The Brothers Hawthorne (The Inheritance Games Book 4)
The Brothers Hawthorne: Nine Years and Three Months Ago

Jameson stood at the base of the tree house and looked up. Scowling at the cast on his arm, he moved toward the closest staircase.

“Taking the easy way up?”

That wasn’t Xander or Grayson, who were supposed to be meeting him here. It was the old man. Jameson fought the urge to whip his head toward his grandfather and kept his gaze locked on the staircase instead.

“It’s the smart thing to do,” Jameson said. The sound of footsteps alerted him to his grandfather’s approach.

“And are you?” the old man asked, the question pointed. “Smart?”

Jameson swallowed. This was a conversation he’d been avoiding for days. His eyes darted upward, searching the tree house for his brothers.

“I’m not who you expected to replace here.” Tobias Hawthorne wasn’t a tall man, and at ten, Jameson was already past his chin. But it felt like the old man towered over him anyway. “I’m afraid that your brothers are otherwise occupied.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Jameson heard it in the distance: the telltale sound of a violin, the notes caressed and carried by the wind.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” the old man said. “But that’s to be expected. Perfection without artistry is worth very little.”

From the tone in his voice, Jameson knew that his grandfather had said those exact words to Grayson before sending him away. He wanted me alone.

Jameson glowered at the cast on his arm, then raised his eyes—and his chin—defiantly. “I fell.”

Sometimes, it was better to just rip off the bandage.

“That you did.” How was it that Tobias Hawthorne’s words could sound so nonchalant and cut so deeply? “Tell me, Jameson, what did you replace yourself thinking, midair, when your motorbike went in one direction and you the other?”

It had been during a competition, his third this year. He’d won the first two. “Nothing.” Jameson spoke the word into the dirt.

Hawthornes weren’t supposed to lose.

“And that,” Tobias Hawthorne said, his voice low and silky, “is the problem.”

Jameson lifted his gaze without being told. It would be worse if he didn’t.

“There are moments in life,” his grandfather the billionaire continued, “when we are gifted with the opportunity to go outside ourselves. To see the world anew. To see what other people miss.”

The emphasis in those words made Jameson draw in a breath. “I didn’t see anything when I crashed.”

“You didn’t look.” The old man let that hang in the air, and then he reached to knock lightly on Jameson’s cast. “Tell me, does your arm hurt?”

“Yes.”

“Is it supposed to?”

The question caught Jameson off guard, but he tried not to show it. “I guess.”

“In this family, we do not guess.” The old man’s tone wasn’t harsh, but it was sure, like the words he’d just spoken were as certain as the rise and fall of the sun. “You’re old enough now for me to be honest, Jamie. I see a great deal of myself in you.”

Jameson hadn’t expected that, not at all, and it let him focus on his grandfather fully, completely.

“But you must know there are certain… weaknesses.” Now that Tobias Hawthorne had Jameson’s full attention, he clearly had no intention of letting it go. “Compared to your brothers,” he said, “your mind is ordinary.”

Ordinary. Jameson felt like the old man had reached into his chest and ripped out his heart. The fingers on his good hand curled into a fist. “You’re saying I’m not as smart as they are.” The words came out angry and fierce—but deep down, Jameson knew it was true. He’d always known it. “Grayson. Xander.” He swallowed. “Nash?” That one was less clear.

“Why are you asking about Nash?” the old man said sharply. “The truth, Jameson, is that you are indeed intelligent.”

“But they’re smarter.” Jameson wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t. He hadn’t cried when his arm had snapped, and he wasn’t going to now.

“Grayson’s mind is more efficient than yours and far less prone to error.” The old man placed no special emphasis on that statement, but he did nothing to gentle it, either. “And Xander—well, he’s the brightest of all of you and certainly the most capable of thinking outside the box.”

Grayson was perfect. Xander was one of a kind. And Jameson just… was.

“Their gifts are not yours.” The old man placed a hand on Jameson’s chin, preventing him from looking away. “But, Jameson Winchester Hawthorne, a person can train their mind to see the world, to really see it.” Tobias Hawthorne gave his grandson a frank, assessing look. “I have to wonder, though, once you see that web of possibilities laid out in front of you, unencumbered by fear of pain or failure, by thoughts telling you what can and cannot, should and should not be done…” The intensity in the old man’s words built. “What will you do with what you see?”

I don’t have to be ordinary. That was what Jameson heard. I won’t be. I’m not. “Whatever I have to.”

That was his answer—the only possible answer.

Tobias Hawthorne bestowed upon him a slight nod and an even slighter smile. “When you have certain weaknesses,” he said softly, rapping once on Jameson’s cast, “you have to want it more.”

Jameson didn’t wince. “Want what more?”

“Everything.” Without another word, the old man started climbing the stairs. Three steps in, he looked back. “I’ll see you at the top.”

Jameson didn’t take the stairs. Or the ladder. Or the slide—or anything that could even remotely be considered the easy way up. Forget your arm. Ignore the pain. He tuned out the sound of perfect Grayson’s beautiful music.

If he was going to be the best, he had to want it.

He began to climb.