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Chapter Five

TUCKER

T he sun was a traitor this morning, streaming in through the window with a warmth that had no right to exist. I blinked my eyes open, and for a split second, the world was as it should be—a room painted in soft golden hues, the promise of coffee brewing somewhere nearby. But then reality crashed over me like a rogue wave, and I remembered. The funerals were yesterday. Zach and Brooke... gone.

I sat up, the sheets pooling around my waist, the weight of grief settling on my shoulders like a heavy blanket. My heart ached, an echo of the tears that had been shed by everyone who'd come to say goodbye. So many strangers with their own memories of my brother and sister in-law, their kind words and condolences all blurring together until I could no longer make out any of their faces.

Dragging myself out of bed felt like climbing a mountain. I threw on a pair of jeans and a shirt that wasn’t too wrinkled. I caught sight of myself in the mirror, the unruly dark scruff along my jaw somehow feeling disrespectful to the day's grim errands. But I left it—trimming was a routine for a normal day, and nothing about today was normal.

Bryson was waiting for me in his car when I stepped outside. He gave me a quick nod as I slid into the passenger seat, the air between us thick with apprehension. His hazel eyes met mine for a moment as I snapped the seat belt into place, and I could see the seriousness etched into the lines of his face. Bryson, always dependable, always in control, now just as adrift as I was.

“Chloe over at Susie’s?”

“Yeah. She said to take our time,” he responded softly.

We drove to the lawyer's office mostly in silence. It was the kind of quiet that wasn't uncomfortable, not exactly, but more like we were both lost in our own thoughts, trying to brace ourselves for whatever came next. Once parked, I glanced over at him, searching for some kind of reassurance. I found only his solemn expression, his jaw set in determination.

“Ready?” I asked, my voice sounding foreign even to my ears.

“Let’s do this,” Bryson replied evenly, but the fidgeting of the keys in his hand betrayed his nerves.

We climbed out of the car and headed toward the building. With each step, I felt the gravity of the situation pulling us forward. The door to the lawyer's office clicked shut behind us, a soft, final sound that seemed too gentle for the gravity of the moment. The man who rose from behind the mahogany desk was older, his hair more salt than pepper, but his eyes were kind as they settled on us.

“Mr. Kelly, Mr. Murphy,” he said, extending a hand that Bryson and I took in turn. “I'm Harold Jenkins. Please accept my deepest condolences for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Bryson murmured, the words barely audible. I echoed the sentiment, feeling the sincerity of the lawyer's words.

“Please, have a seat,” he gestured toward the chairs in front of his desk, and we complied, the leather creaking under the shift of our weight.

As Mr. Jenkins began to read the will, I leaned back and tried to make sense of the dense legal jargon spilling over us like heavy rain. Words and phrases— “estate,” “assets,” “trustee”—buzzed in my ears, each one piling atop the last until I was lost in a haze of confusion and disbelief. It felt surreal, sitting here, listening to the dry, formal language that was supposed to parcel out pieces of lives, now ended.

And then, like a bolt from the blue, the lightning struck. “…and to Tucker Murphy and Bryson Kelly, we name as joint guardians of our daughter, Chloe Elizabeth Murphy.”

The air left my lungs in a rush, and I stared at Mr. Jenkins, certain I had misheard. But the grave look on his face told me it was all too real. Joint guardians. Bryson hadn't made a sound, and I turned to him, searching his face for any hint of what was going through his mind. His expression was unreadable, but I saw the flicker of shock in his eyes before he shuttered them away, replaced by that familiar mask of control.

“Joint guardians,” I repeated dumbly, the words clumsy in my mouth. “You mean, both of us? Together?”

Mr. Jenkins nodded solemnly. “Yes, Mr. Murphy. It's clear from Zach and Brooke's wishes they intended for you both to care for Chloe together.”

Together. The idea loomed before me, immense and terrifying. I glanced again at Bryson, his face still a study in stunned silence. What were we going to do? How could we possibly?—

“Are there any questions I can help clarify?” the lawyer asked, breaking into my spiraling thoughts.

Questions? I had a million of them. But the only one that mattered, the only one that filled my throat and threatened to choke me, remained unasked: How do two men who were complete opposites, become the guardians of a tiny, precious life?

What had they been thinking, naming me as guardian? My nomadic lifestyle was hardly ideal for caring for a baby. And besides that, what did I even know about raising a baby? I’d never even had a houseplant I needed to care for. I’d spent the last few years of my life wandering the globe, going wherever the wind carried me and answering to no one. Now, I was responsible for a tiny human?

While I’d vowed to always be in her life, I’d assumed Chloe would go to someone else, someone whose lifestyle was more stable… someone like Bryson. But the two of us together? We were like oil and water, like night and day, complete opposites in every way. There was no way this wasn’t going to end in disaster. I just hoped Chloe didn’t get hurt in the fallout.

Mr. Jenkins leaned back in his chair; his hands folded together as if he were about to recite a litany. “There will be a trial period,” he began, his tone informative but not without empathy, “during which time you'll both serve as temporary guardians for Chloe under the supervision of Child Protective Services. After six months, you'll need to stand before a judge who will assess the situation and decide on permanent guardianship.”

I felt my stomach twist. Six months. It was both an eternity and a heartbeat when faced with raising a child. The room suddenly felt small; the air too thick to breathe.

“Furthermore,” he continued, oblivious to the internal chaos he'd set off, “Zach and Brooke left specific instructions regarding their estate. The house—along with all assets—are to be placed in your joint names. This is to ensure that you have the means to provide for Chloe's well-being.”

My head swam with the weight of it all. The house where I'd spent countless visits, now a symbol of a life I'd never envisioned. Beside me, Bryson shifted uncomfortably.

“Are there any concerns you wish to discuss?” Mr. Jenkins asked, peering at us over the rim of his glasses.

“Concerns? Where do I even begin?” I muttered.

Bryson suddenly spoke up. “Mr. Jenkins, if you don’t mind, I think we’re going to need some time to let this all sink in, maybe discuss some logistics, that kind of thing.”

“Of course. Go home, talk it over and get back to me as soon as you’re ready. We can sign all the necessary paperwork then.”

The front door creaked as I pushed it open. Bryson trailed behind me, his footsteps hesitant on the wooden porch. “Feels different somehow, doesn't it?” I said, letting the door close with a soft thump behind us.

“Everything does,” he replied, setting his keys on the small entryway table where Brooke always tossed hers. We made our way into the living room, the silence of the house greeting us like an unwanted visitor. I flopped down onto the couch, my mind a jumbled mess.

“Look, Tucker,” Bryson started, perching on the edge of the armchair across from me, “I know we're both out of our element here, but...”

“Out of our element?” I cut in, a bitter chuckle escaping me. “Bryson, I'm a guy who lives out of a suitcase. The closest thing I've had to responsibility in years was making sure I caught the right plane.”

“Okay, I get that.” He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “But isn't this what family does? Step up when they're needed?”

“Yes,” I murmured, rubbing a hand over my face. “But I assumed it would be someone else caring for Chloe and I would still get to be fun Uncle Tucker who takes her out for ice cream and buys her loud toys that would drive her guardian nuts. I never thought I’d be the guardian, did you?”

Bryson rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Well, yeah, I did. Sort of.”

“You did?” I jerked to an upright position, nearly shouting. “You knew they were going to leave Chloe to the two of us?”

He held his hands out in front of himself in an attempt to calm me down. “Not exactly.”

“Explain,” I demanded.

Bryson’s tone remained calm. “Brooke and I discussed it once. You know, what it meant to be a godfather. She said it was a promise to always be in Chloe’s life and keep her safe. It was an easy promise to make. I mean, never in my wildest dreams did I think any of this would happen or that they’d want me to raise her with…”

“With me?”

“I assumed I'd be the one taking care of her full-time,” he continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “I have a stable job, a routine. I'm not the one jetting off to far-flung places on a whim.”

I bristled at his tone. “Hey, my work may not look like yours, but it's still work. I've built a successful career that allows me freedom.”

“Freedom that a baby doesn't exactly fit into,” Bryson pointed out.

I opened my mouth to argue, but he wasn't wrong. The thought of giving up my nomadic lifestyle made my chest tighten. “And what about your job? You can't exactly work 60-hour weeks with a baby at home.”

His shoulders slumped slightly. “I know. I've been thinking about that too. I'd have to cut back my hours, maybe work from home more.”

“And your clients will be okay with you interrupting a meeting because Chloe needs a diaper change? And what about the rest of the time? Is she just supposed to sit quietly in the corner until your workday comes to an end?”

Bryson's jaw tightened. “I'll figure it out. I have to.” A heavy silence fell between us, filled with all the doubts and fears we weren't voicing. The enormity of what we were facing loomed over us like a storm cloud.

“Look,” I said finally, “I know we're both trying to wrap our heads around this, but maybe we're getting ahead of ourselves. We don't even know if we can make this work. I mean, you and me? Living together and raising a baby?”

Bryson met my gaze, a flicker of uncertainty in their hazel depths. “It does seem... challenging.”

“Challenging?” I let out a humorless laugh. “Bryson, we're complete opposites. You probably alphabetize your spice rack, and I can't remember the last time I unpacked a suitcase fully.

His eyes narrowed slightly. “There's nothing wrong with being organized,” he said defensively. “And for the record, I arrange my spices by frequency of use, not alphabetically.”

I couldn't help but chuckle at that. “Of course you do.”

The tension between us eased slightly, but the weight of our new reality still hung heavy in the air. I ran a hand through my hair, trying to gather my scattered thoughts. “I know we both want what's best for Chloe. But are we really the best thing for her? I mean, two guys who barely know each other, trying to raise a baby together?”

Bryson sank down in a chair, his expression thoughtful. “It's not ideal,” he admitted. “But Zach and Brooke must have had their reasons for choosing us. They trusted us with this—with the most important person in their world. Surely, that means something.”

The tension hung thick between us until there was a knock at the door. I rose to answer, finding Susie on the other side, Chloe cradled in one arm and a sizable dish in the other.

“Hey, boys,” she greeted us with a warmth that seemed to fill the space, her smile reaching her eyes in a way that eased some of the heaviness in the room.

“I saw you pull in and thought I’d save you the trip of coming to get this little angel,” she said, stepping inside and gently transferring Chloe into my suddenly unsure arms. “I also brought you some more food that was dropped off—Ms. Glenda’s famous chicken pot pie. Everyone begs for the recipe, but I swear she’s going to take it to her grave.”

I shuffled behind Susie as she opened the fridge. The cold light spilled out, revealing stacks upon stacks of Tupperware. “Every casserole, pie, and soup you could imagine,” she said, her voice brimming with pride. “Quiches for breakfast and enough lasagna to feed an army. The ladies from church, the neighbors... everyone's been cooking up a storm.”

“The freezer is fully stocked too. Everyone’s been so kind,” I told her.

“It’s the least we can do,” she assured. “Little one needs her uncles right now. And you two need to eat.”

“We really appreciate it,” Bryson added, his voice soft. “We have enough on our plates right now without having to figure out what to make for dinner too.”

Susie closed the fridge and turned to us, her eyes filled with compassion. “Did everything go all right with Mr. Jenkins?”

I let out a humorless laugh. “That depends on your definition of all right.”

Susie's eyes darted between us, concern etching lines around her mouth. “Oh dear, what happened?”

I bounced Chloe gently in my arms, her warm weight both comforting and terrifying. “Well, it turns out Zach and Brooke named us as joint guardians for Chloe.”

Susie's eyebrows shot up. “Both of you? Together?”

“Yep,” Bryson said, his voice tight. “Apparently, they thought we'd make a great team.”

Her expression softened. “Well, I can see why they'd think that. You both love her so much, and you each bring different strengths to the table.”

I snorted. “Different is right. We're about as compatible as oil and water.”

Her eyes twinkled with a wisdom that seemed to come from years of observing life. “You know, sometimes the most unlikely combinations turn out to be exactly what's needed. Like salt in coffee—sounds crazy, but it brings out the sweetness.”

I raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “I'm not sure Bryson and I are going to magically blend into the perfect cup of coffee, Susie.”

She laughed, a warm sound that seemed to brighten the room. “Maybe not, but you might just surprise yourselves. Remember, you're not alone in this. This whole town is behind you both.”

As if to emphasize her point, she gestured towards the overstuffed fridge. “All those casseroles and pies. That's what small town living is about. Neighbors helping neighbors in their time of need. You don't have to do everything alone,” Susie continued, her voice gentle but firm. “Things are always better when you have people you can count on. And you two? You've got a whole town ready to lend a hand.”

Her words hung in the air, a comforting source of support I hadn't realized we needed. As she turned to leave, she paused at the door, her eyes twinkling. “Just remember, boys, that little girl is what really matters. Everything else is just details.”

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Bryson and me in a silence that felt different from before. Less tense, maybe. Or perhaps just filled with a new kind of uncertainty.

I looked down at Chloe in my arms, her tiny face, peaceful in sleep. Without thinking, I brought her closer, inhaling the sweet baby scent of her hair. Something in my chest tightened, fierce protectiveness washing over me. I glanced up to find Bryson watching us, his expression softening.

“She's right, you know,” he said quietly. “About Chloe being what matters.”

I nodded, gently swaying with the baby. “Yeah, she is.”

Bryson took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. “So... I guess we're doing this?”

The weight of the decision settled over us. I looked down at Chloe again, her tiny hand curled against my chest. “I guess we are,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.

“It won't be easy,” Bryson warned, but there was a hint of something else in his tone. Determination, maybe.

I couldn't help but chuckle. “When has anything worth doing ever been easy?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Fair point.” He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture I was starting to recognize as a sign of his nervousness. “So, where do we start?”

I glanced around the living room, suddenly aware of how much our lives were about to change. “I guess we start by figuring out how to live together without driving each other crazy.”

Bryson nodded, his expression serious. “We'll need to establish some ground rules, create a schedule for Chloe's care, figure out how to balance our work commitments...”

I held up a hand, feeling overwhelmed. “Whoa, slow down there, spreadsheet. Let's take this one step at a time.”

He frowned at the nickname, but didn't comment on it. “We can do this, right? For her?”

I swallowed hard, my throat tight with emotions I hadn't expected to feel. The nomad in me balked at the idea of roots, but the uncle—the brother—in me knew there was no other choice.

“Yeah, we can,” I replied, my voice steadier than I felt. “She needs us, Bryson. And—” I hesitated, glancing down at the little life that had unwittingly tethered our futures together. “And I think we might need her too.”

He nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching in a semblance of a smile. “We'll figure it out, Tucker. We have to.”

“Even if it means enduring each other's company on a permanent basis?” I teased, trying to lighten the mood.

“Even then,” he chuckled dryly, looking down at Chloe, who cooed softly as if in agreement.

“Deal.” I extended my hand, and after a moment's hesitation, he shook it, his grip firm and resolute.

“Deal.”

As the agreement sealed our fate, I turned away from Bryson and looked out the window. Lakeside Ridge, with its small-town charm and close-knit community, had always been a place for family, for settled lives and rooted dreams. I wondered how my wandering heart would cope with the sudden change in course.

Yet as I watched the pink and purple hues of sunset, a sense of peace began to settle over me. Yes, the road ahead was daunting—full of sleepless nights, diaper changes, and the terrifying responsibility of shaping a young life. But Susie's words echoed in my mind, reminding me that we weren't alone in this.

I let out a long breath, feeling the weight of my new role as an instant parent press down on me. It was a weight I never anticipated carrying, but for Chloe—for the bright-eyed niece who had my brother's smile—I'd learn to bear it. For Chloe, I thought, I'd become whoever I needed to be. Because she was worth everything.