Nothing But This (Broken Pieces 2)

Chapter Sixteen

Tina returned three days later. Greyson and Libby had managed to not kill each other during her absence, despite a few more management clashes. Disputes had been resolved with compromises and a bit of grumbling from either side. But they had usually been able to laugh about it at the end of service.

By the time Tina returned, Libby almost regretted the fact that Greyson wouldn’t be hanging out at MJ’s all the time. The staff liked him, Clara adored him, and Libby had enjoyed the glimpses of a more relaxed, laid-back Greyson. A man who wasn’t afraid to offer a small smile here and there, who cracked the occasional dry joke and even laughed a few times.

It reminded Libby of the man who had seduced her at that party so many months ago, the man who had enchanted her, entertained her, laughed with her, and made her feel so special. She had thought he was a figment of her imagination. Perhaps a fabrication designed to entice her into sleeping with him and later marrying him.

That man had disappeared when they had returned to Cape Town. Replaced by the more familiar, grim Greyson who rarely smiled, never laughed, and often stared at her and Harris with that judgmental gaze that had made her feel like a kid being chastised by a parent.

Reflecting on it now, she could see that she and Harris had often behaved like schoolkids giggling about the strict headmaster. Whispering to each other behind their hands and laughing in reaction to his stern glares, turning every interaction into a chummy “us and him” scenario. It had been a silly childhood habit that they had automatically fallen back into after her return.

When she considered that behavior now, in light of his revelations about how excluded he had often felt around them . . . she could see why he had felt that way. It wasn’t an excuse for his lack of trust or his accusations, but the behavior had been inappropriate. And unfair. It should have been Libby and Greyson against the world. Not Libby and Harris against Greyson.

She was at home after a busy evening service—the first since Tina’s return—and thinking about how much she had missed having him around the restaurant tonight. He had stayed at her place with Clara and left as soon as she’d come home.

She picked up her phone and, without really considering the time, called Harris.

“Libby?” He sounded groggy, like she’d woken him from a sound sleep.

“Were you asleep?” she asked, suddenly realizing how late it was.

“Trying to sleep. Not really succeeding.”

“Why is my friend so damned miserable?” Libby asked him, thinking about how sad Tina had been all evening. They hadn’t had much time to talk about it, but Libby planned to corner her tomorrow after lunch service to have a girl talk about what the hell was going on between her and Harris.

“I’m not good for her, Libby. She would be better off without me in her life. Every terrible thing that has ever happened to her is my fault. And this is the only way I can make amends,” he said quietly, and Libby bit back a groan. Why were their lives so damned messy?

“I don’t agree. And I don’t think she’d agree either.”

“She’ll get over it. We both will. We have to. Our relationship has been painful and destructive. It was never meant to be.”

“Harris . . .” Libby wished she knew what to say. She didn’t agree with him. He and Libby clearly had strong feelings for each other.

“Anyway,” he said firmly, clearly wanting to change the subject. “What’s happening with you and Grey? He told me he signed the papers.”

That surprised her. In fact, every time she heard that Greyson had confided in someone, it surprised her.

“Does he talk to you often?” she asked curiously.

“It doesn’t come easily to him. He always starts a call or message talking about some work thing or the other . . . and then he moves straight on to Clara or his self-defense classes. He told me he was considering taking up surfing. Can you imagine that? Greyson as a surfer dude? And he always finds a way to talk about you, Libby.”

The last was said in a much quieter, more serious tone of voice, and Libby swallowed painfully as she considered that bit of information.

“He told me what he believed about us.” Just saying it made her feel a little queasy, and Harris made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat.

“Gross, right?” he said with an unamused laugh. “Like I’d want to sleep with a bug like you.”

“Shut up,” she said with a little huff. “This is serious.”

He exhaled heavily. “It’s easier to laugh about it. Because I’ve already gone through the rage and righteous indignation and all the other bullshit negative emotions.”