Nothing But This (Broken Pieces 2)

Her head turned at the sound, and her face lit up when she saw him on Olivia’s laptop screen. Her plump, grasping fingers reached for the screen as they always did, and Olivia grabbed them before they could do any harm.

“I know, baby,” Greyson said. “Daddy wants to give you a hug too. You and Mummy.”

Olivia didn’t react to the latter; she had made it clear that these calls were mostly for Clara’s sake. They spoke primarily about the baby, although Greyson would often update her as to how her house was coming along. He had replaced the air con and the carpet in the living room. And he had transformed the tiny second bedroom into a nursery for Clara. It was much smaller in size than the one she had set up in the penthouse during her pregnancy, but he had duplicated the colors and motifs as best he could.

It was a labor of love. Something to make up for, even if it was in only the tiniest of ways, his lack of presence during her pregnancy. He hadn’t told her about the nursery—he wanted it to be a surprise—but he had worked his ass off to get it nearly done in the few days she had been gone so far.

Clara quickly realized that he wasn’t really there, as she always did. And she lost interest in the laptop after a couple of minutes, grasping for other things on the table.

“How is everybody?” Greyson ventured, despite the fact that he’d been shot down when asking similar questions in the past.

“Fine. Happy to be spending time with Clara. I went to your parents’ today . . .” She shook her head; the gesture held a measure of disbelief. “They’re so different around her. They practically fought over who would get to hold her.”

Greyson chuckled. “They sent me pictures. Told me you were going to the aquarium with them tomorrow?”

She shuddered. “The aquarium on a Saturday—can you imagine the crowds?” she asked with a wince.

“Quite frankly, I can’t imagine my mother making her way through those crowds. I’m surprised they didn’t suggest taking you out on the yacht or something less . . . ordinary.”

“Less common, you mean,” she corrected him, and he laughed. “They suggested their country club, and I told them Clara would probably be bored. Then they did suggest the yacht, and I told them I wasn’t sure how Clara would react to the unfamiliar sensation of being on water. Your father is the one who proposed the aquarium, and if looks could kill, he’d be dead after the glare your mother gave him.”

“He probably paid for it afterward,” Greyson said with a chuckle, and she grinned.

“Probably.”

They lapsed into a strange, awkward silence.

“Well, I’ve got to—”

“We’re fixing the roof tomorrow,” he interrupted her abruptly in an attempt to keep her on the line longer.

“That’s fantastic. How did you manage to get the roofers to commit to a Saturday?”

“It’s been tough getting anyone out here; every professional in the area has been booked solid for months since the end of winter.”

He knew it was a nonanswer, and he hoped she wouldn’t pick up on that. Because he didn’t want to tell her that he and the guys—he took a moment to appreciate the fact that he had guys now—were planning to do it themselves. Spencer had some construction experience, Brand was handy with a hammer, and Harris, who had moved to Riversend and was looking to buy or build a house with Tina, was happy to lend a hand. A few of the bigger teen boys from the youth-outreach program had offered to help out as well. As had some of his football teammates.

“Okay. Well, thanks for arranging that. I should get Clara changed and ready for bed. Good night.”

“Good night, Olivia.”

She didn’t disconnect the call and appeared to be waiting for something. He smiled and leaned toward the camera before ending the call as he always did: “I love you.”

The feed ended abruptly after that, and his smile widened. It felt like progress.

“When are you going home?” her mother’s quiet voice asked from behind Libby, and she turned away from her computer to stare at the woman. She was in the kitchen, and usually her parents gave her privacy during these calls, but her mother—who had an empty glass clutched in her hand—must have walked in at the tail end of that conversation.

“I’m not sure. Do you want us to leave?”

“Don’t be silly; you know we love having you here. But I’m not sure why you’re here.”

“Can’t a daughter visit her parents?”

Her mother smiled and took Clara from her before sitting down across from Libby and pinning her with that all-seeing mum stare of hers.

“Anytime. Only this doesn’t feel like you’re visiting. It feels like you’re hiding. I know you and Greyson have had problems. Of course I know that. We all do. When you first married him, I wasn’t too sure it would work out. But you’ve always had a soft spot for him and then a crush on him, and when you returned from London a married woman, you were mad about him. I don’t know what he did to break your heart, Libby . . . and I could kill that boy for the pain he put you through. For abandoning his responsibilities for so long. But I’ve overheard bits and pieces of these calls every night, and that man loves his daughter, and—while I never saw it before, it’s clear as day now—he loves you.”