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)
“And you think that you do?” Greyson asked distractedly, the heat gone from his voice as his brain attempted to process his brother’s words. He tried to cling to his righteous anger, but all he could think about was the time he and Harris had both been laid low with mumps. They had always gotten ill at the same time. When they were kids, their nanny, Clara, had complained that they were doing it deliberately to make her job and life miserable.
He’d never considered it before, because Dr. Crowe had had separate discussions with them at the time. They’d been young adults and as such, for the first time, had been afforded the dignity of being treated as individuals rather than a single entity.
He and Harris had never discussed it, and he had never really thought about it. Hearing that he couldn’t conceive hadn’t meant much to his nineteen-year-old self. The thought of having children hadn’t even occurred to him at that age, and the news hadn’t really bothered him much. He had never considered that Harris would have received the same news.
He had never doubted Dr. Crowe’s prognosis. Never thought to get a second opinion. What if . . .
He shook his head violently.
No.
No what-ifs.
If he could conceive, if that child was his, then he had just fucked up so badly that there was no way of ever recovering from it.
But . . . what if . . .
He felt his breath catch in his chest. He met Harris’s eyes. His brother still looked pissed off. More than that . . . he looked broken.
“You and Olivia have always been close,” Greyson pointed out softly, knowing that he was clutching at straws now.
“We’re friends,” Harris said icily.
“But I saw you . . .” The words sounded weak even to Greyson’s ears, and they tapered off for a moment as he thought about that day. In the restaurant, the smiles, the laughter . . . the intimacy of it.
“Saw us?” Harris pushed himself up from the floor and stood in front of Greyson, refusing to meet his eyes.
“At the Glass Lounge one afternoon about seven months ago. You looked . . .” Greyson paused, his brow furrowed and his stomach roiling in sick confusion. Why wouldn’t Harris look at him? Harris never had qualms about meeting anyone’s gaze. The only time he avoided eye contact was when he was trying to disguise his emotions. When he was trying to hide how badly he was hurt. Greyson cleared his throat before continuing. “You looked cozy. And Olivia straight up lied to me about your lunch. Why would she lie about lunching with you?”
Harris seemed to shake himself out of his funk, finally lifting his hooded gaze to Greyson’s.
“That’s it? Fucking lunch?” He practically spat the words. “That’s your proof? Your reason for ignoring your wife, rejecting your child, and . . .” He stopped abruptly and shook his head. His face twisting with emotion.
“Not only lunch,” Greyson said, his voice thready and lacking conviction. Everything that had seemed so damned certain just ten minutes ago now felt as insubstantial as the morning mist. “She lied. Why would she lie about it?”
“Because she wanted to surprise you on our birthday.” Harris’s eyes slid from his again. His words emerged on a stiff monotone, his voice lacking its usual verve. “She told me she had an announcement to make and wanted the evening to be special. She didn’t give a rat’s ass that it was my birthday too . . . she was too focused on making sure the night would be perfect for you. We met that afternoon to discuss how I was supposed to distract you, keep you away from the apartment until she had everything set up. Only you weren’t around to distract, were you? You flew out to London for the weekend without any kind of warning.
“You want to talk about cleaning up someone’s messes? I’m the one who had to fucking tell her you had left without a word. I’m the one who had to go to your apartment and inform your wife that you wouldn’t be there to see how beautiful she looked for you. Or how much work she had put into preparing the perfect meal for you . . . you should have seen that place. The fairy lights, the candles, the flowers. I’m the one who had to see the devastation on her face and then watch as she forced it back to make yet another excuse for your sorry ass. You took a stupid little white lie and used it to destroy your marriage. And your relationship with me.”
“Harris . . .” Greyson’s attempt at communication stalled right there. He couldn’t find the words. He didn’t know what to say, what to believe.
Where to go from here.