Nothing But This (Broken Pieces 2)

“I should have been there,” he said, and she chewed on her lower lip for a few seconds before nodding.

“Yes, you should have.” Nothing else. Her voice lacked accusation, resentment, hatred . . . all of the things she should have been feeling. Instead she stated it as simple fact.

He should have been there. But he hadn’t. No denying the former, no changing the latter.

He looked completely shell shocked, and it concerned Libby somewhat. He hadn’t been himself at all these last couple of days, but this was worse. He seemed staggeringly vulnerable, and maybe it should satisfy her to see him suffering, but it didn’t. It just saddened her.

From what she had heard, Tina had let him have it with both barrels. Telling him exactly what he had missed out on by being such a prick, and it had hurt him. All of Libby’s residual anger and resentment toward Tina had evaporated when she had witnessed her friend defending her so fiercely. And she had promised the other woman that they would have that talk later. Hopefully it would help her understand what was going on with Tina and get their friendship back on track.

But first, Libby had to deal with the wholesale devastation Hurricane Tina had wreaked on the Island of Greyson.

“Olivia,” Greyson said, his voice so soft she had to strain to hear him. “I did and said so many things I regret. And I don’t know . . . I have no idea how to make it right again. I wish I knew how to fix it. Tell me how. Please. What would make you forgive me?”

“Greyson,” she said, her own voice equally soft and laced with sorrow. “I don’t know the answer to that question. I wish I did. I wish I could stop being so angry and sad. I wish we could be a family . . .” She shook her head and dislodged the tears that had been threatening since she’d walked into the office, heard Tina’s words, and seen the impact of them on Greyson’s face. He made a soft sound of distress and ineptly reached over to wipe her tears from her face with his thumbs.

“Don’t cry,” he pleaded, stepping toward her, his palms cupping her cheeks. “I’m not worth your tears, Olivia. I’m not. I never was.”

A sob hitched in her throat. “I just wanted so much more for us, Greyson,” she said, her voice choked with tears.

“Me too,” he sighed, wrapping his arms around her and tugging her toward him. He gathered her close, until she felt safe and secure in his warm hold. Her own arms went around his waist, and she rested her damp cheek on his chest, just appreciating the quiet comfort of this moment.

“I want you to have a fair shot at a relationship with Clara,” she said thickly, putting her palms on his chest and pushing herself far enough away from him so that she could stare up into his face. “And I think the best way to do that is if you looked after her in the evenings while I’m busy here.”

He paled, and Libby could tell the notion terrified him. Her offer had been stupidly impulsive, but it felt completely right. She needed a sitter; he needed to spend time with his daughter. It was the ideal solution.

“If that’s what you need,” he said without any hesitation whatsoever, despite still looking like a deer trapped in headlights.

She stepped completely out of his hold and wet her lips before nodding.

“Yes,” she said, digging around in the pockets of her chef’s smock for a tissue and thankfully finding one. She wiped her nose before continuing, “I think, because it’s hard for Tina to work in her office while Clara’s here, it would be best if you watched her at my house.”

“But what about feeding her?” he asked, and she shrugged.

“I’ve started weaning her. I’ll start alternating formula and breast milk until she’s fully transitioned to formula. I’m sure she’ll adjust in no time at all.”

He looked doubtful but nodded anyway. “I’ll be happy to look after her in the evenings, Olivia,” he said solemnly, and she smiled.

“And it’s only on weeknights; I have a sitter for the weekend. I mean, I don’t know how long you intend to stay in Riversend, but . . .”

“There’s no time limit,” he interrupted firmly, and that made her speculate, for the first time, how he could uproot his entire safe, predictable life like this. After their whirlwind courtship, once they had been married and starting their lives together, it had soon become very apparent to Libby that Greyson was a creature of habit. He ate at the same times every day, had the same little rituals and habits that had to be done in the same way at the same time. He even read the newspaper in the same order every morning . . . and the mere fact that he read a physical newspaper every day, instead of catching the news online, was very much an insight into the type of man Greyson was. His was an old soul, and he did not like his routine disrupted too much or for too long.