San Sequoia International Airport
San Sequoia International buzzed with its usual chaos—luggage wheels clattering, voices rising over departure announcements, the occasional shriek of a long-overdue reunion. Brad stepped through the terminal doors, the automatic hiss sealing off the noise behind him as he rolled his sleek black suitcase along. His gaze skimmed the crowd, scanning faces, searching.
Then he saw it.
A sign, held high above the sea of travelers, with his full name emblazoned across it: DR. BRADFORD CUNNINGHAM. The letters were bold, slightly uneven—like someone had deliberately not tried too hard. But it wasn’t the sign that stopped him. It was the person holding it.
Bri.
Sunlight filtered through the glass ceiling, catching in her honey-blonde hair like a halo. That smirk—a little mischievous, a little knowing—curved her lips, as sharp as ever. The years had refined her edges, but her eyes had the same spark, that familiar challenge. An unspoken I dare you.
Brad’s grin came unguarded, instant—the kind that rarely surfaced anymore. Without hesitation, he strode toward her, weaving past clusters of travelers like they didn’t exist.
“Wow,” he murmured, voice pitched low enough for only her ears. “I travel plenty, and I’ve had my fair share of airport pick-ups, but never one this gorgeous.”
Bri tilted her head, smirk sharpening. “Well, I aim to impress, Dr. Cunningham.” She gave a grand, sweeping gesture toward the exit. “Shall we?”
Her tone was teasing, but there was something underneath—a rhythm neither had forgotten.
Brad laughed, falling into step beside her, their conversation light and easy, yet weighted with the echoes of things unspoken.
“This way to the rental cars,” Bri said, pointing toward a lot near the curb.
Brad stopped, feigning confusion. “Rental? I thought we were riding together.”
She rolled her eyes, but the twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed her amusement. “We are. I Ubered here so we could ride together, but you still need a car. You’re not about to rely on me every time you want to grab coffee or whatever.”
“Shocking. You have a life,” Brad mused. “Tell me more.”
“I have an album coming out soon,” she said, ignoring his sarcasm. “Lots of prep, and then a tour.”
Brad clutched his chest in mock devastation. “So I’m not the center of your world? That’s brutal.”
“Truly tragic.” Her voice was dry, but her smirk softened as she nudged him toward the rental counter. “Go on, bail out your car. I’ll drive you to the hotel, but after that? You’re on your own.”
Brad stepped a little closer, voice dropping. “Fine. But don’t think this gets you off chauffeur duty entirely. A man can dream, can’t he?”
Bri laughed—a short, genuine sound. And for a second, the past shimmered between them, tangible, real.
“Dream away,” she said, turning toward the parking lot. “Just make sure you follow me.”
Side by side, they walked out together. The moment stretched—not silence, but something quieter. A shared understanding that some things didn’t need words.
Not yet, anyway.
Seaglass Haven
A while later, after checking into his hotel and dropping off his luggage, Bri had taken Brad back with her to Seaglass Haven—her parents’ estate, and the place she now called home.
Inside, Hailey stood at the kitchen window, arms crossed, her sharp gaze locked on the figures by the pool. The late afternoon sun shimmered on the water, but she wasn’t admiring the scenery.
Chase wandered in, cradling a mug of coffee. “What are we staring at, Patches?” His tone was light, teasing.
“Are you blind, Gump?” Hailey shot back, not taking her eyes off the scene outside.
Chase frowned, stepping closer. “No, Patches, what? Our daughter by the pool?”
Hailey’s lips thinned as she gestured sharply. “Look who she’s with.”
Chase squinted, scanning the scene. Then, suddenly, his entire posture stiffened. “Is that… is that…”
“Bradford Cunningham,” Hailey confirmed, exasperation dripping from her tone. “Yup.”
Chase’s jaw dropped. “What the fuck is Bratfart doing at my pool?”
“Great question,” Hailey replied dryly. “Next question.”
Chase turned to her, incredulous. “Have you tried asking?”
Hailey arched a brow, daring him. “Nope! You go right ahead.”
Chase hesitated, glancing back out the window. “Maybe I should. Thinking I will.”
“Good luck with that.” Hailey poured herself a generous glass of wine. “You’re gonna need it. And honestly? I’m just glad Briony’s staying with friends today. I do not want to explain to that little girl who that man is with Mommy.”
Unaware of the scrutiny from inside, Brad reclined in the lounge chair, the sunlight glinting off his half-empty glass of lemonade. Bri stretched beside him, lazily wiggling her toes in the warmth. Their conversation drifted into familiar territory—childhood stories, old memories—until Brad leaned in, murmuring something that made Bri laugh softly. Her green eyes flickered with amusement, and before either of them thought twice, their lips met.
The kiss was soft. Unhurried. Charged.
Hailey had just turned away from the window, tilting the wine bottle over her glass when Chase suddenly grabbed her arm.
“Hailey!” he barked, somewhere between disbelief and urgency. “You need to see this. Now.”
Startled, Hailey nearly overpoured—catching herself just in time to stop a generous splash from hitting the counter.
“What is it this time?” she asked, exasperated, letting him drag her back toward the window.
They leaned in, faces inches from the glass. Chase’s coffee mug hovered in one hand, while Hailey clutched the wine bottle itself, momentarily forgetting she was even holding it.
Her mouth dropped open.
Without breaking her gaze, she took a long, needed sip.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” she muttered, already moving toward the sliding door. “Let’s go, Gump. This requires investigation.”
Chase followed, muttering something about audacity and lawn chairs.
The sharp whoosh of the sliding door cut through the stillness as they stepped onto the patio like detectives ready to interrogate suspects.
Bri glanced over her shoulder, her face heating. “Oh boy,” she muttered under her breath. “The welcome committee is here. Brace yourself.”
Brad straightened slightly, his easy demeanor flickering into something more guarded. He offered a polite smile, but his shoulders held tension.
Hailey broke the silence first.
“Well, well, if it isn’t our Dr. Bradford Cunningham,” she mused, voice thick with skepticism. “Fancy seeing you here.”
Brad set his glass down, standing, smoothing his pants. “Mrs. Cameron, Mr. Cameron,” he greeted warmly—though the awkwardness clung to the air. “It’s been quite a while.”
“Not long enough,” Chase muttered into his coffee.
Hailey shot her husband a sharp look before reluctantly shaking Brad’s hand. She suddenly realized she was still clutching the wine bottle and awkwardly switched it to the other hand. Chase, however, didn’t even pretend to return the handshake, leaving Brad to withdraw his hand mid-air.
“What brings you to San Sequoia?” Hailey asked, tone casual—but the undertone was sharp. “Business, I assume?”
“Something like that,” Brad answered diplomatically, glancing toward Bri for backup. But Bri had conveniently taken a deep interest in adjusting her sandal straps.
Chase stepped forward, arms crossed, full interrogation mode engaged. “Alright, Bratfart—what’s your deal?”
Brad blinked, caught completely off guard. “Excuse me?”
“Your deal,” Chase repeated, waving vaguely at him. “What’s your angle? Because you’re not here for my pool or the lemonade, and since I know my irresistible good looks aren’t your type, I’m gonna assume you’re after our daughter. So tell me—are we really doing this again?”
Bri shot up, mortified. “Dad!”
Brad straightened, visibly tense now. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Chase narrowed his eyes. “Let me rephrase then—are you here to screw our daughter, or did you already?”
Bri groaned, throwing up her arms. “Dad, are you for real right now?!”
“I am for very real,” Chase fired back, unrelenting. “Let’s not forget—your last romantic escapade ended with Jackson obliterating your heart, again. And now you run straight back to the man who did it a decade earlier? This is the plan?”
“Mr. Cameron, with all due respect—” Brad began, attempting diplomacy.
“Brad, with all due respect,” Chase interrupted, voice thick with sarcasm, “you and your excuses can kiss, lick, and suck my ass.”
Hailey groaned. “Chase—”
“Oh, I know,” Chase continued, “it’s all someone else’s fault. The big, bad mean daddy was to blame for everything. Brad, I get it. I remember your father, and you remember he and I never saw eye to eye. But let’s not rewrite history—you kept circling Bri after you turned eighteen. You know, an adult, yet you didn’t make your move. Hell, you were still circling her when you’d already knocked up Molly at twenty. Drooling from afar, but not getting anything baked, just stumbling over your own feet. What woman wants a man like that?! I remember everything. My wife does too. You were a limp biscuit then, and you are still today. That’s not what Bri needs.”
Hailey finally stepped in, nudging Chase back slightly. Her tone was firm but composed. “Umm, what Mr. Cameron meant to ask was why you’re here and not at the hospital, assuming that’s why you’re in town.”
“No,” Chase corrected instantly. “Mr. Cameron was still wondering, WTF?!”
Brad cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable. “Oh. Right. The hospital. Yes, I’m visiting tomorrow. Today, I just hoped to unwind.”
“With our daughter?” Chase echoed, voice razor-sharp.
“Dad!” Bri snapped, her anger bubbling over. “Brad and I ran into each other in San Myshuno when I was there for promos. I went to Brindleton Bay, for some nostalgia, and literally bumped into him at the restaurant we all loved when we lived there.”
Chase scoffed, tipping his coffee mug toward her. “Oh yeah, I bet he bumped into you all right—that’s probably why he’s here now, looking to bump into you some more… probably in dim lighting, panting like a dog in heat. And under my roof. Does a father proud.”
“Gump!” Hailey scolded.
“Dad!” Bri snapped again, fists clenched.
Brad exhaled, his voice uncertain. “Would you like me to leave?”
Chase smirked slightly. “Now we’re talking…”
“Chase!” Hailey cut in, dragging her husband toward the sliding door. “No, we are not asking you to leave. Chase, come inside. You kids… umm… enjoy the sun.”
Letting Hailey pull him away, Chase stumbled slightly, glancing over his shoulder.
“Hey Bri, maybe throw on some ‘Better Man’ by Pearl Jam over the pool speakers—since we’re apparently remaking the music video in real-time over here. Or hell, just go all in—blast Careless Whisper while you’re at it. Really lean into the theme. That way, your mother and I can fully commit to cringing.”
As the door slid shut, leaving the tension simmering outside, Chase dropped heavily into a chair at the kitchen table, his expression a storm of frustration and helplessness. He leaned forward, elbows planted, scrubbing a hand over his face.
“So, we’re just supposed to sit here while that married man plays house with our daughter? Hell, I’d almost rather her go back to Cowboy Disaster himself—at least Jackson’s got some damn grit. He’s fun, loud, built like a ranch hand, and wouldn’t fold like a cheap bar stool in a stiff breeze. Brad? Brad’s just a wind egg—nothing solid inside, all soft edges, and about as useful as a guitar with no strings. A limp biscuit of a man, if I’ve ever seen one. Not to mentioned married! Since when do we roll like that, Patches?!” he muttered, disbelief thick in his voice.
Hailey settled beside him, still clutching the wine bottle. Without a word, she unscrewed the cap with deliberate precision, took a slow sip, then set it down firmly on the table. Her gaze flicked to Chase—sharp. Unrelenting.
“They are adults. Bri is a young woman, not a child,” Hailey said, her tone calm but laced with biting sarcasm. She tapped her fingers against the wine bottle as she continued. “What’s your plan, Chase? Tie him to a stake in the front yard while I carve a scarlet letter A into his forehead? Because let’s be clear—whatever mess Brad has with his wife isn’t ours to clean up. I’m not about to start playing morality police for a grown man’s marriage.” She sighed, shaking her head. “And—for the record—we should probably be nice enough to Brad, considering he owns the hospital where our son works. Let’s not tank Connor’s career just because Bri seems determined to treat relationships like a damn carousel—spinning between Brad and Jackson for the last sixteen years like there’s no exit. At some point, you’d think she’d realize the world’s dating pool isn’t limited to two men. But no, here we are. Again.”
Chase barked out a bitter laugh, leaning back in his chair.
“Oh, fantastic! So, what, we roll out the red carpet because King Bratfart owns a hospital? And sure, why not? Let him play house with Bri and her daughter out in the pool house—because that’s not concerning at all. Doesn’t he have kids? Are they all gonna move in with us then? Or is Bri going back to the Bay? Fuck me sideways!”
He waved a hand dismissively.
“Yeah, let’s not forget his wife and kids—parked conveniently on the other side of the continent in Brindleton Bay while he gallivants around here. What happens when Jackson shows up with their son for the next visit, huh? He’s not exactly a planner, he doesn’t call ahead, just shows up whenever the prairie tumbleweeds blew by his house just right. What are we supposed to do then? Just sit here and let the drama explode on our front lawn? You know Jackson and Bratfart don’t mix. Let’s just hope Connor’s around when that happens, as it will, cos I am not gonna go in between that fight. I know Jackson’s not weak and I am not gonna get my old ass whooped as collateral damage, and especially not trying to save Brad.”
Hailey pressed her lips into a thin line, taking another measured sip before setting the bottle down more firmly this time.
“You think I’m not worried about that too? Of course I am. But, Chase, you can’t helicopter-parent a grown woman. Bri made her choices. Right or wrong, they’re hers. And we both know she’s stubborn. If she decided she wants Brad, she’s gonna have Brad. We both also know Brad never NOT wanted Bri.”
She exhaled sharply, shaking her head.
“And Jackson isn’t exactly Husband and Father of the Year—if he were to waltz in here to raise hell over Bri’s choices when he just bulldozed his own family’s entire life for BS reasons, he and I’d have words! He has zero room to judge. If he dares to show up acting like some righteous avenger, I’ll be the one to talk sense into him, and I don’t care how big and cowboy-tough he thinks he is! I’ll make him mind me—with a cast-iron frying pan to the head, if necessary!”
Chase jabbed a finger at the table, his frustration boiling over.
“That’s not the point. The point is—there are too many moving pieces in all of this. Too much room for disaster. That man has a wife, a family. And like you said—he owns the damn medical center where Connor works. And Bri’s career? She’s already in the spotlight. How do you think those headlines will look? What they’ll do to her when this mess inevitably blows up?”
His jaw clenched.
“And what happens when Brad and Bri inevitably have a fight, as lovers do? Connor loses his job overnight? Cunningham buries his career for life, just to prove a point? And Bri—she’s already juggling enough, raising her daughter while trying to stay close to her son long-distance. Why add more chaos to the mix?”
Hailey inhaled deeply, fingers tightening around the neck of the bottle before she set it down with a deliberate thud.
“You think I don’t know all that? You think I’m not worried about everything you just said? Of course I am, Chase.”
She stared at him.
“But what do you want me to do? Stomp outside and drag her back in? She’s an adult. If we push too hard, she might take Briony and run—maybe straight to Brindleton Bay.”
Her voice dropped. “You know how stubborn she is.”
Chase gritted his teeth, anger giving way to exhaustion.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, slumping forward, wearing the frustration now instead of fighting it.
“I just don’t want her to get hurt again,” he muttered.
“Or for her daughter to get caught up in all of this. First the mess with Jackson—landing Briony in therapy—now whatever this is with Brad…”
Her eyes flicked briefly to the wine bottle before settling on Chase again.
Hailey softened slightly, though her tone remained measured. “Neither do I. But we can’t fight her battles for her. All we can do is be here when it all falls apart and try talk sense into her to prevent the worst.” Her gaze flicked briefly to the wine bottle before returning to Chase. “And you know as well as I do, it will fall apart at some point. If they really are doing what we both think they might be doing, it will blow up one way or another. His wife isn’t an idiot, we both know Molly.”
Connor & Keira’s Home
The beat of the music thumped through the backyard, mingling with the rhythmic splash of the pool and bursts of laughter. Sunlight glinted off the water as children and teenagers squealed, pushing each other off the diving board and making cannonballs that sprayed bystanders on the pool’s edge. The air smelled of sunscreen, grilled food, and something citrusy from the cocktails that flowed freely. Lounge chairs were scattered around the sprawling pool, while a bubbling hot tub sat at the far end, steam curling lazily into the warm afternoon air.
Jasper strolled over to the adults-only table, where Connor was already standing, his commanding presence impossible to miss. Connor didn’t need the shade of the massive umbrella to look imposing—his height and broad, athletic build made sure of that. The table was stacked with top-shelf bottles and mixers, and Connor, the consummate host, was in the middle of perfecting his latest creation. He held up a red Solo cup, his grin wide and confident, as Jasper stopped in front of him.
“Here, try this, Jas.”
Connor’s voice carried over the din of the party as he shoved a plastic cup toward Jasper, the flimsy container looking almost ridiculous in his massive grip.
“New mix I came up with at the last party. Tweaked it a little—tell me if I’m missing something.”
Jasper eyed him warily, then glanced at the polished liquor bottles lined up behind Connor.
“So now I’m your designated booze guinea pig?” he quipped, giving the cup a shake. “And you broke out the fine china for this occasion—I’m honored.”
He raised the cheap plastic cup like a toast, took a sip, and immediately regretted every choice that had led him to this moment.
The liquid scorched down his throat like industrial-grade acid, his body betraying him entirely as he choked, doubled over, and coughed vicariously.
Connor delivered a hearty slap to Jasper’s back—a gesture that in any other setting might have been supportive but, in this case, nearly sent Jasper flying headfirst into a snack table.
“Too strong for ya? Rookie.” Connor smirked, though his brow furrowed at Jasper’s continued deterioration.
Jasper lifted a finger in a just give me a second motion, wheezing through what was left of his dignity. Finally, he straightened, blinking furiously like his pupils were trying to realign with reality.
“Connor. What the hell did you put in that? Was it fermented jet fuel? Did you stir it with a battery charger? Because I swear to God, I have now fully breached the third dimension. I can feel colors now and taste numbers.”
He wiped his mouth and exhaled deeply, like he had just returned from astral projection.
“It’s nice in there. Bit humid, though. You should take a sip and visit.”
Connor just grinned. “Ah-ha, so the secret ingredient worked.”
Jasper wasn’t laughing.
“What secret ingredient?! Hellfire?! The tears of angels?”
Connor lifted the bottle he’d been using to mix, flashing the label.
“Nah. Just a splash of moonshine from Jackson, some good bourbon, a dash of habanero extract, a few spritzes of bitters, a pinch of smoked paprika for ‘depth,’ some cracked pepper because why not, a squeeze of lime for ‘balance,’ and whatever that green stuff was from the back of the fridge—probably cilantro. Or possibly mold. Puts hair on your chest, huh?” he grinned, obviously joking.
Jasper gawked at him.
“A splash and a pinch, huh? Bro, that shit you brewed up should be illegal, literally was a portal to another universe.”
Still coughing slightly, Jasper grabbed a napkin and dabbed at his forehead.
“Jesus. I think I’m sweating Jackon’s moonshine right now.”
Connor beamed, clapping him on the shoulder again.
“Perfect! Let’s call it The Liquid Regret.”
Jasper wheezed.
“Yeah, I’ve got a few regrets right now. Starting with trusting you. This thing should be in one of those hazardous waste containers you’ve got at the hospital. Pretty sure it’s radioactive.” He lifted the cup, preparing to hurl it into a nearby trashcan with a dramatic flourish—until his gaze froze.
His entire body locked up like someone had hit pause.
“Oh hell no,” Jasper rasped, barely audible.
Jasper stood there, completely deadpan, shaking his head, finally straightening as he pointed with his chin toward the patio door. “What the hell did you put in that shit? Leftover turpentine and bleach? Because I swear I’m full-on hallucinating. I’m literally seeing Bradford Cunningham walking in with Bri.”
Connor glanced over his shoulder, his grin fading into an expression of surprise, irritation, and then something unreadable. “Oh, yeah. That,” he said, his tone deliberate and casual. His shoulders shifted, his imposing figure no longer so assured. “He’s in town. Been up my ass all day yesterday, I hardly got anything productive done. He owns the medical center where I work, so… we’re gonna be nice to him, okay?”
Jasper coughed one last time, staring up at Connor as if trying to comprehend this sudden shift in tone. Despite Jasper’s own respectable height, Connor’s presence loomed like a mountain, though it seemed slightly diminished now at the mention of Bradford Cunningham. Jasper cocked an eyebrow, his voice dripping with disbelief.
“Nice to him?” Jasper muttered under his breath. “Yeah, sure. I’ll be so nice that I am gonna avoid the a-hole completely. How’s that?”
“Works for me, was kinda my gameplan too.” Connor muttered back.
Brad and Bri had just stepped onto the expansive stone patio, their presence immediately magnetic. Together, they exuded a harmony that caught the eye—an effortless blend of elegance and composure. Brad’s tailored blazer, paired with a relaxed button-down shirt and jeans, struck the perfect balance between sophistication and approachability, while Bri’s breezy sundress, cinched just right at the waist, added a touch of carefree grace that matched the sunny atmosphere. It wasn’t just their appearance, it was the way they carried themselves, subtly in step, like two halves of a well-orchestrated melody.
Conversations faltered as heads turned to them. The party was larger scale, but everyone was either family of close friends of Connor and Keira’s, everyone knew each other, but most people didn’t know Brad. The chatter quieted just enough to notice the buzz in the air. There wasn’t anything overly dramatic about their entrance—it was the kind of understated ease that made it clear they fit together in a way that simply made sense.
Connor watched them from the adults-only table, his sharp eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. Standing tall as ever, he crossed his arms over his chest, his towering frame casting a commanding shadow. Even Jasper, standing nearby and trying to gauge Connor’s reaction, fell uncharacteristically quiet.
“Yeah, that’s a pair of sore thumbs that’s hard to ignore,” Jasper muttered, more to himself than anyone else. His words lingered in the air like an uninvited guest, and Connor’s jaw tightened at the observation.
Brad, unfazed by attention, offered polite nods to the onlookers as he passed. His easy confidence turned even neutral glances into quiet acknowledgments of his presence. Bri, for her part, smiled warmly at those she recognized, pausing briefly to exchange a quick word or two with acquaintances while introducing Brad to them. There was no hesitation as she leaned slightly closer to Brad, her hand brushing his arm in a way that spoke of comfort, familiarity, and a connection that required no explanation.
“I can’t believe your parents are just hanging out over there with mine and nobody shitting their breeches over this,” Jasper said, glancing up at Connor with a smirk, though his tone carried a hint of unease. “You think they are already bumping curlies or still leading up to that?”
With a quick reflex Connor whacked Jasper in the side of the head. “Shut your mouth! That is my little sister, and for all I care to know, they are talking and that’s all they are doing! Capisce!?”
“Ouch, you hulking brute! Always with the hitting! I do respond well to words, you know? Anyway, I get it, it’s yuck for me to think about, but probably much worse for you as her big bro. So, how do you want to handle this one?”
Connor didn’t answer immediately. His sharp gaze stayed locked on Brad and Bri, but his expression wasn’t one of jealousy—it was one of calculation. Connor was the older brother, the protector. He’d spent years looking out for Bri, and it wasn’t in his nature to turn that instinct off, no matter how old she was or how much Brad Cunningham’s presence disrupted his carefully ordered world.
“Not at all, that’s how,” Connor finally said, his deep voice steady and authoritative. “Just ignore it, be polite, and don’t judge. My parents know he’s here; Bri already schlepped him over to their house a couple days ago.”
Jasper chuckled dryly, lifting his drink. “She did what? And Chase didn’t run him off with a shotgun while Hailey’s clubbing him with a broom? Dayum, time’s sure changed them. As for judging, well I will try to keep my opinions to myself, but my wifey practically invented the art of being judgy.”
Connor’s lips twitched with the shadow of a smile. “Speaking of Iris, where is she?”
“Bathroom,” Jasper replied, gesturing vaguely toward the house. “Morning sickness hit her hard today.”
Connor arched an eyebrow, his tone edged with dry amusement. “And why are you over here instead of with my sister?”
Jasper grinned sheepishly. “Because she… ah… let’s say she politely requested I remove myself from the situation.”
Connor let out a soft snort. “She told you to fuck off. Got it. Checks out.”
“Yup,” Jasper agreed, still grinning. “She’s a sweet one.” He straightened slightly, setting his drink on the table. “Speaking of sweet ones, I think I’ll go say hi to Bri.”
Jasper began to move, but Connor’s large hand shot out and gripped his shoulder, stopping him mid-step. Despite Jasper’s respectable height, Connor towered over him, his calm but commanding presence impossible to ignore.
“Nah, I think you’ll stay right here and far away from Brad,” Connor said, his voice low but firm. His gaze didn’t waver from Brad and Bri, who had effortlessly joined a small group near the poolside and already seemed at home among the crowd. Connor’s jaw tightened as he watched Brad casually laugh at something Bri said, the two of them sharing a natural rhythm that made them hard to look away from.
“They do look good together, though, gotta hand them that,” Jasper remarked, his voice tinged with grudging acknowledgment. “Like… annoyingly good.”
Connor’s jaw tightened, his expression impassive, but his voice remained steady, measured. “That’s not the point. Looking good together doesn’t mean a damn thing. It’s about whether he’s good for her—and let’s face it, his track record doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.”
“True,” Jasper conceded with a lazy shrug, though his eyes gleamed with curiosity. “But come on, the only reason you are not over there dragging him out the front door is because he owns your place of employ, admit it. If he didn’t, I know you would not be so uber-calm and … ya know, go Chuck Norris on him,” He trailed off, his words deliberately baiting.
Connor’s jaw twitched almost imperceptibly, his only response. The tension simmered beneath the surface as his gaze stayed locked on Brad and Bri by the pool. They stood close, too close for comfort, their laughter carrying over the breeze. His dual role as protective older brother and Chief Medical Officer grounded him in a suffocating mix of duty and unease.
The sharp clip of heels against the patio pulled Jasper’s attention. Iris appeared, striding onto the scene with an air of authority that parted the small crowd like the Red Sea. Conversations faltered, and even the music seemed to dim in deference to her commanding presence. Dressed in a tailored blouse and sleek trousers that spoke of understated elegance, Iris was the epitome of controlled ferocity. Blending in had never been her style.
“Morning sickness all sorted out? Want me to prescribe something?” Connor asked, his tone dry but not unkind as he glanced at her.
“Don’t start,” Iris retorted, shooting him a sharp look. “My OB/Gyn’s got me on a pharmacological merry-go-round that isn’t working. Thanks for the offer, though.” She reached for a bottle of sparkling water, twisting the cap with deliberate force. “This kid better be worth it. Oh, and look at that—suddenly I’m feeling sick again, but not because of the baby. Brad Cunningham in the flesh. Mom told me about it, but seeing him really does hit differently.”
Connor’s composure cracked, just for a moment. “Yup,” he said tersely, his gaze hardening. “He’s in town, hovering at the medical center where I work micromanaging everything, which is getting on my very last nerve but the alternative is him hanging around Bri—take your pick. Not sure which one pisses me off more.”
“Mm-hmm,” Iris hummed, her sharp eyes narrowing as she watched Brad, polished and magnetic, utterly oblivious to the growing undercurrent of tension. “Does his wife know he’s here, all chummy with the ex, or is that another conveniently omitted detail?”
Jasper chuckled, leaning against the table, a beer in hand. “Oh, this is about to get good,” he murmured under his breath, watching Iris’s laser-focused stride.
But before Iris could make her move, Connor’s voice cut through the air like the sound of a snapped twig. “Stop right there, Iris,” he warned, his tone sharp but controlled. “We’re not doing this—no Ma’am.”
Iris paused mid-step, turning to him with an incredulous look. “Connor, seriously? You’re just going to let him waltz around here like he owns the place?”
Connor pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly before meeting her glare. “Yes, because I own the place, so it’s my house, my rules and my rule here is that we all are gonna be nice to him. I don’t care what you think of Brad Cunningham—and believe me, I’ve got my own opinions. But right now, my reputation and career are tied to keeping things civil with him. He owns the hospital I run, remember?”
“Yeah, and he’s doing a stellar job of micromanaging you,” Jasper quipped, smirking over the rim of his beer. Connor shot him a look that silenced the joke instantly.
“Iris,” Connor continued, lowering his voice. “I get it. You’ve got every reason to be suspicious—or pissed. But I need you to trust me on this. You’re not going to do anyone any favors by confronting him right now—not Bri, not yourself, and definitely not me.”
Iris crossed her arms, her gaze flicking back to Brad, who was chatting casually with Bri by the pool. Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t move. “Fine. But if this goes sideways for Bri and she ends up with her heart broken again, it’s on you. I was gonna stop it, since nobody else was going to. But fine, your house, your rules, big bro.”
Connor sighed, relieved she wasn’t making a scene, but still uneasy. He glanced at Jasper. “Keep an eye on her, would you? I don’t need this turning into a disaster.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Jasper replied, grinning. “I’ve got her. Worst case, I’ll tackle her into the pool.”
Iris turned to him “You could try but I would take you in with me, ruining your pretty boy hair, Jas.” Iris reached for Jasper’s hair, and they started playfighting which ended with them making up, causing Connor to turn away with an eyeroll.
Connor’s lips twitched into something resembling a smile before he turned his attention to the patio, scanning the scene for any signs of trouble. Brad’s charm was in full swing, but Connor couldn’t shake the sense that his presence here wasn’t as innocent as it seemed.
Iris, meanwhile, kept her gaze fixed on the pool, her sharp mind quietly cataloging every interaction, every gesture. The guessing game was far from over, and if Brad thought he could outmaneuver her, he had another thing coming.
The party was still lively, with guests mingling and laughter echoing across the patio, but Brad knew it was time to leave. He played his part well, charming the remaining partygoers and dropping in casual anecdotes about his “business trip” when questioned about his presence in town. Bri caught his eye from across the space, and for a moment, the noise around them seemed to fade.
Connor, ever watchful, passed Brad another drink with a neutral expression. “Surprised you’re still here, Cunningham. Thought jetlag would’ve knocked you out by now.”
Brad smiled, a practiced and effortless gesture. “Actually, it’s catching up with me,” he said, glancing at his watch. “I have an early call to prepare for tomorrow. The Medical business can be quite demanding, you know.”
Connor nodded, his tone dry. “Oh, don’t I know it. Well, don’t let me keep you.”
Brad turned to the others, offering his goodbyes. Bri’s siblings exchanged knowing glances, but no one pressed him further. With a parting smile, he slipped away, his exit quiet but calculated.
Across the patio, Bri was caught in a conversation with her daughter, who was tugging insistently on her sleeve. “Please, Mom! Can I stay at Uncle Con-Bear’s tonight? Pleeease?”
Connor, overhearing, grinned. “She’ll be fine, Bri. I’ll make sure she gets to bed—eventually. And only a few adult rated horror movies this time.” He quipped.
Bri sighed, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “Hilarious Connor, but alright. You behave for Uncle Connor and Aunt Keira, okay? And Connor, make sure no sugar past 10PM, please.”
“Nah, I’ll save the sugar high for tomorrow morning, until just before she’s ready to go home to.” He winked at Bri, grinning.
Her daughter squealed in victory before running off to Connor, who caught her with ease and playfully threatened to throw her in the pool which made her scream for joy, leaving Bri to gather her things. She turned to her parents, who had also begun preparing to leave. “I think I’m done for the night too,” she said casually. “Mind if I ride back with you?”
Seaglass Mansion
The drive home to the sprawling coastal property was uneventful, her parents chatting softly in the front while Bri’s thoughts wandered. Once back, she kissed them goodnight, her movements easy and unhurried as she made her way to her pool house. The sound of the ocean carried faintly through the air, a comforting reminder of the property’s tranquility. She glanced out the window, catching the flicker of the TV from the main house living room where her parents had settled in for the evening, snacks in hand.
Inside the pool house, Bri kicked off her shoes and began unbuttoning her blouse, ready to call it a night. But just as she had folded her clothing over a chair and reached for her pajama top, her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She froze, her heart skipping a beat as she saw Brad’s name light up the screen.
Brad: Are you still awake?
She stared at the words for a moment before typing back.
Bri: No, fast asleep, I am telepathically responding. :)
The response came almost instantly.
Brad: Impressive. I’m parked just outside the property—wasn’t sure if you wanted to talk.
Her breath caught as she read the words, her pulse quickening. He’d left the party early, offering an impeccable excuse about business calls and jetlag, but now it was clear he’d had something else in mind.
Bri: Talk, huh? Since when are you this subtle?
A moment passed before his reply appeared.
Brad: Since it got me to the edge of your driveway without a lecture. I didn’t want to push you if you’re too tired. Or tired of me.
She glanced out the window again, her eyes scanning the faint silhouette of his rental car partially hidden under the trees near the edge of the property. The light from the main house flickered faintly in the distance, confirming her parents were still awake, most likely curled up with snacks in front of the TV.
Bri: Give me 10. I need to get dressed and make sure the coast is clear.
His response was immediate.
Brad: I’ll be here. Don’t have to get dressed on my account, I won’t complain.
Bri: Funny. My parents might if my stealth mode doesn’t get me past their parental motion detector senses.
Brad: Boo. Fine. I don’t mind unwrapping presents.
Bri: You just assume there would be something to unwrap? I thought you wanted to talk. Over and out or we’ll be here all night.
She set the phone down, her fingers trembling slightly. This wasn’t just a text convo—it was a decision, another step toward something she wasn’t sure she could control. But even as doubt pricked at her thoughts, there was an undeniable pull drawing her toward him.
Bri exhaled slowly, glancing at her reflection in the mirror. She couldn’t go out like this—already in her underwear, unwilling to put the day’s clothing back on, her hair loose and wild and her makeup smeared. She grabbed a black hoodie and pulled it over her head, smoothing it down before slipping into a pair of black leggings. Sneakers completed the look, practical and quiet for sneaking out. Her hair went up in a loose bun and she slapped some tinted moisturizer and mascara over her quickly scrubbed face, then pinched her cheeks. She tucked her phone into her bra, the safest place to keep it hidden, and took one last look at herself. The woman staring back at her was nervous but resolute.
She opened the door cautiously, stepping into the cool night air. The sound of the ocean was faint but steady, a rhythmic backdrop to her hurried steps. She moved through the backyard, skirting the edge of the pool, her sneakers silent against the stone path. The main house loomed ahead, its warm glow spilling out onto the lawn.
Reaching the back patio door, she slipped inside, her movements careful and deliberate. The small hallway was dimly lit, the stairs to the second floor casting long shadows. On her left, the eat-in kitchen was dark and quiet, but on her right, the living room was alive with the sound of the TV. She could hear faint laughter from her parents, their voices blending with the dialogue of whatever show they were watching.
Bri held her breath as she crept forward, her eyes fixed on the front door straight ahead. Each step felt like an eternity, her heart pounding in her chest. She reached the door, her hand closing around the handle as she glanced back over her shoulder. The TV light flickered in the otherwise dark living room, but her parents remained oblivious.
She slipped out into the night, the door clicking shut softly behind her. The cool air hit her face, and she exhaled, her breath visible in the faint moonlight. Brad was waiting for her at the edge of the property, his rental car parked discreetly under a cluster of trees with the ocean stretching out behind him. He leaned against the driver’s side, his figure partially silhouetted against the moonlight.
“You’re late,” he teased softly, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.
“Had to make sure no one would notice,” she replied, a smile curving her lips as she approached.
He opened the passenger door for her, and she slipped inside without another word.
“I like the cat burglar giddyup. Very sexy.” He joked before shutting the door.
The Sequoia Grand Hotel
The ride to his hotel was thick with unspoken words, every glance heavy with the weight of choices neither of them dared articulate. They didn’t need to speak—the air between them was charged enough with everything unsaid.
Brad led her through the side entrance, bypassing the main lobby as though avoiding judgment itself. The door to his room clicked shut, enclosing them in a space where the rest of the world felt miles away. For a moment, neither moved, the silence pressing against them like an uninvited guest.
“I shouldn’t have come.” Bri whispered it, but made no move to leave. She was locked in place, staring at him, at the reckless path they’d carved for themselves. “This just feels … wrong. Sneaking around. Lying. This isn’t us, Brad. What are we even doing?”
Brad stepped forward, his expression soft, his voice even softer. “We’re doing what we have to,” he murmured, searching her face. “And I’m glad you chose to come.”
Their connection was gravitational, inevitable. The space between them vanished as they crashed into each other, equal parts longing and desperation. The moment swallowed them whole, and just like every time before, right and wrong blurred into irrelevance.
Afterward, Bri stood alone in the bathroom, the shower running, steam curling against the mirror as she gripped the counter. Her reflection was a stranger—flushed, conflicted, hopelessly tangled in something she should’ve walked away from.
Brad sat at the edge of the bed, absently running a hand through his hair. Should he wait for her to call him in, or simply go to her? He could still feel the last time she invited him to shower with her—every detail burned into memory. Bri had always been sensual, effortless, turning routine passion into something breathtaking. By contrast, his years with Molly had dulled into something closer to muscle memory. His thoughts spiraled until the buzzing of his phone dragged him back.
Molly’s name glowed on the screen like an accusation. He hesitated before picking up.
“Hey, Molly,” he said, clearing his throat.
“Brad baby,” she cooed, sweet, probing. “Just checking in. How’s the trip? Everything going smoothly? You at the hotel?”
“Yeah,” he said, forcing a smile she couldn’t see. “Just got in, about to shower and call it a night. Busy day.”
She laughed, though there was an edge to it. “Of course. Just don’t work too hard, okay?”
“I won’t.” His gaze flickered toward the bathroom door. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Give the kids my love.”
As soon as the call ended, Brad exhaled, the guilt settling in like an old companion. But then Bri emerged—hair damp, wrapped in a towel, unreadable. Every ounce of regret evaporated.
“You didn’t take me with you this time.” Brad smirked, kissing her temple.
Bri let out a breathy laugh, eyes fluttering shut. “Take you where?”
“The shower,” he murmured, his lips brushing her ear. “You left me out here all alone.”
She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, teasing now. “I noticed your bathroom has a jacuzzi. I figured I’d save the best for last. You’re probably sore from the flight, and that might help. I’ll throw in a massage for free.”
Brad’s grin widened, pulling her closer. “A jacuzzi with you sounds dangerously tempting. I’ll order room service if you run the water. Champagne or wine? Or are we feeling extravagant—maybe a Violet Fizz?”
“Surprise me,” she whispered, something deeper than playfulness laced in her tone. “Just don’t make me wait.”
Room service arrived before the jacuzzi was even full. The bathroom glowed softly under the overhead lights, the tub gleaming. Bri leaned against the counter, watching as Brad popped the cork on the champagne with practiced ease, pouring into two glasses, taking his time, as if savoring every detail.
They clinked glasses, took a sip, then Bri reached for the belt of his robe, undoing it slowly. The anticipation, the heat, the feeling of being wanted like this—it nearly undid him.
The night unfolded in a haze of laughter and warmth, the water lapping around them, their bodies tangled, guilt and reason drowned beneath desire. Molly, the real world, the consequences—all faded into irrelevance.
Later, long past midnight, Brad refused to let Bri Uber home. “I picked you up. I’ll see you home,” he said, finality in his tone.
The drive was quiet, filled with a different kind of tension—comfortable, lingering. At the edge of the property, Brad cut the headlights, parking discreetly. He walked her to the door.
“Text me when you’re back in your room,” he said, his fingers brushing against hers.
“I will.” She leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “And you text me when you get back too. And … thank you.”
“For what?” He frowned slightly.
“For tonight.” Her voice was soft, sincere. “For everything.”
Seaglass Mansion
Instead of staying in the car, Brad insisted on walking her to the door, she typed in the lock code and pushed the door open with a quiet soft click, before she turned back to him and they kissed. It wasn’t a quick peck her arms wrapped around his neck and they kissed as if this was the last time. When they tore apart, Bri moved quickly but quietly, retracing her earlier path through the backyard and into the main house. The hallway was dimly lit, the sound of the TV still faintly audible from the living room. Her parents were probably asleep on the couch.
Bri’s heart was pounding as she hurried out the patio door, around the pool and opened the door to the pool house. Once inside her room, she collapsed onto the bed, her phone buzzing softly in her pocket. It was a text from Brad.
Brad: Did you make it?
She typed back quickly, her fingers trembling slightly.
Bri: I did. You at the hotel.
His reply came almost instantly.
Brad: Still outside. I needed a minute. You have no idea what you are doing to me, Bri.
Bri smiled despite herself, her heart still racing. She knew this wasn’t over—not by a long shot.
Bri: Drive home, get rest!
The next morning, Bri practically floated into the shower, humming a tune that was suspiciously close to a love song. She paused mid-lather, her hands frozen on her skin as memories of Brad’s touch sent a shiver down her spine. “Get a grip, Bri,” she muttered, though her grin betrayed her lack of remorse.
By the time she was dressed and ready, the smell of coffee and breakfast wafting from the main house was enough to lure her in. Her parents were already seated at the table, looking far too chipper for her liking. She greeted them, grabbed a mug of coffee, and began piling her plate high with eggs, bacon, pancakes, and fruit—anything to avoid their knowing glances.
Her dad’s raised eyebrow was impossible to ignore, as was the smirk he exchanged with her mom. Bri tried to focus on her coffee, but the tension was palpable. When her mug was empty, her mom refilled it without a word, her smile just a little too sweet.
“Umm, thanks,” Bri said, narrowing her eyes.
“Oh, you’re welcome, honey. Figured you might need it.”
“Okay, what is THAT supposed to mean?” Bri demanded, her voice edging toward panic.
Her parents burst into laughter, her mom’s giggles blending with her dad’s deep chuckles. Bri’s stomach dropped. “Seriously, guys, what’s so funny? Share, please. I wanna laugh too.”
Her dad leaned back, still snickering, and pulled out his phone. “Doubt you will, but sure, sweetheart.” He tapped the screen a few times before turning it toward her. Bri leaned in, expecting some harmless photo from the party. Instead, her heart stopped. It was a video. From their Ring doorbell camera.
The realization hit her like a freight train, draining all the blood from her face. And then she saw it—the grainy footage of her sneaking back to the front door, dressed in all black like a burglar, Brad’s arms around her, his lips on hers. Her cheeks burned so hot she was sure she’d set off the smoke alarm.
“Busted, young lady!” her mom teased, her laughter reaching new heights.
“Oh, shit!” Bri blurted out, her voice cracking. She opened her mouth to defend herself, but the sound of the front door swinging open cut her off. Connor strode in, his two massive dogs bounding ahead of him, tails wagging furiously.
“Mommy!” Briony squealed, her face lighting up as she ran to Bri, her excitement eclipsing the awkwardness in the room. Bri scooped her daughter into her arms, grateful for the interruption. Saved by the bell—or, in this case, by a nine-year-old and two slobbering dogs.
EchoesOfLegacy 