Echoes of Change

“Well, my mommy, like your mommy, can’t cook, so I can’t either. But you can now, so feed me, oh mighty feeder,” he said, sidling closer, “or go out with me. I am sooooo lonely, Bri. Brokenhearted, abandoned, and famished.” His cheek rubbed against mine, and he squeezed me. With anyone else, this would’ve been weird—grounds for a swift eviction from my room. But Jasper wasn’t just anyone. He had a backstage pass to our lives, my sister’s and mine. He could get away with murder, or at least a cheeky misdemeanor. I used to call him brother from another mother, and he’d echo ‘sister from another mister’, but when he and my twin sister started dating that got too weird. But yeah, he WAS like a brother.

I pushed him off, rising from the desk chair. “Fine, I’ll cook something. I’m kinda hungry too. Maybe after food I can finally think straight and retain information again.”

“You seriously gonna cook for me? For ME?!” Jasper’s eyes widened mockingly. “OMG, let me put that in my calendar. A date with Bri, a meal lovingly prepared, etched in eternity. I’ll alert the media, the campus newsletter—”

“Oh my God, how does my sister tolerate you? You act as if Iris flew to Mars, when she just went to her classes. She’ll be back soon.”

“Well,” he leaned against the doorframe, “she’s not here. But you are, Bri. Full-time Jasper. Undivided attention. Well, at least until Iris gets back. She doesn’t like it when my spotlight isn’t fully on her. So, enjoy it while you can.” His grin was infectious.

“Lucky me,” I muttered. “Now if only you were Jackson, my dreams would’ve come true.”

Jasper scoffed. “I’m better than Jackson. I can sing, dance better than Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers combined, and I’m so fuckin’ hilarious—”

“And delulu. Don’t forget humble,” I shot back, sidestepping him to leave the room. He followed, like a persistent shadow.

As I rummaged through the fridge, I chuckled. A few years ago, I’d have stared blankly at the ingredients. Cooking? Not my forte. My parents were in the same culinary boat—Mom hated cooking with a burning passion, she would’ve chosen to clean dirty truck stop toilets with a toothbrush over picking up a spatula and my dad was born a vampire, later turned mortal, but the only relationship to food he had was knowing if he liked it or not, no concept or interest to learn how it got from the store shelf onto his plate, and Jasper’s parents were the same scenario, although his mom, Maddie, could whip up meals as long as the prep didn’t go beyond operating a microwave. But then came Brad, my ex-boyfriend. From an affluent background himself, but he could cook, so I wanted to learn to impress him, and took lessons from our caterer. Brad and my relationship imploded, thanks to his idiotic father. After being shown up by Jackson’s stupid ex-girlfriend for not being able to cook with simpler ingredients, I threw myself into cooking lessons. Not top-chef material, but I could whip up something at Jackson’s cabin, even with a pantry as understocked as a tumbleweed town. Turns out, that skill came in handy living on campus too.

“What is this gonna be when it grows up?” Jasper asked, curiously looking around the ingredients I had pulled out and piled up, trying to remember next steps.

“Nothing if you keep eating it all raw!” I ranted, pulling a carrot, a boiled leftover potato and the package of shredded cheese away from Jasper, who was munching on all the aforementioned.

“But I am so huuuuungry.”

The door rattled with a knock, and I dispatched Jasper to investigate. From my vantage point at the kitchen counter, onion under siege, I watched Brad and Jasper talk. His predictable antics were like a worn-out playlist—cue eye roll. The door slammed shut.

Jasper, however, sauntered into the kitchen like a mischievous delivery boy. “Hold the presses, girlfriend, I got munchables! Reuben or…hmmm, this mystery delight? Definitely want that. I’d share if you share—half a Reuben, half of this dreamy big-ass sammich? Got more here…”

“Why did Brad bring us food?” I asked, suspicion brewing like a slow-cooked stew.

“He didn’t,” Jasper shrugged. “He brought you and presumably himself food. But I informed him we don’t roll that way. Got rid of the dude, kept the food. Hey, that rhymes!”

“What? Jasper! Jeeze, you can just take his food and slam the door in his face! Seriously now! What is wrong with you?!” I headed to the door, resigned to unraveling this newly created mess. Brad lingered, eyes lighting up when he saw me.

“Sorry about that. Come in,” I muttered.

Brad scraped his probably pristine shoes on our doormat, then followed me. He grabbed the bag off the counter, extracting a small Styrofoam box. His glare at Jasper was a well-practiced art form; Jasper, meanwhile, was already chewing.

“Your favorite,” Brad grumbled, handing me the box. I opened it, revealing a lavender blueberry scone with royal icing.

“What is that?” Jasper asked, food particles in flight.

I explained, and he nodded. “I’d eat half.”

“It’s for Bri,” Brad snapped at Jasper. “There’s a donut in there, and some eclairs. Have that, if you must.”

For a moment, I thought the kitchen might erupt into a half-eaten-sandwich-flinging brawl. But Jasper slid off his chair, circled behind me, and reached into the styrofoam container. He bit into the scone heartily, then—with a mouthful—gave me a cheeky peck.

Wiping crumbles off my face, I watched Jasper return to his seat, chewing like a man on a mission, I offered a piece of my scone or one of the remaining items to Brad, which he declined, so I polished off the rest of the scone, then grabbed the other half of the sandwich Jasper had been munching on.

“Not bad,” he mumbled. “Next time, dipping sauces. Bit dry.”

Brad rolled his eyes. “Feel like a walk?”

“Yeah,” I said, glancing at Jasper, chewing on half of the sandwich. “Maybe some fresh air will help with the exam stress. One more bite, and I’ll grab my jacket.”

Jasper, ever the uninvited guest, chimed in. “Fabulous…I’ll get my shoes.”

Brad sighed, and I shrugged. I know Brad had intended it to be just him and me. As I put away lunch ingredients, Jasper strolled off, leaving a trail of crumbs and chaos in his wake.

“What’s that all about?” Brad wondered. I shrugged again.

“Jasper being Jasper? I quit wondering and trying to make sense of it long ago.”

“Speaking of me,” Jasper returned, slipping on his jacket and then sitting down to tie his shoes. “Did Bri tell ya Jackson quasi proposed to her?”

I cringed as his words stuck like a rogue chord. Brad’s head snapped around to me, and I closed my eyes.

“He did NOT actually propose, Jas. He just proclaimed … his … I don’t know … his intentions, I guess?” I tried to unscrew the screwed-up moment.

Jasper sat up straight, looking at me, his face serious.

“Intention to marry you, aka, quasi a proposal. Girlfriend’s off the market for shizzle now, Badfart,” Jasper purposely butchered Brad’s full name, Bradford, before continuing “That cowboy’s gonna put a ring on it one day and as much as I enjoy the free food, you shouldn’t have. I mean, seriously, you really shouldn’t. Just stop with that shit, Cunningham.”

“Jaaaaaaaaaasper!” I dragged out, covering my face with my hands, frustrated.

“What is all this shit, Jas?” Brad’s fuse had finally burned down.

“Jasper to you. I am Jas to my friends and to people I like. Excludes you immediately.”

“Are you still hung up on that one fight? That was years ago, man! Just get over it already, Hargrave.” Brad grumbled.

Jasper rose to his feet, the two of them locking eyes.

“It’s about the sum of all things, Cunningham. You had your chance with Bri, but chose to suck on your daddy’s nipples instead of fighting for her, so now you don’t get to hang around her anymore, it only confuses her. Bri is sweet and too nice to tell you to fuck off, but I am not. You broke her heart and you let your damn asshole of a father hurt her so badly, you should be ashamed to come crawling back at all. This isn’t about some fight we had as teens, although I will say you really showed me your true colors then, this is about one of us caring a lot about Bri, and it’s not you, so I don’t want you around her. You’re a spineless, boneless, dickless waste of skin and time. As a friend, and as a boyfriend.”

Brad took Jasper’s rant, then smirked. “Don’t recall us ever dating.”

“That’s cos I always had better taste, sorry Bri, no offense. You are barely a step above shit on a shoesole, asshole. You need to stop creeping around Bri, go creep around your WIFE, and your SON, Sir Douchebag of Fuck-Off-istan!”

The tension in the room was palpable as Brad and Jasper squared off. Their animosity had reached a boiling point, and I found myself caught in the middle of their feud. But just as the situation escalated, the first shoves started, the door swung open, revealing my twin sister, Iris Marie. She wasted no time, dropping her bookbag to the floor and diving into the fray. With determination, she pulled the boys apart, her petite frame belying her strength. Iris was a force to be reckoned with when she was angry.

She faced Brad, her eyes blazing. “Try me now,” her expression seemed to say, “and regret it forever.” Brad hesitated, perhaps realizing that challenging Iris was a losing battle. If she didn’t knock him out cold, fierce and feisty as she was, Jasper definitely would. Instead, Brad turned to me, frustration etched on his face.

“Why didn’t you help me?” he demanded.

Iris snarled at him. “Because SHE MOVED ON. Get a grip already, oh my God.”

I nodded in agreement. “He’s right though, Iris,” I confirmed. “I should have interfered. Brad is a friend.”

My sister’s gaze shifted to me. “He’s an idiot, that’s what he is,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain. “And so are you, Bri. A bad memory, fading fast, is what he SHOULD be to you!”

I sighed. This was not how I wanted to spend my afternoon. But sometimes, drama had a way of pulling you in, whether you liked it or not

“Okay …” I said feebly. I so didn’t want to do this.

“Bri, why do you let her talk like that? We’re good, right?” Brad urged; his eyes intensely focused on me. Jasper answered for me.

“No, you’re an asswipe, like my beautiful girl here already stated!” he chimed in. Hard to believe those two used to be best friends, literally inseparable.

“Bri!” Brad pressed, which was too much.

The room crackled with tension as I unleashed my pent-up frustration. I was tired of their shit. My voice echoed off the walls, each word a sharp blade slicing through the air.

“What?! WHAT?! Bri do this, Bri say that, Bri how could you…?! Bri this, Bri that, Bri the other!” I practically spat the words. “Oh. My. Gawd, can everyone please get off my goddamn back for once?!”

I paced, under the shocked stared of the others, my mind a chaotic whirlwind. Exams loomed like insurmountable mountains, and my brain felt like an overstuffed suitcase. Art history, a subject I cared nothing about, weighed me down. All I wanted was to create music, to follow in my father’s footsteps, to feel the smooth softness of the keys of a piano beneath my fingertips and make a name and a living with it someday. At least I think I did. At this point, I honestly didn’t know what I wanted anymore, or what I liked. The only thing I knew was that this was too much for me. If I hadn’t reached my breaking point yet, I was getting there in a hurry.

And then there was Jackson, seemingly lightyears away, a distant star in my universe. I missed him like a phantom limb, an ache that never dulled. My parents, too—they were little more than just a phone call away, but their absence gnawed at me.

Brad, dear Brad, the sweetest guy, but always with this perpetual drama enveloping him like a noxious cloud. I’d had enough. “Grow some balls and a spine,” I snapped at him, “instead of dragging me into your bubbling pool of self-pity and self-hatred. If you are unhappy with what you got, then DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT for Pete’s sake but leave me out of it! That’s right, I told you I would be your friend and I meant it, cos I still like you a lot, but you just keep digging, hinting at there being more between us than friendship when you know it’s something I do not want anymore, but you’re always there, reopening old wounds and you’re everywhere I am and always so intense, you are suffocating me — just STOP! All of you, just STOP!”

The room fell silent, my words hanging in the air like a challenge. I didn’t want to be the referee in this messy game of emotions. But sometimes, life thrusts you into roles you never signed up for. 

Jasper’s snarky comment hit me like a slap across the face. “Damn, Bri, who lit your tampon on fire?” he quipped, while Brad stared at me as if I had kicked his dog, my sister had the usual look of annoyance and suddenly, I was done. My fuse, already short, sputtered into a full-blown explosion.

Without thinking, I yanked open the paper bag Brad had brought us, revealing two small containers. Eclairs. I opened them, grabbed their contents, one in each hand, the first landed in Brad’s startled visage, the second found itself planted in Jasper’s smirking face.

“Since you’re so hungry!” I ranted at him, my voice rising. Then, fueled by frustration, I stormed past them all and out into the cold, crisp autumn air. My attire—just a thin mint-colored hoodie, equally thin cotton joggers with the name of a clothing brand line famous among college girls printed across my butt, and, oh, bunny slippers—was woefully inadequate for the weather. But I didn’t care. Burnout had consumed me, leaving me feeling like a hollow shell. I needed an escape, even if it meant freezing select body parts off.

Like an epiphany I felt my phone in my pocket, a lifeline to sanity. I pulled it out, ready to dial my boyfriend, Jackson, and pour out my woes. Maybe he’d understand. Maybe he’d remind me why I was pushing myself so hard in the first place. Or maybe, just maybe, he’d tell me to take a damn break.

Either way, I needed to hear his voice. Sadly, no such luck. His voicemail picked up, Jackson being as technically uninclined as he was hadn’t even set up a personalized message, just some canned recording with his phone number. None of Jackson’s soothing drawl. So, I dialed another number that was sure to soothe me.

Two hours later, my mom was shooting me pitiful glances, between looking at the road, I had finally stopped sobbing, as when she found me, I was a pile of howling misery curled up on a bench across from our campus home. I decidedly refused—a nicer way to say I had an almost emotional meltdown—when mom wanted to take me back to the campus home, as I couldn’t face Jasper or Iris now, let alone Brad. So, she sat down next to me after taking off her coat to wrap me up in it, and for a while we sat there, me sobbing into my mommy’s shoulder like a toddler. Oh, the glory days of youth. Yes, this is how I imagined the last weeks before my 21st birthday to be. Exactly like this. Yikes.

“Bri, I can’t feel my upper body anymore, my teeth are chattering interesting rhythms and I think my fingertips have frostbite. I wanna be there for you, baby, I do, but any chance we could move this to the car? I always said I’d die for either of my children, but didn’t imagine it would be of hypothermia at a college campus. Across from the bench I had my first real talk with your dad, ironically enough.”

Into my fit of sobs, I had to giggle, so I nodded and we shivered over to where she had parked in a hurry, thinking she was picking me up. Since it had taken longer, the overzealous campus security whom I was already well-aware of, had struck again and given her a hefty ticket, which she grabbed off her windshield furiously, mumbling highly unflattering things under her breath.

The Mercedes-Benz E-Class coupe’s seat heaters and fast heating climate control thawed the chill that had settled into our bones. My mother, her touch as gentle as a lullaby, traced the back of her hand across my cheek—a silent reassurance. Then she started the engine, and we pulled away from the campus.

“Where are we going?” I sniffled, my voice still shaky from tears.

“Home,” she replied, and I understood. Not the campus home—she meant the place where my roots ran deep, where memories whispered through the walls. Brindleton Bay, our sanctuary. Home.

I didn’t need to say anything. I closed my eyes and exhaled, sinking into the plush passenger seat. The drive stretched on, pitstops punctuating the journey. By the time we arrived, my father stood in the open doorway, a silent sentinel. Apparently, my mom had used one of the many bathroom stops to call him. His embrace enveloped me, a wordless welcome.

Brindleton Bay
Seaglass Haven

“Hi, Dad,” I murmured, my forehead pressed against his chest.

He kissed the top of my head, mirroring my mother’s earlier gesture. No questions, no lectures about tuition fees or career paths. Just space—a refuge from the storm that had raged within me. In that moment, I knew it confirmed: I had the best parents in the world.

I retreated to my room, walls adorned with snapshots from my teenage years—and of course chronicles of my journey with Jackson, from way back when he was but a teenage girl’s distant fantasy to when he had lassoed in my heart. The pictures felt like relics from another era, a lifetime ago. I stepped into the bathroom, peeled off my hoodie, joggers, and—yeah—my bunny slippers. The hot water cascaded over me, washing away exhaustion and doubt. Maybe, just maybe, I could find solace in the familiar rhythm of home. Only for a day or two. Maybe three. I still had all those exams I had to take.

When I went back to my room, I chose the ugliest, most comfortable house clothes I could find and sat down on my bed with my phone, texting Jackson. No answer, even though I could see he read it. I gave it some time, then dialed his number, but heard it ringing too. Confused I stared at my phone, then shook it, when the door opened.

Grandpa Blaine’s voice crackled through the air, and I couldn’t help but giggle. “Bri, ya covered and all hands in places they should be?” he quipped.

“All clear, grampa,” I called back, giggling, and his head popped into view, complete with a cheeky grin.

“I am not grandpa. I am the UPS guy. Signature please,” he deadpanned, pointing to his cheek. I unfolded my legs, leaped up, and planted a pretend signature there with tiny kisses, still giggling. “All right, here ya go. Let me know if you wanna refuse delivery of this shit, could be a dud,” he added, stepping aside.

And then, like a rom-com plot twist, Jackson came into view next to him, smiling big. No, seriously now, I screamed. Literally screamed. And then I jumped at him, kissing his face like it held the secret to eternal happiness. Hugging him, pressing myself against him as if I could fuse our atoms together.

“You’re here! YOU ARE HERE. You are REALLY here!”

“I am here,” Jackson confirmed, his eyes crinkling with that familiar warmth. “Yer momma called, sayin’ you was in a bad way, and if I could get away for a day or two. Then yer grandpa showed up and pop, here I am. I got no clothes, Bri, he didn’t gimme no time to pack. Had to make sure I got someone for the horses and Millie and then BAM, yer gramps was out of patience, grabbed me and here I was.”

“Oh, you don’t need clothes!” I blurted out, realizing too late how that must sound to my grandpa—and my parents, who had made their way up to the upstairs hallway. Cue the crimson blush. Eeesh. I knew they knew that Jackson and I didn’t just hold hands and steal kisses, and they knew I knew that they knew, but rubbing their faces in that fact, albeit not meant in that way was iffy.

Grandpa Blaine, ever the mischief-maker, chimed in looking at my dad. “Well, damage’s done. Better head back, son. Your mother has plans with me tonight—what they are, I can only imagine, and you know how I imagine the whackiest shit. But a man can hope, right, Hailz?” He winked at Mom, who smiled back, and then turned to Jackson and me. I was practically a permanent fixture on Jackson’s chest by now. Like a tattoo.

“And you two,” Grandpa continued, “make grampa proud and break that damn bed. If she doesn’t have a stupid grin on her sweet face all day tomorrow and isn’t walking funny, you’re doing it wrong, kid.” His chuckle evaporated as he ported away, leaving behind his signature black cloud and my cringing parents. I was oblivious and Jackson didn’t care. I knew his cowboy friends could be a lot cruder yet.

“Bri, let Jackson catch his breath,” Mom said gently. “Teleporting with a vampire isn’t a cakewalk for folks unaccustomed to it. And don’t worry, we won’t hide him from you. Jackson honey, something to drink or eat maybe?”

“Oh, I can’t say no, Mrs. Cameron, I am rightfully starvin’ now, if ya don’t mind. Was about to head inside for some grub when yer father-in-law showed up and whisked me away just like that.”

 “I just love having a vampire grandpa, don’t you, Jackson? He ported you here—otherwise, planes would’ve taken hours. Maybe even tomorrow.” I babbled, disconnected from the actual conversation.

My parents exchanged glances. “How about we take you kids out for dinner?” Dad suggested.

“Umm, I can’t, Mr. Cameron,” Jackson hesitated, pointing down at himself. “I got no clean clothes. Yer daddy didn’t give me any time to pack…all I got is what I got on.”

Dad grimaced, then shrugged. “Connor’s old clothes should do the trick. He keeps ’em here for when they come visit. Closer to your frame than I am.” He gestured at Jackson’s tall, athletic build. Unlike Dad, who wasn’t exactly NBA material, my brother inherited his height and athleticism from our maternal uncle, Grady Hanson. Grady owned a gym in Newcrest, his only son after two girls, Luca, my cousin, had followed in his footsteps, sculpting bodies at his father’s gym with him. At family gatherings, those three towered over my dad. My mom was slightly above average height with delicate features and my twin sister and I took after her.

The next two days blurred together in a haze of comfort and chaos. Jackson’s presence was both a balm and a tempest. We explored the old familiar corners of Brindleton Bay—the beach where some years ago during a visit with me, Jackson had dipped his toes into sand and oceanwater for the first time ever, the diner where we’d laughed over greasy fries and breaded fresh caught fish nearly every time we came here to visit my family, and the old lighthouse where we’d whispered secrets under the moonlight many times. Each memory stitched us closer, weaving a tapestry of longing and belonging.

But reality tugged at my sleeve. Jackson had to get back to his ranch, I had to get back to uni. The looming exams, the weight of expectations, the relentless march toward adulthood—it all pressed down on me like a leaden sky. I sat cross-legged on my childhood bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if I could defy gravity and float away from it all.

Jackson found me there, his silhouette framed by the door as he returned from the bathroom, filling the air with the scent of bodywash and shaving cream, him looking like some sort of male calendar model in my older brother’s old casually loose grey sweatpants, hugging Jackson in just the right places and a sleeveless shirt. His eyes held galaxies—concern, love, and something deeper, unspoken. “Bri,” he said softly, “you’re drownin’.”

I nodded, my throat too tight for words. “I don’t know if I can do this anymore,” I confessed. “The uber-boring art history lectures, the formulas, the deadlines, the fear of disappointing my parents, cos I am the only one of their three kids to carry on the music legacy, Connor became a doctor, Iris will be an attorney, leaves me, and I love music, making it, writing it, composing it, but not learning about boring history of it, dates and all for days on end without ever hearing or playing a single note. It’s killing me being so far away from you all the time—it’s all smothering me.”

He sat beside me, our shoulders brushing. “You’re an artist, Bri. But no art is worth sacrificing yer soul for. What do you want?”

“You!” I said with determination, making him smile.

“Ya already got me, ain’t goin’ nowhere, well, maybe geographically but my heart is yours and always will be, Bri. Ya know what I meant. Serious question ya need to answer or y’all keep drownin’,” Jackson told me, his voice a low rumble like distant thunder across the prairie.

His eyes held mine, deep and steady, like the roots of an ancient oak tree. 

With sad eyes I traced the faded posters of my father’s band, of my rock musician grandfather and aunts and uncles, all famous, on my wall, ‘music’ I was gonna say, but somehow, I no longer felt the old compassion. My eyes grazed my laptop and I jumped up to get it, opening it and clicking while walking back to sit next to Jackson, handing it to him.
“Read this, but promise not to laugh,” I whispered. “I thought I wanted to create music. Like my dad did. Like his dad and his dad before that. And I love music, I do. Listening to it, dancing to it, making it. Singing. But I can’t see it as a career anymore, Jackson. Somehow being forced to be creative even when I am not feeling it takes all the joy out of it. I think I want to write. Stories. Books.”

Jackson’s hand found mine, fingers intertwining, as he pulled it up to his lips, kissing it. “Then do it,” he said. “Life’s too short for regrets.”

“You haven’t even read it yet.” I pouted.

“Don’t have to. I know if yer this passionate about something, yer brilliant at it, just the type of person ya are. You go shower, I know a nice hot shower with that lavender soap ya like always calms yer mind. I’ll read some and then will tell ya exactly what I just said all over again. I know ya, Bri. You have such a vivid imagination, when we ride out, the way ya see everything and describe it, the tiny flower here, the butterfly there, you see it, get excited about it, ya made me experience it all anew, I spent all mah almost 23 years there, yet ya make me look at it as like I never seen it before. You brought new colors to my world I never even knew existed. No doubt in my mind that with yer passion and imagination ya could write amazin’ stories. And the best part, ya can do that at my ranch or here or anywhere else ya like. Ya could see yer Prairie Rose a lot more. She misses ya.”

Jackson’s words felt like medicine, like the antidote to a poison that had been consuming me. Tears started streaming down my face as I leaned forward, kissing him over and over again until I finally made my way into the shower. When I came back to my room, there was no Jackson. I found him downstairs, with my parents—Mom holding my laptop, reading attentively, Dad peeking over her shoulder. 

“You showed them?” I wondered, mildly panicked and embarrassed, hesitantly approaching.

My parents sat on one of the three couches in our living room, arranged in a u-shape around the fireplace and TV, their expressions a mix of surprise and pride. Mom clutched my laptop, one of my manuscripts pulled up. Dad had been reading over her shoulder, and now he leaned forward, his eyes meeting mine

“Briar Rose,” he said, “this is exceptional. Your storytelling—it’s like breathing life into characters and watching them, feeling their emotions, experiencing it all with them. We always knew you were an artist at heart. Not just music and dancing, you have a way with words too, sweetie.”

I shifted on the arm of the couch Jackson was seated on, holding his hand, until he pulled me into his lap, where I remained, facing my parents, my heart fluttering. “Thanks, Dad.”

Mom’s gaze softened. “Your passion shines through these pages, sweetheart. If it makes you happy, we support you. I read about three of your shorts by now, they are exceptional, like your daddy told you.”

“But,” Dad added, “don’t rush into changing majors. Finish this semester. Then we’ll talk. Among each other, and with one of your college advisor dudes.”

“Umm, I appreciate your encouragement and support, but I wasn’t thinking about changing majors. I mean, it did cross my mind, but I …. have other plans … don’t hate me, please … hear me out … And please also know that this is coming from me, not Jackson, he’s gonna hear this for the first time too, just like you …”

University of Britchester
Cameron Campus Home

Jasper, my best-friend-kinda-brother-turned-sister’s-boyfriend-and-exasperating-roommate, raised an eyebrow, watching me pack. “So, you’re ditching college and the music industry world for a horse ranch and words? What have you been smoking?!”

I grinned. “Nothing, Jas, I feel clearer than ever. Words have a way of weaving magic. And I want to be a sorceress.”

He chuckled. “Well, you’ve always been a bit witchy.”

I shot him a look, knowing it was his way of dealing with the fact that he would miss me, he was sad, I could see it in his eyes. We were close, always had been, and when his parents moved him to Del Sol Valley when we were teens, it was rough on all three of us. Living together at college had been a trip back in time for us, yet now, here we were again with one of us leaving.

Iris Marie, my twin sister, burst into the room she and I shared, her energy contagious. “Bri, you’re not seriously gonna go through with that!?” she ranted. She had taken the news much harder than I expected, and just came back from a run to work off some of her feelings.

“I am,” I told her. “I want to write. I want to be, need to be with Jackson. I can write there, at Jackson’s ranch, at our childhood home, maybe even at Connor’s place in San Sequoia, even here when I come visit you guys, cos I am gonna miss you both like hell. When I get tired of one place, or miss another too much, I’ll move on. It’s perfect.”

She flopped onto her bed, the bottom bunk, next to Jasper, who grabbed her hand and held it. “You’re insane. But I envy your guts. I’ll miss you. Can’t believe you’re leaving me alone with that idiot.” she pointed at Jasper.

“Yeah, thanks, love you too, Iris. Forget her, take me with you, Bri. Oh wait, you’re going to Jackson’s backwoods ranch. Forget it, leave me here in civilization. Yikes.”

Brindleton Bay
Seaglass Haven

And so, the decision hung in the air, like a suspended note waiting for resolution. My parents, torn between caution and encouragement, helped me and Jackson carry boxes and bags into the rental SUV. Jackson, ever the steady anchor, was quiet, letting me and my parents have occasional moments of melancholy, an occasional tear and emotional hug and kisses while he kept toiling away. He was gonna do the majority of the driving on our long journey back to his ranch, which would be our home now, in Chestnut Ridge. Occasionally, I’d take the wheel to give him a break in between scheduled stops.

Jackson bend into the trunk next to me to help me rearrange some of the stuff to make room so we could get it all in, when I gave him a worry-filled look.

“Am I really doing the right thing? I feel like a failure. A disappointment to mom and dad.”

“Dropping out ain’t no failure. It can be, in some cases, but I think for you it’s freedom. Ya really were suffocatin’ and now I am takin’ ya where there are wide open spaces and lots of air to breathe, Bri. This ain’t no final goodbye. Just a change. One ya seem to be needin’.”

And so, I had made my choice. I turned away from the familiar path, the safety of academia, the path everyone I grew up with was still taking, and instead I stepped into the unknown. The wind carried my dreams, and I clung to Jackson’s hand, ready to write my own storyline. With my cowboy. It still sounded as surreal as it felt.

As the Brindleton Bay city sign faded behind us, I relaxed in the passenger seat, smiling when I heard Jackson tune the radio to some County Music station, softly singing along with it as his hand found mine, holding it, squeezing it gently. That small gesture made me feel like I was exactly where I belonged. I relaxed, opened my eyes slowly, almost afraid to, worried this was just a dream. But he was there, smiling, singing, winking at me.

By the time we hit milemarker 100, I was singing along to some country classics with Jackson. With each mile, I felt lighter, unburdened. The road stretched ahead, winding through forests and cityscapes, leading to a future where art history and equations were mere footnotes. Where music and words flowed like a river, where my heart could finally run free like Jackson’s horses and where our crazy love was the compass guiding us.

It took us three days to get home. We stopped twice at cheap motels, ugly, stinky and noisy, the beds lumpy with mystery stains, but honestly, I had the best sleep I had in a long time snuggled up to Jackson snoring softly. I fell asleep the moment my head hit the pillow, slept like a rock, waking up next to Jackson, knowing there isn’t a timer on us this time, felt soooooo good. So good.

Chestnut Ridge
Kershaw Ranch

But it was nothing like the first morning at Kershaw Ranch. I woke up early, but not early enough, Jackson wasn’t next to me, and I just knew he was already doing chores. I got dressed fast to join him, but found a covered plate in the kitchen with an empty cup next to it and a note atop.

‘First, ya eat and have a coffee. Then ya come see me. ~J.’

It made me giggle, and my stomach roared with anticipation. Funny how that goes. Back on campus, neither Iris nor I bothered with breakfast—maybe a small bowl of cereal after a late-night study session or when dinner was skipped. But here, like clockwork, my stomach demanded breakfast. I glanced out the window at Jackson, wrestling Patches’ greedy face out of a bucket. Patches, his sometimes-obnoxious young stallion, shared the same name as my dad’s nickname for my mom since their teen years—a detail that always cracked me up. A warm wave of happiness and love washed over me, and I forgot about the coffee and breakfast. I dashed out, straight into Jackson’s arms, startling Millie, his ranch dog, who had been snoozing in the first warm rays of morning sun.

“Didcha see my note?” Jackson wondered, wrapping his arms around me. I nodded into his chest, then realized you can’t hear nods, so I pulled away, tears now streaming down my face.

“Why ya cryin’, darlin’?”

“Oh, you said ‘darlin’!” I burst out.

“I always call ya darlin’, darlin’. But don’t tell me yer already regretting comin’ to live with me? I reckoned you would, at least a little bit at some point, but not the first day. Damn.”

“NO! No, I am not. These are happy tears, Jackson! I am so happy. I missed you so much!” I nestled back against him.

“How did ya miss me? We spent the last week glued to each other.”

“I KNOW! Isn’t it great?! I am loving it. I needed this soooo badly. All the times I’ve come here before, I knew I had to leave again. But not this time.”

Jackson finally unraveled my sobby smiling mess and realized I was truly just excited and uber-emotional, so he lifted my tear-soaked, but smiling face up and kissed me. Long and tenderly. I melted. Yes! This!

When we separated, he picked up a bucket, handed it to me. I almost fell over—it was so heavy, even though he lifted it as if it were empty. 

“Well then, git to it. No free rides here. I done these troublemakers, you can do Prairie Rose and this guy here, since he acts like he hadn’t had a lick of food in weeks. Show me whatcha remember, Bri.” Jackson pointed at Blaze, Sundance and Hells Bells while talking, then at Patches and my horse, Prairie Rose.

“Well, Mr. Kershaw, watch and be amazed.” I said with a flourish…. then turned—-and stepped right into a huge, fresh, still steaming pile of horse manure, it surprised me, I lost my balance, the bucket being so heavy took what little balance I had … and down it all went, me right into said pile, spread-Eagle, luckily not face first while the bucket landed somewhere behind with loud clinks, spilling the horse feed all around me.

The other horses had been peacefully munching on their breakfasts, Prairie Rose and Patches were still waiting, all of them spooked by my crash landing, but came right back and started hoovering the spilled feed off the ground around me, still throning in my humiliation pile. Horses are massive, especially from my low vantage point down on the ground.

In front of me, Jackson was not even trying to bridle his amusement, I had rarely seen him laugh this hard for this long, jackknifing and wheezing, unable to get a hold of himself at all. My eyes narrowed; Jackson’s laughter seized and it was my turn to laugh as I started flinging hands full of horse apples at him, he was able to dodge most of it, but I landed a few hits, until he returned fire at me by grabbing the water hose turning it on full power, chasing me now until I begged for mercy, drenched, the shorts and tank top of my PJs clinging to me uncomfortably and the cool morning breeze giving me chills. Jackson turned off the water, dropped the hose, I approached, slamming my dripping wet self against his warm dry body, rubbing back and forth, generating a knowing smirk from him, he knew I was getting him back this way, trying to soak him as well, but he just bent down and kissed me. Jackson wasn’t easily bothered by dirt and grime. I melted into the kiss and the feeling, till he pulled away to whisper in my ear after briefly nibbling on it.

“Woman, ya stink!”

Giggling, I play punched him, he caught my hands, picked me up and walked right into the shower after kicking off his boots by the door, dressed and all, slowly peeling the now ‘de-turded’ clothing off us, tossing it to the bathroom floor. I guess this is a cowboy’s way to skip the presoaking of laundry.

Pinning me to the wall I realized how tall and broad and muscular he really was, and how strong he was, but his expression was soft and amused.

“Mah filthy girlfriend … the right amount of classy and dirty, just how I like ’em. I really hit that lottery, didn’t I?” he drawled.

My giggle faded out, I got serious.

“No. I did. I really won big with you. You’re everything.”

“Damn, had I known rolling ’round in manure made ya this lovey-dovey I would’ve done gone tossed ya in sooner. Gotta remember that for the future.” he smirked and winked.

“No, thanks. THAT part, I’ll gladly do without. Just THIS part I like a lot.” I ran my hands down his chest for the last words and we started kissing and … well, I am sure you can guess.

I floated on a happy-high, impervious to the world—even when Taylor crossed our path downtown while Jackson and I ran errands later that same day. Her glare was as predictable as her asinine comments. I countered by sing-sanging along to the country song blaring from the feed store’s radio.

“I don’t even care that it’s you or about what you are sayinnnnnn’…”

Taylor drawled my name, stretching it out like taffy. “Jezes, Briar Rose,” she sneered. “Are ya drunk this early in the mornin’ or did ya hit yer head?” I fought the urge to stare at her baby belly, a sore spot for me. Not that I wanted a baby—no, not right now. But the not now felt suspiciously like a not ever. And I had the feeling that someday down the line I would like to have a fusion of Jackson and myself. Sigh.

“Nope! Just high on love and fresh country air,” I chirped, my spirits unshakable.

Jackson winked at me, his eyes dancing. “And some up-close inspectin’ of healthy, fresh country manure, ain’t that right, Bri?” He joined me, lugging two gigantic bags of horse pellets. I didn’t need to try—I knew I couldn’t lift one, let alone two. Jackson set them down with ease, grinning at Taylor.

“Don’tcha worry, Tay,” he drawled. “I got her all fixed up, nice and squeaky clean. Inspected every last inch of her.” His playful tone was unmistakable. “Well, we’d love to stay and chat, but Bri and I gotta get our chores done. Plannin’ to go down to the hootenanny later on.”

Oh, Jackson, you smooth talker. I grinned at Taylor’s angry glares as she stormed off. The word “hootenanny” hung in the air, mysterious and intriguing. I had no clue what it meant, but if Jackson wanted to take me there, I was all in. After all, it seemed like the perfect way to keep upsetting Taylor—something I was more than happy to do.

In those precious days at the ranch, I discovered a new rhythm—a dance of chores and stolen moments. The rules were straightforward: certain tasks were non-negotiable, but beyond that, the time was ours. Jackson, my cowboy with a penchant for adventure, never disappointed.

On the third day, he whisked me away for a ride to the river. Fishing—something I’d never attempted before—became an unexpected thrill. I caught a fish the size of a Goldfish cracker, and we playfully tossed it back, ‘was headed to kindergarten’ as Jackson joked laughingly.
Jackson, the seasoned angler, reeled in sizable catches, and we shared our bounty with neighbors. Then came the less glamorous part: preparing the fish together. It might have been “eeew,” but the end result? Absolutely delicious. Knowing I helped catch it and prepare it made it taste better than any five star gourmet meal to me.

The following day, we saddled up once more, this time for a picnic. The food tasted different—maybe it was the fresh air or the company. We fed each other, snuggled on the grass, and kissed under the open sky. As we lay there, cloud-watching, Jackson rolled atop me, we started to make out, our giggles turning into something deeper. His blue eyes mirrored the Chestnut Ridge skies, and I couldn’t help but spill my heart: “I’m so genuinely happy.”

His smile was big and honest. “You make me happy, Bri.”

“I was so afraid of this, but it feels right. I can finally breathe again, Jackson—no more college, no more pressure, no more expectations. The only thing that weighs on me is the sense of letting down my parents. They despise that I dropped out. And I suspect Dad’s secretly disappointed that I walked away from music. But now, I need to start writing something too. Finally, there’s no end date to my stay here, unless you tire of me.”

“That’ll never happen,” Jackson assured me, his voice steady. “But don’t deal in absolutes, darlin’. You’ll drive yerself crazy that way and become unhappy again. Right now, you just need to be. Just be. Be here, be present, be with me, be happy. You needed a true break. And once you’ve had time to yourself, without all that pressure, then you can sit down and review your choices.”

I stiffened, my mind racing. “My choices?”

“Yep,” he drawled, leaning in closer. “You’ve already chosen to be with me, darlin’, right here. But lemme tell ya, you need to live, relax, and enjoy. Ya need to really let go. When all this becomes normal, maybe even a tad borin’, that’s when you’ll know. Maybe you’ll be ready to saddle up and head back to school—a degree could be good. Not that you’ll necessarily need it but might be good for somethin’ down the line if one of us has it. That won’t be me, I never been the academic type. As for music, I get why ya feel like the weight of the world’s on yer shoulders, wanting to continue the legacy, but look at Connor and Iris, they both have the same heritage, yet, they’re doin’ what makes them happy, so why not you? Music can still be a part of ya, maybe it’ll be a hobby, like for me. I love strummin’ my guitar, I like singin’, but I ain’t lookin’ to make it my livelihood. Or perhaps you’ll take some writin’ classes and chase that dream professionally. Degrees matter out there in the big ol’ world, but they are worth next to nothing out here. And when you decide, don’t fret about what I think—you already know. You burned out like an old campfire, but we’ll stack up fresh logs, find new kindlin’, and relight that fire. You’ll shine brighter than ever.” 

Tears welled up in my eyes, and I shot up, hugging him so enthusiastically that we both tumbled over. Laughter and kisses sealed our unspoken pact. But as I looked at him, I couldn’t help but wonder.

“Thank you,” I whispered. “That’s exactly what I needed, and it’s what I’ll do. But how can you be just two years older and yet so much wiser?”

Jackson chuckled, brushing his fingers against my cheek. “Ain’t about being wiser or smarter, darlin’. I’ve had more time to think, without the weight of your pressures. Clears the mind, you know. You’ll see. Maybe you should call your parents—let ’em know. It’ll ease their minds and yours.”

I took his advice, and predictably, my parents were elated. A maybe very long break in my university career was still much better news to them than me dropping out completely for good. If they hadn’t already, Jackson definitely secured a spot on their “dream son-in-law” list. And mine. Now I understood—I could embrace this life. And if I ever needed a break, Jackson would let me return home to Brindleton Bay, to Mom and Dad, for as long as necessary. I’d thought choosing Jackson meant being stuck here, but just like with his horses and his loyal dog, Jackson would never tie me down, fence me in, he would always give me space when needed. It reminded me of something he’d said years ago, when I was just sixteen and pondering my future. He’d assured me that anyone at his ranch wasn’t there by force, but by choice. Horses, dogs, and evidently, humans too. In this case, me.

I know this is going to sound like the cheesiest thing ever, corny at that, but I mean it. Him saying those things to me made all the difference in the world. And I would do exactly what he suggested. I’d take my time, be it a month, six months, a year or six years, and enjoy this. Once I was ready, if I ever felt that way, I would reenroll and do the college thing. Be it as a writer or a musician that would be a question for another day. One I didn’t have to answer, not now, and not until I was truly ready for it. Thanks to my parents’ wealth I wasn’t going to end up destitute, not even if Jackson and I couldn’t make ends meet the way he had managed until now, and his daddy before him.

I had feared committing to Jackson’s life, thinking I’d completely lose everything I grew up with, turns out it was doing the exact opposite, it was setting me free. It liberated me. Funny how life goes sometimes. I felt good and at ease for the first time in … oh, I don’t know how long. My entire outlook shifted. And my parents knew I’d be okay. And so did I.