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.

“Hello there, Mr. Bradley,” I said, low and smooth.

His eyes flew open, and he sat up slowly, glaring at me with half his face shaved and the other half covered in a thick lather. “Camden.”

“So, I need to talk to you.”

“This is highly improper.” He swung his feet over the side of the chair. “You can’t ambush the judge who’s about to decide on your case next week.”

“Oh, you’re completely right. I don’t even want to talk about the case. That’s a line I wouldn’t cross.” I tucked my thumbs in the front pockets of my jeans, my casual Rose Rowan Henley a direct contrast to his starched shirt and tie. “I need to talk to Noah Bradley, my girlfriend’s dad, not Judge Bradley. Figure you’d feel better having witnesses than any implication of impropriety. I know how much public opinion matters in an election year.”

His face paled to a shade just a bit darker than the shaving cream, and he started to get out of the chair, only to catch his reflection in the mirror and think better of it. God only knew the last time the man had actually shaved his own face. “What do you want, Camden?”

“I’m in love with your daughter.” The entire shop went so silent, I could hear the beat of my own heart. “I have been since I was about eleven years old, but to be fair, I was probably sixteen when I figured it out.”

“Is that what you call it? Love?” His jaw flexed. “Because as I recall, you were eleven when you broke her nose and tried to pass it off as a fall.”

Icy rage frosted my nerve endings in what I knew was preparation for a battle I couldn’t let happen. Instead of sinking into that calm, deadly space, I forced a smile to my face. “You see, Mr. Bradley, I promised the woman I love that I wouldn’t yell at her dad. I’ve never broken a promise to Willow, and I’m not going to let you goad me into breaking one now. So I’ll simply say that Xander came out of the tunnel that day with Charity, screaming that he’d lost Willow. I took his headlamp and went after her, just like I’ve always done and will always do.”

He seethed but didn’t move.

“I found her by the grace of God. Or, since you think I’m evil, maybe it was a deal with the Devil. Either way, I didn’t care. My soul in exchange for her life is a trade I’ll make any day.”

His eyes narrowed.

“When I found her at the bottom of a ventilation shaft that I still can’t find on a map, she had a busted nose, bloodied lip, and skinned…everything. I put the headlamp on her so she could see in case anything happened to me, and then I pushed her up thirty feet of that shaft, give or take an almost-twelve-year-old’s memory. She cried the entire way, and a couple times it was for you.”

He flinched.

“Once we got to the top of the shaft, I took the headlamp back so I didn’t trip on my face. Then I picked her up in my arms, and I didn’t put her down again until I found you.”

Two lines appeared vertically in his forehead. “Xander said you wouldn’t let him help you. That you slowed everyone down getting her the help she needed.”

“He’s right. And he had just turned fourteen, so he probably could have gotten her out of the mine faster once we got up the shaft. But he wasn’t in the mine, Mr. Bradley. He was waiting at the entrance with Charity and Sullivan, and since he’d already lost her once that day, I wasn’t about to hand her over to anyone besides you.”

He stared me down, still not believing.

“You took Sullivan with you to the hospital and sent me home.”

“They were friends. You were—”

“Her soul mate. But that’s okay. I forgave you for that a long time ago.”

Two figures approached the door, and Owen flipped the sign from open to closed. First time for everything.

“How can you even say that? She was Sullivan’s. She’s only with you now because she sees something of him in you. You think she’s in love with you? She’s not. She’s in love with that part of Sullivan you represent, and it will eventually destroy her.”

If I hadn’t been so certain of Willow’s love, I would have lost it right then. Instead, I focused on the warmth in my chest that grew every time I thought about her.

“You’re wrong, but it’s not my place to talk about Willow’s feelings. I can only speak to what she’s told me and how I feel about your daughter. I’m not here to argue about Sullivan. I loved him more than you ever could have and will carry his loss with me every day for the rest of my life.”

“At least he deserved her,” he threw in my face, his voice rising. “He never got her hurt. Never got into fistfights. Never covered his body in tattoos or set fire to a damned building! And he sure as hell asked my permission when he wanted to date Willow. He came to me like a man, his intentions clear and his heart honest, because he knew she was the kind of girl who respected that tradition!” He jabbed his finger in my direction.

I shifted, bracing my hands on the counter and squeezing the top. “I’m not even sure where to start with that. I guess at the beginning. I have never hurt Willow intentionally, and the only wounds I’ve inflicted on her were emotional and due to my supreme idiocy when I was nineteen.”

His eyes flared in surprise for a millisecond, but it was there.

“I got into my share of fistfights, and I’d say probably half of them were defending Willow. Scott Malone was an asshole, and when he got tired of bullying her, Oscar stepped in. This”—I pointed to the tattoo of the hot springs on my arm—“is a sketch Willow did the summer before I left for basic training. I had it done the week before I reported, and yes, it hurt like a bitch until it healed.

“As for the fire? Accidents happen, and you have no idea how terrified I was when I heard she was still inside. I’ll never forgive myself for how long it took me to get to her.” It always came back to that fucking fire.

“What, you’re not going to throw in that you carried her out then, too?” he challenged.

“You already knew that.” I shrugged. “As for the last part? I’m not Sullivan. He was a better boy than I was, and he never got to grow into manhood, but I bet if he hadn’t died that day?” I paused, taking a second to swallow the memories. “He would have been a far better man than I am. There’s no doubt.”

“At least we agree on that,” he snapped. “Now, are you done?”

“No. Because here’s the thing—Sullivan was wrong. He never should have asked your permission.”

A collective murmur in the background reminded me that we had an audience.

“I’m sorry?” Mr. Bradley asked, his eyebrows rising.

“I didn’t ask your permission to date your daughter because it’s not up to you. What happens between Willow and me requires the consent of two people: Willow”—I held up one finger and then the second—“and me. You’re not in that equation.”

“I’m her father!”

“Yeah, you are, which is why we’re having this conversation. She loves you, and the rift between you two is ripping her apart.”

“She knows how to repair it.” His voice dropped to a hiss.

“By choosing you over me.”

He raised a single eyebrow, confirming my statement.

“If you continue that ultimatum, you will lose her.” I said it softly, making the guys in the back lean forward.

“Hardly. She knows I’d do anything to protect her, even fight her for her.”

“She will choose me, Mr. Bradley. And sure, partly it’s because she loves me as much as I love her. But mostly, it’s because I won’t ever make her choose.”

His features slackened.

“I don’t need to control her to love her. I don’t conquer my own fears that way, and I’m so sorry if you do. I only came to tell you that she loves you and she misses you. And I hope you come to your senses soon, because there’s nothing on earth that would make me walk away from Willow. I’m hers until she decides otherwise, not you.”

Anger sparked in his eyes, and the color not only returned to his cheeks but flared.

“I’m glad we could have this conversation.” I pushed off the counter and headed toward the door, only to pause and look back at him, my thoughts tripping over something he’d said. “If you want my intentions, here they are. I’m going to marry your daughter. Then I’m going to spend every day of my life making her as happy as possible. But when I ask her to be my wife, you won’t know. I won’t ask your permission because she’s not a piece of property, and I won’t respect your tradition because you don’t respect that it’s really her choice. And if she says yes, you’ll only know if she tells you. You’ll only know if we get married if she chooses to invite you. You’ll only know if we have a child if she deems you worthy to know, worthy of being in her life.”

He turned a mottled shade of red, and I knew I’d passed the do-not-cross line a while back, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.

“You’ve raised two amazing, independent, intelligent women, one of whom owns my soul. Two women you should be incredibly proud of. I just wish you would be.”

Owen held the door open for me as I walked out of the barbershop, giving me a smile and a nod in farewell.

Then I drove straight to Willow’s house, interrupted her work like the selfish bastard I was, and made love to her until the ugliness of the morning faded into nothing but love and bliss.