Nothing But This (Broken Pieces 2)

“I’m trying to tell you we’re not divorced,” she said, and this time he was the one who gaped at her.

“What?”

“I never got around to signing the papers.”

She never got around to signing the papers?

If Greyson hadn’t been in so much pain and therefore extremely conscious of his surroundings, he would have wondered if he was hallucinating. What did she mean, she’d never gotten around to signing the papers? He’d thought they’d been divorced for weeks, and all along she’d still been his wife?

That was . . . it was . . .

A little disappointing, actually.

“But the wedding,” he said, feeling like an idiot. “The dress and the cake. And . . . would you have said yes?”

“In a heartbeat,” she assured him, kissing him, and his lips spread into a smile beneath hers. Okay, maybe it wasn’t so bad. Weddings were hard work. Or so he’d been told. But he had hoped to start things off on the right note the second time around.

“In fact,” she said, lifting her mouth from his, “I am saying yes. To the wedding and the dress and the party. We could do a vow renewal. In a church. I think that would be appropriate.”

“God, I love you so damned much,” he said vehemently, and her smile widened, her eyes gleaming with unshed tears. “My life is absolute shit without you and Clara, Olivia. Look what happens when you leave me. I fell off a roof—”

“Ladder.”

“We’ve established that roof sounds cooler. Anyway, I’m useless without you.”

“Let’s make sure you’re never without me again.”

“Yes. Let’s do that.”

“Hey, I brought you some clothes, and . . .” Harris’s voice faded as he stepped behind the privacy curtain around Greyson’s bed. His eyes bounced from Olivia to Greyson and back again before his lips stretched into a huge grin. “Soooo, what’s going on here?”

“Olivia’s agreed to marry me,” Greyson bragged, and Harris’s eyes lit up.

“That’s fucking brilliant! That’s—” He shoved back the curtain and raised his voice. “Guys, Libby’s going to marry Grey. Again.”

Olivia laughed incredulously when they heard the shouts of approval and squeals from the crowd gathered just a few meters down the hall. Hurried footsteps rushed toward them, and Tina pushed her way behind the curtain as well.

“There’s my girl,” Greyson said when he spotted Clara in the woman’s arms. “Did you miss me, sweetheart?”

“You’re getting married?” Tina was enthusing as she handed Clara over to Olivia, who lowered her so that Greyson could give her a kiss. “That’s wonderful.”

“We’re already married,” Olivia said with another laugh. She looked so damned happy, and Greyson couldn’t stop staring at her. Unable to believe that this was really his life. His wife. His child.

But it was. This beautiful woman and this lovely child were his, and he felt so damned fortunate to have them. He had come so perilously close to destroying everything and everyone he cared about the most, but somehow—someway—they had found it in their hearts to forgive him. To love him.

Olivia caught him staring, and her smile changed, became warmer, more intimate. In that moment, no one and nothing else existed. Nothing but Greyson, Olivia, and Clara. Nothing but the love they shared and the life they would build together.

It was all he had ever needed and all he would ever want. And this time, he was going to treasure all the gifts he had been blessed with.

Epilogue

“Come on, sweetheart, come to Daddy,” Greyson urged, kneeling on the floor as he encouraged his gorgeous nine-month-old little girl to walk toward him. She took a hesitant step, then another . . . before tumbling toward him at a precipitous speed, her gait ungainly but determined. He caught her just before she fell and swung her up in celebration. She squealed in delight, and Greyson turned to Olivia, a huge grin threatening to split his face in half.

“Did you get that?”

“I did,” she laughed, holding up her phone. “And it’s on its way to Gammy and Gampa and Gran and Papa.”

“Good girl, Piper,” Clara said in her high-pitched voice, clapping her pudgy hands as she praised her baby sister. “I knew you could do it.”

“Yes, you did,” Greyson said, picking the three-year-old up with his free arm and giving her a huge hug as well. “You’re such a great big sister.”

“Meat’s ready,” Harris called from the back patio, and Clara squealed, wriggling to be let down. Greyson complied, and the girl went tumbling to her plastic table and chair, her small, scruffy rescue dog, Flopsy—so named by Clara because the pup had “big, flopsy ears”—yapping along behind her.

“Gweat! I’m hungwy,” she announced before sitting down and folding her arms on the surface of the table expectantly.

“I know you are, munchkin,” Harris said, stepping into the house. “That’s why I put a rush on it.”

“I hope that doesn’t mean it’s burnt on the outside and raw on the inside again,” Libby grumbled good naturedly, and Greyson chuckled. His wife often gave his brother flack over his grilling prowess, but they all knew that she would rather have Harris at the grill than Greyson any day.