San Sequoia
Seaglass Haven
The rental SUV crunched up the driveway, sunlight flashing across the windshield. Bri practically bounced on her toes, Briony rolling her eyes beside her while little Eden Leigh toddled in circles around Hailey’s legs. Chase stood a few steps back, arms folded, the picture of polite vampiric detachment.
But when the doors opened, Bri’s smile faltered.
Just Brad. And Nate.
No Viola. No Charlotte Joy. No extra luggage. No bright, breezy greeting and excited chattering Viola and Bri usually fell into.
Brad looked… wrong. Thinner. Paler. Eyes shadowed. Clothes hanging off him like he’d forgotten how to dress himself.
Hailey and Chase stepped forward with warm, practiced politeness, greeting him like the son‑in‑law he used to be. Nate ran straight into Bri’s arms, and she hugged him tight, inhaling the familiar little‑boy scent of sunscreen and crayons.
“My sweet baby boy. Finally! Oh, I missed you so much!”
“Missed you more, mommy!”
But her eyes never left Brad.
“Scheduling issue,” he said lightly when she finally asked. “Vi had something come up.”
Bri didn’t buy it for a second.
She watched him through dinner prep, helping Hailey and her of course, through small talk, through Nate showing off his new sneakers. She watched him until he started fidgeting under her stare.
Finally, she touched his arm. “Come on. Guest house.”
He didn’t argue.
Inside, she shut the door. Then locked it.
Brad blinked. “Bri—”
“Nope.” She planted herself between him and the exit. “Talk.”
He tried to deflect. “Did you hear Blaine Jr. is dating my Lauren? I swear, those kids are going to bring me to my knees—I certainly didn’t see that coming.”
She actually laughed at first. “Yes, I have heard, he is technically my uncle, though I am older …. and well. But Brad, seriously, I kinda don’t give a crap about the dating life of my extended family right now. How about the elephant in the room?”
Her arms crossed. Her expression sharpened. He shifted, uncomfortable, and started unpacking just to have something to do.
She stepped in front of him, grabbed his wrist, made him look at her.
“You look like shit.”
He huffed a humorless laugh. “Wow. You have a way with words. Now I feel much better. Thank you, Bri.”
“Brad.” Her voice softened. “I know you. And contrary to popular belief, I am not an idiot. Something isn’t right. Where is Vi really? What is going on?”
He hesitated. She saw it — the crack.
Then he folded.
His knees hit the edge of the bed and he sank down, elbows on his thighs, face buried in his hands. Bri’s heart lurched. She sat beside him, close enough that their shoulders brushed.
“Braddy? You’re freaking me out.”
“You shouldn’t be in here,” he muttered. “Especially with the door locked. If that cowboy of yours—”
“BRADFORD.” She snapped it like a whip. “Do not worry about Jackson. He’s too busy reeling in his horses to be here. Just like he was too busy to come with me to celebrate Nate’s sixth birthday.”
Her voice cracked. She swallowed it down.
“And if I sound pissed and hurt and upset, I am. And he knows. I don’t know why I even bother with that man. Just because my baby boy isn’t his, it wasn’t important enough? Who does that stupid motherfucker think he is!? Sorry. This isn’t about me.”
Brad lifted his head. His eyes were red. He looked like a man unraveling.
“She left me,” he whispered. “Took our daughter and left. Found someone new. Story of my life, Bri. I’m just too damn boring. No woman can stay with me long term.”
Bri shot to her feet. “WHAT THE FUCK?!”
He flinched.
“Oh hell no,” she continued, pacing. “And she didn’t even tell me? I thought we were friends! Oh, that’s gonna be a heated phone call.”
“Bri—don’t—” Brad jumped up trying to stop her, but she was already out the door, sprinting past the pool, phone pressed to her ear.
Viola answered on the second ring.
The conversation was quiet but intense. Viola’s voice trembled as she explained she hadn’t wanted to hurt Brad, that she’d fought her feelings, that she couldn’t keep living with a ghost.
“A ghost? What are you talking about now, woman? You have been watching too much daytime TV, girl. There are no ghosts,” Bri ranted.
“There are ghosts, and I have lived with one for years, Bri. The sad thing is, I think I always knew it. I thought I could arrange myself with it. But I can’t. You are the ghost of relationships past, Bri. Brad never stopped loving you,” Viola said gently. “And I couldn’t compete with that.”
Bri froze. The phone slipped slightly in her hand.
When she returned to the guest house, Brad stood where she’d left him, staring at the floor.
They looked at each other. Both opened their mouths. Neither spoke.
Hailey’s voice floated across the courtyard. “Dinner! Don’t make me call twice!”
They straightened. Masks on. Cameron and Cunningham composures restored.
Dinner was polite. Tense. Too bright.
Someone suggested movie night. Brad and Bri sat through it, laughed when everyone else did, but neither saw any of the storyline. Each was a million miles away in their minds.
Later, after the kids were asleep and even Hailey and Chase had retired, Brad walked Bri around the pool to her guest house. The night air was warm, cicadas humming, the pool lights casting ripples of blue across their faces.
They said goodnight. Then again. And again.
He finally turned to leave.
She grabbed his wrist.
“Brad… be honest. I need you to be honest. Don’t lie. Don’t blow me off. Don’t sugarcoat this. Vi said that you… that you…” She swallowed hard. “She thinks that…”
She couldn’t finish.
He closed his eyes. Nodded once.
“It’s true,” he said quietly. “I do. I can’t help it.”
Bri stared at him, stunned. He looked humiliated, already turning away.
She caught him again.
Pulled him back.
And kissed him.
He froze — then melted into her, hands coming up to her waist, her fingers curling into his shirt. The kiss deepened, slow at first, then hungry with years of unsaid things.
She tugged him inside the pool house.
The door clicked shut behind them.
The Morning After
Sunlight spilled through the sheer curtains of Bri’s pool house, soft and golden, warming the tangled sheets. For a moment, she didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t think.
Brad was still asleep beside her.
He lay on his stomach, one arm tucked under the pillow, the other stretched toward her like he’d reached for her in the night. His curly hair was mussed, his breathing slow and even, his face finally peaceful after what must have been weeks of torment.
He looked younger like this. Or maybe just unburdened.
Bri sat up slowly, pulling the sheet with her, heart thudding in her chest. Her mind raced — not with regret, but with the terrifying clarity of what last night meant. Sometimes realizations take weeks, months, to ripen into a decision. For her and Brad, it had taken a moment. One single moment in time had changed the entire course of her life again. And she was oddly at peace with it.
She’d kissed him. He’d kissed her back. And then everything had spilled out — years of longing, grief, confusion, and love they’d both tried to bury.
She pressed her palms to her eyes.
“Oh, fuck, so I really did that. Oh Bri, why always this impulsive shit …”
A soft sound behind her — a shift of weight, a quiet inhale.
“Bri…? You’re not a dream. This isn’t a dream.” His voice was rough with sleep.
She turned. Brad blinked up at her, still half-dreaming, and for a moment he smiled — a small, unguarded smile she hadn’t seen since they were young and stupid and in love. Teenagers. A long time ago.
Then reality hit him too.
He pushed himself up on his elbows, eyes searching hers, panic flickering at the edges.
“Oh wow. This really happened. Oh … wow. Are you… okay?”
She let out a breathy laugh. “I don’t know. Are you?”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “I haven’t been okay in months. But right now… I don’t know. I feel… good. Yeah, I actually am okay, Bri.”
That admission hit her harder than anything last night.
She reached out, brushing her fingers over his cheek. He leaned into it instinctively, then caught himself, pulling back slightly.
“Bri… we shouldn’t—”
“Don’t.” She shook her head. “Don’t say it. Just don’t. I know, you know, we both know. This is gonna turn into something. I don’t know what, but … it’s gonna.”
He swallowed hard. “The kids… your parents… Jackson—”
“Jackson isn’t here,” she said quietly. “And he hasn’t been for a long time. He thinks the proper reaction to pissing me off is skipping the biweekly visit, so I can’t see my son, and my son can’t see his sisters and grandparents. What a fucking idiot he is. Seriously! Was he always like that?! Don’t answer that!”
Brad looked down at his hands. “I don’t want to be a mistake you made because you were angry at him. Some rebound.”
She scooted closer, lifting his chin so he had to meet her eyes.
“You weren’t a mistake. Or a rebound,” she said. “Not now, and not ever. Last night wasn’t a mistake. You know that. And I know that. I think I have always known that.”
He exhaled shakily, shoulders slumping in relief and fear all at once.
A knock sounded on the door. Both winced hard.
Both froze.
“Mom?” Briony’s voice. “Nate’s awake and asking for you. Grandma says breakfast is ready. Grandma hasn’t had her coffee pensum yet so I wouldn’t push it.”
Bri’s eyes widened. Brad mouthed oh god.
She scrambled for her robe, tying it in a frantic knot. Brad grabbed his shirt from the floor, pulling it on backwards before realizing and fixing it with shaking hands.
Bri cracked the door open just enough to see her daughter.
“I’ll be right there, sweetheart.”
Briony squinted. “Why do you look weird?”
“I don’t look weird.”
“You totally look weird.”
“Go eat your pancakes.”
“Nobody made pancakes. It’s Saturday. Waffles, hello?” Briony shrugged and wandered off.
Bri shut the door again, leaning against it, heart pounding.
Brad stood in the middle of the room, hair still a mess, shirt crooked, looking like a man who’d just realized he’d stepped off a cliff and wasn’t sure if he was falling or flying.
“Bri…” he whispered.
She crossed the room, took his face in her hands, and kissed his forehead.
“You really do look weird, Braddy. So, I am gonna guess Briony was right and I look weird too. Guessing that would be that freshly fucked glow. That means everyone will know once we go out there, at least my parents, cos they are Camerons. So, be strong Braddy. We’ll figure it out,” she said softly. “Not right now. Not today. But we will. Oh, and Brad – you are not a rebound.”
He nodded, eyes shining.
She opened the door.
“Come on, Braddy. Let’s go face breakfast.”
He followed her out into the sunlight, both of them trying — and failing — to look like nothing had changed.
Everything had.
They made it halfway across the courtyard before Brad suddenly launched into that whistle — the ridiculous, triumphant, over‑the‑top fight song he always used when he was psyching himself up for something terrifying. Exams. Job interviews. Meeting her grandparents that one time. Loud. Off‑key. Dramatic.
Bri froze, stared at him, then burst into laughter.
“Bradford Cunningham, quit it—”
He only whistled louder, puffing his chest out like he was leading a marching band of one.
She slapped a hand over his mouth to shut him up — except he was taller, so he just leaned back out of reach like a smug giraffe.
“Oh my god, hold still—” she hissed, swatting at him again.
He dodged, still whistling, and she gave him a nudge meant to be a warning.
It was… not a warning.
Brad stumbled sideways, windmilling his arms. She lunged to catch him. They both went down. Right into the landscaping.
Brad’s whistle ended in a startled squeak as he disappeared into a rhododendron, Bri landing half on top of him, half in a flower bed.
They were still laughing — helpless, breathless, absolutely useless — when a shadow fell over them.
Bri’s mother stood on the patio, arms crossed, expression a perfect blend of Are you kidding me? and Of course it’s you two with the BS. Youthful, gorgeous, vampire‑still, warm blond hair, blue eyes, and a face that could deliver a punchline without speaking.
Bri shot upright, fallen petals in her hair. “Hi, Mom. I was just showing Brad your amazing gardening skills. Look at that oxeye daisy, Brad. Isn’t that the prettiest you’ve ever seen?”
Brad, still flat on his back in the shrubbery: “I think that’s a pansy, but yeah, it’s stunning.”
Her mother blinked once. Twice.
“Kids,” she said dryly, “get out of my rhododendron and come inside to eat.”
She shook her head and went back in.
Bri and Brad tried to stand, but every time one pulled the other up, the other slipped, and they both collapsed again, laughing so hard they couldn’t breathe.
By the time they finally staggered upright, covered in leaves and dignity nowhere in sight, Brad muttered, “Next time, I’m whistling in my mind.”
Bri elbowed him. “Next time, you whistle out loud, I’m pushing you in the pool.”
When they entered, together, the kitchen went silent.
Hailey looked up from the stove, eyebrows raised. Chase paused mid‑sip of his coffee, eyes narrowing just slightly — the vampire version of oh really now. Briony stared at them like they’d grown matching clown noses. Nate blinked between his parents, confused but delighted. Eden Leigh banged her spoon on her high chair, sensing the chaos.
Nobody said a word.
But the red flags? They were practically flying high.
Bri cleared her throat. “Morning.”
Brad tried to look normal. He failed spectacularly. Everything about him screamed ‘cat that ate the canary’.
Hailey’s eyes flicked between them again, sharp and knowing, but she simply said, “Waffles are ready.”
Bri and Brad exchanged a glance — a tiny, secret, terrified, thrilled glance — before stepping fully into the kitchen, still fighting smiles they absolutely could not hide.
And breakfast began.
Motherly Intervention
Bri rushed past Hailey toward the patio, but her mother’s hand shot out with supernatural speed, hooking into her upper arm and yanking her into the downstairs guest bathroom. The door clicked shut behind them, Hailey positioned in front.
“Cozy, Mom,” Bri said, deadpan. “Want me to light the candle for some romantic mother–daughter time while we braid each other’s hair?”
Hailey stared at her. “Do I look stupid to you?”
“Not particularly.”
“What are you doing?”
“Trying not to freak out because my mom is acting super‑delulu right now.”
“Brad. AGAIN?!” Hailey threw her hands up. “Seriously, Bri? What is wrong with you? Do you just live for drama? I can have your dad talk to your grandpa — he knows enough producers if you want a reality TV show so bad! Pick ONE ex and stick with it. Or find a new man for a change. Actually, nix that, cos you would probably have another baby with them! Who are you aspiring to be, your grandma Scarlett with eight kids?!”
“Seven, actually, and by the same guy, but who’s counting. The eighth was grandpa with an ex, but she died, so I guess he’s not at risk of messing with her. Although, I learned yesterday that ghosts, evidently, are a thing and I am one.”
“Briar Rose Cameron!”
Bri sighed. She’d planned to deny everything, but this wasn’t her first time on this merry‑go‑round. Or Hailey’s.
“I know, Mom.”
“So Jackson pisses you off and suddenly it’s Brad again. Moment presented itself, convenient, huh? Because your father and I aren’t drooling idiots like you – and your Braddy – seem to think. He and Vi split, didn’t they? And immediately you jump his bones again? Really? Did we raise you like that or do you need help?”
“Mom, I didn’t—” She stopped. Realized that was exactly what had happened. “Okay, fine. Yes. I did that. I practically sexually assaulted Braddy. There. Happy?”
“Of course, which mother’s heart wouldn’t just sing at that?!” Hailey crossed her arms. “Bri, since you were sixteen we have been battling the epic war of who will be our son‑in‑law THIS season. Brad, then Jackson, then Brad, then Jackson, then Brad, then Jackson—”
“Mom, I get it, okay.”
“I wasn’t done.” Hailey pointed at her. “That is what YOU do. Round and round and round. We are all getting dizzy. And honestly, you’re a grown woman. If you want to live your life being a hoe, so be it. But there are children involved. So many children from so many fathers.”
“MOM! There are exactly two fathers in my kids’ lives, hello? I get it, it’s confusing, but you think it’s only confusing for you? What about me? And Brad is miserable. I found out from Vi — Vi, Mom — that he still loves me.”
“Yeah, and Jackson still loves you too. So where is this headed? You starting a new cult where everyone screws everyone in some threesome?”
“WOW.” Bri’s voice cracked. “Good to know how you REALLY feel about me. Who needs enemies when you have a mother like that?”
She tried to storm out, but Hailey pulled her back and wrapped her in a tight embrace.
“I’m sorry, baby. Maybe I was a bit harsh…”
“Ya think?!”
Hailey kissed her forehead, her expression softening. “Bri, I don’t want you to keep getting hurt. And I don’t want the babies to get hurt. Or Brad. Or Jackson. They’re both very sweet boys. And I truly believe both love you in their own way. I never doubted that. How could they not? You are so very special, Bri. Everyone sees that.”
Bri looked miserable, eyes shining.
“Mom… then help me. Yes, I love Jackson, but honestly — where are we going? There is nowhere to go for us. There will NEVER be a scenario where he and I ride off into the sunset together, pun intended. And he always chooses that bullshit ranch and those damn horses over things that REALLY matter.”
“Things that matter to YOU,” Hailey corrected gently. “I truly believe the ranch and his horses matter a great deal to Jackson. They’re his livelihood. And his legacy for Beau.”
“More than my son?!” Bri’s voice cracked. “Nate turned six. Six, Mom. A big boy. He started school. And his kinda‑sorta stepdad couldn’t be bothered. Yeah, that stings. Especially when I had to explain that to Nathaniel, then to Brad, then to Graham and Lauren, … I mean … it burned having to talk something pretty that I wanted to call out as what it was: fucking BS!”
“Bri, you’re repeating what we’ve all been trying to tell you for years. We adore Jackson. We love Jackson. But there has never been — and will never be — a future for you with him. We’ve been telling you that since you were sixteen and ever since.”
“Okay, so why are you flagging what I do with Brad then?”
“Because Jackson will not let you go. He is even more stubborn than you are about you and him — and that is saying something. He knows he can’t be with you, but he sure as heck doesn’t like another man standing within a five‑mile radius of you. Do I need to remind you of when you two were teenagers and your father and I had to bail you out of jail for horse theft? In a place like Brindleton Bay, where reputation is everything! Because of HIM. Because he got jealous of Brad buying one of his mares for you. Jackson breeds and sells his horses for a living, yet he couldn’t let Brad own one as a gift for you, Bri. Roll that around in your mouth.”
She gave her a look — the one that said I raised you better than this, but here we are again.
“And more recently,” she continued, ticking points off on her fingers, “he made a complete fool of himself at his ex‑wife’s funeral in his own hometown and we all saw it. Got into brawls — plural — with Brad. At a funeral. Then went on that drunken bender Jasper and you had to rescue him from. After which you promptly left Brad for… well, reasons unknown to any living soul. Except evidently Jas and your sister, cos they helped, which I had words with them both for.”
She paused, eyebrows raised high enough to hit the ceiling.
“Who says that won’t happen again if you choose Brad now? You get your heart broken again. Brad gets his heart broken again. And Jackson, brokenheartedly, turns into the loose cannon he always becomes when he loses you — again. Your father and I used to joke that one day he’d show up with his shotgun for the ultimate showdown, while Brad tries to negotiate his way out of it like a hostage mediator. Right now, that doesn’t seem so funny, cos it might come true.”
She sighed, but it was the affectionate, long‑suffering kind.
“Brad is the father of our grandson, and I don’t want that for him. I like Brad. I really do. But somehow he is not spicy enough to keep you fighting against whatever gravitational pull Jackson has over you — even though you both should know by now there is no future there. You had a future with Brad. We all thought you realized that when you married him. But no, you crashed and burned it all and went back to Jackson and the great unknown.”
She threw her hands up.
“At this point, sweetheart, I’m convinced you are allergic to stability. Honestly, baby, you are heading for forty and living in your parents’ pool house. Your father and I love having you here — truly — but let’s not pretend this is what people mean when they say they’ve ‘got their life together.’”
She gave her a look. The look. The one that said I love you more than life, but I am also not blind.
“You’ve got a mortgage‑free roof, a hot tub, and a pantry you don’t pay for. That’s not adulthood, sweetheart. That’s the VIP, all‑inclusive, luxury‑suite version of living in your parents’ basement at forty.”
That was it. Bri broke.
She collapsed into her mother’s chest, sobbing. Hailey grimaced — not because of the tears, but because Bri’s mascara was definitely going to stain her blouse — and wrapped her arms around her anyway.
“Moooooooom! What do I doooooo?!”
“Oh, baby…” Hailey stroked her hair, thumb brushing away a tear. “If I had those kinds of answers, I’d be an oracle. Or at least charging admission.”
Bri hiccupped a laugh into her shoulder.
“All I know,” Hailey continued, voice softening, “is sometimes you have to sit somewhere in silence for as long as it takes and listen to your heart and your brain until they stop screaming at each other. That’s what your father and I did before choosing to be vampires again.”
She gave a wry little snort.
“Unpopular choice, by the way. I’m well aware. You kids hated it — except Connor, who only turned because of Keira, and Chris… well, Chris is still adjusting. And yes, it’s messed up. There will come a time when your sister and you look older than your father and I. Not ideal.”
She sighed, the kind that carried a century of decisions behind it.
“Was it the right choice? I don’t know. Your father doesn’t know. But it was the choice we needed, for us. And that’s the thing, sweetheart — no choice is ever perfect. There will always be cons with the pros. Always.”
She tipped Bri’s chin up gently.
“You have to pick what you can live with long‑term. What you can wake up to every day without resenting yourself. Not chasing rainbows, not chasing chaos, not chasing whatever gravitational pull Jackson has over you. Just… choosing the life you can actually breathe in. Like a grown-up. You are not a teenager anymore, Bri.”
Father-Daughter Talks
Bri stepped out of the bathroom, Hailey’s words still echoing in her skull. She needed air. Space. Anything. The sun was too bright but warm like a blanket as she stepped onto the patio.
Outside, she spotted her father juggling a coffee mug, a stack of sheet music, and the door to the recording studio like a man who had challenged himself.
“Dad—oh my god—give me that.” She rushed over, grabbing the mug before he baptized the sheet music in caffeine.
“Thanks, baby girl,” Chase said, slipping inside and setting his things down. He started adjusting mic stands and cables like nothing was wrong in the universe.
Bri turned to leave.
Stopped.
Closed the door.
“Daddy?”
“Hm?” He didn’t look up.
“I have a question. And I don’t want any of your usual jokes. I need you to shoot straight.”
That got his attention. He turned, eyebrows raised.
“Ah. My turn, huh? Let me guess — your mother already gave you the Jackson and Brad speech? Don’t ask. I know my Patches. She has patterns. I knew she would try to talk sense into ya.”
“Yup. Struck a chord with me too. Pun fully intended.” she gestured around the recording studio.
He smirked. “So what do you want me to say other than that I fully agree with your mother?”
“Basically… Jackson or Brad, Daddy. Help.”
“Oh, come on, Bri.” He shook his head. “I am not gonna tell you who to choose.”
“Why not?! Everyone always has all the answers after I choose something or someone. Everyone’s a critic. But nobody ever gives me any real help. Clearly, I can’t be trusted with the right choice.”
Chase stepped forward, took her by the hands, and made her look at him.
“Because it is not OUR choice, Bri. And it shouldn’t be. It CAN’T be. It HAS to be YOUR choice — but finally for the right reasons.”
“I always thought I had the right reasons,” she whispered. “It felt right at the time.”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “Okay. I’ll tell you something. And I’m sure it’ll come back to bite me in the ass, but here goes.”
Bri braced herself.
“I think Jackson is fucking cool,” Chase said plainly. “Real great dude. Love the kid. Someone you can rely on when shit gets rough. That man would fight a bear to save any of us in this house — probably even Brad. He’s funny, he’s charming, I can see he’s easy on the eyes, he’s a great father to the kid who lives with him.”
He paused.
“Leads me to the red‑marker moments.”
Bri winced.
“He has several kids, not just one. Briony hates the prairie. Hates ranch life. Has life‑threatening allergies. What does Jackson do? Nothing. Lets you raise her. Same with Eden. He never even tried to have her live with him. If you or one of us bring her to him, he’s a great dad. But there is no action, no attempt on his side. Then there’s daughter number three — from that drunken marriage to the ranch hand none of us approved of. She lives with your brother. Indefinitely. Because I doubt once Savannah turns six Jackson will magically be better equipped to raise her that he is now.”
“Daddy, that’s not really Jackson’s fault—”
“Yeah? Well, we’ll agree to disagree.” Chase crossed his arms. “I have raised two girls alongside your mother. I agree it is harder on a man than raising a boy, but the moment you stick your tab A into any woman’s slot B, you risk becoming a father and if you still have the nookie, you have to be okay to deal with the consequences, and properly. THAT is what I think, baby girl. The only time I’ve seen him put real effort into anything was when you were someone else’s woman, namely Brad’s. Then suddenly Jackson gets dramatic and is full of ideas and actions. Fuck that shit.”
Bri swallowed. “I’m afraid to ask how you feel about Brad now.”
“Are ya?” Chase smirked. “Look, I always said Brad isn’t exactly my gear, but…”
“Oh god.” Bri braced for the roast.
“But,” Chase continued, “he seems to be yours.”
The world stopped.
“Huh?” Bri thought she misheard him.
“You heard me. I don’t like the truth, but… you’re great together. When you had the issues with the pregnancies, he was there. Brad makes you calm. Brad is reliable. Steady. I never have to wonder what he might be up to. Whatever static is always buzzing in your head — it goes quiet with him. You’re just you.”
Bri blinked hard.
“And if I may remind you,” Chase added, “the last time you were freshly divorced from Jackson and ran into Brad in Brindleton Bay … you told us being with him felt like ‘coming home.’ So why did you leave that ‘home’ again with him to fall into a big bottomless void with Jackson? Look, there has been a time where we all thought Jackson would eventually get his shit together and you both figure out something solid. But, truth is, that is never going to happen. So, maybe it’s time to come home, Bri. For good this time.”
Her breath hitched.
“But you have to fight,” Chase warned. “Hard. Against the static. Because it WILL come. And it WILL confuse you again. That’s the choice you have to make. There is no easy button to any of this. It’s a choice, you have to make it and stick with it. Does that help?”
Bri stared at him — shocked, relieved, overwhelmed — then launched forward and kissed his cheek.
“It helps a LOT. Thank you, Daddy.”
She tore open the door, then paused.
“Um… did you know Blaine Jr. is dating Brad’s daughter Lauren?”
Chase snorted. “Have you met my father, your grandfather? Yes, I know my youngest brother is dating my former step-grandchild and that is all I am going to say about that. How does Brad feel about it?”
“Well, he’s not sure. They met on an exchange year thing, so who knows if it will last, but … just… is it odd?”
“We’re Camerons. I don’t know how to define odd anymore.”
“True. Thanks again.”
Choices Made
She bolted across the backyard straight to the guest house, banging on the glass door until Brad opened it, startled.
She flung herself at him, kissing him breathlessly, words tumbling out between kisses:
“I love you. I love you, love you, love you. I do. And if you still love me too, I’ll make it worth your while this time. I’ll make it last. This time YOU will have to walk away from me again.”
Brad blinked, stunned. “Again? I never walked away from us.”
“Yes, you did! When your father interfered. When he wore us down.”
“Bri,” Brad said softly, “I didn’t walk away because of my asshole father. I walked away because I got tired of fighting for us by myself.”
She froze.
“What are you talking about? I fought. I had arguments with your scary father. And I snuck out after surgery — while grounded — and walked across the Bay to see you, only for you to break up with me.”
“But your heart was already Jackson’s,” Brad said gently. “Maybe you didn’t want to admit it, but it was obvious. It was always the same story. I even forgave you cheating on me — several times — with him, when we were still teens, Bri. I was tired.”
“Wow. Okay. Fair.” Bri exhaled. “Dad just told me something like that. Made it sound like an addiction.”
“Well,” Brad said, “from a medical standpoint, I’d have to agree. If you walked into my clinic with this pattern, I’d diagnose it as… let’s call it a compulsive‑obsessive attachment disorder. Highly chronic. Poor prognosis.”
She glared at him.
He held up a hand. “And I would strongly recommend a long, structured retreat somewhere far away from Jackson. Preferably with no cell service. And padded walls. For everyone’s safety.”
Bri snorted despite herself. “You’re a jerk.”
“No, I just recognized a familiar pattern,” Brad said. “I suffer something similar.”
“Wow, didn’t know you were obsessed with Jackson too?” Bri teased, fully aware he meant her.
“How could I not be? Have you seen him in those tight jeans and that drawl’s been the bane of my existence for a very long time … oh swoon,” Brad deadpanned.
She swatted his arm, but he caught her hand, softened.
“Seriously, Bri…” He cupped her cheek, thumb brushing her skin. “I’ve got whatever you’ve got for Jackson — but for you. Same symptoms. Same compulsions. Same terrible prognosis. I need help badly too.”
Her breath caught.
Brad’s lips curled into that mischievous, boyish smirk she’d always been weak for.
“Wanna detox together?” she whispered, a wicked smirk tugging at her mouth.
Brad let out a breath that was half‑laugh, half‑sob.
“Bri…” His voice cracked. “You can’t just say things like that to me.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ll believe you.” He swallowed hard. “I always believe you.”
She softened, the teasing fading into something real. “Good. Because I meant it.”
He closed his eyes for a second, forehead resting against hers, like he needed the contact to stay upright.
“You terrify me,” he murmured.
“Likewise.”
He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Dead serious.”
He pulled back just enough to look at her — really look at her. Her flushed cheeks, her bright eyes, the way she was practically vibrating with certainty. He searched her face for hesitation, doubt, the usual static.
He didn’t find any.
“Bri…” His voice was barely a whisper. “I don’t know how to do this again.”
“Then we’ll figure it out together. I am willing to try if you are.”
He exhaled shakily, like she’d punched the air out of him. “I don’t want to lose you again.”
“You won’t,” she said, cupping his face. “I will not run again. I meant that. I just had a mirror held up to me by two people who know me better than I know myself. It wasn’t flattering, but it was true. So, Brad, I am willing to jump in with both feet, and I won’t leave again — not unless you run. And you’re not running, are you?”
He shook his head slowly. “No. You know me. Steady and boring. Predictable.”
“Good. Because I came to realize that is what I really need. And I find that hella sexy in you.”
She kissed him again — softer this time, slower, like sealing a promise instead of starting a fire.
When she pulled back, Brad was staring at her like she was the first sunrise he’d seen in months.
“So… let’s pick up on your idea. Detox together, huh?” he said, voice rough.
“Yep. Thinking Sulani. Unless you feel more detox‑y in the snow. I am open for suggestions. I mean, you are the doctor.”
He brushed his thumb over her cheek, a small, disbelieving smile tugging at his lips.
“Then I guess I’m checking myself in and prescribing a full week in Sulani for both of us. If your music career allows.”
“Fuck my music career.”
“Always a lady,” he snickered.
Bri laughed — a real, bright, relieved laugh — and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder.
For the first time in years, Brad hugged her without fear — fear it could be too much, fear it could be misread, fear his feelings would betray him. And for the first time in years, Bri didn’t feel torn.
She felt home.
Chestnut Ridge
Kershaw Ranch
Jackson stared at her like she’d slapped him.
She had come because he’d skipped the last visitation, and she refused to let her big decision rot in her chest. He needed to know. He deserved to know.
He’d assumed she was here for the usual I missed you too much tumble in the sheets — the pattern they always fell into whenever she stepped into his cabin.
He’d leaned in to kiss her, fully expecting her mouth to meet his. The prolog to what was always next.
She turned her head.
The look on her face — steady, unreadable, not hungry for him — made him falter for the first time.
That alone had already ruined his day.
Her words finished the job.
Jackson’s voice came out tight, disbelieving. “So jus’ like that, you get to decide everythin’? I don’t get no say?” His brows were drawn low, his jaw already bracing for a fight.
Bri lifted her hands slightly, palms open — not defensive, just steady. “Jackson, look.” She took a breath. “I realized something — something you still can’t see, and won’t, even if I spell it out…” Her voice didn’t waver, even as her eyes softened.
Jackson’s jaw flexed, a muscle ticking. He didn’t interrupt — yet.
“You only really want me when I’m out of reach,” she continued. “And I want the idea of you. But the real man — the rancher who will always put the ranch and the horses first, who expects me to live in your world while refusing to live in mine for longer than a moment — that man is who you really are. And that man and this woman have no future. I am done dreaming, hoping for the impossible.”
Jackson’s nostrils flared. His fingers curled around the edge of the wobbly table like he needed something to hold onto.
Bri pressed on, voice quieter. “You love an idea of me. And I loved an idea of you. But it’s not real. It never was.”
Jackson’s eyes narrowed, suspicion slicing through the hurt. “So somethin’ happened.” His voice dropped. “Brad’s available again.”
Bri’s shoulders tensed. “Jackson…”
He gritted his teeth, eyes burning. “Am I right?”
She tried to redirect. “Look, I wish you—”
He leaned forward across the old, scarred wooden table — the one with the uneven leg and the two chipped coffee mugs still sitting between them — and slammed his palm down so hard the mugs jumped, one sloshing coffee across the grain.
“AM I RIGHT?!” he thundered, the crack of his hand on the wood echoing through the cabin, rattling the windows in their frames.
Bri winced, eyes squeezing shut for a heartbeat as the force of it hit her. When she opened them again, her breath left her in a slow, defeated exhale. “Yes.”
Jackson let out a guttural curse — raw, wounded — and shot to his feet. His chair scraped violently across the floor, the legs screeching against the old cabin boards. He snatched his hat from the hook by the door, jammed it onto his head with a sharp, angry shove, and stormed outside, boots pounding down the steps.
Bri hurried after him. “Jackson, you can’t just walk away from this! We are doing this now.”
He stopped so abruptly she nearly collided with him. When he turned, his eyes were wildfire — bright, furious, and already glassy around the edges.
“Ya already made up yer mind.” His voice shook with fury. “Whatcha want from me? Beg? I ain’t gonna do that, Bri.” He jabbed a finger toward her, the gesture sharp and accusing. “You think you need to go live with the sleepin’ pill again, playin’ house in the fancy Bay for a while — well, I can’t stop ya. I ain’t got no time to chase ya, and I sure ain’t no money for grand gestures.”
Bri’s eyes widened, incredulous. “You think this is about money?”
He stepped into her space, towering, the brim of his hat casting a hard shadow across his face. “I think you’re a spoiled lil’ brat — and you’re turnin’ our daughter into one, way you let her dress, way she speaks to me. Always goin’ the path of least resistance. That’s what I think.”
Bri’s mouth fell open, outrage flashing hot. She jabbed her own finger back at him. “Oh yeah? Well at least I am raising our daughters.” Her voice sharpened. “You barely manage our son — and badly. Beau Wyatt has no options in life except taking over this stupid ranch because no matter how much I work with him on his grades, the minute he’s back here you care more about chores than his future. We’ll be lucky if he graduates at all, there is no university who would take him with his bad grades.”
Jackson’s chest rose sharply, breath turning ragged. His hands curled into fists at his sides, shoulders trembling with the effort of holding himself together — and failing.
Bri didn’t stop. She stepped in closer, voice rising. “And you’re not even bothered that you’re barely involved in raising our two girls. Or your other daughter, who you conveniently parked with my brother.” Her voice cracked, but the anger didn’t. “Weekend father — that’s what you are and only when it’s convenient to you. Because they’re just girls!”
Jackson’s face went crimson — not just red, but blotched, the kind of dangerous flush that crawled up his neck. His fists clenched so tight the tendons stood out like cords.
His voice came out low, trembling with rage. “That what ya think?”
“Jackson—”
He snapped. “Asked ya a question!” he roared, the sound ripping out of him so violently it bounced off the cabin walls and rolled across the yard. “That what ya really think? ANSWER ME, WOMAN!”
Bri’s eyes shone, but she didn’t back down. “Yes! That is what I think!”
Silence slammed down — thick, electric, suffocating. Even the wind seemed to freeze.
Then—
Jackson’s voice tore out of him like a whip. “Then git yer arrogant lil’ lyin’ cheatin’ ass off my property — and stay gone! Fer good this time, if ya please!”
The ranch froze.
Every ranch hand within earshot stopped dead — one with a saddle half‑hoisted, another mid‑stride with a coil of rope, another holding a feed bucket suspended in midair. The horses in the nearest paddock jerked their heads up, ears pricked, muscles taut, hooves shifting anxiously in the dirt.
Bri stood rooted, chest heaving, the weight of his fury settling over her like dust — heavy, choking, impossible to shake off.
Jackson didn’t wait for her to speak. Didn’t look back. Didn’t soften.
He turned and stomped toward the pasture, boots kicking up dry dirt, shoulders rigid, hat pulled low like armor.
Bri didn’t follow.
Jackson turned to his ranch hands, fury spilling over. “What the hell all y’all starin’ at? I ain’t payin’ ya to gawk! Git back to work!”
The ranch hands scattered instantly, boots thudding, heads ducked, pretending they hadn’t heard a damn thing.
She just stood there, staring at the space he’d left behind, knowing she hadn’t just burned a bridge.
She’d burned the whole damn neighborhood.
No way back now.
SULANI
Sulani had a way of softening the world.
Warm breezes. Slow mornings. Nights that smelled like salt and hibiscus. Bri hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been wound until she felt herself unwind in Brad’s arms — laughing, swimming, talking until sunrise, falling asleep tangled together without guilt or fear.
On their last night, they walked the beach barefoot, the moon turning the water silver.
“This week just flew by.” Bri sighed.
Brad’s thumb brushed her knuckles. “We’ll see each other again soon. We’ll figure something out.” He kissed her forehead.
They didn’t fly home together.
At the airport, Brad kissed her once, slow and certain, then boarded his flight to Brindleton Bay.
Bri boarded hers to San Sequoia.
San Sequoia
Seaglass Haven
Briar Rose’s parent’s estate was buzzing. Kids everywhere, Iris and Jasper visiting with their daughter Anastasia and son Tate, Hailey in the kitchen, Chase tuning a guitar somewhere.
And Jackson’s truck pulled into the driveway.
He was early.
Beau Wyatt — tall, lanky, unmistakably Jackson’s son — hopped out and ran toward the house. Hugged and kissed his mother briefly, then headed into the kitchen.
Jackson followed, jaw tight, eyes flicking to Bri with a look she knew too well.
Suspicion.
Jealousy.
Territory.
“Hey,” Bri said carefully.
“Hey,” Jackson muttered.
Inside, the house was loud and chaotic in the way only Cameron gatherings could be. Anastasia was showing Briony a new dance she’d learned, all elbows and enthusiasm. Tate was trying to climb Jasper like a tree while Jasper grabbed his son, blowing raspberries on his belly till both snorted and were in tears for laughter. Beau was already raiding the fridge like he owned the place, joined by Eden until Hailey pulled both out to fix them proper plates.
It was warm, messy, familiar.
Bri tried to slip into the rhythm of it — the noise, the laughter, the comfort.
But Jackson kept watching her.
He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, eyes tracking her every move like he was waiting for her to slip.
“So,” Jackson said finally, voice cutting through the chatter, “you had fun on your lil’ lover’s getaway? Got a nice tan goin’.”
Bri stiffened. “Jackson—”
“Looked like hella fun.” Iris barely even glance up from her phone. “Cute new bikini, sis. Yeah, we all saw your Insta light up with your ‘sun’s out, buns out’ moment with Brad, while the rest of us were slaving away at our 9 to 5s. Subtle way to tell the whole world about your relationship status change. Not like you could have called Jas and me or something, noo, we get to find out on your socials like the rest of the world. Must be nice to run off whenever life gets hard.”
Bri blinked. “Excuse me?”
Iris shrugged, still scrolling. “Some of us don’t get to escape our responsibilities.”
Jasper shot her a warning look. “Iris — jeeze, down girl! Sorry about that, Bri, sounds like my wifey got some sand in her vajayjay.”
“Naw, let her talk,” Jackson said, eyes locked on Bri like he was daring her to react. “She ain’t wrong.”
Bri felt her pulse spike. “I didn’t escape anything. I took a break. I needed—”
“Needed Brad,” Jackson cut in. “Again.”
Jasper stepped between them, hands up. “Hey guys, okay, let’s all just chill for a sec—who needs some snacks?”
But Iris wasn’t done.
She finally looked up, eyes sharp. “You know what your problem is, Bri? You always want to be the victim. You make a mess, then cry when it blows up and scream hell and high water when someone points it out. You’re exhausting. Grow the fuck up, sis.”
The room went silent.
Even Tate froze halfway up Jasper’s torso.
Bri’s breath caught in her throat.
Jasper whispered, “Iris, what the hell, woman!? You PMS’ing or something!?”
But Iris kept going, voice cold and precise — the kind of tone meant to wound.
“No wonder Jackson treats you like an option. You act like one. Why would he buy the whole cow if she’s just gonna run off again anyway? He just takes the milk for free whenever available. Can’t say I blame him. Act like an option, get treated like one.”
“Bruh! Iris! Holy shit!” Jasper sputtered, almost speechless — which never happened.
“Shut up, Jas — someone around here has to finally grow some damn backbone! I am so tired of everyone always pussyfooting around my sister like she’s made of glass. She never learns that way! Try adulting, Bri, instead of adultering for once — big difference! Why you gotta act like such a hoe?!”
That was it.
Something inside Bri didn’t bend. It broke.
Clean. Final. Irreversible.
She grabbed her keys.
“Bri—” Jasper lunged toward her, reaching out. “Goddammit, Iris! Let go of me!”
“You’re not running after her, Jasper!” Iris hissed, fingers locked around his arm like a vice. “She needs to sit in it for once!”
Jasper twisted, furious. “She’s my sister too! My sister from another mister and I am her brother from another mother, now let go, Iris or I swear!”
“Swear all you like, babe! That’s exactly why you’re not going,” Iris snapped. “You’ll just coddle her again! She needs this. Let her have that moment to finally get her head on right!”
Bri didn’t wait to hear the rest. The front door slammed behind her, the sound echoing through the house like a gunshot.
But she was already out the door.
She drove straight to San Sequoia International Airport, hands shaking on the wheel, headlights blurring through tears she refused to let fall.
She parked in the short‑term lot, slammed the door behind her, and walked inside with nothing but her phone and the clothes on her back.
The departures board glowed overhead.
SAN MYSHUNO INTERNATIONAL — 2:05 AM — ON TIME
Perfect. Anywhere but here.
She walked to the counter.
“One ticket,” she said, voice raw. “Any seat available. First class, economy — heck, I’ll sit on the pilot’s knee if I must. I don’t care about the price.”
The agent blinked at her, clearly at the verge of a nervous breakdown, her shaking hands, her lack of luggage.
“Ma’am… will you be checking in luggage?”
“Nope. I am leaving all my baggage behind for good.”
“Pardon?”
“Never mind. No checked luggage. Just a one‑way ticket, please.”
Her credit card hit the counter with a sharp, decisive slap.
Five minutes later, she was through security. Ten minutes after that, she was downing overpriced drinks at one of the airport bars, the burn in her throat finally drowning out the burn in her chest.
By the time she boarded, she was warm, drowsy, and numb.
She stared out the window as the rain streaked across the glass — then let her eyes close.
She didn’t wake again until the wheels hit the runway on the other side of the country.
Brindleton Bay
Rosebriar Haven
It was still very early on Sunday — the kind of hour where even the gulls were asleep and the world felt hollowed out — when the cab dropped Bri outside the wrought‑iron gates of Rosebriar Haven. The intercom box glowed faintly in the rain, waiting for her to press the button, waiting for someone inside to answer and buzz her in like a stranger.
She couldn’t do it.
“Here’s fine,” she told the cabbie, voice thin, as she paid him.
He gave her a look but didn’t argue. The taillights disappeared down the coastal road, leaving her alone with the storm and her heartbeat.
The rain was relentless — cold, punishing, soaking her through in seconds — as she slipped off the paved drive and followed the narrow path she hadn’t used since she was a teenager. The one that wound down toward the private beach, hidden behind dune grass and driftwood. The one she and Brad used to sneak through when they were kids, long before life beat them into submission.
Her shoes sank into wet sand as she crossed the shoreline, waves crashing beside her like a warning. She climbed the old wooden steps carved into the bluff, her fingers gripping the slick railing, her breath coming in sharp bursts.
At the top, the long gravel path stretched toward the house — the house Brad had once renamed for her.
Rosebriar Haven.
She wasn’t sure she could pull this off. She wasn’t sure she should.
But she kept walking.
By the time she reached the porch, she was shaking so hard she could barely keep hold of the candy box.
She knocked.
Nothing.
She knocked again, harder this time.
Inside, she heard movement — a thump, a muttered curse, the unmistakable shuffle of someone dragged out of sleep.
“The one day I give the housekeeper off,” he muttered, rubbing his face, “someone decides to come to the door at the buttcrack of dawn — on a SUNDAY—”
The door yanked open.
Brad stood there, hair sticking up in every direction, wearing an athletic suit, blinking blearily.
He froze.
“Bri?”
She tried to speak, but only a small, broken sound came out. She held out the candy box with trembling hands.
“Have candy,” she whispered. “Need a place to rest my weary head. Sorry, it’s from the airport, the little shop downtown is closed on Sundays.”
The box slipped from her fingers.
Brad caught it — and her — in the same motion.
“Jesus, Bri.” His voice cracked. “You’re freezing.”
He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t think.
He pulled her inside, kicked the door shut, and wrapped his arms around her like he was afraid she’d vanish.
“Where’s your luggage?”
She shook her head against his chest. “Don’t have any. Just me.”
That undid him.
He cupped her face, thumbs brushing rain and tears from her cheeks. “Okay. Okay. I’ve got you. Let’s get you out of those soaked clothes and warmed up.”
He guided her down the hall — past the living room, Bri peeked in and saw their six‑year‑old was asleep on the couch under a dinosaur blanket, little feet sticking out. Bri stopped, staring, breath catching.
Brad squeezed her hand. “He had a nightmare, inconsolable, but finally fell asleep watching cartoons. Well, apparently so did I, which is why I was at the door so fast. He’ll be thrilled when he wakes up. Graham and Lauren are away for the weekend. So is the housekeeper.”
Her knees buckled. He steadied her.
“Come on,” he murmured. “Shower. Warm clothes. Then bed. Doctor’s orders.”
He took her upstairs to the master bedroom they once shared, into the ensuite bathroom, everything still so painfully familiar, turned on the shower, tested the water with his wrist like he’d done a thousand times with their son.
“Get in,” he said gently, already pulling on her wet clothing as if it was the most normal thing in the world and she let him.
“I’ll grab you something dry.” he said, collecting every dripping wet threat she had worn in his arms, while she stepped under the water, letting it wash the storm off her skin.
When she emerged, wrapped in a soft towel, Brad was waiting in the bedroom — not hovering, not crowding, just there.
He pulled back the covers.
“Lie down.”
She did.
He tucked the blanket around her shoulders, smoothing her damp hair back from her face.
“Brad…” Her voice trembled. “I’m done. I’m done letting him hurt me. I’m done pretending. I’m done running. I’m done choosing wrong. I am choosing right this time, one last time.”
He sat on the edge of the bed, leaning close enough for her to feel his warmth.
“Then stay.”
She looked up at him, eyes shining. “Is that okay?”
He swallowed hard. “Of course it is.”
She reached for his hand. “I love you.”
He closed his eyes, breath shuddering. “I love you too, but you know that. Everyone does. Get some sleep. We’ll talk when you wake up.”
“Will you stay?” she whispered.
For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then he exhaled, slow and steady, and to her surprise he didn’t leave the room.
He walked around to the other side of the bed, lifted the covers, and lay down beside her — not touching, not crowding, just close enough that she could feel the warmth of him, the quiet reassurance of his presence.
“I’m right here,” he murmured into the dimness. “Just rest.”
She nodded, tears slipping silently down her cheeks, her breath finally beginning to even out as the storm inside her eased.
Brad reached over and turned off the lamp, the room falling into a soft, protective darkness.
Outside, the Sunday rain kept falling.
Inside Rosebriar Haven, she finally slept.
Later that morning
Bri woke slowly, blinking against the soft morning light filtering through curtains she knew by heart. It was still early, but she felt like she had slept for days.
For a moment, she didn’t move.
The room was exactly as she remembered it — the same paint color, the same framed photos on the wall, the same quilt folded at the foot of the bed. Even the faint trace of Brad’s cologne lingered in the air, warm and familiar.
Her chest tightened.
This used to be their room — the one she’d once shared with him, the one she’d left behind when she walked out of this life.
And the bed beside her was empty.
The pillow was still indented from where he’d lain next to her earlier, the sheets faintly warm, but he was gone. A small, sharp regret pricked at her — she hadn’t even noticed when he slipped away. Nor when he placed the pile of his clothing for her to wear at the foot of the bed. Oh Braddy.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, drawn toward the large windows. The view was beautiful even now, with rain still pouring down in silver sheets. Below lay the patio where they had hosted gala after gala together. The pool where his kids and hers — and their son — had splashed and shrieked through endless summers. The private beach where they’d taken some of their wedding announcement photos, barefoot and laughing.
She pulled on his shirt, the joggers she had to roll a few times, staring at her bare feet.
She turned toward the dresser on instinct. His dresser. The one she used to tease him about for being too organized, too neat, too predictable.
She pulled open the top drawer.
Everything was still exactly where it had always been — his neatly folded shirts, his watch resting in the same corner, the little dish where he kept loose change and cufflinks. The second drawer would still hold his underwear. The third, his socks.
Nothing had been rearranged. Nothing replaced. Nothing erased.
A soft, trembling smile touched her lips.
Oh, Brad. Beautiful, predictable, steady Brad. Once, she’d mistaken that steadiness for boredom. Now she understood it was everything she’d ever needed.
She grabbed a pair of his thick socks — the soft, worn kind he always bought in bulk — and pulled them on. They swallowed her ankles, warm and comforting.
She opened the bedroom door.
The upstairs hallway was quiet, bathed in early Sunday light. But the scent drifting up the stairs wasn’t quiet at all.
Coffee. Toast. Bacon. Her stomach growled loudly.
She hesitated — should she wait? Should she hide? Should she pretend she wasn’t terrified?
But the pull toward him — toward steadiness, toward warmth, toward him — was stronger.
She descended the stairs slowly, each step stirring memories she’d buried: mornings with Brad, teenage breakfasts, the chaos of kids underfoot, laughter echoing through this house. Even her and him, as children. As teens. Here. Long ago.
When she reached the bottom and turned toward the dining room, she stopped.
Brad sat at the table with their son. Nathaniel was pointing at something on his plate, blonde curls bouncing with every word. Brad listened with that soft, patient smile he reserved for the people he loved most.
Then Brad looked up.
His smile widened — warm, relieved, grounding. It told her everything she needed to know.
He pointed gently toward her.
Nathaniel’s eyes followed.
His whole face lit up.
“MOMMY!”
The little boy — all blond curls and bright green eyes, a miniature Brad with his mother’s eyes — slid off his chair and sprinted toward her. Bri dropped to her knees just in time to catch him as he collided with her, arms tight around her neck.
“Mommy! You came home!”
The words hit her like a tidal wave — innocently spoken, hopeful, but meaning so much more to her than he could possibly know.
Her breath broke. She held him tighter, burying her face in his hair, letting the warmth of him melt something healing inside her.
Footsteps approached.
Brad.
He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t crowd. He just stepped close enough that she could feel him there — steady, solid, safe.
When she finally looked up at him, eyes shining, he offered his hand.
She took it.
He pulled her gently to her feet, and when she was standing in front of him, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek — not claiming, not assuming, just… welcoming.
“Welcome home, Bri.”
The words settled between them, warm and certain. A promise. A beginning.
Nathaniel bounced on his toes, practically vibrating with excitement.
“Mommy, Mommy! Daddy made pancakes! And bacon! And Graham and Lauren aren’t even here — they’re gonna be SO MAD they missed you! Are you staying? Is Briony coming? And Eden? And Grandma and Grandpa?”
Brad rested a calming hand on his son’s shoulder.
“Buddy,” he said gently, “let Mom breathe.”
Nate nodded, but only barely — his grin was too big to contain.
Bri laughed, a shaky, disbelieving sound, wiping at her eyes. Brad’s gaze held hers — steady, patient, open — and something inside her settled.
Then Nate gasped, eyes widening with a brand‑new idea.
“Oh! Mommy! I’m gonna get you the special orange juice! The one from the farmers market! It’s my FAVORITE EVER! Daddy and I have to get there early, or it’s sold out!”
Before either adult could respond, he tore off toward the kitchen, socks sliding on the hardwood.
The sudden quiet snapped Brad and Bri out of their paralysis.
Brad exhaled a soft laugh. “Come on. Let’s have some breakfast. Nate hasn’t quite wrapped his head around the fact that Graham won’t be home a lot anymore.”
Bri blinked. “Oh no, what happened?”
“Life happened, Bri.” Brad poured her a cup of coffee, the gesture so familiar it made her throat tighten. “He’s in med school.”
Bri’s jaw dropped. “Graham’s in college!? Oh my God, you’re old, Brad!”
Brad chuckled, shaking his head as he slid the mug toward her. “Tell me about it. He’s almost the age I was when he was accidentally conceived, while I was in college. Lauren isn’t far behind. Another year for her. We’re already getting the applications together for her top picks.” He lifted a brow, winking, asking a rhetorical question he knew the answer to. “How old are your kids again, Bri?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Shut up. I’m not saying anything without my attorney present. Oh wait — my sister is my attorney, and she’s a bitch, and I’m not speaking to her at the moment.” She sighed dramatically. “Okay, fine. I get it. We’re both old.”
“Not old,” Brad corrected, lips twitching. “Just… youth‑adjacent now.”
They both laughed, their eyes met over the coffee steam — warm, familiar, unguarded.
The invitation was there, in the quiet between them. To more than just breakfast. To more than just a morning.
The future was there. The home she’d run from was still here, waiting.
Home.
EchoesOfLegacy 