Chapter 42
Chapter Forty-Two
CAMERON
The ring box digs into my thigh through my pocket. I shift in my seat, trying to quiet the voice in my gut screaming that this is wrong for both me and Brinley. On paper, Willow is perfect. Smart as hell, genuinely kind, and Brinley lights up around her.
Yesterday at the hospital, I hung back by the nurses' station, watching Willow sit with a bald little boy.
She held his tiny hand in hers, nodding seriously as he asked her about angels and what happens after you close your eyes for the last time.
And she was giving him comfort, telling him that there would be no more pain and he would feel only love, peace and joy.
Then he asked, very seriously, about his mother and father.
Would they be okay? And Willow assured him they would.
That they would never forget him, that he would always be in their hearts with love.
My vision blurred, thinking about that brave kid facing the end, and Willow giving him exactly what he needed in that moment.
I bought the damn ring that afternoon. What father wouldn't want someone that compassionate raising his daughter?
What man wouldn't want that kind of heart mothering his future children?
Willow checks every box. She's smart, beautiful, kind—the complete package. Anyone would be lucky to call her their wife. So why am I hesitating?
Every night I lie awake in the attic bedroom Tally's loaned me, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of her moving around downstairs and wanting desperately to join her in her bedroom. Even if it’s just to hold her, to sleep in the same bed like we used to, to feel her warmth against my skin.
But I don’t dare. That would be breaking the rules.
I hate her rules, but I have to respect them because I know why she made them.
I break the rules and then she feels suffocated and, before you know it, we’re fighting and I’m back in Brentwood.
Four months of dating Willow, and we haven't gone beyond goodnight kisses at her door.
It's not for lack of attraction—God knows I've imagined what it would be like.
But something stops me every time. Like crossing that line with Willow would be some final betrayal of Tally.
Which makes no sense when Tally herself keeps nudging us together.
Yet I can't shake the feeling that having sex with Willow means saying a permanent goodbye to Tally, and I'm not ready for that. Not even close.
Once my sports medicine fellowship starts in January, I'll be pulling seventy-hour weeks at UCLA.
My place in Brentwood is right there, so moving back makes sense logistically.
But what about Brinley? These past six months, I've been home every night by ten—even with dating Willow since August—and I'm the one who gets up when the baby cries at 2 AM.
Tally needs her sleep for work, and I've been happy to handle those nighttime wake-ups.
But now? We'll need a whole new parenting schedule, coordinated around both our jobs.
I keep picturing Tally exhausted, dark circles under her eyes, trying to tattoo someone with Brinley screaming through the baby monitor.
What happens when I'm not there anymore?
Tonight's the monthly Kensington brothers dinner—just me, Silas, and Roman this time. Next month it'll be Max and Asher, then Ansel and Connor after that. We rotate.
I check my watch and sigh. Silas. The one who dragged Willow to that damn retreat and started this whole mess.
And Roman... At least he's mellowed out.
The old Roman would've had three arguments with us both before the appetizers arrived.
We always got along though—I understood his rage at Dad for vanishing without a word, and his frustration when none of us joined his crusade against forgiving the old man.
Something changed in him when he met Lilith. That tarot reader turned his life inside out, and now they're married and disgustingly happy. She's all honey sweetness and saint-like patience while he's still vinegar and hot pepper. Somehow, it works perfectly.
I spot Silas and Roman at our usual corner booth at Nobu, a bottle of sake and rainbow roll already waiting. I slide into the seat with a nod.
Roman fills a small ceramic cup and slides it toward me. “So Silas played matchmaker with you and Willow. And now there's a ring?"
Silas beams with self-satisfaction, looking so pleased with himself I have to resist the urge to jab my chopsticks somewhere painful. His intentions might be good, but I'm still irritated by his interference.
"I bought one," I admit. "But I've got reservations."
"About what?" Silas scoffs. "Or is this still about Tally?"
Instead of answering, I turn to Roman. "What's that thing Lilith always says about intuition?"
Roman swirls his sake thoughtfully. "That gut feelings aren't mystical—they're your subconscious processing millions of details your conscious mind misses. Lilith says your subconscious is like quantum computing while your conscious thoughts are running on dial-up."
I nod. Damn, this sounds so familiar.
I clear my throat. "So what's the verdict when your gut says one thing but your brain's screaming another?"
"Trust the gut," Roman says without hesitation. "Always."
Silas leans forward, eyes narrowing. "Why? You're not thinking about bailing on Willow, are you?" He jabs a finger in my direction. "I swear, Cameron, if you pull some dumbass move?—"
To my surprise, Roman doesn't back Silas up. Instead, he rubs his jaw thoughtfully. "I used to be Team Brain all the way. Logic over feelings, every time. Then Lilith happened." A small smile plays at his lips. "Suddenly I'm believing in intuition, energy fields, the whole nine."
"Right," Silas snorts, elbowing Roman. "You're also reading tarot cards now, so maybe Cameron shouldn't be taking your spiritual awakening too seriously."
"Hey, dickhead," Roman snaps, "mock all you want, but Lilith read me like an open book with those cards. My wife sees things others don't."
When Silas opens his mouth to protest, Roman's expression shifts.
One moment he's our brother—the next, he's that other Roman, the one who once broke a guy's wrist for keying his car.
His face hardens like concrete setting, and the temperature around him seems to drop ten degrees.
The wedding band on his finger catches the light as his hand tightens into a fist on the table.
We all know the unspoken rule: Lilith is sacred ground.
Question her beliefs, her choices, her anything—and you'll face that arctic stare that makes even Silas, six-foot-three and built like a linebacker, suddenly find something fascinating to study in his beer glass.
Silas retreats. No surprise there. Nobody wants to tangle with Roman, who's carried the family reputation for throwing fists since we were kids.
Even now, with medical degrees and designer suits between us, if you asked any Kensington which brother you least wanted to piss off, Roman's name would come out first every time.
Silas shoots Roman a look. "Tell me you're not about to torpedo things with Willow over Tally."
I clear my throat, fingers tightening around the sake bottle.
The bottle feels warm against my palm. If Tally walked through that door right now and said she wanted me—really wanted me—I'd probably trip over myself getting to her.
But every time I think I see a crack in her armor, she seals it back up twice as thick.
Sure, she's made comments about Willow, little digs that betray something beneath the surface.
But that's not the same as being ready for us. For this.
The tattoos on Tally's skin tell stories, but the ones beneath run deeper.
I understand why she guards herself—why wouldn't she, with her past?
Yet understanding doesn't bridge the gap between us.
Her walls make sense, but they still stand between what we could be.
But I've spent enough time waiting. When I met her, something shifted in me—like I could finally breathe after drowning in what happened with Alecia and Stephanie.
I want Sunday mornings with pancakes and bedtime stories. Brinley needs that too—a home where the foundation doesn't shift. And Willow... she'll give my daughter something steady to hold onto, someone whose kindness won't disappear overnight.
I shake my head. "No way. Willow's the one." The words come out hollow, like I'm trying to convince myself more than them.
Roman narrows his eyes. "Cam, I'm getting weird vibes here." He leans forward, elbows on knees. "Call it intuition or whatever, but you don't sound like a guy who believes what he's saying."
Silas scoffs, shooting Roman a look. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Ever since you married that crystal ball lady, everything's 'cosmic vibrations' and 'aura readings.' Try using logic for once." He shifts toward me, one eyebrow cocked. "What's your take on this, Cameron? Your actual take?"
Roman's jaw tightens. “Lilith’s not a crystal ball lady. She's trained in tarot interpretation and energy work. Show some fucking respect."
Silas knocks back more sake, then sets down his cup with a sigh. "My bad. Tarot interpreter." His attention swings back to me. "But seriously, Cam. What's your brain telling you?"
I exhale slowly. "The logical choice is Willow.
She's perfect on paper—we speak the same medical language, she's got a heart of gold, Brinley adores her, and she's gorgeous. We've walked the same paths, held the same dying hands. And both of us know what it’s like to lose the center of our world - she lost her husband, I lost my wife and daughter. So, we know each other’s pain. "