He was just placing the filled vase on a side table when the front door swung open and his laughing wife stepped over the threshold. Harris was with her, his face alight with amusement as he held something aloft above his head while Olivia tried to grab it from him.
“No way, Bug,” Harris was saying, his voice wobbly with amusement. “You ate most of the others, this one is mine.”
“You don’t even like chocolate that much,” she replied with a pout, and Harris grinned at her before deliberately popping whatever it was he was holding—chocolate, presumably—into his mouth.
“I like this chocolate,” he said, his voice muffled by whatever he was chewing. He looked up, spotted Greyson, and swallowed before smiling. His teeth were still covered with some chocolate. “Hey, Greyson . . . settle an argument. Would you say turkish delight is the most hideous thing they could possibly put inside a chocolate? Or . . .”
“Pineapple,” Olivia finished for him. A smile lit up her lovely features as she bounced toward Greyson and planted a happy kiss on his lips. “You’re home early.”
“I, uh . . .” Greyson wasn’t sure what to respond to. The chocolate thing or her observation about him being home early? Instead he settled on, “I don’t care for chocolate.”
“Philistine.” Olivia wrinkled her nose at him. But her smile deepened. She stood on her toes and gave him another kiss. “We were just about to have some Thai takeout and watch a Say Yes to the Dress marathon. Joining us?”
“Wait, you said we could watch the football,” Harris complained. “I’m not watching that dress show, Libby.”
“And I’m not watching a bunch of guys aimlessly kicking a ball around for ninety minutes.”
“You always do this. You always lure me in with these false little promises, and then we wind up doing whatever the hell you want.”
It was the Harris-and-Libby show, and as always Greyson felt relegated to merely an observer.
“I brought some work home,” he fabricated quickly, never sure where he slotted in when they were in their best-buddies mode. Olivia looked a little disappointed but unsurprised, and she wrapped her arms around his waist and gave him a hard hug. His arms closed around her instinctively, and he relished the warmth of her slight body against his, the smell of her skin and her hair. She was intoxicating.
The hug ended too soon, and she stepped away after one last lingering kiss.
“We’ll be in the den, watching something,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Join us if you need a break, okay?”
He nodded, and she brushed a loving hand over his jaw.
“If I send you an SOS text, come and save me from whatever ridiculously girly show she’s forced me to watch, okay?” Harris muttered in an aside to Greyson. The latter forced a smile and nodded curtly.
Greyson watched—eaten up with resentment and disappointment—as his brother draped a casual arm around Libby’s shoulders and steered her toward the den.
Neither of them so much as glanced at the flowers on the side table as they walked right by.
Present day
Greyson shook his head, impatient with himself for allowing the disturbing memory to intrude on the already unpleasant present. So many nights he had come home hoping for some one-on-one time with Olivia, only to find Harris—or sometimes Tina—there. Tina he didn’t mind, but to find Harris there so often . . . he made an involuntary sound at the back of his throat. Greyson now recognized that the sour emotion churning away at his gut every time he had seen Olivia and Harris chuckling over some incomprehensible joke had been jealousy. He had been wildly jealous over their easy familiarity, the camaraderie, the casual touching.
The jealousy had eaten away at him, had made him irrationally suspicious. It had allowed him to completely lose sight of reality, to color his view of the two of them. By the time he had spotted them in that restaurant, he had been more than ready to believe the absolute worst of them.
Four fucking months since he had seen Olivia last. Since he had grudgingly looked at the infant he now accepted was his child. It was too long, and he couldn’t stand the thought of another four passing without seeing them. Worse . . . of years passing. Of never seeing Olivia again and never getting to know Clara.
The thought was beyond bearing.
Before he could overthink it, he swiped his screen and brought up his brother’s number. He and Harris very rarely exchanged personal calls anymore. Except for the pictures Harris sent him every day, they kept things strictly business between them. But Harris needed to hear his decision. Greyson owed his brother that much, at least.
Harris replied almost immediately.
“Yeah?” The man’s voice was curt and unwelcoming, but that didn’t deter Greyson. His decision had been made the moment Harris had sent him that first picture so many months ago. It had just taken him this long to summon up the guts to do what he knew needed to be done.