Wild Country – Drift Away

One The Road Again

Chestnut Ridge was already cookin’ by the time I loaded the last bag into the truck. Sun wasn’t even high yet and the heat was sittin’ on the land like it had a personal vendetta. Dust kicked up behind my boots, stickin’ to my neck, and I muttered under my breath about June bein’ a damn personal attack by nature itself.

Amy just laughed at me, Laney propped on her hip, baby babblin’ at her own toes like they were tellin’ jokes only she understood.

Beau and Savannah were helpin’ — well, Savannah was helpin’. Beau was mostly struttin’ around like turnin’ eighteen made him the foreman of the whole damn county. Kid kept puffin’ his chest out every time he walked past me, like I might forget today was his big day.

Beau had already been livin’ in the bunkhouse for months — moved in at seventeen as a test run to see if he could handle bein’ left to his own devices. He’d had a perfectly good bedroom in the main house, but he wanted his own space, his own routine, his own door to close. And truth be told, he handled it better’n any of us expected. Kept it clean, kept it repaired, kept himself fed. Sure, he took most meals with us, but every now and then he’d invite us over for somethin’ he grilled or cooked. And a few nights he wanted time with his girlfriend stayin’ over, and they cooked for themselves. That little trial run was the whole reason Amy and me felt good about the big gift waitin’ on him after today.

His own home.

Yeah, Amy and me — with Jack, Izzy, and Cody all pitchin’ in — bought him a little run‑down cabin for his eighteenth birthday. Nothin’ fancy. Roof sagged, porch leaned, boards soft in places. But it had bones. And it was gon’ be his. A real fixer‑upper too — the kind of place where a boy learns what needs replacin’, what can be saved, how to budget out repairs, and how to build somethin’ with his own two hands, with me and Jack and Cody right there teachin’ him every step of the way. He’d find out about it during the gift exchange later. I was excited.

It sat real close to the ranch, close enough I’d still see him every day. He’d still be ridin’ out with me at dawn, still hollerin’ at my herd, still showin’ up at mealtime for us to feed ’im. He wasn’t leavin’ me, and I sure as hell wasn’t kickin’ him out. Just… growin’ past the part where he needed to sleep under my roof. It’s just somethin’ boys do ’round here. I took over this ranch at eighteen, and I wouldn’t do that to any of my kids. It damn near brought me to my knees back then — ’cause I tell ya what, I may’ve been a helluva lot more mature than my brother Cody, but I was still a damn kid myself.

I still had a good twenty‑some years of ranchin’ left in me. Still had a new wife, raisin’ young kids who needed to be grown and steady before I even thought about bowin’ out. So Beau wasn’t takin’ over the ranch anytime soon. He needed his own place. His own start. His own stake in the world until this ranch would be his. Between now and Beau turnin’ thirty‑somethin’, I’ll spend every year gettin’ Beau ready for when that day does come for him. And I’ll make damn sure I’d stay close enough he can ask, and I can help — not waitin’ out huge time differences to call my daddy for answers like I had to.

His mama, Bri, didn’t love the idea at first. She got that look — jaw tight, eyes sharp — the one she gets when she’s tryin’ real hard not to argue with me in front of the kids. She raised Briony, not Beau, so she still sees him as that little boy she only saw every other weekend when I’d drive him down to San Sequoia. And I get it. I do. I do the same damn thing with Briony. It’ll take me forever and a day to remember she’s eighteen now, still catches me off‑guard every time I see her and she’s that young woman she’s grown into — not that opinionated lil’ girl who looks just like her mama but’s got my exact eyes. Truth is, she’ll always be my little girl, even though I got two daughters younger’n her now.

But I reminded Bri — gentle as I could — that our girl was fixin’ to move to Britchester for four years or so. College. Dorms. A whole new life. If Briony could fly halfway across the damn world, Beau could sure as hell take a few steps down the road.

And truth is, this wasn’t about pushin’ him out.

And that beat‑up little cabin — saggin’ porch, soft boards, windows rattlin’ in the wind — was the first step toward him standin’ on his own two feet.

And damn if I wasn’t proud of him for it.

Jack and Izzy pulled up behind us with coolers. Cody and Tansy rolled in last, Cody hangin’ out the window yellin’ “ROAD TRIP!” like he was still sixteen and had no sense of volume control. Thank God he wasn’t in my truck this time.

We caravanned out together — three trucks, one family, heat shimmerin’ off the road behind us. I was glad of it. That one time with Cody and Beau in the back and my Pa ridin’ shotgun still lingered in my bones. Until my son, brother — and father — became actual adults, I was in no hurry for a repeat.

By the time we crossed into San Sequoia, the whole world shifted. Air cooled. Breeze picked up. That soft coastal light rolled in, makin’ everything look washed clean and a little too fancy for a man who still had hay stuck to his shirt.

Chase and Hailey’s estate with the main house and two guest houses took up damn near an entire block by the bay — red bridge in view, skyline across the water, and a backyard that made you feel like you were walkin’ into a music video instead of a family home.

We barely got outta the truck before the front door flew open.

“Gimme that baby!” Hailey hollered, already halfway down the steps.

Laney didn’t even get a chance to blink before she was scooped up, kissed, spun, and declared the cutest thing in the entire known universe. Chase strutted out behind Hailey, sunglasses on even though the sun wasn’t doin’ much.

“Look at her! She’s standing already? Damn, she’s fast.”

Truth was, she could pull herself up on furniture and wobble there like a baby deer. But hell, let the grandparents brag. She ate it up. And no — Chase and Hailey weren’t my kin. They were Beau and Briony’s grandparents from my first marriage. Yet, that entire family had always treated me and my other kids – and Amy – as if we were all related still. Odd, maybe complicated at times, but we made it work.

Inside, the house was already buzzin’. Music thumpin’. Pool glitterin’. Looked like someone shook the whole Cameron family tree and let every branch fall out at once. Everyone was already there — Camerons in name or in blood, or both, step‑ and half-relations, in‑laws, out‑laws, and folks who weren’t related to Laney in the slightest passed her around like she was the Holy Grail.

Cody had already torn off his clothin’ and cannonballed into the pool. Tansy yelled at him. Savannah ran to Briony screamin’ “birthday sister!” Beau tried to act cool and failed immediately — his momma smoochin’ the color off him didn’t help. Briony hugged him like they hadn’t seen each other in years, even though it’d been two weeks.

The whole place glowed — lights comin’ on overhead, grilled seafood in the air, kids splashin’, adults driftin’ toward the bar. It was loud, chaotic, and perfect.

When the cakes came out — pink‑and‑gold for Briony, blue‑and‑silver for Beau — the twins leaned in like they were competin’ in the Olympics of candle‑blowin’. Briony won by half a second. Beau smeared frosting on her cheek. She retaliated. It turned into a food fight. So much for being adults now. The party exploded again.

Later, Amy and I sat on a cushioned lounger, plates on our knees, watchin’ our family tear up the pool like they owned it.

“Life was easier before I met ya,” I said.

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. Back then I was sad, heartbroken, and had no appetite. Ever since you came into my life like a damn sunrise, I been fightin’ my waistbands. Ya jus’ make me too damn happy, woman. Bad for my girlish figure.”

Amy snorted softly. “Try pushing out a whole baby and then losing the weight while you’re still half‑asleep and leaking everywhere. You men don’t know anything about real waistband warfare.”

I laughed. “Fair point. Guess I’ll just sit here and enjoy this fancy life with ya for the weekend — all this luxury I’ll never be able to give you.”

She laughed — that soft, warm sound that always hit me right in the ribs — then her eyes drifted out toward the mansion, the lights, the noise, the whole polished‑up world we were borrowin’ for the day.

“This is nice,” she said quietly. “Really nice. But I don’t want this life.”

I blinked. “No?”

She shook her head. “I thought I did. Back in college, I thought this was the dream — the money, the parties, the big houses, the perfect pictures. And I had it. Maybe not this scale, but close enough.”

Her voice softened, but her words sharpened with truth.

“And take it from me, Jackson… that life is built on lies. Maybe these people here are the exception confirming the rule, but the way I know it, this lifestyle always comes with lies, corruption, backstabbing dressed up as friendship. Everyone always has a secret agenda. Everyone tryin’ to outdo everyone else. No unity. No honesty. No real kindness.”

She nodded toward the backyard where our people were laughin’, splashin’, currently Connor’s son Chris and his wife Cadie were playing with Laney in the kiddie pool the Camerons set out just for us.

“What we have back home? That’s real. People helpin’ strangers. That’s literally how you and I met — you helpin’ me when you didn’t owe me a thing. That would never happen in my old world. Never. I’d probably be dead by now or livin’ in a homeless shelter or have committed a felony just so I’d have some sort of roof over my head again.”

She looked back at me, eyes warm and steady.

“What we’re buildin’ together — the ranch, the kids, the work, the community — I love every minute of it. Even the inconvenient stuff isn’t so bad, because you’re with me. And I know you won’t just… leave. Or kick me out. Like… well. You know. You have no idea what that’s worth to someone who had their entire life taken from them with no warning. Puts things in perspective. Makes kindness even bigger than it already is.”

Then she smirked, soft and wicked.

“I always wanted a family, you know that, but now that you’ve given me one? Man, Jackson… you have no idea. I swear, if you don’t stop me, you sexy cowboy, we might end up with a baby every year. Dozens of little Kershaws crawling the ridge.”

She laughed. I knew she was jokin’ about that last part, but hell if it didn’t make me feel real good.

Smilin’, I leaned over and kissed her.

Back Home

Life, of course, didn’t give a damn what I was ready for. And it sure as heck wasn’t this.

A few days later, Amy and me were over at Pa and Izzy’s place with the baby when a truck hauled up, door slammin’ outside hard enough to rattle the windows. Before any of us could wonder, Cody stormed in — two suitcases, a duffel, boots muddy, jaw tight.

He didn’t say hello. Didn’t look at nobody. Just barreled straight down the hall to his old room.

Pa barked after him, hitchin’ up his jeans like he was about to go rope somethin’. “The hell is this now?!”

I was already followin’.

“Cody!”

He shoved past me, stormin’ right back out. “Help me unload.”

His voice cracked on that last word.

That’s when my stomach dropped.

Out in the yard, Cody was yankin’ stuff from the truck bed like it had misbehaved on the way over. And wanderin’ toward us was Whiskey — my brother’s black stallion — just in his halter, no lead, no saddle. I saw those tossed in the truck bed. That horse must’ve run the whole damn way home beside the truck.

Pa stepped onto the porch, thumb hooked in his belt buckle, squintin’ like the sun offended him. “Well I’ll be damned… that horse is somethin’ else. That’s a farm dog in horse form, tell ya what!”

Whiskey tossed his head, snorted hard, and pressed himself right up against Cody’s shoulder like he was tryin’ to hold the boy together with his own body weight. That horse only ever did that when Cody was real bad off. Cody wrapped one arm around him for half a second, then went right back to unloadin’, while Whiskey trotted off toward Pa and Izzy’s horses and Blaze and Juniper for a drink.

“Cody,” I said low, already knowin’ the answer. “What happened?”

“Nothin’.”

Pa spat in the dirt, crossed his arms. “Try again.”

Cody froze, shoulders tight. “She kicked me out, alright?”

Izzy gasped behind us.

“Why?” Pa asked, shiftin’ his weight like he was bracin’ for impact.

He scrubbed both hands over his face. “Because I’m a mess. Immature, accordin’ to her. A man‑child. Because I leave dishes in the sink. Because I forget laundry. Because I tracked mud in the house. Because I ain’t ‘domesticated.’ Her words.”

He laughed — sharp, broken. “I guess livin’ together ain’t the same as datin’. Turns out she didn’t wanna raise a ‘man‑toddler.’”

He looked at me then — eyes red, hurt, embarrassed.

“I really liked her, Jackson.”

I clapped his shoulder. “I know.”

He swallowed hard. “I thought I was doin’ good. I thought… I dunno. I thought she liked me enough to put up with my mess. Growin’ pains.”

“Sometimes,” I said, settin’ my hat back on my head, “likin’ someone ain’t the same as livin’ with ’em.”

He nodded, jaw tight, breathin’ like he was holdin’ himself together by the thinnest thread.

Izzy fussed over him the rest of the night. Pa shot me a look — the kind where he tilts his chin just a hair, meanin’ this ain’t for an audience — and told Amy and me to head on home.

But I didn’t sleep worth a damn.

I was worried he’d pick up that nasty drinkin’ habit from before, or worse yet. I wasn’t in the mood to start with that nonsense again. I had a baby now — didn’t need another.

Next mornin’, Cody showed up at my barn before sunrise. Didn’t say a word. Just grabbed the other end of a feed sack I was fxin’ to haul and worked beside me like he needed somethin’ heavy to hold onto.

When the last sack was stacked, he finally spoke.

“How’d ya do it? When Pa just left ya with this ranch at eighteen. Damn. That is so damn young. I’m twenty-three now and I’d friggin’ lose my mind if I had to take it over now. And then when Bri left. When Savannah had to stay with Connor. When Briony grew up in another town. I mean, I always knew that wasn’t easy, but now … I really don’t know how ya did all of that without goin’ insane.”

“Same way I do everything,” I said. “One day at a time.”

He nodded, eyes on the dirt.

“I ain’t ready to be alone again,” he whispered. “Man, goin’ to sleep and wakin’ up with a woman is somethin’ else. Damn, why’d I blow it? Why didn’t she give me more warnin’? Just one more chance. I can change, I told her but she didn’t want to hear nothin’. She wanted me gone as gone can get. Now I am alone again and it feels … it … well.”

“Ya ain’t alone,” I said. “Yer home. Ya got yer mom and our dad, ya got me and my family. That’s a lot more than I had most of the time.”

He swallowed hard, breath shudderin’.

“I just wanted to love her.”

“I know.”

He wiped his face with the back of his hand, embarrassed.

“What do I do now?”

“Grow up a little,” I said gently. “Clean up your act. Learn from it. And when you’re ready, try again with someone who fits your life better. Or with her, if ya think second time’s a charm, but sounds like ya both need to put some time and distance between each other. Maybe ya both got some growin’ up to do.”

He nodded — slow, heavy, but real.

Cody sulked. He started drinkin’ again until one night he ran into Tansy downtown. After that, he gave up on that too, tried to raid Pa’s and my reserves, but when Izzy caught him with a bottle of fine aged Innisgreen whiskey she just about handed him his buttcheeks. So he’d nurse the occasional beer and just look pitiful.

We tried to help, but then collectively decided he had to work through it.

San Sequoia Tornado

Briony showed up the next afternoon like a tornado in skinny jeans, blowin’ through the front door without knockin’, talkin’ before she even fully crossed the threshold.

“Hi! I’m here! Who missed me? Nobody? Rude.”

Beau was leanin’ on the counter, starin’ into his coffee like it might tell him the future. Cody was at the table, elbows on his knees, lookin’ like a man who’d been hit by a truck made of feelings.

Briony stopped dead. “Okay, what funeral did I walk into?”

Beau didn’t look up. “Ain’t a funeral.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Briony said, eyes flicking to Cody. “He looks like he’s living through a full country‑song meltdown — wife gone, truck dead, ranch burned down, dog ran off, and knowing my booze‑loving uncle, probably his favorite bar shut down for good measure.”

Cody didn’t even blink.

Briony turned to Beau. “What happened?”

Beau shook his head immediately. “Nope. Not me. I’m not gettin’ dragged into this. Ask Pa.”

Briony groaned loud enough to rattle the window. “Oh my God. One of you Kershaw men needs to learn how to form a complete sentence.”

Beau was already halfway out the door. “Exactly why I’m leavin’. Not gon’ be me.”

She spun on her heel and marched outside after him.

I was by the fence checkin’ Maverick’s hoof when she stomped up like she was about to file a complaint with management. Bri once had me doubled over wheezin’ callin’ it Briony’s “Karen face” — then added, ‘Unfortunately, she got it from me,’ like she was confessin’ to a crime. That was Bri for you. Ex‑wife or not, she was funny and painfully self‑aware.

“Dad.”

“Briony.”

“What’s wrong with Cody?” she demanded, arms crossed.

“Loaded question. Gotta be more specific.”

“Okay. He’s in your kitchen, moping, looking like a visual compilation of every sappy country song ever written. Why?”

“Just… life.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the one I got. Ya want details, ask him. If he don’t give ’em to ya, I won’t either. Not my place.”

She stared at me like she was tryin’ to burn a hole clean through my skull — full Karen‑face activated — and I had to clamp my damn jaw shut. One twitch of a smile and that girl would’ve gone off like a Fourth of July firework. She got that from her mama, no doubt… though hell, I ain’t innocent either. Temper like that’s a two‑parent inheritance. Reason number hundred‑and‑somethin’ why Bri and I never could make it work. You can’t mix fire and TNT and expect a marriage to last longer’n the boom that comes after.
Learned that the hard way, and it took Bri and me way too long to figure it out — she’s got calm Brad now, and I’ve got calm Amy, and thank God we finally wised up and found the people we were meant to be with… only took us close to twenty‑five years, since we were still damn kids ourselves, of chasin’ each other, marryin’ each other twice, and breakin’ up a hundred time to get there. Now we were close, still enjoyed what we love about each other, but as friends. That seems to work real well for us and for the kids.

My fiery daughter now threw her hands up and stormed back toward the house. Cody and Beau had cleared the area. Wise.

Amy was in the living room rockin’ Laney when Briony appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, foot tappin’ like she was about to issue a formal complaint.

“Amy.”

Amy didn’t even look up. “Oh boy.”

“What happened to Cody? Why is everyone treating me like some foreign spy? We’re all family, hello?”

Amy paused just long enough to choose her words. “Long story. He’s heartbroken. He and Tansy had a huge fight. It… didn’t go well.” She gave Briony the short version, and the girl’s eyes got bigger with every sentence.

Briony’s face softened — barely, but enough to count. She nodded once, sharp, like she’d filed the whole thing under actionable intel.

“Oh my God. Was she bathed too hot as a baby? Who does that? I mean, sure, you live with someone, you fight — unless that someone is named Dr. Bradford Cunningham, who probably swallowed a zen guru as a child or something. My mother has no idea how lucky she is. Then again, I don’t think I could date someone that calm. When I’m mad, I want to yell at someone who doesn’t just blink at me like an oversized therapy bear. But normal couples? You fight, you say your piece, you make up. Who kicks their boyfriend out after a couple months and probably their first real fight? Poor Cody. And here I was thinking he was just being dramatic. Now I feel bad. Poor guy. Annoying as hell, but honestly? Pretty great uncle material. That chick needs to touch some grass and hug a tree or something. Why does that feel like the chick-version of Beckett Ashby to me? Poor Cody!”

She turned toward the kitchen. “Okay, gameplan needed. Let me think. Oh, and Amy? Thank you for not treating me like a complete moron, unlike my daddy dearest and my country‑bumpkin brother. Really appreciate that.”

Then she marched to my fridge like she owned the place, skinny jeans whispering, bracelets clinking, the old wood floors creaking under her quick steps. She grabbed two beers without even slowing down and headed straight out the front door like a woman on a mission. The screen door slapped shut behind her, rattling the frame the way it always did when someone didn’t bother to catch it.

Cody was sittin’ on the porch steps, elbows on his knees, starin’ at the dirt like it held all the answers he’d ever lost. Late‑afternoon sun hit him square in the back, dust drifting in the warm air like he’d been sittin’ there a long while.

Briony dropped down beside him, folding herself cross‑legged right there on the porch boards without a second thought for her white sneakers or her expensive jeans. She shoved a beer into his hand.

He blinked. “Hey now… beer—”

“Eighteen now, baby. Official boozing age in most states of United Simdonia. I can legally drink an entire case if I feel like makin’ terrible decisions.”

That got the smallest smile outta him — barely there, but real.

He reached for her bottle to open it, but she twisted the cap off on her forearm with a sharp pop, like she’d been doin’ it her whole life.

Cody stared. “I don’t wanna know who taught ya that.”

“Your dad did, my dear sweet uncle. Yup, good ole Gramps Kershaw himself. And if he hadn’t, Grandpa Chase would’ve. Man collects party tricks like other people collect stamps.”

“Oh jeeze.”

She took a sip, made a face, stuck her tongue out dramatically. “Yup. Entertainment biz for ya. Ugh. Eew, this beer tastes exactly like it looks. Straight‑up urine sample.”

Cody huffed a tiny laugh, shoulders twitchin’ like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to. “Wouldn’t know. Never had the urge to taste one.”

Briony barked out a laugh, bright and sharp, bouncing off the porch posts. “Good one. You get points for that.”

And for the first time all day, Cody’s shoulders eased just a little, like someone finally loosened the rope cinched around his chest.

Then Briony turned to him, all business, like she’d flipped a switch mid‑breath.

“So don’t even start — I know what happened. You screwed up, she kicked you out, simple as that. So what now? You gonna fix it? Go apologize? Kiss a little ass? Or just sit here lookin’ pitiful till the buzzards start circlin’?”

“What?”

“I mean, normally you’d just cut your losses — plenty of other moms out there with hot daughters. But you didn’t exactly take the easy road with her. You crashed a wedding, Cody. Nobody does that for someone they’re only half‑invested in. So yeah, it’s messy as hell. You clearly care about her. So what’s it gonna be? Count your losses… or a full‑blown love recon mission? Maybe after nailin’ a few chicks to get it out of your system in case you two make up and you’re locked into the same pussy permanently again.”

He squinted at her, jaw flexin’ like he was tryin’ not to smile or snap. “Ya kiss yer mother with that mouth? Ya even hear yerself talk? Jeezes Christ, girl! Oh wait — forgot who raised ya. Ne’er mind.”

“Yeah, like we never met before. I’ve always been this way. Nice try, but deflection tactics don’t work on me. Brad taught me that. Business negotiations 101. I’m goin’ into business, and I ran my degree choices by him. He was very helpful — taught me a ton already. And I’m gonna do an internship at his headquarters. Not because I give two shits about his medical empire — no offense, but scalpels and spreadsheets aren’t exactly my kink — but I wanna see how he runs things. Eventually. Maybe after my first college summer break. Not right now. I’m not risking runnin’ into Becks in San Myshuno. With my luck, huge city or not, the first time I step out for a latte, I’ll run right into him — probably with a hot new girlfriend. No, thank you.”

She flicked her hair back, eyes sharp. “And before you ask — no, I’m still not over him. So yeah, I feel you, Cody. Same boat. Beckett Ashby, bane of my existence. Loved him more than my own life, and he couldn’t dump me fast enough. ‘Too much drama with the future stepdad,’ ‘easier to move in with Dad,’ blah blah blah. And then it was ‘Briony who?’”

Cody frowned, brows drawin’ together. “Hey, I remember, an’ it wasn’t quite like that. His mom moved clear across the country anyway, with a stepfamily he didn’t like, so instead of Newcrest — right there by San Myshuno — he moved in with his dad ’cause he wasn’t eighteen an’ didn’t have a choice. Only thing he did that was maybe a bit harsh was not even wantin’ to try long‑distance. But that was high‑school‑sweetheart stuff. Puppy love. Yer a kid. And ya didn’t live with the guy. That’s different.”

She recoiled like he’d slapped her with a wet fish. “Excuse you!? I was seventeen then. It was less than three months ago. You think my entire life and personality magically evolved between seventeen and eighteen? If that’s how it works, someone forgot to hit you with the adulting stick when you turned eighteen — exactly five years ago, grandpa. And don’t even try to act like you’re miles ahead of me. Girls mature faster than boys, so I’m probably on your level or above it. And also — pick a team, Cody. Whose side are you on!”

He huffed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do ya even have to ask? Yer side, always. But that don’t mean I can’t see logic. Look, Briony… I just gotta work through it. It’s hard. Small town. No matter where I go, I run into her.”

Her eyes lit up — bright, dangerous, schemin’ — like someone had just handed her a detonator and dared her to push the button.

“And THAT gives me an idea. A really, REALLY great one.”

Before Cody could ask, she shoved her half‑full beer into his hands. “Take this. You enjoy. I don’t even like beer. It tastes like stale piss and sadness.”

She stood, spun on her heel, and strode off — not toward the house, but straight across the yard like she’d been activated by a divine mission briefing.

Cody scrambled up after her, still clutchin’ both beers like they were evidence in a crime he didn’t remember committing. “Briony! City girl, yer goin’ the wrong way!”

“Nope,” she said, already ten steps ahead, long legs eatin’ up the ground. “I’m going to your parents’ house. Grampa dearest is getting a Briony drive‑by. Hope he took his heart meds.”

“Pa ain’t on heart meds. But why!?”

“You’ll see.”

And damned if he didn’t follow her like a confused puppy, joggin’ to keep up, bottles clinking every few steps like a sad little soundtrack.

From the paddock, I saw the whole thing — my daughter stormin’ across the yard, hair flyin’ behind her like she was leadin’ a cavalry charge, and my baby brother chasin’ after her with two beers and zero dignity. I damn near dropped Maverick’s lead rope from laughin’. Cody really had no idea what he was in for. Maverick flicked an ear at ’em like even he knew those two were up to no good.

And because she’s Briony — a Cameron and a Kershaw, with definite Cunningham hints, all rolled into one tall, dramatic whirlwind — she reached into her back pocket mid‑stride, pulled out a scrunchie, and twisted her hair up into a messy “fight‑do” without even slowing down.

Like she was gearing up for war.

Jack — my Pa, Cody’s Pa, Briony’s grandpa — was out with the horses when they came up the drive. Briony marched right up, kissed his cheek like she was greeting royalty, and kept going without breaking stride. Jack blinked after her, slow and baffled, then looked at Cody trailing behind her with two beers and the expression of a man who’d lost control of his own life somewhere back at my front porch.

Inside, Izzy was folding laundry when Briony swooped in, kissed her cheek too, and headed straight down the hall toward Cody’s room with the confidence of someone who thought they owned the place.

Jack stepped in behind them, eyebrows up. Izzy mirrored him. They traded that silent married‑people look that meant what fresh hell is this now?

Meanwhile, Briony was already in Cody’s room, hands on her hips, surveying the scene like a general assessing a battlefield.

“Wow,” she said. “This is tragic. Ever heard of adding a little personality to your room? No? Whatever. One fire at a time, Briony.”

She grabbed a suitcase, shook her head, tossed it aside, grabbed a duffel instead, and started opening drawers like she was conducting a federal raid.

Then she held up a pair of Cody’s underwear by one corner — ridiculous cartoon shark ones — pinched between her fingers like they were radioactive. “Seriously now?”

Cody snatched them from her, went beet red. “Why are ya goin’ through my underbreeches!? I am yer uncle!”

Unfazed, she reached right back in and pulled out another pair — bright yellow, SpongeBob grinning like a maniac across the front. She held it up like she was unveiling evidence in a courtroom. “Oh my God, tell me it ain’t so. SpongeBob and baby shark panties? Really? Are you five? Is this what you rely on for birth control?!”

Cody lunged and snatched those too, slamming his underwear drawer shut with the force of a man trying to bury his own shame. “Ya needa mind yer own business, Briony! Get outta my stuff!”

Unaffected — hell, delighted — my sweet girl just clicked her tongue and said, “And my uncle needs underwear made for grown‑ups or you’re never gonna get laid again. We’re packing, because you are coming with me. To Sulani. One week in paradise. Thank me later.”

He froze. “What?”

“Yeah, you won’t be running into your ex there. Want distance, I am giving you distance. But we gotta get you there first, preferably not looking like I kidnapped Yeehaw from some hillbilly trailer. Luckily you won’t need a lot of clothes while there — we’ll be mostly in swimwear and shorts, because your situation is SO not situated. Yikes. But seriously, do you own anything non‑embarrassing? No? Okay. I’ll have Mom’s credit card. We’ll fix it. Just need something to cover you until we can shop.”

He sputtered. “Briony, I ain’t— ya can’t— I ain’t goin’ nowhere!”

She kept packing. Meaning: grabbing random handfuls of clothes and stuffing them into the duffel with zero mercy. He kept pulling handfuls back out, after parking the two beer bottles atop his dresser like they were supervising.

She held up one of his shirts, sleeves torn off, edges frayed — the one with the bass fish that had full bodybuilder abs and sunglasses — and just stared at it. “Cody. In all seriousness now. Why tho? Is this a redneck cry for help?”

“I like that one!” he protested, snatching it from her hands. “It’s fun.”

“Yeah, well, and I like you,” she shot back, pointing at him, “so you need an intervention. You have potential. Why waste it? Dress to flaunt what you got. Babes would be lining up, pickin’ numbers to light up your world if you dressed decent.”

His jaw dropped. “I am your UNCLE! Don’t say that kinda stuff or yer dad is gon’ skin me alive!”

“No he won’t, ’cause he knows I have eyes and taste,” she said. “I didn’t say I wanna date you. I said you’re a good canvas and have options. Big difference.”

I wasn’t there for this scene, but Pa and Izzy later told it to me in a way that made it sound like the funniest thing they’d seen in years.

He’d slam a drawer shut; she’d yank it open. She’d grab socks; he’d snatch ’em and fling them across the room. She’d pull out a shirt; he’d tear it from her grip. Finally she started turning away with whatever she grabbed so he couldn’t reach, and it turned into a full‑blown wrestling match in his tiny bedroom — two stubborn idiots locked in mortal combat over socks and dignity. One pair of socks now has one twice as long as the other. Oh well.

Jack and Izzy just shook their heads at each other, watching their son and his niece wrestle over his unmentionables, shirts, jeans, and pride like two kids fighting over the last cookie.

Finally, Izzy stepped forward, voice soft and warm as she cupped Cody’s cheek — that gentle, lilting tone she used when she wanted something to land.

“Honey,” she said, “I think Briony’s onto something. I think you should go. It might do ya a world of good to get a bit of distance from all this. And ya could keep a bit of an eye on her for your brother.”

And Cody looked like he might actually consider it. Maybe because he was tired of fighting. Maybe because he saw her reasoning. Maybe because he just really needed to get out for a week.

Departure Day

Seaglass Haven was already up and ante when I pulled up the next morning with Cody lookin’ like he regretted every life choice that led him to this moment. Briony had driven herself back home the day before, and I was supposed to pick her up and drop both of them off at the airport. Don’t ask me why — my baby girl asked, and I was gon’ do it. Normally Beau and Savannah would have come to see them off, but since Beau was the proud owner of a house now, he was fine letting dad deal with it and Savannah was right there with him. Ranch kid priorities.

Chase and Hailey were on the front steps — lookin’ like they’d just stepped off a stage instead of out of their own damn house. Hailey had that rocker‑chic eyeliner goin’, all sharp and smoky, and Chase was wearin’ one of his old tour tees, vintage and perfectly broken‑in, his black hair shaggy and fallin’ just right like it always does.

And I swear, no matter how long I’ve known ’em, the vampire thing still doesn’t sit right in my head. They’re too warm, too funny, too damn human for that to make any sense. But there they were — my eighteen‑year‑old’s grandparents — lookin’ about Cody’s age and not a day older. My brain just refuses to file that under “normal family dynamics.”

And then there was Briar Rose, my ex-wife, Briony and Beau’s mom — fussin’ with Briony’s hair, smoothing it down even though it was already perfect, quietly sobbin’ like she was sendin’ our daughter off to war instead of a beach. Bri was born a vampire, same as her siblings, but her parents had her and her twin sister unturned when they were little, so they never actually lived the fanged life. Then last year happened — long story, whole mess — and some drama left her, Iris, and Jasper with no choice but to go back to bein’ vampires. I adored Bri, honest I did, even today there weren’t many things I wouldn’t do for her if she asked, but I was real glad she was Brad’s wife now. I don’t know if I could’ve handled that full‑time — the immortality and never‑agin’ thing, not to mention all the other things vampires were known for that I chose to ignore altogether — longer than a few hours at family get‑togethers. I wasn’t afraid of her, or any of ’em, just… I don’t know. I’m jus’ a simple country boy. That whole world just ain’t mine.

Brad leaned in the doorway with his coffee, watchin’ the whole circus with that amused stepdad smile he’d perfected over the years.

“Mom,” Briony groaned, “it’s a luxury retreat in Sulani, not a mission to Mars. I’ll be back in a week.”

“Not if you forget sunscreen again. Remember two years ago?” Bri said, kissin’ her cheek anyway. “You ended up in the emergency room with severe second‑degree burns all over your shoulders and back.”

Brad lifted his mug in agreement. “She did. Blistering, dehydration, borderline heat exhaustion. Lil’ overachiever. And that after I stressed the importance of reapplying every hour. Every. Hour. She ignored me.”

Briony let out a dramatic groan, stepped over, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek — the kind that said I love you, but just shut up now. “Brad, I adore you, but please — get off my case. I had just turned SIXTEEN! And the ocean was RIGHT THERE! I fell asleep on a floatie. Jeeze.”

“And the midday sun was right there too,” Brad said dryly. “Which you treated like a personal challenge. And what would I know about health, right?”

Briony huffed, but it was playful. “Oh, come on, I wasn’t the only one who got burned! Lauren fried her shoulder! She looked like a grilled cheese! You know, Dr. Cunningham — your own daughter, who is off at med school right now. Yeah, I rest my case.”

Brad snorted. “Lauren got a mild burn on one shoulder because she forgot to reapply once. You applied when you girls left that morning and then never again. And she listened when I told her to stay out of the sun afterwards. You did not. You waited for the pain meds to kick in and went right back to toasting on the beach. I had to drag you into the shade a dozen times — if not more — since your mother was off filming a music video while her daughter attempted medical suicide.”

Briony swatted his arm, laughing. “You are such a drama queen, Brad. I’m fine, look at me. Not even a scar! And Graham got burned too! And he just graduated college with a med degree so he can one day take over your medical empire, Dr. Holier‑than‑Thou. Bruh definitely should’ve known better.”

“Graham got a sun patch on the back of his neck because he was sailing with me for eight hours,” Brad said, rolling his eyes. “He fixed it immediately. You refused a rash guard because — and I quote — ‘it reeked.’ Briony, all we are saying is: take care of yourself. We all just have this one body. Treat it kindly.”

Briony sighed and rolled her eyes dramatically, so Hailey swooped in, smoochin’ her granddaughter. “Right — and on that lovely reminder — HAVE FUN, baby girl. You’re only young once… well… unless you choose a certain path and then you’ll be young forever, but we won’t go into that. So, send pictures! Lots of photo evidence, please! Of the scenery. And the boys. Only the good ones with decent front and rear views.” Hailey made squeezing motions with both hands, giggling.

Chase slid an arm around her waist, leaned in, and murmured, “Easy there, Patches… Briony, do NOT send your grandmother photos of boys. Just the scenery.”

“I can look,” Hailey said, hands up. “As long as I don’t touch.”

Chase narrowed her eyes. “Good to know. I am then free to look too. Noted.”

“Gump,” she warned, “you look at ONE groupie, and I will end both of you.”

“Double standards much?” he muttered.

“Yeah,” Hailey said. “All day long. ’Cause I know I won’t touch. I’ve been on enough tours with you to know we walked into plenty of hotel suites with naked chicks sprawled on our bed. How many times do you think I walked into any bedrooms with naked men on my bed?”

Chase grinned. “I know there have been times. Just one naked man though…”

He leaned in and kissed her. Not like grandparents kiss. Like … somethin’ ya see on TV when the scene is getting X-rated.

Bri and Briony both recoiled in perfect unison.

“EEEEW – PUKE!” they chorused.

Brad chuckled into his coffee, unfazed, smiling that perfect smile at me. “Cameron family breakfast show. Never gets old, huh Jackson?”

I let out a huff that could pass for a chuckle. Cody looked like he was tryin’ to be invisible.

Briony went down the line, kissin’ and huggin’ everyone — Hailey, Chase, Bri, Brad.

Chase clapped Cody on the back so hard the boy stumbled. “You take care of her, son.”

Cody blinked. “Uh— yes, sir.”

Briony rolled her eyes. “Grandpa, I’ll take care of him. Remember, that’s what all this is about. I am a grown woman, a strong one. I do not need a man to take care of me. Unless he wants to. I can take care of a man – or a woman – if I wanted to. And I want to. And he does. And if he doesn’t then just cos he’s Cody and doesn’t know what’s good for him, but I do. Make sense?”

“Nope, but I love ya anyway, chickadee. Have fun, stay out of trouble. Both of you.”

That didn’t help Cody’s dignity none.

Brad hugged her next. “Text when you land. And if anything feels off, you call us. I don’t care what time it is.”

“I know,” she said, squeezin’ him tight. “Love you, Brad.”

Then she turned to me.

“Okay, Daddy. You crying?”

“I ain’t cryin’,” I said. “I’m just drivin’ ya to the airport and we’re late. Let’s get. Sorry all, but I need to get back.”

“Denial,” she sing‑songed. “Stage one.”

“Yup. That’s our Jackson.” Bri sing-songed too, kissing my cheek.

Ex-wives. Either it’s war or … whatever this is.

We all walked out to the driveway as Briony and Cody climbed into my old truck. Briony’s  bags, three of them, were already loaded up with Cody’s duffel. One.

Hailey wrinkled her nose. “Sweetheart… why are you takin’ that thing? No offense Jackson.”

Chase nodded. “Yeah, kiddo, you could’ve taken one of ours.”

Bri frowned. “You sure you don’t want Brad to drive you? Or me?”

Brad shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

Briony rolled her eyes. “Guys. It’s fine. I want Dad to take us. Are you going to live through that?”

Everyone stared at her as I started the engine.

“Why is that suddenly so important to her. Normally she would refuse to let anyone drive her to a nail appointment in an exotic car if it is dirty. And now she wants that raggedy, filthy, banged up truck? Explain someone the women to me.” Chase wondered.

Brad lifted his coffee. “Cos it’s her dad.”

They all turned to him.

He shrugged again. “What? You all used to complain Jackson wasn’t involved enough. She did too. Until they had that come‑to‑Jesus moment when she was, what, sixteen? About him thinking she wanted him to keep at arm’s length cos she was embarrassed about him and didn’t want to be seen with him, when she has been thinking he just liked Beau more. Ever since that was cleared up, they’ve been spending a LOT of time together. She even has been out his Ranch quite a few times since she started driving. How come I’m the only one here who sees it?”

Bri kissed him. “Because you’re awesome.”

He grinned. “Either that, or I have you fooled.”

Airport Dropoff

The drive to the San Sequoia private terminal was quiet — Cody sittin’ stiff in the passenger seat like he was headin’ to a job interview, Briony in the back scrollin’ her phone, poppin’ her gum like she was already on the beach. Between the gum and her body spray and whatever the heck young women liked to douse themselves in these days, the cab now smelled like minty flowers drowned in a piña colada.

Didn’t help that she kept takin’ selfies back there — every angle, every filter — then suddenly leanin’ halfway into the front seat tryin’ to drag me and Cody into the frame.

“Dad, smile! No, like— actually smile. Uncle Cody, scoot in! Closer! Ugh, you two are so stiff. Can you act like you have a pulse?”

I kept one hand on the wheel and used the other to shove her forehead back toward the rear seat. “Briony. Sit back. Seat belt. Now.”

She flopped back with a dramatic groan, snapping her gum like I’d ruined her whole vacation by not lettin’ her cause an accident for a selfie. “Fine. But this lighting back here is a hate crime and I packed my camera lights.”

Cody cracked the window like he needed fresh air to survive her.

When we pulled up, the valet straightened up like royalty had arrived the second he recognized my daughter, makin’ Cody and me feel like a chauffeur of the world’s ugliest limousine and a bodyguard or somethin’. I grabbed two of Briony’s bags, let Cody handle his and one of hers, and walked ’em as far as I could — right up to the frosted‑glass doors of the private lounge.

That was the line. Past that, it wasn’t my world. Ticketed passengers only. Of the wealthy variety.

Briony turned to me, arms already open.

“Okay, Daddy. Hug time.”

I leaned in for a normal hug.

She did not give me a normal hug.

She wrapped around me like a vine, squeezin’ the air outta my lungs, smoochin’ my cheek loud enough to echo off the marble.

“Bit much, don’t ya think, hun?” I muttered, feelin’ eyes on us.

She giggled. “Are you embarrassed, Daddy?”

“A little.”

“Oh, a little? Well then—”

Before I could stop her, she hugged me even tighter, smoochin’ all over my face, then threw her head back and yelled, loud enough for the whole damn terminal to hear:

“BYE, DADDY! I WILL MISS YOU SO VERY MUCH, DADDY! I WILL CALL YOU EVERY MORNING AND EVERY EVENING, DADDY! MWAH!”

Every head turned.

Cody tried to blend into the wall.

I closed my eyes. “Lord have mercy. Ya are yer mother’s daughter, like a copy. Jesus, Mary and Joseph!”

She finally let go, grinnin’ like she’d just won somethin’.

Then she grabbed Cody by the wrist and hauled him toward the desk.

The attendant smiled that special rich‑people smile. “Name, please?”

Briony slid her sunglasses up on her head. “Cameron‑Cunningham, plus companion.”

While the still smiling attendant tapped around on her tablet, Cody leaned down, whisperin’, “I thought your last name was Cameron.”

She didn’t even look at him. “It is Cameron. But I always use both when I’m traveling, especially in Brad’s jet.”

“Why?”

She smirked. “Because Cameron opens a lot of doors. And Cunningham opens a lot of doors. But together… oh baby.”

She snapped her fingers.

“Every door. Moves mountains and walls. Just you wait.”

The attendant lit up. “Of course, Miss Cameron‑Cunningham. And companion. Right this way, please.”

They disappeared through the frosted glass.

Later, Cody told me everything that happened past those doors.

Knowin’ my daughter … I knew it was true. And probably worse.

Vacation Mode – Level One

Soon as those doors shut behind ’em, Cody said he felt like he’d walked into a movie set. Marble floors. Soft jazz. People in suits that cost more than his truck.

The attendant inside the private lounge gave them that polished smile rich folks get.

“Welcome. And how would you like to be addressed on the flight? Mr. Kershaw and Miss Cameron? Or would you prefer first names?”

Cody froze like someone had unplugged him.

His mouth opened. Nothing came out. Not even a grunt.

Just… static.

Briony didn’t miss a beat.

“Formal, please,” she said. “Mr. Kershaw and Miss Cameron‑Cunningham.”

The attendant nodded. “Very well, Miss Cameron‑Cunningham.”

Cody blinked at her. “I— uh— what—”

She patted his cheek. “Don’t worry, I’ll do the talking. Look, I am eighteen now, officially an adult, no longer a kid. Aren’t you tired of always just automatically being Briony and Cody, like adults just know you? We are adults, we deserve respect so, last names please. You follow? Great, come on. This way.”

Inside the fancy lounge now, Briony strutted in like she owned the place.

“Welcome to the good life, Uncle Cody.”

He muttered, “I ain’t your uncle in here. Look at the people starin’, them folks think we’re—”

“A couple?” she said. “Yeah, probably. Who cares? We’re five years apart, honest mistake. Let’s have fun with it. COME ON, BABY, LET’S GET SOME CHAMPAGNE!”

He sputtered. “Briony, knock it off! Yer father’s gon’ kill me. And mine will too.”

“Relax. Nobody here knows us.” She looped her arm through his like she was escortin’ him to the Oscars. “And trust me, with the Cameron‑Cunningham combo, people assume whatever’s most dramatic anyway. Yeah, I bet half of those stuck‑up suits are imaginin’ us joinin’ the mile‑high club the minute our jet hits cruising altitude. Let them have their fantasy. Might be the only joy they get in their sad old lives.”

“Briony,” he hissed, “seriously — stop. Ain’t funny. I don’t wanna go to jail!”

“For what? Existing?” she said, rolling her eyes. “Cody, you poor innocent redneck. Using Cameron and Cunningham, I swear to you, I could make out with six men, a donkey, and you right here in this lounge and the worst that would happen would be someone putting up tasteful privacy screens and offering’ sparkling water with fresh lemon.”

He choked. “BRIONY!”

“What?” she shrugged. “Power has perks. Enjoy it.”

Vacation Mode – Level Two

Then she dragged him — literally dragged him — into the designer boutiques.

The place looked like money had money: marble floors, soft jazz, racks spaced so far apart Cody kept thinkin’ half the clothes had been stolen. A boutique attendant glided over with a tray of cucumber water and tiny macarons like they were welcoming celebrities.

“Try this on,” Briony said, already shoving a hanger into his hands.

“Briony, this shirt costs more than my truck.”

“Yeah, probably. You’ll look rich. You have to where we’re goin’. It’s called blending in.”

He disappeared into the fitting room and came out in a white linen shirt that made him look like he belonged on a yacht called The Tax Bracket. His tan from farmwork contrasted just right, the linen made his eyes pop like he’d been edited in post‑production.

Briony clapped like she’d discovered fire. “Oh my God! Look at those baby blues! You’re hot. Who knew?! Eat your heart out, Tansy… whatever her last name was.”

“Wheeler.”

“Yeah, that. I knew it was something hillbilly.”

She circled him like a stylist on a mission, then stopped, planted a hand on her hip, and said, “Right, sexy?”

He turned beet red. “Stop sayin’ that! I’m yer uncle! Please Briony, stop it!”

“Relax,” she said, waving him off. “I’m not into incest, nor desperate. Just messing with you. But objectively? You look good.”

Then — because she was Briony — she snapped her fingers at the sales associate like she was summoning a stagehand.

“Excuse me!” she called, bright and breezy. “Hi, yes, quick question — do you think my uncle here is sexy?”

Cody made a noise like a dying tractor. “BRIONY!”

The saleswoman, trained in the art of luxury customer service, didn’t even blink. She gave Cody a slow, professional once‑over — the tan, the shoulders, the linen shirt doing God’s work — and smiled politely.

“He wears the resort aesthetic very well,” she said. “We do have trousers that would… flatter his frame.”

Briony snapped and pointed at Cody’s backside like she was directing traffic. “YES. That. Pants that do right by his ass. Show us those.”

Cody dissolved. Just folded in on himself like a lawn chair. “I can’t— Briony, I ain’t— STOP TALKIN’ ABOUT MY ASS!”

But the saleswoman was already gliding away to fetch options, and Briony flopped back into the velvet chair like she was judging a runway show.

“See?” she said, sipping her cucumber water. “Objective facts. You’re a good canvas. Let the professionals work. Want some cucumber water?”

“Nah, I am good. No swamp water for me.”

She plopped herself deeper into the chair, crossing her legs like she owned the place, while Cody tried on outfit after outfit. Every time he stepped out, three attendants nodded approvingly like he was a runway model. Cody looked like he wanted to crawl into a hay bale and die.

When shopping was finally over, Cody thought he was past the worst, but no such luck.

He was buried under a ridiculous tower of glossy boutique bags — the stiff black Tom Ford ones with the velvet cords, the crisp white Orlebar Brown bags that looked like they belonged on a yacht, a deep navy Vilebrequin sack big enough to hide a small child, and one long, elegant Ralph Lauren Purple Label garment bag that kept smacking him in the shins every time he took a step. The whole pile rustled and shifted with every move he made, like he was carrying the wardrobe department for a tropical movie set.

Meanwhile Briony had… one tiny La Mer bag swinging from two fingers, and her Bottega Veneta woven leather tote tucked under her arm like she was strolling through Milan Fashion Week. She looked effortless. He looked like a man being punished by God.

“Absolutely not,” he said, adjusting the mountain of bags before they toppled. “I ain’t goin’ in no spa. I’m done. I’m done. DONE, ya hear?”

“Absolutely yes,” she said, breezing past him like she wasn’t the reason he was carrying half of Rodeo Drive. “Come on. When is the last time you did a full‑body exfoliation? If your answer is anything other than ‘last week,’ we are doing this. I am not gonna be seen in swimwear next to your crusty ass with dried skin raining off you. Take some pride in your appearance — do we have to go through all that AGAIN?”

She hooked her arm through his and steered him toward the spa entrance, the bags rustling and bumping against his legs like angry designer geese.

Vacation Mode – Level Three

The spa smelled like eucalyptus and generational wealth — the kind of place where even the air felt moisturized. A perfectly groomed attendant greeted them with a soft bow and a voice like warm honey.

“Would you like your shopping delivered directly to your aircraft?” she asked.

Cody blinked at her like she’d just offered to gold‑plate his horse trailer. “Delivered… to the plane?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, reaching for the bags.

Cody jerked them back like she’d tried to take his firstborn. “Uh—no, ma’am, I’ll just… hold on to these. I got ’em. All good here.”

“Sir, we can deliver them—” she reached for them, started pulling, Cody jerked them back.

Briony groaned, stepped in, and grabbed the handles. “Cody, for the love of God—give. Them. Here.” she pulled them all from him, handing them to the attendant and plastered on a bright, apologetic grin.

“Ha ha ha, he likes to joke,” she said, breathless. “He’s… quirky.”

The attendant bowed slightly, unfazed. “Of course, miss. We’ll have everything waiting on your jet.”

Cody stared after the disappearing bags like he’d just watched his worldly possessions vanish into a black hole.

“Briony,” he whispered urgently, “they didn’t give us no claim tag. No receipt. No nothin’. What if they steal somethin’? What if they—”

She laughed so hard she had to wipe her eyes. “Cody, they would never. If even a button went missing, this whole place would shut down. Nobody would trust them anymore. Relax.”

He did not relax.

Then the treatments began.

They whisked Cody into a private room where a female spa attendant in a crisp white uniform guided him through what she called a “pre‑resort rejuvenation sequence.” Cody called it “a series of boundary violations.” When I was still with Briar Rose, she had dragged me to a spa and I knew what he been through. I ain’t for men like us.

First came the full‑body exfoliation, which he endured like a man trying not to flinch during a dare. Then a hydrating volcanic‑ash wrap, warm and cool at the same time, which made him mutter, “Ain’t natural for somethin’ to be two temperatures at once.” Then a scalp massage that made him sit bolt upright. “Ma’am, I don’t know ya well enough for all that. Let’s just skip this right here!”

Then came the paraffin hand treatment, leaving him staring at his wax‑dipped hands like he’d joined a cult against his will. After that, he just… gave up. The attendant noticed the moment his spirit left his body and took full advantage, finally getting in that scalp massage and a brightening facial peel.

By then Cody was resigned to whatever they tossed his way. He let them smear, wrap, pat, buff, and mist him without protest — the only thing he still balked at was the cucumber water.

“No offense, but it tastes like someone washed a salad in it.”

They handed him sparkling water instead, which he sipped like it was a punishment. Clearly not his tune either.

But when he walked out, he kept touchin’ his cheek like he couldn’t believe it was attached to his face.

“Feels… smooth,” he muttered, rejoining Briony, who sighed like she had been to heaven and back — the deep, satisfied kind of sigh a woman gives when a plan comes together exactly how she envisioned it.

Briony smirked, arms crossed, pleased with what she saw. “Looks smooth. Like somethin’ chicks actually would wanna kiss and not just cos you are about the only option in that one‑horse town in the correct age bracket. Look, Cody, I know nothin’ about horses and all that, but I know what girls really want and like, cos I am one — in case your whole moral‑apostle spiel redacted that fact. So take it as a compliment.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Then she turned toward him with a wicked grin and reached up, cupping both sides of his face with her hands. She rubbed his cheeks back and forth like she was buffing a show pony, laughing so hard she had to brace herself against him.

“Smooth as a baby’s butt!” she cackled. “So soft! Soooooooooooooooo soft! Oooh, I do declare, sooooo soft!”

“Alright, alright, knock it off,” he said, grinning despite himself as he gently pried her hands away. He hooked one arm around her shoulders — easy, familiar, big‑brother energy — and steered her toward the lounge.

She snorted. “Hey Cody?”

“What.”

“You’re SOOOOOO soft!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, still smiling. “Less talkin’, more walkin’, Country Club.”

Vacation Mode – Level High

When tail‑up time rolled around and an attendant escorted them across the tarmac, Cody stopped dead in his tracks.

“Briony… this ain’t real. That huge thing is Brad’s jet? I was expectin’ somethin’ small!”

“It is real,” she said, grabbing his hand and hauling him up the stairs like he weighed nothing.

At the top of the steps, a flight attendant stood waiting with a silver tray of champagne flutes. Briony plucked one without breaking stride.

“Welcome aboard,” the attendant said warmly, offering the tray to Cody.

Cody stared at it like it was a trap. “Uh… no thank ya, ma’am.”

Briony rolled her eyes, grabbed a second flute off the tray, and shoved it into his hand. “He’ll take one. Cheers.”

She clinked her glass against his before he could protest.

He took a healthy sip, frowned. “No more o’ this bubbly or I’ll get me a headache before we even take off.”

“Then sip slower. It champagne, not a Slurpee,” she said, already moving inside.

Inside, the air hit him first — that quiet, expensive smell of polished wood, citrus oil, and leather so soft it didn’t squeak when you touched it. Cody sank into one of the seats and nearly jumped.

“Lord have mercy,” he muttered. “This thing’s softer’n a newborn foal.”

He ran his hand over the armrest like he was afraid it might disappear. The seat hugged him like it had opinions about his posture.

Briony, meanwhile, was living her best life — champagne flute in hand, scrolling through the in‑flight menu like she was choosing snacks at a gas station. She’d already kicked her feet up on one of those little coffee‑table‑looking ottomans like she owned the place.

She paused, squinted at the screen, then looked up at him.

“Do you like seared scallops with saffron beurre blanc?”

Cody blinked. “Do I like… what now?”

She waved a hand. “Never mind. You’ll love it. We’re getting it.”

He stared at her like she’d just ordered him a spaceship. She kept scrolling.

“Hmm. Do you like amuse‑bouche? I never know what to do with those, but they are usually super-good. How about foie gras, yay or nay? I’m always grossed out, but Brad dared me to try it once and if you forget what it is, it’s not bad at all. What about the tournedos Rossini with the—”

“Briony, I don’t even know what half them words mean. If ya like it, get it and I’ll do my best to like it.”

“Perfect. Just what I like to hear.”

Cody looked like he needed a dictionary just for the menu.

Then she stood, smoothing her hair. “I’m gonna go change.”

He blinked at her. “Change? Into what? We ain’t even taken off yet.”

She smirked. “Into something comfortable. This is a long flight, Cody. Try to keep up.”

She disappeared into the private bathroom like that was a normal sentence to say on a plane.

Cody sat there, hands hovering awkwardly in the air like he didn’t know where to put them. Knees, armrest, knees again. He looked like a man trying to act natural in a place where natural didn’t exist.

Briony returned in a very expensive‑looking leisure set and took one look at him.

“Cody, you look like you’re about to confess to a murder. Can you at least try to relax? You look like you have never flown before and we both know that’s BS. You did that a lot.”

“I have, the cheapest economy seats, Briony. I ain’t never been on a plane like this,” he muttered.

“Yeah, well, welcome to the Cameron‑Cunningham experience,” she said, taking a sip. “Five‑star chaos, baby.”

Then she snapped her fingers like she was summoning a genie.

“Excuse me!” she called to the nearest flight attendant — a tall, polished woman with a smile that could sell diamonds. “My uncle here looks like he swallowed a patio umbrella. Can you make him more comfortable?”

Cody damn near died on the spot.

“Briony,” he hissed.

The attendant laughed softly. “Of course, Miss Cameron‑Cunningham. Let’s see what we can do for Mr. Kershaw.”

She approached Cody gently, took his hand in both of hers, and began working her thumbs across his palm — slow, practiced, professional. Cody’s eyes went wide like she’d just unplugged his soul.

“Let’s loosen you up a bit,” she said warmly. “How about we start with the boots off?”

He stammered, “Uh— I— they’re— I can—”

“Yes, the boots need to come off. If you would, please,” Briony cut in.

Before Cody could stop it, the attendant had his ankle braced between her knees, her posture angled just so, hands firm on his boot.

And that’s when Cody’s personal hell began.

Because the woman was bent over his leg, focused, balanced, and her very professional, very toned backside was right there in his line of sight.

Cody snapped his gaze upward so fast he nearly sprained his neck.

He stared at the ceiling. Then the exit sign. Then the air vent. Then the emergency card. Then the “No Smoking” light. Then the safety pamphlet. Anywhere but the woman currently wrestling his boot off like she was trying to uproot a fence post.

He swallowed hard. “Sweet Jesus…”

Briony, of course, noticed immediately.

She leaned back in her seat, smirking like she’d paid extra for this show, and mouthed, You’re welcome. He flipped her off.

The attendant tugged. Boot didn’t budge.

“Hmm,” she said. “These are on tight.”

Briony cackled. “He’s the outdoorsy type. Everything’s tight on him. You should see him shirtless.”

“BRIONY,” Cody drawled, eyes still glued to the ceiling like he was praying for deliverance.

The attendant repositioned — which, according to Cody later, only made things worse — and gave another pull. This time the boot popped off with a sound like a champagne cork.

Cody nearly fell out of his seat.

“Perfect,” she said, setting it aside. “Ready for the other one?”

“Of course he is. Let’s go!” Briony said, delighted.

He didn’t even fight it. Just surrendered.

Once he was barefoot, she brought out a pair of cashmere lounge pants, a matching top, and socks so soft Cody said he thought they were made of air.

“Would you like to change? There’s a private bathroom right through that door,” she said. “Fully stocked.”

Cody blinked. “Into… that?”

“Yes, sir.”

Briony elbowed him. “Do it. You’ll look like a rich divorcee on his third wife. At twenty‑three.”

He muttered something about dignity but took the clothes anyway.

When he came back, Briony let out a whistle.

“Damn, Cody. Look at you. You look like you own a vineyard in Tartosa.”

He tugged at the hem. “Feels like pajamas.”

“Exactly,” she said. “Luxury pajamas. Now sit your fancy ass down.”

The attendant returned with a tray.

“Would you like a drink, Mr. Kershaw?”

Cody opened his mouth — probably to ask for a beer — but Briony cut in.

“He’ll have whatever the strongest thing is you can legally serve at this altitude. And I’ll take a refill.”

“BRIONY.”

The attendant smiled. “Very well.”

A minute later, Cody had a crystal tumbler of something amber and expensive in his hand.

He took one sip and blinked. “That’s… smooth.”

Briony grinned. “See? Told you. Sometimes Briony does know best.”

Then she grabbed the remote, turned on the massive TV, and patted the long sofa seat beside her.

“Come here. You’re sitting with me. We’re watching a movie. Action? Comedy? Let’s skip anything romantic — we don’t need to arrive in paradise sobbing.”

He hesitated — because Cody always hesitates — but she tugged him down, threw a blanket over their legs, and started scrolling like she was on her couch at home.

She picked the newest comedy, the one everybody’d been talking about, and within minutes they were curled up like teens at a sleepover. Briony had her legs draped over his lap, Cody had a bowl of caramel popcorn balanced on his knee, and she kept tossing chocolate‑covered nuts at his mouth like it was a carnival game.

He missed the first one. Hit him right in the cheek.

She cackled. “Oh my God — such a big mouth on him and he can’t catch a little nut.”

“Yer a little nut. Try again,” he said, sittin’ up straighter.

She did. He caught it. Barely.

He grinned. She grinned back.

Then he threw one at her and nailed her right in the forehead.

“HEY!”

“You said try again.”

“Not at my skull, Cody! If your aim is always this bad, I know why Tansy left you.”

“You did not jus’ say what I think ya jus’ said!”

“Oh, I said it. Girl needed flashing neon‑light panties for you to land that plane. Probably has bruises all over her stomach from your bad aim, farm boy.”

He tossed a handful of popcorn at her — half of it stuck in her hair.

She shrieked, laughing. “CODY!”

They were laughing so loud the flight attendant peeked in to make sure nothing was on fire. Briony waved her off like, We’re fine, thanks, and immediately tried to bean Cody with more popcorn.

A few minutes later, she froze, went cross‑eyed, and reached up slowly.

“Is there… popcorn in my hair?”

Cody bit his lip. “Uh… maybe a lil’.”

She pulled out a piece.

Then another.

Then another.

Cody lost it.

She threw the whole handful at him.

Dinner came next — and not “plane dinner,” but a full multi‑course production like they were dining in the sky at a Michelin restaurant.

First came a tiny amuse‑bouche — one perfect bite of something Cody couldn’t identify.

He stared at it. “Briony… this is smaller’n a cough drop.”

“It’s supposed to be,” she said, popping hers in her mouth. “It wakes up your palate.”

“My palate’s awake. It’s starvin’.”

Next came the first course — a chilled citrus salad with edible flowers. Cody poked a petal.

“This ain’t food. This is yard clippin’s.”

“Eat it,” she said.

He did. He blinked. “…okay that’s actually real good.”

Then came the appetizer — the quail with black garlic glaze.

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing with his fork.

“Quail.”

“Like… the bird?”

“Yes, Cody. The bird.”

“Why is ev’rythin’ tiny? Them birds are the size of pigeons. Why not chicken? I am a man, not a mouse.”

“Try it.”

He did. He looked surprised.

“…that’s real good.”

“Told you.”

Then the main course arrived — something rich and buttery and plated like art.

Cody took one bite and froze.

“Briony… I ain’t even got words for this.”

“Good,” she said, immediately reaching over with her fork like a thief in the night. “Then you won’t complain when I help.”

“Briony, stop!”

“I’m helping you appreciate it.”

“You’re stealin’ it!”

“Same thing. Relax, I never finish my plates. You can have the rest.”

He glared, shielding his plate with his whole forearm like a prison inmate.

Cody took another bite, eyes rolling back like he’d seen God. Briony reached over again with her fork.

“Quit stealin’ my food!” he hissed, guarding his plate like a feral barn cat.

She arched a brow. “Cody, you’re acting like I’m robbing you.”

“I am bein’ robbed! Smellin’ all this had me hungry enough to eat the bunghole outta a dead rhino, and you’re over here pickin’ at my plate like a damn buzzard!”

Briony choked — actually choked — on her champagne. “CODY!”

“What? I’m hungry!”

“You inhaled a bucket of popcorn and a metric ton of candied nuts just half an hour ago!”

He jabbed his fork at her, offended. “That weren’t food, Briony. That was pre‑food. A real man don’t get full off snacks — that’s just warmin’ up the engine.”

She wheezed laughing.

Then came the cheese and fruit course — delicate slices, honeycomb, fancy crackers.

Cody whispered, “Why’s the cheese lookin’ funky?”

“It’s imported,” she said.

“That don’t explain nothin’.”

Finally, dessert arrived — some tiny, perfect thing with caramel and sea salt and a name Cody couldn’t pronounce. He took one bite and groaned.

“Lord… I’m fuller’n a tick on a prize hog.”

Briony snorted champagne through her nose.

The attendant returned with fresh drinks — another glass of that smooth amber liquor for Cody, another champagne for Briony.

She lifted her flute.

“Okay, Uncle Cody. Toast time.”

He groaned. “Briony…”

“Shut up and clink glasses. We’re doin’ this.”

He sighed, raised his tumbler.

She smirked. “To the idiots we loved…”

He snorted. “And the idiots we were for lovin’ ’em.”

“Oooh, good one, Cody! I tip my hat to you, cowboy.”

“Aim to please, Ma’am.”

They clinked. They drank. And for a moment — just a moment — the hurt didn’t hurt so much.

By the time the trays were cleared, Cody was leanin’ back against the cushions, warm from the booze, full from the food, and more relaxed than he’d been in months. The jet hummed around them — soft lights, soft leather, soft everything — and for once, his shoulders weren’t up around his ears.

Briony nudged him with her foot.

“Hey. You good?”

He nodded, eyes half‑closed. “Yeah… yeah, I’m good. Any better and I’d have to slap yer momma…”

She giggled. “I would pay actual money to see that. And you would be sorely missed.”

He chuckled — slow, heavy, warm — and that was it.

Lights out.

He was out cold, head tipped back, mouth open just a little, snorin’ like a man who’d finally let go of somethin’ heavy. Briony took a picture — obviously — then pulled the blanket up over him and curled beside him, her head on his shoulder, finishing the movie alone.

Neither of them woke up again until touchdown.

Arrival in Paradise

Dinner was on the beach — candles flickerin’, waves crashin’, the sky turning that deep purple that only happens in places where people come to forget their problems for a while.

They ate barefoot in the sand, warm breeze on their faces, plates balanced on a low wooden table. Briony talked with her hands, animated, bright, alive in a way Cody hadn’t seen in months. And the wild part was how fast it spread — her spark, her humor, the way she could turn a disaster into a comedy bit without even trying. It tugged him out of that dark, heavy place he’d been stuck in since the breakup, not with pep talks or pity, but with sheer force of personality. Her laugh was a rope, and before he knew it, he was laughing too.

She was halfway through telling him about the time Brad booked a “family wellness retreat” for the adults — spa, yoga, meditation, the whole glossy‑brochure dream — while the three little ones were off at some adventure camp.

“We’re checking in,” Briony said, already grinning, “and Graham suddenly goes, ‘Uh… Dad?’ He’s pointing at these signs on the wall — silhouettes of people with giant red Xs over shirts, pants, bras, everything. And Mom’s like, ‘Oh, that’s probably for the sauna.’”

Cody raised a brow.

“Oh, just wait,” Briony said. “Then Lauren looks out the window and goes, ‘Uh, guys? Look.’ And there they are. A whole group of people doing yoga on the lawn. Completely naked. Everything out. Everything flapping in the breeze, droopy boobies and twigs and berries. Mom exploded into a firework of curses, till Brad covered her mouth.”

Cody snorted.

“Brad didn’t even hesitate,” she went on. “He just herded all four of us right back toward the door — me, Mom, Lauren, Graham — like we were a flock of startled chickens. Nobody said a word. We were all walking fast, eyes huge, trying not to look anywhere.”

Cody was already laughing.

“And then,” Briony said, wiping her eyes, “we hear this little click. Turns out the place has an automated ‘welcome photo’ camera. And Brad — sweet Brad — actually bought the picture on the way out because Mom and I begged him to.”

Cody choked.

“Cody, OMG – We looked deranged,” she said. “I can’t even describe it but Brad said we look like someone attempted to turn Teletubbies into actual humans and I swear that is dead on. We laughed so hard we had to sit down in the lounge outside. People stared. We didn’t care.”

Cody snorted. Then he chuckled. Then he flat‑out lost it. A real laugh — the kind that shakes a man loose from the inside, the kind he hadn’t felt in so long it almost startled him. He froze mid‑laugh, breath catching, like he didn’t quite trust the sound coming out of his own mouth.

Briony nudged him with her shoulder, grinning. “See? Told you. Sometimes Briony does know best.”

He got quiet then. Real quiet. The waves lapped at the shore, soft and steady, and the lantern light flickered across her face. He looked out at the water, then back at her.

“Thank you,” he said, voice low. “For… all this.”

She blinked, surprised, then shrugged like she hadn’t just dragged him out of a hole he’d been sinking in for weeks. “Duh. Family, right? Plus, this trip was supposed to be for two all along. My plus‑one is… well, you know. Nobody else could go. At least nobody fun. So you’re doing me a favor. We’re helping each other, right?”

He slipped an arm around her shoulders, pulled her close, kissed her temple — instinctive, grateful, soft.

She smirked. “Okay, Uncle Cody, no incest please.”

He shoved her lightly. “Shut up, ya lil’ brat.”

She hugged him back, quick and tight, like she meant it. “Just playin’. But seriously… you’re gonna be okay. I’m almost okay again. I just wasn’t lookin’ forward to bein’ alone on this trip. Now I’m not.”

He exhaled, long and slow, shoulders dropping like he’d finally unclenched. “I gotta pay Brad back for some of it. I can’t just accept all this like I’m some golddigger fixin’ to put out.”

“Brad isn’t paying for it,” she said, rolling her eyes. “He just let us use the jet. And I wouldn’t worry about that — part of it’s tax deductible.”

“Oh shit, Briar Rose is payin’? Now that ain’t much better. She’s my brother’s ex‑wife. Definitely gotta give her some money.”

“Cody, stop.” She flicked his forehead. “No. Mom isn’t paying for this either. I am.”

He blinked. “You?”

“Yes, me. I have my own money. Hedge fund, savings, and my social media presence.”

“Wow. Okay. I had no idea you were loaded too.”

She shrugged, took a sip of her drink. “Yeah, I’m only part nepo‑baby. The other part is me trying to do something valuable with my life. I thought about medicine, asked Brad to take me along to give me the rundown, and I learned I am NOT made for all that. I don’t know how that man or Connor do it, but… no way. Not ever.”

Cody snorted softly. “Yeah. I can’t picture you elbow‑deep in guts.”

“Exactly,” she said, lifting her glass in a mock toast. “I’m delicate.”

“You’re spoiled.”

“Same thing.”

He laughed again — softer this time, but real, the kind that settles into a man’s chest and stays there.

First Night In Paradise

After dinner, they wandered back up the beach barefoot, shoes dangling from their fingers, the sand still warm and clinging to their ankles. The rental house glowed softly from the deck lights, the pool shimmering like poured turquoise under the dusk sky.

Cody paused at the steps, taking it all in — the open‑air living room, the soft music drifting from hidden speakers, the smell of salt and tropical flowers settling into the night air.

“Briony… this place is somethin’ else.”

She tossed her hair back. “I know. I have excellent taste.”

“You got expensive taste.”

“Same thing.”

Inside, she dropped her sandals with a soft clatter and flopped onto the sectional like she owned the deed. Cody followed her in, the soft resort lights catching on the new clothes she’d bullied him into buying — linen shirt, tailored shorts, the whole “rich‑people‑on‑vacation” starter pack.

Briony’s eyes widened. “Hold up.”

Before he could react, she snapped a picture with her phone.

He grimaced. “That really necessary?”

“Uh, yeah! I need photo evidence of you looking, like… shockingly good. Who knew you cleaned up like this?”

Cody tugged at the collar, embarrassed. “Don’t get used to it. I may look like I belong here, but as they say — you can take a cowboy outta the Ridge, but you ain’t never takin’ the Ridge outta the cowboy.”

She snorted. “Relax. You pull off the cowboy thing too. Boots, hat, dirt, all that. But it’s nice seeing you look different sometimes. Like you’re undercover as a functioning adult.”

He rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Yeah, well… since ya made me do this, does this mean I get to dress ya up like a real Ridge girl when we get back?”

“Fat chance. Sit down,” she said, patting the cushion beside her. “You’re makin’ me nervous standing there like a sentinel.”

He snorted and finally sat, sinking into cushions so soft he nearly disappeared.

They put on some mindless TV — a cooking show where the host kept yelling at contestants for burning scallops — and for a while, they just existed. Quiet. Comfortable. Full. The kind of silence that didn’t demand anything.

Then Briony started telling stories.

Not the polished ones she used at parties. The real ones.

“Okay, so picture this,” Briony said, already laughing. “I am sixteen, travelling on a Promo tour with Mom. Late‑night show. I’m supposed to stay put backstage, right? Except I get lost coming back from the bathroom because the studio has, like, seventeen identical hallways everything looks the same. I’m trying to backtrack, totally panicking, and suddenly I’m two steps from wandering straight onto the live stage during the interview. The host sees me, waves like I’m a surprise guest, and drags me out there. I froze like a deer in headlights… and then I couldn’t stop talking. Like, full verbal diarrhea. I told a story about losing my retainer in a toilet bowl at Whole Foods. Mom nearly died.”

Cody barked a laugh.

“And then,” she continued, “there was Brad’s ‘simple scenic hike in Granite Falls.’ First summer after they got remarried this last time, he thought we needed a family bonding moment. Drummed all his kids together, he as five, two from the first wife, Graham and Lauren, then two with mom, Nate and Eden and one from another marriage in between theirs, Charlotte, and obviously me. He swore it was easy. ‘Family‑friendly,’ he said. ‘Just a nice walk, fresh air, beautiful scenery,’ he said. Half an hour in, the tour guide goes into full allergic shock because he brushed against some plant he didn’t recognize. So instead of a hike, it turns into a rescue mission. Brad grabs my Epipen – I have pretty severe allergies too – and jams it into the dude, Graham doing CPR like it’s a medical drama, Lauren’s calling emergency services, Mom’s just freaking out, and I’m holding the guy’s backpack like that’s helping. A care flight had to land on the trail. We made the news.”

Cody wheezed.

Briony held up a finger. “But wait, there’s more. The best is yet to come: the fateful pasta night. That one, Mom and I tell to each other with a flashlight under our chins like the worst horror story ever. Except it’s very much true.”

He braced himself.

“So, Mom and I wanted to surprise Brad with a home‑cooked dinner. Sweet, right? Domestic. Wholesome. Because he really is a pretty awesome dude. We are crushing it, everything’s going great — except the part where Mom forgot to clamp the pasta machine to the counter. She cranks it once and the thing launches across the kitchen like a rocket, straight through the window and into the pool. Spoiler alert: we had to have it drained and professionally cleaned because of the glass shards everywhere.”

Cody slapped his knee.

“Anyway,” she continued, “in that exact moment, I scream, drop the tomato sauce, and it lands on the neighbor’s cream‑colored Persian cat we were cat‑sitting. The cat loses its mind and flies all over the house. And you know Brindleton Bay — everything’s light and maritime colors — so it looks like a crime scene. At the end of it all, Mom and I are scratched to hell, both bleeding vicariously after trying to give it a bath so the tomato sauce wouldn’t stain, Mom’s cussing like it’s an Olympic sport, and Brad comes home from a twelve‑hour surgery shift to find us wrapped in towels, covered in scratches, holding a traumatized wet cat.”

Cody was doubled over now.

“And THEN,” she said, wiping her eyes, “Brad had literally just walked in the door — badge still on — and instead of relaxing, he had to turn right back around and haul us to the hospital. Because apparently ‘cat scratch disease’ is a real thing. Fever, swollen lymph nodes, all that fun stuff.”

Cody snorted.

“So Brad’s explaining to the ER nurse why his wife and stepdaughter look like they fought a mountain lion, and because the neighbor wouldn’t answer her phone, protocol said we needed rabies shots too. Those things hurt — like someone injected fire straight into your arm. And the cat?” She threw her hands up. “Worth more than the average car and not even allowed outside. That shithead definitely didn’t have rabies. But rules are rules. Oh — and the neighbor was hella mad when she picked up her very distinctly peachy‑pink toned cat. Male cat, to be exact.”

Cody lost it completely — shoulders shaking, breath gone, tears in his eyes.

He wiped his face. “Lord, girl… y’all live like a sitcom.”

“Yeah,” she said, stretching her legs across his lap. “It’s never boring.”

He rested a hand on her shin without thinking — warm, casual, familiar, like muscle memory.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

The ocean murmured outside. A breeze drifted through the open windows, carrying salt and hibiscus. The world felt soft around the edges.

Briony broke the silence first.

“You know… it’s kinda nice. Not being the sad one alone.”

Cody nodded slowly, thumb rubbing absently along her shin. “Yeah. Feels… easier. Bein’ sad with somebody who actually gets it.” He huffed a quiet laugh. “Gotta say, Briony… I always liked ya, but I’m real glad we ended up spendin’ this much time together lately. When ya showed up at Jackson’s after the breakup? First time you, me, and Beau ever hung out without the whole circus. And now this.”

He studied her with that soft, crooked half‑smile he didn’t know he still had in him. “Girl, I had you all wrong and I am eating crow by the ladle full. Yer crazy as they come — but yer also genuine in your own damn way. Heart o’ gold. Didn’t think I’d enjoy hangin’ out with ya near this much. Hell, I don’t think I’ve laughed this hard in… I can’t even remember.”

She nudged him with her foot. “Thanks, I knew you were pretty cool, cos Beau said so. Twins vibe differently and I know when he’s right about something. Glad you saw past the uppity bitch facade, it’s there for a reason, Cody. So, let’s agree we are a lot alike in a very strange way and just be pathetic together.”

He chuckled. “Speak for yourself. I’m ruggedly heartbroken.”

“You’re a mess.”

“You’re worse.”

“True.”

They grinned at each other — tired, sun‑kissed, full of food and booze and something like relief.

Eventually, Briony yawned and curled sideways, her head landing on his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You good?” he murmured.

“Mm‑hmm. Don’t move. You’re comfy.”

He didn’t.

He just sat there, letting her breathe against him, letting the weight of the day settle into something warm instead of heavy.

For the first time in weeks, he didn’t feel hollow.

He felt… held. Not by her, exactly — but by the moment. By the quiet. By the fact that he wasn’t alone in the dark.

Briony’s voice came soft, half‑asleep.

“Tomorrow… we’re doing something fun. Something stupid. Something very us.”

He smiled. “That sounds dangerous.”

“It will be.”

“Good.”

She drifted off first. He followed not long after.

And the island kept breathing around them — slow, steady, healing.

The Next Day – Jet skis and other bad ideas

The morning sun hit the water like glitter, and Briony was already in her swimsuit, sunglasses on, hair in a messy bun that somehow still looked expensive.

“Jetskis,” she declared, tossing Cody a life vest like she was challenging him to a duel. “We’re doing jetskis.”

Cody eyed the machine like it was plotting. “This thing looks like it’s fixin’ to buck me into next week.”

“Then intimidate it,” she said.

And before he could argue, she squared up to the jetski — legs bent, arms hanging loose, chest puffed out — and started doing this ridiculous gorilla‑stomp around it, grunting like she was asserting dominance over a wild animal.

Cody blinked. “What in the hell are you doin’?”

“Establishing hierarchy,” she said, still stomping. “Show it who’s boss.”

He snorted, then — because pride is a fragile thing — he set his jaw, cracked his neck, and joined her. Full gorilla stance. Shoulders hunched. Knuckles out. He even let out a low, stupid growl.

They circled the jetski like two deranged zoo exhibits.

Briony lost it first, laughing so hard she nearly fell over. “Oh my God, Cody, you look like a ranch‑raised Bigfoot.”

Cody puffed his chest out, knuckles dangling, giving her the full gorilla sway. “Yeah? Well you look like a chihuahua tryin’ to fight Godzilla.”

She flipped him off.

He didn’t hesitate — just scooped her up and dumped her straight into the ocean.

Her shriek echoed across the lagoon. “YOU ASS—!”

He was roaring with laughter, reaching down to help her out, and she grabbed his wrist sweetly… then yanked him in with her.

They surfaced sputtering, both laughing so hard they could barely tread water.

Five minutes later, despite all his complaining, Cody was tearing across the water on the jetski, whooping like a teenager, while Briony raced him and flipped him off every time she passed.

She cut across his wake on purpose. He yelled something that definitely wasn’t PG. She cackled like a gremlin.

They were soaked, sun‑drenched, breathless — and for a moment, Cody forgot heartbreak existed. Just blue water, warm air, and Briony’s wild laughter bouncing off the waves beside him.

Snorkeling – The Calm Before The Stupid

After jetskis, Briony dragged him straight to a snorkeling tour.

“It’s peaceful,” she promised. “Relaxing. Meditative.”

Cody adjusted his mask like it was a torture device. “Briony, I ain’t meditated a day in my life.”

“Then today’s your first.”

They slipped into the water — warm, clear, full of fish that looked like toddlers had painted them with glitter glue. Cody was actually enjoying himself, floating easy, watching a neon‑blue fish wiggle past like it had somewhere important to be.

Until he saw it.

A shadow. Big. Moving slow. Purposeful.

He jerked his head out of the water so fast he choked. “BRIONY,” he sputtered, voice cracking like a teenager. “There’s somethin’ big down there.”

She popped up beside him. “It’s probably a turtle.”

“It ain’t no damn turtle!”

She looked down.

And froze.

“Okay,” she whispered. “That’s… that’s a shark! OMG — why is there a shark in the water?!”

“Probably realized he looked goofy on land,” Cody said, panicked and sarcastic at the same time.

“NOT funny!”

They both started paddling toward shore like their lives depended on it — because in Cody’s mind, they absolutely did.

“Don’t splash!” Briony hissed.

“I AIN’T SPLASHIN’, I’M SWIMMIN’ FOR MY LIFE!”

The shark moved faster — curious, not aggressive, but they didn’t know that.

It angled toward Briony.

Cody didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t breathe.

He grabbed her by the arm, yanked her behind him, and when the shark’s nose broke the surface—

Cody Kershaw punched it.

Right in the face.

A clean, panicked, full‑body swing.

The shark jerked away, confused, and swam off like, what the hell was that?

Briony screamed. Cody screamed. Someone on the beach screamed. A lifeguard blew a whistle like that was gonna solve anything.

They scrambled onto the sand, collapsing in a heap, gasping, dripping, shaking.

Briony shot upright, pointing at him like she’d discovered fire. “YOU—YOU JUST PUNCHED A SHARK! CODY, HOW BOSS WAS THAT?! YOU ARE A FUCKING MACHINE!”

“Briony, stop—”

Too late.

People were already gathering — tourists, locals, a guy with a GoPro, a woman in a bikini that made Cody forget how to breathe.

“Oh my God,” she said, eyes wide. “Did you really punch a shark?”

Cody rubbed the back of his neck, mortified. “Ma’am, I jus’— it weren’t— I didn’t—”

Briony cut in, loud enough for the whole beach to hear:

“He SAVED MY LIFE! PUNCHED A FUCKING SHARK IN THE FACE! You should give him a BJ!”

Cody made a noise no grown man should ever make.

The bikini girl blinked. Smiled. Opened her mouth to respond.

Cody ran.

Full sprint. Straight up the beach like a spooked horse.

Briony, still laughing so hard she could barely breathe, hopped into a resort golf cart and floored it.

“CODY! GET IN!”

He dove into the passenger seat like they were fleeing a crime scene.

“Why would you SAY that?!” he wheezed.

“Because it was TRUE!” she cackled. “You punched a shark! You’re like… Aquaman but traumatized!”

“I ain’t talkin’ to you no more.”

“Yes you are.”

“No I ain’t.”

“Yes you are.”

He glared. She grinned. The golf cart bounced down the sandy path toward the rental house, Briony still laughing, Cody still red as a tomato.

And despite everything — the fear, the chaos, the humiliation — something warm bloomed in his chest.

He was alive. He was laughing. He was with someone who made the world feel lighter.

And for the first time in a long time…

Cody Kershaw felt like himself again.

Last Night In Paradise

The last night on the island was quiet in a way the others hadn’t been. No jetskis, no shark panic, no chaos. Just the two of them on the deck, the ocean humming below, lanterns flickering in the warm breeze.

Briony curled her legs under herself on the outdoor sofa. Cody sat beside her, elbows on his knees, staring out at the water like it held answers he’d been avoiding.

She nudged him gently. “You look like you’re thinkin’ too loud.”

He huffed a laugh. “Yeah. Guess I am.”

She didn’t push. She just waited — and for once, that was enough.

So he talked.

He told her how he’d been crazy about Tansy since he was barely out of the “girls have cooties” stage. How every summer at Jackson’s ranch he’d trail after her, how the crush turned into something real — the hand‑holding that lit him up, the clumsy first kiss, that one afternoon by the riverbank where everything changed.

Then he told her how he ruined it.

How at eighteen, when she wanted him to come live with her, he panicked. How he kept panicking — nineteen, twenty,— always promising he’d come back after “sorting things out” But never did until the next summer visiting Jackson. At twenty‑one Tansy made him promise he’d come back. But instead… he ghosted her. Didn’t even know why. He wanted her. He wanted Chestnut Ridge. He’d always felt more at home there — especially after that year when he was like thirteen or so and his family lived there while Jackson and Briar Rose lived in San Sequoia together with Grade School aged Beau and Briony trying to run the therapy ranch, the final Hail Mary solution to ever live as a family.

“But when Dad moved us back to Henfordshire again after yer parents failed again,” he said quietly, “I was a still a dumb kid. I didn’t get a say. Once I was eighteen and over, it was me making excuses and I am sure she knew it. When we finally moved back here for good last year, she wouldn’t give me the time of day. I fought, so hard, for her. I finally win her back… and I screw it up again. Startin’ to think I am hopeless. I’m twenty‑three. Folks my age get married, have kids, build lives. I can’t even keep mine pointed in one damn direction.”

Briony didn’t laugh. Didn’t tease. She just listened — really listened — and then she let her own guard drop.

She told him she’d had boys interested in her forever, but growing up around celebrities made her distrustful. Everyone wanted something. Everyone performed. Until Beckett Ashby — quiet, artistic, cracked in the same places she was. They clicked. They were young, they knew it. Nobody took them serious, but they were very serious about it. They planned a future. A real one.

Then his mom remarried too fast. He couldn’t stand the new husband or the kids. Briony didn’t like them either. And his dad — always on the phone, never present — didn’t help. And when Beckett chose that mess over her, not even giving her any room to voice her opinion, just decided for both of them, throwing away everything they’d planned… something in her broke.

“Honestly, between you and I, I know I come across super-confident and all, but I lost all confidence in relationships. I tried to date again, ya know, thinking best way to stop having Becks live rentfree in my brain is finding someone new to fill my head and maybe heart, but I can’t trust, Cody. Every word a guy says goes straight on the gold scale and I second guess everything. Not fair, to them or me. I hope time fixes that, but have my doubts.”

Cody looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time.

“Briony, I wish I had something great to tell ya, but ya sound just like me. Ya can’t trust men right now, and I can’t trust myself to be the type of man that deserves to be in a relationship. But ya should be confident, cos sweetheart, I love ya — you’re kin — but damn. I never realized how cool you are. Smart, too. That whole arrogant rich‑girl airhead thing you put on is a mask. Underneath it is someone real special. Jackson always said so, but I guess I never saw it till now. Ya shouldn’t settle for some dude just to get the taste out of yer mouth. Ya deserve someone as special as you are.”

Briony blinked, stunned. Then she let out a shaky laugh.

“Well, straight back at you. I honestly thought you were kinda dumb — the country‑boy drawl, the drinking, the chaos — just so low‑class. But you’re brave. And actually really smart. I had you all wrong. And I liked you before. Now I fucking love the shit out of you, Uncle.”

They leaned their heads together, forehead to forehead, the ocean breathing below them, the lanterns swaying gently overhead.

Two bruised hearts finally understood.

And the island held them in that moment — warm, soft, healing — one last time before home.

Return

I pulled up to the airport in my old truck, engine rattlin’ like it always does when it’s had to make the long drive out here. Briony’s grandpa was already parked in some sleek black car that probably cost more than my whole damn ranch. I gave him a wave and was about to head over, maybe say a word or two, when Cody and Briony stepped out onto the curb with their bags — sun‑kissed, worn out, and older somehow. Like the island had sanded down some of their sharp edges.

And I’ll be damned if I was gonna sit in the truck like some stranger.

I got out. Walked right over.

Briony saw me first, and her whole face lit up — that bright, warm smile she only gets when she’s really happy, not performin’ for anybody.

“Dad!”

She barreled into me, arms tight around my ribs, smellin’ like sunscreen and ocean and somethin’ sweet I couldn’t place.

“Hey, baby girl,” I murmured into her hair. “You have fun?”

She pulled back, eyes shining. “Dad… it was amazing.”

I brushed a strand of hair off her cheek. “You look it.”

Then I looked at Cody.

Boy looked different. Not just tanned — lighter. Like he’d set somethin’ down out there on that island and didn’t plan on pickin’ it back up.

He gave me a small nod, and I gave him one back. We didn’t need words for that part.

Briony’s grandpa called her over, and she hugged Cody one last time — tight, fierce — and he kissed the top of her head. Hm. That was new.

They talked low, too quiet for me to hear. When they pulled apart, both of ’em blinked fast, pretendin’ it was just the wind.

She climbed into the fancy car. One more look. One more wave. Chase waved too, then pulled off down the lane.

Cody grabbed his bag and followed me to the truck.

He climbed in, shut the door, and sat there a second like he was settlin’ somethin’ inside himself.

I got behind the wheel. Turned the key.

“Ready?” I asked. Then stopped. “What the hell ya wearin’?”

“Don’t ask. I’ll change back home.”

“Best change at my place. If Pa sees ya like that, he’ll have yer head checked, fancy pants.”

“Just drive, Jackson.”

I sighed, shook my head, grinnin’ as I pulled out of the lot. This had Briony written all over it.

“Hey, Jackson?”

“Hm?”

He stared straight ahead, jaw tight, voice low. “You got an amazin’ daughter. Damn.”

I felt that one. Right in the chest.

Didn’t let it show, of course. Just gave him a small nod.

“I got three of those. But yeah,” I said quietly. “I know. Briony’s somethin’ else. So much like her mom. Maybe now ya get why I had such a hard time lettin’ her go. Addictive, hard to let go of, and so damn special.”

“Yes sir.”

Then I put the truck in gear and drove us home.