“I just heard, yeah.” Harris’s voice was teeming with sympathy.
Greyson sighed and dropped his face into the palms of his hands.
“Christ. I could murder a drink right now.” The admission made him feel weak and ashamed. But he was never going to lean on that particular crutch ever again.
He lifted his head, wanting to tell Harris that he didn’t mean it, but he tensed when he saw his brother’s face. Harris looked awful.
“You look like hell,” Greyson said, keeping his voice quiet. Not wanting to distress Harris even further . . . but to his alarm, his brother’s eyes filled with moisture.
Shit.
Greyson got up, his own problems set aside for the moment. His entire focus on Harris.
“What’s going on?”
“She had a baby,” Harris said, his voice broken and his words absolutely devastating. Greyson didn’t need to ask who she was.
“Oh my God,” Greyson said, his own voice trembling with shock.
“His name was Fletcher.” Harris’s cheeks were wet with tears by now, and Greyson felt helpless, not sure what to say or do to make this better. “Oh God, Grey. He died. And Tina had to go through all of that alone. While I got off scot-free. How can she ever forgive me for something like that? When I’ll never be able to forgive myself?”
Greyson felt his own eyes fill at that emotional outpouring as he thought of the nephew he’d never known about. Lost to them forever. And Martine, the sweet, emotionally fragile girl who had had to endure so much loss and heartbreak at such a young age. He couldn’t imagine how agonizing this must be. Having come so close to losing Clara through his own stupidity, he could barely even consider the notion of losing her so definitively. Of never having the chance to hold her again. Harris had never had that opportunity with Fletcher . . . and Greyson felt like a selfish prick when he considered how carelessly he had nearly thrown away something his brother would likely move heaven and earth to have. Even for just a moment.
He wrapped his arm around Harris’s shoulders, but when his brother turned in to his embrace, Greyson gave him comfort the only way he could. He held him while he cried.
Dealing with Harris’s loss had temporarily shelved Greyson’s own crisis. He had comforted his brother, talked to him about Fletcher, about Martine, about where to go from here. Harris wasn’t sure of anything except that he had no way of atoning for his part in what had happened so many years ago.
Which was bullshit because as far as Greyson could see, his brother’s only fault lay in caring about a girl and acting on a crush. He hadn’t intentionally set out to deceive her. And yet he felt like everything that had happened was his fault.
Harris was a much better man than Greyson would ever be. Greyson knew that. His brother was riddled with guilt over something that had happened when he was barely out of his teens. Something that he hadn’t been consciously responsible for.
Greyson, in the meantime, had deliberately withheld important information from his future wife and then gone full asshole on her months later when his secrets had come back to bite him in the butt.
He was nowhere near the man his brother was.
Greyson didn’t sleep well. He woke up when he heard Harris leave his room—and then their side of the house—at around one in the morning. The door to Martine’s place opened shortly thereafter, and he heard the couple’s muffled voices quietly speaking for a while before everything went silent. Greyson managed to doze off, but the sound of movement in Harris’s room woke him just before dawn.
He got up and went to check if his brother was okay but found him packing his bag.
“What’s going on?” he asked, and Harris looked up, appearing unsurprised to see him in the doorway.
“I’m leaving.”
“You really want to do that?”
“I don’t want to do it, but I think it’s best for Tina. She’s a wreck, Grey. She has those nightmares. And she couldn’t even stand to be around babies until recently. You should have seen her with Clara last night—it was heartbreaking. I did that to her. I love her, but I ruined her life. How do I reconcile those two things?”
Greyson shook his head. He was the last one who should give advice when his own life and relationship were so completely messed up.
“I don’t know what to tell you, Harris,” he admitted with a heavy sigh. “I wish I did.”
Harris lifted his bag to his shoulder, and they walked out into the cool morning together, stopping at Harris’s rented 4x4.
“Would you do me a favor?” Harris asked.
“Of course. Anything.”
“Will you give this to her? To Tina?” He handed Greyson a silver hoop on a leather chain, and Greyson stared at it for a moment before closing his hand around it.
“I’ll make sure she gets it,” he assured him.
“And can you . . . I don’t know. Keep an eye on her, I guess. She tends to close herself off from the world. I just worry that . . .”
“I’ll watch out for her, but are you certain you want to do this?” Greyson interrupted, keeping his voice gentle.
“I have to. It’s better for her if she’s allowed to continue her life without me around to remind her of . . .” He broke off and shook his head before changing the subject abruptly. “Will you be okay? After last night?”
Greyson felt a sharp stab of something in his chest. He had tried very hard to put his confusing emotions about Olivia’s demand for a divorce on the back burner. But Harris’s concerned question brought them all surging to the fore again.
He massaged his chest, trying to ease the discomfort that had settled there, and nodded.
“I’ll be fine. I’m not going anywhere. I told Olivia that. I’m going to relocate to Riversend.”
“Grey . . . do you think that’s wise?”
“I don’t want to lose them.”
“That’s not your call, Grey. You can’t force her to stay married to you. Is she being unreasonable about access to Clara?”
Greyson shook his head.
“Maybe it’s time to focus on being a good father.”
Greyson swallowed, hating how right his brother was . . . he didn’t want to give up on Olivia, on his marriage. But he couldn’t force her to remain married to him. To care about him again. He’d had his chance. And he had fucked it up completely.
“If nothing else,” he began, feeling awkward about what he wanted to say, “I’m glad we . . . you and I . . . I feel . . .”
“I know,” Harris interrupted. “Me too, Grey.”
They had never been the kind of twins to complete each other’s sentences or read each other’s thoughts, but in that moment, they understood each other completely.
Greyson smiled, and Harris returned it with a crooked lift of his lips.
“Drive carefully,” Greyson muttered, spontaneously reaching out to embrace his brother.
“I will. Stay in contact, okay?”
Greyson stepped out of the hug self-consciously and nodded. “You too.”
Within moments, his brother was gone, leaving Greyson feeling a pang of loss at his departure.
When a distraught Tina came flying out of her front door seconds after Harris’s car disappeared down the drive, Greyson shifted his focus to comforting the woman his brother loved. He had made a promise . . . and he would not let Harris down.
“You’re going to have to let me fix this place up, Olivia,” Greyson announced when Libby stepped into her house two weeks later.
They had fallen into a routine over the last couple of weeks. Greyson watched Clara every night during the week, initially at MJ’s. But this last week Libby and Greyson had decided that it would be easier and more comfortable if he and Clara stayed at Olivia’s house. But tonight, he looked seriously pissed off, and Libby wondered what had broken this time. The house seemed to be getting worse. The plumbing still hadn’t been fixed, she had regular electrical shorts, and the air con had finally failed. Which had forced her to i
nvest in more heaters and place even more strain on the electrical system.
She dumped her bag next to the door, massaged her nape, and went directly to the makeshift play area where he had left Clara—buffered by some cushions—to sleep.
Libby smiled down at her sweetly sleeping baby. “How was she tonight?” She kept her voice hushed.
“Good,” Greyson replied, his voice equally quiet. “She’s rolling over more regularly every day.”
Libby grinned, delighted. Clara had started rolling over onto her stomach with ease. She was also sitting up with assistance.
“Did you hear me? About fixing this place up?” Greyson asked, his voice a fierce whisper.
“What happened?” Libby asked wearily. She moved to the fridge for a bottle of water. She had a splitting headache; dinner service had been crazy tonight. The restaurant was really gaining popularity, with people coming even from neighboring towns.
“A few of the roof tiles blew off when the wind picked up earlier. It sounded like the roof was being ripped off. When I went outside to see what happened, I found the tiles in your front garden. If it had happened during the day when you were outside, you could have been seriously hurt. As it is, I’m pretty sure the leak in your roof is going to be ten times worse when it rains. I can’t have my child living like this, Olivia. You have to let me fix some things, for her sake.”
“When you say me, do you actually mean you?” Libby asked, pausing to take a thirsty drink from her bottle. “Or do you mean paying thousands to have the professionals come in and do it?”
“Which do you prefer?” Greyson asked, sounding wholly exasperated.
“Neither.”
“Well, pick one. And stop being so damned stubborn. This isn’t for you, it’s for Clara. Surely you want better for her? This place is unsafe. One of the heaters tripped the electricity earlier, and I’m concerned about potential fire hazards.”
“Of course I want better for her.”
“Then let me do this. You know that when it comes to custody hearings, any judge will rule in favor of the parent who can provide decent shelter, right? This isn’t decent shelter.”
Libby’s jaw dropped—she couldn’t believe he had just said that. That he had actually gone there.
“Is that a threat?” she asked furiously.
“No, it’s not. It’s a fact. I’m offering to help you. Because I want what’s best for her. For both of you.”
Libby watched him as she nervously screwed and unscrewed the bottle cap, trying to assess his sincerity.
If he was threatening her, if he wanted to use this place against her in order to gain full custody of Clara, she didn’t think he would be offering to fix it for her. It would work in his favor if he simply left it as it was. But he wanted to make improvements, and truthfully, the house had become an absolute money pit. She had fallen in love with the charm of its location, the gorgeous views, and the proximity to the beach, but so far it had been one problem after the next.
Libby looked at Clara again. Her baby was so tiny and helpless. She depended on her mother to know and do what was best.
“Okay,” she said, reluctantly setting her pride aside. She refused to allow this to feel like a failure. This was the best decision for Clara. “Thank you. That would be nice.”
“Ouch, that sounded like it hurt. I know it’s hard to believe, Olivia, but I can be nice sometimes,” he said with a slight grin, and she stared at him in wonder.
Was he teasing her?
That was new. She allowed her own lips to tilt upward.
“Okay, Mr. Nice Guy . . . please ensure that these renovations are only what’s needed. Nothing hugely extravagant.”
“I don’t consider working plumbing, a waterproof roof, and a safe electrical system extravagance. More your average, ordinary basic necessities. I’ll try not to inconvenience you too much and will ask the contractors to keep the work limited to the hours that you’re at MJ’s whenever possible.”
“Thank you.”
“Right, I should be off. I bathed Clara this evening, changed her nappy half an hour ago. And she was fed two hours ago. She still has the runny nose, but no fever.”
He picked up his messenger bag and made his way to the front door.
“Greyson,” she called impulsively. He stopped and turned to face her cautiously.
“Yes?”
“I just . . . I wanted to thank you. For everything you’ve done these last few weeks. It’s been invaluable.”
He nodded curtly. “Thank you for saying that.”
“It’s the truth. I-I’m happy Clara has you in her life.”
She was. He was turning into a devoted father. Not just a glorified babysitter. She regretted ever calling him that. It hadn’t been entirely fair. He was trying his best and had been since the moment he’d arrived in town. And she could see that he loved Clara; she just wished he would stop trying to turn them into some kind of family unit. He sometimes seemed completely unable to accept the reality of their situation.
She knew Greyson hated failure as much as she did. And for a success-driven man like Greyson, a failed marriage had to be a bitter pill to swallow. Well, if she could deal with it, so could he.
Besides, one of the reasons Libby wanted this divorce was because she couldn’t stand the idea of being in a one-sided marriage again. Where all the emotional investment came from her alone. Marriage to him had become a lonely and painful experience. And she couldn’t see enough change in him to imagine that continuing with their disastrous union would result in anything but more pain for her. And eventually for Clara. Libby had to protect her heart and—more importantly—secure Clara’s happiness.
“Good night, Olivia. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Good night, Greyson.” She watched him leave, biting back the impulse to ask him to stay. It was a weakness she fought—and overcame—every night. But she feared that one evening she’d succumb and they’d fall into bed again. She hated how much she still wanted him. Hated how little control she had over her attraction to him. He felt it, too; it was obvious in the way his eyes often trailed over her body, the way his voice deepened and his pupils dilated whenever he was in her proximity. But he never said or did anything to act on the desire she sensed simmering away beneath all that reticence.
The divorce papers were still unsigned. And she hadn’t asked him about them. Another weakness. She was afraid to ask him. Afraid that he would sign them . . . absolutely terrified of the moment when their marriage, such as it was, would end.
“Oh my God. Alistair’s band is really, really good,” Tina announced after coming into the kitchen that Friday night, her eyes bright with excitement. Tina had been incredibly unhappy since Harris had left town, and Libby smiled, delighted to see her friend so animated.
After their massive opening-weekend fail, the restaurant was now thriving under Tina’s guidance. And they could now count the mayor as one of their loyal patrons. The man’s visits had been exciting for all of them. Tina had fully embraced the concept of Libby’s dessert tasting menu. And they had just launched a Wednesday dessert night. It was such a success that people were making reservations weeks in advance.
And now Tina’s idea to have a live band in on Friday nights was paying off in spades. Alistair was their restaurant manager Ricardo’s new boyfriend, and he and his band were their first-ever live act.
Professionally, both Tina and Libby were doing very well. Personally . . . not so much.
“You’re right! The band’s awesome,” Libby responded. “We’ve been singing along all evening.”
“We’ve got an amazing crowd tonight; they’re loving it.”
“And they brought their appetites, which is great for us,” Libby quipped.
“Yes indeed.” Tina’s smile widened, and she actually rubbed her palms together in glee.
Libby’s phone buzzed in her pocket, and her smile faded when she saw that the text was from Greyson. Immediately concerned that some
thing might have happened to Clara, she sent Tina a panicked look before opening the message.
It was a video clip. Relaxing marginally, she opened it.
“C’mon, angel. Do it again for your mummy.” Greyson’s encouraging voice could be heard as the wobbly camera focused on Clara, who was blowing little spit bubbles and waving her arms excitedly. The baby was lying on her comforter on the floor, surrounded by cushions and toys. Greyson’s large hand appeared in the frame, and Clara’s fist grabbed his finger. She greedily tried to tug it to her mouth for chewing purposes.
Not sure what the purpose of the clip was, Libby watched with a happy little grin on her face. Tina, who was craning her neck to watch, had a similar expression on her face.
“Come on, Clara, up you go,” Greyson said gently while pulling his hand back slightly. Clara, who still had a death grip on his finger, grabbed his hand with her other tiny fist and pulled herself up to follow his hand. Soon she was sitting upright and still trying to drag his hand to her mouth.
“Okay, let go now, angel. Show your mummy what you can do . . . I swear she did this earlier, Olivia.” His voice was a little louder now as he spoke directly to Libby. “Just bear with us.”
The phone wobbled when he set it aside, faceup. And Libby and Tina found themselves staring at nothing but the ceiling and part of Greyson’s face.
“Give Daddy’s hand back, Clara . . . that’s a good girl. That’s my sweet girl.” The phone moved again, and the camera pointed back at Clara. She was still sitting up, but one of his hands was on her arm to support her. He slowly released her, and Libby held her breath as Clara remained upright for about five seconds before listing to the left. The camera jerked, and Greyson’s large hand appeared again to shift the baby back into an upright position.
“Oops, sorry, sweetheart. Daddy let you go before you were ready. Let’s try that again, okay? Three, two . . .” His hand slowly inched away, and Clara remained seated, fully in control, her wide eyes staring at something above the camera—probably Greyson’s face.
Libby’s hand crept to her mouth. “Oh, she’s doing it, Tina!”
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