More Than Anything (Broken Pieces #1)(102)

It was the second time her mother had referred to Tina as “her baby,” and the words created a little lump of emotion in Tina’s throat. And she couldn’t seem to swallow past it.

“But after he died, it felt like we’d lost you along with him. You just were never the same. Our clever girl who had so much potential. It’s like all that potential died with Fletcher.” It was the first time Tina had ever heard her mother refer to him by name, and the lump in her throat expanded. “Your father and I were saddened and disappointed by your resulting lack of drive and ambition. We didn’t know how to make it better. And I suppose our concern and our attempts to offer advice probably seemed condescending and critical.”

Probably? Considering all the other truly moving revelations, Tina was happy to let that understatement slide. She felt like she was meeting her mother for the very first time, and the lump in her throat was starting to choke her.

Her mother was an unapologetic, controlling snob who had never understood Tina’s friendship with Libby and who still tried to dictate every aspect of her adult children’s lives, but there was absolutely no doubting her sincerity right now.

“I’m sorry our relationship was never what you wanted it to be,” Tina said quietly. “I’m rubbish at shopping—I order all my clothes online.”

Her mother offered her the tiniest of smiles. Her Botox guy had really gone overboard today.

“I really do like the fashion sense you’ve developed over the years, Martine. Making the best of your assets, so to speak. Your dresses and those pencil skirts are very attractive.”

“Thank you.”

“And I’ve wanted to tell you for years: you have a glowing, flawless complexion, so your decision to only wear eye makeup and lip gloss is inspired.”

“Thanks,” Tina said with a slight grin. She understood that her mother had said everything she was ever going to say on the subject of Fletcher, and this was her idea of pleasant small talk. And Tina found that she didn’t mind that at all. For the first time in years she felt that she actually had a semblance of a relationship with her mother. And if that meant talking about clothing and makeup, then so be it. She now knew that it came from a place of love and concern. And that was enough for her.

“God, you look gorgeous,” Harris said that evening when they met outside his parents’ front door. “Why don’t we ditch this and just head back to my place for some fun?”

His words were lighthearted, but his eyes and smile were strained. Tina tilted her head as she assessed him.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, and he thrust his hands into his jacket pockets. He was wearing a business suit, and she wondered if he had gone into the office after all.

“It’s nothing,” he said, his voice gruff with suppressed emotion.

“It’s not nothing at all. Something happened. Tell me!” she demanded, reaching over to grip his forearm urgently. “Is it Greyson? Did you guys have an argument?”

Harris shook his head, looking conflicted.

“Smith.”

Ah. Of course. The youngest of her brothers hadn’t returned any of her messages or answered her calls today, and she knew he needed time to process. She had, however, received separate calls from Kyle, Conrad, and Dumi, all asking if she needed Harris’s ass kicked. Touched by their concern though she was, she had kindly declined their offers. She knew her older brothers had been outraged on her behalf, but to Smith, it had also been the betrayal of a friend. Of a man he considered another brother.

“He’ll come around,” Tina said, her voice riddled with doubt.

“You don’t believe that any more than I do, Bean,” Harris said with a half-hearted smile. She put a sympathetic hand on his chest and felt the outline of the pendant nestled between his pecs.

“You’re wearing it,” she said, changing the subject. “Good.”

“I shouldn’t,” he said with a bitter shake of his head. “I don’t deserve it.”

“Stop that,” she remonstrated, her hand traveling up to his clenched jaw. “Stop. It’s yours. It’s back where it belongs.”

He tipped his head toward her hand, his eyes shutting tightly as he nuzzled against her palm.

“I wish I knew . . . ,” he began, but he was interrupted when the door swung inward. The Chapmans’ maid stood blinking at them in shock, her mouth forming an O of surprise.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” she said. “Only, Mrs. Chapman heard cars come up the drive a while ago, but when there was no knock she sent me to check if—”

“That’s okay, Clementine,” Harris said, stepping away from Tina. Her hand hung suspended for a moment before she dropped it self-consciously to her side. “We were just having a conversation. After you, Tina.”

He stepped aside and ushered Tina into the house. The maid scampered away without another word. But Tina barely noticed the woman’s disappearance, instead stopping to look around the grand entrance hall of the Chapman home. The place hadn’t changed much since she had been there last. She hadn’t willingly set foot in the house since that long-ago night. Avoiding—to her parents’ dismay—any and all events the Chapmans had hosted after that.

Memories of that night bombarded her. The excitement and giddy elation when Harris had finally seemed to notice her. And the sickening aftermath: all that teenage adoration and devotion doused in an awful instant of horror, pain, and devastation.