Page 203 of Titus

He slammed the glass back onto the desk. “And look where it got him.” Silence fell over the room, then my father smiled. “Dead.”

Something twisted inside my chest.

“Do you know why I changed our name from Hawkins to Hawk?”

I didn’t answer.

“Answer me, son!” he boomed.

“No, sir,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Because the reputation Lionel Hawkins built under that name was that of a coward. He let people take from him.” He looked over to the windows, then back to me. “That weakling built nothing. Instead, he spent his life doing the right thing and died with less than the men who took advantage of him.”

He took another drink.

“He was a man who waited and then asked permission,” he said. “That’s why I changed our name to Hawk.” The bourbon sloshed against the crystal as his eyes locked onto mine. “Hawks don’t ask permission. Hawks take what they want without regret or remorse.”

A movement near the doorway caught my attention. It was my mom. She watched the drunk asshole with sadness in her eyes, a sadness that hit harder than anything my dad was saying.

He followed my gaze and immediately laughed. “Did you know,” he pointed to where my mom stood, “your mother wanted Spanish names for you boys?” His expression darkened. “Family names. Names that honored her traditions and were filled with sentiment.”

He made it all sound like it was an insult.

“Tell him,” he said, looking at her as if she’d done something terribly wrong. “Tell Titus you wanted my sons named after your fucking family.”

Mom stayed silent, like me. That’s when he took another sip and pointed the glass at me. “I refused,” he said. “Do you know what the name Titus means?”

“No.”

Hearing my name come from him sounded heavy.

“It means a title of honor.” His eyes narrowed. “A man worthy of respect. A leader, a ruler, and a man others willingly follow.” He poured more bourbon into his glass. “Wyatt?” he called, loud enough for both my brothers to leave the other room and report to his office.

“Yes, Papa?” my younger brother answered.

He offered him a slight nod. “Your name means brave in war.” He looked at Colton. “And yours, Colton, means the survivor.” His attention returned to me. “I named my sons for what men are supposed to become.”

“Yes, sir,” Colton acknowledged softly and obediently.

Something cold settled in my stomach because I already knew what was coming.

“But you’ve never earned your name, have you, Titus?”

I remained quiet while my father prepared to lecture me on what a disappointment I was.

He sipped his bourbon. “That’s because you lead with your heart. You hesitate,” he took another drink. “You care and forgive.” His jaw tightened. “Hell, you spend more time fixing problems than creating advantages.”

Thunder rattled the windows as I stood here, feeling like I was in a horror film, listening to this chaos and watching my father drink himself into the grave.

Night after night.

“You think business should be fair, don’t you, son?” His laughter filled the room. “You think people deserve second chances.” He slammed his glass on his desk again. “You actually think integrity matters in this world.”

The room seemed to darken around him.

“And one day, that conscience of yours is going to become the sword you die on,” he said, his words echoing through his office. My father’s smile slowly widened. “Men like me build empires. Men like you inherit them and lose them.”

I stared at him. The man who had spent his life taking whatever he wanted. The man responsible for every problem now threatening to destroy mine. For the first time, I wasn’t looking at my father. I was looking at the reason I’d spent my life trying not to become him.