Nothing But This (Broken Pieces 2)

Her voice wobbled as a sob built, and she clapped her hand over her mouth in an attempt to hold back the anguished sound she was almost sure she would make if she continued to speak. Tears brimmed and overflowed, scalding their way down her cheeks and beneath her fingers.

His face twisted, and his own eyes gleamed.

“Olivia. Please . . . I’m so . . .” He shook his head, and the movement dislodged a tear. A gleaming droplet that tracked down his lean cheek. Libby’s eyes followed it, watching in fascination as it reached the rigid line of his jaw, where it teetered stoically, on the brink of falling. He impatiently rubbed his chin against his shoulder, ruthlessly obliterating the teardrop. And Libby blinked, the destruction of that single perfect teardrop bringing her back to the present with a jolt.

“For weeks,” Greyson was saying, his voice sounding rough and distraught, “I’ve been trying to find the right words. The proper combination of sounds that would make you forgive me, that would make up for what I said and did. But those words don’t exist. And nothing I could possibly come up with will ever make up for the things I’ve said and done. How could I apologize when the words are too small, too insignificant, to ever properly communicate my regret and my absolute self-loathing? The only words I have to work with are I’m sorry . . . and they’re so fucking inadequate.”

Chapter Fifteen

She said nothing. And who could blame her? There was nothing left to say. Greyson had known telling her would spell the definitive end to everything he held dear. No matter what Tina or Harris said . . . he had always known that it would obliterate even the chance of a friendship between him and Olivia.

She was distraught, hurt, absolutely furious, and she was completely justified in feeling the way she did.

“Why did you tell me this?” she asked. “I wanted a divorce. Telling me changes nothing and just rakes up so very many negative feelings.”

“I was hoping . . .” His voice petered off as he recognized how futile his hopes had been. How stupid and unrealistic. “I thought if we ever stood a chance of resurrecting something of our marriage . . . our relationship. Even our friendship. We shouldn’t have something of this magnitude looming between us.”

“We barely had a marriage,” she scoffed. Her stark words lacerated him, and he flinched. “Our friendship—what there was of it—was completely one sided. And as for a relationship . . . we had great sex. Well, really good sex. It could have been great. It should have been great. Those few nights we had here, in Riversend, showed me how great it could have been. But you always held back. You never allowed yourself to lose control. To trust me at your most vulnerable. And that was the real problem with our relationship. That lack of trust led to where we are today.”

“It’s always been hard for me to trust, Olivia. I don’t like losing control. But with you . . . it was different. I was different. I was well on my way to trusting you, to giving myself to you completely, when . . . everything happened.”

“‘When everything happened’?” she repeated scathingly. “When I got pregnant with your child, you mean? When you looked at me and were convinced that the only way that could be possible was if I had cheated on you—with your own brother?”

She looked like she was about to gag and shut her eyes tightly as if to force her nausea back.

“You and Harris . . . ,” he began, not entirely sure what he was going to say. “It’s so simple for you.”

She blinked, something in his words making her pause. “What do you mean?” The question was reluctant and forced out through barely moving lips.

“I’ve never found it easy to be around people. I prefer solitary pursuits. But you were like sunshine in my world. You lit up a room with your smile, with your laughter. You attract people to you. I was drawn to your warm, generous light, and it made me uncomfortable. Because I never knew what to say, or do, around you. Even before I desired you, I found it difficult to interact with you. You were constantly laughing over things that I often found incomprehensible. But Harris always seemed to get it.”

She started fidgeting with the edge of her place mat. Greyson was familiar with the habit. It was something she often did—fidgeting with random objects—when she was nervous or trying to figure something out.

“When you were a kid, you used to follow me around, remember?”

“Until you called me a stalker,” she muttered, sounding like a resentful teen.

“I allowed it for years before I put a stop to it. I liked knowing you were there. You were always close, and I was getting too used to it, too comfortable with it. I remember once I turned around and you weren’t there, and I panicked because I worried that something had happened to you. But you had stopped to pick up a treat from the kitchen, and you came traipsing into the living room, a plate of cookies in hand, sat down with your book, and proceeded to ignore me as usual. Always trying so hard to be unobtrusive. Trying to pretend that you just happened to be in the same room I was in. That was when I decided that I needed to put an end to it. I had become too accustomed to your presence, and it confused me. I feared that one day I would have to interact with you, and your sweet little crush would disappear when you discovered that I wasn’t interesting or funny or anything like my brother. I didn’t want to see the disappointment on your face the day that happened. So I drove you away. And then, when you were older, I kept you at arm’s length because it was the only thing that would save my sanity.”