Page 3 of Contentious

“I love them, and I’d do anything for them, but I’d never take life direction from them or anyone. The idea of being… beholden… to anyone is, well… It’s horrifying to me.”

“I see.”

At a red light, he glanced over at her. “I know that sounds impossibly dramatic and terribly rude, but I have solid reasons for feeling the way I do. The last thing I’d ever want is for anyone to get hurt because of me. Especially you and Ty.”

“Why especially us?”

“Because you’re special. Both of you. And you deserve someone who can devote his whole heart and soul to making the two of you happy. I’m not that guy.”

“Fair enough.”

“That’s it?”

“What else should I say?”

“Can we be friends? I promised Ty I’d teach him to surf, and I’d like to keep my promise.”

“Of course.”

That was a relief. He’d never want to disappoint a child the way he’d once been disappointed by the adults in his life, two of whom were now at it again.

He pulled into the driveway of the Beverly Hills home owned by his grandfather, Spencer Remington, who’d asked Carson to take care of the place while he was in “rehab.” The truth was Spence was in assisted living with little chance of returning home, and he knew that. Calling it rehab helped him cope with his reality, so no one corrected him. He’d be ninety-four soon and was still as sharp as ever, which was a blessing to the many people who loved him.

Carson pressed the remote to open one of the four garage doors.

“This is where you live?” Cresley asked in amazement as she took in the ornate Italian-style home.

“It’s my grandfather’s place. I’m the caretaker in residence.”

“Not too shabby.”

“It’s a sweet deal. Wait for me to give you and those three-inch heels a hand.”

He was insane, he told himself as he made his way around to the passenger side. Cresley Dane, the Cresley Dane, one of the most famously glamorous women in the world, liked him, and he’d given her the polite brush-off. Every guy he knew would kill for five minutes in her presence, and he’d said thank you, but no. If you wanted to know how fucked-up the Remington siblings were, that about summed it up.

Julian and Isla had arrived ahead of them and were already inside when Carson and Cresley went in.

His older brother had his head in the fridge, probably looking for beer or vodka. If ever there was a time for alcohol, this was it, for the rest of them, anyway. Never again for him.

Roman and Jackson came in a few minutes later, and by the time Griffin, Jordan, Ethan, Gillian and Kaidan arrived, they’d settled into Spencer’s comfortable den with drinks and snacks and silence, as if they’d tacitly agreed to wait until everyone was there to address the elephant in the room.

“Unfuckingbelievable,” Jordan said for all of them as she poured herself some of Spence’s good whiskey.

“To have them plastered all over the headlines again is just…” As Gillian’s voice broke, Ethan put his arm around her. They were protective of their sweet, tenderhearted youngest sister, who took these things harder than the rest of them.

“It’s outrageous,” Kaidan said.

“Tell them what you saw, Jules,” Carson said.

All heads pivoted toward Julian, who sat on a love seat, as close to Isla as he could get. She looked exquisitely uncomfortable during her first exposure to all of Julian’s siblings.

“What did you see?” Griffin asked.

“Mom and Dad, together, holding hands at the beach in Santa Barbara last week,” Julian said.

“And you didn’t think we needed to know this?” Roman asked in disbelief.

The others were similarly incredulous.