More Than Anything (Broken Pieces #1)(26)

He fished the madly buzzing thing out and glanced down at the screen absently.

Greyson. Not a text, a phone call. Again.

He swiped his thumb across the screen, bed forgotten for the moment, and lifted the device to his ear.

“Yeah?”

“There are no vacant hotels, motels, or guesthouses in this fucking town,” his brother growled by way of greeting, and Harris stifled a grin.

“Libby didn’t welcome you back with open arms, then?” he asked unnecessarily, and the silence that met his question was answer enough. “What did you think was going to happen, Greyson?”

More silence.

Harris shook his head in frustration. “I rented a flat; it has two bedrooms. You can have the spare room if you want. But the place is small, so you’re going to have to resign yourself to seeing more of me than you’d probably like.”

Another lengthy silence, finally broken by a long sigh.

“Where?”

“This place is a hovel,” Greyson said matter-of-factly after striding through the front door like he owned the place.

“Yeah, well, you don’t get to be choosy,” Harris retorted calmly. “The smaller room is yours. There may be some clean bedsheets in the linen closet in the hallway.”

“I’d hardly call this a hallway,” Greyson responded, eyeing the narrow passage leading from the open-plan living and dining quarters to the (shared) bathroom and bedrooms in the back.

“Make yourself comfortable—I’m off to bed.” Harris turned to leave, but his name falling from his brother’s lips without any inflection made him pause.

“Why did you come?” Greyson asked, his voice coldly curious.

“Libby. She seems happy here. Settled. You’re going to destroy that happiness if you insist on—”

“It’s really none of your business,” Greyson interrupted frigidly, and Harris huffed an impatient sigh.

“You know that’s not true. Contrary to what you may believe, Libby is like a sister to me. I care about her well-being.”

“I’m your brother; you should care more about mine.”

Harris laughed outright at that claim and shook his head. He couldn’t believe Greyson had uttered those words with a straight face.

“Yeah? I think you lost the privilege of being called brother when you accused me of fucking your wife and fathering your child.”

“I’m reconsidering my opinion,” Greyson said, his voice and demeanor stiff and uncomfortable.

“Big of you. So I can expect an apology soon, then?” Harris didn’t know why he had asked that.

“Is that what you want, Harris? An apology? Will that fix everything? Make it all right again?”

Harris paused and considered his brother’s words before shaking his head.

“I don’t know. But it’s a step in the right direction.” He watched Greyson’s gaze turn inward as he considered Harris’s words. When it looked like nothing more would be forthcoming from the man, Harris shook his head again, impatient with himself for thinking his emotionless automaton of a brother would ever really apologize, and strode toward his bedroom. This time Greyson didn’t call him back.

Tina woke feeling completely out of sorts the following morning. The little sleep she had managed to get had been restless and plagued by nightmares. A sensation of undefined dread roiled around in the pit of her stomach. The vultures were back, their movements subtle enough to only gently remind her of their presence.

She lay staring at the stains on the wall opposite her bed. The room hadn’t been painted in possibly ever, and what had once been an already terrible shade of green had faded to something that closely resembled baby puke. And then there were the stains. Possible water damage? She hoped so. Anything else would be . . . disturbing.

Well, at least she had thoroughly cleaned the house and moved in her own furniture from her place in Bantry Bay, so the house looked and felt very cozy, despite the unpacked boxes and less-than-ideal walls. She still missed her pretty little flat, which she had leased out to a young couple.

She sat up and groaned when she caught sight of her laptop casually flung onto the armchair beside her bed. Harris’s appearance, combined with her massive headache—which thankfully had not developed into a migraine—had thrown her so completely last night that she hadn’t even looked at her accounts. Now the daunting task lay ahead of her, coiled like a serpent ready to sink its venomous fangs into her vulnerable flesh.

Ugh!

She was being fanciful and dramatic with her vultures and serpents. What the hell was wrong with her?

Tina tossed off the deliciously warm and thick comforter. The cold and wet mid-July winter climate definitely called for comforters and fleecy pajamas. She slipped into her comfy fuzzy slippers, dragged on a thick, fluffy robe, and padded into the kitchen to pour a huge mug of coffee from the timed machine.

She inhaled the rich aroma appreciatively before heading out to her porch. This was her favorite part of the day. Just after dawn, the air was fresh and had an icy bite to it, but everything was bathed in the warm orange glow of the recently risen sun. It looked like it would be one of the crisp, clear winter mornings she loved so much.

She sat down on the rickety, cushioned porch swing and shifted her feet beneath her butt as she watched the sun bathe the ocean and sky with fire. In this perfect moment, she could forget all her troubles and just be.