Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 131345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“But to what end?”
“My daughter is here,” he said, offended that she’d even ask. “You’re here.”
“Stop factoring me into your decisions, Greyson. I want a divorce. Don’t make it harder than it needs to be.”
“Olivia, if you loved me once, maybe you could love me again. Especially if I’m better. If I’m different. I promise you I can change.”
“Greyson.” Her voice gentled, and that, more than anything else, scared the shit out of him. “You don’t have to change. We were too mismatched, never meant to be together. Let’s just . . .” She shook her head, and her eyes brightened with tears. “Let’s just end this with dignity and grace? Okay? Please?”
“Olivia,” he whispered, his chest tight. He felt panicked and so terrified. He was doing this all wrong. But he didn’t know what to do or say to make it right. “I’m sorry.”
“I know you are, Greyson,” she said, still so gentle. “Now please, take me home.”
The drive back was conducted in absolute silence. Greyson, who had felt so hopeful on the drive to Knysna, could think of nothing more to say. Olivia kept her head turned away from him, staring out of the passenger window and into the darkness. When he got to the house, he turned to look at her, but she kept her face averted and unbuckled her seat belt.
“Can I . . . do you still want me to take care of Clara?” he asked, afraid of hearing her answer. Her head snapped up, and he could see the gleam of her eyes in the dark interior of her car.
“Yes, of course, Greyson. I never intended to limit your access to Clara.”
He swallowed heavily and nodded.
Not his access to Clara, only to Olivia herself.
“Well, I’d better go and see how they all got along. Tina was terrified of looking after Clara tonight, but she really wanted to give it a go. But I figured she would need some support. That’s why I wanted Harris to help, but he and Tina haven’t exactly been getting along this week. Part of me kind of hoped that putting them in a room together would encourage them to talk about some stuff. Tina has something vitally important she needs to tell Harris. And I was kind of hoping they’d . . .” Her voice tapered off, and she sighed softly, not finishing her sentence.
Greyson nodded again, unable to summon up any interest in what Martine had to tell Harris. Not right now.
“Are you coming in to say good night?” she asked, and he shook his head.
“Give Clara a kiss from me,” he said, proud that his voice emerged so evenly. This time she was the one to nod. She grabbed the door handle, hesitated, and turned toward him again.
“I wish . . . ,” she began, before sighing. “Never mind. It’s not important. Good night, Greyson.”
He got out of the car before she did, not following his usual instinct, which would have been to help her out of the car. He needed to get away from her as soon as possible. Before he said or did something to embarrass himself. He hastened to the front door and let himself in without looking back to see if she had followed him up the porch steps.
The door swung shut with a louder bang than he had intended, and he flinched when he heard Clara’s wail through the thin walls.
“Shit,” he groaned, feeling like an asshole. “Shit! Shit! Shit!”
He stumbled to the sofa and sat down in the darkness, hating himself for making his baby cry. For making his wife cry . . . for fucking nearly making his brother cry all those months ago.
Greyson once again felt completely lost and alone, and he wasn’t sure how to find his way back home.
He didn’t know how long he sat there before the front door creaked open and Harris stepped in.
“Greyson?” the other man called tentatively, and Greyson shut his eyes, not really in the mood to rehash his evening with Harris. He felt like a fool. Just this morning he had bragged to his brother that he and Olivia were going on a date. He had been foolishly optimistic. And now his world had come crashing down around his deluded head.
Harris stepped around the sofa. “Grey?”
A lump formed in Greyson’s throat at the sound of that nickname. Harris used to call him that when they were kids, until Greyson had decided that it was too immature and demanded that his brother call him by his full name. He’d been such a smug little asshole. Still was, really. But he loved hearing that nickname on his brother’s lips again. It felt familiar, affectionate . . . and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what the hell he had found so offensive about it before.