Chapter 38
TRAIL brAKING: GRADUALLY RELEASING brAKES INTO A CORNER FOR BETTER ROTATION
Idon’t remember falling asleep. I remember Christin’s voice, her hands holding me steady when everything in my body felt like it was caving in. I remember thinking I just needed a second.
Apparently, I took more than that.
Voices pull me back to the reality I have to face. They’re muffled at first, then Christin bites out, “There’s no way. He’s not racing next weekend. Absolutely not.”
“He might need it,” Dario replies, calm but firm.
“He just found out his brother and his family are dead. And, due to Daddy Dearest, not even in a way that lets him fully process the implications. You think throwing himself into a race at Spa is going to fix that?”
“I think it might keep him from drowning in his grief,” Dario retorts quietly.
I push myself upright slowly, my body heavier than it should be, like sleep didn’t actually let my body rest—it just delayed facing anything. The bedroom spins for half a second before I realize I can make a decision about one thing. Too bad it’s about the fact I really need to piss.
Even in the loo, I can hear their low voices from the main suite. After I’m done, I take my time drinking a glass of water that was left on the nightstand.
I feel disoriented but not broken. I’m surprised by the heartache I feel for a man I haven’t seen since I escaped my father’s emotional prison.
Stepping out of the bedroom, everything and everyone snaps into focus.
Christin stands near the center of the room, arms crossed tightly, her entire posture rigid with determination. Dario is across from her, one hand braced against the back of a chair, the other gesturing slightly as he talks.
Lewis stands near the window, watching both of them, silent but present in a way that feels protective.
They all turn when I step in.
Christin immediately moves toward me. “Hey, did we wake you?”
“No. I just woke up.”
Her arm wraps around my waist. “Did resting help any?”
I shrug before wrapping my arm around her. “Did I miss anything important?”
Lewis’s mouth presses into a thin line before answering, “That depends on your definition of important.”
“That bad?”
Christin hesitates, which tells me something catastrophic occurred. I demand, “What happened?”
Dario straightens before gesturing toward the telly. “You should probably watch this. All the news channels have it on repeat.”
I follow his arm and see my father’s face filling the screen. Christin mutters, “That man wouldn’t know how to fake grief if he tried.”
I’m about to agree with her when I catch sight of the news banner scrolling.
brEAKING: Viscount Raleigh and Family Confirmed Dead
My stomach churns. Then I snap back into focus on what the news outlet is saying.
“…tragic accident,” the reporter says in a polished yet detached tone. “Sources indicate the late Viscount and his family were involved in a fatal incident after they were hit directly by a high-performance vehicle…”
I scoff, “Of course that’s how he framed it.”
No one disagrees with me.
The clip cuts to my father delivering a statement. I hush the room. Dario looks at me questioningly. I bite out, “I need to hear what he says.”
“Are you sure?”
I bob my head once. Seconds later, I wish I hadn’t because the unmitigated gall of my father cuts a new wound into me.
“My family is dealing with this private matter,” he says evenly. “My second son, Leo Hawthorne, has returned to the country. He will assume his responsibilities as Viscount Raleigh effective immediately.”
I try to comprehend his words. Returned. Will assume.
Second son.
He announced it to the world like I agreed. Like I wasn’t standing in a hotel lobby before being ambushed. As if he hadn’t told me a decade ago I was no longer welcome in his home. Like my brother and his family dying is an inconvenience instead of a tragedy.
My jaw clenches. I say one word. “No.”
Christin’s hand tightens on my arm. “Leo—”
“No,” I repeat, louder this time. My gaze is still locked on the screen as if I were to look away, it somehow becomes real in a different way. “I don’t want the bloody title. I don’t want any part of that life.”
My chest rises and falls unevenly, something hot and suffocating building under my ribs.
“He doesn’t get to announce that. He doesn’t get to pull me back into his world,” I add, my voice rougher than I intend.
Christin steps closer, her hand sliding into mine, grounding me before I can spiral further. Her words are firm and direct. “Then we won’t let him.”
But he’ll try to find a way. I know, as well as everyone else in this room, that I’m not just refusing the title. I’m rejecting him.
My father and the life I walked away from for a reason.
“I wasn’t trained for any of this. Albert was.
” I look down as I remember the good things about my brother that weren’t entwined with being a Hawthorne.
“I remember that he liked history. He loved the bloody estate, traditions, and every single ridiculous ceremony he had to attend. My brother knew all the family trees and titles. He was treated like he mattered.”
Christin’s arm tightens. Lewis visibly swallows.
“I will never know why he reassured me and told me not to worry about Father and then stayed silent during that last meal.” I sniffle, feeling too many emotions collide at once.
“Albert would encourage me to go off with my nannies. He said he would handle Father. I used to think that was because he was protecting me.”
My chest caves in as I double over in pain. “I’ll never know now that he’s gone.”
I press both hands over my face as the memories unfold. Albert teaching me to ride a bicycle. Sneaking me treats and stepping in front of me when our father got impossible. “Why did we let each other go?”
Christin’s warmth seeps through me. I recognize her scent as she guides me toward the couch. Once she gets me to sit, all I can focus on is the way her thumb brushes slowly over my knuckles.
Not trying to fix anything, simply letting me know she’s there. Just as I’m about to open my mouth to thank her for being here, Dario’s phone rings.
And all hell breaks loose.
Dario is swearing loudly before declaring, “No!”
All our heads swivel to look at him. He takes his mobile away from his ear and places it on speakerphone so everyone can hear. “You’re now on speakerphone, George.”
“Dario,” George Williams, Apex Orion’s international lawyer, tries to placate the room. “After the loss of his brother, now is not the time to burden Lord—”
“Don’t you dare call me that,” I hiss.
“I’m sorry, my…Leo.”
“Listen to me.” Dario’s voice is so sharp it should sever the connection. “He. Doesn’t. Want. The. Title. You’re smart, George. Why can’t you understand that?”
Lewis asks, “Is there a legal path Leo can refute under?”
Christin’s head whips around so fast that her hair slaps me in the face. She surges to her feet. I blink at the abruptness of her movements, but she’s already on a mission, sliding her mobile from her pocket.
Still, I ask, “What is it?”
She doesn’t respond.
Dario frowns. Lewis’s shoulders go rigid.
I stare at her while she waits for her call to connect.
When it does, her words leave me flabbergasted.
“Leanne? Yeah. I’ll let him know. Listen, I need a favor.
” There’s a pause before she chuckles darkly.
“I need to know the name of the lawyers who handled West Moore’s estate. ”
My lips part. Dario and Lewis still. I’m wondering if George is even breathing, because everyone in the world knows West Moore—software billionaire worth an obscene amount of money and the public speculation around his heirs that broke the internet.
Christin snaps her fingers at Dario to hand her something to write with. She jots some notes before saying a heartfelt, “Thank you.”
Once she hangs up, she faces me before declaring, “My boss is calling to make an introduction to the team that handled West Moore’s probate. Apparently, they have a partner specializing in aristocratic inheritance law.”
George immediately bristles. “We’re more than capable—”
“No,” Christin says calmly. “You represent Apex Orion’s best interests. I need someone who will represent Leo’s.”
Christ, I love her.
She hands the paper to me. “Leanne said give her a few minutes before we contact them.”
Dario immediately snatches up his mobile and advises George that we’re putting him on hold.
Ten minutes later, another voice joins the call. Older and very clearly educated at Oxford, he says crisply, “Lord Raleigh, I am very sorry for your family’s loss.”
“Don’t call me that.”
There’s a brief moment of silence before the barrister, who introduced himself as Heythrop, asks, “What would you like me to address you as, your lordship?”
“Leo, since what I’m asking you to do is to eliminate the part of my life where you’ll ever have to address me as a member of the peerage.”
“Certainly, Leo.” Heythrop shuffles some papers. “Obviously, I watched the news today. And if your question is whether you can renounce your heritage, it is possible.”
My heart pounds. “How?”
“Under the Peerage Act of 1963, there exists a mechanism by which an inheritor may disclaim a hereditary peerage.”
I stare at Dario’s phone like Heythrop is going to burst out with, “Just kidding,” at any moment. But his silence isn’t broken. I take a quick sweep of the room and take in Dario’s parted lips, Lewis’s steadiness, and Christin squeezing my hand.
Always Christin.
I ask him to repeat what he said, just to be certain. He does before adding on, “A disclaimer formally rejects the title and associated rights.”
“Truly?”
Heythrop gives me hope with his direct response. “Yes.”
“How?”
He remarks, “There are procedural requirements.”
“What are they?”
“Because your brother has passed,” Heythrop says carefully, “the title transferred immediately. Legally, you already are Viscount Raleigh.”
I hate the way it sounds, but I keep quiet as Heythrop continues. “If your intention is to sever yourself from the title and any future claim attached to the Hawthorne earldom, we’d need to execute formal legal documentation and notify the appropriate authorities.”
I lean back. “What do I need to do?”
“You’d need to execute an Instrument of Disclaimer,” Heythrop replies. “We can prepare the documentation and file it.”
“Then what? Does he just roll up to Buckingham Palace in his race car and drop it off?” Dario demands.
Heythrop doesn’t react to Dario’s disgust. “You don’t send a legal resignation letter to Buckingham Palace, sir. The executed Instrument of Disclaimer is delivered to the Lord Chancellor. That’s the legal requirement.”
Lewis glances at me. “I’m a bit disappointed, honestly. Dario’s race car idea had flair.”
I shake my head at him. “Lewis.”
He points at Dario. “It was his idea.”
Dario permits a small quirk of his lips. “What? I already pictured security chasing you through the gates.”
Even with everything pressing against my chest, I nearly laugh because I know I’m not alone.
Something shifts. Not my grief nor my anger.
It’s hope, because for the first time since my father walked back into my life, there might actually be a way to keep him out.
“My brother is dead. His whole family is gone. My father already turned him into paperwork. How long before I can make sure he doesn’t turn me into my brother’s replacement? ”
“A matter of weeks, at most.”
I can survive funerals and nightmares and months of regret because Albert and I never reconnected. But I’ll be mental if I’m forced to take my brother’s place for longer than that.
Christin’s arms wrap around me. I bury my face in her shoulder. “Then let’s proceed.”
“It won’t be quiet,” Heythrop warns. “It won’t be clean and it will absolutely escalate what’s already happening in the news.”
I glance back at the screen. At my father’s face. At the version of me that he just handed to the world without asking.
“Good,” I say.