More Than Anything (Broken Pieces 1)

There was Harris . . . she would be lying to herself if she didn’t admit that he cared about her. That he had for a long time.

For the first time in years, Tina could see that she was not alone. She had never been alone. She just hadn’t believed in herself enough to see the faith people like Libby had in her.

This plan, so concisely worded and neatly outlined in flowcharts and timelines, was her best shot at finally succeeding at something. Daff, with her swollen belly, her frank talk, and her unflinching regard, was tossing her a lifeline, and Tina would be foolish not to grab it with both hands.

“Tell me when we start.”

Daff smiled approvingly and folded her hands over her belly. “Right now.”

Harris went to MJ’s for lunch. The place was half-empty, and he shook his head at the poor turnout.

The now-familiar Suzie came to take his order.

“Hey, Suzie,” he said. “Is Tina around?”

“She’s in a meeting,” the older woman said, and Harris’s eyebrows rose. Tina hadn’t mentioned the fact that she had a meeting today.

Then again, why would she? She didn’t have to tell him a damned thing. He was just a booty call.

“Right,” he said and flashed her a quick smile before requesting a cup of coffee. He dragged out his phone when the woman left and half-heartedly returned a few emails. Aside from an existing embezzlement problem in Perth, Australia, which was being handled, there was nothing that demanded his immediate attention.

“Harris, have you spoken with Greyson today?”

“Goddamnit! Don’t sneak up on me like that,” Harris chastised, clutching his chest like a maiden aunt and frowning at his sister-in-law, who sat across the table from him. His heart was going a mile a minute. She had come out of nowhere.

“Stop being such an old woman,” she said with a dismissive wave. “When last did you see Greyson?”

“Do I look like his fucking social secretary?” he snapped, irritated.

“Don’t test me, Harris. I’m already seriously peed off with you.”

“Why?”

“You know why,” she said, and he felt his temper rising. He hardly ever lost his temper with Libby, but she was pushing all the wrong buttons today.

“No, please do elaborate!”

“Okay. You slept with Tina. It didn’t end well. You knew she had a serious crush on you when we were kids, and you took advantage of that.”

“You don’t have the first fucking clue what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you dare use that language with me, Harrison Chapman! There were repercussions. Did you even care about what happened after you slept with her and then just dropped her?”

“I didn’t drop her!” He knew he sounded defensive, but fuck it, he felt defensive. Libby was attacking without provocation. Taking sides when she had only heard Tina’s story. Treating him like he was a monster, when she had no idea. No real clue how things had been for him. “She wouldn’t speak to me. I tried. And then she left. For a whole year, and after that, she still wouldn’t speak with me. For ten fucking years I’ve been trying to fix things. I’ve been trying to make it right . . . and she wouldn’t—she won’t—let me.”

“Why should she, Harris?” Libby asked, her voice quietening while her beautiful eyes shone with tears. “She’s broken. I didn’t even know how broken until I spoke with her yesterday.” She swiped angrily at her tears before shaking her head and pinning him beneath her accusatory stare. “She’s so broken. And you’re the one who broke her.”

You’re the one who broke her.

The words reverberated through Harris’s head for the rest of the day. He had finished his coffee, after Libby had stormed off in a huff, and had left without ordering lunch. Because it was a fairly mild day, he had walked to MJ’s and was now taking a long, meandering walk back. The town was really quite quaint. He hadn’t taken the time to appreciate that before. He couldn’t quite appreciate it now either, not with Libby’s censure ringing in his ears.

Something else was going on, something beyond the bet. Something Tina had told Libby but had refused to tell Harris. And the resentment was chewing through his gut like acid. How was he supposed to make things better when she persisted in keeping secrets from him? It was beyond frustrating and—

A strident car horn jolted him from his thoughts, and he was shocked to realize that he’d attempted to cross the road without bothering to check for traffic. He was standing in front of a big, old-timey powder-blue Cadillac.

“Moron! Watch where you’re walking!” the driver, an elderly lady with white hair, thick, hairy white eyebrows, and a nasty attitude, shouted at him. She wound down her window and flipped him the bird before driving off at a snail’s pace.

“If she had hit you, I doubt the impact would even have left a bruise,” an amused voice coming from one of the storefronts called. A behemoth of a man, dressed in sweats, was standing at the entrance to the sporting-goods store, his arms folded across his huge chest. “She couldn’t have been going more than fifteen kilometers an hour.”