Nothing But This (Broken Pieces 2)

And then in his teens, when he’d been more of a loner and she had trailed after him like a lovesick puppy, it had been embarrassing and annoying, but he had allowed it to carry on for the longest time. Not wanting to say anything because he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. It had gone on for two years before he had told her to back off. But he had been overly harsh, and he could still recall the wounded look in her large eyes and the clumsy way she had bolted away on those long, coltish legs. At fourteen she hadn’t yet come into the willowy grace she now possessed. No, that had happened somewhere between the ages of fourteen and sixteen. Greyson had missed the transformation, which was why it had been so damned jarring seeing her again when she’d been sixteen. She had been the same lovely Olivia Lawson, but with an appealing added sensuality, grace, and beauty.

He recalled walking into the house, greeting his parents, looking up, and spotting her standing with her parents. And he had literally stopped breathing. She had been smiling, the familiar wide, generous smile that he knew so well, but it had never before made him want to kiss her. He had glowered at her, not understanding his reaction—or maybe understanding it too damned well—and her smile had dimmed, replaced with uncertainty and hurt.

That was one of the few occasions he had actually appreciated Harris’s spontaneous exuberance. His brother, after planting an enthusiastic kiss on their protesting mother and hugging their father, had surged toward Olivia and lifted her up in a hug, swinging her around in the process. Her previous uncertainty had disappeared in the face of all that unrestrained affection, and she had giggled happily.

But that day was also one of the first—of many—times he had felt pure, unadulterated envy at how easy it was for Harris to hug Olivia and touch her and kiss her. After Harris had finally put her down, Greyson had offered her a tight smile and greeted her parents politely. Immediately following that, he had fabricated a flimsy excuse and left the house. Afterward he had avoided her for nearly ten years, until he’d seen her again at that party. A party that he had known she would be attending.

He shook himself out of his memories, refocusing his attention on his phone. None of the other messages were pressing, and he opened up his favorite app, an adult coloring program, which held his attention for a while. He found the process of adding color to otherwise lifeless pictures soothing and could lose himself for hours before he finished one to his liking. No one knew about his escapist little hobby. It was a great stress reliever.

Chapter Ten

Greyson was up later than usual the following morning. After confirming that he had indeed been out with Martine, Harris had clammed up last night after Greyson—looking for any excuse to make conversation with his brother—had pushed a little too hard for details. Harris’s responses had been curt and impatient. And Greyson had retreated to his room, acknowledging that attempting conversation with Harris on the matter was a futile endeavor. But sleep had been hard to come by. Greyson had tossed and turned for most of the night.

Now he had overslept and was up late, and when he stumbled blearily into the living room, it was to find Harris sitting at the kitchen table, his laptop open in front of him. There were files and sheaves of paper spread out on the table.

“What’s going on?” Greyson asked, unsuccessfully attempting to stifle a yawn. Harris “caught” his yawn and executed a jaw-popping one of his own. He dropped the Montblanc pen, which Greyson had given him for his birthday five years ago, on the table next to his laptop and leaned back in the rickety kitchen chair to stretch before doing a few shoulder and neck rolls.

“I have to call the office in Perth later. We still have a problem there,” Harris said on another yawn. He was referring to the embezzlement scam in Australia that had cost the company $10 million earlier in the year. Greyson had gone to Perth just before Libby’s due date, conveniently placing himself out of the country for Clara’s birth.

He had been such a coward.

“What do you mean, we still have a problem?” Greyson asked, trying to force the memory of missing Clara’s birth to the back of his mind.

“Not sure, and I won’t know until I’ve spoken with Norm Fisher in accounts. We have a Skype meeting in about forty minutes. I’m going over the financials he sent me last night. And some of the old reports from when you went in March.”

“Want me to sit in on the meeting?”

“That would probably be the easiest and best way to keep you in the loop.” Harris nodded. He glanced down at Greyson’s bandaged hand, and a frown flickered across his brows. “What happened to your hand?”