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Their eyes met, and they both started laughing. The moment of shared amusement so rare and so priceless that they both stopped chuckling simultaneously as they acknowledged the break in the habitual and long-standing tension between them.
They grinned at each other again, and this time there was a cautious diffidence in their smiles.
Greyson cleared his throat and dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. “I knew almost as soon as I said it that it was ridiculous, Harris,” he admitted after a moment, his voice weighted in sadness, shame, and regret.
Harris knew to what he was referring but needed him to verbalize it. It was the only way to begin: if not healing, then patching the ever-expanding rift between them.
“What do you mean?”
“I didn’t want to believe, even as I was saying it, that you were the baby’s father. And I regretted it the moment the words were out. I was angry and you were there, taking her side. Always her friend and confidante, while she never told me anything. Libby and Harris, with your in-jokes and games and fun. Dull, tedious Greyson would never get the joke, so why bother including him? That’s how it looked from the outside. And I was always on the outside. I thought, maybe after I married her, things would change. I would be her best friend. I should have been her best friend. She’s my wife, but I can’t laugh with her the way you can.”
“Jesus,” Harris muttered. “I’m so—”
“No. This is my apology, Harris. Don’t take it from me. I just wanted you to understand the place that indictment came from.” He squeezed the nape of his neck and darted a self-conscious glance around the nearly empty room. “I was jealous of the relationship you had with my wife, and while I knew it was strictly platonic, it was still more meaningful than the one I had with her. That was my fault, not yours. And I’m so sorry, so goddamned sorry. That accusation, those words, will always be out there now. I can’t take them back . . . but I can tell you that I regret them so damned much.”
“Greyson . . .”
Harris’s words were trailing off when Libby exited the office and made a beeline for their table. She looked pale and upset and avoided Harris’s gaze as she focused on Greyson.
“Uh, Greyson. About tonight.” Greyson stood up abruptly, panic flaring in his eyes as he obviously feared she was going to cancel their arrangement. “I need you to come here. I’d prefer to have Clara close by.”
“You’re not canceling?” Greyson asked, heaving a relieved breath, and Libby’s pretty brow furrowed.
“No. Just a change in venue, that’s all.”
Greyson gave her a grateful smile. “No problem. I’ll be here just before six.” He sat back down.
“Thank you.” She turned away from the table, still avoiding Harris’s eyes, and his stomach sank.
She knew. After all these years, Tina had finally told her about the bet.
“Where’s Tina?” he asked quietly, and her eyes darted to his face before flitting away again. As if it hurt her to look at him.
“Leave her alone,” Libby said, her voice cold. “She needs a moment.”
“Libby . . . ,” he began miserably, and she finally looked at him. Her beautiful eyes were alive with anger, sadness, disappointment, and, most crushing of all, absolute revulsion.
“Don’t talk to me right now, Harris,” she said. Her voice strained. “I can’t deal with you right now.”
She turned and swept back into the kitchen.
“Shit.” Harris’s eyes tracked to the back, where the office door was hidden from view. He willed Tina to step out—he wanted to see for himself if she was okay. A long moment passed without any sign that she would be exiting the office, and he’d placed his palms flat on the table, intending to push himself up, when Greyson’s quiet voice intruded.
“No.”
“But . . .” His voice trailed off. He couldn’t find the words to justify going into that office and checking on her. He had no right. He kept his anguished gaze focused in the direction of her office for another minute before shaking his head and tossing a few bills on the table.
“I’m walking back to the house,” he murmured, dropping his car keys onto the heap of bills. “I’ll see you later.”
He strode out before Greyson could say a word of protest.
It was a blustery day, and as he walked up Main Road toward his ramshackle rented property, he tried hard not to think of Tina. The sweet, trusting girl she had been and the unhappy, wary woman she had become. He knew she blamed him for everything that had gone wrong in her life . . . and while he acknowledged the role he had played, like he had told her before, he couldn’t be held responsible for ten years of bad decisions. Tina had to accept culpability for her own choices. Naturally, it was convenient to blame Harris for every awful thing that had ever happened to her, but they’d had sex, once, ten years ago. And maybe the immediate fallout had been harsh and painful, but he didn’t understand how it could have shaped the rest of her life.
