Present

The harbor wind rolled in thick and salted, biting through the air like it carried something old, something unfinished, no longer the softness of summer—only the ice of winter, sharp against her skin. Bri stood against it, arms folded, staring out at the water—watching the boats rock gently against their moorings, the city lights flickering against the waves like ghost stories whispered through glass.

She barely registered the sound of footsteps until warmth settled over her shoulders—a thick, familiar sweater, pulled gently around her from behind. Her mother’s arms lingered in the embrace, brief but grounding.

“Don’t stay out here too long,” Hailey murmured against her ear, voice soft as the wool against Bri’s skin. “It’s winter now, getting colder quick. Daddy said you get an extension if you keep on his sweater, but if you are not inside in 30 minutes, he will come out here, drag you into the poolhouse and tuck you in himself like a toddler.”

She pressed a kiss to Bri’s temple, squeezed her once more, then walked back toward the house, the door clicking shut behind her.

Bri pulled the sweater tighter, fingers curling into the sleeves. Chase’s scent was still on it—cool cedar, fire-smoked oak, the trace of something evergreen. Not old, not faded, not worn. Her parents both aged very gracefully, at least physically, while in spirit they were the same as always, somehow, they carried time like it bent to them.

She closed her eyes and inhaled. Snuggled deeper into her father’s cardigan. Something familiar, something anchored. Someone who would never betray her, never let her down. Just like her mother.

They were the stability she needed in her chaotic life—the life of a musician, a life spent on tour, waking up with only a phone screen to remind her which city she was in.

A memory returned from when the cracks that changed everything had began to widen, just weeks ago in early autumn.

Autumn, the change bringer. Certainly true for Briar Rose … she closed her eyes and remembered.

Flight Pattern

The plane droned softly, its hum a backdrop to Briar Rose’s restless thoughts. Autumn flamed below them, patchworks of copper and gold blurring past the window as Brindleton Bay receded into memory. Home, technically. But not where her heart anchored.

Across the aisle, Briony kicked off her sneakers and curled into her seat with a practiced sprawl, the kind only children seem to master. Her hair had grown longer, softer—her father’s eyes, her mother’s coloring and characteristics.

This trip, like so many before it, traced their familiar path back west. To San Sequoia, the city that always smelled faintly of sea fog and eucalyptus, where the hills carried echoes of old laughter and louder arguments. It was where the family gathered—tangled and territorial. Briar Rose hadn’t lived there in years, but the sense of home clung to her like the trace of perfume on an old scarf. Unshakable.

Once, these cross-country visits had belonged solely to her and Briony, a rhythm of shared seasons and quiet bonding. Brad had always joined them when school was out and his own kids, Graham and Lauren, could tag along—occasionally, and that was nice, but now he came along almost without exception. It had started to feel intrusive, controlling, not comforting when now, they never made the trip without him anymore. Briony, ever perceptive, had noticed.

“Isn’t it weird that Brad now goes literally everywhere with us? He says he misses you and me and Nate too much,” she told Bri while waiting to board their flight once, Brad had stepped away to go change Nathaniel in the men’s room, Briony licking powdered cheese off her fingers as if the words weren’t soaked in consequence. “But that makes no sense. Doesn’t he miss Graham and Lauren then? Really weird.”

The memory of her daughter’s comment took Bri back to the memories of that visit.

Fault Lines

It was vivid, she could smell, feel and taste the memory as if she was there. The sun had just begun its descent into the Pacific, turning the coastline to copper. Bri’s parents’ estate overlooked the water with the downtown skyline in the distance—an iconic expanse of stone and glass perched mixing modern and traditional, the famous red bridge visible in the near distance like a sentinel of memory. The main house sprawled elegantly along the main road, with two well-appointed guest houses nestled just far enough away to provide space, but not separation. Chase’s recording studio gleamed like an afterthought tucked behind the garage, which itself could house a small collection of luxury.

Hailey and Chase had met them at the entrance with smiles that didn’t quite reach their eyes. Their welcome was practiced, but something had shifted beneath the surface. Their glances toward Brad were tight, studied—less “happy to see you,” more “what are you doing here again?”

That awkwardness only deepened when Jackson arrived.

He stepped inside like he belonged—which, in some complicated sense, he did.

Beau strode in ahead, boots clicking against polished floors, his hat tilted just so.
“Hey, Mama,” he said first, easy but warm, just like his hug, his tone carrying that simple certainty of a boy who, no matter the circumstances, knew she was his.

He didn’t pause before crossing to his grandparents, where he did slow—just enough for Chase to ruffle his hair and Hailey to pull him into a quick squeeze.

“Hey, Grampa. Hey, Gramma.”

It was effortless, familiar. Solid.

And then—Brad.

Beau didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate. His chin lifted a fraction, just enough to hold his own, and with a casual coolness far beyond his years, he offered a simple nod.

“Hi.”

Not cold, not warm. Just… neutral. A practiced ease, too young to be calculated, but old enough to mean something.

Jackson’s daughter Savannah from his very brief and very failed marriage to his late second wife, blinked sleepily in her carrier as her dad carefully placed it down, rubbing her tiny back before turning toward the rest of the room.

It should’ve been simple. It never was.

Brad stiffened the moment Jackson neared. When Hailey gently laid Baby Savannah down on a soft throw rug next to Nathaniel, toys scattered like sprinkles from a birthday cake, Jackson joined Bri by the window—and Brad was suddenly there, hand on her arm in a gesture too deliberate to be casual.

Dinner passed in fits and starts. Conversation skimmed the surface. The food was good—Hailey’s roast chicken always was—but the room was primed like kindling. Afterward, with the kids tucked into their respective beds, Savannah in the upstairs nursery and monitors humming, the adults regrouped in the living room. Candlelight flickered against the bay windows, the TV murmured a film no one fully watched. Popcorn in hand, wine glasses low, they exchanged updates and pleasantries.

It looked like peace.

But the silence under the surface thrummed like something wild, pacing behind the curtain, waiting for its cue.

The movie flickered dimly across the screen, fresh popcorn buttering Briar Rose’s fingertips as she hovered above the corner cushion of the L-shaped couch. It was the spot closest to Jackson, who lounged silently at the adjoining edge. Her eyes stayed on the screen, but her body had all but sunk into the seat—until Brad reached across and redirected her like a chess piece, pulling her toward the opposite end with a firm grip.

Before she could blink, he dropped himself between them, sprawling wide, a quiet claim staked with calculated ease.

Jackson’s jaw tensed. His lips parted—but Chase was already in motion, slipping in beside him like a shadow. One hand landed on Jackson’s knee, the other offered him a beer with a disarming grin that somehow managed to be both welcoming and a warning. Jackson held Bri’s gaze for one last breath, then exhaled, letting his shoulders sink back into the couch.

Fractures at Midnight

The escalation came later, in the poolhouse—after the tension had brewed too long in Brad’s clipped gestures and Bri’s silent glares. What started as a tight exchange spiraled into their first real fight in weeks. It wouldn’t be the last.

Most days, the arguments were the kind of background noise most married couples endured—mild flare-ups over timing, tone, territory. But this one rose like wildfire.

Del Sol Valley was one of those. Bri had been booked on the charity lineup months in advance. A stacked evening of music, glitz, and press—her domain. Brad had meetings, the kids had school. So, she went alone. It was work. She didn’t think twice.

The photos that hit the entertainment circuit afterward showed a radiant Briar Rose on the rooftop terrace, laughing with Jasper, Iris, Blaine, Scarlett—and Jackson.

The moment Brad saw them, ironically while scrolling through his phone after they retreated to the poolhouse for the night; his composure unraveled in brittle pieces.

“Why are you so upset? So he heard about the concert and came by, you know Chestnut Ridge isn’t too far from DSV, same distance as San Sequoia, him driving to bring Beau here to see me and his sister, you never flagged that,” Bri had snapped the second he started pacing. “Everyone was there not like I was all alone with him. So what?”

“Not everyone. I wasn’t there. You didn’t even invite me.”

“You had to work!”

“And had you said something sooner—not flung it at me last minute—I could’ve shuffled things. Which I would have done, to show support for my wife’s art, and not just because otherwise I’d be replaced by her ex.”

“Brad, I told you the day I was approached. It’s charity. I was free. I accepted it and told you that same night!”

“Then why was he there? As if Jackson suddenly likes Pop music, are you kidding me?” His voice dropped low, his vowels tightening. “What kind of image do you think that projects? The man who assaulted your husband, at a funeral, during which he made a spectacle of kissing you publicly no less, standing beside you at a party—laughing. Smiling. While I’m nowhere in the picture.”

“Brad—look—I wasn’t sending signals. Jackson just showed up, I didn’t invite him or anything if that is what you are thinking, and he didn’t drink. He didn’t cause a scene. Everything was fine.”

“Was it though?” His voice was sharp, surgical. “I see how he circles you. Every trip to your parents turns into this…ritual. And it’s supposed to be about Briony and Beau—but what it ends up being is you and him, orbiting each other like no one else exists. You barely even acknowledge your children.”

That snapped something loose in her.

“Excuse me?! That is not true. I love my kids and I spend lots of time with them, but I don’t force them to sit with me when they would rather play. Especially Beau isn’t the type of kid you can have sit still for long. He’s wild and independent, always has been, even as a baby. He comes to me when he wants attention, he has never been the kinda of boy who likes to snuggle, the opposite of Nathaniel. Beau Wyatt and Briony Rose, they’re twins, Brad. I know you don’t have siblings—but I do. A brother and a twin sister. And we can’t go a month without needing to hang out. Not everything we do needs to be some family production with Mom and Dad breathing down our necks!”

Brad scoffed. “Isn’t that the truth.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
But whatever his answer might’ve been, it never came.

Precision and Pretenses

The plane hit a pocket of light turbulence, nudging Bri back into the cabin’s stale air from closed-eye soul searching. Brad placed a cup of coffee on the tray in front of her and handed Briony a glass of juice.

“I didn’t order coffee.”

“I did.” He smiled like a man who knew her favorite sins. “I know what you like.”

A sweet gesture, maybe, but this time something about it—the pretense, the precision—itched under her skin. She had to fight the urge to hurl the cup across the aisle or dump it straight into his lap.

She closed her eyes and thought of what lay ahead. This took her back to the last trip out here

Cracks in the Welcome

The welcome at the house after they landed hadn’t been much better.

The dine-in kitchen buzzed with the usual orchestrated chaos—Hailey humming over a pot on the stove, Iris chopping vegetables with a casual rhythm, and Jasper lounging near the island like he owned the view. In the corner, nestled by the window, the infant pen was already set: a cushy play mat surrounded by a low plastic fence filled with toys that crinkled, jingled, and chirped softly under idle baby hands. Tate lay on his back cooing at a dangling plush fox, waiting for company.

Briar Rose entered first, Nathaniel balanced expertly on one hip, Brad close behind with bags slung over one shoulder. Briony stepped in like she knew exactly where she was—because she did. Before she even took off her coat, she bee-lined to her grandparents.

“Hi, Grandma!” she called, hugging Hailey around the waist while her mother passed off the baby.

“Hi sweet baby girl,” Hailey said warmly, stealing a quick kiss to Briony’s forehead before moving to settle Nathaniel into the pen beside Tate. The boys immediately began a gummy exchange of coos and foot-pats.

Chase rose from his seat with a grin and wrapped Bri in a hug as she approached.

“Don’t get too comfy back east,” he said into her hair. “This place is quieter without you—but not in a good way. I might just accidentally lock you in your room and forget where I put the key.”

Bri smiled against his shoulder, letting it linger a little longer than usual.

Then came the obligatory volley with Jasper.

“Look what the tides dragged in,” he declared, dramatically setting down his espresso. “Late and luminous, as always.”

“Still earlier than your last birthday gift,” Bri replied, slipping into a side hug without even looking at him.

“Pfft. Should’ve sent you a signed autograph. So you could look at the real gift.”

“Sweet of you to assume I don’t already have too many photos of your self-loving butt, you king of photobombs.”

“Isn’t THAT the truth?! I married a man who spends more on cosmetics than I do,” Iris muttered, smirking without looking up from the cutting board. “She’s got you there, Jas.”

Just then, Briony pulled at Chase’s sleeve. “Grandpa Chase, can I go outside? Just for a little?”

Chase raised a brow. “Not without paying the toll.”

Briony sighed, then grinned and kissed his cheek. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“You’ve got no idea.”

Briony was out the door a moment later, the screen snapping shut behind her. Then, the front door creaked open.

Jackson stepped inside, hat in hand, face still sun-warmed from the ride over.
“Afternoon all,” he drawled easily, boots pausing just inside the threshold. “Beau’ll be right in. He—” A low chuckle. “Well. I made the mistake o’ teachin’ him how to check a truck before an’ after long drives. Just a fatherly lesson, I figured.”

He shook his head slightly, amused.

“But now that boy treats it like a full-time job. Gotta make sure the tires ain’t mysteriously deflated, double-check the tailgate ain’t about to up an’ walk off, an’—Lord help us—give the truck a pat-down like it’s fixin’ to confess somethin’. That’s why we’re runnin’ late today too. Took me forever to get that kid in the truck and he had me stop twice cos he swore he heard a rattle. Had to turn up the radio and make him sing along to get his mind o’ it.”

Laughter rolled through the kitchen, Hailey wiping at her eyes, Chase chuckling, Iris and Jasper practically wheezing, Brad muttering something about “ranch kids and their dramatics”—but there was no real bite to it. Hailey crossed the room.

“Hi there, sweetheart,” she said, already reaching for the baby carrier. “Come here, my little peach.”

Jackson chuckled, shaking his head. “Hell, Hailey, for a second I thought you meant me, calling me sweetheart and lil’ peach jus’ like that.”

Without missing a beat, Hailey smirked and planted a teasing peck on his cheek. “Well, yeehaw, my peachy cowboy sweetheart,” she said, eyes twinkling.

Jackson rubbed the back of his neck, laughing low. “Careful now—if folks hear you sayin’ that, they’ll start talkin’. Think o’ my pristine reputation back home.”

He tipped his hat back slightly, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Then again…” His voice dipped into that knowing drawl. “Considering I already made myself a one-man spectacle in front of half the damn town, I’d say that ship done sailed. Hell, at this point, I should start sellin’ tickets to my crazy show.”

Hailey waved him off. “Agh, Jackson, don’t be so hard on yourself. Everyone screws up publicly at some point. Let them talk. I spent most of my life in the entertainment business, where rumors start out of nowhere and women always have younger lovers.”

That was Chase’s cue.

Leaning casually against the counter, drink in hand, he smirked. “Hey now, woman! Replacing me with a younger model right in front of my eyes in my own home?” His gaze flicked to Jackson. “Alright, cowboy. You, me, outside. Now.”

Jackson huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Well, hell, hold up now jus’ a minute.” He adjusted the hat in his hands. “I seen ya angry, and I think you might actually kick my ass somethin’ fierce, old man.”

And then—without meaning to, Chase landed the hit.

“Considering the last time you tried to brawl, I’d say that’s a low bar. And you’ll feel my pimp hand if you call me old man again, kid.”

It was meant to be light. Playful. Joking among friends and family.

But the weight crashed into the room before anyone could stop it.

The memory was right there—Jackson, too drunk to walk straight, grabbing Bri in front of Brad, kissing her like he was staking some desperate claim. At his estranged wife’s funeral. In front of literally everyone he knew. The stunned silence. The wide eyes. The wreckage he left behind.

Brad’s jaw tightened slightly, though he didn’t say anything. But his face did.

Bri barely moved, but her fingers curled once, then smoothed out again.

The pause lasted just a beat too long, the air hanging too still.

Jackson shifted his stance, clearing his throat. “Well,” he muttered, voice quieter now. “Reckon I won’t be makin’ that mistake twice.”

Chase let out a short chuckle—not mocking, just breaking the tension before it could settle too deep. “Let’s hope so,” he said, taking a sip of his drink like it wasn’t just a deflection.

And just like that, the weight eased back down.

Savannah blinked sleepily as Hailey lifted her out, cradling the infant like she’d been born into this family—and in a way, she had. There were no technicalities about family in Hailey’s world, only what lived in your heart.

Jackson, and by proxy Savannah, were family to her. Still. Divorced from her daughter or not. Baby with another wife. Still.

Jackson gave a grateful nod. “She was out most o’ the drive. Didn’t stir once.”

“You’ll have to teach your sister- and brother-in-law how to do that. From what I hear, their babies are bouncing off the walls on the drives over here,” Hailey said, glancing teasingly at Jasper, who offered a tight smile in return while Iris rolled her eyes, but was busy scrolling on her phone.

“Not to be a stickler,” Brad cut in, tone cool, “but former brother- and-sister-in-law.”

The words landed with a distinct weight—an edge beneath the correction.

A pause.

Then, smoothly, he pivoted.

“And even very young children need to be taught—guided—toward proper behavior,” he added. “Not have their misbehaviors encouraged.”

The shift was subtle. A fraction of tension tightening the air, the way Brad’s correction landed just a little heavier than intended.

Bri’s lips pressed together, her hands smoothing over Savannah’s blanket with too much focus. Jackson, never one to miss a shift in atmosphere, adjusted his grip on his hat, flicking his thumb idly against the worn leather. The pause lasted just a little too long. Then—Jasper chimed up.

“Damn, Brad,” Jasper said, shaking his head. “I must’ve hit some nerve to get you riled up like that. What have I ever done to land myself in your crosshairs now?”

He let the pause drag just long enough before throwing in—

“What’s the matter? Bugging you that my toddler and infant aren’t walking into board meetings in three-piece suits yet?”

A beat.

Then, with a wicked smirk—

“Just admit it, you sexy bitch—just jealous, always wanting me all to yourself. I am your brother-in-law, no worries. We all know.”

With theatric flair, he turned to Jackson.

“Don’t fret, dear cowboy of mine—you’ll always be my brother-in-law too, if only in memory and spirit. Twice even, because you and Bri just learn a little slower than most.”

“Ouw!” he yelped as Bri swatted him hard.

A pause – then – Chase snorted, taking a sip of his drink, and Hailey outright laughed.

On her way to tuck Savannah in with the boys, Bri stopped her quietly and scooped the baby gently from her arms, cradling her against her chest for a moment. Her smile softened, eyes fluttering shut briefly as she whispered, “Hi, little sunshine,” into the downy curve of Savannah’s hair.

Brad’s expression shifted immediately, jaw tightening, eyes narrowing at the sight.

Hailey reached to reclaim Savannah, clearly clocking the flicker in Brad’s gaze. “Let’s let this one join the gentlemen’s lounge,” she said brightly, settling Savannah between Tate and Nathaniel in the play area. The boys seemed delighted, both reaching out with gummy enthusiasm.

Then came the familiar thud of boots.

Beau trotted in behind his father, cowboy hat slightly askew, snap-button shirt partially untucked over dusty jeans, belt buckle gleaming. His boots thudded across the tile like a one-boy cattle drive coming in fast.

But the second he spotted her—“Mama!”—the cowboy vanished. He bolted straight for Bri, all gangly limbs and full-throttle affection, slamming into her waist with enough force to jostle her balance.

Bri crouched, arms wide, gathering him up with a laugh she couldn’t quite hold back. “Hey, baby. Missed you.”

“Missed ya more,” he said, muffled into her shoulder, hanging on a beat longer than usual.

Beau pulled back, cheeks flushed, full of big ranch kid energy.

“I had to make sure the truck was all good, Ma,” he said, hands going to his hips. “Long drives, they put wear on the tires, plus ya never know what kinda debris ya picked up—could be a loose rock jammed somewhere, could be a little hitch in the axle. Gotta check it.”

He exhaled, nodding like he was imparting serious wisdom.

“An’ the tailgate—folks don’t think about that one, but ya go hittin’ bumps on the road, if it weren’t latched right, ya might as well kiss whatever’s back there goodbye. Happens more’n ya think. Gotta check that, too.”

Bri’s lips twitched, barely holding back a smirk.

“Yeah, so we hear,” she said, adjusting Savannah’s blanket. “You’ve become quite the mechanic.”

Beau beamed, full of self-importance—then turned, attention shifting.

Brad.

The smile cooled just slightly.

Beau squared his shoulders, lifted his chin just a bit, then—

A brief, polite—

“Hi.”

Defending Their Own

Just that. Cool. Distant. Done.

Silence.

Then—just barely—a flicker.

Jackson’s gaze caught hers.

Something unreadable in his eyes, something knowing.

Bri held it—just a breath too long, just enough for the warmth to creep in, the memory of what was pressing against what still is.

The edges of his smirk deepened, a ghost of something familiar, something Bri once knew by heart. He winked.

Her fingers curled against Savannah’s blanket, an anchor she hadn’t realized she needed.

And then—

A shift.

Brad, standing just beside her, caught it.

The subtle weight between her and Jackson. The fraction of hesitation.

His arm wrapped around her waist—firm, certain, like planting a flag.

His touch burned more than settled.

Jackson glanced down at that—then tipped his hat back slightly, gaze slipping elsewhere, like the moment had never happened.

And Bri—well.

She let it slip right past her too.

Or at least, she tried.

But across the room, Chase and Hailey traded certain glances—the kind only parents could, the kind laced with recognition, with quiet understanding.

They saw.

They always saw.

Then Beau went straight to Hailey for a hug, and Chase—whom he wrapped up like an honorary steer. “Hi Gramma! Hi Grampa!”

He spun, catching Iris’s eye. “Hi, Aunt Iris!” before Jasper’s voice swooped in like a gust of trouble.

“So, any bears tackled this week or did you just scare ’em off with that hat?”

Beau’s chest swelled. “Nah, but Old Tucker came back again. Got into the feed bins.”

“Tucker?” Jasper asked, eyes lighting up.

“Yeah. That mangy mutt from up the ridge—one eye, two attitudes. I grabbed Grandpa Jack’s old shotgun—loaded buckshot, safety off—and let one fly into the dirt right by his paws. Didn’t hit nothin’ but dust, just enough to send the message.” He nodded solemnly. “I don’t shoot no innocent dawgs, but I sure as heck set boundaries.”

Silence.

Jackson moved in like it was choreographed, laying a calm hand over his son’s mouth before he could elaborate. “Think I seen Briony out back,” he said, already steering Beau toward the patio door. “Go find yer sister. I’ll catch y’all in a sec.”

Beau nodded, hat tipping as he made his exit, the screen door thwapping shut behind him.

Then Brad spoke.

“Are you serious right now?” he snapped, rounding on Jackson. “You let a ten-year-old fire a shotgun? Is anyone here remotely concerned that this kid has access to a firearm? Bri, that’s your son out there shooting guns!”

The room didn’t flinch.

Hailey turned, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Iris just raised a brow. Jasper leaned against the counter with a sip of coffee, nodding as Hailey calmly said. “No, Braddy, we are not concerned, because we all …”

And in near-perfect unison, they all said it:

“…know Beau.”

Jasper added, “Brad, seriously, that kid rides better than half the ranch hands Jackson hires. And of course does Jackson have guns, for probably obvious reasons, one of many being a moment you can probably remember from some years ago, when you saw Jackson and Bri here at the local medical center because he was mauled by a cougar – the four-legged type. He keeps his guns stored secure, and the boy knows safety like scripture. I mean, jokingly I once asked Beau what kind of buckshot he loaded and he gave me a lecture on types and spread radius and a lot of stuff that sounded legit but went right over my head.”

Chase followed, voice low and steady. “Brad, I know our family structure is different from what you grew up with. Hell, I’ve known you since you were little—we’re a lot more casual, more accepting of different ways of life. Maybe more lenient, but that doesn’t mean we don’t raise our kids to handle responsibility. We’re casual, not reckless idiots.”

He took a measured breath. “Jackson may not be my kid, but I’ve known him for more than half his life, and I guarantee you he’s doing the same with my grandson. For all his flaws, I have only ever known him as a protector—he looks out for the people he loves. Especially Beau.”

A pause.

“So no, while I personally don’t condone gun ownership, in his case, it makes sense and no, I don’t get my panties in a bunch over it. I think it’s a good thing he taught Beau. Takes away that ‘forbidden fruit’ factor—he won’t get reckless around guns because to him, they’re old news.”

Brad shook his head, caught between disbelief and sheer frustration, but the tone had shifted. This wasn’t a family defending recklessness.

It was a family defending one of their own.
Even though Jackson was anything but.
Except—he was.
So why was nobody defending him?
Not even Bri.
… not even Bri …

Iris, of course, had thoughts.
“Seriously, Brad, that is the kind of defense we need—not the aggressive-possessive bullshit you’ve been rolling out with my sister.” She swirled her wine like it was fueling her sarcasm. “Lucky for me, I’m not married to you, because I would’ve been in jail by now—I don’t have Bri’s patience. I mean, you two rebooted that old romance like a sappy rom com, we all thought Bri hit the relationship jackpot with you. But, dude, seriously, the way you treat her these days? Cringe. You can’t just throw money at her trying to cover up that you want to control her, conform her to some conservative bullshit, acting like she can’t be left unsupervised like an adult toddler. Honestly makes me wonder how you think she made it all the way to thirty-three without your expert guidance.”

She took a slow sip, barely pausing before continuing.

“I mean, always nice to see you,” she said with mock sincerity, “but you think we don’t all know why you’re REALLY here? Never wondered about the lukewarm reception you get of late? It’s because like my dad said, we’re not idiots, we know you are not here to hang with us. You are guarding Briar Rose like some kind of rulebook hound. I know, I know, you love her so much you just can’t be without her—yeah, yeah.” She waved it off like an old script she’d heard too many times. “So, what, are you saying Jas should helicopter-husband me like you do with Bri? Or does he not love me enough in your eyes because we each have our own things that we do alone from time to time?”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Because in our world, you know, aka the real world, giving space is another form of love. Shows trust. And it’s also survival. Because if Jas ever pulled half the shit you do with Bri on me?” She smirked. “I’d kill him. I’m an attorney, I know how to keep myself out of prison.”

Brad’s smile barely twitched.

“If there’s anyone on this planet who doesn’t need protection,” he said evenly, “it’s you, Iris.”

Her lips curled. “Meaning?”

Jasper, ever helpful, leaned in.

“I think that was Brad’s way of calling you a bitch.”

A beat.

“Yeah, I think so too,” Iris muttered, setting her glass down as she cracked her knuckles. “And he’s about to go on an Easter egg hunt for his damn teeth.”

“All of you, enough.” Hailey’s voice cut across the kitchen like a knife as she clapped her hands. “We are in my house. Unless one of you wants to meet the real Queen B, I suggest you zip it. Brad. Jas. Either set the table or head to the cellar for wine. I’m not picky who does what. But get cracking.”

She turned. “Jackson, go get the box with the potatoes from outside and fill up my kitchen basket.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He snapped to it, disappearing out the door without hesitation.

Brad and Jasper still stood unmoved.

Jasper smirked. “Sure. But careful, Brad. Don’t want you hurting those delicate little surgeon fingers on the knives. No touchy-touchy on the sharp ends.”

“Jas!” Hailey’s voice cracked like a whip. “You two clearly need supervision,” she muttered. “Brad, go pull some reds. Jas, table duty.”

“What?! Why do I get the kid job? I wanted wine!” Jasper groaned, sounding more like a whiny teen than a thirty-three-year-old father of two with a soaring acting career, featured in magazines weekly.

Brad didn’t even look up. “I have better taste. And self-control.”

“Not when I punch you in the—ow!” Jasper yelped as Chase grabbed him by the elbow mid-threat, steering him toward the dining room.

“My wife asked twice—nicely.” Chase’s grip tightened. “I am not nice. Move, Jas. You too, Brad. Get.”

The Cage and the Key

The house had gone quiet, the kind of silence that only settles once night has fallen, every child is accounted for and every guest room door has clicked shut. From the coast, a faint breath of fog rolled in, brushing the windows and softening the moonlight. In the guesthouse bedroom, Briar Rose tugged her jeans halfway down her thighs before pausing mid-motion, caught by the tone in Brad’s voice.

“I want you to tell your agent you’re not available for touring or live gigs anymore.”

Her head whipped around, brows furrowing like she hadn’t heard him right.

“What?”

Brad was calm. Too calm. He repeated it without blinking, like he was requesting she pick up milk at the store.

“I want you to tell your agent you’re stepping back. No more live performances. No more tours. You are traveling too much. Every two weeks you are gone all weekend to be here. And then your music. It’s too much. For the kids and for me.”

She yanked her pants all the way off now, straightening to stare at him. “You can’t be serious.”

His expression didn’t waver. “I am. You’re a mother first and foremost—to several children. Yours, mine. Ours. And also a wife. My wife. I don’t like us living like ships passing in the night whenever you have a new album coming out or just released. And then it’s tours and gigs and single bookings and charities, and and and. It’s not like we need the money. I know your music career meant something to you. You’ve proven your point. It’s time to reprioritize.”

“Reprioritize?” she echoed, voice rising. “Brad, I’m a musician. That IS a priority. The daughter of a musician. Granddaughter of a music legend. Great-granddaughter of Rett ‘n Reed. Niece of—”

“And cousin to a queen, yes,” he cut in smoothly. “I didn’t hear you aspiring to that career path.”

She blinked, stunned by the snide crack.

“Wait just a hot minute—do you have any idea how hard I’ve worked to get where I am? And I’m still climbing, Brad. Still. I’ve barely scratched the surface. Live shows, interviews, studio sessions—they matter. You disappear from the scene, they forget you exist. I’m already doing the bare minimum—bare minimum—and I could be doing so much more if I wasn’t constantly juggling around—this. I am not a housewife, Brad. I am a singer/songwriter. I went to college for it. I live for it. It’s my way to express myself, leave my mark in the world.”

Her voice cracked, and she hated that it did.

Brad stepped closer, voice velvet-smooth and condescending. “Bri, you’re my wife. You’re Mrs. Cunningham. That name alone carries more weight than any platinum plaque you could ever chase. You already left your mark. Now you are a mother.”

She stared at him, mouth parted, chest heaving.

“What about Cameron?” she shot back. “You know—my family? That name? That entire legacy?”

He actually chuckled. “No offense, babe, but Cameron’s a rather common name. And sure, music and acting—entertaining, yes. But ultimately? Replaceable. Anyone can sing with enough coaching. Anyone can act. Everyone has to pretend at some points in their lives, it’s not a very special gift, but commonplace. But you don’t train a neurosurgeon overnight. You don’t build a true empire by strumming a guitar. At least not an empire like Cunningham Industries.”

She took a step back like his words had reached out and slapped her.

“If you’re looking for something fulfilling,” he continued, oblivious or uncaring, “Then start a charity. Host charity events. Help starving children in slums. And if you don’t like that, then I’m sure I can find you a role in the company. Something that won’t keep you on the road. Honestly, with four kids, you shouldn’t need anything else to keep you busy. This time is precious. Before we know it they are grown and don’t need us anymore. That’s why I stay home as much as I can. Do the same. Why can’t you see that?”

Briar Rose gasped, like the air had left the room.

Then, without a word, she reached for her pants, yanked them back on with trembling hands, and stormed out the door, barefoot and shaking.

Still fuming, Briar Rose stomped through the darkened garden, the hem of her jeans catching on dewy grass. She bee-lined toward the standalone guesthouse where Iris always stayed, hoping for comfort or at least company. The porch light glowed invitingly—until she knocked.

“Go away! We’re … busy!” came Jasper’s muffled slightly breathless voice, followed by Iris’ unmistakable giggle.

It didn’t take a genius to figure that one out. Mattress mambo time for them. Right when she needed both of them most.

With a sharp groan, grimacing face and muttered curse, Bri pivoted and stormed back toward the main house—where, of course, Brad was already on the walkway, arms spread like a peacekeeper.

“Bri, sweetheart, let’s just go back and talk this through,” he began calmly, voice low and coaxing.

“Do not touch me!” she hissed, stepping back.

“Bri, you’re overreacting. Come inside. Let’s sit down like adults—”

“NO! I am done being calm!”

When he reached for her arm, it was like lighting a fuse. She ripped free with a shout, and in the next heartbeat, her voice was echoing off the brick walls and garden hedges. Brad’s tone hardened as he tried to steer her toward the poolhouse, but she wasn’t budging. The raised voices drew the house’s other inhabitants like moths to flame.

Chase emerged first, from the main house, mug in hand, brows raised. Jasper and Iris followed from the guest house, the former barefoot in boxers and an inside-out tee hastily thrown on, the latter wrapped in a silk robe, hair tousled in that just-got-laid way, grin fading fast.

“Wanna cue me in on what’s going on here?” Chase asked, his tone sharp but measured.

“He wants me to give up my music career,” Bri exploded. “Because apparently, a monkey can be trained to be a musician. Or an actor.”

The air stiffened. Jasper straightened, blinking slowly. “Excuse me? Is that fucker for realz right now? You think my job is easy?!”

Chase’s jaw ticked, his voice dropping. “You really think it’s smart to walk into a musician’s home and disrespect his art, son?”

Brad held his hands up. “I did not disrespect anything. I was trying to remind Bri of her priorities.”

“Yeah,” came a low drawl from the shadows. “But her priority ain’t ever gon’ be wantin’ a husband who’s tryin’ to own her and control her like livestock.” Jackson leaned on the post by the patio steps, arms crossed, voice thick with cowboy steel.

That was the final match to the fuse.

Brad lunged without warning, and the two men crashed into each other with enough force to knock over a potted agave. Jasper darted in to pull them apart, Chase already trying to wedge himself between them—but fists flew anyway, grunts echoed, and it looked like a repeat of the funeral all over again.

Until—

An icy jet of water burst between them.

Brad reeled back. Jackson stumbled. Both stood dripping, blinking against the spray.

Hailey stood at the edge of the porch, garden hose in hand, lips pursed, eyes blazing. The water cut off.

“Keep going,” she said sweetly. “And I’ll turn this baby up high enough to launch you both straight into the pool. Or maybe you wanna come explain yourselves to me. Can’t wait.”

She looked every inch the graceful host in her silk pajamas—a soft, warm shade of blue that matched her eyes, a color she often wore because Chase loved it on her. Her blonde hair fell over one shoulder, framing those blue eyes, which now glinted with dangerous calm. Where Bri’s presence simmered, Hailey’s burned quiet and precise. Chase knew that look. He leaned against the railing with the smug satisfaction of a man who’d dodged that fire more than once.

“Are you both serious right now?” Hailey barked. “We have children sleeping in this house! I wasn’t a fan of the last few brawls, and I most definitely won’t allow any in my home!”

Iris raised an eyebrow, folding her arms. “Honestly, I’m more worried that Brad meant what he said. Are you, like, a time traveler from 1952 Stepford or something? Do you hear yourself? You legit want Bri to give up her music career to just be Mrs. Cunningham and call it a day? If you’d said that to me, your body would be missing in three states.”

“It was taken out of context,” Brad snapped, water still dripping from his hair.

Jasper snorted. “Yeah? Then enlighten us. What’s the context where you call my job monkey work, BoBo?”

“You need to keep quiet, Hargrave,” Brad snarled, shoulders stiff as everyone else closed in. He wasn’t shy by nature, but this kind of spotlight—surrounded, cornered—set his nerves sparking. Unless it was about Bri. Then he could weather a mob.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Iris stepped forward, hair still tousled from her bedroom activities with her husband earlier on, robe swishing like battle armor. She might argue with Jasper all day long, but the moment someone else came for him? She was ready to draw blood.

Brad’s gaze flicked between them. “You’re probably in on this circus too,” he snapped. “All of you. Twisting things to make me look like the bad guy. Mean Brad.”

A sharp exhale.

“I am not mean. I am not the bad guy. I am just tired of getting screwed with—by him, by her, by all of you—when the whole time, I’ve been trying to stop the worst from happening.”

Chase’s voice dropped to a low gravel. “Okay. I’ll bite. What’s the worst, kid?”

Brad threw a hand toward Jackson like that explained everything. “Him. Every time we come here, he sidles up to my wife like she’s still his. And none of you seem to have a problem with it. Reminder: he’s the ex, who broke her heart several times. I am the CURRENT husband, who treats her like a queen.”

“Oh, Brad,” Hailey sighed, stepping between the fire lines. “You’re jealous. That’s all. Oh, sweet boy, trust me, I’ve been there. I lived with a rock star husband. Groupies, fans, attention—it comes with the territory. You’ve got to be bigger than that, Braddy. Let it roll off.”

“Bigger?” Brad’s laugh was hollow. “I have been big about it. Too big, apparently. But fine—you all think I’m imagining things? That I’m paranoid?” He held out a hand. “Chase, may I borrow your phone.”

Chase blinked, confused, but handed it over, unlocked. Brad scrolled, found what he wanted, and shoved it in front of him.

A photo—Jasper’s post from the hotel, captioned something cheeky about midnight snacks.

Chase squinted. “Yeah, seen it. Nothing scandalous. Other than my daughter looking unhinged. Not a proud daddy moment, but nothing remarkable. We all reacted to it. You liked it.”

“Look closer.” Brad zoomed in. “Really look.”

Chase sighed, but then paused. His finger hovered. He tapped. Zoomed again. His breath caught.

Hailey stepped up beside him and gasped.

“What?” Iris asked, instantly suspicious. She leaned into her father on the other side, eyes narrowing.

Jasper, shrugging, walked over and peered down between Chase and Iris. Then cursed under his breath.

“Jas?” Bri’s voice cracked slightly.

“Yeah well, Bri, you’re kinda fucked.” Jas analyzed the situation.

Because if you managed to divert your eyes from Bri’s facial derailment—which wasn’t easy, considering she looked like she’d just discovered time travel mid-sneeze—you’d see it.

Just beyond her shoulder, in the background. A cracked hotel bathroom door. A reflection in the mirror.

And in the corner, barely visible: a worn, unmistakable dark brown Stetson—Jackson’s—sitting atop a heap of rumpled clothing on the tile floor.

Everyone went still.

“I told you,” Brad said, cool, composed. “He was in her hotel room. Without his clothes on. And Bri—” he gestured to the image “—is wearing a bathrobe. Wet hair. His clothes, right there, in a pile on the bathroom floor. I mean, it’s almost as obvious as a damn photo of the actual act. And I knew something happened. Because that hat—” his jaw tightened slightly. “He never takes it off unless he is sleeping or … sleeping with someone I assume. And Jasper there, clearly trying to hide the obvious only tells me you are all in on this charade. What have I ever done to all of you? I thought you were happy for us, happy Bri finally had someone who would give her the world. Have you all forgotten everything Jackson has put her through in the past? Why are you condoning … this?!”

Jackson blinked, mouth twisting. “What the heck y’all goin’ on about now?”

Bri swallowed, barely above a whisper. “Brad—this… this isn’t what it looks like—”

Then she stopped.
Because she heard it.
The cliché.
The hollow ring of words that meant exactly what they were meant to deny.

Everyone stared. No one spoke.

Jasper stepped forward with a theatrical sigh, rubbing the back of his neck like a man about to confess to burying treasure. “Okay, okay. Fine. I’m throwing myself on the grenade. Sorry, Bri. Cowboy. But it’s story time.”

He pointed at the phone with a flourish. “First of all—everyone relax. That photo is literally not what it looks like. Our friend Jackson here didn’t seduce anyone. Man had a full-on post-funeral breakdown—classic whiskey-and-regret montage. Vanished off the grid. Nobody could find him.”

“Except Bri,” Iris added, more impressed than surprised.

Jasper held up a finger. “Exactly. Bri—who apparently has FBI-level tracking skills—knew where he’d run off to. Some old hideout from the glory days. She found him there, completely wrecked. I mean, filthy, drunk, barely holding it together. Reeking like a decomposing skunk. A sad country song in human form.”

He waved a hand, paintbrush-style. “Now obviously, she couldn’t drag him to his place—kids and all. So, she takes him to her hotel. Cleans him up. Feeds him since the bitch probably had only liquid meals prepared by Johnny Walker and Jim Beam for days. Nurses him back to the land of the living. Probably saved his damn life. The way those clothes stunk I’d have guessed he had been dead for several months in them.”

Then he gestured dramatically toward the infamous photo. “That pile of clothes is not a scandal. That was a health hazard. I walked into the tail end of it—looked like someone tried to exorcise a demon with laundry. Whatever you think happened… didn’t. I swear, it was peak Florence Nightingale vibes. Just Bri being Bri. Just Bri being a good Samaritan that night.”

“A good Samaritan?” Brad barked. “You’re seriously pitching that bullshit!”

“Brad, I am so sorry … I … I …” Bri tried to explain the inexplicable. She didn’t fully understand why Jackson still drew her in so much when Brad was right, he had flaked on her, broken her heart with his recklessness more than once. Brad had been everything any girl could ever want. So …. why?

The Truth Set Loose

Jackson seemed to realize her inner conflict and feel he had to do something now or the odds may turn against him again, so he straightened up and lit the proverbial match.

“Well,” he said, easy drawl slipping back in. “It’s true. Nothin’ happened that night. We didn’t sleep together. I was still so friggin’ drunk even when I had sobered up a lot I couldn’t have even if I had tried to. But I kissed ‘er.”

“Jackson, shut the hell up!” Bri snapped, but he kept going, throwing the proverbial match on the pile of kindling they were all now standing on, bracing for the explosion of fire in his distinct drawl.

“Nah Bri, this is gonna get said now. I was drunk. That’s why I did it. Liquid courage or lack of self-control, take yer pick. But you know what? I wasn’t drunk the night we kissed by the pool, yeah, this one right here, just over yonder, bout a week or so before the funeral. We danced and we kissed in the middle of the night. Right here. With y’all sleeping right over there in the poolhouse, Bradford. And I damn sure wasn’t drunk that next afternoon by the waterfall. I can describe to all y’all what happened there if ya want, but I am purdy sure ya already can guess.” He stepped closer, chin lifted. “Y’all were wonderin’ why I act the way I do—why I don’t let go. Why I can’t let go. Now you know. I tried to. I tried so damn hard to let Bri go. But something always, ALWAYS, draws us back together. Can’t ya all see that pattern too? Yeah, took me a long time too, don’t blame ya. But I see it now. Been that way ever since we first met. Only thing changin’ were the circumstances.”

Brad’s hands clenched, Jackson’s eyes locked onto his.

“Bri’s heart, it’s mine, Bradford. Always has been, always will be. I might not be some hotshot with degrees or stocks or titles… ain’t no educated man, hell, I can’t even say if I am a good man or not, frankly I couldn’t care less, but even I always knew better than to try and clip her wings.” His eyes burned. “I set her free because of her music. And ya just done gone and screwed yourself, Bradford, by tryin’ to lock her up because of her music. I hope ya realize how much ya just fucked yerself. That’s what you did. THAT I had no part in, so if yer lookin’ to place blame for all that is yet to come, look into a mirror. And remember this truth: always takes two to cheat. And one will only cheat if something is amiss already.”

Briar Rose buried her face in her hands, wishing the earth would open and swallow her whole.

It didn’t.
But Brad lunged.

And the next fight was already underway.

Ultimatums and Unraveling

And just like that, the past came crashing back.

It started that night of the fight by the pool at her parents’ home—the slow, inevitable burn of everything falling apart.

The poolhouse door slammed shut behind them.

Brad was already moving—jerky, fast, shoving clothes into a bag like the sheer force of his movements could make the decision easier.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, voice sharp, teeth clenched. “You think this is funny, Bri? You think this whole damn family ganging up on me is just—entertaining?”

A shirt crumpled in his grip, then was shoved down hard into the suitcase.

“All gang up on me, your father, your brother-in-law, your mother with a garden hose, and then, of course, Jackson,” His voice snapped, raw, “twice. Twice. Two brawls in one night—remind me again how this isn’t a circus?”

Bri just stood there.

Still.

Grounded, even as the storm brewed around her.

“You picked those fights,” she said quietly, refusing to be dragged into the whirlwind.

Brad let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head.

“Right. Sure. I just love making myself into a spectacle in front of your family. And you just stood there. Not once, not one single time did you defend me. Why, Bri?”

Then his voice shifted—not just angry, but wounded.

“And what kills me? Two years ago, everyone here was thrilled we got back together. You included. My wife. You fought for me, Bri. And I burned bridges for you, Bri, so we could be together. Does that mean nothing to you?”

His hands clenched the fabric of his shirt before he shoved it in the bag.

“Everyone was ra-ra-ra rooting for us, and now?” His breath came sharp, ragged. “Now they treat Jackson like he never hurt you. Like he never tore you apart twice. Like none of it ever mattered. And I am suddenly the asshole?! How is that fair? I am the only one who has not lied, not stepped out.”

A beat.

His jaw tightened.

“And you?” His voice was low, edged with something Bri didn’t want to name. “You were supposed to be done with him. But here we are. Clearly you are NOT. Do you think I have no feelings? How do you think this makes me feel? I love you Bri, and I thought you loved me the same!”

Her fingers curled against her wrist, pressing hard.

Brad exhaled sharply, gaze pinning hers.

“This is it, Bri. You come with me—right now—we stay in a hotel, fly out first thing in the morning. Back home. Back to Brindleton Bay. And you will not see Jackson again.”

His shoulders squared, certainty flooding his stance.

“From now on, Briony flies here with one of the nannies. Not you. We can come here for holidays or birthdays with all the children or your family comes to us. Not this again, not ever!”

Silence.
Bri exhaled, slow, deliberate.
She didn’t flinch.
Didn’t argue.
Didn’t even blink.
Just breathed.

Then, calmly, evenly—

“No.”

Brad’s expression barely shifted, but something cracked—some brief fracture in the control he’d been clinging to.

“No?”

Bri lifted her chin.

“No.”

She let it settle, let it echo between them.

Brad’s inhale was sharp, his hands twitching once before settling back at his sides.

Then—his voice lowered, edged with frustration.

“Let’s just call it what it is, Bri.”

His stare was hard, expectant, waiting for her to challenge it.

“You and Jackson, evidently, you can’t be trusted around each other. Clearly not. I still haven’t let that fact sink in all the way. How could you do that to me? I have given you everything. All of me. Every last inch. And you run back to … him?”

A breath.

“You don’t see it, do you? The way you look at him, the way he looks at you. You acted like I’m just imagining things, as if all this was in my head, when we now heard from the horse’s mouth that my gut instinct was right all along. You deliberately made me look like a fool, knowing full well you did the unimaginable.”

Another beat.

“Tell me—how the hell am I supposed to take your defiance now, huh?”

Silence stretched, thick, unforgiving.

And Bri—

She knew what he was saying.
Knew he wasn’t wrong.
She just didn’t care.
She met his gaze evenly, unflinching.
Then, calmly, quietly, but immovable—

“However you want to, Brad.”

That was it. That was the moment. The one that settled everything, decided the direction from here on out, even as Brad stood there, fists clenched, jaw locked. Even as the tension curled tight around them.

And when Brad finally grabbed his bags, stormed toward the door, leaving nothing but his fury in his wake—

Bri stayed.
Still.
Unshaken.

Midnight Reckonings

Then later—

The kitchen.

The house was quiet now, save for the faint hum of the fridge, the ticking of the clock.

Bri sat by the window, staring at nothing, half-poured whiskey untouched beside her.

Everything had fallen apart tonight.

And somehow, it had never felt clearer.

Bri couldn’t sleep.

Iris walked in like she already knew the score.

“Alright,” she said, sweeping a silk robe around herself as she poured a drink straight from the whiskey bottle. She sat next to her twin. “You never drink whiskey. Cry for help. Start talking.”

“I don’t even know what to say,” Bri murmured. “I’m looking at another failed relationship.”

Iris didn’t hesitate. “I’ve been telling you for years, Bri. Years. We all like Brad—he’s sweet, agreeable. You weren’t wrong about him—he was wrong about you. He wants a Stepford wife for his Stepford life, and that’s just not you. He loves you, but as an image he created of you in his mind, not who you really are.” She took a sip, smirking. “And thank God. I don’t want some dull-ass Bay-chick as a sister.”

Into the discussion came Jackson.

Barefoot, loose jeans hanging low on his hips, a worn henley rumpled from sleep—or at least the attempt. No Stetson—he had abandoned it somewhere along the way. His hair was tousled, a little rough around the edges, like sleep had tried to take him but lost. He stood just inside the archway, drawn but hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he was welcome or better off backing out.

Iris clocked him instantly.

“Oh, cowboy, don’t hover.” She waved him over, sliding her glass toward him. “Here, I keep forgetting I hate whiskey. You enjoy the booze and I’ll enjoy the eye candy—yum.”

Bri nudged her.

Iris shrugged, pointing at Jackson. “What? Just appreciating the view.”

Jackson smirked, taking the glass without hesitation and downing a slow sip as he stepped closer.

“I agree with Iris,” he said, drawl easy.

“Yeah, I bet,” Iris smirked, nudging Bri.

“‘Bout the first part, I mean.” Jackson tipped his chin at her, winking. “Though I am flattered about the rest.”

Iris let out a low whistle pointing up and down Jackson. “Okay, that view combined with that drawl and that slow running molasses charm … I think I get it now. Honestly, for a long while there, until very recently actually, I thought you were a fucking dick, Jackson, for all you put Bri and the kids through. I was shipping the shit out of you once, and you turned around, not once but twice, more times actually, just kept fucking it up. Yet, my brother and parents forgave you, Jasper obviously likes you, Bri clearly came around, so I was starting to, slowly. I said it back when we were teens and I said it all along, I was never Team Brad. Yes, he’s sugar and spice and everything nice, but too slick for me and too conservative. But I couldn’t figure out why Bri would risk everything she clearly wanted, for a roll in the hay – probably literally – with you, AGAIN. But now … now as ya come walking in here looking like a lonely girl’s wet dream, now I’m starting to get why Bri just can’t keep her paw out of your cookie jar. Mee- OUCH!” she yelped into her attempt at purring when Bri pinched her, sister-style, though she only laughed harder. “Will you shut up already!?” Bri cackled.

Jackson sat next to Iris, settled in just as she slapped a firm pat on his leg—

“Okay, I thought this was gonna be a sisterly talk, but the sisterly abuse vibe is a bit harsh and I have a feeling I am the fifth wheel here. You two have things to discuss, now that Brad isn’t here to run interference anymore. So, talk, my children, talk.”

She paused, gave his thigh a squeeze. Then squeezed again until Jackson pulled her hand away

“Hey now,” he drawled, leveling a look at her. “Best leave a man some dignity, woman. Ain’t gotta run a full inspection.”

“Whatever, damn, cowboy,” she muttered, fingers pressing into solid muscle on his arm now. “Didn’t realize you were smuggling guns under those clothes. I am going to have to observe more closely next time you go swimming here. Mental image added to my spank bank.”

Bri groaned, standing. “OMG, alright, out. Go be inappropriate somewhere else. And ogle at your husband. Jasper lives for being stared at.”

She nudged Iris out of the kitchen, laughing as her sister cackled the whole way.

When Bri returned, still smiling, she grabbed her glass and sat back down.

“Sorry about that,” she said, shaking her head. “I think she got a headstart on the booze in the guesthouse and just stumbled over here for a refill. Guess she forgot to put her filter back on. Awkward.”

Jackson raised his whiskey, toasting at her, eyes holding hers.
She raised hers in return, but only nursed it—until he lifted the bottom of her glass, making her chug it.

She coughed, wheezing. “You—ass—”

“Thank me later, when the dark clouds give way to a fun little circus in yer head.”

And then— The laughter faded.
Her breath slowed.
His gaze lingered just a fraction too long, the warmth settling between them.
A quiet, steady pause. Then, his fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. Soft. Certain. Effortless.

End of the Road

Bri slid into bed, the sheets cool against her skin, the weight of something unspoken pressing into the silence. Beside her, Brad turned a page of his crime thriller with calculated ease.

Her voice was quiet. Barely more than a breath.

“You are planning on divorcing me. I saw your attorney leaving when I came back up from Maeve’s. You never do business at home, so it has to be personal.”

Brad’s hands stilled. The book sank slightly in his grasp. A slow inhale, measured, before he turned to face her.

“You are cheating on me.” His tone was just as calm, just as steady.

Bri closed her eyes. Didn’t deny it.

“Were you going to tell me you are cutting me loose or just change the locks one day and have me served while I am locked out of this house, confused?”

“Were you ever going to tell me that I am chasing rainbows again? For the very same reason as I was over a decade ago?” Brad’s voice remained eerily level, but the weight behind it sharpened. “You cheated on me with him then, and you cheated on me with him now. After you told me it was over for good with him. That all feelings you ever had for him were dead. Guess you were wrong. You broke my heart, Briar Rose. And I can’t understand why. I have done everything for you. Given you everything I can give. I help with the kids. I support everything you do. Was loyalty and faithfulness too much to ask in return? Undivided love? You couldn’t give me that?”

His breath hitched slightly before he forced it out. “I think I fell in love with whom you used to be when we were high school sweethearts. You were so innocent then, so sweet. Or maybe you have always just been an idea. Not a real girl or woman, just what I wanted to see. Maybe you never were who I thought you were, Bri. Maybe my father was right all those years ago. He could see it when I couldn’t.”

Bri opened her eyes, studying the ceiling like it held answers.

“I was just thinking the same. I think I fell in love with an idea too—of safety and stability. Of the guy you once were. Or maybe never were.” Her voice faltered briefly, but she pushed forward. “I wasn’t leading you on, when we reconnected. I meant every word, I was so in love with you, so happy. But something changed between us at some point and I can’t put my finger on it. Maybe my expectations are just too damn high and no man can meet them.”

Brad let out a quiet, mirthless laugh.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry it’s going to end this way. I had high hopes for us. You were a breeze of fresh air, Bri, you have changed me and my life and my children’s lives for the better, but I cannot live in another marriage, ignoring the fact that my wife isn’t faithful to me. Just like my ex-wife hadn’t been. I lived that for a decade, and it turned me into a zombie. I don’t want to ever go back there,” His voice softened slightly, like he was admitting something he never wanted to. “You woke things in me—feelings, expectations. For the short while we lasted, you gave me something back that I lost a long time ago. And for a while, we had everything. Love, passion, roses. I made me remember that I matter too, my needs.” He exhaled. “Maybe it’s best to bow out while the memories are still mostly untainted.”

Bri turned her head slightly, searching his face.

“What about Nate?”

Brad’s jaw tightened. “You won’t like this, but I’ve thought about that too. And concluded he’d be best off here—with me. Stability that you can’t give him. Your schedule is too unpredictable for a child as young as him. Briony and Beau can deal with it, but Nathaniel can’t. Not yet, not for many more years. But don’t worry. You saw how I handled the kids with Molly. It won’t be different with you.” He hesitated. “You will see him as much as you want. You already travel a lot, this won’t be an inconvenience.”

Bri’s stomach clenched, but she nodded once. “You are right.” A pause. “I assume you have everything prepared?”

“If you’re asking whether the divorce decree and custody arrangement are officially filed, not yet. But the draft is prepared. I won’t move forward until you were able to look at it. Together with me, and the attorney, I want to hear your concerns and questions, changes you might want. I want this to be fair, Bri. I am not out to hurt you, this is to protect me and the children.”

Silence stretched between them, thick but not hostile. Just final.

“Call your attorney first thing tomorrow,” she murmured, rolling onto her side, away from him, her body sinking deeper into the mattress.

Brad watched her for a moment, something unreadable flickering through his eyes.

Bri pulled the blanket higher before adding, “We’ll get this handled as soon as possible. Why drag it out? We both know we’ve failed each other. There is nothing I can do or say to undo anything now,” Her voice was lower now, something delicate edging into it. “And for that, Brad, I am very sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

Brad didn’t respond immediately.

But eventually, he reached over, turned off the light, and let the silence take them both.

Call Me by My Name

In the afternoon of the following day the atmosphere was ice. Everything cold, clipped, distant. Conversations turned into half-sentences, words thin and spare like they weren’t worth the effort anymore. The kids felt it—Briony most of all. Bri saw it in the way her daughter watched Brad now, guarded, like she was bracing for something even she didn’t fully understand yet. No surprise, the poor girl had been there too many times, with her own father.

And then came the moment that cut through everything.

Brad’s attorney sat across the table, papers laid out, hands folded neatly atop them.

“Mrs. Cunningham, this is just a draft—just grounds for discussion,” he said carefully. “Fact is, there are serious problems in your marriage. Brad has mentioned they may even be irreconcilable. If that is the case, I think it would be wise to start talking about the potentially inevitable, make sure everyone is on the same page. Brad stressed that he wanted this to be as calm, courteous, and fair as possible. He’s not out to hurt you. Just protect himself and his assets. And his children’s future.”

The papers slid toward her.

Dissolution of Marriage

Something Bri never wanted to hear or see again. Not after Jackson. Not after twice walking this path before.

She stared at the documents, fingers hovering over them like they burned. Then she flipped to the end. Grabbed the pen. Signed on the line, right above her printed name.

Brad’s voice cut sharp. “Bri! Let’s talk about this—that’s why we are here! Make counteroffers, talk to me.” His tone was tight, too raw for composure now. Hope and panic laced into one last grasp.

The attorney blinked, surprised. “Mrs. Cunningham, this is only a draft—you don’t have to—”

“Yeah, I got that.” Bri’s voice was flat, measured, unchanged. She pushed the papers back across the table. “It was meant demonstratively. Symbolism.”

She stood. Chair scraping against the cold, polished floor.

“And call me Cameron from here on out,” she added, voice even, clear, immovable. “Miss Cameron. Just file it as is. I will sign as soon as I’m served.”

A pause.

Brad exhaled sharply, fingers curling against the chair—like he was gripping something that was already slipping away.

Bri met his stare without hesitation.

Then she turned. Left.

A Story, Rewritten

Weeks after the autumn that another marriage came to its sad conclusion, Bri stood in the harbor wind, the final signs of autumn slowly giving way to winter. She looked over the harbor but saw nothing in particular, lost in memories.

The fights.
The silence.
The moment everything shattered.
Then a different silence.
Deafening at first, then healing.

And where had she ended up?

Back at the poolhouse. Back at her parents’ estate in San Sequoia.
Finally, breathing again.

The poolhouse felt different now. Not temporary. Not borrowed space. Not staying over.

Home.

She leaned against the porch railing, arms folded, staring out at the harbor. The sky bruised toward evening—deep indigo sweeping past gold, the ocean rolling steady beneath it.

Inside, Briony laughed at something on her tablet, her voice ringing bright through the cracked-open door.

This was home.
Not Brindleton Bay.
Not Chestnut Ridge.

Here.

Bri didn’t know where life would take her next, only that she wanted no more marriages. No more moving.

Just them.
Briony and her.
Here.
Home.

She exhaled, settling deeper into the blanket over her shoulders.

The divorce still moved forward. Lawyers, paperwork, settlements. It hardly felt real anymore. Like she was signing off on a life she’d never truly belonged to.

And Jackson—

Well.

He’d tried—so damn hard—to keep his distance. To be supportive. To only be what Bri needed.

But his true hopes had spilled over that day—the day the moving truck pulled in, loaded down with Briar Rose’s things. And Briony’s things. He was at the estate for the bi-weekly visits per the custody arrangement when the moving truck showed up. And Jackson being Jackson, he couldn’t just let the movers do their job. No, he was hands on.

He’d been there. Helping. Watching.

Watching Bri start to unpack. Watching his daughter’s childhood shift from one home to another, small boxes marked with her name stacked alongside Bri’s.

The memory stayed sharp, lodged somewhere between affection and ache.

Jackson had stood just inside the doorway of the poolhouse, hands loose at his sides, sleeves still rolled up from hauling in boxes, bags—pieces of their life.

Jackson hesitated, the quiet kind that didn’t suit him. “So… Briony and ya ain’t comin’ home to the ranch?” His voice was rough, searching. “I thought… ya know… things.”

Bri hugged him first. Brief, firm, but full of something unspoken. Then, softly, “I know.”

She pulled back. Silence stretched between them.

“I don’t know what I want or need right now, Jackson.” She exhaled. “But I know what I don’t want. I don’t want to lose myself loving someone again. Not anymore. Not with anybody.”

Her breath hitched, but she pressed forward. “There’s someone I’ve neglected. Someone important. Someone I need to be with more now.”

Jackson frowned.

Bri pressed her palm against his chest. Steady. Certain. “Me.”

A pause.

“I forgot who Briar Rose is. Briar Rose Cameron. Not Cunningham. Not Kershaw. Cameron. That’s who I am. That’s who I belong to.” Her gaze flickered. “And for now? I have to come first. Brad couldn’t handle that. Can you?”

Jackson held her gaze, something stirring behind his eyes—deep, unreadable, processing.

Then—slowly—he smirked. “Hell yeah.”

Bri tilted her head, watching him carefully. “Do you even understand what that means?” A breath. “Because I’m not sure I do yet.”

He smirked. Winked. “Yes Ma’am. Means I get to stay at the pool house again from time to time. And you’ll come out to the ranch more often—with Briony, after she gets her allergy shots, cos I got Epipens all over now. Every room, every saddle pocket, every coat of mine has one. I feel like a drug dealer sometimes.”

That made her laugh.

But Jackson wasn’t laughing now.

His smirk faded, gaze thoughtful, hands resting loose at his sides like he was holding something heavier than words.

“Look,” he said, voice low, slow drawl stretching each syllable. “I get it. Needin’ space. Needing a place that don’t just feel right on paper but feels right for your bones, for yer soul. Square peg, round hole—ya push too hard, all ya do is wear yerself down. I absolutely get that, and the needin’ time and space to figure it all out. Been there, done that.”

His fingers grazed the brim of his hat.

“That therapy ranch in San Sequoia …” He exhaled, shaking his head. “Thought it was the answer. Figured if I could bring the horses, make it work, then maybe—just maybe—I could fit into a place that wasn’t built for me. Finally be with you and the kids again and everyone would be happy. Except, Beau and I we weren’t happy. I ain’t no therapist, Bri. I’m a cowboy. Horserancher. I ride rodeos, work land, breathe open sky. I like helpin’ people when I can, but I ain’t no therapist.” His jaw tightened. “It was suffocatin’. As was Beau.”

And suddenly, she knew.
She knew exactly what he meant.
Her voice was softer now, but firm. “The way being with Brad is suffocating for me. It should be heaven, perfection, but it just … isn’t.”

Jackson frowned slightly, watching her. She looked at him, really looked at him.

“You bought that place for me.” His words came slow, weighted. “So we could finally be a family. I really wanted to make it work, Bri. Felt obligated. But I couldn’t. Especially with ya gone so much because of yer music career. When you were there, it was easier, but without ya, I was takin’ to drinkin’ more and more and had to get out. Fast. Didn’t want our kids to know me as one of them dads who an only stand the card they been dealt by being drunk all the damn time.”

Bri swallowed, pulse thrumming against her throat.

“Why didn’t you ever explain that to me?”

Jackson shifted, weight settling on his heels, gaze flickering toward the harbor before returning to her. He exhaled slow.

“Tried,” he murmured, voice low, steady, that cowboy drawl stretching each word. “Tried plenty. But ya weren’t ready to hear it then. Or maybe…”

His thumb traced the worn brim of his hat, quiet for a beat before finishing—

“Maybe ya just couldn’t understand it then. Had to live it first.”

Silence stretched, thick but not suffocating. Because he was right.
She had to live it to understand it.

Bri shifted, leaning into him just enough for his arm to curl around her shoulders, settling against him like second nature. Friendly. Steady. Even when he pressed a warm kiss to the top of her head, neither of them pulled away.

If You Loved Me Again

Now, standing alone outside, she let the memory roll through her like a slow tide—one that came in, lingered, and then pulled back into the depths of her mind.

And just as the last wave receded, another swelled.

With a soft sigh, she closed her eyes and let it wash over her—

Then—the sound boots on stone. A sound that was familiar.
The sound cut through like a sudden shift in the tide. The past dissolved in an instant, replaced by the unmistakable pull of now.

Jackson stepped out of the main house and onto the porch, hat in hand.

She barely registered him—still caught between then and now—until he was beside her, until the touch of worn leather pressed atop her head.

Her breath hitched. The Stetson. His Stetson.

The memories that had been occupying her mind bouncing back and forth like ping pong balls in her mind now scattered like startled birds, reality slamming into her with an unforgiving immediacy.

She groaned, ripped his hat off, pretended to fling it toward the ocean.

“Ah hell no, c’mon now little lady, that ain’t nice!” Jackson lunged, snatching it back before she could commit to the toss, and suddenly they were tangled in a half-hearted wrestle, laughter cutting through the night air as they tried to tickle each other.

It wasn’t careful, wasn’t measured. It was raw and instinctive—familiar hands, familiar closeness. Playful turned something more. When they halted, Bri took the hat and placed it back on his head.

Then—stillness.

His grip loosened on her waist, but he didn’t let go.
Her breath slipped uneven.

“Well, I gotta be off, headin’ back to the ranch—Beau’s already asleep in the truck with Savannah, he’s got school tomorrow, and Lord knows it’s hell just gettin’ him there, let alone keepin’ him there once he shows up. Don’t need his teacher blowin’ up my phone about him fallin’ asleep in class now too. We’ll be back soon. Next weekend maybe, unless y’all happen to find yer way out to the ranch sooner.”

Jackson sighed, adjusting his hat, then his voice softened.

“Take yer time, rewrite yer story, Bri. I’ll give ya space, I’ll stay back, I’ll wait, I’ll do whatever ya need me to. Just promise me one thing—make sure I still get to play a part. Major, minor, doesn’t matter, just don’t take yerself away from me. I know I ain’t perfect, never will be, but I reckon we both learned somethin’ from all this.”

His gaze held hers for a beat, then eased, quieter now.

“And if ya can find it in yer heart… listen to Tracy Lawrence’s If You Loved Me again. Some o’ them lines—” He exhaled, shaking his head. “They remind me of us.”

Jackson didn’t just say the words.
He sang them.
Lower now, voice smoothing into the air like liquid gold, dipping deep where Bri couldn’t block it out.

That rich, gravel-threaded baritone, the one that could steal a room’s breath without effort, the one that once filled late-night drives and whispered lullabies—that voice.

“There was a time I had it all with you
‘Til it came undone, from what I didn’t do
Now he’s making the same mistakes
And when he loses you, if it’s not too late …
If ya loved me … again …“

Jackson’s voice stayed low, steady, like he wasn’t sure if he was singing for her or himself.

Now it was making sense. All of it. Him. This. Them.

Bri swallowed hard, eyes on the floor, fingers curled against the railing, trying to steady herself.

It didn’t work.

The sound had already settled under her skin.

Jackson hesitated on the last words, like maybe he shouldn’t say them—like maybe, if he did, he wouldn’t be able to take them back.

Then—soft, certain, knowing—he repeated, his voice almost a whisper.

“If ya loved me… again…”

Silence settled too thick, too whole.
Bri inhaled sharply, breath catching where she didn’t want it to.
Jackson didn’t push further. Didn’t add anything more.

Then, with that same easy confidence, Jackson tipped his hat, gave her one last lingering glance, and walked off toward the door with his long strides, Bri called after him.

“Jackson.”

He halted, turned back, brows raised. “Drive safe, stay safe… watch out for cougars, and no drunken benders.”

A slow grin crept onto his face. “Yes, ma’am.” And then, just before he disappeared inside, he tipped his hat—slow, deliberate—before pushing through the door, leaving Bri standing in the quiet with a ghost of a smile on her lips.