More Than Anything (Broken Pieces 1)

“He didn’t know about my baby,” she said triumphantly, hoping to shock him and quite irrationally feeling like she’d scored a point or something.

“No, he didn’t,” Greyson admitted. His calm acceptance of her words told her that he had known about Fletcher before she had thrown the words at him. “But I think learning about Fletcher only made him love you, and hate himself, that much more.”

“You know about Fletcher,” Tina murmured, the wind leaving her sails completely. She sat down on the swing, and Greyson sank down next to her.

“Harris told me.”

“How could he say something like that to me and then leave? Before I have a chance to even process the words?”

“I don’t think he expects anything in return. I think he just needed you to know.”

“Well, it was selfish! I was fine without him. I was doing fine. I don’t need his crazy confessions of love, I don’t need his kindness, and his . . . his . . . understanding. I don’t want his apologies or his regrets. I’m fine!” Her voice wobbled on the last two words, and without any warning whatsoever, she simply burst into tears.

Greyson made a soft sound of distress and gently gathered her into his arms. She accepted the comforting embrace. Clinging fiercely to this man who looked so much like Harris, but who smelled completely wrong and whose arms didn’t hold her in remotely the same way.

Chapter Fourteen

Harris couldn’t sleep. Jet lag and thoughts of Tina had kept him tossing and turning for hours. His phone pinged at about three thirty in the morning, and he swore violently beneath his breath. He lifted the device, and his breath whooshed from his lungs in one quick exhalation.

Hey! Guess who came to MJ’s today?

It was from Tina. He hadn’t heard from her since he’d left Riversend on Monday morning. It was now Friday. Well, technically it was Thursday night in South Africa. He was six hours ahead in Perth. He tried his best to keep his focus on business, but whenever he found himself with a quiet moment, which was more often than he’d anticipated, he went through his pictures of Fletcher, playing the clips over and over again. Hearing her singing or talking to the baby making her absence a little more bearable.

It was fast becoming a crutch, and he knew he should limit his viewings, but he missed her so damned much: the sound of her voice, the sight of her hesitant smile. In the years before his week in Riversend, he had coped. She would never be his; he had accepted that. But now, after spending time with her again, laughing with her, crying with her . . . making love with her, he felt her absence like a knife wound to his heart. It was piercing, painful, and constant.

Are you awake? Crap. What’s the time? I thought you were six hours behind us. There was a pause before the next message flashed onto the screen. Oh man! I see it’s ahead of us. Jeez. I hope your phone’s on silent.

He grinned at that. He could almost hear her saying the words. Breathless and apologetic. He tapped out a quick response.

I’m awake. He laughed when the smiling poo emoji appeared on his screen an instant later.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.

You didn’t. Jetlag.

She sent a little wincing emoji in response to that.

Who came to MJ’s today?

The hipster who sculpted jaundiced David!!

No shit! Did you tell him he was robbed?!

I told him he should have placed second for sure (after Spongebob). He thanked me. He’s quite nice. I think he has a crush on my manager, Ricardo.

Harris stared at her message for a long moment, not sure what to say next.

I should let you get to sleep. Her words floated onto his screen before he could reply to her previous message.

Highly doubt that’s possible. Especially not after her messages. He wasn’t sure what to make of it. He’d been in contact with both Libby and Greyson all week. The former had harangued him for leaving without saying goodbye to her and Clara, and Harris had taken the messages to mean that she wasn’t angry with him anymore. Which had been a relief. Leaving Tina had been fucking awful; losing Libby’s friendship in addition to that would have been the shitty icing on an already crappy cake.

And Grey—he had taken to thinking of, and referring to, his brother by the shortened version of his name more and more these days—he called regularly to ask about business. Something he had never done before. Usually he’d leave Harris to do his thing and vice versa; if communication had been essential, they would text or email before actually resorting to speaking. The phone calls always started off about business but inevitably strayed to more personal topics, like how Clara was doing, how Tina was coping with the restaurant, or Grey’s frustration with his inability to win Libby back. They also spoke about the town and the people Grey was spending time with. Another surprise—Grey had always preferred being a loner. He had never had close friends, and suddenly he was Mr. Sociable. Sometimes they talked about their parents, who occasionally sent both men a text. They had always had a loose, hands-off style of parenting. Expecting something different now that Grey and Harris were adults would be futile. But mostly the brothers talked about absolutely nothing of any import. Sport, the news, the weather, everyday mundane crap.