The Sequoia Grand Hotel

The Sequoia Grand stood as a testament to elegance, every detail crafted to exude opulence. From the warm glow of chandeliers refracting off marble floors to the subtle hum of jazz drifting from the lobby bar, it was a haven of sophistication, cocooning its guests in luxury. Beyond the tall windows, San Sequoia stretched into the night, its skyline framed by faint wisps of fog rolling in from the bay.

Inside one of the suites, Brad waited. He’d been waiting for the knock.

It wasn’t unusual. Their meetings were always timed with deliberate precision, the thrill of secrecy tightening its grip around him like a vice. The anticipation coursing through his veins was familiar—heady and intoxicating, tinged with a hint of fear.

Earlier, his phone had buzzed, the glow of the screen casting faint shadows across the pristine linen. Briar Rose’s name appeared with a simple message: On my way. 15 minutes.

Brad could already picture it—the way Briar Rose would step inside, her movements graceful yet deliberate, the way her voice would lower as she whispered his name like an incantation. He imagined the air between them shifting, heavy with unspoken longing, as though they existed in a world apart, borrowed yet vivid.

When the knock finally came, Brad didn’t hesitate. His hand hovered on the brass doorknob for only a second, his heartbeat a low thrum in his ears. He opened the door.

And froze.

It wasn’t Briar Rose.

Instead, Jasper Hargrave leaned casually against the doorframe. His dark brown eyes burned with intent, his smirk razor-sharp. Every detail of his presence demanded attention—the tension in his shoulders, the way his stance practically radiated confrontation.

“Hi, lover boy,” Jasper dragged out the words, his voice dripping with mockery.

Before Brad could react, Jasper shoved his way past him, the impact of his movement sending Brad stumbling back against the bed. The smooth fabric beneath his fingers felt foreign, his body momentarily out of sync with his surroundings. Brad’s blond curls shifted as he flicked an errant lock from his face, trying to regain composure, but the slammed door behind Jasper left no room for it.

The tension crackled like static electricity.

“What are you doing here!?” Brad asked, his voice low and measured, but there was an edge to it, unsteady.

Jasper let out a quiet, unimpressed laugh. He adjusted the cuff of his designer coat, every movement calculated—effortless, practiced, deliberate to evoke a reaction, create an effect, the same way he moved under the scrutiny of cameras. ‘I’ll be your entertainment for tonight.” He knew the words would land. They always did.

Brad’s jaw tightened, irritation seeping into his usually controlled demeanor. “You intercepted her message.”

“Damn right I did,” Jasper said, his tone flippant but heavy with intent. He stalked forward, every step deliberate, his anger palpable in the confined space of the suite. “She left her phone behind, and right when I grabbed it to bring it to her, wouldn’t you know—your sappy summons came in. I know Bri, my sister from another mister, ‘cause I’m her brother from another mother, remember that, Bradford? So, I guessed her password.”

Brad inhaled slowly, smoothing his hands down his navy-toned blazer—a practiced gesture, but it couldn’t quite mask the tension building in his chest. “I don’t have time for whatever this is, Jasper. Please leave.”

“Oh, well,” Jasper said, his tone cold and mocking. “Make time. Because this is happening. I am not going anywhere.”

Brad squared his shoulders, his blue eyes sharp and unwavering. “This is not what you think, Jas.”

Jasper’s laugh was bitter, cutting through the thick air like shattered glass. “Oh, I know exactly what this is.”

Jasper closed the gap between them, the space between his dark eyes and Brad’s steely blue ones suffocatingly close. The heat of Jasper’s anger seared through Brad’s polished exterior, the tension between them visceral.

“You broke Briar Rose once already,” Jasper growled. “Yeah, yeah, I know. The big bad mean daddy. We both know your father was a dick, but you could have tried harder. Such a wet noodle, then and now. You just folded your cards and did what daddy wanted, like a good hedge-fund heir. And now you think you can walk back into her life and pretend you deserve another chance? You don’t.”

Brad stood his ground, but his silence betrayed him.

“She’s barely holding herself together, Brad. She is struggling, her daughter is struggling, her world’s been shattered, and now you … you … are dragging her into this mess? Into your messy situation with a wife and kids and all that Brindleton Bay stuffy-ass-BS. Bri is confused right now so she can’t see it, but I can, and I am saying she is too good to be a sidechick,” Jasper’s voice cracked, frustration and pain bleeding into every word.

Brad’s fists tightened at his sides. “If you even consider I could be thinking that way about Bri then you really don’t know me at all anymore, Jasper—you really don’t understand.”

“Help me understand then.” Jasper’s tone softened—not out of kindness, but out of cold disbelief. “What am I missing here? Oh, let me guess. It’s real love, your white horse is down in the garage, the Prince Charming crown in the hotel safe. Bruh, if that were true, why the hell are you hiding her? Why the hell is this all happening behind closed doors? Why not make it public?”

For a fraction of a second, Brad looked away, breaking Jasper’s gaze. It was too brief to register, but enough for Jasper to see the crack in his armor.

“She just got divorced, Brad. For the second time in just over 2 years. Her world crumbled totally several times in the past 2-3 years and as fucked up as it is, it’s hard to blame Jackson for it, even though it is mostly his fault, but that is how screwed up all that is. We can barely make sense from the outside looking in, I don’t want to know how it feels to be Bri or even Jackson or the kids. She had to pick herself and her daughter up so many times, she can’t handle this affair shit right now.”

The words cracked between them like thunder.

“Her daughter is struggling, Bri’s struggling, she has barely found solid ground, and you … you … are dragging her into something that’s going to wreck her all over again.”

Brad exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening, his fingers twitching like they wanted something to hold onto—but there was nothing solid in this moment.

“You don’t get to come in here like you’re some kind of moral authority,” Brad bit out. “You don’t know what this is between us. Walking away was my mistake last time, I won’t repeat it. I am here to stay this time, no matter the cost. I know Bri is vulnerable, which is why I haven’t pushed the red button and nuked my entire life yet to be with her. She doesn’t want that right now, or even if she does, she can’t handle it and she needs time. I get all that, which is why we are sneaking around. I can’t walk away from it, Jas, I need to be here when she wants me to be. She needs to know I won’t flake on her and proving that needs time. But I will, Jas. I am not leaving anymore.”

“If this is real, Brad, if this is so goddamn meaningful, why the hell is it all happening in the shadows and behind closed doors? Why hide? If you know you want to be with her and believe she wants the same, then end your marriage, sort all that out so whenever Bri is ready for it, so will you be.”

Brad looked away for a fraction of a second—too brief to register, but long enough for Jasper to catch the crack in his armor.

Jasper exhaled sharply, shaking his head. Disappointment settled in now—replacing anger, replacing everything else.

“Got no answers, huh? My point exactly. This shit is half-baked, with about as much of a logical storyline as low budget porn. End it.” His voice was quiet now. Deadly. Final. “If you have even a shred of decency left in you, end this now. Before you ruin Bri completely.”

Brad swallowed hard, but Jasper was already stepping back, already reaching for the door—because if Brad wasn’t going to end it, then Jasper damn well would make sure Bri saw the truth for herself.

“No.” Brad said, halting Jasper in place.

Slowly, deliberately, he turned. His dark brown eyes burned like embers, slow, steady, dangerous.

“What did you just say?”

Brad stood taller, his blue eyes sharp, unwavering now.

“You heard me.”

That was all Jasper needed to hear before his fist swung first.

Brad moved on instinct, dodging just enough to avoid full impact—but Jasper still clipped his jaw, sending a shockwave of pain across his skin. Brad barely had time to register it before his own fist jerked forward, catching Jasper square in the ribs and forcing the air from his lungs.

The fight that followed wasn’t brutal; it wasn’t even strategic. It was messy, fueled by raw emotion and years of resentment neither man had been able to voice. Fists connected, limbs tangled, breathing became ragged. Each punch weakened as frustration dissolved into something deeper, more painful. And then—they collapsed, bodies crashing onto the floor, limbs tangled, breathing heavy, bleeding, rage draining from them like a slow leak.

Jasper coughed, his chest heaving as he wiped blood from his lip. His fingers lingered for a moment, his dark brown eyes narrowing as he stared at the smear of red on his skin. He groaned softly, his head tilting upward as though searching for answers in the ceiling.

Brad exhaled sharply, staring at the ceiling as well, a bruise forming along his jawline, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth. Neither of them spoke.

For a moment, the silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, broken only by the sound of their labored breathing. Then, as if by some unspoken agreement, Jasper shifted first, his hand reaching out to Brad’s arm. Brad hesitated, his gaze flickering to Jasper’s face, but he didn’t pull away. Slowly, awkwardly, they dragged themselves across the floor, limbs still tangled, until their backs hit the foot of the bed.

They slumped there, half sitting, half lying, their bodies leaning against each other for support. Jasper’s head lolled to the side, resting against Brad’s shoulder, while Brad’s hand instinctively pressed against his ribs, wincing at the sharp pain.

The fight was over, but the weight of everything unsaid hung between them, heavier than any punch they’d thrown.

Neither of them spoke.

Until—

“Do you love her?”

The question cut through the silence like glass—hoarse, bitter, broken.

Brad swallowed. “Don’t ask me that, Jas.”

“Why not? Simple question. Yes or no answer. Don’t tell me you don’t know.”

“I do know. But I can’t say it. Not yet.” His voice was quiet, almost a whisper. “She’s not ready. I’m not ready.”

Jasper laughed—a short, hollow sound, though it barely had the strength to escape his chest.

“Then what the hell are you doing, man? You’ve got a wife. What about Molly? Your kids?”

Brad didn’t answer. Not because he didn’t know—but because admitting it meant admitting everything else, too.

“Cunningham! Answer me!” Jasper snapped, nudging him roughly enough to make Brad sway.

“I don’t have to answer. We were best friends, Jas, for a very long time. You know me. I know you do. And I know you remember my father, you remember Brindleton Bay. You already know all the answers to every question you asked me. But fine, you need to hear me say it? Okay. I love her. There. I love Briar Rose the way I always have and always will. Now you heard me say it.”

A heavy silence settled between them, punctuated only by their strained breathing. Brad leaned his head back against the foot of the bed, his hand still pressed to his ribs. Jasper’s dark eyes flicked over Brad, his expression unreadable now, though a flicker of contempt still lingered at the edges.

The silence didn’t last long.

A sharp knock at the door broke through, startling them both. Brad’s head snapped up, his body tense. Jasper remained unfazed, his gaze drifting lazily toward the door.

Nothing. No one entered.

Then, Brad’s phone buzzed on the bed. The faint vibration echoed in the quiet room. Jasper smirked and reached up blindly, his fingers brushing against the phone. He grabbed it, glanced at the screen, and let out a low, sardonic chuckle as he handed it over to Brad.

“Guess Bri figured out what happened. So, go on,” Jasper said, his voice dripping with mockery. “Open the door. Don’t be rude. Let’s do this.”

Brad hesitated, his hand frozen on the phone, his expression tightening as another knock came—louder this time, more insistent. A familiar voice followed, muffled but unmistakable.

“Brad?” Bri called from the other side. “Are you in there? Are you okay?”

Brad’s heart sank. He stared at the door as though willing it to stay shut, his mind racing. He wasn’t ready for this—whatever this was about to become.

Jasper’s smirk widened, his amusement only growing. “Well, well. This should be good. Go ahead, golden boy. Open the door. Let’s see how this plays out.”

Before Brad could collect himself, the sound of a beep and a click filled the air. The door swung open.

Bri stepped inside, her presence quietly arresting—gentle, yet impossible to ignore. She paused, her wide-eyed gaze sweeping over the wreckage—the room in disarray, the bruised faces, the thick silence clinging to the air like smoke.

For a brief moment, worry crept in. Her brows furrowed, her soft features tightening as she scanned both of them, taking in the cuts, the bruises, the residual tension still crackling between them. She moved without thinking, first to Brad, then Jasper, her fingers hovering just shy of touching—assessing, checking.

“You—are you both—” Bri started, then stopped herself, exhaling when she saw neither was seriously hurt. No broken bones, no blood pooling on the floor. Just two idiots with bruised egos and battered faces.

Her concern cooled in an instant, shifting into something sharper. Annoyance. Exasperation. She crossed her arms, eyes locking onto Jasper first. “You entitled lil shit! Going through my messages was bad enough, but sending one pretending to be me? Oh, Jas—that one’s gonna leave a mark.”

Jasper scoffed, lazily lifting his arm and pointing to the purpling bruise near his jaw. “Please, Bri. Marks have already been made. Courtesy of your very own Mr. Lover-Lover-Uh-Ah-Mr. Boombastic over here.” He gestured toward Brad. “For such a—hmm, what’s the word? Morally conflicted wet towel he’s got a surprising right hook. Who’d have thought?”

Brad shot Jasper a glare, rubbing his knuckles absentmindedly. “You go for someone’s phone like a desperate ex, you deserve what you get.”

Bri rolled her eyes. “A phone is personal, Jas! Do I rifle through your messages? No! Because boundaries!“

Jasper leaned back against the foot of the bed, legs stretched in front of him, looking entirely unbothered. He raised his hands in mock innocence, the smirk never leaving his face.

“What, me? Me?! Would I do such a thing?” He gasped, pressing a hand to his chest like a hero struck by betrayal. “You wound me, Bri! To suspect me of such treachery? After all we’ve been through?”

He exhaled dramatically, tilting his head back against the mattress, voice dripping with melodrama. “Is this how it ends? Cast aside like an aging Shakespearean fool? Et tu, Bri? All the love we shared, think of our 13 children, half of them got consumption, you and I we survived war together—hell, I carried you through ‘Nam!”

Bri narrowed her eyes, unimpressed. “Cut the theatrics, Jasper, it’s not funny. You hijacked a conversation that was none of your damn business. That’s a trash move. You suck.”

Jasper abandoned his tragic soliloquy in an instant, flashing a lazy grin. “Fine. Maybe I snooped. But in my defense—” his smirk deepened, eyes glinting, “—you’re terrible at keeping secrets. You’ve got zero stealth. Rookie-level stuff. Brad shouldn’t be saved as Braddy in your phone. You should’ve gone with ‘Aunt Erna’ or something.”

“I don’t have an Aunt Erna, genius,” Bri shot back. “And I know that you know that. So what’s the point?”

Brad, previously silent, blinked. “Wait. You saved me under Braddy?”

Bri turned sharply. “Shut up! Did you hit my best friend?! Poor Jassy! If Iris gets wind of this, she’ll punch your lights out Brad, for hitting her husband! Honestly, I kinda wanna kick your ass right now. Who hits Jasper?!”

Brad stiffened. “He started it!”

Jasper grinned, rubbing his jaw. “Pussy.”

“Arrogant asshole!” Brad snapped.

“I know you are, but what am I?” Jasper retorted, shoving both of them.

“OMG! How old are you both?! Twelve?!” Bri interrupted annoyed.

Jasper shrugged. “All men are perpetually twelve, Bri, unless we see a… never mind.”

Bri rolled her eyes, shaking her head as she held up the key card between her fingers, presenting it like evidence. “Something told me to ask for a key at the front desk. I claimed to be Mrs. Cunningham.” She shot Brad a look, arching a brow. “So, in case anyone brings up your wife, Brad, I am her for the day.”

Jasper cackled. “Damn, I walked right into a scripted drama. You can’t make this shit up! This BS needs its own show!”

“Idiot!” Bri snapped. “Had you not stuck your nose in things that don’t concern you, none of this would be happening. That was not cool, Jas. Since when do you go through my phone? Eeew!”

Her eyes narrowed further as she put the pieces together. “Let me guess—you found a message completely out of context and decided to play knight in shining armor for no reason other than your own self-righteousness? Because I am just that weak type of chick who can’t make it through a broken nail without her therapist?!”

Jasper leaned back against the bed, unbothered. “Nope, you are strong, no doubt. But you are completely tonedeaf if it comes to 2 certain men, Jackson and that a-hole over there. So, I had to step in when Brad over here decided to play Prince Charming behind closed doors in the ‘Pretty Woman’ type of way. So, yeah I stuck my nose in something, but it was hardly out of context now, was it? Read like he was cheating on his wife with you and guess what: He is cheating on his wife with you. Bri, you needed someone in your corner for the wakeup call and someone had to remind him what’s at stake. You clearly weren’t gonna listen.”

“And what, that someone had to be you?” Bri shook her head in disbelief. “You have no right, Jasper. None of this is your business.”

“Really?” Jasper shot back. “You want me to just sit back and let this—whatever this is—explode – again!? Not happening. I don’t like seeing you hurting, Bri, you’re my sister from another mister … because I am …. Bri?”

Bri sighed, rubbing a hand over her face as though trying to ward off a headache. “You are both idiots,” she muttered, her voice cutting through the rising tension in the room. “But you also are my brother from another mother. I love you, Jas and that’s the only reason I am not kicking your ass right now. Still an idiot.”

Rising to her feet, she marched past them, tossing her bag onto the bed with enough force to make it bounce. Without another word, she disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of water running moments later.

Brad and Jasper exchanged a glance and a shrug but said nothing.

When Bri returned, her sleeves rolled up, she carried two damp washcloths wrapped around crushed ice. She knelt between them, her movements deliberate but brisk. Wordlessly, she dabbed the cold cloth against Brad’s bruised jaw, her touch surprisingly gentle. Then, she turned to Jasper, slapping the ice against his lip with a little less care. He winced, shooting her a mild glare. Her glare back at him basically said ‘payback’, and he nodded.

“You’ve been waiting for an excuse to beat the crap out of each other for years,” she said flatly, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Well, congratulations. You’ve done it and in my name, whatever. Now grow up and clean yourselves up.”

Neither man responded, both uncharacteristically subdued under her sharp gaze.

Jasper groaned as he pushed himself to his feet, wincing at the sharp pull in his ribs. “I better get going,” he muttered, brushing off his coat as though it could somehow erase the evidence of their scuffle. “Gotta think up a good excuse for this,” he gestured vaguely at his bruised face, “before I walk into Bri’s parents’ place. If in doubt, there’s always fans or reporters to blame this kind of shit on.”

He turned to leave, but Bri caught his arm, pulling him into a hug so tight it momentarily stole his breath. Jasper froze for a second before his arms wrapped around her, his hold just as fierce. He leaned down, his voice low in her ear. “Are you really sure about this?”

“Yes, Jas,” Bri whispered back, her voice steady. “I love him. I am sure.”

Jasper sighed, his grip tightening briefly before he pulled back. “Guess I better start loving the a-hole again too then, huh?” His smirk was faint, but it was there.

He turned to Brad, who was still slumped against the bed, watching the exchange with wary eyes. Jasper extended a hand, pulling Brad to his feet with a sharp tug. Brad’s suspicion was evident, but before he could say anything, Jasper pulled him into an embrace. Brad stiffened, caught off guard, but didn’t pull away. Over Jasper’s shoulder, Bri watched as her best friend leaned in, his lips moving in a quiet murmur only Brad could hear.

Brad’s expression shifted—surprise, then something softer, almost reluctant. He nodded, his own voice low as he replied. Whatever was said, it stayed between them.

Jasper pulled back, clapping Brad on the shoulder with enough force to make him wince. “Well, if that’s the case, I guess I gotta be nice to you now. I’ll even tell the wifey to play nice too. Have a good night, you two. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, but if you do, name it after me. Tootles!”

With a quick kiss on Bri’s cheek, Jasper strode to the door, his usual swagger returning despite the bruises. He didn’t look back as he left, the door clicking shut behind him.

Bri turned to Brad, her arms crossed, her gaze sharp. “What did he say to you?”

Brad hesitated, his hand brushing over his jaw where Jasper’s fist had landed earlier. “He said…” His voice faltered, quieter now, as though the words carried too much weight. “He said he believes me. That he knows I never stopped loving you. And if you love me, and I love you, he’ll at least try to like me again. But…” Brad’s gaze dropped, his voice tightening. “He also said that if I hurt you again, he’ll make sure I regret it.”

Bri’s expression softened, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Oh, Jasper,” she murmured, shaking her head.

Brad nodded, his lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Yeah. The funniest part is, he seems to think he gets to tell his wife anything.”

Bri giggled, the sound light but fleeting. “At first glance, that is funny. Seeing them interact, you’d think Iris runs the show. But behind the scenes, they’re equals. She doesn’t make a move without hashing it out with him first, and he’s the same with her. He lets her do her tough-girl routine until it’s too much. And Iris—she used to be jealous of his female fans, the intimacy scenes during shoots, all of it. But she knows now. She knows he’d never.”

Brad’s eyes lingered on her, his expression softening in a way that made the air between them feel heavier. “Speaking of ‘would never,’ I would never hurt you again, Bri.”

“You never have,” she said gently, her voice steady but kind. “It was your father, and the circumstances. We both know that.”

Brad’s jaw clenched, his fists curling tightly at his sides. “I should have fought harder. When I turned eighteen, I should’ve done something—anything. But I didn’t. I was weak. A coward. And I’ve been paying for it ever since.”

He exhaled sharply, his voice softening, though the weight of his words remained. “At least you found happiness, even if it was just for a while. I never did. I’ve been miserable every day since we said goodbye all those years ago.”

Bri tilted her head, studying him. “Brad…” she began, but he cut her off, his voice raw now, the cracks in his armor finally showing.

“You don’t get it, Bri. You’re the only person who’s ever wanted me for me. Not for my name, not for my money, not for what I could do for them. Just me. Do you know what it’s like to look around and realize that everyone in your life—everyone—has an agenda? That no one sees you, just the empire you inherited? Except my kids. They’re the only ones who don’t want anything from me. They just want their dad. But everyone else…” He trailed off, his voice breaking.

Bri stepped closer, her hand reaching out to rest gently on his arm. “I see you, Brad,” she said softly. “I’ve always seen you.”

He looked at her then, his blue eyes glassy, his vulnerability laid bare. “I know that. Which is why all this is even happening. I am not a cheater, Bri, you know that. But I don’t know how to proceed. I don’t know how to trust anymore, Bri. I don’t know how to believe that someone could just… want me. Not the Cunningham name. Not the money. Just me.”

Her grip on his arm tightened, her voice firm now. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now. But you need to let go of this guilt. You’ve been carrying it for so long, it’s eating you alive. You’re not that eighteen-year-old kid anymore. You’re here now. You’re trying. That’s what matters. And if your marriage to Molly is really as lackluster as you say, it’s even understandable. I know Molly too, and I know that when it came to you, she turned into a different person. Back at sixteen, I didn’t realize why. But when I came to your wedding, and the baby shower, I saw. She married the name and the empire, not you. What an idiot. How can anyone not go bonkers for those crazy cute curls, those blue peepers and the sweet guy all that’s on?”

Giggling, she reached up and playfully ruffled his hair, messing it up completely until his curls fell wildly over his forehead. Brad huffed in protest and grabbed her wrists to stop her, his grip gentle but firm. “Bri…” he started, but before he could say more, she leaned in and blew a raspberry on his cheek, the unexpected sound and sensation making him flinch.

Bri burst into hearty laughter, the sound filling the room with warmth. Brad wiped the spot with exaggerated indignation, but as her laughter continued, his own chuckle broke through.

“Are you seriously giving me the gross glare and wiping my cooties off your cheek?” Bri teased, her grin wide and mischievous. “Dude, my lips have been all over your body in all sorts of private spots, and I never saw you do that then!”

Brad shook his head, his chuckle turning into a full laugh despite himself. “You’re impossible.”

“Do I hear buyer’s remorse?” she giggled.

Brad’s expression softened as Bri’s arms wrapped around his neck with a brief and sweet kiss, grounding him in the moment. He let out a slow breath, his hands resting lightly on her waist. “You know, Bri, you’re the only person who can make me laugh about something like this.” He shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite the heaviness in his chest. “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? My life feels like a soap opera sometimes.”

Bri tilted her head, her gaze warm but steady. “It’s not ridiculous, Brad. It’s complicated. And messy. But it’s real. And we’ll figure it out. Not tonight, not tomorrow. But we will.”

Brad nodded, his forehead resting lightly against hers. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

Bri pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, her hands sliding up to cup his face. “You don’t get to decide that. I love you, Brad. And I’m here. For all of it—the mess, the storm, the figuring it out.”

Brad hesitated, then nodded, his hands falling to his sides. “Want me to drive you back?”

Bri blinked. “What? I literally just got here.”

“Yeah, but Jasper …”

She sighed, shaking her head with quiet certainty. “Jas would never rat me out. And, Brad—you two need to spend time together again. I get it, you had that thing and were pissed at each other, but if you and I are supposed to be anything lasting, Jas is a big part of my life. My entire family is. You two need to get along. Looks to me like Jas made the first step. Ball’s in your court now.”

Brad scoffed, exhaling sharply. “First step was to beat the crap out of me?”

“Brad,” she said with a hint of amusement, though her gaze remained steady. “You both beat each other, and honestly? You barely broke a nail here. Had that been Jackson, we’d be in the emergency room right now.”

Brad rolled his eyes, running a hand through his disheveled blond curls. “That’s comforting, considering I’ll probably run into him at some point.”

Bri shrugged, unfazed. “Don’t worry about Jackson. If you do run into him, the rest of my family will be there, and they’ll remind him that HE caused our last divorce. And if he doesn’t get that, you think Connor would stand by and let him run rampard? My mom would probably beat the shit out of him with anything she could lift. Jackson’s a bit … extra sometimes, but even he realizes that he has no right to expect me to spend the rest of my life mourning what he and I had, considering he’s the one who set fire to it. My family might give you a hard time, but they’re not cowards. They don’t harass by proxy. You’ll know exactly where you stand with each and every one of them. And I’m telling you now—Jas and Iris aren’t a problem anymore.”

“So, you’re staying?” Brad asked.

Bri smirked playfully, spreading her arms dramatically like she was taking center stage. “As per usual, the booked call girl has arrived,” she declared, her voice dripping with mock grandeur. She followed it up with a playful bow, flicking her wrist like a performer basking in applause.

Brad’s expression tightened slightly, his amusement tempered by something deeper. He reached out, gently taking her hand in his, his thumb brushing against her wrist in a quiet, grounding gesture. “Don’t call yourself that,” he said softly, his voice steady but firm. “You know that’s not what this is. This is not about… about…”

“Sex,” Bri finished flatly, folding her arms as she studied him. Her tone wasn’t harsh, but it carried a quiet challenge. “You can’t even say it, Brad. You’re so good at commanding boardrooms, at making billion-dollar decisions, but when it comes to this—when it comes to us—you choke. You need to get comfortable with yourself. With what you want. With calling things what they are. Yes, this is about sex—and more. So much more. The only thing wrong about any of this is that you’re married. Which, if I wanted to be mean about it, I could say is a you-problem.”

Brad flinched slightly, but Bri pressed on, her voice softening just enough to take the edge off her words. “I don’t care. Molly didn’t care back then either. The minute you and I were defeated and gave up, she swept in and took over. She knew you were barely able to think clearly—I would know, because neither was I. Molly was my friend in high school, Brad. Some friend, huh?”

Brad’s jaw tightened, his gaze dropping to the floor. “It really isn’t about sex,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “You know that. I mean, yes, I enjoy it—God, Bri, I enjoy it more than I ever thought possible. But it’s not why I want you. It’s you. It’s always been you. More than anything in my life, it’s you.”

Bri softened, stepping closer, her hand brushing lightly against his arm. “I know,” she said gently. “But Brad, if we’re going to figure this out—if we’re going to survive the storm that’s coming—you need to stop hiding from yourself. From what you feel. From what this is. Unapologetic.”

Brad exhaled shakily, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “I’m trying, Bri. I swear I’m trying.”

She smiled, her fingers trailing down his arm until they reached his hand. “I know. And I’m here. For all of it—the mess, the figuring it out, the growing pains. But you have to meet me halfway. I need to know you got my back all the way this time.”

Brad nodded slowly, his hand closing around hers. “I do and I will. I promise.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “Honestly, Brad, you need a major overhaul. You’re incredible in the boardroom, I’ve seen you speak publicly, you are so assertive and fireproof then—but as a private person? You need to grow a pair.”

Brad made an exaggerated grimace. “Ouch.”

“Tough love,” Bri teased, unwavering. “You know I am right. I hate seeing you like this. You sound like Christian Grey one moment and Gollum in therapy the next.”

Brad let out a reluctant chuckle, rubbing his temples. “God, I wish that wasn’t accurate.”

Bri softened, stepping closer and wrapping her arms around his neck, holding him in a way that felt grounding rather than seductive. His hands instinctively rested on her waist, his expression tightening ever so slightly.

“I still consider us victims of circumstance,” Brad murmured. “I’ll talk to Molly. I don’t want you to feel that way, Bri. You know you are everything to me. And I don’t want to feel this way anymore either. If it makes you feel better, I don’t have physical proof, but I know Molly has been getting some on the side for years. Remember the Claibornes?”

Bri blinked, then laughed in surprise. “Claiborne, Claiborne. Oh, that Robert guy? The quiet one? I swear I have not spoken more than 3 sentences with that guy all throughout high school. If he weren’t in the class pics I wouldn’t even know whom you mean. And Molly and him? What? OMG, the plot thickens. That is so Brindleton Bay. How did you even figure that out?”

“I’ve known for years,” Brad admitted, his voice low. “At first, I didn’t want to see it. Thought maybe I was imagining things, reading too much into the way she’d suddenly have late-night meetings, unexplained trips, excuses that never really made sense. But then, I started noticing the patterns. How she barely reacted when I was away for weeks, how she always seemed… distracted.”

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “And then there was Robert. We’re both members of the Gentlemen of the Bay club. One night, I was sitting near him, and I happened to glance over his shoulder when his phone lit up. A text from Molly. I didn’t mean to look, but I saw enough to know it wasn’t just friendly. It was… familiar. And that was when it all clicked.”

Brad’s expression remained taut, unreadable, as though the weight of it all pressed in on him. “It wasn’t hard to figure out,” he said quietly, his voice steady but tinged with bitterness. “Molly’s always been careful, but not careful enough. There were little things—texts she’d delete, excuses that didn’t add up, the way she’d light up when Robert was around. I didn’t want to believe it at first. I thought maybe I was just paranoid, projecting. But the pieces started falling into place.”

Brad’s expression remained taut, unreadable, as though the weight of it all pressed in on him. Bri’s amusement faded. Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around his neck again, but this time, her touch was softer. Reassuring.

“Hey,” she whispered. “We’ll figure this out.”

Brad exhaled slowly, his grip tightening against her waist. “Yeah. We will.”

Bri pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze with a small, knowing smile. “Let’s just stay in tonight. No heavy discussions, no stressing about the storm ahead. Just… room service and movies.”

Brad exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Yeah. That sounds good.” He hesitated for a second before adding, “What are we watching?”

Bri’s eyes narrowed slightly, amused. “Nope. Not my call. You’re picking.”

Brad blinked, taken aback. “Me? Uh… I don’t know. Something people like, I guess? Maybe that big blockbuster everyone was talking about last year—”

“No,” Bri interrupted, shaking her head firmly. “I want something YOU want. What do you like? Are you still into those 1950s movies and that music your grandma introduced you to? You always said they were your favorites.”

Brad stared at her for a long moment, caught off guard. “You still remember that?”

“Of course. The other kids always made fun of you for listening to Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra, and Julie London in your car. And I defended you each time, telling them they were my favorites too. And then Iris would step in, all scary, declaring that she was the only one allowed to mess with me. Strangely, I always had this weakness for Dean Martin, Bing Crosby, Doris Day, and Julie London—ever since you. We even danced to it at the hotel, when all this started.”

“Deano with ‘You Belong to Me.’ Very deliberately picked by me to dance with you to. I was sending a message to you. And you got it. God, Bri, you are saving me.”

Her expression softened. “I’ll handle room service. You—” she poked his chest lightly, “—will line up your favorite 1950s movies. And we will watch them together while gorging ourselves. And if we still can move by then, we’ll dance to some more of your favorite music.”

Brad let out a breath of laughter, shaking his head as he settled against the pillows. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Bri said with a smirk. “Now, get to picking.”

The soft hum of the hotel room’s television filled the space as Brad leaned back against the pillows, nursing his milkshake while Bri stretched out beside him, absently munching on a stolen handful of his fries.

On screen, Tippi Hedren flinched as birds descended in a chaotic frenzy—The Birds had always fascinated Brad, not just for its suspense but for Hitchcock’s ability to turn the ordinary into something menacing. Bri had predictably made him choose something personal—no mindless blockbusters, no crowd-pleasers. Just the classics that resonated with him. After The Birds, he’d queued up Marnie, another Hitchcock film that had always intrigued him, followed by Pillow Talk, his lone concession to Bri’s playful insistence that not everything had to be psychological drama.

Sometime between the last bite of their burgers and the opening credits of the third film, Bri nudged him playfully, eyes glittering with warmth. “Alright, Mr. Hitchcock, time for the next part.”

Brad raised a brow, amused. “Which is?”

She pushed herself up from the bed and extended a hand toward him. “We’ve eaten our weight in junk food, and I’m not sure I can move. But we’re gonna dance anyway.”

He let out a low chuckle, taking her hand as she pulled him to his feet. Bri reached for his phone, telling him to choose something he likes. Seconds later, the melancholic yet intoxicating notes of Dean Martin’s Innamorata filled the room—a song wrapped in longing, deep and rich in its devotion.

Brad’s fingers curled around Bri’s waist, guiding her in slow, effortless steps. She fit against him perfectly, just like she had the first time they danced—to another Dean Martin song, in the very hotel where their story had begun.

Bri smiled up at him, swaying gently in his arms. “See? You pick the movies, you pick the music. Because you matter. Your wishes and opinions matter.”

Brad shook his head, amused. “And everyone always wondered why I have always been so enamored by you, or obsessed, as they call it. How could I not be.”

“Quit being mushy. I know the real you, Brad, and you know the real me. Now sing with me,” Bri winked, resting her head against his chest.

“Bri, I can’t sing. Nobody wants to hear that!”

“Oh, I am nobody then?”

“You are everything!”

She reached into his pocket for his phone, grabbed his thumb to unlock it, then scrolled through his music again. “There’s got to be something perfect for this moment.” Her eyes lit up as she found what she was looking for.

Seconds later, the soft, dreamy melody of Dream a Little Dream of Me drifted through the room.

Bri didn’t hesitate—she started humming along immediately, her voice smooth, familiar, effortlessly slipping into the lyrics. “Stars shining bright above you… Night breezes seem to whisper ‘I love you’…”

Brad smiled, shaking his head as he listened to her. “You really do love this old stuff.”

“And so do you,” Bri countered, looking up at him expectantly. “Now sing.”

Brad let out a breath of laughter, shaking his head. “Bri…”

“Oh, come on.” She nudged him gently. “Just let go. No one’s listening but me.”

Still reluctant, Brad hesitated for a moment—but as Bri kept singing, looking up at him with that knowing glint in her eyes, he finally gave in. Quietly at first, uncertain, he murmured the lyrics alongside her. But as the song carried them along, as their steps matched the rhythm, his voice steadied, deepened, found its place next to hers.

Before long, they weren’t just dancing—they were singing to each other, words melting into movement, voices blending into something that felt like pure nostalgia and longing wrapped into one.

As the song faded, Bri rested her forehead against his, smiling softly. “See? You can sing. You just needed the right song.”

Brad sighed, letting himself fully relax against her. “You always know what I need.”

“For once,” Bri teased, “you picked it.”

Brad chuckled, tightening his hold around her as the music quietly shifted into the next song ‘Sway’. For the first time in years, he felt something close to peace.