Mothers and Daughters
Briar Rose knocked once out of habit, then pushed the door open before waiting for permission — a fact her daughter never failed to point out. Briony was sprawled across her bed, glossy magazine open, legs crossed in that dramatic, irritated-teen way that communicated I am busy even though she clearly wasn’t.
“Hi, baby.”
Without lifting her eyes, Briony mumbled, monotone and dripping with attitude, “Hi, Mom. Why even bother knocking if you don’t wait for an invite anyway?”
Briar Rose rolled her eyes and sat beside her, smoothing a hand over her daughter’s back. Briony tolerated it, but only barely — the way a cat tolerates affection when it’s in a mood.
“I just wanted to see you. And tell you Brad and I are in town for a bit with your little sister.”
“I can see that.”
“Briony… come on now. Why are you so grumpy? Last time I saw you, you were happy.”
Briony finally looked up, threw her hands in the air with theatrical despair. “Yay. My mom and stepdaddy are in town with the toddler I probably get to babysit. Wheee.”
“Briony! When have I ever asked you to babysit ANY of your siblings?”
“Well, maybe you should have, because my twin brother is nuts, which I tell him frequently — but I know it’s not really his fault, he probably inherited that from our dear sperm donor, who is the uncontested king of the country bumpkin insane asylum.”
Briar Rose braced herself. “Okay… what has your dad done to upset you this time?”
Briony snapped the magazine shut and launched it off the bed like a frisbee. She stood up, turned fully toward her mother, eyes blazing.
“Ask me WHO he’s doing, not WHAT.”
“Oh boy.” Bri inhaled. “Look, baby, your dad is very alone out on the ranch, and sometimes parents just can’t stay together. It’s natural that they eventually find a new partner. I found Brad again, and you know he and I were meant to be — you said so yourself at the wedding and I think your dad realized that and he—”
“Mom, he’s screwing Taylor again.”
Briar Rose froze, eyes wide, mouth open — then remembered she was supposed to be the adult. She smoothed her hair, cleared her throat, and attempted calm. But …. Taylor?! Her arch-nemesis?! AGAIN!? Oh Jackson, WTF!?
“Oh. Well. Um. I guess that is… alright… if she makes him happy…” Bri muttered.
“Mom, I don’t think she makes him anything but horny.”
“BRIONY!”
“What? I have a boyfriend. Beau has a girlfriend. What do you parents think we do? And if it’s still a mystery, then why did Beau and I have to sit through the birds-and-bees talk with almost every family member? We’re sixteen. We know what adults do in bedrooms. Chances are, at my age we have done it too, or at least thought about it a million times.”
Briar Rose blinked, overwhelmed by the logic and the bluntness. And the mention of Taylor — ugh, Taylor — made her want to scrub her brain with bleach.
“Are you sure about Taylor?”
“Umm, yeah. I walked in on them sucking lips when I went to the ranch last weekend—”
“Briony! Without your uncle or grandparents?!”
“Mom, I am sixteen. I can drive. My father lives there. And my brother. Every time I see you, you are in my ear about ‘Briony, try to be nicer to your dad, blah blah blah.’ And when you are not here, I get the same in Dolby Surround from the grandparents and uncle. Then I am trying to be nice to my daddy dearest and country‑bumpkin brother, and again, you with the lecture!”
Briar Rose blinked, taken aback by the accuracy — and the volume — of the rant.
“Briony, I love your enthusiasm, but please baby, remember your allergies… that’s dangerous.”
“And again, Mom, I am sixteen, not six. I didn’t say I was moving there. Like you, I worry about my brother and father, so I went to check on them. I even cooked for them. And educated my father on the importance of wholesome ingredients and organic produce.”
Briar Rose had to look away to hide the laugh threatening to escape — the mental image of Briony lecturing Jackson about organic produce was too much. She composed herself and turned back.
“That was very nice of you. I just want you to be safe.”
“I know. You think I work this hard in school to get into my dream college only to croak outside my dad’s back-to-the-roots ranch in the capital of all dustbowl horse towns? Definitely not. Ever looked at my mood board? Remember my five-year plan Brad helped me with last time I came to see you guys?”
“Right. Okay, moving on. So… your brother’s girlfriend. Your dad mentioned her to me a few months ago, but wouldn’t talk about her. Have you met her yet? Is Beau still seeing her?”
“Yup.”
“And?”
“And… what is that intel worth to you, mother dearest?” Briony grinned, wicked and delighted with herself.
“Are you serious, kid?!”
“Like a heart attack. Being sixteen in San Sequoia isn’t easy. Or cheap.”
“Okay, what do you want?”
“Oh, Mom, prom is coming. What do you THINK I want?”
“Spa, dress shopping, mani-pedi. Got it. Alright, all ears.”
“Okay, so her name is Winona Graywolf. And if that sounds familiar, it should — she’s Dad’s BFF Chayton’s daughter. Juiciest detail? She has an identical twin sister. And my dear brother was into the twin first. So, he literally dated BOTH sisters one after another. Yeah, right? Who knew Beau was a playa, I certainly didn’t. However, Beau swears he only got past second base with the current one.”
Briar Rose swallowed hard. Her baby boy. Second base. With anyone. Her brain short‑circuited for a moment and her soul briefly left her body.
“Umm… Briony… have you by any chance brought up contraception with Beau? Just in case…”
Briony jerked back like she’d been electrocuted.
“MOM! WTH?! I am NOT having the birds‑and‑bees talk with my own brother! EEEW! No way!”
Briar Rose approached, grabbing her daughter gently by the arms. “No, no, baby, that’s not what I meant. But since you kids talk… I thought maybe the topic came up… somehow…”
“Oh yeah, Mom, now that you say it. Right after we gave each other tips for the best positions in bed, I had a heart-to-heart about birth control with him. Reminds me, I need to get my Kama Sutra book back from him. No worries, I’ll hand him a pack of condoms and some lube when I go pick it up.” Sarcasm was oozing of Briony’s words.
Then Mother and daughter rolled their eyes in perfect, synchronized exasperation — the kind only they could achieve.
And despite the chaos, the hormones, the ranch drama, and the Taylor of it all… Briar Rose felt that familiar warmth in her chest.
Her daughter was dramatic, exhausting, brilliant, and impossible. And the perfect mix of her parents. Briony reminded everyone of Jackson and Bri’s many fights, but rolled into one person — the fire, the stubbornness, the razor‑sharp tongue, the loyalty buried under all that noise. She was the living echo of every slammed door, every tearful makeup, every “I swear I’m done with him” that never stuck. Until now.
Beau, on the other hand, had inherited the quieter storm. The docile side both parents carried only when they were hurting — the retreat, the silence, the way he folded inward like a wounded animal. But make no mistake: if anything managed to set him off, he was all fists first and questions later, just like his father. That flash‑fire temper, that instinct to protect, that dangerous mix of softness and steel.
Two children. Two halves of the same impossible love story.
And somehow, impossibly, beautifully, they were hers.
Briar Rose exhaled, a small smile tugging at her lips. For all the chaos, for all the mess, for all the ways life had twisted and rerouted and broken and rebuilt her… this — these kids, this moment, this ridiculous conversation — was the part she’d gotten right.
Briar Rose didn’t even think — she just reached out, hooked an arm around her daughter’s shoulders, and yanked her into a tight, smothering mom‑hug. Briony squawked, tried to wriggle away, but Briar Rose only tightened her hold and started planting loud, obnoxious kisses all over her temple, cheek, forehead — anywhere she could reach.
“Mom! MOM! Stop— ugh, seriously— MOM!” Briony protested, flailing like a cat being bathed.
Briar Rose only giggled, kissing her again for good measure. “See, baby? Isn’t it just easier to give in to your parents sometimes?”
Briony let out the world’s most dramatic groan, sagging in defeat. “Fine. FINE. You win. Happy?”
“Ecstatic,” Bri said, finally releasing her.
Briony immediately marched to her makeup table, grabbed a face wipe, and scrubbed at her cheeks with theatrical exaggeration.
“Good,” Briar Rose said, hands on hips. “You had on way too much makeup for a school day. You are still sixteen, not sixty.”
Briony caught her mother’s eye in the mirror and grinned. “Well, I am just gonna re‑apply twice as much now.”
Briar Rose laughed as she headed for the door. “I wouldn’t. They’ll just remove it at the spa again anyway, during that full body work‑over… facial, hot stone massage, mani, pedi, salt scrub…”
The mascara clattered onto the vanity.
Briony froze.
Then she launched herself off the chair, grabbed her bag, gave a lightning‑fast glance in the mirror, and bolted out of the room.
A beat later she sprinted back in, snatched the mascara, and tore out again.
“Moooom, waittt!”
Her voice echoed down the hallway as Briar Rose smiled to herself — victorious, amused, and deeply, deeply in love with her impossible child.
Twin Talk
Briony was hunched over by the pool, one leg stretched out, carefully applying nail polish to her toes. The sun hit the water just right, throwing little ripples of light across her skin. She saw Beau approaching in her peripheral vision — that slow, hesitant shuffle he always had when confronted with anything remotely “girly.”
She didn’t look up.
She let him squirm.
He always got weird around makeup, nail polish, hair products — anything that wasn’t dirt, hay, or horse feed. Then again, the girls where he lived barely wore makeup, let alone worried about their nails.
“What?!” she snapped without looking up.
“Wasn’t sure if ya heard me,” Beau drawled, voice now so deep it sometimes startled her. “Didn’t wanna spook ya and then yer… yer… nails go all wonky, or somethin’.”
She finally looked up at him.
“Not so much heard, but smelled you, farmboy. Did you roll around in horse manure before coming over? Where’s Dad?”
“Inside. Talkin’ to Gramma ‘n’ Grampa.”
“Did he leave the hoe at home?”
“What now?”
“Taylor. Is Dad still nailing her?”
“Yup.”
“Please tell me he didn’t bring that bitch. He didn’t, right?”
“Nope.”
Briony groaned, head falling back dramatically. “I swear he only does it trying to hurt Mom. Why don’t you say something to him?”
“’bout what?” Beau blinked.
“Oh my gawd, Beau Wyatt! About Taylor. Hello? Are you still present for our conversation?”
“What am I gon’ say ’bout her?”
“Oh my God, I swear! That you don’t want them together. Because she a hoe. Need me to write it down for you?”
“It ain’t mah business whom our dad dates. He’s an adult.”
“Oh gawd. You are hopeless. And useless.”
“Nah, I jus’ ain’t no dramaqueen like mah sister.”
“I won’t tell Savannah you said that.” Briony smirked.
“As if. Nah, I meant you, Briony. You can’t have a day without drama. Like them girls on TV ya like to watch.”
“You liked to watch that too, last time you were here. I almost had to peel your eyes off the TV to get you to go to bed when I could barely keep my eyes open anymore.”
“Yeah, but that wasn’t ’cos of the storyline, if there was any. They had other good arguments for me to watch.” Beau shrugged, then cupped his hands vaguely in front of his chest in the world’s least respectful pantomime.
“You are disgusting! Eew. Girls are more than just pretty faces and body parts, you chauvi!”
“They had faces?” Beau said, mostly to push her buttons now.
Briony glared at her twin.
Beau threw up his hands. “What? I’m sixteen! My brain’s eighty percent hormones and twenty percent rodeo dust! I can’t help what it pays attention to!”
Briony leaned in, eyes narrowed, and dragged her finger dramatically through the air from the top of his head to his boots — the universal you are gross gesture.
“Nasty!” she hissed.
“Ah yeah? So when ya girls don’t like us boys lookin’, why ya dress up like all that when ya go out to meet us boys? And why are ya always on some diet, doin’ all that yoga and such and all that makeup and hair doodads?”
Briony froze, mouth agape.
“Wow. Tell me you are Jackson Kershaw’s son without telling me. You Neanderthal.”
Angrily, she turned with hair flying and one last angry look at her brother.
She stormed off, fuming, stomping through the house towards the stairs up to her room, until she saw her father in her peripheral vision, heard him laugh at something her grandpa Chase must have said. It set her off. She rushed towards the kitchen — where her father sat casually leaning back in a chair, talking to her grandpa like he didn’t have a care in the world.
Like lightning to a metal rod, she charged.
“Beau said you are still fucking that nasty hoe? Are you serious!? Can you like, NOT humiliate us any more than you already have?! Is that your midlife crisis or did the Chestnut Ridge sun fry your brain!?” she snarled.
“Briony Rose! I think this is your curtain call, young lady!” Chase barked.
“Oh, don’t you ‘young lady’ me, Grampa. THAT man there is probably leaking every venereal disease known to mankind onto our chairs from plowing the back forty with that slut!”
A sharp yelp tore out of her as Hailey appeared out of nowhere and grabbed her by the ear — the classic grandma move you only ever see in movies. Even though this grandma was not like any other, in more than one way.
Jackson shot up, instinctively reaching to rescue his child, but one look from Hailey had him sinking right back into his seat.
“That’s what I thought,” Hailey said, voice like steel wrapped in honey. “I am gonna have a talk with my grandbaby now about proper behavior and words we do not use, especially not with our parents. Interfere, Jackson, I dare you.”
She dragged a protesting, pleading Briony down the hallway like a misbehaving toddler.
Chase let out a long, weary sigh — the kind that carried decades of fatherhood, worries, and disappointment.
Jackson knew exactly what it meant.
“It’s jus’ somethin’ casual…” he muttered.
“Son,” Chase said, leaning forward, voice low and deadly serious, “I don’t care who or what you season your days with, but why do my grandkids know so intimately THAT you do it with THAT dubious person? Is there really nobody else available in all of Chestnut Ridge? Do we need to donate some decent women to your township?!”
“Nah. I ain’t lookin’ for no woman. Taylor and I, we, we jus’ … well, we go way back…” Jackson mumbled.
Chase stood, towering over him. “I don’t care. Do better, kid.”
He walked out.
Jackson rose too, grabbed his hat, plopped it on his head, and sighed.
“Tried to,” he muttered, voice cracking just a little, “but she didn’t want me no more… and our daughter blames me for it, by the looks of it. And I can’t really argue with her, cos I am thinkin’ the same.”
Yard Talks
Jackson stepped into the hallway and spotted Briony outside, sitting in the grass, ripping leaves apart one by one and flinging them like tiny green explosions. Her whole posture radiated fury — shoulders tight, jaw clenched, movements sharp enough to cut.
He sighed. Then he walked out, boots crunching softly on the gravel, and lowered himself beside her without a word.
Briony didn’t look at him. She just tore another leaf in half.
“Next,” she snapped. “Please insert all your daily complaints now, then punish away. Go. The day only has twenty‑four hours.”
Jackson stared at her for a long moment, then said quietly, “I love ya, Briony. With every fiber of my being.”
She finally glanced at him, unimpressed. “Are you gonna propose now or something?”
“Can a father not tell his daughter he loves her very much?”
“If the father is from Chestnut Ridge, it’s questionable. I don’t want to join your Uncle‑Brother and Daddy‑Nephew club out there, thank you very much.”
Jackson huffed a laugh. “Get it outta yer system. That all ya got? No more incest jokes ’bout country folk? How ’bout—whatcha get when ya play a country song backwards? Ya get yer house back, wife back, truck back…”
Briony tried — tried — not to smile. It wasn’t the joke. It was the fact he was trying.
“That’s ancient, Dad. And never was funny. Probably ’cause it’s true.”
Jackson’s smile faded. “Briony… what can I do to make ya less mad at me? I’ll do it, if I can. But please don’t say ya want me to get yer mother back. I tried. I can’t. She chose. And she’s done with me fer good this time. I am sorry, sweetheart.”
Briony’s head snapped toward him so fast he flinched.
“You think I’m mad at you because you two broke up!? Are you crazy?! Do I really come across that delusional?! Wow.”
She shot to her feet, anger reigniting, but Jackson jumped up too and caught her by the arm.
“Briony! Then talk, girl! Get it out there so at least I know what ya mad at me for!”
“Mad?” she barked. “I’m not mad, Dad. I fully hate you. Because you care NOTHING about me.”
Jackson’s face crumpled. “Briony… how in the world can ya say that?” There was so much pain in his voice that even she froze.
“Because actions speak louder than words, Dad.” Her voice cracked, but she pushed through it. “It’s always me you forget about. I got sick, Mom got scared, and she didn’t want to live in Chestnut Ridge anymore. Who can blame her? If I had a daughter that sick, I’d run too! I’d never set foot in that town again! But you just pouted, kept the fully functional kid — who just happens to be a son, therefore worth more — and stayed right where you were. If I’m lucky, I see you for five minutes every fourteen days.”
The words hit him harder than any punch any man could throw. Jackson swallowed hard, fighting everything inside him.
“No, Briony… that ain’t why. I tried to live here, don’t ya remember? I really tried…”
“Oh, I remember.” Her laugh was sharp and humorless. “Healing Hooves Ranch. You made money teaching rich people with issues how to ride in circles until you got bored. Then you just sat back and watched our life blow up. Again.”
She jabbed a finger at him. “Mom kept me — for obvious reasons — but that was fine, ’cause you had Beau and the horses. Everything that REALLY matters, right, Dad?”
Jackson shook his head, voice breaking. “Briony, I would die for you. Without blinkin’. I love you more than I can say. But you never wanted to live with me. And then you couldn’t. You love it here — why would I keep ya from it? And the last few times I came, ya were constantly out the door with yer friends.”
“You mean I finally gave up on you,” she shot back, “after years of you putting everything else before me. Including just not showing up at all for months after you and Mom split up this last time. So not only did I not see you for weeks and weeks — I didn’t see my twin brother either. Because YOU were pouting and Beau and I had to bleed for it, as if we weren’t in the middle of all that anyway.”
Her voice wavered, but she didn’t stop.
“I see my mother and stepfather more than my own father, and they live clear across the country. You know why? Because they actually care. Yes, I said that. Even Brad cares more than you do, and I am not even his kid! If they can’t come or have me go there, they video call me. Not once did we do that.”
Jackson closed his eyes, exhaling shakily. “Okay. I do see how ya could misunderstand everything I tried to do.”
He looked at her — really looked at her — and his voice softened into something raw.
“Briony… I know what I am. And what I ain’t. I know what ya like, and what ya really don’t like. And the truth is… everything I got, everything I can offer ya, everything I am… is exactly what ya don’t want. I didn’t wanna make that worse by forcin’ ya to spend time with me.”
Briony’s breath hitched. Her anger didn’t vanish — but it faltered. Her face twisted, torn between fury and heartbreak, between wanting to scream and wanting to collapse.
Her emotions were fighting each other so hard she looked like she might shatter.
Briony stood there, chest heaving, eyes bright with fury and something far more fragile underneath. Jackson watched her, his own breath uneven, his hands half‑raised like he wasn’t sure if she’d let him touch her or bite him.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Briony’s chin trembled.
Just once.
Barely.
But it was enough.
Her face crumpled like a paper cup, and she pressed her palms to her eyes as if she could physically shove the tears back in. A choked sound escaped her — half‑sob, half‑growl — and she turned away, shoulders shaking.
Jackson stepped forward slowly, like approaching a spooked horse.
“Briony…” he whispered.
She shook her head violently. “Don’t. Don’t touch me. Don’t—”
But her voice broke on the last word, and that was all it took.
Jackson wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her against his chest. She resisted for half a second — stiff, trembling, furious — then turned to face him as she collapsed into him with a sob that sounded like it had been trapped in her ribs for years.
He held her tight. Tighter than he ever had. One hand cradled the back of her head, the other wrapped around her shoulders like he could shield her from every hurt she’d ever felt.
“Baby girl,” he murmured into her hair, voice shaking, “I love ya more than my own life. More than breath. More than anything I ever been or ever will be. You hear me? You are my heart walkin’ around outside my body.”
Briony sobbed harder, fists gripping his shirt like she was afraid he’d disappear if she let go.
“I ain’t never forgot about ya,” Jackson whispered. “Not one day. Not one hour. I think ’bout ya every mornin’ when I wake up and every night when I lay down. I miss ya so bad sometimes it hurts to breathe.”
She shook her head against his chest. “Then why didn’t you come?”
“I was scared,” he admitted, voice cracking. “Scared I’d make things worse. Scared ya didn’t want me. Scared ya’d look at me the way ya are right now — like I failed ya. And I did. I know I did. But I never stopped lovin’ ya. Not for a second.”
Briony pulled back just enough to look at him, tears streaking her cheeks, mascara smudged, eyes blazing with hurt.
“You should’ve tried anyway,” she whispered. “Even if you were scared. I needed you,” then much quieter “Still need you. You’re my dad.”
Jackson’s face twisted, grief and guilt and love all tangled together. “I know, baby. And I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry. If I could go back and do it all again, I’d choose you every time. Every single time.”
Briony swallowed hard, her voice barely audible. “I thought… I thought you didn’t want me.”
Jackson’s breath caught like she’d stabbed him.
“Oh, sweetheart… no. No. I wanted ya so much it near tore me apart. You’re my girl. My Briony Rose. My firecracker. My fighter. My heart. Nobody can ever take your place.”
She stared at him, eyes swimming, lip trembling.
Then she whispered the thing that broke him completely:
“I only get this mad at you because… you’re the only dad I’ll ever want. I like Brad, really I do, a lot. He is great. And he’s a great dad. But he’s not MY dad.”
Jackson’s knees nearly buckled.
He pulled her into him again, holding her like he was afraid she’d vanish.
And for the first time in a long time, Briony let him.
Briony’s Room
A while later Briony sat on the edge of her bed, shoulders still trembling now and then, her face blotchy and swollen from crying. Mascara streaked down her cheeks in uneven black trails. She looked exhausted — the kind of exhaustion that comes from crying harder than you meant to.
Jackson knelt in front of her, big calloused hands surprisingly gentle as he dabbed at her cheeks with a damp cloth. He worked slowly, careful not to press too hard, like she might shatter if he wasn’t delicate.
“Hold still, baby girl,” he murmured.
“I am still,” she muttered, though her voice was soft and worn-out.
Jackson dabbed gently at her face, wiping away the streaks of mascara and the blotchy redness around her eyes. Briony sniffed, took the washcloth from him, and turned toward the mirror to scrub the rest off herself.
While she worked, Jackson wandered the room the way dads do when they’re trying not to hover. He picked up a tiny ceramic cat, turned it over, read “Made in Tomarang,” and set it back down.
A gift from one of those vacations with her mother and Brad, no doubt — the kind of trip he could never afford, never plan, never even imagine. A little piece of a life she lived without him. The thought landed heavy, a quiet bruise behind his ribs.
He swallowed and kept moving. He drifted past her dresser, scanning the clutter of bracelets, lip glosses, and half‑burned candles.
Then he froze.
A photo frame caught his eye.
Briony and a boy — clearly her age, clearly easy on the eye, clearly from a family that lived comfortably, but not in any flashy way. This kid had San Sequoia written all over him: sun‑soft hair somewhere between blond and brown, styled in that effortless perfectly imperfect way, a gray sweatshirt layered over a bright white tee, and worn‑in jeans that were just faded enough to look casual — but clearly bought that way. Not like Jackson and Beau’s jeans, which earned their wear from long hours of horse ranching, day in and day out.
They were standing in the school hallway near the cafeteria, smiling — soft, close, and familiar. Her arm gently against his cheek, his hands resting lightly on her back, cheeks pressed together like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like they weren’t posing for the camera, just caught in a moment that already belonged to them.
Not “just friends.” Not “study partners.” Something else. Something more.
“That him?” Jackson asked quietly. “Yer boyfriend?”
In the mirror, Briony’s eyes flicked up to meet his. She hesitated only a second, then nodded.
“Yes,” she said, wiping under her eyes. “That’s him.”
Jackson waited.
Briony huffed, cheeks warming. “Okay, yes, so this is Becks. His name is Beckett Ashby. He lives here in San Sequoia — actually just down the road toward the red bridge. We have so much in common, it’s honestly crazy. His parents are divorced too. He lives with his mom — she’s an interior designer — and his dad’s an architect in San Myshuno. Becks splits his time, kinda like I do, but like me, he’s mostly here.”
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, trying and failing to look casual. “He’s… he’s the sweetest guy ever. Like, actually sweet, not fake sweet. He listens. He remembers things. He treats me like I matter. And he’s funny, and smart, and he smells stupidly good, and he always walks me home.”
Her voice softened. “And because his life’s been split like mine… he gets me. Like, really gets me. In ways not even my best friends do.”
She swallowed, cheeks pink. “He’s just… he’s my person.”
Jackson looked at the photo again, taking in the boy’s soft smile, Briony’s beaming, the easy posture of someone raised around creativity and calm.
“Well,” he said slowly, “he looks… like a decent guy. How old is he?”
Briony snorted. “Dad. Seriously? He’s sixteen, like me, half a year older. Need his shoe size?”
“Gimme a minute to get used to the fact that he’s now real, before he was jus’ an idea, jus’ a word, boyfriend. Now he got a face. It’s not easy for a father to know their baby girl is lookin’ at boys like that,” Jackson admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “But if he makes ya smile like that… then I reckon I can learn to like the idea.”
Briony’s eyes softened. “He does make me smile. He really does. He’s different than most other boys at school. Like not weird-different, but cool-different. Like he plays the guitar, really well, impressed Grampa even, especially because he’s self-taught. Nothing like seeing your Grampa and your boyfriend strumming together on the patio while Mom sings. I mean, does it get any more perfect? What else. Hmm, right, he likes sailing, which is a lot more fun than it sounds. Brad and Graham have been doing it since they were young and took me along a few times and I like it.”
She hesitated, then added, “So, we’re gonna meet up next time I’m in Brindleton Bay for the summer break, Becks is gonna spend some time in San Myshuno with his dad, which isn’t far from the Bay, so Brad said we’ll make a day of it and he’d take us sailing. And Graham’s home from college then, so he’s coming too. They all sail, I am learning, so it’s, like… perfect.”
Jackson’s jaw tightened again — sharper this time.
“Brad’s gonna meet him?” he asked, trying to sound neutral and failing.
Briony blinked. “Brad already met him. He was here with mom when Becks picked me up, so of course I introduced everyone. I mean… the sailing thing just came up. And Becks is already gonna be on the East Coast visiting his dad, so it just… worked out. We were gonna meet up anyway, obviously.”
Jackson looked away, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Hm.”
Briony frowned. “What?”
“Nothin’,” he said, too quickly. “So, a sixteen-year-old kid who sails and plays the guitar.” he drawled.
“And he shoots film,” she added, quieter now. “Like real film. Becks is super-talented, Dad. He takes the most amazing photos and develops it himself in his dad’s penthouse in San Myshuno, he’s got a full dark room there or he uses the one at school. He is the photographer for the school paper, which is how we met. Long story. He’s really special. An artist, like Mom, Grampa, Great-Grandpa … maybe me. His dad is an architect and wants him to follow in his footsteps, but his mom has an artistic vibe, which is one of the many reasons they ended up divorcing. Another long story, and scarily similar to mine. Anyway, he’s just… well, he’s Becks. Hang on …”
She cut herself off, flustered, then huffed and marched to her dresser. She yanked open a drawer she never let anyone touch and pulled out a thick stack of glossy prints tied with a ribbon.
“Here,” she said, thrusting them at him. “These are the ones Becks took. Just—look.”
Jackson blinked, surprised by the weight of them. He untied the ribbon and lifted the first photo.
It was Briony.
But not the Briony he was used to seeing — not the dramatic, loud, brilliant hurricane who stomped through his kitchen, lectured him on organic and sustainable foods and stole his shirts, a new one missing every time she came for a visit.
This Briony was… art.
Black‑and‑white.
Soft light.
Wind in her hair.
Eyes half‑closed, laughing at something just out of frame.
A girl on the edge of womanhood.
Jackson’s breath caught.
He flipped to the next one. And the next.
Every photo was different, but they all had the same thing in common:
This Briony was… art. And she looked so grown up.
He flipped to the next one.
Something fluttered loose from between two prints and drifted to the floor.
Jackson bent to pick it up.
A small piece of notebook paper. Covered in doodled hearts. And in the center, written in looping, dramatic teenage handwriting: Briony Rose Cameron–Ashby with a heart dotting the i.
Jackson stared at it.
Briony made a strangled noise. “DAD—!”
She lunged, face blazing crimson, and snatched it out of his hands.
“I— that— it was just— I was bored!” she sputtered, crushing the paper into a tight ball and hurling it into the wastebasket beside her desk like it was radioactive.
Jackson’s mouth twitched. “Didn’t say nothin’.”
“You were thinking something.”
“That happens sometimes,” he half-jested.
Briony groaned and buried her face in her hands.
Jackson watched her for a moment — his dramatic, brilliant, impossible daughter — and felt something warm and painful twist in his chest.
She was growing up. And someone out there saw her the way she deserved to be seen.
He put the stack of photos aside, stepped forward, slow and gentle, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Briony stiffened for half a second — mortified, humiliated, still glowing red — but then she sagged into him. Jackson pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, pulling her in closer, and she turned fully, arms sliding around his middle in a tight, desperate hug.
The kind of hug that said she wasn’t angry anymore. The kind that said she knew — really knew — how much he loved her.
Jackson closed his eyes, holding her like she was the whole world.
“I wanna meet him,” he murmured into her hair. “’Cause I wanna know the boy who makes ya smile like that. … seems like everyone else has already met this boy but me.”
Briony’s eyes widened. “Dad—”
“I ain’t sayin’ you gotta parade him in front of me with a red bow on his head and a full biography in his hand,” Jackson muttered. “Just… if he’s important to ya… maybe I could… meet him too. Someday soon.”
Briony stared at him — really stared — and something in her expression softened, melted.
“You… want to meet him? Like, for real?” she asked, voice small.
Jackson shrugged, eyes on the floor. “Reckon I should. If he’s the one makin’ my baby girl giddy like that. Or am I too embarrassin’ to present to yer … Becks?”
Briony’s breath hitched.
Then she launched forward and hugged him — quick, fierce, unexpected.
“No. Of course I am not embarrassed, you’re my dad. Okay,” she whispered. “Yeah. I want you to meet him too. How long are you here for? You know Mom and Brad are here too, but if I introduce you to Becks, there can be absolutely no fighting with Mom or Brad, okay?”
Jackson closed his eyes, holding her just a little tighter than usual.
EchoesOfLegacy 