Page 43 of The Malibu Secret

Michael's voice softens. "Found a cardinal once, stunned from hitting our picture window. Cameron scooped it up, cradled it in his palm. Tapped its tiny chest with his fingertip until it started fluttering. Even breathed into its beak." He shakes his head. "Always figured he'd be a veterinarian. The number of half-dead creatures that boy nursed back to health in our garage—squirrels, field mice, even a baby raccoon once. Had a real gift."

I lean forward, my voice dropping. “How did you find out what happened at Harvard Westlake with Cam?” The name of that ultra-exclusive prep school always makes my stomach tighten.

"Silas told me everything." His eyes lock with mine. "He and Asher were just seventh-grade nobodies when Cam was already ruling ninth grade. But Silas—God—he worshipped the ground Cam walked on. Said his brother was untouchable, had everyone eating from his palm, yet never once lorded it over anyone. Even threw these legendary parties where he'd personally make sure every single outcast got an invitation. Every. Single. One."

My heart pounds as it clicks into place. Silas. Of course. The same fierce loyalty that made him idolize Cameron is why he dragged Willow here—not to sabotage but to save his brother. The realization hits me like a physical blow. What I've been calling Silas's dick move was actually something far more primal—a desperate act of protection, of love so intense it borders on devotion.

"Which is why Silas brought Willow here," I say.

"Yeah. Silas always looks out for Cameron. But I think Cam hates the meddling. Maybe Silas should've just let things unfold between you two. Am I right?"

I stare at the horizon, searching for words. The sun dips behind the mountains, bringing that Sierra Nevada chill that sneaks up on you even in August.

"I'm getting cold," I say. "Want a blanket?"

He nods. I slip inside and return with two soft cashmere throws, tucking one around his shoulders before wrapping myself in the other. His question still hangs in the air. Should Willow be here, or should Cameron and I have space to work through our mess alone?

The answer seems clear—Cameron and I need time alone to figure this out. But that only works if I can stop sabotaging myself. Meanwhile, the sun sets and the house below fills with people who probably whisper about us the moment we leave a room, making up stories about a relationship they know nothing about.

I clear my throat. “Michael, I don’t know how to answer that question. So I’ll table that for now. At any rate, whether or not Willow should be here this weekend, the fact is that she is here, so the damage is done. But I appreciate your concern. I really do.” I reach over and cover my hand with his and smile at him, even though I’m not feeling that smile.

We probably should have space to work things out. But we’re not getting it and it is what it is.

I just hope everything doesn’t spiral out of control.

Chapter Thirty-Four

CAMERON

The weekend vanished in a blur. The day after my night of passion with Tally, I caught myself checking the time, calculating how long until I could slip back to her room. But I didn't. Instead, I pulled her aside after breakfast, needing clarity. Her answer couldn't have been clearer—she wanted me to give Willow a real chance. So the following evening found me on one of Granddad's many private decks with Willow, the mountain air just cool enough to notice but not enough to mind. We talked until the small hours, our voices eventually dropping to whispers as the house slept around us. By the time I glanced at my watch—2 a.m.—I had to marvel at myself: from all night having sex with Tally to all night talking with Willow. Whatever else was happening in this mess, at least my endurance wasn't the problem.

And I found myself really liking Willow. She's intelligent and funny, with an uncanny ability to mimic different voices and mannerisms - Robert De Niro, Bill Clinton, Meryl Streep, Taylor Swift were some of the celebs she mimicked and she’s amazing at it. She performs these spot-on impersonations at a nightclub as part of an amateur standup routine—something we have in common since I also perform at a club, though I sing and play piano.

We're both Johns Hopkins-educated doctors too, which gave us plenty to reminisce about. We traded stories about our instructors and rotation experiences, especially Dr. Harwood with his signature move: saying something profound, crossing his arms, then popping his eyes dramatically. I nearly fell out of my chair when Willow nailed his impression. We also laughed about Dr. Yang, the most straight-laced instructor you'd ever meet by day, who transformed into an Eddie Van Halen-level electric guitarist by night with his own band.

Naturally, after the time with Willow, the drive back to LA with Tally stretched into six hours of carefully chosen words. We chatted about movies, traffic, anything but what hung between us. My fingers tightened around the steering wheel whenever silence threatened. Once, at a red light, I caught Tally studying my profile, her expression unreadable. I wanted her—not Willow with her perfect résumé and infectious laugh. Yet as I merged onto the highway, part of me wondered if I was being stupid. How many men would kill to have a brilliant doctor with kind eyes looking at them the way Willow had looked at me?

Crossing our threshold felt like shedding a lead coat. Six hours from Mammoth to LA with Willow's name hanging unspoken between us had been torture.

The moment we arrived, Tally beelined for her mother. "Did you take your medication? All of them? On schedule?" She grabbed Marisa's wrist, tapping the Apple Watch she'd bought specifically to track her mother's rest patterns. That's Tally—scrutinizing sleep stats before even setting down her bags. Some might call it hovering, but I've always seen it differently: her vigilance is her love and devotion for Marisa made visible. The same intensity radiates when she gazes at Brinley, or when she turns those eyes on me. The difference is that loving me seems to suffocate her, while loving them gives her air. I'm learning to live with that contradiction.

“Tally,” her mother complained. “You have to stop hovering. I’m doing well. I promise you I don’t miss a dose of my Lithium or Abilify. Now go away.” Marisa smiled, though, and hugged her daughter. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too.”

Tonight Marisa and I will inevitably drift to the piano for our usual duet. Her concert-trained fingers dance across the keys, challenging me to keep pace. It's like our chess matches—I hold my own, but her mind works in brilliant, unexpected patterns. Her bipolar disorder, which causes her so much pain in daily life, transforms into pure creative genius when she plays music or plots her next chess move.

God, if I somehow end up with Willow—which I don't want, despite her impressive résumé—I'd ache for what I'd lose. Not just Tally, but these evenings: Brinley's gurgling at dinner, Marisa's impromptu concerts before she rushes off to her nightclub gig, this makeshift family we've patched together.

It could happen, though. It really could.

But one word from Tally and I'd drop everything. She's still the only one I truly want. She’s still endgame for me.

Even knowing she might never feel the same.

Chapter Thirty-Five

TALLY