Page 113 of Boiling Point
I turned to face him. “I’m happy,” I said, and let it hang, plain. A confession, not a defense.
He tilted his head, studying me like an unfamiliar equation. The cannula pulled the line of his cheek taut, blue veins just visible beneath the skin. “Good.” The word limped out. “That’s all I wanted to know.” He tapped the blanket, a rhythm too slow to be impatience. It struck me: he was nervous. “About the girl,” he said, his eyes fixed somewhere just past my shoulder. “I’ve seen enough to know you’re serious.”
I waited, not trusting myself to speak.
“I won’t lie,” he continued, his voice gone low, “it’s not what I’d have picked for you. Certainly not the…circumstances. But even I can see that she settles you, which you so desperately need.” His gaze finally met mine. “So, if this is the path you’ve chosen, then you have my blessing. If it’s worth anything.”
Something caved in my chest, soft and hollow. “Thank you,” I said, and to my horror, the words cracked.
He gestured vaguely toward the window, at the hazed green of the parkland stretching beyond the glass. “There’s no mending you and James.” His voice was distant but not dismissive—more like he’d finally accepted it wasn’t worth the cost of hope. “I used to think it would come with time. That you’d settle your differences and find a way to coexist. But I see now you’ve both gone too far down your own lines for that.” He shifted his hand, veins stark against his skin. “Which will make things complicated…after.”
He didn’t say after what. He didn’t need to.
I waited, letting the silence thicken until he drew a deeper breath, shallow as it was.
He coughed—dry, serrated—and motioned toward the nightstand, where a glass of water waited on a silver tray. I handed it to him. He drank, then set it aside, the act costing more than it should.
“When I’m gone,” he said, and the words caught in his chest. “There will be no one left to referee. James will inherit the title. He’ll run the estate, the business, the family. It’ll be his. All of it.”
I nodded. My pulse drummed in my throat. The truth wasn’t surprising, but hearing it put so plainly—without prelude, grandeur, or the upright posturing he’d always insisted on—cut deeper than it should have.
“I don’t need a referee,” I said. “We’re not children anymore.”
He smiled, though the effort left a fresh seam in his cheek. “You actually are. Isabel has more sense than the two of you put together.” He looked all the way through me, a flicker of his old cunning beneath the haze of painkillers and disease. “I’ve changed my will,” he said quietly.
“Finally cut me out?” I meant it in jest. At least halfway.
“Yes.”
I snapped my head up. I shouldn’t have cared, but the brutality of it still stung.
“But it’s not what you think.” Father took a moment, as if weighing not just the words but their velocity and impact. “That’s why I was in London yesterday. I’ve signed over several assets to you. Directly. Not through the will, not funneled through the family trust.”
“Father, I?—”
“It’s a sum of money and a few properties. I know James. He’ll be the next baron, and he’ll stop your allowance before my body is cold. And I know what he’ll be like as executor. He won’thonor anything in my will that doesn’t suit him. I want what’s yours to actually reach you.”
I flinched, not at the act but at the expectation. “You don’t need to do that,” I said, the words out before I could retract them. “I’m the spare. I know my place. I’m not going to fight James for?—”
“It’s not up to him,” Father interrupted. Then, careful and precise, he continued, “And it’s not for you, strictly. I know you’ll give most of it away or let it sit untouched. It’s for whoever comes after you.” His gaze drifted back to the window, the fields beyond glazed over with haze. “I know you never wanted any of this, Callum, but you’re the only one of my children to see the world as it truly is. Not as you’d have it, not as you’d like it to look in the press release. Youseeit.” A short laugh broke up his breathing. “And maybe…maybe you’ve drawn the short straw too many times. So, please, son, let me do this for you.”
I wanted to say,You could have shown this softness before now. I wanted to ask why he’d never bothered to try. But I wasn’t a child, and petulance missed the mark when one was this close the end. Instead, I opted for a simple, quiet, “Thank you, Father.”
He closed his eyes, his skin translucent over the sockets, and after a moment, he reached out and set his hand over mine where it rested on the duvet. The gesture was so unfamiliar I almost pulled away on instinct, but I made myself stay, feeling the dry, papery palm and brittle fingers.
“My solicitor will handle the deed of gift. This is strictly between us.”
I nodded, and for once in my life, I didn’t argue.
Chapter 40
Gabrielle
Brooding.
There was no other word to describe Cal. He’d been this way since lunch. And I had no idea why.
Well, I had an idea. I just didn’t want to think about it. Which meant, of course, that I couldn’t think about anything else.
