His forehead crinkled.
“So do you think this is where she fell?” Rose asked, leaning onto the table so far that she might as well have lay on it.
Dad still stared at me, searching for answers I couldn’t give him because I didn’t know what year he thought it was.
“Mr. Daniels?” Rose asked. “Do you not remember?”
He turned back to Rose. “Of course I remember. I know this mine better than anyone.” He pored over the map.
“Cam knows it pretty well,” Rose countered and looked at me.
Trouble, I mouthed at her, and she giggled.
“Because I taught him,” Dad muttered. “Cam was the only one who listened. Tried with Alexander…” His finger trailed along the path. “I always figured it was around here, but Willow never could describe it. She ran off from Alexander, you know. He’d walked with both those Bradley girls, and Willow just took off looking for gold.” He pulled a lump of ore from his pocket. “See, gold.”
Rose picked it up and examined it carefully. “That’s pyrite.”
Dad grinned. “So it is. Do you want to see where I found it?”
She nodded enthusiastically, and just like that, I was no longer her favorite Daniels.
“Camden?” May asked. “Do you think you could grab a bottle of water from the general store? I forgot to bring some for your father, and he needs to take his medication.”
“Go ahead. I’ll keep my eye on them,” Xander promised, motioning to Rose.
“Rosie, you okay if I step out?”
“Yep,” she answered, too busy listening to whatever story my dad was telling to pay me any mind.
“She won Dad over,” Xander said as I passed him to open the gate in the heavy wooden railing.
“She’s a Bradley girl,” I explained with a shrug.
“I’m a Maylard!” she called out.
“See what I mean?” We both laughed, and for that moment, we were normal. Dad wasn’t sick. Xander and I weren’t headed to court to decide our father’s future in a month. We were just brothers.
I got the hell out of there before I did something to wreck the moment.
Young’s General Store was crowded with tourists shopping for vintage-style candy and goods, and I had to pause more than once as I made my way toward the back.
“Cam, go on in,” Jonathan Young called over the crowd when he saw me, and he motioned toward the door only locals were allowed to go through.
I didn’t miss the disapproving shake of his head, but I tried to ignore it. He was probably still pissed about the time I replaced all his jelly beans with the Bertie Bott’s ones that gambled with taste buds.
Not that I blamed him. I was an asshole as a teenager.
I opened the door and found the back room already teeming with locals looking for a break. The space was small, probably only twenty by twenty, but it housed two stocked refrigerators, a microwave, and doors to the only plumbed bathrooms allowed in the historical district.
I heard my name muttered a few times and simply waved, heading straight for the refrigerator.
“How’s your face?” Oscar taunted from the couch he sat on, his arm wrapped around Tillie.
“How’s your hand?” I countered as I pulled a six-pack of water from the top shelf of the fridge.
“You think you’re a badass, huh?” he asked, coming to his feet.
“Now, Oscar, we don’t want trouble in here,” Milton Sanders lectured, wiping sweat from beneath his newsboy cap. “Why don’t you head back to your dad’s?”
“I’m not the one with the infamous temper, am I, Cam?” Oscar poked with a lopsided grin.
“You need to find a hobby, Oscar. I’m not available for a playdate.” I set the water on the counter and slid my wallet from my pocket, pulling a ten from the back section.
Oscar snorted. “Find a hobby?”
“Yeah, you know. Something to do besides drink at one o’clock in the afternoon.” I dropped the ten into the plastic slot that covered the gallon jar the Youngs kept back here for this kind of stuff.
“I was looking for someone to do, but then you started screwing Willow Bradley and threw that plan to hell.”
I stilled with my hand on the water, keeping my back turned to Oscar. My senses focused in a way I knew all too well.
“Cam,” Milton warned softly. “Walk away.”
I sucked air in through my nose slowly, willing the rising rage to ebb. I wasn’t seventeen anymore. I couldn’t beat the shit out of everyone who offended me or Willow. Willow. She wouldn’t want me to kill the asshat running his mouth behind me.
If I could repeat that about a million times, I might be able to calm the fuck down.
“Oh, come on, Milt. He can’t be that offended at the truth,” Oscar slurred, his voice coming closer.
“Don’t, Oscar,” I warned, catching his reflection in the microwave door.
“Come on, man,” another voice joined in, but I didn’t turn. If I set eyes on Oscar, I was going to kill him with my bare hands.
The back door opened and shut.
“What? Don’t you think it’s fucked up that he shows up after ten years and acts like he’s God’s gift? Telling Xander what to do with Art, when he’s been the one taking care of him all these years. It’s bullshit.”
The water bottle crinkled in my grip.
“Sit your drunk ass down or take it home, Oscar,” Gideon warned, and the water bottle bounced back to its original shape. “Cam, you good?”
“I’m good.” I put the waters under my arm and tucked my wallet away, more than ready to get out of there.
“You’re just defending him because he’s your best friend,” Oscar argued.
I pivoted toward the door, catching Gid’s nod in the same direction. I couldn’t have agreed more.
“He doesn’t need defending. You need to stop acting like an asshole.”
“I’m leaving,” I told Gid as the door opened again. Perfect timing to get the hell out.
“Hey, Cam? Tell me, when you’re screwing Willow, does she say your name? Or does she close her eyes and call out for Sullivan?”
The water hit the floor as Gideon shouted my name.
“Is Xander next—?” Oscar’s grin disappeared behind my fist before he could finish.
He went down, and I followed, my fist connecting with his face again. Then again.