Page 11

Chapter Ten

brYSON

T he morning routine went like this: Chloe's cry was my alarm clock, so regular it didn't even startle anymore, and I got out of bed first to feed her breakfast and get her dressed while Tucker woke and had a shower. Once he was ready and had drunk his first cup of coffee, I’d head out for a run—a part of my routine I’d been sorely missing.

I would run in a steady circuit and by the time I was back, he'd have her playing with her toys and breakfast waiting for me. Tucker working less had settled a lot. Life felt orderly, peaceful, right and the funny thing was it seemed to suit him as much as it did me.

I opened Chloe’s bedroom door to find her sitting up, tiny fists gripping the rails of the crib, eyes wide and expectant. Her excitement made me laugh, and when she saw me, she did that high-pitched shriek that must've sounded like music to herself. I scooped her up, smoothing her rumpled hair.

“Someone’s an early bird this morning,” I said, giving her cheek a gentle nuzzle. “You know what they say about early birds? They get fed first.” She wiggled around, making it nearly impossible to change her diaper, but I managed to get her into the baby blue romper Brooke had gotten her the week before the accident. A pang hit me, fast and unexpected, but I forced it away, focusing on Chloe.

She babbled on about some important matter as I carried her downstairs and I responded with the appropriate “really?” and “you don’t say!” A bottle warmed on the counter as I sat Chloe in her highchair, giving her a toy to play with while I made her breakfast.

“Here you go, Miss Chloe,” I said, presenting the bowl with a flourish. “Chef Bryson’s finest cuisine. A hearty rice cereal with hints of strawberry applesauce.”

She giggled as I sat down in front of her and scooped a glob of the sticky mixture onto the spoon to feed her. Just a few weeks ago, it had been hard to imagine we'd find any sort of normal in all of this, but now here we were. Even Chloe seemed more at ease. She had just finished the last bite when I heard footsteps above me.

“Who’s that?” I asked animatedly. She grinned, showing off her single tooth. “Is that your Uncle Tucker? He’s going to come down and play with you, isn’t he?”

Chloe clapped her hands when she heard his footsteps on the stairs. “Morning,” he said as he strolled into the kitchen, his voice a low, pleasant rumble. His hair was still damp from his shower, and he smelled divine, like clean soap, minty toothpaste, and just a hint of spice. “How’s my favorite girl?” he asked. Bending down to kiss her on the head then he turned to me. “Is that coffee I smell?”

“Yep. It just finished brewing. I already set your favorite mug out.”

“You are a prince among men, Bryson Kelly,” he declared dramatically as he made his way over to the counter and poured himself a cup.

He sipped it slowly but then set it aside when I passed Chloe to him. “Thanks. She finished all of her cereal, so she just needs her bottle. I’ll be back in twenty,” I said, tying the laces of my running shoes.

“Enjoy your run.”

It was brisk outside, but the sun was radiant, promising to warm things up as winter finally wound down and spring neared. My breaths formed small clouds, the exertion pumping warmth through my body, everything moving in that familiar rhythm, strong and reassuring. It hit me how different my mornings felt now. Balanced, even.

With each step, I could feel the tension leaving my body. Before long, I hit that sweet spot where nothing existed but the air in my lungs, the beating of my heart, and the rhythmic pounding of my steps against the pavement. That was why I ran, for the focus, the mental clarity it gave which would serve me well the rest of the day. It was almost meditative that way and I had missed it terribly when I’d first moved here.

I ran a couple of miles then looped back. When the house came into view, I slowed to a walk, stretching my calves on the front steps. I glanced up at the bright yellow door, still half expecting Brooke to come running out and wrap me up in one of those bear hugs she liked to give me. That isn’t going to happen, I reminded myself, swallowing the lump in my throat.

The smell of coffee greeted me as I opened the door. Tucker was in the living room with Chloe, hovering near her as she grabbed onto the edge of the couch and tried to pull herself up. Ever since she’d learned to crawl, she’d been on the move, and we were just waiting for her to start standing next.

“Good run?” he asked, grinning as Chloe made a move to bolt on her hands and knees. He caught her easily, scooping her up and swinging her into the air.

“Yep. How’s the princess?” I said, smiling as she shrieked and giggled.

“As perfect as ever,” he said, looking at her adoringly then he turned his attention back to me. “I left the coffee warming for you. Figured you could use a cup when you got back.”

“And a shower,” I said, making a beeline for the mug he’d left out for me. “Thanks.” I added, letting out a satisfied sigh as the first sip hit my taste buds. When I turned my head, I found Tucker standing in the kitchen doorway with Chloe on his hip and a strange expression on his face, almost like he was seeing me for the first time.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He turned abruptly and walked out of the room. I thought his behavior was strange, but I didn’t have time to figure out what was going on. I needed to clean up and get to work.

Upstairs, I showered quickly then got dressed before heading to the room at the end of the hall. Zach and Brooke’s bedroom. The room had served as a tomb, a shrine of sorts which neither of us could bear to step into. But after the talk we’d had about my work situation, we’d both agreed that I could no longer work in the kitchen or spread out on my bed. Since Tucker was sleeping in the other guest room, that only left Brooke and Zach’s room which could be turned into an office.

It had taken us a good two days to work up the courage to go in there and then another week to go through everything, but we’d done it… together. The room had been as we expected, untouched and exactly as they had left it that fateful morning—a book opened on the nightstand, it’s ending never read, shoes discarded in the corner, and a towel hanging haphazardly over the rack from someone’s shower.

It was painful, terrible, and heartbreaking, but it was also cathartic in a way, like a necessary part of the healing process. Tucker and I had cried, laughed, and shared numerous stories about the two people we’d loved so much. I loved hearing about the kind of boys he and Zach had been—ornery, mischievous—and he had seemed particularly delighted when I spoke about my awkward teenage years and how Brooke had practically forced me to go to prom.

We boxed up several things to keep for Chloe and the rest we donated to charity. And when it was all done, we cuddled the embodiment of their love—their daughter—holding her tight and reminding ourselves that as long as we had her, we would never truly lose them.

A fresh coat of paint and some new office furniture had completed the transformation and now I had a quiet space I could slip away to when I needed to work. Like now. I settled in, and clicked open my email. There was a barrage of messages, and I attacked them with the usual vigor, finding my rhythm. I'd taken on an extra project for one of my clients, but the new office space kept the chaos where it belonged—outside these walls. The morning flew by, and I was wrapping up a meeting when Tucker's voice rang up the stairs.

“Lunch is ready,” he called.

I walked into the kitchen, seeing him standing in front of the stove with a spatula in one hand and Chloe bouncing in the highchair. He handed me a plate of grilled cheese sandwiches, and we sat down together.

We talked about mundane things—work and the weather—while we ate and Chloe played with the pieces of sandwich Tucker tore into tiny bits for her. She held a buttery hand out to me, and I pretended to take a bite, making her giggle and clap her hands together.

“You seem to be handling her messes better,” Tucker observed.

“I’m trying,” I said, wiping my cheek from where she’d touched it. “I don’t want my issues to become her issues,” I admitted quietly.

“And that right there is probably why Brooke and Zach chose you to help raise their little girl. They knew that no matter what, you’d put her needs above your own.”

The sincerity in his voice made tears spring to my eyes and I turned my head, blinking them back before I could make a fool of myself by blubbering all over him. But the truth was, his words had touched me. The fact that he knew all my quirks, all the insecurities left over from my tumultuous early years, and still found something worth praising, made me feel like I could do anything. Like I could take on the entire world if I wanted to.

After we ate, I lay on the living room floor and stretched out my arms. Chloe crawled up my chest, wanting a little more playtime before I got back to work. I chased her around the room, trailing after her on my hands and knees as she crawled around, surprisingly fast. When I caught her, I tickled her tummy, making her squeal until she was breathless then I read her a story.

When it was time for me to get back to work, I sat up and gave her a squeeze, and she pressed her head into my shoulder. Tucker caught my eye and smiled.

“Guess she’s ready for a nap,” he said.

I handed Chloe over reluctantly, hesitating a moment before letting go. It was hard to head back upstairs when everything I loved was right here. Tucker warmed a bottle and took her up to the nursery, and I went back to the office. By the time I heard him heading back downstairs, I'd sent another set of emails and caught up on my entire to-do list. It was amazing how productive I could be when things were going this well.

The afternoon was gone before I knew it and when five o'clock rolled around, I stood up and stretched. “Done for the day?” Tucker asked as I came down the stairs and headed straight for the kitchen.

“And officially starving. What do you feel like having for dinner?”

He looked thoughtful. “Something simple. Think you can manage that, Chef?”

I opened the fridge, surveying the shelves and already forming a plan. “Simple,” I said. “No problem.”

“I’m impressed.” He leaned against the doorframe, watching as I started chopping vegetables. “Who knew you’d be so adaptable?”

“It’s my secret talent.”

He took Chloe into the living room, giving me space to work, and the sound of her babbling drifted in. I chopped and stirred, feeling that strange, deep satisfaction again. Everything was falling into place in a way I never expected. I called them for dinner, and we sat together, Chloe smashing peas with enthusiasm, most of them ending up on the floor.

“You know,” Tucker said, his voice teasing, “some people hire professional cleaners for this kind of thing.”

“Some people?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “The ones who have more sense than we do.”

He picked up the worst of the mess, and I gave Chloe a bath, her little legs kicking as I sang a nonsense song about ducks and frogs. When she was clean, I bundled her into a towel and carried her out to the living room. Tucker was sprawled on the couch, feet propped on the coffee table, looking more relaxed than I'd ever seen him.

“Alright, time for goodnight kisses. This little angel is going to bed.”

He reached out and took her in his arms, kissing her soft cheek and breathing in that clean baby smell. When he looked back up at me, he was smiling. “Need any help?”

“Nah, you’ve had her all day. Just relax, I’ve got this.”

My whole life had been ruled by a kind of restlessness, a need for calm that nothing ever seemed to satisfy, and I'd lived with it so long it had stopped feeling like something I could fix. Now, with Chloe and Tucker and this new way of being, there was a peace I almost recognized as happiness. The problem was that happiness wasn't supposed to be part of this story.

I held Chloe close, feeling the weight of her in my arms, the softness of her as she finished her bottle, eyelids heavy with sleep. Peace had always been an idea for me, abstract and far away, and yet here it was, settled in me like an old friend. Or maybe it was happiness. The warmth of it was the same.

But even the best days carried shadows with them, reminders of all I'd lost and all I wasn't supposed to have. The guilt was part of it now. Maybe it always would be. Brooke and Zach should've been here, building this life, finding these routines. It was supposed to be their happiness. How did I get lucky enough to have it instead?

Chloe's breathing was rhythmic, and I took the bottle from her mouth, replacing it with the pacifier she liked to sleep with. Even that tiny gesture made me feel like I was doing something right, and that sense of rightness only made the guilt hit harder.

The little girl’s weight shifted as I laid her down in her crib. For a long time, I stood over her, simply watching the rise and fall of her chest. She was our future now, and the hugeness of that took my breath away. How did I get so lucky? And how was that fair to the people who hadn't?

Normally, when something this big happened, I'd call Brooke first, before anyone else. She'd always been there, even before I really trusted she would be. My parents had been wonderful people, but by the time they adopted me, I was so used to being shuffled around that it took a long time for me to believe I wasn't just another temporary guest. It was easier with Brooke. She'd become my best friend that first day and made me feel like I belonged, like I was finally wanted.

She understood the little things, like how the chaos of my childhood made it hard for me to handle the slightest mess, and the big things, like how I worried I'd never find the family I'd always dreamed of having. That kind of friendship was hard to come by, and it didn't seem possible that she was gone.

“I hope you're happy,” I said, and it came out so quiet I almost wasn't sure I'd said it at all. The words were there anyway, floating in the soft silence, and I repeated them louder. “I hope you're happy with how we’ve been taking care of her, Brooke.”

Saying her name, even in a whisper, even to an empty room, hurt more than I'd expected. I sank to the floor beside the crib, resting my head on the rail, closing my eyes tight against the burn behind them. Why did I get to live while she didn't? What did I do to deserve any of this?

I stayed there, the hardwood uncomfortable beneath me, and thought about Brooke, about Zach, about the life they should have had. I imagined them here, in this room, taking turns rocking Chloe to sleep. I pictured Brooke's infectious laugh, Zach's quiet strength. The ache in my chest was familiar now, a constant companion.

“I miss you,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Both of you. So much.”

I don't know how long I sat there, lost in memories and what-ifs. Eventually, I pulled myself up and wiped my eyes. Chloe stirred slightly but didn't wake as I kissed my fingertips then pressed them gently to her forehead.

“Sweet dreams, little one,” I murmured.

Downstairs, I found Tucker sprawled on the couch, flipping through channels. He looked up as I entered, his expression softening.

“Hey,” he said, sitting up. “Did you get her to sleep okay?”

“Yeah, she’s sleeping peacefully.”

“Good. Now, come on. Our favorite show is on tonight and I saved you a seat.” He patted the cushion beside him and nodded at the screen, where the latest episode of a true-crime show was paused.

I smiled at his playfulness. Evenings with Tucker had become my favorite part of the day, everything slower and softer and a little like dreaming. He always found a way to make me laugh; to ease any tension I’d felt throughout the day.

“Someone’s a little obsessed, don’t you think?” I teased, reaching for the remote and lowering the volume. “I’m starting to wonder if you have some deep, dark secrets.”

“Just the one where I don’t actually mind all your micromanaging,” he said, elbowing me playfully. “It’s more fun than I thought.”

“What a surprise. Turns out Bryson isn’t boring after all,” I said, my voice mock serious. “I’m pretty sure that’s what they call character development.”

“Wow,” he said, “next thing you know, you’ll be saying I’m a positive influence.”

“You’re not,” I said, pushing his feet off the table to clear room for my own. “But keep trying.” He laughed, the sound rich and warm, and I let myself sink into it, let myself stop worrying for once. I wondered how something so simple could feel so perfect.

“What about you?” I asked. “Character development yet?”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted. “This show is definitely rubbing off. Watch me commit the perfect murder and leave no trail.”

“Ha,” I said, “there’d be a trail, alright. Empty water bottles, crumpled snack bags, mismatched socks, some kid left behind in your haste.” We both laughed, and he reached for a bowl of popcorn, managing to spill half of it as he shoved it into his mouth.

“See?” I said. “Exhibit A.” He caught a kernel before it hit the floor and threw it back at me, catching me in the chest and making me smile.

We watched together, but I was too distracted to pay attention to the show. I studied him from the corner of my eye instead, taking him in without being obvious about it. He was slouched comfortably, one arm draped over the back of the couch, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

The light from the TV flickered across his face, highlighting the strong line of his jaw and the slight curve of his lips. I found myself wondering what it would be like to trace that jawline with my fingers, to feel the rough scratch of his stubble against my palm.

The thought startled me, and I quickly looked away, my heart racing. Why did my thoughts keep straying to him? This was Tucker, my friend, and my partner in raising Chloe. I couldn't have these kinds of thoughts about him. Could I?

But as the evening wore on, I couldn't help but notice other things. The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed at something on the show. How his hand brushed mine when we both reached for the popcorn at the same time. The deep, comforting rumble of his voice when he spoke. Each little detail seemed to take on new significance, and I found myself hyper-aware of his presence beside me.

As the credits rolled, Tucker stretched, his shirt riding up slightly to reveal a strip of tanned skin. I averted my eyes, feeling a flush creep up my neck.

“Well, that was a good one,” he said, turning to me with a grin. “What did you think?”

I blinked, realizing I had barely paid attention to the show. “Oh, um, yeah. It was interesting,” I mumbled, hoping he wouldn't press for details.

His brows furrowed slightly. “Are you okay? You seem a little distracted.”

“I'm fine,” I said quickly, perhaps too quickly. “Just tired, I guess. It's been a long day.”

He nodded; his expression concerned. “Maybe we should call it a night then. You've been working hard lately.”

I nodded, grateful for the excuse to retreat. “Yeah, that's probably a good idea. I'll just clean up a bit before heading to bed.”

As I gathered the popcorn bowl and empty glasses, I could feel Tucker's eyes on me. When I turned back, he was standing, looking a bit uncertain. “Bryson,” he said softly, “you know you can talk to me about anything, right? If something's bothering you...”

His concern touched me, making my chest tighten with an emotion I wasn't ready to name. “I know,” I said, managing a small smile. “Thanks, Tucker. I'm okay, really. Just tired.”

He nodded, but I could see he wasn't entirely convinced. “Alright. Well, goodnight then. Sleep well.”

“You too,” I said, but as I listened to him climb the stairs, I knew that sleep was going to be next to impossible.