She dropped the call before Tina could respond.
“Greyson is hurt. I have to get back to Riversend immediately. Can you arrange the helicopter, please?”
Truman Chapman nodded and immediately got on the phone, while Constance leaned toward Libby. The older woman’s face was ashen with shock.
“Hurt?” she asked, her voice urgent. “How? What happened?”
“I’m not sure. Tina says he fell . . .” She paused and swallowed, feeling a surge of nausea at the thought of the height he must have fallen from. “From the roof.”
“The roof?” Constance looked a little sick and very confused. “Why was he on a roof? How high is it?”
“I don’t know.” Libby’s voice was rising in pitch, the way it always did when she was fighting back tears. “About four meters?”
She clutched a hand to her chest as she fought back her dread and struggled to breathe. She was rocking slightly, trying to calm herself but not succeeding. Had he been conscious? Oh God, if he had lost consciousness, that meant he had hit his head. Her rocking increased as she continued to gulp for breath.
She wasn’t sure, but she thought she might be having a panic attack. Her chest felt tight, and her breath was coming in shallow gasps. Her dizziness increased as her intake of air decreased.
She felt Constance’s hand on the back of her head and was confused by that until the woman exerted pressure and forced her head down.
“Put your head between your knees,” the older woman instructed her matter of factly, remarkably calm under pressure. “Breathe in and out slowly. Truman, call Harrison and find out what on earth is going on.”
Everything passed in a blur after that. They didn’t return to Libby’s parents’ place; instead they went straight to the Foreshore, where the Chapman Global Property Group’s headquarters were located, and rode the elevator up to the roof, where the executive helicopter was waiting. Truman and Constance boarded the chopper with her, and they were airborne in a matter of minutes.
“My parents,” Libby said dazedly, unable to fully formulate her thoughts, every part of her desperate to get to Riversend and to Greyson. She shouldn’t have left. Why had she left? She loved the fool man, and he loved her. He loved her so much he kept trying to prove himself to her by doing stupid things like attempting to fix plumbing and doors and climbing onto roofs when she had expressly told him not to.
“Truman called your father. They know what’s going on.”
“What did Harris say?” Libby asked blankly. She hadn’t heard the older man’s conversation with Harris. She had been too preoccupied with not passing out.
“He said Greyson is having some tests done. He passed out after falling—”
“Oh God, did he hit his head?” Libby interrupted.
“Harris doesn’t believe so. He thinks Greyson passed out from shock and pain.”
That seemed worse. How much pain had he been in to pass out from it? Libby fidgeted agitatedly with the buckle of her seat belt, and Constance reached over to grasp her hand reassuringly.
“He’ll be fine, Olivia. He’s tough.” The comforting gesture, coming from a woman who was usually as reserved as her son, sent Libby over the edge. Her tears welled up and overflowed. Like their son, her in-laws had trouble being demonstrative. Yet when the chips were down, they were there to offer support and comfort in their own way.
Harris and Tina were in the hospital waiting room when Libby rushed in, followed at a more sedate pace by Constance and Truman. The latter was carrying a droopy Clara. Harris got up to hug Libby tightly and then his parents, taking Clara from his father. Tina stood back shyly, giving Libby a hug before practically hiding behind her. Libby was confused at first until she realized that this was the first time Tina was seeing the older couple after so unceremoniously announcing her engagement to their son on Facebook a few days ago.
“How’s Greyson?” Libby asked urgently, ignoring Tina’s caginess in favor of more immediate concerns.
“They’re taking X-rays of his arm and leg as we speak,” Harris said. “He seems to be fine, Bug. He regained consciousness, and he was more embarrassed than anything else.”
Libby refused to be reassured until she had seen him for herself. She glanced around the waiting room and for the first time noticed that the room was filled with quite a few recognizable faces. Were they all here for Greyson?
Spencer Carlisle, Lia, Brand, a few familiar teens from the community center. A few more from the restaurant.
“Why are all these people here?” she asked Harris in a hushed tone, her eyes wide.
“We were all helping Greyson out with the roof.”
“All these people?”
“I know, right?” Harris said with a grin. “My brother is Mr. Popular in this town. I mean, I knew this place was good for Tina, but it’s been bloody great for Grey as well.”
“I want to see him,” Libby said. She wouldn’t be assured that he was okay until she had seen him for herself.
“He’ll be back from radiology soon.”
He had no sooner said the words than they heard a commotion coming from down the hall. A loud, irate voice that sounded remarkably like Greyson’s. But Greyson never shouted. Especially not in public. Libby’s eyes widened, and she dashed through the swinging doors for the wards, Harris and Tina in tow.
“No. I refuse to let you do it. You lay one finger on it, and I’ll sue this fucking hospital and everyone in it for malpractice.”
“Mr. Chapman, it has to come off, I’m afraid,” a tall older man in a white coat was saying in a calm, no-nonsense voice. “Cutting it off is our best option. I’m sure you can have it repaired.”
“What’s going on here?” Libby demanded to know in her most authoritative voice. She surged forward, going straight to Greyson’s side. He was on a gurney, and it looked like they had been in the process of wheeling him somewhere when this heated exchange had begun in the middle of a crowded hallway.
“Olivia.” Greyson sounded both relieved and alarmed to see her there. He looked awful, pale and bruised. He was wearing nothing but a hospital gown, and she could see the multitude of contusions on his arms and legs. His left arm looked horribly swollen and discolored, and Libby swayed when she saw it.
“Oh my God, your arm.”
“It’s just a little broken. Nothing too terrible,” Greyson said, in a voice that was noticeably taut with pain.
“A little broken?” Libby repeated, outraged by the understatement. “There’s no such thing as a little break, Greyson. Why are you screaming the halls down? Are they hurting you?”
She turned her fiercely protective glare on the staff, who were all watching her with slightly bemused looks on their faces.
“Uh . . . Mrs. Chapman?” the doctor asked hesitantly, correctly guessing her identity.
“Yes. What’s wrong with my husband?”
“We need to remove his wedding band; his fingers are swollen, and the band is cutting off the blood supply to his finger.”
“Don’t you dare touch my ring,” Greyson seethed, and Libby’s eyes welled with tears at how very much that ring meant to him. He had never removed it, not when he had believed the absolute worst of her and at no point after that. Even after he’d signed the divorce papers, the ring had remained firmly fixed on his finger, and he was now prepared to do battle with his doctors to keep it there.
“Greyson,” Libby said, stepping toward him and cupping his jaw with her hands. “Let them do what they have to do.”
“Olivia . . . I can’t. It means too much to me. I can’t let them take it.” He sounded so incredibly heartsick at the prospect of losing that ring that her tears overflowed, and she leaned down to kiss him.
“We’ll have it repaired. Or replaced.”
He stared at her uncertainly. “Replaced?”
“Yes,” she said, her gaze unwavering. “With a new wedding ring. Maybe an engraved one this time.”
He swallowed, his eyes still unsu
re and his face shockingly vulnerable. “Olivia . . .”
“Let the doctors fix you up . . . and then we’ll talk about what the hell you were doing on that roof.”
“Love you,” he said with a grimace that was trying very hard to be a smile.
She moved her mouth to his ear, kissing his cheek along the way.
“I love you too, Greyson. Now please focus on getting better.”
“A broken arm, two sprained ribs, and a twisted ankle,” Libby itemized as she glared down at her repentant-looking husband a few hours later. She hadn’t been allowed to see him while they’d strapped what needed to be strapped and plastered what had to be plastered.
He was under observation for a few more hours, but the doctor was confident they could send him home soon. He was sitting up in the hospital bed, cradling his plastered arm to his chest. Harris had gone back to the flat he had once shared with Greyson to get him some fresh clothes.
“You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck. What were you thinking?”
“The roof needed to be fixed.”
“By professionals. Instead you got your cronies together and . . . why are you grinning?”
“I have cronies.”
He sounded so ridiculously pleased that all the wind went out of Libby’s sails.
“You’re an idiot.” The words carried no heat at all.
“I wanted the house to be perfect for you. There’s more rain forecast for next week, and I didn’t want you and Clara to be in a house with a leaking roof anymore. Spencer has repaired roofs before, we all watched instructional videos ahead of time, I consulted an expert—we were doing a damned good job before I stupidly lost my footing and fell.”
“Oh God, the thought of you falling off the roof is so—”
“Wait, I didn’t fall off the roof,” Greyson interrupted. “I fell off the ladder. Although . . . falling off the roof does sound cooler.”
“What?”
“It’s lame, but I kind of lost my balance halfway down the ladder. My arm and leg got twisted in the rungs on the way down, and I hit the ground hard. The ladder added insult to injury by landing on me.”
“I was worried sick,” she admitted, and he lifted his uninjured hand toward her. She entwined her fingers with his.
“I didn’t mean to worry you,” he said, his voice gruff. He tried to touch her face and winced with the movement. She grimaced in sympathy.
“Try not to move around so much,” she told him.
“How’s Clara? Can I see her?”
“She’s asleep, and you need to rest.”
“About that wedding ring replacement . . . I was thinking.” He hesitated, and she waited patiently for him to continue.
“Thinking what?” she prompted him when he didn’t continue.
“I was wondering . . . I mean, this isn’t ideal, and I should probably wait until I’m a bit more mobile and bit less drugged . . . but I figured I’d ask before you changed your mind about loving me.”
“I’m not going to do that,” she said.
“You sure about that? You’re not just caught up in the emotion of the moment? I mean, a man gets injured fixing your roof, you’re going to harbor some tender feelings for him.”
“Possibly, but I doubt I would have told Brand or Spencer I loved them if they had been the ones to fall.”
“Good to know. So you meant it?”
“Greyson,” she said with a soft sigh. “I left because I wanted to be sure about my feelings for you. I didn’t want my judgment clouded by your proximity, or great sex, or what a wonderful father you are to Clara. But I missed you all the time while I was gone. I think that kind of sealed it for me. I didn’t miss you after I moved out of the penthouse seven months ago. I was too angry with you. Every time I thought of you, I was just filled with so much anger and sadness.”
“Not this time?” he asked softly.
“Not at all. I kept wondering how you were and what you were doing. I looked forward to our FaceTime sessions. I know I said they were for Clara, but they were mostly for me. Because I missed the sound of your voice, the sight of your face . . . I missed your laugh and your smell and your touch. I missed the way you are with Clara. The way you cared about us and our safekeeping. But most of all, I missed your companionship.”
“I missed you too,” he admitted. “That’s why I was so damned determined to fix the house for you. It kept me sane.”
“I know I’ve been hard on you,” she whispered, her fingers tightening around his. “I was just so terrified of allowing you to creep back through my defenses. Because I knew once you broached those walls, I’d have no option but to give you a second chance. After our night together . . . I confess I was running scared. The walls were coming down, and I was so afraid—I still am—of us just making the same mistakes again. Of failing again. After everything that has happened between us, everything that was said, all the ways we’ve intentionally and unintentionally hurt each other, how can we possibly succeed the second time round? When we first got married, I had this vision of us being the perfect husband and wife, building a perfect life together. But nothing was perfect; instead everything fell apart so quickly. I wouldn’t be able to cope if it happened again.”
His eyes were boring into hers with an intensity that should have made her uneasy, but instead she found herself comforted by his extreme concentration as he listened to her words.
“Refresh my memory,” he said after a long pause. His voice was thoughtful, as if he was earnestly pondering some conundrum. “Did I tell you I love you the first time round? Did you tell me you love me? Did we have the most beautiful, intelligent, adorable baby on the face of the earth back then? Did you have the perfect job? Did I have buddies? A friendly relationship with my brother? And were we having the best fucking sex in the history of ever?”
Libby felt her lips stretch into a grin after the first few questions, and by the time he had reached the last one, she was snort laughing in relief at the very valid points he had made in the best possible way.
“No. To all of that,” she replied, her heart soaring exultantly.
“Do you love me because you think I’m perfect husband material?” he asked, humor fleeing from his voice and expression. Libby sucked her lips between her teeth as she considered his question for all of two seconds before blurting out her answer.
“God, no!”
He winced exaggeratedly at that response. “You could have at least pretended to give it a bit more consideration,” he mock protested.
“You’re far from perfect,” she said, her fingers squeezing around his once more. “And so am I. And I think I kind of love that about us.”
“Liberating, isn’t it?”
She laughed and was surprised at how wild and carefree she sounded.
“It truly is,” she admitted. “You’ve done so much for me, Greyson. I know that. And I know I haven’t always seemed grateful. But I was trying so desperately hard to maintain those barriers. Everything you did for us was so wonderful. I wanted you to know that I appreciate it all.”
“You don’t have to be grateful, Olivia. I didn’t do any of this for your gratitude . . . I did it because I had to. Because I love you. I love Clara. And you both deserve the best I have to offer. Even if my best isn’t always that great.” The last was uttered on a wry note, and she shared a grin with him before going serious again.
“I’m just angry with myself. I didn’t show you how much what you were doing meant to me, how much I appreciated it, and I feel like this is my fault. If I’d said something sooner, maybe you wouldn’t have felt compelled to damned near kill yourself trying to prove yourself to me.”
“Hey, now,” he said soothingly. “This isn’t your fault. I was careless.”
“I don’t know what I would have done if you’d been hurt even worse than this.” Her voice was thick with tears, and he made a soft, reassuring sound.
“I’m not, though. I’m fine. Let’s not dwell on things
that didn’t happen and focus on the here and now.”
She nodded and used her free hand to brush away a few stray tears.
“I want you to know . . . ,” she murmured, once she had herself under control again. “The things you said about Harris and me . . . I’ve come to understand why you may have felt the way you felt. Our behavior wasn’t fair. You and I were married, and you should have been my best friend, the one I trusted with my innermost thoughts. But it was so easy to fall back into old habits with Harris.”
“I don’t want my dumb suspicions to deprive you of one of your most important friendships, Olivia,” he said. “I don’t want things to be awkward between the two of you. I would hate that. I was unreasonable.”
“And we were unfair.”
He smiled, a gentle tilt of his lips. “Well, now that we’ve established all of that, let’s not make the same stupid mistakes in the future. Which kind of brings me back to what I was trying to say earlier. Well, it’s more a question than a statement. I was wondering if perhaps you’d consider . . . uh.” He cleared his throat, and his hand reached for hers again, grasping her fingers so tightly it almost hurt. “I wanted to know if you would do me the honor of being my wife. Again. If you’d marry me. For real this time.”
Libby gaped at him, her jaw dropping as she tried to make sense of his words.
“We are married. For real,” she said. Her heart hammered in her chest as the magnitude of his words hit her. She hadn’t known how much a proposal would mean to her. It shouldn’t mean this much to her, it was ridiculous . . . and yet, it felt so perfect.
“I mean, we’re divorced, aren’t we? And since we didn’t do anything right the last time around, I thought we could try again. And do it right. You know? An engagement party, all the announcements, a wedding, a big dress. Clara can be our ring bearer. But all of that is just icing. The actual cake would be us, loving each other, respecting each other . . . talking, laughing . . . being partners. Parents. Lovers.”
“Greyson . . .”
“Please.” Desperation seeped into his voice, as if he was anticipating rejection. His grip tightened even more, and Libby tugged her hand from his with difficulty. He looked absolutely gutted when she pulled away from him. But she very quickly reestablished contact by brushing his hair back from his forehead.
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