San Sequoia, Seaglass Haven
Laughter rippled through the warm, jasmine-salted air, interrupted only by a playful breeze and the wet slap of cannonballs in the pool. It might’ve qualified as a mid-sized party, though no invitations had gone out. Just family—extended, entwined, and impossible to untangle.
Chase and Hailey’s estate sprawled beneath the amber sky; a San Sequoia landmark tucked behind climbing roses and eucalyptus groves. The six-bedroom house was humming with music and memory, two guest cottages brimming with stories, and the old recording studio breathing like a living relic from Chase’s grunge-rock past.
Clusters of conversation bloomed everywhere. Chase, barefoot and still iconic in a faded tour tee, was deep in reminiscence with Colton and Maddie. Hailey lit up beside him, her hand curled around a tumbler and her laughter bouncing like light off water. Doctors Connor and Brad circled the grill, mid–medical shop talk, while their wives, Keira and Viola, sat on the terrace with Iris and Briar Rose. Bri was heavily pregnant, Viola a few weeks behind. Bri’s third. Viola’s first. Beside them perched Maeve, cousin to Connor, Iris and Bri and confidante to Viola, her voice hushed as she spoke to Pierce—her boyfriend, she had become his anchor, he her walking miracle. He was still rebuilding from hell, carrying the limp and the tremor like war medals stitched into his body.
Kids swarmed the garden like fireflies: Young adults Chris and Cadence half-hidden near the hedge, mouths close and eyes closer; Graham trying his father Brad’ patience with fifteen-year-old logic; Beau chasing dogs more loyally than his twin sister Briony chased mischief. Toddlers Anastasia, Tate, Nathaniel, and Savannah Rae wobbled through the grass like pinballs, supervised only loosely by whatever grown-up was closest. Uni juniors Cadence and Chris, both aspiring medics, had become suspiciously good at taking care of Savannah—much to the concern of Connor and Keira, who now held regular “no babies before degrees” talks. Behind their backs, Chase, Hailey, Colton, and Maddie were already making bets.
Especially since Chris’ best friend, who had dated Cadie’s best friend until a sudden breakup, ended up dating one of their other friends until after a trip to his father’s home island of Tartosa, they came back married, surprising everyone, upsetting Chris deeply.
In one corner, Pierce clutched his infant half-brother Chad, at this point he quit correcting people thinking he was his son, as the truth was just too off-the-wall to explain, while Maeve tucked their infant daughter Arden down in her travel bed. Jasper, in true fashion, had cracked a joke about exactly that, which had gone too far, and after a brief chase, Maeve took him down—literally—near the back of the studio. Iris didn’t even flinch.
“Beat the shit out of my husband, Maeve!” Iris called out cheerfully. “My hands are already worn down from doing it daily.”
Jackson raised a brow from the lawn. “Hell Iris, y’all broken? Thought ya was always first in line when there’s boots to plant. I remember getting my fair share of spankin’ courtesy o’ ya.”
“I never had any trouble with Iris, and I have known her, Bri and Jasper since elementary school.” Brad piped up, smirking gleefully at Jackson, who grimaced, rolling his eyes, while taking a deep sip from his beer. The two men got along again, but the occasional jab was unavoidable. One of them always would start it.
Iris shrugged. “You were always the human version of beige, Brad. Not worth beating you, plus Bri can be hella mean if anyone messes with her dude. Back then, you were her dude and nobody was gonna even look at you sideways. No offense, Jackson, but same goes for you, with your renegade cowboy gimmicks. We all had to get all our feelings out there whenever Bri was hating on either of you.”
“Well, no offense taken. Bri just needed another lesson of what we all already knew, namely she ain’t into beige, got her fill and came back to where she gets what she really needs. No offense, Brad.” Jackson piped up.
“Offense taken. I am not boring. Ask Vee.”
“Yes, leave Brad alone. Seriously, you all always with that boring and beige. I honestly don’t see where you get that from, unless you just don’t know him at all. Brad is most definitely NOT boring. He makes me laugh all the time and we have so much fun, with the kids and alone.”
“Clearly.” Maddie shrugged, then took a sip of her cocktail.
“Mads, seriously!?” Bri protested.
“What? I was talking about their tan, you gutter mind. The baby bump is just extra …” Maddie laughed.
“Yeah, well, I was never interested enough to peel anything on Brad—too afraid it’d just make me cry. Like a human onion,” Iris said, dryly. “And Jackson? I kick and beat when needed, but eventually the boots land themselves. I’ve got people for that now.”
She nodded toward the lawn, where Maeve had caught Jasper in a playful ambush. The two wrestled like thirty-something-year-old kids, laughing breathlessly until Maeve hooked her leg around his and sent him tumbling into a garden bed. She landed squarely on top of him with triumphant flair.
Pierce stared, wide-eyed.
Completely unthinkable, for someone like him.
Connor, watching Jasper get his face rubbed in dirt, chuckled. “Yeah Pierce, rule number one about Cameron blood: no matter how classy they seem, we’re all savages underneath.”
Jackson grinned. “Truth. My girl over here may look refined, but I know better. She’s got a feral side to her.” He winked at Bri, smirking.
“Brad, tell them I’m a lady,” Bri called out from her seat.
Brad raised his glass. “I’d love to, Bri. I really would.”
The laughter peaked again when she launched the lemon from her drink at his head. He dodged; it landed near Snuffins, who sniffed, chomped, trotted over and spat it out dramatically into Pierce’s lap.
“See?” Connor snorted, handing Pierce a napkin. “Even the dogs have savage blood.”
As if on cue, his two black shepherds tore across the patio, chasing each other in a blur of limbs and sunlight before launching into the pool with twin splashes loud enough to startle birds from the hedges. Pierce flinched, his shoulders stiff but face unreadable, a momentary hitch in his recovery—but then his gaze drifted to Brad, lounging calmly with his drink, utterly unfazed.
The din erupted again. Jasper, dirt still clinging to his cheeks, was stomping behind Maeve, who had just finished clapping her hands clean with quiet triumph. She ignored Jasper’s gripes about grass stains on his designer jeans with the practiced apathy of a woman who’d been born into the chaos and stuck around for the entertainment.
He didn’t make it far before Beau—practical and mischievous, shaped by his life at the Kershaw Ranch—unleashed the garden hose on him with merciless glee. Water blasted across the deck as Beau dropped the hose and took off running, shrieking with laughter. It slithered after him like an angry snake while Jasper gave chase, nearly slipping into the pool as his shoes skidded on wet stone.
“Jackson, might wanna help your kid,” Connor called from his seat. “You know how Jasper gets about his hair and clothing. Maeve got him good, but Beau just put the icing on that dung cake. He’s officially mad now.”
Jackson didn’t even glance up. “Nah, I ain’t worried. Beau’s fast. And if he’s not… I’ll just make another one with Bri once she gets that baby out.”
“HEY!” Ice cubes flew like hail across the deck. Hailey gasped, scandalized. Chase gave Connor a theatrical elbow. “Brad, Connor—Colton and I will hold the cowboy down and you two do an emergency vasectomy. That’s not even funny, kid!”
“Only if we do it like he castrates horses on his ranch!” Brad cracked, laughing.
Jackson flipped him off. “Watch it, Curly, before I rub your face in the dirt ‘til ya cry! Just ‘cause you’re a little weenie doesn’t mean you get to touch mine! Not for any reason.”
Bri’s voice rang out over the splashes, sharp with mock outrage. “I’m with Dad! That’s not funny, Jackson. We really need to be done with babies now. Anybody here remember that I was told at sixteen I’d have zero kids? I’m about to hit four. I think I’ve proven my point to fate—loudly—and I’m done!”
Meanwhile, Beau had launched himself into the pool in a blur of gangly limbs and confidence. “C’mon uncle Jas, jump in here. Y’all still won’t catch me, but you is gonna be clean again!” he drawled laughing.
Nearby, Jasper—soaked and grass-speckled from Maeve’s righteous takedown—stood glaring at his ruined shirt like it had personally betrayed him. “This is cruelty. And you, Beau, are an unapologetic menace. I will remember this day when your birthday comes around.”
He peeled off the sopping designer tee with theatrical flair and tossed it onto a nearby chair, shoulders heaving with the effort of grief.
Then came the finger.
He jabbed it at Jackson, lounging with his boots half-off on a chair. “You! Cowboy-in-chief. Are you not supposed to manage the tornado spawn you brought with you?”
Without missing a beat, Jackson reached over and hung a muddy garden glove on Jasper’s outstretched finger like it was a coat hook. Didn’t say a word—just leaned back, wholly unbothered.
Jasper blinked. Then flipped him off with the same hand while suppressing a laugh. “This entire property used to have rules.”
Before anyone could react, Snuffins—an enormous mutt with the energy of a caffeinated raccoon—charged onto the scene. He snatched Jasper’s shirt with the precision of a seasoned thief and flung it onto the deck before clawing at it like it owed him rent.
“Snuffins!” Jasper shrieked. “That’s vintage Dolce! Nooo—bad mutt! BAD!”
Snuffins didn’t so much as blink. Tail high and pride stronger than common sense, he trotted toward the rose bushes, shirt trailing behind him like a conquest.
“I stand by my evaluation,” Jasper said bitterly as he sloshed back into the group, dripping and defeated. He waved an arm at Chase and Hailey. “That dog is a certified brat. Ever thought of teaching him some manners?”
Chase shrugged. “He’s got plenty. Just not the kind you like.”
Hailey smirked. “And Jas, baby, we love you, but Snuffins lives here. You don’t. Just sayin’. Snuff’s my baby now, so tread lightly.”
Jasper collapsed next to Iris, who shrieked as his soggy form made itself very at home on her lap.
“Jasper, no!” she cried, dropping her phone and trying to shove him off, but her own laughter betrayed her. The two devolved into messy giggles and tangled limbs until Maddie, ever the calm amid chaos, rose and draped a blanket over them like she was tucking in emotionally unstable toddlers.
“Awesome. Privacy granted, thanks mom,” Jasper called out from beneath it, raising one arm dramatically like he’d just won a medal. “Tally-ho, babe, let’s go!”
Iris snorted so loudly it earned a round of applause.
And then it hit—loud, rolling laughter across the patio, cascading like a wave. The adults—those who had known heartbreak and tried again, who had faced silence and fought for second chances—exchanged quiet, knowing glances.
Briar Rose, still curled up with her feet tucked under Jackson’s leg, caught his eye. He winked, and she smiled—tired but radiant.
Brad and Viola, his arm around hers, shared a small, astonished grin before he kissed her temple. The kind of love and comfort you only earn after late nights and long talks and miracles when you least expect them.
Maeve and Pierce, perched just out of splash range, looked at each other. Maeve’s hand brushed his scarred forearm, and Pierce’s smile didn’t wobble this time.
Connor and Keira, behind the lemonade table, leaned together instinctively. She laughed into his shoulder, and he rubbed slow circles against her back.
Chase and Hailey, barefoot with matching iced teas, exchanged a look that said We made this. All of it. This is the legacy more than music is.
Colton and Maddie raised their glasses, bumping them gently. Maddie winked as she took her seat, satisfied.
And beneath the blanket, Jasper and Iris, wild-haired and grass-streaked, surfaced from their ridiculous cocoon—laughing, flushed, and utterly tangled. Jasper grinned and kissed her as he pulled her into his arms, her giggle muffled against his chest.
It was chaos. It was joy. It was every kind of love that doesn’t follow rules.
Unscheduled Appearance
Later, when the sun dipped behind the hills and patio lights flickered on, the estate began to quiet. Chase, Hailey, and Connor cleaned up as the younger crowd had headed to bed in waves. Graham tried his best to argue his way past bedtime, citing impending adulthood, but Brad pulled rank. Pierce received one last joke from Jasper before Iris dragged her husband back into line. By now even the adults had retreated for the night.
Then it happened. A scream—sudden and sharp—cut through the quiet from the pool house. A male scream.
Chase froze. Hailey stiffened. Connor leaned toward the window.
“Sounded like Jackson. I can’t tell … was that some overly enthusiastic bedroom scream or real?”
“Is he screaming Connor’s name now or do I need to get my hearing checked?” Hailey mumbled at Chase. “Now that’s odd, even by our standards …”
Chase blinked. “Your hearing’s fine, babe, I hear it too. Yeah, I knew our son was handsome, but didn’t think he’s who Jackson is thinking of when he and our daughter …”
“Dad! Seriously no! We are not going there, parents, get your minds out of the gutter while I go check it out. One of us has to be an adult here,” Connor muttered, already moving.
Outside, Jackson flung open the poolhouse door, frantic, so Connor jogged over. They exchanged words, and Connor sprinted back.
“Bri’s water broke. I’m getting Brad—he might’ve brought his bag. Mine’s at home. If he didn’t bring his, I’ll send Chris to get it –,” Connor added already running up the stairs.
The knock already told the story of urgency, it took only a moment and both were running over to the poolhouse. Both men looked at each other, unsure who should take charge—Brad, the ex-husband turned emergency lifeline, or Connor, the older brother and seasoned doctor.
“Better be you,” Brad said grimly, handing him the bag. “Jackson won’t kill you.”
Connor winced. “Already seen enough of both my sisters in labor. I do this when nobody else is there who could, but you can, so you go. I’ll assist.”
Jackson huffed with urgency. “I know I am a redneck, Brad, but my momma raised no damn fool, I ain’t killin’ no one unless y’all don’t get yer asses into gear soon. Just help her. I don’t care who, just do somethin’!”
By the time they entered the bedroom, Bri was already keening, doubled over on the floor. The family gathered outside the poolhouse erupted with movement, noise, and chaos. Chase and Hailey began herding onlookers away, especially the younger ones. Jackson clutched Bri’s hand and whispered every steady word he had left.
“Dad—I wanna help!” Chris shouted. “I’ll be a doctor soon! I know what to do!”
“Me too!” Graham chimed. He would be a doctor, like his father and all the ancestors before. But right now he was a high school kid with a dream and aspirations.
“No!” Brad barked. “Graham—round up the kids, now and make sure none of the younger ones get into trouble!”
Connor tried, “We could use Chris. He’s good.”
Bri, mid-contraction, yelled, “Are you insane!? I don’t want my nephew down there! I changed his diapers, I don’t want him … down there! OUT! Everyone out! Jackson stays. Connor and Brad too. And my mom! I want MOM! Nobody else!”
“Great. No pressure.” Brad muttered.
There had been many moments between Bri and Jackson and Brad—fights, reconciliations, stolen glances, broken vows. But when it counted, Brad had always been steady. Jackson had always stayed. And Bri? Briar Rose had always survived.
“She’s crowning,” Brad said, voice clipped. “There’s no time to even try to get her to a hospital. This baby’s coming. Oh Bri, can you NEVER not have a dramatic birth!?”
“If anyone here is looking for an apology, you can all go and …. AAAAAHH!” another contraction kept her from slipping into sailor talk and threats, while she almost broke Jackson and Hailey’s hands, pressing them so hard.
The air inside the pool house was heavy—salt from the ocean, lavender from the garden breeze drifting through the half-open door, and the unmistakable electric smell of imminent birth. Bri screamed, then whimpered, braced against Jackson’s shoulder as Brad crouched low, focused and calm. Connor stood just behind, prepping equipment while issuing clipped reassurances over his shoulder to Chase and Maddie, who were wrangling towels and barking quiet instructions to the others to stay clear.
Outside, the estate had gone quiet—not silent, but reverent. Someone had turned down the patio music. Someone else had dimmed the backyard lights.
And then she was here.
Small. Damp. Fierce in that first cry.
Brad caught her, wrapped her quick in a soft muslin blanket Hailey had snatched from one of the guest houses, and laid her against Briar’s chest with practiced tenderness. Bri gasped—not from pain, but from awe. Jackson kissed her temple and looked down at the tiny bundle in her arms like it might shatter him.
No one spoke for a long moment.
Then Brad stepped in gently. “Let’s get vitals.” Connor nodded. “She’s stable,” he confirmed. “Healthy color, good grip. But we’ll take her in for postnatal monitoring. It’s protocol—even with two seasoned docs. We’ve got the staff at his hospital briefed already.”
“It’s YOUR hospital, Connor. I just pay the bills.” Brad said, smiling down at the baby.
Connor turned toward the door, already calling ahead. He was the Chief Medical Officer and his requests took precedence.
“Tell them to prep the suite near the garden wing,” Brad added, his voice lowering. “Less fluorescent. More peace.” Connor nodded, agreeing.
Brad was still watching Briar closely. “You good?”
She nodded slowly, eyes never leaving her daughter. “Little early, but she’s perfect. And I tried to keep the drama down this time.”
They stayed like that for a while—quiet, letting the room reset, letting hearts catch up. Then Connor pulled out his phone, tapped the screen, and lifted it for the room to hear.
“Jack? You there?”
The speaker crackled. “I’m here. I missed it, didn’t I?”
Connor chuckled. “Yeah. Again. Sorry, bud.”
There was static, then the older man’s gentle laugh. “Goddarn it, kids! Jus’ couldn’t wait another week for us to get there! How ya doing Bri? And how’s my son?” in the background they heard Izzy’s excited lilted accent “Congratulaaaaaatioons!”
Jackson smirked from his seat beside Briar. “Sorry Pops, and thanks Iz.”
Chase and Hailey slipped inside then, still carrying towels, and the look on Hailey’s face was one Bri hadn’t seen in years—overflowing, gentle, shaken in the best way.
Briar looked at her mom. “We were still a bit undecided, but we talked about naming her after you.”
Hailey paused. “Me?”
“Hailey Eden.”
There was quiet. Soft. Shared. A moment just between them.
But Hailey shook her head slowly, smiling through the emotion. “Oh dear God, no, baby. Give her her own name. She’s got her own fire—you can name something after me when I’m gone.”
Chase raised a brow. “She already has a horse named after her.”
Jackson blinked. “Huh?”
“Patches,” Chase said with a satisfied smirk. “That Pinto of yours. You don’t remember us telling you that was Hailey’s nickname I gave her when we were sixteen, long before that horse – or you – were wet shimmers in your daddies eyes?”
Jackson opened his mouth, then laughed. “Damn. That’s right. You remembered that?”
Hailey rolled her eyes fondly. “I would never forget how you cursed about Patches in the most colorful way and I was about to be very VERY insulted.”
Everyone laughed, and the sound seemed to wrap around the newborn like a cradle.
Brad tapped Bri’s shoulder. “So? Her name? We should have something for the birth certificate.”
Briar looked down at her daughter again. Felt everything. The ache of old scars. The heat of new beginnings.
“Eden Leigh,” she whispered. “That’s who she is. Jackson?”
Jackson leaned closer, his arm curling around both of them. “Yup, Eden Leigh it is. Welcome to the world, darlin’. You’re already breaking all the rules. Jus’ like yer momma.”
“And your daddy.”
Homebound
The discharge papers were stamped and filed. Mother and daughter had passed every postnatal checkpoint with flying colors, and Eden Leigh was bundled once again into soft muslin, this time printed with vines and stars. Seaglass Haven had quieted from its birthday roar to a gentle hum: no more rushing towels or panicked calls, just warm meals, soft lullabies, and the occasional squeal from Briony trying to teach Eden sign language despite her being less than two days old.
While Eden Leigh nestled into her first real nap under the soft hush of San Sequoia’s fading daylight, the gathered family prepared to part ways. The house—once a rush of voices and motion—had settled into post-miracle quiet. Fewer footsteps. Softer laughter. Just enough noise to remind Briar Rose she wasn’t alone.
Downstairs, Jackson was still swapping stories with Jack and Izzy in the living room, while Cody, recently turned eighteen, held his niece like she was made of sunrise and new beginnings. They had just arrived a few hours ago, while they hadn’t been able to move up their flights, so Jack had gone to Maximilian and AG who immediately dispatched the royal jet. Briar Rose lay in the poolhouse in a cocoon of pale cotton sheets and tucked-in affection, the occasional knock at the door of someone checking on her just a reminder that she was loved—but also finally allowed to rest.
The visiting crew began their exit in waves. Maeve and Pierce, Maeve carrying Arden and Chad, while Chris helped Pierce take their things to the waiting car with careful silence. Pierce moved slower, still favoring his left side, while Maeve’s quiet efficiency stitched every step together like second nature. Behind them were Brad and Viola, their children re-packed for routine and school back east, their time here tucked behind them like a snapshot: framed in laughter, blurred by emotion. Everyone had lots of fun and the goodbye was somber.
They were flying back together—eastward across the country toward work, rhythm, and everyday gravity. They passed security lines with overstuffed carry-ons, baby wipes wedged beside travel documents, and shared glances that spoke in shorthand. The plane would be full, the hours long, but the air was still thick with Eden’s story. Each one of them carried it—Pierce in the slight wince of his steps, Viola in the way her palm stayed firm on her stomach. Even Nathaniel, half-dozing between seat rows, held that quiet hush around him like the aftermath of a lullaby.
They left Seaglass Haven as a unit stitched by blood, by survival, by the kind of joy that always feels a little bit like grief—for time lost, for what couldn’t last.
The baby count had dropped by half.
But not for long.
Brindleton Bay, Rosebriar Haven
The next day at Rosebriar Haven, the pool shimmered like it meant to bottle sunlight. Maeve lounged with sunglasses askew, one foot bouncing near Arden’s blanket. Viola, still propped on one elbow, was nestled deep in the lull of what everyone assumed were her final weeks. Nathaniel zoomed tiny trucks across a towel nearby while Pierce, shirtless and still, floated at the edge of the shallow end, legs trailing through the water.
His scars caught the light like etched topography—one long and silvering across his ribs, another fracturing down his thigh. No one asked about them anymore. Except Arden, who traced the deepest one and whispered, “Daddy boo-boo?” with reverence.
Viola smiled at something Maeve said and leaned back. Brad had just stepped away to take a call, pacing beneath the lemon trees and the archway trailing star jasmine. For a moment, everything held still.
Then Viola twitched. Just slightly. Enough for Maeve to glance over.
“You okay?”
Viola waved it off. “Baby’s just elbowing me. All good.”
But minutes later, it happened again. And again. Until she sat up slowly, blinking down at the now-spreading wetness beneath her.
“Oh,” she muttered.
Pierce looked up. “Oh?”
Viola pressed a hand to her belly, her voice steadier than expected. “I think… yeah. My water just broke.”
Maeve sat up. “WHAT?! You’re joking.”
Viola looked down at the puddle beneath her and the slow, steady cramp rolling in. “Oh, nope. Definitely not joking.”
Pierce scrambled upright. Brad, still pacing near the lemon trees on a business call, turned as Maeve yelled, “She’s in labor!”
Brad sprinted over, already tossing his phone. “Get her out of the sun—NOW!”
They moved fast. Towels, blankets, noise. Pierce lifted Nathaniel into Maeve’s arms and tried to herd Arden, who insisted on waving to the pool like it was her favorite cousin.
Brad, all calm efficiency, started toward the house—until Viola groaned louder and grabbed his shirt. “No time,” she said through clenched teeth. “This baby’s not waiting for a nursery suite.”
And so, the emergency kiddie pool—bright blue, half-filled from earlier splash time—became Charlotte Joy’s delivery room.
Brad took one look, rolled up his sleeves, and barked orders at his fifteen-year-old son like it was an operating room. “Graham! You wanna be a doctor? Sterile towels—go! Gloves, water jug, blankets—step on it!”
Eyes wide as saucers, Graham nodded like he’d just been recruited into med school and bolted for the house.
Inside: a commotion of door slams, linen rustling, and one loud “Sorry!” that clearly wasn’t meant for Viola. Moments later, he reappeared with the housekeeper, trailing behind him with practiced calm. Graham was overloaded with towels, elbow-deep in a blanket stack, and awkwardly balancing a tray of supplies while the housekeeper handed Brad the gloves with all the grace of someone who’s helped prepare a large-scale gala and organize a wine cellar in the same week.
Maeve, still processing, blinked. “Are we actually doing this? In the kiddie pool?”
Brad, tending to his wife, clenched and bracing with him at her side, muttered through gritted teeth: “Unless someone has a spare delivery room handy—yes.”
Brad turned toward the commotion just as Viola gripped the edge of the kiddie pool, her face tightened in pain.
“Okay. This is happening,” he said sharply, already moving. “Pierce, Maeve—grab the kids and take them for ice cream. Now. I need the patio cleared and the little ones out of earshot. Graham, Lauren—you want to be doctors, and you will be. Just not at fifteen and almost thirteen. Go and eat ice cream, be kids, let me be the doctor!”
Maeve shot up, scooping Arden while Pierce wrangled Nathaniel, who insisted on bringing the flamingo. Graham grabbed diaper bags as Lauren protested, “Wait—this is historic! Shouldn’t we be here to witness this, dad?”
“History later,” Brad snapped. “Graham—my medical bag. Office desk. Go.”
Graham nodded like he’d been drafted into service and sprinted inside.
Brad knelt beside the kiddie pool, voice steady but urgent. “Mrs. Hanley,” he called. “Towels, water jug, clean blankets—anything soft. We’re doing this here. And call Harborview Medical—tell them we’ve got a 35-week birth in progress. I want a transport unit en route for postnatal evaluation. Use my direct line. They’ll know what to do.”
She nodded crisply, already dialing as she turned toward the house.
Viola groaned again, her grip tightening on the edge of the pool. Brad shifted beside her, calming, grounded, focused.
“You’re doing beautifully,” he said, checking vitals. “We’ve got backup coming. I’ll deliver her, you hold strong. Charlotte’s on her way.”
Viola groaned again, breath hitching, knuckles white against the kiddie pool’s edge.
Brad knelt beside her, voice low but steady. “I’ve got you. Charlotte’s ready, and so are we.”
Labor came hard. The plastic flamingo looked deeply concerned.
Brad guided her through each contraction like he’d done it a dozen times—with surgeon’s precision and dad-level tenderness. At 35 weeks, he checked vitals, tone, breathing.
And then, with one final push and a cry that startled a flock of nearby seagulls—She arrived.
Charlotte Joy Cunningham, pink and furious, born into a kiddie pool in the backyard of an estate where seagulls watch and dogwood trees bloom. Her cry was strong. Her temperature held. Brad lifted her gently, handed her to Viola like he was passing the crown of a dynasty.
Brad was already texting Harborview Medical Center with one hand and cradling Charlotte with the other. “We’ll transport soon. She’s a fighter. Man, two babies in two days. At this rate, I am gonna wanna give myself a raise and a promotion.”
“You just got another promotion, daddy. Look what we made together, Brad,” Viola, exhausted and radiant, cradled Charlotte against her chest smiling up at him. He knelt down next to her.
“A love child. A true love child. A miracle. She looks perfect, for being born so early. Unbelievable. Medicine really is just highly educated guesswork on any given day. If I didn’t know any better and someone handed me this baby, I’d never guess she was born a few weeks early.”
The sunlight folded over them like a blessing.
Some babies arrive in life wrapped in lace and lullabies.
Charlotte cannonballed in.
San Sequoia, Connor and Keira’s home with Chris
The morning buzzed with quiet urgency at the Cameron residence, tucked behind flowering hedges and slate paths lined with potted succulents. Inside, it was all espresso steam and creaking floorboards and the symphony of two black shepherds—Artemis and Echo—chasing each other through the hallways with the ferocity of toddlers on caffeine.
Connor, halfway through tying his tie and halfway through a lukewarm coffee, paced between the kitchen and entryway as alerts pinged from his phone—clinic reminders, supply deliveries, an intern running fifteen minutes late. Keira, hair pinned and heels clicking, balanced her laptop, breakfast bar, and a folder full of gallery contracts like a seasoned performer in a very artistic juggling act.
“Chris!” Connor called toward the stairs. “If you’re riding with me, we’re leaving in twelve.”
It wasn’t just a lift to the hospital—it was day four of Chris’s internal medicine rotation, shadowing his father’s rounds for clinical credit. Technically supervised. Emotionally exhausting. The kind of experience med students fantasized about and then regretted halfway through pre-rounds.
“Actually,” Chris replied, appearing in the doorway like a ghost in jeans and sleep-mussed hair, “can we talk for a second?”
Connor exchanged a look with Keira. “This isn’t about another semester trip to Tartosa, is it? Or Sulani. Because no way we’re sponsoring an all-inclusive deal for you and Cadie again. Spend your own money, kid!”
Keira didn’t even look up. “And I’m not buying you another hiking drone. You have lost two now, they don’t grow on trees you know?”
Chris groaned. “I found the second one, thank you. It’s just broken. I fix people, not electronics. I was gonna ask Jackson to help, but…” He gestured vaguely. “You know. He has his limits, a special type of smart, he can resuscitate his old truck blindfolded, fix any horse, fight half a town, and stare down an angry bull, but if you drop him in downtown San Sequoia with a debit card and a coffee order, he’s basically feral.”
Connor snorted. Keira burst into laughter.
“Oh my god,” she wheezed. “Remember when he tried to AirDrop a photo and ended up uploading it to Bri’s tax accountant’s document server?”
“He once asked me how to fax something to someone,” Connor added. “I had to literally show a kid almost half my age how to fucking use email. Should be the other way around. Yeah, don’t even try to go to Jackson with that drone. Even if he got it to move, he’d probably get startled and shoot it.” Connor chuckled while Keira snorted hard.
Chris nodded solemnly. “Exactly. So yeah. I don’t know anyone who could help me out here, nobody in this family is great with tech or those who might be have no time. Unless dad suddenly comes into tons of spare time and wants to give it a whirl, the drone’s a goner until I find a repair shop.”
Artemis bounded past, nearly knocking over two chairs. Echo followed, barking twice before skidding into the pantry door.
“But I’m serious,” Chris continued, stepping into the kitchen. “I need you both to listen.”
“Oh baby, I have one foot out the door. Big client meeting today, I need to prep the gallery and make sure everything is ready for them.” Keira groaned, peeking at her watch.
Connor checked his watch as well. “Can it wait until tonight? Sounds important and big, but I’ve got two surgeries and—”
“I want to ask Cadie to marry me,” Chris interrupted.
Silence hit the room like a wall.
Connor blinked. Then spit his coffee out, a clean arc of espresso that landed squarely on his own tie.
Keira dropped her gallery folder, papers fanning like confetti across the floor.
“You’re—what?” Connor choked out.
Echo, clearly inspired, pounced on a crumpled envelope and took off down the hall with it flapping from her mouth like a stolen scroll.
“Not the grant paperwork!” Keira shouted, lunging toward the dog.
Connor vaulted around the kitchen island with surprising speed for a man in dress shoes. “Echo! Drop it! That’s not meant for you, you little furry rat!”
Chris dove low, arms out like a goalie in a family sitcom. Artemis barked encouragement while Savannah clapped with delight, oblivious to the paperwork war unfolding across the tile.
After a few wild turns and one near collision with the breakfast table, Keira cornered Echo in the laundry nook and plucked the soggy envelope from her jaws, tossing it onto the counter.
“God help me, if she grabbed the museum contract, I’d have sending that dog to live with Jackson. Fair trade since we have his kid, he gets our dog,” Keira muttered, brushing dog hair off a gallery invoice.
All three Camerons stood now, knees bent, documents in hand or scattered under chairs. Connor swatted Artemis away from a slightly damp budget form. Chris crouched, holding a cereal-speckled schedule from the bottom of Savannah’s highchair tray.
“I wasn’t trying to ruin anything,” Chris mumbled, clutching an insurance form with a wet paw print on it. “Just wanted to talk.”
“You didn’t ruin anything, baby,” Keira said, picking up more documents from underneath the stove. “You just accelerated our morning to DEFCON 2.”
Chris looked sheepish now, but firm. “Mom, Dad—I really want to ask her. For real. Like… soon. But I don’t know—do I go to her dad first, or just do it? When? Where? How? I mean, if I show up at her parents’ place without her, that’s weird. But if I go with her, how am I supposed to sneak away with her dad without her getting sus? And shouldn’t I ask her mom, too? I’m trying to be polite, not old-fashioned. I just… don’t want to mess this up.”
Chris rubbed the back of his neck. “And the ring—God. I’ve tried, but they all look the same to me now. I think I get her style, but seriously… backup would be great. And help with the hows, wheres, whens—any of it. This sounded like a great idea, but honestly? My finals might be easier than figuring this out.”
Connor wiped his mouth with the dish towel and gestured wildly. “I can help you with the when right now: NOT ANYTIME SOON! You can’t just—Chris. Come on. Your best friend came home married last month! This is feeling a little… Craig-inspired.”
Keira, crouched to collect stray papers, muttered, “Married to someone none of us expected. Like, we’ve known Cayla since grade school, but no one knew she and Craig even liked each other like that. It feels like betrayal to all of us, and we’re not even his parents, though at times it felt like he was more here than at his own home. I just don’t get his logic here. The Douglas’ are doing okay financially, but not wealthy, so not even golddigging makes sense, same goes for Cayla. Don’t the Collins’ rent their home? I mean, money clearly wasn’t the inspo here. I asked Craig’s mom if she was pregnant, but she doesn’t think so.”
Connor threw up his hands. “No shit. One second he’s dating Cadie’s best friend, Sloane, was it? We blink, then boom—big fight, no closure, he’s over here spewing hatred for Sloane or moping, I cannot say how many times I plucked that grown man off my shoulder where he left sob stains, then his parents send him on a vacay, next thing we all know is Craig strolls in with Cayla and a ring. Married. MARRIED, Chris. At 21. You don’t think that’s a bit too young?”
Chris stood rigid, voice cracking under the weight of emotion he didn’t bother hiding. “Yes, I do! Of course I do, Dad. I don’t want to get married, I am talking about an engagement, that doesn’t mean we get married a month later or something. We’ll get married when we made it to a comfortable level in our careers, I don’t know at 25 or so, and no kids before 28 or something. I mean it. But don’t start in on Craig—because I swear to God, I’ll lose it. Super-sore subject with me. Still.”
He rubbed his forehead like it physically hurt to think about. “We’ve been friends since we were two. We did EVERYTHING together. And then he goes off and marries Cayla—Cayla, who we both knew since we were kids—and never once told me he even liked her like that? He barely even paid any attention to her at parties. Totally ignored her. So, don’t ask me, makes even less sense to me than you.”
His voice rose with disbelief, raw and jagged. “Not a heads-up. Not a conversation. Not even a hint. No text like ‘Hey man, realized Cayla and I have such and such in common, thinking it’s worth a deeper look.’ NOTHING. Just—boom. Text message. Ring photo. ‘Guess what, man?’ Like I’m some distant coworker, not the guy he was supposed to stand beside at his damn wedding.”
Chris blinked hard, breathing fast. “We were gonna be each other’s best men. Guess I wasn’t important enough to even know he likes Cayla like that. Now, I hope he enjoys watching mine—from the back. If I even invite him. Might just send him a link to a live stream, if I don’t … ‘forget’. What a douche!”
He looked down, knuckles white from clenching the kitchen counter. “And yeah, he’s been blowing up my phone. Calling, texting. Acting like I’m overreacting. The only reason he hasn’t shown up outside with a boombox and some dramatic apology speech like in those chick flix is because he knows I’d come out swinging. I’d beat his dumb ass so bad, his own mom wouldn’t recognize him. So no, dad, I am not thinking about this to imitate that slapnuts jerk, but because I love Cadence and I feel like we should level up. And unlike my idiot best friend, I am not planning any weddings anytime soon, neither is she. Just the engagement.”
Echo dropped a slobbery tennis ball at Keira’s feet. Artemis ran in circles around the dining room table like a sentient blender. Chris looked between his parents—his mother poised and still processing, his father now staring at their son as if he might detonate.
“Chris, why are we talking about engagements now? You are freaking me out kid! Did you knock her up?”
“WHAT?! No dad! I just told you, I love her,” Chris added. “And I want to do it right. But I need advice, not… lame jokes and accusations.”
Keira stepped forward, eyes softer now. “Are you even ready for that? You barely learned how to walk and talk, you’re still my little baby boy … how can you be thinking about proposing to anyone?!”
“He forgot to stop walking and talking once we taught him, but is skipping the thinking part. Christian … seriously, where is this even coming from? That ‘ready to level up’ BS isn’t flying with me. This isn’t a video game, this is real life, kid.”
Chris swallowed. “Well, parents, I am pretty sure she is the one. That’s where it’s coming from. From my heart. And please, PLEASE, do not bring up that I said that about Indie and about Noelle … I know … I KNOW … but I was wrong then, just an idiot kid, I’ve matured, this time I got it right. She’s the one for me. No need to keep my options open.”
He shook his head, scoffing. “Oh, God Keke, our son thinks he’s an adult now. Did you hear him when everything blew up with Bri? ‘I’m almost a doctor, Dad! Let me help!’ I was just waiting for you to start flapping your gums about how I used to let you shadow me at the clinic since back when you were fifteen—while the actual clinic owner was standing right there.”
Chris winced. “Dad, I’m not brain-amputated. Brad knows I’m in med school. He offered to hire me on at any of his clinics after I graduated. Hello. Besides, I am sorry, refresh my memory, where was I going with you during my semester break? Oh, that’s right, your clinic to help out, because you are buried in work. And now you are my rotation. Rest my case.”
Keira raised an eyebrow as she rescued Savannah’s sippy cup from Echo’s slobbery jaws and rinsed it under the tap like she’d done it a thousand times. “Chris, helping your dad with filing and assisting him during his rounds as a teen is one thing. You act as if you were doing complex brain surgeries on your own! We’ll be sure to send Brad your resume—once you graduate, get a job, and then start thinking about engagements, once the first big fat paychecks hit that bank account, you playa. Slow down, baby. Engagements. Jeezes.”
Connor didn’t miss a beat. “Yup, second that. For a second I thought you’d finally hit adulthood, but that thought just zipped out the window like a deflating balloon.”
Artemis barked once. Echo stole the dish towel again. And just like that, the house descended back into its usual motion—fast, loud, and absolutely theirs.
Connor sighed, reached for his ruined tie, then looked up at his son—older now, not just visiting home, but building the shape of it for himself, which was scary to him.
Chris looked deflated, so he pat him on the back.
“Look Chris, we are not dismissing that you love Cadie, we do too, she is perfect for you and we would love to have her as a daughter-in-law one day,” he said slowly. “And when that day comes, go talk to her dad and her mom. That’s respect. But don’t elope. I am begging you. Not unless you want your grandparents emotionally blackmailing you for the next decade. And let’s sit down again tonight and discuss this. Do not buy any rings, do not propose, do not make any emergency babies, …”
“Dad, oh my God, chill out. I don’t want a kid right now. I help with Savannah cos she’s cute, because I know it helps you out and because she is Jackson’s and because that’s who I am, I help people, hence the idea of becoming a doctor, not because I want a baby. I am good, and so is Cadie. But we are adults now and one day we will want to level up. And I think we are close the first leveling up here … It’s an engagement, not a crime, dad.”
“You stole that from Phantom of the Opera, ha, so you WERE awake when I made you watch that the other day! Look Chris, baby, you are our only kid, let’s make sure we get to do all this right and slowly, since we have no other chance on living all that. And please, I am begging if you love your mother at all, do not elope like Craig did …. Ah shit, we need to get Savannah ready for your parents, Con-Bear!”
“Yeah, good talk, parents.”
“We said we’d discuss it tonight,” Connor replied, adjusting his cuff as he reached for Chris’s tousled blond hair. “Now go get ready. I am not taking you to my place of work looking like some hobo. Lost your comb?”
“Says the man with hair flowing halfway down his back,” Chris shot back, ducking out of reach. “How about you get a haircut, Dad? You’re not getting younger. At some point the cool Valhalla mane starts looking… desperate.”
Keira, sorting gallery emails and watching the unfold chaos, burst out laughing. “Your dad will never cut his hair. He’s still clinging to the Dr. Dreamy routine—and honestly? It’s working way better than it should.”
***
EchoesOfLegacy 