Page 96 of The Holiday Clause

His scowl drilled into him like a physical force. “She’s not.”

Soren laughed without humor, the sound bitter and sharp. “You weren’t there. We had an awesome date the other night. And last night?—“

“The whole town’s talking about last night. I don’t need the recap.” The words tasted like poison on his tongue.

“She kisses me back, Grey. It’s not pity or Dad’s will or anything else you want to blame. There’s something between us, and if you honestly cared about Wren, you’d back off for once and let us figure it out.”

“I won’t let you hurt her like that.” The accusation ricocheted between them like a bullet.

“Get the fuck out of my house.”

“I’m not leaving until you admit it’s over.”

“Fuck you, Greyson. You think I’d ever hurt her? You’re the one who won’t let her live her damn life. Look at you, man. You can’t stand the fact that some things are simply out of your control. Go back to your tree fort in the woods and let the grown-ups do their thing.”

He stood and took a threatening step toward the stairs. “Come down here and say that to my face.”

Soren rolled his eyes from the safety of the landing and tapped his phone again. One huff of frustration and Greyson knew she hadn’t responded. “Did you threaten her?”

The tin taste of uncertainty made him swallow. Why wasn’t she getting back to him?

He could easily explain that Wren took her clothes off that morning, that she basically threw herself at him and said things that still had him reeling. But Soren was his brother, and as much as he needed him to admit defeat, he didn’t need to totally destroy him in the process.

Trying to make him see reason, Greyson calmly said, “You don’t love her, Soren. Not like that.”

“And you do?”

The unspoken truth rested silently between them. If he couldn’t say it, did he even deserve her?

Soren scoffed. “I can love her better than you, Greyson. For fuck sake, at least I can say it out loud.”

He suddenly couldn’t breathe. “I need coffee.”

Soren followed him into the kitchen at a distance. Tall, midnight blue cabinets and state-of-the-art appliances filled the space like a magazine spread. He scowled at the fancy machine on the counter. “What the fuck is this?”

“Move. You’ll end up breaking it.”

Greyson stepped back as Soren turned dials and twisted valves. “She get back to you yet?”

“No.”

“Could you find a more complicated coffee machine?”

“I have sophisticated taste. Once you get to this level, there’s no going back.”

Greyson rolled his eyes, exasperation bleeding through his impatience. No matter how similar their upbringing, the three of them were miles apart in differences.

As he watched his brother make a single cup of coffee with the meticulousness of a brain surgeon, he wondered if Soren’s attention to detail and over-preparedness might ground Wren.

Maybe she needed someone to contrast her free spirit, someone to remind her there was more to life than frolicking in the woods or fermenting kombucha in mason jars. What if she needed someone more like Soren?

Unease crawled through him like spiders under his flesh, making his skin feel a size too small. Why was she taking so long to respond?

He flexed his hands to release some of the nervous energy tingling up his arm. She had to have seen Soren’s text by now. Maybe he should try texting her. What if something went wrong and she changed her mind?

“What did you say in your text?”

“None of your business.”