More Than Anything (Broken Pieces #1)(86)

God, he didn’t know if he had the fortitude for this. Not after everything he had just been through, and part of him was desperate to just turn away and closet himself in his room with only his thoughts for company till morning. But his mind drifted back to the happiness and excitement he had seen on Greyson’s face just hours ago, and he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t leave him there alone in the dark. He rounded the sofa.

“Grey?” He hadn’t called his brother that since they were both fourteen, at which time Greyson had stiffly informed him that he would rather be referred to by his full name. The nickname felt right in this moment. His brother needed familiarity rather than formality right now.

“Olivia wants a divorce,” Grey said quietly, his voice lacking inflection.

“I just heard, yeah.”

Grey dropped his head in his hands and sighed heavily.

“Fuck,” he breathed, the word heartfelt and uncharacteristic. “I would kill for a drink right now.”

He looked up again, his face shrouded in darkness, so Harris couldn’t read his expression. But he could tell, by the sudden tension in the other man’s broad shoulders, that something had alarmed him.

“You look like hell,” Grey said quietly. The words stunned Harris, who hadn’t expected his brother to notice his distress, and it, quite embarrassingly, made his eyes flood with moisture. Grey leaped to his feet and stepped out of the darkness, his expression alarmed.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his voice low and almost protective.

“She had a baby,” Harris said. The words felt like they were being ripped from some deep private part of him, and it was agonizing. He didn’t realize how tight a leash he’d kept on his emotions until he stumbled and braced his hand on the kitchen countertop for support. Those words were bad, the ones that had to follow were excruciating, and he didn’t know how the hell Tina had managed to say them. He finally, truly understood why she had kept them bottled up for so long. It hurt too much to speak them.

“Oh my God,” Grey said, his voice unsteady as he immediately grasped whom Harris was referring to.

“His name was Fletcher,” Harris continued, tears flowing freely down his face now, and he couldn’t find it in him to care that he was crying in front of his brother. The last time Grey had seen him cry, they had been eight, and Harris had fallen and broken his arm. “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?”

Grey wrapped an arm around Harris’s shoulders and attempted to steer him toward the sofa, but Harris turned in his hold and leaned on his brother for support. Grey hesitated for only a second before his arms went around Harris in a comforting hug. He wrapped his palm around Harris’s nape and tugged his head down to his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Harris,” Grey murmured directly into his brother’s ear. “I’m so damned sorry.”

Libby was extremely subdued. The two women packed up Clara’s things, but conversation was minimal. Tina’s eyes kept drifting to her friend in concern; she knew that Libby was going through some pretty powerful stuff right now. But since she felt like she’d just been through an emotional blender herself, Tina didn’t mind the silence.

“He didn’t take it well,” Libby said after another few minutes of quiet, and Tina, who had been digging a stuffed toy out from between the sofa cushions, turned to look at the younger woman. Libby sank down into an armchair, and Tina followed suit. “He thought . . . I don’t know. I think he thought our dinner tonight was some kind of date. He took me to this completely inappropriate restaurant. I tried to choose the place, but he said he had reservations somewhere, and . . . God, Tina, the place was ridiculous. Stupidly romantic. He and I have never gone anywhere remotely similar before. On the night I plan to tell him I want a divorce, he pulls out all the stops and takes me there.”

She buried her face in her hands.

“Stupid man!” Her voice was muffled, but her frustrated words were clear. She shook her head and looked up again. “And when I gave him the papers. He was stunned. Completely stunned, I could tell. And . . . he looked hurt. Mr. Ice Cold, who had never before shown any evidence of emotion at all, looked hurt. Why is he doing this to me?”

“Is he going to contest the divorce?” Tina asked, and Libby shrugged.

“He says he doesn’t want a divorce, says we should try again for Clara’s sake. Says we’re compatible and could have a good marriage. He never speaks of emotions, mind you. It’s all very clinical. And he thinks that because I let him spend a few nights looking after Clara and that I foolishly allowed him to attempt to fix some things around the house—something I agreed to only to prove to him that he couldn’t be good at everything, by the way—and okay, maybe we kissed a few times. And did some other stuff. But I’m only human! And I foolishly allowed him a few freedoms that I shouldn’t have. I’m such an idiot. The man hasn’t properly apologized for his emotional abandonment during my pregnancy. He seems to think I should be grateful that he now believes Clara is his daughter . . . he’s . . . oh my God, he’s so frustrating and annoying and . . .”

She muffled an exasperated scream behind her hand.

“I just want to break something. Possibly my grandmother’s ugly, fake Ming dynasty vase . . . over his stupid, stubborn head!”