More Than Love You

by Shayla Black

  “Can I ask you a personal question?” I finally said to him.

  “Shoot.”

  “Did your parents do something terrible to you growing up?”

  The silence on the other end of the line speaks far louder than if Griff had shouted. I hear him swallow, struggle to answer. “Harlow has things to work past, too?”

  Boy, does she ever. “Yeah. What about Maxon?”

  “He hasn’t said a lot, but based on what I know and what I’ve observed, it’s a fair guess.”

  But as close as the brothers were, neither knew the trials the other had endured? Maxon and Griff are in a better place now, sure. They’ve embraced love and moved on with their lives. I think Harlow could tip either way…but she’ll err on the side of caution—and loneliness—unless someone gives her a shove in the other direction.

  “I’m going to ask you for something I have no right to, but if I don’t, I doubt I’ll ever get my wife back.”

  Griff lets out a rough sigh over the line. “You want us to tell her our stories and persuade her to tell us what she endured in the hopes that it will help her.”

  I can’t call Harlow’s brother slow. “If she can see that you two have been able to move past whatever happened and that you aren’t letting that stand in the way of your happiness, maybe she could heal. She doesn’t feel whole or ready or sure of herself.”

  “Maxon has been saying for a while that he’s sure something happened her first year of college.”

  “He’s right.” I can’t say more than that without betraying her confidence. Harlow needs to tell her story herself. But will she?

  “Fuck.” I hear a loud crash that sounds very much like Griff slammed a door or punched a wall. “I should never have left her with those two vipers. I should never have believed that they saw her as the pretty princess of the family whom they’d never sully or touch. Maxon will blame himself, too.”

  “There was probably nothing you could have done then. But you can absolutely help her now. Please… This is really my last hope. If Harlow won’t forgive herself and let this go, I’m going to wind up divorced at the end of a year and spend the rest of my life fucking miserable and alone. I know none of that is your problem—”

  “It’s Harlow’s. She needs you.” Griff pauses. “I’ve always wondered why Harlow wasn’t the ‘love’ type. As a kid, she was into princesses and weddings and all that fairy-tale stuff. And always babies. I thought she’d marry young and happily, have a huge family and… Goddamn it. After high school, she seemed to stop dating. Simon was a surprise. I couldn’t imagine why she was eager to marry someone she didn’t love.” He sighs. “Her running out on the wedding was epic. I wish you could have seen it.”

  Me, too.

  “But?”

  “I’ve never seen her as happy as when I’ve seen her with you, and the woman staying in my guest bedroom right now is so fragile I barely recognize her.”

  That hits me like a blow to the gut, so hard I can’t breathe. “You gotta help me, man.”

  “I’ll do what I can. She’s planning to fly back to San Diego on Sunday. She was offered a job before she came here. She’s talked about taking it.”

  Oh, god. If she leaves for California, getting her to come back to Maui—to me—will be between difficult and impossible.

  “Anything. Please.”

  “I’ll call Maxon now. We’ll have a heart-to-heart intervention and see if we can’t help you both. I spent three long, miserable years without Britta because I couldn’t get over my shit. I want more than that for my sister. If two people ever belonged together, it’s you.”

  We rang off after Griff promised to call me tomorrow. The next twenty-four hours are going to be torture. I haven’t shaved in two days. I can’t even remember the last time I ate. I’ve done nothing except for lift weights until exhaustion set in, catnap, and think of ways to win my wife back.

  The sun has come and gone by the time I look up again. Hours have passed, and I don’t even know what I’ve done with them except for think of Harlow and wish again that anxiety hadn’t seized me at the worst possible time. Calling Cliff to curse him out should have made me feel better. Or at least like I had accomplished something. The only satisfaction I got was in knowing I did the right thing in telling my agent that if he can’t respect my wife and treat her with the deference he’s shown me, then he needs to get the hell out of my life and career. He called me later to tell me that he’d left Harlow a voice mail explaining and apologizing. Not that it made a difference. Why would it when she’s not upset with me, merely convinced that believing the worst for even a moment means she’s not ready to love me. I’m not expecting a perfect wife, just Harlow.

  God, I could think in circles for hours.

  A knock at my front door pulls me out of my reverie. I glance at my phone. Who the hell could be stopping by at nine o’clock at night? Since the list of approved visitors is small, it’s one of a handful of people. I’d love to see my wife…but I’m not holding my breath.

  With a groan, I lurch off the sofa and tug open the door. Trace fills the doorway with a stack of mail in hand and a solemn expression full of sympathy. “Hey, bro. I came to cheer you up. I got off the plane about two hours ago. Makuahine told me that you and Harlow have…separated. I can’t even imagine why. You love her and she loves you.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  He strolls in and sets the mail down, shaking his head. “If it’s this Mercedes Fleet situation, couldn’t Harlow have waited until the test results came back?”

  Test results. It’s Friday. I should have them already.

  “It’s not that simple,” I answer as I grab my phone and open my e-mail. The paternity problem isn’t the reason my wife left me…but it didn’t help. “In fact, it’s a huge complication because Harlow is pregnant. We’d planned to wait a few weeks before we told the family. The wedding was enough, but now…I guess I might as well let the cat out of the bag. So not only have I lost my wife but I’m losing my son or daughter. I didn’t think that would hit me so hard but it’s got my fucking chest in a grinder.”

  “You’re not giving up, right? Fight for her, man.”

  How do I get her to fight herself on my behalf?

  A glance at my screen reveals an email from the independent lab we hired to process the blood results. With a shaky breath, I open and scan the response. Then I frown. None of what they’re saying makes sense.

  “What’s wrong?” my brother asks, easing me into a chair. “You turned a shade of pale I’ve never seen on you.”

  “The test results are inconclusive? What the hell? I never touched that woman. I never even met her. The test results should be fucking zero and I don’t understand why they’re not.”

  “Yeah. Didn’t the lab tell you it would either be ninety-nine-point-nine percent yes or zero percent no, nothing in between?”

  I nod. “Wait. The lab technician wrote a note at the bottom. Maybe this will explain.” But it doesn’t. “Okay, they’re saying the DNA structure rules me out as the father. Oh, thank god.” I breathe a huge sigh of relief. I can’t wait to shout these results to the world. And to my wife. No, they might not change her mind, but at least they’ll prove I’m no liar. They’ll prove that I’m not like her father or Simon. “But the results are inconclusive because there are some striking DNA similarities.”

  As soon as the words come out, something clicks in my head. I stare at my brother. We look a lot alike, enough that Trace is often mistaken for me. Is it possible that Mercedes Fleet believes Trace was me that night? The reason that others at the party thought they saw the two of us hit the bedroom together? And the explanation for the lab finding DNA similarities?

  “Fuck, did you sleep with this woman at the Super Bowl after party?”

  Trace frowns as he staggers back to the sofa, suddenly turning his own shade of pale. “I-I don’t…know. I remember this one blonde. As soon as I walked in with you, she was all over me. Who was I
to say no? But after we hooked up, we drank. A lot. Then one of her friends dragged her out. And that’s really the last lucid thing I remember. There’s this fuzzy picture of a brunette all flushed and panting in my head. I don’t even have a face. I thought it was a snippet of a dream after I passed out, but… Holy shit.”

  “Do you have a tattoo of a compass on your hip?”

  Suddenly, he grimaces. “Yeah. I saw your ink during that shoulder surgery you had a few years back. You don’t remember telling me that you’d had it done to remind you of the way home?” When I shake my head, he goes on. “You were just coming out of anesthesia. I liked the look and the idea of it, so you let me snap a pic and I got the same ink a couple of weeks later. After that, you were busy rehabbing and living in Texas. I guess I just didn’t remember to tell you or…” He rakes a hand through his dark hair. “Was that sex dream real? Oh, my god. Did I get that woman pregnant?”

  I’m thinking it’s a distinct possibility. “I suggest you contact her and the lab and find out for sure. I’ll be reaching out through lawyers to indicate that since the child isn’t mine, I expect her and her demands to disappear. What you do from there is up to you.”

  “But if that’s my child…” He swallows. “He or she is family. And my responsibility.”

  “Yep.” Not much more I can say, and I’m happy my younger brother came to the right conclusion.

  “Holy shit.”

  “You already said that,” I point out.

  “It bears repeating.”

  I can’t argue with that. “Want a beer?”

  He might need one after realizing he probably fathered a child on a woman he can’t even recall.

  “No. The last thing I need is not to have my wits about me. That may have already gotten me in trouble. I need to figure out exactly what I’m going to say, what I’m going to do if the test turns out positive. And I need a stone-cold sober head to do it.”

  Another good call. “I’ll help you however I can.”

  He turns to me, looking anxious but resigned. “Thanks. I’m only sorry I didn’t put everything together sooner and save you any headache with Harlow.”

  “It’s cool.” I clap him on the shoulder. “And I’m not giving up on Harlow.”

  I’ll make these results public so the scandal will die down and Mr. Chickman’s board of directors will climb off his back. But mentally, I’ve already moved on. I’m thinking of ways to help Harlow see that I’ll love her even if she’s imperfect. That I’ll always value her above all else.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Harlow

  “Hi, baby. It’s Noah, leaving you a message. Again.”

  His rough, sleep-deprived voice guts me. Why hasn’t he given up on me? I’m defective when it comes to love. Sure, I can care. I can totally help when someone else needs me. But when the time comes to lower the walls and give my heart, I freeze. I feel love. I want to open myself up. But like Noah’s issues between his brain and his mouth, there’s this block between my heart and my ability to trust. I don’t know how to conquer it. Some days I feel strong. But when all it takes to shatter my fairy-tale castle is a few sentences from a total asshole doing his best to make money, my strength is obviously an illusion.

  I’m not ready to love.

  Still, I can’t bring myself to stop listening to Noah’s voice mails. I grip the phone tighter and close my eyes, pretending he’s beside me and I still have the right to throw my arms around him, bask in his warmth, and kiss him with all my might.

  “Listen… In spite of what Cliff said to Mr. Chickman, I married you for one reason only: I love you. I would never put a negotiation or a paycheck above you. But those are just words to you, I know. I’m sure your father and Simon have given you plenty of platitudes and empty promises in the past. So tomorrow before you fly back to San Diego, I plan to hold a press conference and announce that I’ll be turning down the network’s offer.”

  “What? No!” I shout at the recording as if he can hear me. “You can do the job.”

  But he can’t hear me. I left him.

  Because I didn’t live up to my end of the contract we signed. Because I didn’t honor my vows. Because I couldn’t trust in love when things got tough.

  “I’m doing it to prove that you’re more important to me than anything,” he says in my ear.

  I close my eyes in shame. Nothing makes me feel more terrible than Noah giving up the future he wants because he thinks he needs to prove something so I’ll love him the way I should. He doesn’t have to prove anything, damn it. I know Cliff is a hustling asshole saying whatever he thought would get the deal done most expediently. Even when I left the restaurant, I was half convinced of that. By the time I’d packed my bags and left Noah’s estate, I was eighty percent certain the man I’d married had never once said he’d tied the knot with me to land a multimillion-dollar job. The following morning, I was even less convinced that Noah was that sort of shitbag. Now that the weekend has rolled around, I’m almost completely sure he had nothing to do with Cliff’s BS at all.

  But it’s that sliver of doubt that worries me. Given all that, can I ever be the wife and partner Noah needs?

  “I know you’re probably thinking that I’ve progressed enough to function as a color commentator. Maybe you’re right. Still, I have this…difficulty to overcome. It won’t be an overnight process. I could probably do it now that you’ve taught me so much about how to cope. The thing is, I don’t have anything left to prove to the NFL, football fans, or the public. Just you. I wanted you to know that before you leave Hawaii—and me. I also need to make one thing clear: If you ever miss me, want me, decide you love me, I’m here. I’m waiting. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you and I never will. And if you’ll give me the chance, I’ll help heal your bruised heart. Like my speech problems, it won’t be a quick, easy fix. That’s okay. You accepted me—faults, speech glitch, and all—knowing I’d make progress but never achieve perfection. That’s true of you, too, and I’d happily accept your fears and flaws if you ever want to come back. If not, then…good-bye, wahine.”

  The subtle click in my ear when he hangs up has so much finality my chest implodes. I did the right thing for him, to save him more of this wretched pain later. But right now, I’m feeling so weak. All I want to do is pick up the phone, apologize, hear him say that he loves me again. Tell him how much I love him in return…

  A soft knock on the guest bedroom door at Griff and Britta’s new place breaks my reverie. “Come in.”

  Britta sticks her head inside, soft platinum hair a beacon of light in the near darkness. After a heart-to-heart with Maxon and Griff this afternoon, I came in here to shut the door, shove in my earbuds, and process. Since then, night has fallen. So has my mood. It’s been a heavy day.

  “I thought I’d check on you. I kept your dinner in the oven when you didn’t answer earlier.”

  “That’s sweet. Thank you, but I’m not hungry.” Way too much on my mind.

  “How are you handling everything you and your brothers talked about earlier?”

  “I’m still in shock,” I admit.

  But I also feel closer to them.

  After lunch, they pulled me into Griff’s study and sat me down. They both confessed everything Mom and Dad had inflicted on them growing up. I’m still reeling.

  Our twisted father insisted on making his sons “men,” so he offered to get them laid at sixteen by whatever secretary he was boffing himself at the moment. He’s belittled Maxon since my oldest brother turned him down, then treated Griff like the favorite son because he’d repeatedly partaken. Why had Dad done it? Because the old man wanted his boys to share in his depravity? Because Barclay thought that somehow made it all right? Because he wanted carbon copies of himself? I’ll never know or understand.

  Griff didn’t get off easy, either. Our self-centered mother used his desire to be loved to manipulate him so she could whore him out in order to climb a stupid social ladder.

 
My brothers’ admissions floored me. Didn’t our parents care at all?

  No. They’re self-absorbed monsters. Sociopaths. I can’t think of another reason people would care so little about their own kids’ psyches. They feel superior, and all the “little people” below them are irrelevant, even their own children. I don’t comprehend at all. The baby growing inside me is tiny, the size of a grain of sand, but my number one instinct is to protect him or her. I’d lay down my life to shield this kid’s innocence. My parents couldn’t wait to exploit ours.

  After hearing my story, however, my brothers are nothing but supportive and protective. After we all purged, we shared tears, followed by laughter at all the stupid ways we’ve tried to cope over the years. But Maxon and Griff have turned into great men and even better husbands. I left that study reeling and confused…but certain there’s hope for me yet.

  “Can we come in?” Britta opens the door a bit wider, and I see Keeley standing there, face looking unusually solemn.

  They mean well and they want to comfort me. I can’t say no. They’re awesome women and some of my best friends. “Please.”

  They shuffle in. Britta sits on the bed next to me, Keeley in the fluffy chair in the corner. Both stare as if they have more to say. But something has been tugging at me, and I have to know…

  “Did you two already know everything my brothers told me today?”

  They glance at one another as if confirming their own suspicions.

  “I’ve known what had happened to Maxon or a while. But even though I was Griff’s confidante for years and I knew he’d been through a lot, he never told me about the summer that almost destroyed him,” Keeley murmurs. “I still don’t know all the details.”

  Britta shakes her head. “Griff finally told me what he’d been through the day we got married. But despite working for Maxon for years, he’s never confided in me. He’s always been a respectable boss mixed with a dash of protective older brother.”

  He would have never sullied Britta with his sordid past. Same of Griff with Keeley. It’s exactly why they never told me, either. Well, that and their own respective shame. Neither wanted me to look at them with horror, disillusionment, or pity. And I can only imagine that’s why they never told one another.