“You in a relationship?” Xander asked as she walked away, definitely swinging her hips.
“Nope,” I said, salting my eggs. Damn, I loved breakfast for dinner. “Not looking to be, either. You?”
He smiled at his eggs. “Kind of. She lives down by the resort. Nothing serious yet, though. So, you were saying about fathers?” He shoveled a bite into his mouth.
Subject changer extraordinaire.
“Yeah, so this is going to sound like it’s out of left field, but I was wondering how much Dad has talked to you about his advanced directive.”
Xander paused mid-chew and then swallowed, looking at me oddly. “What do you mean?”
“I mean he asked me about a DNR.” There it was, spewed on the shiny surface of the wooden table, where it sat between us as heavy as an elephant.
“A Do Not Resuscitate order?”
“Yeah.”
“I thought you said he didn’t know who you were when you dropped by.” His brows furrowed.
“He actually left me a voicemail about a month ago.”
Xander sat up straight, abandoning his food. “He left you a voicemail.”
“He did. Honestly, it’s what brought me here. Not that I wasn’t long overdue to come home and help you, but it was the first time he’d called in six years.”
His expression didn’t change. Not even a muscle twitched. “And he asked you for a DNR. In a voicemail.”
I took my cell phone from the back pocket of my jeans and scrolled through to my voicemail. Then I tapped the saved message and hit speakerphone, putting it between us as it played.
“Camden. It’s your father. I don’t even know where you are anymore. This isn’t easy for me to say, but you need to come back. Alexander is overwhelmed. He takes on so much for me, for the town… You know him. I’m losing myself more every day, and it’s dragging him down. Your brother needs you. He’s so good but so stubborn. He sees the world in black and white, no grays. Not like you do. I want a DNR, Camden. Alexander thinks that means I’m ready to die, and that’s not what this is about. I’ll keep living as long as God wants, but if He calls me home to your mother, to Sullivan, then I don’t want to be held here by extraordinary measures. I deserve to make that choice. You’re the only one Alexander will listen to and—”
The voicemail ended.
Xander blinked and picked up my phone, no doubt looking for the second part of the message.
“That’s all there is,” I told him as he handed it back to me.
“He can’t…” Xander hesitated, shaking his head. “He has no clue what he’s asking for. He’s probably not even lucid in that message.” He dug back into his eggs.
“He’s asking for a DNR. Does he have one?” I asked, leaning forward.
“Hell no, he doesn’t,” Xander snapped. “You think I want to bury our father? He’s fifty-eight years old.”
Shit. This was going to be way harder than I’d originally thought.
“Has he mentioned it to you?”
“Sure.” He waved a fork. “In passing a few times, but it’s always been while he’s depressed, and I’m not helping our father kill himself.” He jabbed the fork in my direction.
“That’s not what he’s asking for.” I kept my voice as level as possible, watching the color rise in his cheeks.
“It’s close enough.”
“Even if it were, he’s the one asking for it. It’s his life. His body. His decision. The fact that you have his medical power of attorney means you’re the only one who can legally do it for him.” How could Xander go against what Dad clearly wanted?
“Right. I do. And I say no, Camden. He’s not getting a DNR.”
“How is that your choice to make?” An edge crept into my tone.
“Because Dad made it my choice the minute he signed that damned power of attorney.” The fork hit his plate. “Look, I’m genuinely glad you’re home. I’ve missed you, and we need you. But I’ll be damned if you tell me to kill our father a week after you pull into town because you have a voicemail. You don’t even know if he was lucid when he left it.”
“That’s not what I said.” Black and white, the lines were drawn, just like Dad had noted.
“It sure sounds like it.” His jaw muscle flexed.
A decade in the army had taught me when to retreat and regroup. This was definitely that moment. “I just want to honor Dad’s wishes,” I said softly. “Let’s drop it.”
“And I’m just trying to show him that his good days are worth living for. He’s only been diagnosed for two years, and the days he’s lucid enough to realize what’s going on are devastating for him. He’s still dealing. We both are.”
And I wasn’t? Maybe I’d lost the right when I brought our little brother home in a box.
I started eating to keep my mouth busy, and Xander followed suit.
A few minutes later, Willow walked in. She shed her coat, tossing it to her sister behind the bar, and I stopped chewing. Stopped breathing. Stopped thinking.
Her long-sleeve pink shirt hugged every damn curve she had up top, while her jeans did the job on her bottom a little too well. Her hair fell down her back in soft waves, every color from mahogany to amber catching the light as she moved.
Okay, maybe I was losing my mind, noticing her damned hair. But my hands itched to bury my fingers in it, to wrap it around my palms and tug her closer.
And that smile…
I jerked my gaze back to my plate. Do not think about her like that. If I could have flipped myself the bird, I would have. Telling myself not to picture her under me was one thing, and getting my mind to cooperate was quite another.
It was Willow, for God’s sake. The same Willow who’d grown up underfoot. The one who’d spent her summers swimming in the hot springs between our houses. The one who’d held ice to my battered twelve-year-old face after I’d won the first fight I’d ever gotten into. The fight she’d tried to stop, putting herself between me and Scott Malone, who’d been picking on her like the spoiled asshat he was. The same Willow who’d let me sleep on her floor a year later, the night Mom died, linking her fingers with mine when she’d heard me crying.
The same Willow who fell for my little brother the summer she’d turned seventeen.
That one fact eclipsed every other detail— She was Sullivan’s.
“So are you thinking about coming to the Historical Society meeting? We could sure use your opinions and expertise,” Xander said, breaking the silence.
“When have I ever had any expertise you could find helpful?” I countered.
“You’re a civil engineer, right?”
“So my degree says.” The degree that had taken me eight years to complete, between deployments and ops that gave me a shit ton of real-world experience.
“Then you’re pretty much the most useful guy in Alba.” He tipped his beer to me like some kind of salute. “Not sure if you’ve noticed, but we have a few buildings that aren’t exactly up to code.” He paused. “You know, because they were built in the 1880s?”
Willow took a seat at the bar, and Oscar Hudgens noticed, leaning so far back on his stool that I thought gravity might help me out.
“Cam?” Xander called.
“Yeah.” I whipped my attention back to my brother. “I’ll be there.”
“Good. Oh, look, Jonathan Young just sat down.” He nodded toward another table. “Give me a second, would you? I need his help with a council vote.”
I nodded. Or something. Alexander disappeared as Oscar stumbled off his barstool, headed toward Willow.
My feet took me across the bar before my head could object.
“Hey, Charity, any chance I can grab the bill before my perfect older brother tries to pay it?” I asked, leaning over the vacant stool next to Willow.
“Cam! I thought that was you!
Sure thing—just give me a second to get Jenny.” Charity offered me a bright smile.
“Thanks.”
She went to find our waitress, and I turned to Willow, who was already watching me.
I held her silent, questioning gaze as the track changed on the jukebox.
“Willow Bradley,” Oscar slurred. “You sure are looking— Whoa. Cam?” Oscar’s words slurred together.
I pivoted, a wave of pity washing over me. He looked like crap.
“You’re home.” He swayed toward me.
“Apparently.”
“Good.” He swung, throwing his weight behind the punch that came surprisingly quick for someone as drunk as he was.
I could have stopped it.
Instead, I let his fist connect.
Chapter Six
Willow
My heart lurched as Oscar swung.
Cam’s head snapped to the side.
That dull thud of fist meeting face was a sound I’d never wanted to hear again. Ironically, I’d only ever heard it in Camden Daniels’s presence.
But usually Cam was the one delivering the hits, not taking them.
“I’ve been waiting six years to do that,” Oscar shouted, jabbing his finger in Cam’s direction and swaying.
“And I probably deserved it,” Cam admitted as he straightened his posture. “But it’s the only one you get.” He didn’t swipe at his cheek to see if there was blood. He simply stepped to his side, blocking me from Oscar.
Chairs squeaked against the hardwood as figures rose, and I caught a glimpse of Tim Hall barreling toward us, no doubt looking for the first excuse to arrest Cam.
I stood, but Xander got there first.
“Hey, he didn’t even throw the punch.” Xander blocked Tim’s path.
“Oh yeah?” Oscar asked, and I moved to see what was happening. He swung at Cam again, but even as the crowd gasped, Cam grabbed Oscar’s fist, stopping the punch before it connected.
Holy moly, Cam was fast.
While Oscar still gawked, I grabbed Cam’s free hand. “Come with me.”
He looked down at me with an amused smirk.
“Now.” I let my glare speak volumes.
His smirk faded, and he followed as I dragged him past the bar and into the back room of Mother Lode, noting Charity’s nod toward the floor above us and giving her one of my own. At this moment, Cam needed to be out of sight and out of Tim Hall’s mind.
I waved to Marie, the cook, but didn’t stop, pulling Cam through the kitchen and storage rooms until we reached the stairs to Charity’s place. After climbing them, I unlocked her door with my four-digit code and led Cam into the apartment, shutting the door behind us.
“Rose is asleep upstairs, so don’t make a ruckus,” I warned him.
“Who the hell still says ruckus?”
I shot him another glare and yanked him through her living room, dining room, and into the kitchen, turning on lights as I went. “Sit,” I ordered, pointing to the kitchen table.
He sat.
Okay, that was enough to stun me for a good second or two. I couldn’t remember the last time Camden had done anything I’d asked…probably because it had never happened.
“Now what?” he questioned, mocking me with those dark eyes.
I spun, then opened Charity’s freezer and pulled out Rose’s ice pack. It was a slim unicorn with thin fabric and a glittery mane, sporting an ice pack in the belly. Shutting the freezer door, I turned back to Cam, wincing at the angry red mark blooming on his cheek.
To his credit, Cam didn’t complain as I placed the unicorn on the side of his face. “Hold that there.”
He complied. “It’s not that bad. I turned, so most of the force glanced right off. His ring didn’t even cut me.”
“How would you know?” I asked, lifting a corner of the unicorn to make sure Oscar hadn’t broken Cam’s skin with his class ring. “It’s not like you paused to look in the mirror.”
“I’ve been in hand-to-hand enough to know when my skin splits,” he answered in utter boredom.
“Well, that’s comforting,” I mumbled, noting that he was right. The skin was intact. “Why didn’t you hit him back? No one could have faulted you for it.” Okay, that was a lie. If there was fault to be found, Hall would have found it with Cam. Didn’t matter that Oscar hit first.
“I’m not giving Tim Hall a reason to run me out of town. It’s going to take a hell of a lot more than Oscar throwing a punch to provoke me into a physical fight, especially because I’m not feeling up to manslaughter charges.”
I searched his face for any hint that he was kidding and came up empty. “You think you could kill a man with your bare hands?”
His eyebrows rose slightly. “Don’t think. I know. I’m not the same kid I was when I left here a decade ago, Willow.” There was a wealth of experience in his eyes that I both longed to understand and desperately wanted to ignore. While I’d been away at art school learning about beauty, Cam had been at war.
“That’s obvious. The Cam I knew would have thrown the first punch and never looked back.” Leaving the rest of us to pick up the inevitable mess.
He brushed his hand over where mine lingered at the unicorn. “I’m still the Cam you knew, just not the one everyone else did. Same Cam, with better decision-making.”
The touch had happened so fast, I wondered if I’d imagined it.
Cam cocked his head to the side. “Rose is up.”
“What? How do you—” Sure enough, before I could finish my question about his freaky ninja skills, my nine-year-old niece popped her head into the kitchen, sporting a Taylor Swift pajama set.
“Aunt Willow?” she asked, her big brown eyes way too alert for just waking up. Her chestnut curls were still braided in perfect, smooth piggies, too.
“Hey, Rosie. Sorry we were so loud.” I glanced at the clock and read eight thirty. Charity must have just put her to bed before checking on the bar.
Rosie’s eyes swung to Cam, a little note of shock widening them. “Oh! Hi! Who are you?” she asked.
“Camden Daniels. Nice to meet you, Rosie.” His voice softened, which softened me.
“You too,” she replied, looking to me for reassurance.
“Cam has been a friend since we were kids. He grew up next door to your mom and me.”
“Like Mayor Daniels?” She snuck another peek at Cam.
“Yep, he’s my older brother,” Cam replied.
“Oh. I like him!”
“Everyone does.”
“We just needed to borrow your unicorn really quick,” I told Rose, opening my arms. She walked straight into them, hugging me tight. “Need anything?” I asked before dropping a kiss on the top of her head.
“Nope. Just heard the door beep and thought it was Mom.”
“She’s still downstairs, but I think she’s just checking up on things. She’s not working tonight. Want me to get her?”
She shook her head against my chest. “Nope, I’m okay. Love you, Aunt Willow.” She gave me an extra-hard squeeze.
“Love you, Rose.”
“Thanks for letting me borrow your unicorn,” Cam told her, pulling the ice pack from his face.
Rose’s nose scrunched. “You’re welcome…and you should probably put it back on.” She nodded in encouragement. “That’s gonna leave a mark,” she finished in a tone so like Charity’s that I couldn’t help but laugh.
“I’ll do just that.” Cam immediately put the unicorn on his face.
I let her go, and she gave Cam a shy nod before heading back up to her room.
“Charity doesn’t bring men here, so you probably gave Rose the shock of her life,” I told him, leaning back against the counter. “Even when Gabe comes to get her for visitation, Charity makes him wait downstairs. Not that I blame her. He di
dn’t show back up until Rose was two.”
“Is she going to be pissed that you brought a man up?”
“You’re hardly a man.” I shrugged, then laughed a little at his wounded expression. “I mean, you’re…you. You’re our friend, not just any man. Besides, Charity gave me the nod to bring you up.” I rushed through that last part, hoping to cease my babbling.
“This is why she bought the bar, huh? So they could live above it?” he asked, his eyes sweeping over the hand-drawn pictures taped on the twenty-year-old refrigerator.
“Exactly. She used her inheritance from our grandfather’s will. When Rose was born, Charity and Dad weren’t exactly speaking. Mom and I supported her when she’d let us, but she wanted to do it on her own. We’d babysit, but she installed the alarm, wired cameras to her cell phone and everything, so she could manage downstairs while Rose slept and still spend her days with her.”
“I understand that,” he said, looking at the camera in the corner of the kitchen. “Needing to make it on your own.”
“You’re just as stubborn as she is.” I shook my head.
“Well, you know us black sheep. When you reject the path everyone else takes, you have to carve your own.”
“Is that what you call it?” I braced my hands on the counter and jumped to sit on the edge.
“What did you use your portion of the inheritance for?” he asked, ignoring my question.
“Why did you reject that path?” I challenged, folding my arms across my chest.
He watched me for a moment, and I held my breath, tension winding in my limbs as he decided whether or not to answer. Decided which sides of himself he was willing to share with me.
God knew he kept me guessing, shifting our roles so frequently that I never knew our norm. I was never sure if that was to keep me off-balance or because he genuinely never knew, either.
“Charity did it for love. First for Gabe, then Rose. But why did you reject that path?” I asked again.
“The path rejected me,” he said quietly. “It didn’t want me, so I decided not to want it.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat, my mind racing with every possible situation that he could apply that philosophy to and wondering how many times his disdain had masked longing.
Great and Precious Things Page 8
