Page 95 of The Holiday Clause

“Dad tried talking to me about his funeral yesterday.”

Greyson looked back at him on the landing where he now sat on the top step, waiting for his phone to ping like a lovesick teenager. “And?”

Soren shrugged. “He wants his ashes scattered off the back of one of his ships.”

“How on brand.”

“At least he didn’t request we fly Bette Midler out to sing‘Wind Beneath My Wings’or some shit like that.”

“Small mercies.”

They fell silent again, the air thick with tension no matter how much Soren tried to dissipate it with small talk. He wasn’t letting him off the hook that easily. His brother would either admit defeat, and promise to back off of Wren, or he’d get a size twelve boot up his ass.

“Dad also told me?—”

“I’m not here to talk about Dad.”

Greyson wasn’t in the mood to grapple with his guilt, grief, or regret. Not that he had much guilt regarding his father, but it was hard not to have regrets when dysfunction reached its endgame with no resolution in sight. Some part of him always hoped they would eventually get over the loss of their mom and be a family again, whole and unbroken. That never happened.

“Did you hear that Logan’s trying to be a hand model?”

Greyson frowned and glanced up at Soren, confusion creasing his brow. “Didn’t he lose a nail in a pickleball game last week?”

“Yeah. That’s a real crusher in his industry.”

They both chuckled, the sound breaking some of the tension. Greyson lowered into one of the high-backed leather chairs in the foyer, his body sinking into the expensive material as he checked his watch.

Soren’s home was completely different from his rustic cabin. Everything smelled like expensive leather and furniture polish,the scent of money that never knew a hard day’s work. There wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere. Maybe such privilege was a testament to his manhood, but Greyson never felt the need to flex their wealth in such a suffocating way.

Soren stood from the steps, paced the landing like a caged animal, checked his phone, then paced again. “How do you just sit there like this isn’t weird?”

“It’s not weird. We all knew you and Wren weren’t going to pan out.”

“Fuck you, Grey. No one knew that.”

He lifted a brow, his expression maddeningly calm. “Sure.”

“You’ve got some balls. All our lives, we listened to you and backed off. Any one of us could have gone after her the minute she became an adult.”

“But you didn’t.”

“But we could have.”

“But you didn’t.”

“But. We. Could. Have.”

“But. You. Didn’t.”

“Yeah, well, neither did you. Why the sudden interest? Is this even about her or do you just need to fuck me over to feel like a big man?”

“Watch it.”

“Or what? There’s only one of us feeling threatened right now, Grey, and it’s not me.”

He sent him a silencing glare. “I’ll let Wren explain it to you.”

Soren shook his head and scoffed. “Is it so fucking hard to stomach that she might be into me?”