Page 12 of Phillip

Brock grumbled. “Yeah. I was thinking about it.”

“You were there.” His jaw clenched. “You know it was an accident.”

“You’ve said that your whole life.”

Phillip’s nostrils flared. Whether or not that had been a jab over their parents’ death, he didn’t know. But it wouldn’t have been the first time Brock placed the blame for their deaths on his shoulders.

He straightened the car and shifted to drive. His fingers tightened around the smooth, polished steering wheel, and he let the dig go, more interested in what was still simmering under his skin. “What’s up with you and Ashley?”

“Excuse me?” Brock’s brow furrowed. “Meaning what, exactly?”

Phillip ground his teeth as he drove out of the parking lot. “You’ve stayed in contact.”

“Is that a question or a statement?” Brock asked.

Jealousy stabbed at his back. “How about that?”

“Why wouldn’t we?”

His nostrils flared. “I don’t know. You’re so into Team Blackthorne that it seems obvious to side with your flesh and blood and not my ex.”

Brock chuckled. “I didn’t take sides.”

His fingers flexed tight on the steering wheel. “You never mentioned it.”

“What are you? Twelve years old? She’s a business acquaintance.”

Phillip sawed his teeth. “Did youseeher?”

“As in, did I date her?” Brock snorted, testing the last threads of Phillip’s patience. “I don’t date every beautiful woman I know.”

Beautifulgrated his nerves. Did he trust his brother? Yeah. Yet Brock hadn’t explicitly said no. “Keep talking.”

“You know I play my relationships close to the vest,” Brock continued.

As they all did. There were times their last name attracted the wrong kind of attention just as there were times, like today, when their last name gave them some slack.

“But never at work, and never with her.” Brock glanced over at him. “I’ve worked with Ashley before when she coordinated a few small events over the years for Blackthorne Enterprises. Maybe Devlin’s worked with her on something for Boatworks. I don’t know. She’s good at what she does.”

Ashley had a knack for business. Phillip wondered why she and Brock hadn’t been the ones to date in college. He was more her type, with his eye for public perception and all-around predictability. Brock would have earned Agatha Cartwright’s seal of approval, and he sure as hell wouldn’t have let a goat crap on Ashley’s shoe.

“Relax,” Brock said. “Besides, if you hadn’t wrecked her event, I would’ve said you two looked good together today.”

Phillip laughed. “Right.”

“You never know. Opposites attract.” He laughed. “In college, I’d have bet money that you wouldn’t have made it beyond a week.”

That had been Phillip’s fear once. Then everything had, more or less, worked out. He’d envisioned their lives together. Once, he’d even owned an engagement ring. Phillip snorted, driving in silence to the family compound with the past on his mind. With every passing coastal mile, Ashley held court over his thoughts, one memory coming to light after the next.

Finally, their home came into view. Home was an understatement, but that was what it had been to them during the summers. Their home in Boston had been equally as large and grand. Or rather, both of his homes in Boston had been—the one with his parents, and the one they’d moved into with his aunt and uncle and their kids when fall came around.

Moving in with Graham and Claire at the start of the school year had been one of the first moments it felt as though his parents were really gone. Aunt Claire had done everything she could to ease the transition from King Harbor to Boston. Much of his life had remained the same, including their school, friends, and schedules. But Phillip couldn’t forget how it felt to settle into his new bedroom. It was as if that first night he’d finally grasped that his mom and dad were never coming back.

Phillip opted to park in the front drive and pulled the Range Rover behind Devlin’s black Audi. Too many memories hammered Phillip, and he needed to escape, pushing out his door almost before he’d killed the ignition.

Brock wasn’t far behind as Phillip pushed through the front door and through the formal entryway. He caught a glimpse of himself in an oversized antique mirror that lined the sprawling foyer, and he stopped short. The corners of his eyes were crinkled. His hair was better kept. He’d filled out and aged, looking every bit the thirty-three years he was. But for the last few hours, he’d felt younger, more foolish, and unable to control his surroundings. Thinking of his parents and Ashley had sent him into a tailspin of misery and heartache.

He turned from his reflection and headed into the living room. Hannah, her eyes wide with curiosity, and Devlin, with an eyebrow crooked, sat on the couch as though they’d been waiting. Bitsy’s mention of viral publicity surfaced, and Phillip immediately deciphered their looks. “You saw?”

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