“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

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.