More Than Anything (Broken Pieces 1)

“Right.” That curt little right that he always seemed to utter when he was under emotional strain. He slid out of bed, leaving her feeling abandoned, and hastily donned his clothing.

“Harris?”

“Sweetheart,” he said, the absolute tenderness in his voice making her nervous. “When you go back, I think . . . that should be the end of this. Before we define it, before it becomes real and even more complicated. This is your new beginning, Tina. Everything that has happened before now has been dictated by the past. I just . . . I feel like having me around would be like dragging a piece of that past with you.”

“Harris.” She sat up, hugging a sheet to her chest. “That’s not what I want.”

“I wasn’t there for you before, Tina. I couldn’t help you, I couldn’t . . .” He paused, clearly frustrated as he tried to find the words to explain why he was threatening to abandon her now, when she finally, truly understood just how much she wanted him around. “I couldn’t do the right thing. But I can now. Do you understand?”

She shook her head—of course she didn’t understand. How could anybody understand this crazy, misguided attempt at nobility?

“Our time together here and in Riversend . . . it meant everything to me. And I’ll cherish it forever.”

“But . . .” She scooted out of bed, tripping over the sheet she still clutched to her chest. He was leaving. He was really leaving her again.

“I’m just so damned grateful—” His voice cracked on the word, and he cleared his throat self-consciously. “Grateful you allowed me to share part of your life for a short while.”

He kissed her. And it terrified her, because it truly felt like goodbye.

“Harris, wait! Don’t do this to—” The word us died on her lips when he turned and left.

He actually left. How could he just leave?

Tina stared at her closed door in outraged disbelief.

“What the hell?”

Harris could barely see through the haze blurring his vision.

He’d thought they would have more time. A little more time together before the inevitable end.

He had been somewhat committed to this course of action since she’d told him she was selling her flat. But hearing her say that she “liked” him had been the incentive he’d needed to solidify his decision. Their past would always be between them, and the best he could ever hope to get from her was like and affection and fondness. None of the stomach-churning, gut-clenching, heart-racing intense emotions he felt for her.

This was a tough decision, but it was the right one. He was sure of that.

Tina needed to move on with her life. Unencumbered by the past. How could she enjoy a truly fresh start by dragging old weighted-down baggage along with her?

He needed to let the dream of them go. For Tina’s sake. For his own sake. He finally had the chance to do the right thing. And deep down, he knew this was it. She would fly higher and further without him around to constantly remind her of past failures.

All his life, Harris had believed he was a good guy, a decent guy . . . when in reality, he was weak and blind and made stupid decisions.

He hadn’t even realized how much he had been hurting his own brother. All those times he had laughed and talked with Libby. They had had their little in-jokes and nostalgic recollections about things they had done, places they had seen without Grey. He had unintentionally excluded his brother and had never even noticed. He had been a selfish asshole. Blind to what was right in front of him.

He should have gone after Tina ten years ago. He should have found her, apologized to her . . . been there for her. Instead he had delayed that confrontation, like the fucking coward he had always been, while she had been left alone, pregnant and terrified.

Harris had always taken the easy way out. The path of least resistance. But not this time. This time he was making the tough choice, the only decision available to him. And he was leaving Tina alone. To flourish and live her life, unencumbered by his past mistakes.

He just thought . . . they’d have a little more time.

He made it to his car and slid behind the steering wheel and then sat there, staring straight ahead. He couldn’t bring himself to start the engine and drive away. His hand went to his chest and found his pendant—his crutch—and traced the comforting, smooth contours almost obsessively. Grateful to have it back where it belonged, while simultaneously tempted to yank it from his neck and toss it into the street.

He flung his head back against the headrest of his car seat, thumping the back of his skull against the padding. It hurt, so he did it again. He relished the shock of pain; it effectively blunted the persistent throb of anguish that seemed to have taken up residence in his no longer reliable heart.