Great and Precious Things

by Rebecca Yarros

  The thought of losing Cam shredded my soul.

  There was no chance he’d let me go, anyway. Or would he? If being with me meant seeing his dad on a ventilator, would he let me walk away? Would I even want him to? This was Art, not some hypothetical dilemma.

  Cam loved me.

  I’m not going anywhere. I’d promised him. I’d bullied my way into his heart, and now it was going to cost him the very thing he’d come back here for.

  I yanked my phone out of my purse.

  Willow: Where are you right now?

  I held my breath as the three dots coursed across the screen.

  Cam: Just got to the mine. Dad’s appointment cut short because his brain no-showed.

  Willow: I’m on my way.

  Cam: Everything okay?

  Willow: Physically, yeah. I’ll be there in fifteen.

  I made it in ten, my 4Runner skidding to a halt in the newly packed gravel lot in front of the construction trailers.

  I grabbed everything and skirted around the construction crew as they moved steel beams meant for the tunnels. I made it through the door to Cam’s trailer as a small group of workers came out, only a couple of whom I recognized, since I mostly worked with the foremen when it came to preservation.

  Seeing Cam for the first time every day still took my breath away. He stood at his drafting table, turned so I could only see a portion of his profile, his shirtsleeves pushed up and his pants hanging on sculpted hips, but even with all that physical beauty, it was his focus that I found enthralling.

  I loved him so much that I wasn’t sure there was enough space in this trailer—in the world—for it. How was I supposed to give him up? How could I live with myself if I didn’t? It had taken years and war and more than a little fate to get us here. This wasn’t even in the same realm as fair.

  “You’ll need to move this beam here,” Cam told two of the foremen as he pointed to the blueprints. “These right here are the old load-bearing timbers, and we need to see if we can basically take the load off at this point and this one, so we can maintain the structural integrity of the tunnel without losing that historical piece.”

  “And if we can’t keep that beam?” The foreman pointed to the original one, and my stomach clenched. There were so many sacrifices to be made, and every piece of history that went hurt my heart a little more.

  “Safety first. But I know we can keep it, so don’t shortcut it for ease.” Cam looked up and paused when he saw me. “Everybody out.”

  The foremen glanced between us and then did exactly as he ordered.

  “Lunch?” I asked, lifting the takeout container with a trembling hand.

  “What’s wrong?” He didn’t so much as glance toward the food.

  How was I going to say this to him? How could I possibly explain the cost of loving me? I couldn’t imagine not having Cam, not after all these years we’d wasted. But I also couldn’t condemn Arthur to treatments he didn’t want.

  “You eat, and I’ll talk.” I set the food down on the small table and motioned to one of the two folding chairs.

  His eyes narrowed, but he sat. I slid the burger over to him, and he opened the takeout container. Only then did he look to see what I brought him.

  “Bigg’s?” A smile ghosted his lips.

  “Just the way you like it.” My heart pounded as I took the seat opposite his and moved the shake to his side, too. “The shake is the way I like it, though.”

  “Willow, you’re killing me.” He swallowed, watching me with enough intensity to kick my heart rate even higher. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “I know. Just…give me a second.” The words I knew had to be said filled my mouth, heavy on my tongue, and my stomach twisted—just like it had right before my car crashed—trying to keep them in.

  “Are you pregnant?” he asked, leaning toward me with so much love and concern in his eyes that I almost wished I were. “Because if you are, don’t worry. I don’t know a lot about babies, but I’ll learn. And Rose seems to like me well enough, so there’s hope our kid would—”

  “My father basically told Tim Hall that you’d lose your dad’s case if you’re dating me.” And I word-vomited all over the place. Awesome. My nails bit into my palms where they rested on my lap.

  Cam blinked twice, then sat back in his chair. “So you’re not pregnant? Because I had the rest of that whole speech planned out. Well, not planned well, since I only had about ten minutes of my brain running amok, but still, it was pretty good.” The corner of his mouth lifted.

  “No. I’m on birth control, remember?”

  “Right. Yeah. Weird, that’s where my first thought went when you texted.” He lifted the burger and took a bite, groaning in appreciation as I gawked at him. After swallowing, he looked over the massive thing that would have taken me at least three meals to devour. “This is amazing. Thank you.”

  The man took another bite.

  “Cam, did you hear what I just said to you?” Since he was still chewing, I continued. “You’re going to lose your dad’s case because my dad is pissed that you’re dating me.”

  He set the burger back in its box. “Pika, I’m going to lose my dad’s case because Judge Bradley doesn’t think I’m capable of being responsible for a puppy, let alone my father’s care. The fact that I love you is the icing on an already burned cake.”

  It didn’t matter that he’d told me every day for the last few weeks that he loved me—it still hit me in the heart like it was the first time.

  “I…I…” No matter how hard I tried, words wouldn’t form.

  “I am, you know—capable of taking care of a puppy. I was thinking maybe one of those English bulldogs with all the wrinkles, but I figured I’d ask what you thought first.” He took a sip of the shake and grinned.

  “What I thought?” Was he utterly and completely mad? I’d just dropped a bomb, and he was thinking about babies and puppies?

  “I thought you’d appreciate input.” He shrugged. “After all, I figured we’d end up living together and eventually married—when you’re ready, of course, if that’s something you’d be interested in.” He waved his hand like it was all a given. Like we weren’t cursed. “So if you hate bulldogs, then we’d have to pick another breed. They’ve got great temperaments, though. Excellent with kids. When we have them.” He tilted his head. “If you want to have them, that is. The marriage thing might not be your style, either. I’m pretty much at your mercy with those.” He took another bite of his burger.

  My eyes darted around the room, making sure I hadn’t stepped into the twilight zone. Once I was sure that this wasn’t some really messed-up dream, I pinned him with a stare. “So you don’t think we should break up so you have a shot at winning this case? Because that’s where I was kind of headed with it.” I finished that last part so slowly, it almost felt like a completely different sentence.

  He paused mid-chew.

  “I mean, that’s his best shot, right? If we break up? If my dad sees you’re putting Art’s interests before your own? That’s what makes the most sense.” Now the words came fast enough to set their own speed record.

  Cam finished chewing and swallowed, abandoning the rest of the burger in its box. “Is that what you want? To…” He shook his head.

  “No,” I admitted in a whisper. “But isn’t this where I’m supposed to leave for your own good? Take the martyrdom road to help your dad and then hope that later, once this is all settled, we can be together?”

  “Come here.” He shifted and pushed his chair back from the table.

  I stood, my knees and resolve shaking as I took the few steps that separated us to stand between his knees.

  “Do you love me?” he asked, looking up at me from under dark lashes.

  “More than anything in this world.” I ran my fingers through his hair, more for my comfort than h
is.

  “Okay.” He took my hips and guided me until I sat across his thighs, facing him. “Then, this is where you do that. Where you love me. That’s all I need.”

  I melted, deflated, lost all the tension in my muscles as my fear vanished, but the worry set in. “But what about your dad?”

  He ran his knuckles down my cheek. “I can only tackle one problem at a time, Pika. My first priority is and will always be you. This, what we have, isn’t something I’m willing to risk.”

  I leaned into his touch. “I don’t want to lose you.”

  “Then don’t.” His voice rumbled so low, I felt it in my palm where it lay against his chest.

  “Will you hate me if you lose this case?” My darkest fear slipped out on a whisper.

  “I will love you for the rest of my life, no matter what happens. None of this is your fault. Do you understand?”

  I didn’t nod because I couldn’t lie. I was the reason my dad hated him. Being with Cam was only going to hurt him in the end. “I’m too selfish to let you go.”

  “Thank God, because I’m not sure I’d know how to let you. I’m so damned glad you came to me instead of making the decision alone.” The relief in his eyes punched me in the stomach. I’d almost done it. Almost walked away.

  “We’re partners, right?”

  “Right.”

  “You’re not going to go yell at my dad right now, are you? Because you’re not supposed to know, and if you tell him, then Pat loses his council seat…if they figure out he’s the one who told me, since they have an NDA about council meetings or something.”

  Cam stiffened beneath me, and not in a good way.

  “This happened at a council meeting?” he growled.

  I nodded.

  “You have to be kidding me.”

  “Promise me you won’t go yell at my dad. You know it will just give him more ammunition against you, and I worked really hard to get Pat on your side.”

  His jaw flexed, and he sucked in three breaths and let them out slowly before he relaxed. “You got Pat Lambert on my side?”

  “I’m quite the politician.” I shrugged.

  His lips lifted in what was almost a smile. “Okay. I’ll be good. I promise that I will not yell at your dad.”

  “Thank you.” My forehead fell to rest against his. “I never wanted to complicate your life, Cam.”

  He kissed me slowly, with a lazy thoroughness that had my hands gripping his shirt in fists before he was done.

  “You’re not a complication in my life, Willow. You’re the reason.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Camden

  I waited a full week to visit the barbershop. My hair had grown since I’d moved home three months ago, and it was time to get it trimmed back into shape.

  At least that was my excuse.

  Earl McGinty had his scissors close enough to my ear that I could hear the individual strands of my hair being cut. I knew better than to move a muscle.

  His hands moved quickly, the product of decades of experience and expertise. When I wasn’t watching him in the giant mirrors that lined the wall, I had my eye on the four men who sat in the black chairs behind me, sipping their coffee and shooting me looks that said they weren’t certain exactly how they felt about me.

  “Don’t pay them any mind,” Earl said as he caught me looking. “You know how old men like to share the news.”

  I scoffed. “You’re sixty, Earl. Not sure that qualifies as old.”

  “Well, Tyler back there was born old, and Nick has to be pushing eighty-five.”

  “Eighty-four!” Nick argued.

  “And nothing’s wrong with his hearing,” Earl said a little louder over his shoulder.

  The men chuckled. I wasn’t stupid. The power of Alba rested in those seats and had for the last fifty years. Maybe not Xander at this time in the morning, but two members of the town council were already here, and there was little doubt in my mind that the other three would join them in the next hour.

  “Since when did John Royal step down from the town council?” I asked loud enough for the men in the back to hear.

  “Since he got elected to the Historical Society council,” Nick answered. “You know we try not to mix the two. Business and government shouldn’t be shaking hands.”

  “Xander sits on both.”

  Earl moved to my other side and whistled low.

  “Well, now, that couldn’t be helped.” Tyler Williamson set his coffee down on the small table next to him and stared at me openly. “He’s mayor by his own right.”

  The men nodded in support.

  “And sits on the Historical Society council as your father’s proxy,” he finished.

  The nodding continued.

  “You gunning for that Historical Society council seat?” Paul Warten asked from his chair next to Tyler.

  Every single one of those men leaned forward, and Earl lifted his shears from my head.

  “No, sir, I’m not. I wouldn’t presume to know enough about the workings of the historical district to even think about it. I’ve got more than enough on my plate with getting the Rose Rowan up and running, then the mining company building.”

  One by one, they relaxed, satisfied with my reply.

  Earl started cutting again, shooting me a look that said I’d just escaped the guillotine.

  “So that’s not what this whole mess with Art is about?” Nick questioned over his coffee, acting like he didn’t care. The grip he had on that cup said otherwise.

  “No, sir. My dad called and asked me to help him take back a little control over his advanced directive. I’m here for his health-care rights, not his council seat. Xander’s welcome to it.”

  Earl lifted a side of his mouth in a slight smirk and kept cutting.

  “And Willow? Did you come back for her, too?” Tyler asked.

  I tensed, and Earl immediately lifted the shears again. “Well,” he started, then glanced up at the clock. “I have a feeling you’ll know the answer to that in about five minutes.” He caught my eye in the mirror and lowered his voice. “You sure you know what you’re getting yourself into here, Cam?”

  “I’m sure.” I was, and as long as I kept my temper in check, this would all be fine.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” Owen McGinty said as he walked in from the back of the barbershop. “I’ll take whoever’s next.” His smile died when none of them took the offer.

  “They’re waiting for the show to start, Owen,” Earl told him with raised eyebrows.

  “Show?” He paled when he spotted me. “Hey, Camden, how’s it going?”

  “Can’t complain,” I replied, careful not to move as Earl finished me up. “How are Lisa and the kids?”

  “Good, good,” he answered carefully. The heir to the barbershop empire was about ten years older than me and clearly knew what was up when he started watching the clock.

  “Grab me a towel, would you, Owen?” Earl asked his son.

  Two minutes later, my hair was done, and Owen handed Earl the hot towel with a warning look.

  “I know what I’m doing, son,” Earl promised, then reclined my chair so I was nearly horizontal.

  “Three minutes,” Nick noted, and the rest mumbled their agreement.

  “It’s not an easy thing you’re doing here,” Earl said loudly enough for everyone in the shop to hear. “Taking on a brother isn’t something I’d ever want my boys to do.” He shot a look at Owen. “But I’d hope that my boys would agree to give me the respect of choosing my own path. No one should be forced to surrender control of their own body.”

  The men muttered in agreement, and I found my chest heavy with an emotion I was scared to call pride.

  “I saw that tattoo, Cam. You’re doing the right thing.” Earl passed his judgment with a smile. “Now,
we’ll see if you live through the next few minutes.” He wrapped the towel around my face, both softening my week’s worth of beard growth and disguising my face. “Don’t breathe a word until I tap your foot. Understand?”

  I nodded, then resigned myself to breathing in the hot, humid air for the next few minutes.

  Right on time, the bell rang as the front door opened.

  “Morning, Judge,” Earl called out in greeting.

  “Morning, Earl. The usual, please. Oh, you men haven’t been tended to yet?” Noah Bradley’s voice was muffled with the towel so close to my ears, but I made him out just fine.

  “Oh, no, you first,” Tyler insisted.

  I could only imagine the nods of the other men.

  “Here you go, Judge. Let’s get you softened up. Don’t you worry, Owen will catch up with the boys between the tourists who filter in,” Earl added, and I knew he’d just given me a cover without technically lying.

  “Tourists first” was the rule of law in Alba, and while most of the commercial establishments that locals frequented weren’t often sought out by tourists, we deferred to them—and their money—whenever they stumbled into any of the nonhistorical sites.

  “Good weather today, Judge,” Nick said, breaking the silence.

  “So I heard. Highs in the low seventies. Nice and warm for this time of year.”

  The towel on my face was cool by the time I heard Earl start on the judge.

  “Hold up, Judge. I’m not liking the feel of this blade. Let me get you a fresh one,” Earl said, then bumped my foot as he walked by.

  Showtime.

  I sat up, then handed my towel to Owen, who muttered, “The windows are really expensive.”

  “Relax,” I whispered. Throw one guy through a window, and you’ll still be getting shit for it six years later.

  Then I stood, noting that Willow’s dad was reclined the same way I had been, and leaned against the counter directly in front of his chair.