San Sequoia, Seaside Haven
Jackson’s usual every‑other‑weekend trip with Beau to see Briony and the family
San Sequoia glittered below the cliffs like a spilled jewelry box—streetlights, ferry lights, the shimmer of the Bay catching the last lavender streaks of dusk. Briar Rose’s parents’ mansion, Seaglass Haven, perched above it all, its perfectly landscaped gardens glowing with lanterns and string lights, the kind of place where every party felt like a magazine spread.
Jackson stood at the back fence, boots planted in manicured grass that probably cost more than his truck’s last repair. Another visit. Another party. Another reminder that this world wasn’t his.
Behind him, the estate thrummed with life — the left side of the yard sounding like a full‑blown band rehearsal, guitars trading riffs while someone worked out a drum pattern on an overturned cooler. From the opposite side, Colton and Chase’s voices rose in tight harmony, their guitars blending with the easy familiarity of two men who’d been playing together longer than most marriages last.
All joined by the clatter of cocktail glasses, the dull roar of party conversations, interrupted by laughter, the shrieks of kids playing tag between the hydrangea bushes. Dogs barked and barreled through the yard like furry cannonballs.
Two of them slammed into Jackson’s legs.
“Hey now, keep it civil, ya wretched mutts,” he laughed, steadying himself.
Connor’s black shepherds—Echo and Artemis—circled him like he was their long-lost cowboy king. The hosts’ shaggy cream-and-brown mutt, Snuffins, flopped onto his back in dramatic surrender.
“Jeezus H. Christ, y’all are pathetic if I ever seen pathetic…” Jackson crouched, balancing his beer on the railing as he gave each dog a rough, affectionate scruff. Echo immediately lunged in to lick his face, tail going like a metronome on caffeine.
He pushed her back gently, ruffling her fur. “Hey now, girl — I don’t roll like that. Ya didn’t even buy me dinner first.”
Artemis stared up at him with saintly innocence, as if deeply offended by Echo’s lack of decorum. Snuffins wiggled beside them like a furry worm, desperate to be included in whatever this was.
For a moment, Jackson smiled—really smiled.
Then he saw her.
Briar Rose. Storming across the lawn like a woman on a mission from God. Or the devil. Hard to tell with her.
Behind her, Brad followed, trying—and failing—to slow her down.
Jackson turned his back, grabbed his beer, and prayed they’d take the hint.
No such luck.
Her nails dug into his arm as she spun him around—or tried to. He planted his boots, refusing to budge, feeding her fury like dry brush to a wildfire.
“Jackson, look at me!”
He turned slowly, deliberately, one eyebrow raised. He knew exactly how to push her buttons. And she was already halfway detonated.
“What the hell are you thinking!?” she hissed.
“If ya knew, ya would’ve grabbed that curly‑haired fence‑post of a new husband o’ yers and hauled him back inside.”
“Oh, fuck you, Jackson!”
He barked a laugh. “That an offer, darlin’? ’Cause ya sure sound invested.”
“Just go choke on your own ego, Kershaw!” Briar Rose snapped, flipping him off with both hands.
“Bet she makes ya cry on the daily with that mouth on her, huh, Doctor?”
Brad’s voice stayed calm, though his jaw was tight. “Actually, I don’t tend to make her angry.”
Jackson snorted. “Give it time. Sometimes all it takes is the wind shiftin’ for her to get her panties in a bunch like all that.”
Briar Rose snapped her fingers in his face. “Hey! Jackson. I asked what the hell you’re doing.”
“Bri,” Brad tried, “he doesn’t even know what you’re mad at him for—”
“Oh, he knows!” Her hair whipped as she turned back to Jackson. “You do know. I know you do. So?”
Jackson stared at her, took a slow sip of his beer—
Which she snatched and hurled over the cliff into the ocean.
“BRI!” Brad gasped, horrified.
Jackson just smiled. Oh, he knew. He knew the second she stomped toward him, eyes sparking like flint. And that smile—God help him—sent her over the edge.
Her slap cracked through the garden like a gunshot.
Brad grabbed her, gentle but firm, holding her back as she twisted in his arms. Jackson’s fists curled. He wanted to rip Brad off her. He wanted to rip Brad off the planet.
Brad turned her toward him, cupping her face. “You can’t hit people, my angel.”
“Angel?! Oh, goddamn. Hell, Bradford, she just done gone tryin’ to knock my teeth clear down my throat, and you’re over here callin’ her an angel.”
Briar Rose’s anger flared again, but Brad extinguished it with one soft “Bri… please.”
She inhaled. Nodded. Let him kiss her.
Jackson nearly saw red.
Briar Rose turned back to him. “Why are you dating Taylor again? She is the town whore and—”
“Bri…” Brad said gently.
She closed her eyes, reset herself, then continued. “It’s not good for Beau. Ever think of his reputation?”
Jackson barked a humorless laugh. “I think you and I done gone ruined that for both our kids fer good. Thank the Lord ya got yerself a perfect new family with him now.”
“Jackson, please,” Brad tried again, stepping forward. He reached out, laying a gentle hand on Jackson’s forearm in that calm, measured way he used on patients. “Let’s just take a breath, alright? I can see you’re feeling overwhelmed—”
Wrong move.
Jackson jerked his arm back like Brad’s touch had burned him, straightening to his full height until he towered over the other man.
“Listen here, bud,” he growled, voice dropping low and dangerous. “I ain’t married to ya, and I don’t work like that. Touch me again and yer ass is goin’ sailin’ without a ship.”
“Touch Brad and I will rip your balls clear off!” Briar Rose snapped.
Jackson turned to her, unimpressed. She squared up to him like she matched his six‑foot‑plus height instead of barely reaching his collarbone without her heels.
Jackson leaned in, jaw clenched, eyes narrowing with that reckless, jealous heat. “If that means ya gotta touch ’em, then fine by me.”
Briar Rose’s head snapped up, eyes blazing. “Oh, don’t you just wish!?”
He smirked, bitter and goading. “I do. Ya want me to stay ’way from Taylor so bad, gotta make me a better offer.”
Brad stepped forward sharply, hand lifting between them, tension tightening his shoulders. “Alright, that’s enough—”
Jackson didn’t even glance at him. His lip curled. “Ain’t talkin’ to you, Cunningham.”
Brad’s voice stayed calm, but the steel underneath was unmistakable. “Yeah, well, I’m talkin’ to you. Back off.”
Briar Rose opened her mouth to fire back, but Jackson’s hurt, booze, and jealousy finally boiled over. His face twisted, and he grabbed Brad by the collar, lifting him so his toes barely scraped the grass.
Then—
“Dad!”
Briony’s voice cracked through the chaos like a whip, her eyes wide and horrified.
She stood at the patio doors, face twisted in horror. Her boyfriend hovered behind her. Beau stood beside them, jaw tight, spitting onto the ground in disgust.
Everything froze.
Briony sprinted across the lawn, ripping Brad from Jackson’s grip. Jackson’s heart cracked when she wrapped her arm around Brad like he needed protecting.
“Brad—OMG! Are you okay?! Did he hurt you?”
“No, sweetie. I’m fine. Nothing happened.”
“Seriously, Dad, what’s wrong with you? You need therapy!” she glared at Jackson, shielding Brad like a wounded warrior, despite the doctor trying to politely dissuade her coddling without hurting her feelings. Even Beau just shook his head and turned away.
The teens ushered Brad inside, Briony clinging to him like a lifeline.
Briar Rose stayed.
“See what you did?” she said quietly. “Blame me, blame Brad, blame the moon—but this is you again, Jackson. Briony hates Taylor. And if you ever want your daughter to visit you again, you better send that hussy into the desert.”
His voice broke. “He’s already taken you from me. Does he have to take my daughter?”
Briar Rose stopped at the door, turned.
“Jackson… he hasn’t taken anyone from you. Briony loves you. You are her daddy — that will never change. But she doesn’t tolerate bullshit, not even by you, and she genuinely likes Brad. Not as a replacement father. She likes him because of who he is. She has always liked him.”
She drew a slow breath, steadying herself.
“And I went to him because it was right. I finally saw it. Brad and I were always meant to be, no matter how many hurdles we had to crawl over to get here. I know you miss me; I miss you too. And I know you think you still love me. Maybe you do. Part of me will always love you.”
Her voice softened, but her resolve didn’t waver.
“I didn’t end things because I stopped loving you. I ended it because we can’t be together. What we had – and clearly still have – is passion, but it always turns volatile. I can’t live in that cycle anymore. What Brad and I have is calm. It’s steady. It feels like home — a safe haven. All the things I used to think were boring are exactly what I realized I needed. I have not felt this good – well – since the last time I was married to him. With you its always been a rollercoaster of feeling amazing and absolute heartbreak. Up and down, over and over. I can’t – I won’t – do that anymore. Nobody took me. I made that choice.”
She gestured toward the chaos behind them.
“And this… all of this… is one of a million reasons you and I don’t work. We set each other off, and the explosion that follows always buries our kids under the fallout.”
He swallowed hard.
“You make choices that are right for you,” she continued, “never asking what they do to the people around you. Have you ever asked Beau how he feels about Taylor? He won’t tell you—out of loyalty—but he can’t stand her either.”
Jackson said nothing. There was nothing to say.
“Jackson… you’re a damn good man. There are so many good things about you, so many redeeming qualities. You just need the right woman. It’s not me, but I’m sure she’s out there. You just have to actually look for her — not fall into the first whirlwind that crosses your path and hope it turns into a life.”
Her eyes softened, but the warning underneath was unmistakable.
“You’ve done that before, and it nearly broke you. I don’t want to see you go through anything like that again.”
She touched his arm, gentle but steady.
“Took your dad a long time, but he found Izzy in the last place he ever expected. And they’re still together. Still crazy happy. You deserve that too. You really do. I want that for you more than you know. I want to see you happy. I care about you so much — I always will — and it hurts to know you’re alone out at that ranch.”
Her voice tightened, not unkind, just honest.
“But Taylor is not the answer. She’s the kiss of death for you. And for your relationship with Briony… and probably Beau, too.”
She stepped closer, softer now.
“And you’ll never find your Izzy if Taylor keeps running every good woman off. She ran me off more than once. She’s about to do it with your daughter. Is having someone warm your bed really worth all that?”
She didn’t wait for an answer.
She turned and walked inside, leaving Jackson alone with the dogs, the ocean wind, and the echo of everything he’d just lost.
San Sequoia, Seaglass Haven
The next morning
The next morning, San Sequoia’s fog had burned off by mid‑morning, leaving the cliffs washed in pale gold. The house was quiet—eerily so.
Jackson hadn’t slept.
He marched down the hallway from the guest room he was staying in, knocked once on Briony’s door, then pushed it open.
And the world ended.
Briony and Beckett scrambled upright in her bed, blankets flying, limbs tangling, both shrieking like startled barn cats. Beckett launched himself into the ensuite bathroom, slamming the door.
Jackson roared, pounding on it with both fists.
“BOY, YOU OPEN THIS DAMN DOOR RIGHT NOW! WHAT’D YOU DO TO MAH LIL GIRL?!”
“DAD! STOP! YOU’RE INSANE!” Briony screamed, clutching her blanket to her chest.
“YOU HUSH, BRIONY ROSE! I’M TALKIN’ TO THIS TRESPASSIN’ HORMONE GRENADE HIDIN’ IN THE BATHROOM!”
A voice materialized beside him.
“Jackson.”
Calm. Cool.
He didn’t react.
“Jackson.”
Still nothing.
Then—
“JACKSON!”
He jumped.
Hailey stood there, arms crossed, looking like a forever-29‑year‑old vampiric goddess — which was impressive, considering she’d been alive long enough to have grown grandchildren by now.
“Hailey—Hailey, you ain’t gonna believe what I just walked in on—”
“Oh, I bet I would.”
“GRANDMA, HE’S LOST HIS MIND! MY DAD IS CLINICALLY INSANE!” Briony wailed.
Hailey didn’t even look at her. “Briony, zip it. Your screeching is making my head hurt, and I haven’t even had a single drop of coffee before all this nonsense started.”
She pointed toward the hallway with the authority of a woman who had wrangle worse opponents than her former son-in-law … and won every time.
“You get dressed. Your daddy and I are going to have a talk. In the hallway.” She added, almost as an afterthought, “And check on Becks. Make sure he hasn’t had a heart attack or tried climbing out the bathroom window. Poor boy hasn’t been around this kind of Cameron/Kershaw bullshit long enough to know it’s just another way we tell each other we care.”
She turned, then shot Jackson a glare.
“HALLWAY. NOW.”
He followed, sputtering.
“How can you not check if that boy snuck in her room—she’s seventeen—he was in her bed— I know how boys that age are!”
She stopped. Turned.
“Jackson, if he was in her room, it was because she wanted him in there. If she didn’t, we would have ALL heard about it in real time. And what makes you think there was any sneaking involved at all?”
He blinked. “What?”
“I know Becks is staying over and that he is in her room. They stay at each other’s homes almost every weekend.”
“You—YOU KNEW ABOUT THIS?! Hailey, what the hell is wrong with you?! Do you not have any clue what they might’ve been doin’?! She’s still a kid!”
Hailey stepped into his space.
“Jackson Kershaw— I KNOW you didn’t just question my ability to parent.”
He opened his mouth.
She talked right over him.
“I’ve raised three excellent kids — plus two more if you count Keira and Jasper — and not one of them ended up a teen parent. And that’s not because I pretended I didn’t know what was going on.”
She stood her ground, calm but unwavering.
“Now I’m raising your daughter, because she chose not to get back on that carousel of homes her parents kept putting her through. These two are mature. We talked to them. We talked to his mother. She agrees with us, and with Briar Rose.”
Her voice softened, but her conviction didn’t.
“These kids are in love. I know young love doesn’t always last, but sometimes it does — Chase and I are proof of that. So I’m not going to dismiss their feelings just because they’re still young.”
“I don’t care if they’re in love!” he exploded. “He ain’t gettin’ to— to— to do all that with my sweet baby girl! She is too young, Hailey!”
“Jackson,” she snapped, “she is going to be eighteen in less than a year, which is when she is legally considered an adult. You really think in that time they both somehow get hit be the adulting stick and wake up fully responsible and ready to make perfect choices?! They are going to do that anyway. Smart parents give them the knowledge and tools to do it safely. Sneaking around is what causes teen pregnancies.”
He tried again.
She cut him off.
“And if you even think about arguing with me,” Hailey continued, voice like velvet over steel, “I will remind you of you with her mother. The girl who moved heaven and earth to get from Brindleton Bay to Chestnut Ridge just to experience her first time with you.”
Jackson flinched.
“Bri was sixteen,” Hailey went on, eyes narrowing. “Sixteen. You didn’t have a problem with that. Your daughter is older than her mother was, you hypocrite. And yes, Chase and I know about this, found out after the fact, because we talked with our children and now with our grandchildren. Not because we are trying to be the cool grandparents, but because we know trust is a two-way-street. A smart parent leads with firm hand and a warm heart, to be a safe haven, no matter their child’s age.”
She stepped closer, arms still crossed, looking every inch the ageless predator she was.
“Go on. Try me, Jackson. Leave me to raise your and Bri’s child and then question my choices, when I could wallpaper this entire estate with all of your peculiar and downright idiotic decisions over the years.” She tilted her head, smile sharp as a blade. “Would you like me to start listing?”
Jackson’s shoulders dropped a fraction. “No, Ma’am.”
An hour later
Later, Jackson sat on the stone steps past the pool, staring at nothing. The world felt too big, too loud, too bright.
Footsteps approached.
Beau handed him a mug of coffee and sat beside him.
“Figured ya needed it,” Beau said. “Ya look like someone done run ya over with a tractor.”
Jackson huffed. “Feels like it.”
Silence. Seagulls screeched overhead.
“Beau… how d’ya feel ’bout all this?”
“’Bout what?”
“’Bout what I walked in on. Yer sister. That boy.”
Beau shrugged. “Dad, I been knowin’ they sleep together.”
Jackson choked. “You WHAT?!”
“Dad. Come on now.” Beau threw his hands up. “What’d ya think I do when I’m gone all night with Cheyenne? Toss water balloons at each other we make from the condoms I asked ya to pick up next time yer in a big town?”
“That’s— that’s different.”
“How?” Beau asked. “Cos I’m a boy? Seriously, Pa, don’t let Mom or Briony hear that logic. Or Gramma for that matter.”
Jackson had no answer.
They sipped their coffee.
Jackson inhaled. “Beau… I wanna ask ya somethin’. And I want ya to be straight with me.”
“Shoot.”
“Taylor. How d’ya feel ’bout her?”
Beau didn’t hesitate.
“Pa, that woman’s like a rattlesnake wearin’ lipstick and a push‑up bra. Ev’ry time she shows up, I feel like I gotta check both of us for venom. Wouldn’t piss on her if she was on fire an’ I had to go real bad. If she was drownin’, I’d hand her a cinder block,” he drawled.
Jackson blinked.
Then burst out laughing, shaking his head.
“Jesus, boy!”
“Ain’t nothin’ but the truth.”
“Why’d ya never say somethin’?”
“Yer life, Pa.”
Jackson stared at the pool. “Well, look at what life it is. The sum of real bad choices. If I can teach ya one thing—just one thing—don’t be like me.”
Beau turned to him, frowning.
“Dad… I wanna be exactly like you.”
Jackson froze.
“You’re the best dad I could ever ask for. You work hard. You show up. You love us even when you’re madder’n a bull in fly season. You love hard, an’ you’re still a real man about it. You know more ’bout horses than anybody I ever met. You been kicked, trampled, thrown — hell, even got yourself mauled by that damn cougar. They had to airlift you clear to San Sequoia, and Uncle Connor patched you up himself ’cause it was that bad… and you still came home pickin’ up workin’ the ranch like nothin’ was gonna keep you down. You’ve run off a pack of coyotes more’n once, too, like it weren’t no big deal. And that time I climbed into old man Harper’s pen to get my ball, an’ that big pissed‑off bull came at me. You stepped in front of it shieldin’ me, punchin him in the head so hard he ran off and never came near ya again. That’s how tough ya are. You know when to be hard on us an’ when to be gentle, an’ none of it ever feels fake. Sure, ya made some mistakes, but who hasn’t. Grampa Jack always says, the older ya get the more lessons ya learned the hard way.”
He shrugged, eyes dropping for a second.
“I wanna be like that. I’ll just… remember how to compromise when I am ready to build my forever with someone. That’s all.”
Jackson swallowed hard.
“Beau Wyatt Kershaw… yer gonna kill me dead with that kinda talk.”
Beau nudged him. “Just keepin’ ya honest.”
Jackson chuckled, soft and worn. “Reckon I needed that.”
“Reckon ya did.”
They sat there a while longer, father and son, sipping coffee as the sun warmed the stone steps beneath them.
For the first time in a long time, Jackson felt like maybe—just maybe—he could still get it right.
Beau took another sip of his coffee, eyes on the water, then added, almost casually:
“Pa… look. I ain’t into older women, but I get why you like playin’ with Taylor. Out of all the single women out at the Ridge she’s the prettiest, knows how to move – and she got big jugs. Fine. Whatever.”
Beau leaned back, shaking his head. “But good Lord, if I were ya, after bein’ with her, I’d wanna shower in bleach. There’s more rumors ’bout what that woman’s been up to ’round the Ridge than sand in the whole damn desert. She goes from man to man, any fella who’ll have ’er — like a bee in spring, hoppin’ flower to flower till she’s worn clean out.”
He pointed his mug at Jackson. “And folks still whisper ’bout her husband’s accident. I ain’t one to listen to no gossip, but… well, I ain’t sayin’ she did nothin’. I’m just sayin’ nobody’s real sure she didn’t.”
He huffed. “I been worried you’d pull another Boone but with Taylor this time — I come home one day an’ you done moved her in, fixin’ to marry her, maybe even havin’ another kid. An’ I hate to say it, Dad, but if you did that – well, Cheyenne’s people got land past the Ridge. We’d build ourselves a lil’ cabin out yonder, it’s Indian land, so ya couldn’t try make me come back before I am eighteen, but it’s close enough I can still come work the ranch with ya.”
Jackson blinked, eyebrows climbing. “Jesus, boy.”
“Just facts, Dad,” Beau muttered, shoulders lifting in a helpless shrug.
“Beau Wyatt, I been workin’ my tail off tryin’ to make our ranch into somethin’ I can hand down to ya! If anything I ever do makes ya feel like ya wanna leave, I need ya to tell me! The Kershaw Ranch is your home, it’s yours, and it’s the only legacy I got to give ya!”
“Jeeze, Pa, yer makin’ it sound like you was dyin’ tomorrow an’ I done moved across the country to go live with Brad at his fancy mansion or somethin’. Relax. I was just plannin’ the worst‑case scenario, that’s all. You taught me that, always have a backup plan, Beau, ya always told me. I ain’t goin’ nowhere, Pa.”
Jackson rubbed his jaw, staring out over the pool again, the water catching the porch lights. “Beau… I need a favor.”
“Yeah?”
“From here on out… I want ya to tell me the truth. Not just about Taylor. ’Bout anything. ’Specially if I ever start datin’ again. Don’t let me be stupid. Don’t let me run off good people. Don’t let me—” He exhaled. “Don’t let me be me.”
Beau looked at him then, really looked, and something shifted. For a heartbeat, Jackson saw the boy he used to carry on his shoulders… and the young man he’d somehow grown into without Jackson noticing.
Beau’s mouth tugged into a slow grin. “Careful what ya wish for, old man. Ya ask me to be honest, I’m liable to start tellin’ ya when yer jeans are gettin’ too tight and when yer hair’s doin’ that rooster‑tail thing.”
Jackson snorted. “Don’t ya dare call me fat, boy. That’s all muscle from workin’ dawn till dusk. And ain’t nothin’ wrong with my hair.”
“Sure, Pa,” Beau said, standing and stretching. “Keep tellin’ yerself that. Just make sure that ‘muscle’ ain’t spillin’ out over yer waistband — ’specially if yer fixin’ to start datin’ again. Even I know women don’t go lookin’ for a dad bod type unless yer real rich. And I’d keep my hat on unless maybe if you’re real nice to Mom, she’ll cut yer hair for ya again like she used to. ’Cause right now you look like you lost a fight with a weed‑whacker.”
He offered Jackson a hand up.
“Come on. Grandma made breakfast for everyone, and I think one of us got some butt‑kissin’ to do after you went full rodeo clown in the hallway this mornin’. Becks is probably hidin’ in the fridge.”
Jackson hesitated. “Do ya… like him? Beckett?”
Beau blinked, thrown for a second by how serious the question was. “Yeah. I do.” He shrugged, casually. “He’s a good dude. Treats Briony right. He’s her kinda people — both of ’em all fancy‑minded dreamers takin’ pictures of lamp posts and puddles and callin’ it art.”
He smirked, but the sincerity was there. “An’ she thinks he hung the damn moon. So… yeah, I like the guy. Don’t make it weird. She’s crazy ’bout him, talkin’ ’bout a future an’ all that. Wouldn’t shock me none if they end up married way down the line.”
Jackson groaned. “Lord have mercy.”
“Yup,” Beau said, clappin’ him on the back. “C’mon, walk ’n talk. Grandma said if we ain’t in that kitchen in fifteen minutes, she’s draggin’ us by the ears. And that was ’bout fourteen minutes ago, so move it. I ain’t dyin’ young on account of you gettin’ all melancholic on me.”
Jackson followed him toward the house, coffee in hand, heart a little lighter than it had been in a long time.
Both Kershaw men automatically removed their cowboy hats and tossed them onto the nearest counter, the soft thump of felt on stone announcing their arrival.
Hailey looked up from the head of the table, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. “There you are. For a moment I thought you two needed to be told twice.”
“No, Ma’am,” Jackson said, straightening like a schoolboy caught whispering in class.
He took in the room.
Brad sat beside Briar Rose, laughing as little Eden tried to feed him off her plate, smearing mashed fruit across his cheek while scolding, “Hold still, Daddy!” He obliged, tilting his head just enough to help her aim, then pretending every messy bite was the best thing he’d ever tasted.
Across from them, Nathaniel was in full storyteller mode, hands flying as he animatedly explained something to Briar Rose and Grandpa Chase. Chase nodded along with that rock‑star grin of his — shaggy black hair, rings on every finger — looking less like a grandfather at breakfast and more like he’d just stepped off a stage instead of out of the bedroom suite upstairs.
At the far end, Briony and Beckett were feeding each other bites that grew progressively larger until they were basically smearing food across each other’s faces, laughing so hard they nearly fell out of their chairs.
“Briony. Beckett.” Hailey warned, though she was laughing too. “Knock it off before you make a mess. I will make you both clean this entire kitchen.”
They straightened — barely — still giggling, then immediately started trading small pecks that deepened into kisses, each one a little longer than the last.
Chase pointed his fork at them. “Hey — nuh‑uh! None of that shit at the table. Your grandmother and I spent the ’90s on tour buses; we can clear this whole room in ten seconds flat if we start demonstrating how to really kiss — in a manner that’d make sailors blush.”
Both teenagers froze as if someone hit pause.
Briony’s face went from pink to mortified crimson in half a heartbeat. “GRANDPA! EW! STOP!” She slapped both hands over her ears, nearly knocking over her juice.
Beckett choked on air, eyes wide. “Oh my god, the mental image! I wanna bleach my ears,” he wheezed, half laughing, half horrified.
Briony swatted his arm. “Why would you even picture my grandparents making out?!”
“Not intentionally!” Beckett protested, pointing at Chase. “He started it! And I mean— your grandparents aren’t like… average grandparents. They look younger than our parents! My brain just doesn’t know what to do with that yet, okay?!”
Chase just smirked, satisfied, and went back to his pancakes like he hadn’t just psychologically vaporized two teenagers.
Hailey hid her face behind her coffee mug, shoulders shaking.
Beau just chuckled into his plate, piled high with food. For a boy as lean as he was, he always had a peculiar appetite. Without even lookin’ up, he drawled, “Y’all brought that on yerselves, playin’ tonsil hockey right in front of Grampa,” which set off another round of laughter.
Still chuckling, Jackson chose a chair near Brad. Hailey refilled his coffee without asking and loaded his plate with the kind of efficiency you only got from knowing someone extremely well. She knew how much, knew his favorites and what he didn’t care for, even buttered his toast just right for him.
Jackson quietly enjoyed being doted on, when he caught Brad’s eye.
“Sorry ’bout… last night,” he muttered. “Guessin’ that last beer was spoilt or somethin’ makin’ me act off. Didn’t mean nothin’ by it. Hope I didn’t hurt ya too bad.”
Brad smiled, gentle and sincere. “Not at all, it’s fine, Jackson. Really. Already forgotten.”
Jackson nodded once, then turned to Beckett, who froze mid‑chew like a deer in headlights.
“Ya both too,” Jackson said, clearing his throat. “’Pologize, Briony and… ahem… Beckett. Just gotta get used to… well… that.”
Beckett swallowed hard. “All good, Mr. Kershaw.”
Briony elbowed him, whispering something that made his ears go pink. He shook his head frantically, whisper‑yelling back, “I can’t just call him by his first name! I barely know the man — he tried to beat the crap out of me like an hour ago!”
Chase leaned back in his chair, pointing his butter knife at Beckett. “Hey, Becks, here’s a rule of thumb for future reference. Nobody beats anyone in this house except me. And if they try, I beat them. Clear?”
Briony snorted. Beckett nodded quickly. “Crystal.”
Beau didn’t even pause chewing. “He means Grandma’s the one doin’ the beatin’. He’s just the backup muscle.”
Hailey lifted her coffee like she was accepting an award. “That’s right. I’m the Queen B in this house… and yes, the B stands for exactly what you’re thinking — and it’s not Beyoncé.”
The whole table broke into laughter, the kind that rolled warm and loud through the kitchen and made the walls feel closer in the best possible way.
And just like that, everyone moved on. No tension. No lingering awkwardness. Just family noise and clatter and laughter filling the kitchen like sunlight.
Jackson watched them—Beckett wiping food off Briony’s cheek, Briar Rose leaning into Brad’s shoulder as Eden babbled, Chase ruffling Nathaniel’s hair, Hailey rolling her eyes at all of them with a smile she tried to hide.
And he realized Briar Rose hadn’t been wrong.
Not about Taylor. Not about Beau. Not about Briony. Not about him.
He may have lost Briar Rose as a romantic partner, but she wasn’t gone from his life, and she never would be. He hadn’t lost her family, whom he had grown to love like his own. Just like Connor and several of them had told him many times before, whether or not he was with Briar Rose, they were all his family too, and all still cared about him. Including Briar Rose.
Brad wiped another smear of mashed fruit off his cheek and glanced over at Jackson with an easy grin, like last night’s almost‑fight had never happened. “Oh—hey, you’ll appreciate this. You too, Beau,” he said. “Graham called me yesterday from med school. They were doing their first autopsy.”
“Brad, not exactly first choice for breakfast table conversation…” Chase muttered, but Brad only laughed, shaking his head.
“Chase, you know me better than that. I’m not giving a graphic medical lecture over pancakes. I’m merely sharing a humorous event I think everyone here will appreciate. And we all know you have had worse topics than this,” He lifted his hands in mock surrender. “But my child — heir to a long, proud line of physicians — made the initial incision and immediately lost his lunch. Directly onto the cadaver. Violently. The acoustics in those labs are unforgiving; it echoed like a cannon shot turning into a waterfall, as he described it to me.”
The table was already cracking up, but Brad wasn’t done.
“They had to suspend the session because half the cohort started sympathetic gagging. Every trash can and sink was in use. Even the supervising pathologist had to step out for ‘fresh air’ and was later seen bent over a topiary. Yes, that’s my boy.”
The room erupted — Chase wheezing, Briony snorting juice, Briar Rose hiding behind her hands, and little Eden giggling simply because everyone else was.
Jackson barked out a laugh. “Yer boy still wanna be a doctor after all that?”
Brad shrugged, grinning. “Of course he does. Just… perhaps not one with a solid future in pathology.”
More laughter rolled through the room, warm and easy, pulling Jackson right into the center of it without effort — no judgment, no awkwardness, just family being family.
Jackson exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “And for the record… I ain’t datin’ Taylor. That ain’t what that is. It’s just—” He waved a hand vaguely. “Nothin’. Means nothin’. Don’t want nobody here thinkin’ otherwise.”
Beau snorted into his coffee. “Yeah, Pa. We know. Yer just scratchin’ an itch.”
Briony made a face like she’d just smelled something expired. “Still. Eew. Like… deeply eew.”
Chase tapped a slow rhythm on the table with two fingers, the kind of beat that said he’d seen way too much on tour buses to be impressed by anything. “Look, man,” he said, voice low and gravelly, “I don’t know Taylor all that well, but from everything I’ve heard about her through the years, I’d be real careful that the itch you’re scratchin’ doesn’t come with a pamphlet and a prescription.”
Briony burst out laughing, collapsing into Beckett’s shoulder. Beckett wheezed, “Dude— Chase— oh my god—”
Beau didn’t even look up, just kept stirring his coffee. “He ain’t wrong. Pa’s gonna need full body antibiotics and a prayer circle purdy soon.”
The whole table broke into laughter, loud and warm and chaotic, bouncing off the kitchen walls.
“I, for one, am glad you are not serious about that Taylor,” Hailey said, setting down the coffeepot. “Because if that hussy ever walks into my home, I’m bleaching the floors with her soul, then flipping her over and mopping with her. Literally. I’ll use her as the mop. She’s got the right hair color for it.”
Laughter rippled around the table, and the moment passed — clean, honest, and without drama.
EchoesOfLegacy 