Nothing But This

by Anders, Natasha

  “Trying to sleep. Not really succeeding.”

  “Why is my friend so damned miserable?” Libby asked him, thinking about how sad Tina had been all evening. They hadn’t had much time to talk about it, but Libby planned to corner her tomorrow after lunch service to have a girl talk about what the hell was going on between her and Harris.

  “I’m not good for her, Libby. She would be better off without me in her life. Every terrible thing that has ever happened to her is my fault. And this is the only way I can make amends,” he said quietly, and Libby bit back a groan. Why were their lives so damned messy?

  “I don’t agree. And I don’t think she’d agree either.”

  “She’ll get over it. We both will. We have to. Our relationship has been painful and destructive. It was never meant to be.”

  “Harris . . .” Libby wished she knew what to say. She didn’t agree with him. He and Libby clearly had strong feelings for each other.

  “Anyway,” he said firmly, clearly wanting to change the subject. “What’s happening with you and Grey? He told me he signed the papers.”

  That surprised her. In fact, every time she heard that Greyson had confided in someone, it surprised her.

  “Does he talk to you often?” she asked curiously.

  “It doesn’t come easily to him. He always starts a call or message talking about some work thing or the other . . . and then he moves straight on to Clara or his self-defense classes. He told me he was considering taking up surfing. Can you imagine that? Greyson as a surfer dude? And he always finds a way to talk about you, Libby.”

  The last was said in a much quieter, more serious tone of voice, and Libby swallowed painfully as she considered that bit of information.

  “He told me what he believed about us.” Just saying it made her feel a little queasy, and Harris made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat.

  “Gross, right?” he said with an unamused laugh. “Like I’d want to sleep with a bug like you.”

  “Shut up,” she said with a little huff. “This is serious.”

  He exhaled heavily. “It’s easier to laugh about it. Because I’ve already gone through the rage and righteous indignation and all the other bullshit negative emotions.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because you were already hurting, and I didn’t want to add to that. And because it was Grey’s sordid little suspicion, I figured I’d leave the telling to him. If it’s any consolation, he looked like he regretted verbalizing it the moment it was out. And he fucking hates himself for ever thinking it.”

  “Do you think we . . .”

  “Yes.” The word was out before she had even properly formulated the question in her mind. “We were unfair. He doesn’t know how to be close to people. I don’t know why. That’s just the way he’s wired. He has a natural reticence that we just don’t get. Tina’s the same way. They exclude people until they feel they can trust them enough to let them in. Grey let you in. And we didn’t recognize that. Or respect it.”

  “But we’re friends. You’re the brother I never had.”

  “And you’re my sister. But we should have been a little more sensitive to the fact that we were ostracizing him. We both love him, and yet we didn’t even understand how badly we were hurting him.”

  “It’s no excuse for what he did,” she whispered, blinking rapidly as she tried to keep the tears at bay.

  “No, it’s not. But it does kind of help you understand why he leaped to that dumb conclusion. Not forgive . . . but understand.”

  She lost the battle against the tears, and they slipped down her cheeks as she struggled to formulate her next words. But she honestly had no idea what else she wanted to say, and she just sat there in silence, her breathing heavy and raspy as she fought to get her emotions back under control.

  They had hurt him. Greyson, who had always seemed impervious to emotions like pain and distress and insecurity . . . he had admitted to feeling all of those and more because of the nonchalant manner in which Harris and Libby had continued their friendship without any regard for the considerably changed circumstances of their trio. He had been working long hours, and Libby, between jobs, had sought to fill the void of his absence by spending time with Harris and—to a lesser extent—Tina. Thinking about it now, all she could remember was the many nights Greyson had come home to find Harris and Libby hanging out together. The few times he had come home early, he’d lingered for a few moments and then retreated to his study.

  She considered their lunch at Chris’s café a few days ago. How he had once again been hovering on the outside of one of her close friendships. She had never made the effort to include him. Not with Harris and certainly not with Chris. As with Tina and the restaurant, she had once again simply expected him to know how to join in and take his place by her side. Assert himself, be sociable, friendly . . . amenable.

  God. What was wrong with her?

  “Bug?”

  “Yes?” Her voice was embarrassingly hoarse.

  “Have you seen Grey take a drink since he’s been in Riversend?”

  The question baffled her, and her brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of it. “What do you mean?”

  “A beer? Glass of wine, perhaps?”

  She shook her head mutely, not understanding why he was asking her this.

  “I don’t know,” she said, wiping the heel of her hand across her cheeks. “I’m not sure.”

  She thought back to the night he had taken her to that ridiculous restaurant. He had ordered the most expensive bottle of wine on the menu, yet he’d spent the evening sipping from a glass of water. She remembered thinking that it was odd at the time.

  “I don’t think so,” she said.

  “Ask him why not.”

  “Harris . . .”

  “I have to go, Bug,” he interrupted her abruptly. “You take care of yourself and give my beautiful niece a hug from me.”

  He hung up, leaving her even more confused and confounded than she had been before making the call.

  “I was thinking, with the weather getting so much warmer, it would be fun to take Clara to Birds of Eden in Plett tomorrow,” Greyson told Libby one Saturday night about a month later. Charlie had a swim meet, and Greyson had stepped in as weekend babysitter. Their routines were comfortable and established. And what was left of their relationship revolved now around work and Clara. They rarely spoke about anything other than those two topics. Her work, his . . . it was all just small talk. Clara had sprouted her first couple of teeth on her bottom gum and was making delightful mamamama and babababa sounds. Greyson had been diligently trying to teach her to say dada without much success. She was six and a half months old, and Greyson and Libby both agreed that she was streets ahead of most other kids her age.

  Coparenting with Greyson was good. More than good. He was a wonderful partner, and she relied on him more than she probably should. She wasn’t sure how sustainable their arrangement was, but it worked for them now, and she wasn’t going to upset the applecart with unimportant details unless she absolutely had to.

  “What’s Birds of Eden?” she asked absently, watching while he collected his laptop and the adult coloring book she had bought him a week ago. It had been a spur-of-the-moment purchase. One that she had regretted almost instantly. But when she had gone back to the stationery store to return the book, she had instead found herself buying expensive coloring pencils to go with it.

  He had been absolutely delighted with the gift, and now, whenever he had a spare moment, she found him hunched over the ridiculous thing, coloring away furiously. And every night he’d show her his favorite picture of the day. It was really . . . sweet.

  “Spencer was telling me about it yesterday. It’s a free-flight bird sanctuary. A lot of the birds were previously caged or came from abusive backgrounds. They’ve got tropical birds, bushveld birds, every kind of bird imaginable. I thought Clara would enjoy it.”

  “I doubt she’d really und
erstand what was happening.”

  “She’d love the color and the movement, you know she would,” he said, and she pursed her lips.

  “I think she definitely would,” she agreed.

  “So should we go?”

  “We?”

  “I thought it would be nice for her if we all could do something together for a change. She rarely sees us together except when we do our baby handovers. I know it’s better for her to get used to it, but I thought we could, just once . . . maybe . . .” He stuttered to a miserable halt. Not sure how to say what he wanted to say.

  “That’ll be nice,” she said gently. “What time do you want to leave?”

  His head jerked up, and he stared at her in searching disbelief. “Uh . . . nine?”

  “You’ll pick us up?”

  “Yes. Of course,” he said hastily.

  “We’ll see you then.”

  He blinked and then grinned.

  “Yes. Great. I’ll see you then. Uh, great.” He swung his messenger bag up over his shoulder and stopped by Clara’s crib to drop a kiss on the sleeping baby’s cheek.

  “Sleep tight.”

  “You too, Greyson.”

  She shut the door behind him and waited for panic and regret to hit her. But they remained absent, and when she thought back to his excitement, she allowed herself to smile.

  “That was amazing, I mean, I didn’t even know birds came in such a vast variety of colors and species,” Libby enthused the following afternoon when they stopped for lunch after a morning of spectacular bird-watching. “Okay, I knew it. And I know there are probably thousands more than we saw today . . . but it was still quite a sight to behold.”

  “A shame Ms. Clara didn’t stay awake long enough to enjoy it,” Greyson said wryly, and they both looked down at their daughter, who was fast asleep in her stroller. She had stared—unimpressed—at a few birds before dozing off, and she’d been asleep ever since.

  “She’s too young to appreciate it. We’ll bring her back when she’s a little older,” Libby said with a laugh. “But I loved it.”

  “I did too.”

  The morning had been very amicable. They had taken a leisurely stroll through the sanctuary, marveling over the different species of birds, laughing at the antics of some of the primates. Greyson had been relaxed, smiling often and laughing a lot.

  Libby had enjoyed his company and often found herself staring at him while he laughed at something one of the animals had done.

  He was wearing jeans, trainers, and a T-shirt today. She no longer found it odd to see him dressed like that. Maybe because he no longer looked self-conscious in the more casual attire. He had cut his hair again, and it was back to its regular style. But she found the mix of casual and conservative very appealing. It suited him.

  They were at a huge family-friendly restaurant in Plettenberg Bay. The kind of place with a play area for children and a junk food menu. It was noisy and filled with laughter, loud chatter, and crying or squealing children.

  Libby reached over and stole one of his fries. It was a habit she had formed in London when they had still been dating—tasting his food without permission—and now she grabbed the fry without thinking.

  “Hey.” His protest was automatic and playful. “Stick to your salad, woman, and leave my fries alone.”

  He made a grab for the fry, and she pertly popped it into her mouth. Then she reflexively opened her mouth again, and the fry dropped onto her plate while she fanned her tongue frantically.

  “Why didn’t you warn me it was scorching hot?” she asked him, her eyes streaming and her mouth on fire. Greyson laughed helplessly.

  “You didn’t give me a chance, greedy minx. You had it in your mouth before I could warn you.”

  “It’s not funny, Greyson. I burned my tongue.” She stuck it out and pointed to the scalded bit.

  His face immediately went contrite. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry,” he murmured sympathetically, reaching out to gently cup her chin with his hand and adjust her head so that he could have a closer look. They both immediately froze at the contact, and his hand withdrew as they retreated back to their respective shells.

  The interaction had been so familiar. So right.

  And it had unnerved her completely.

  She took a sip of wine in an effort to cool her tongue and calm her nerves while Greyson took a thirsty drink from his tall glass of water.

  The water made her remember the strange question Harris had asked so many weeks ago.

  She tilted her head and watched him assessingly as he took another sip of water. He caught her gaze and raised his brows. “What?”

  “You never minded a glass of wine with lunch before.”

  “I’m driving,” he reminded her.

  “I don’t think I’ve seen you having so much as a sip of alcohol since arriving in Riversend.”

  “Why is that weird? We haven’t exactly been in party mode since I got here.”

  “What’s weird is that you seem to be consciously avoiding it. Why?”

  “It’s not a pretty story,” he warned on a heavy sigh, and she laughed grimly.

  “None of our stories lately have been pretty.”

  “When you left . . . after I understood what I’d lost by driving you away . . . I kind of went off the deep end for a bit. I gave the staff time off, tore the penthouse apart, and fell into a vat of whiskey and didn’t come up for air again for three weeks.

  “I don’t remember too much about it. I was a wreck. The apartment was trashed; the only room I didn’t touch was Clara’s.” He shook his head. His eyes had a suspicious sheen to them before he looked away. “I hated myself so fucking much. I hated what I’d done to you, to Harris, to Clara . . . I mourned everything I had missed out on and lost. I tried to stop myself from feeling all of that pain and . . . thought the alcohol would numb it. It didn’t. Everything just seemed sharper. I was trapped in a world of memories with only you for company, and you hated me. It was . . .” He shook his head. “Indescribably painful. But I knew I deserved it. When I finally surfaced, it was to discover that the staff had returned, that they had set most of the place to rights . . . but I heard them talking. About how Harris had kept our parents and the rest of the world at bay. He had done damage control at the company, saying I was on a leave of absence and all decisions went through him. He had protected me while simultaneously worrying about my mental, physical, and emotional well-being. It was humbling. I had treated him unforgivably badly, and he had still gone out of his way to take care of me. He doesn’t know that I know what he did for me. And I have no way of ever repaying him. Except to make sure that I never allow something like that to happen again.

  “My dependence, my weakness . . . it shook me. I don’t ever want to go back to that place. That dark, desolate place. It took me a long time to come to terms with how far off the rails I’d gone. I still can’t fully believe the magnitude of that meltdown. In the immediate aftermath, after I’d sobered up, I had a hard time coping with my new reality. With your loss and Harris’s silent animosity. The world I woke up to was completely alien to me. I was horrified that I could be so weak and cruel and stupid. I told myself you were better off without me, but every picture Harris sent, every update from the investigator . . . they were like lifelines to a drowning man. In the end, the thought of never seeing you again, never knowing Clara, became unbearable, and I had to come to you. I had to at least try to fix things.”

  Libby didn’t know how it had happened, but she found herself clinging to his hand, needing the contact and desperate to offer some degree of comfort in return. The soft, rushed words tumbling from his lips, offered to her with a stoicism she could only marvel at, seemed unimaginable. Yet the starkness in his eyes testified to the brutal truth behind his horrifying words.

  She had continued on after his awful betrayal. She’d had the support of her family and friends. Her new baby to love and cherish. She had been in pain but never alone . . . never allowed
to wallow in total despair. She had emerged stronger, more independent, secure in the love of those nearest and dearest to her.

  Greyson had been the author of his own destruction. And it would be so easy to say he deserved every bit of punishment he had received after his lies and distrust and cruelty. But all Libby felt was an overwhelming sense of sadness that he had been so alone. That he had been in so much pain he had verged on the brink of self-destruction.

  Even at the times she’d felt like she hated him beyond all reason, she would never have wished such suffering upon him.

  He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles.

  “I’m sorry, Olivia. You deserved better. You both deserved so much better,” he said, his eyes lifting to meet hers, and she found herself drowning in those dark-blue depths. His sincerity and regret were unmistakable, and Libby felt immeasurably lighter as she comprehended that she no longer harbored any anger or resentment toward him.

  She lifted her free hand to his lean cheek, and her thumb ran over the sharp line of his cheekbone.

  “Finally apologizing for the right thing,” she said, a slight hitch in her soft voice. “Greyson . . . this isn’t easy for me to admit. But I do forgive you. For everything.”

  She meant the words wholeheartedly. The things he had said and done had seemed so completely unforgivable for such a long time. They had been heinous and painful, but in the end, they had hurt him much more than they had her. After everything she had learned since that day, she could see that his actions—while reprehensible and horrific—were the end result of misinformation, misplaced anger, and misunderstandings. It didn’t make it right, but she could understand where it had all come from. And with understanding and sympathy had come forgiveness.

  His face seemed to crumple, and he shut his eyes before hurriedly yanking his hand from hers and covering his face with his palms in an attempt to hide his reaction from her and the rest of the lunchtime crowd.

  This was an entirely inappropriate venue for such a private discussion, but there was nothing to be done about that. Things happened when and where they were meant to. But in such a busy place, every table was a microcosm, each encapsulating its own tale of joy, sorrow, anger, or apathy. Nobody was interested in anyone else’s business, and Libby, Greyson, and Clara may well have been alone for all the attention anybody else paid them.