More Than Anything (Broken Pieces 1)

“We should hang out together more often,” Spade was saying. “Like in the good old days. When we were kids. Fuck, those were the days, am I right? I mean, Schaeffer and I, we still party . . . lots of parties and lots of pussy. You should join us. Booze, babes, and blow. The good life.”

Harris hated this guy; he fucking hated him.

He had come here determined to confront Jonah about what he had done to Harris. To Tina. How he had destroyed their lives for the sake of some childish prank . . . but looking at him now, Harris couldn’t believe he had almost allowed this pathetic loser to ruin his future as well as his past.

Jonah Spade and his friends had stolen something precious from both Harris and Tina.

A first time that could have led to a beautiful beginning.

Maybe Fletcher would still have been conceived that night, but Tina wouldn’t have been alone. Or possibly Harris—completely lucid—would have used a condom. And Fletcher would only have come years later; maybe then he would have been strong enough for this world. Or perhaps he was always destined to be lost to them. There were endless possibilities . . . and they had all been robbed from Tina and Harris by this little toad of a man.

But Harris could see clearly now: depriving himself of a possible future with Tina would be allowing Jonah Spade and his cohorts to wield so much more power than they deserved.

“You’re a fucking loser, Spade,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. And he relished the look of utter shock and confusion on the man’s face.

“Now, hold on a goddamned—”

“You’re a sad and pathetic little bastard who doesn’t deserve a moment more of my consideration.”

Harris got up and allowed himself one last look at the guy who had unknowingly influenced his life for so long before he walked out.

He was done with the past. He had a future to get to.

Tina’s phone rang just after midnight, while she was brewing a cup of chamomile tea, and she fumbled in her robe pocket for the vibrating device. Her eyes widened when she saw the name on the screen, and she answered immediately.

“Harris.”

“Hey, Bean. I figured you’d be up.”

Of course she was up; dinner service had ended just an hour ago.

“You’ve been ignoring my messages,” she accused, feeling pissed off and weepy and so damned happy to hear his voice.

“I haven’t. I read every single one of them,” he said, his voice hushed. “And listened to all your voice notes. I’ve watched every clip of you and Fletcher about a million times.”

“Why?” she asked on a whisper.

“Why? Because I’ve missed you, Tina. I’ve missed you so much.” His voice was quivering, and Tina chewed at her lower lip. Not sure what to say. “I thought it would be better, for both of us, if we maybe . . . ceased contact for a while.”

“Why?” She could hear the plaintive note in her voice.

“Because this was supposed to be your fresh start, Bean. How could you have a fresh start with me around?”

“How could I not? You’re an important part of my life, Harris.” The most important part. “I wanted to talk, to figure things out. But before I could say a word, you were dressed and spouting so much self-righteous garbage. And then you were gone. And absolutely nothing since then.”

“What did you want to talk about, Tina?” he asked, his voice brimming with something that sounded like hope. “What did you want to figure out?”

“Well . . . us.”

There was a long, long silence on the other end of the line, and when he spoke again, his voice was choked with emotion.

“And is there still an us to talk about?”

“Of course there is, Harris. There will always be an us.”

“I’m so damned happy to hear that, Tina. I thought . . . I thought I screwed it all up.”

“You nearly did.” Tina grabbed a dish towel and mopped up her tears.

“We’ll talk about it—about us—very soon, okay?”

“We can talk about it . . .”

He hung up, and she ripped her phone from her ear and glared at it, resisting the temptation to fling it at the wall. He had hung up on her. How dare he? Why wouldn’t he just talk to her?

Tears were still seeping down her cheeks, and she glared at her cooling tea, wondering if she should call him back. But she was working herself up into a righteous anger right now, and she told herself that he had hung up on her. And if he wanted to talk, he could damned well call back!

Tina cried herself to sleep that night and woke the following morning feeling groggy and exhausted. She dragged herself out of bed, pushed her feet into her fuzzy slippers, and padded into the kitchen for her coffee.