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)
He needed to stay. He had to clean up the mess he had made. Had to be a father to the child he’d never believed he could have. And . . . if he was lucky enough, perhaps he’d even have another chance to be a decent husband to the wife he had so callously tossed aside.
“Where?” he asked and listened carefully as his brother gave directions to the place he’d had the foresight to rent, while Greyson hadn’t thought beyond, Must get to Olivia. Must see Clara.
Greyson had always prided himself on being an intelligent man, but of late he’d shown a marked lack of anything resembling brainpower.
Greyson parked his car beside his brother’s rented 4x4 and glared at the exterior of the shabby house in front of him. From what he could tell, the building had been divided down the middle to create two dwellings. It wasn’t much better than Olivia’s house. But at least this one was a rental. His brother had rented the one on the right. The one on the left was dark and possibly empty. Greyson would call the landlord in the morning to see if he could rent it. A much more tolerable solution than sharing a space with his pissed-off brother.
He shook his head and thought of the pub he had driven past on his way here. He could use a stiff drink. But his fast-growing dependency on alcohol after Olivia had left had scared him, and he had stopped cold after a seemingly endless three-week bender. He couldn’t remember much about that time and preferred not to dwell on it now, but his weakness had appalled him. And he was abstaining just to prove he could.
He got out of the car and grabbed his suitcase before making his way up the rickety porch steps. He didn’t bother to knock, knowing the door would be unlocked, and strode into the house with what he hoped was much more confidence than he felt.
Truth be told, he wasn’t at all sure how the hell this situation with his brother was going to work.
He cast his eyes around the interior quickly, assessing and finding it extremely lacking.
“This place is a hovel,” he said and then winced inwardly at how arrogant he sounded. Perhaps not the most grateful of openers, considering his brother was doing him a favor.
“Yeah, well, you don’t get to be choosy. The smaller room is yours. There may be some clean bedsheets in the linen closet in the hallway.”
Greyson frowningly looked at the door Harris was pointing at. “I’d hardly call this a hallway.” The place was tiny, and even at the best of times, he didn’t think he and Harris would ever have been capable of getting along in such a confined space. God, he really hoped the place next door was vacant.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Harris said, choosing to ignore Greyson’s unintentional criticism, even though Greyson could see the flare of annoyance in his brother’s eyes. “I’m off to bed.”
He turned to walk away.
“Why did you come?” Greyson couldn’t resist asking. He knew, of course, but he needed to hear Harris verbalize it.
His brother stopped and turned to face him again. “Libby. She seems happy here. Settled. You’re going to destroy that happiness if you insist on . . .”
To hell with this. Harris and Olivia might be the “best of friends,” but considering how much that friendship had intruded on his marriage, maybe it was time people started to remember that Greyson was her husband. Even if he didn’t quite deserve the title at the moment.
“It’s really none of your business,” he interrupted Harris coldly, and the other man sighed, the sound harsh with impatience.
“You know that’s not true,” Harris argued. “Contrary to what you may believe, Libby is like a sister to me. I care about her well-being.”
“But I’m your brother.” Greyson couldn’t quite keep the bitterness from his voice. Olivia’s and Harris’s loyalties had always seemed stronger toward each other than to Greyson, and he had always resented that. “You should care more about mine.”
Harris laughed in his face at that, the sound containing equal amounts of genuine amusement and incredulity. And honestly, who the hell could blame him?
“Yeah?” Harris said, his voice still brimming with bitter amusement. “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 acknowledged stiffly, feeling a surge of resentment at his brother’s words. His brother, who had spent more time with his wife during the first two months of their marriage than Greyson had. A situation that would have tested any sane man. But he forced that resentment back and kept his voice cool as he continued, “I acknowledge that I may have been hasty and unfair in my accusations.”