

Harris was like a brother to her. Her child’s uncle. But he wasn’t enough. Greyson needed to be here.

Why had he abandoned her when she needed him most?

“I want my husband.”

Harris made soft soothing sounds. He was trying his best, but Libby wasn’t in the right frame of mind to appreciate that right now.

“I know, Bug. His plane landed an hour ago; he’ll be here soon.”

“He doesn’t want our baby.” The pain was coming almost constantly now. But her admission hurt her so much more than the physical discomfort of labor. A soul-deep, gut-wrenching acknowledgment that had been gnawing at her for months.

“That’s nonsense.” Harris’s voice was crisp and matter of fact. He sounded so confident that Libby could almost fool herself into believing him. “Of course he does. He’s just been busy.”

“No. I can tell. He’s so disinterested, he hates us both . . . I know it.” She was incoherent and irrational in her pain. All she knew was that she was about to have her first child, and her husband wasn’t with her. He wouldn’t be there to see his son or daughter come into the world. She had known something was wrong—had known it since she’d first announced her pregnancy—but she had used the same excuses Harris was now employing. Greyson was busy, he was under stress, he was traveling a lot . . . so many excuses. None of them true.

All rational thought fled when the pain changed, became deeper, more agonizing.

“Not long now,” the doctor advised. “You’re fully dilated, Olivia. Time to push.”

“I can’t; he’s not here yet. He’s going to miss it.”

“It’s okay, Bug,” Harris comforted her gently. “He’s trying his best to get here, and I know he’ll be gutted to miss it. Do you want me to get your mum?”

Libby was barely able to focus on the question, but she shook her head.

“You know she’s squeamish.” She gasped, her hand tightening around his fingers for a few moments as she rode out another swell of pain. “Tina here?” Tina was her best friend and had attended half of her birthing classes with her. Harris had attended the other half, filling in for his always-absent brother.

“She’s on her way, but I don’t think she’ll get here in time.” This baby definitely wasn’t wasting any time. Libby had always heard that first births took a long time, but this was a very hasty affair. Barely six hours had passed from the first contraction to now.

“Then you’re the guy,” she told Harris with a grimace of pain, and he nodded, his grip on her hand tightening.

“Well, you heard the doctor, Bug. Time to push.”

She didn’t want to. How could she? A father needed to see his child come into the world. But in the end the overwhelming need to push overruled all else, and Libby did what instinct dictated.

Hours later, after the initial excitement of showing her baby off to her parents, her in-laws, and Tina, Libby woke from an exhausted sleep and blinked into the gloom of the room. It took her a moment to orient herself, and she tensed when a confused glance to her left confirmed her husband’s presence. His face was grim as he stared off into the middle distance. Completely identical to Harris but so unmistakably Greyson.

“Did you see her?” Her voice was hoarse, and she absently noted that she was thirsty. His eyes shifted to hers.

“Yes.” His voice was curt, displaying absolutely no emotion.

“She looks like you.”

“Does she?” Still in that horribly cold voice.

“I think so.”

“Then she looks like Harris, too, doesn’t she?”

“I suppose so,” she said, a bit baffled by the fact that he felt the need to point that out. “I missed you. I wanted you to see her come into the world.”