More Than Anything (Broken Pieces 1)

Admitting that Harris had been her baby’s father had been even harder. Libby had stared at Tina like she’d never seen her before, the betrayal the woman felt that her best friend could have kept such a momentous secret from her for so long evident in her eyes. The look of wounded shock had only deepened when Tina had refused to delve into the details of her one night with Harris. For some unfathomable reason, she wanted to protect Harris from the disgust she knew Libby would feel if she mentioned the bet.

Predictably, Libby—this time out of concern for Tina—wanted to continue her original arrangement with Greyson. She had only relented after Tina insisted that having Clara around helped her immensely, even if she couldn’t actually bring herself to physically interact with the baby. Yet.

But Libby had insisted Tina take that evening’s service off. And Tina, too emotionally exhausted to argue, had gratefully accepted the suggestion.

She dragged herself up off her office couch and gathered up her belongings, desperate to get home.

“What are you doing?”

The sound of Tina’s voice coming from behind him in his home startled Harris into dropping his bag. He whirled around to face her; the movement was jerky and abrupt and made her jump in fright.

He stared at her in disbelief, quite sure his mouth must have fallen open in absolute shock. He had not expected to see her again. Certainly not standing just outside his bedroom door.

“Harris?” she prompted, and he blinked, not sure what she wanted. “What are you doing?”

“I-I . . .” He tossed a look over his shoulder at the bag he had zipped up just seconds ago, and the visual cue helped. “Packing. I was packing. Why are you here?”

“You’re packing?”

Was that dismay in her voice? Disappointment in her eyes? What the fuck?

“Yes. I’ve decided to leave tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“I think I may have overstayed my welcome,” he said, his voice embarrassingly rough with emotion. “Why are you here?”

She held up a hand, and in it she had . . .

“Microwave popcorn?”

“Well, I have the evening off, and I don’t want to spend it alone, so I thought we could get started on that Game of Thrones binge we discussed yesterday.”

“You want to spend time here? With me?” he asked, knowing he sounded dumb as a bag of potatoes but wanting complete clarification on the matter.

She cast a glance around his room and then over her shoulder at the grubby living space. She wrinkled her nose and pursed her lips, looking like she’d smelled something putrid.

“Frankly? I’d really rather we spent the time at my place. My furniture is comfier. And cleaner. And my TV is much better than whatever that relic is in your living room.”

“I thought you were pissed off with me.”

His words seemed to surprise her—her eyes widened, and she tilted her head quizzically.

“Why? We had a relatively nice lunch together.” Yes, they’d had a very amicable meal together before she’d gone off with Libby to tell her all about Harris’s shameful past transgressions.

“I thought . . . well, Libby was angry with me, and I figured it was because you told her about the bet, and I thought if all of that got dredged up again, then you were probably back to hating me.”

He watched as she sucked her lush bottom lip into her mouth, the expression on her pale and strained face looking regretful.

“I had to . . .” She paused as she gathered her thoughts. “I needed to explain certain quirks in my behavior to Libby, and in doing so . . . part of my history with you had to be revealed. She knows we slept together, that one time. She doesn’t know anything of what happened immediately after that less-than-momentous occasion.”

He grimaced at her bluntness.

“Way to remind a guy of his worst hour,” he muttered.

“Or minute, as it were,” she corrected primly, surprising a rusty chuckle out of him. Against all odds, she seemed completely relaxed with him. And it confused Harris. Libby had been very cold toward him. If Tina really hadn’t told her about the bet, then what could have prompted such an extreme reaction? Surely, she couldn’t be this inordinately angry about a onetime ill-advised sexual encounter between two adults?

It made him wonder what Tina wasn’t telling him. Because he was sure there was something else going on here. And now Libby knew whatever it was, while Harris remained—once again—lost in the dark.

“So these, uh . . . behavioral quirks . . .” He prodded gently, not wanting to spoil the mood but needing to know more about what was going on with her. “They’re my fault?”

“They’re the result of various life-altering experiences. Our encounter—for want of a better word—happened to be one of those experiences.”

“I’m sorry.”

She didn’t acknowledge the apology, just held up the popcorn again.