Nothing But This (Broken Pieces 2)
Decision made, she unclipped Clara’s carrier from the car seat and hooked it over the crook of her arm. She was gratified when the baby didn’t so much as whimper, and she grabbed her house keys and phone, switching on the device’s flashlight to light the way. There was an overgrown garden between the carport and the path to the house, and she ducked and weaved her way through there—shuddering at the possibility of spiders—before thankfully setting foot on the path.
She screamed when a huge figure loomed ahead of her in the darkness.
“I have Mace!” she lied in a high-pitched voice after her scream petered out. Clara immediately started crying.
“Libby, it’s me.” The deep, dark, instantly familiar voice that resounded into the black night was unwelcome, to say the least. Libby screamed again, the sound rife with frustration instead of fear this time.
“Stop that, for God’s sake. You’ll have the neighbors out to see what all the fuss is about.”
“Good, let them come,” she said, hearing the near hysteria in her voice and not caring. “Let them call the cops. You’re trespassing, and I want you gone. Right now!”
She gently rocked the carrier, trying to bring the baby’s crying under control. She lifted her phone light directly into his pale face. He winced when the light hit his eyes, and she felt a petty surge of satisfaction at the morsel of discomfort her gesture had brought him.
“We need to talk.”
“I have absolutely nothing to say to you.”
“Libby, please.”
“Why are you here? How are you here? Who told you how to find me?”
There was a long pause as he continued to grimace in her general direction, his eyes slits to protect himself from the light.
“I have money and resources. I’ve known where you are for months . . .” He hesitated before continuing, “For four months, to be exact.”
“Well, then why are you here?”
“Can we discuss this inside?”
“I don’t want you in my house.”
He compressed his lips in that way he had when he was trying to refrain from speaking his mind. An expression with which she was much too familiar. It used to bother her back when she cared about what he was thinking. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then changed his mind and swallowed back the words.
Oh, wasn’t he just the model of restraint tonight? Well, Libby had no such reservations and felt a sense of complete liberation when she unleashed the torrent of resentment and fury that had been roiling away just beneath the surface for much longer than the four months since she’d left him. A lot of her anger had been tamped down during her pregnancy, when he hadn’t offered a single word or gesture of support. The excuses she had made on his behalf . . . she was disgusted with herself for not speaking up sooner. But now he was here, in the flesh, and she could finally let him have it. With both barrels.
“You’re a vile, disgusting excuse for a man, Greyson. I want nothing more to do with you. I don’t want my baby within a hundred miles of you. And even that seems too close. I don’t want you here, contaminating our lives with your toxic presence. You don’t get to come here and . . . and . . . whatever the hell this is. I don’t know what you want, I don’t want to know what you want. I want you gone.”
“Libby, I understand why you feel that way. But I thought . . .”
Clara’s crying was escalating, and Libby’s rocking increased agitatedly.
“Yes, I know. Thought you were infertile, right? And I’m supposed to—what? Feel sorry for you? Understand your cruelty? Forgive your cruelty? Am I to take it that you’ve had that paternity test done? You know she’s yours, am I right? Is that why you’re here? Because let me tell you, mister, you have no moral right to my child—I will not allow you access to her just because you now believe you’re her father.”
“I haven’t had any paternity tests done.”
That made her pause, but not for long.
“I don’t care,” she decided. “I don’t care. Go away. Back to your diamond-encrusted ivory tower. Leave us alone. We don’t need you.”
“I know you don’t. But . . . maybe I need you?” The soft voice, the hesitation, and the actual words all combined to add fuel to an already-raging fire. Oh man . . . seriously? He was going to play this card?
“Greyson Chapman doesn’t need anyone. You’re an island, with your own government, your own wealth, and your own natural resources. You need us as much as you need more money, which is not even a little.”
“That’s not true.” He tugged at his already-loosened tie. She had only seen him this disheveled and out of sorts once before. And that was on the day he’d so thoroughly renounced both her and his own child. The memory made her jaw clench until her teeth ached, and she fought back the urge to scream yet again.