The fire was dying down by the time Eli and Mason made their way back to the truck.
Eli's shoes were filled with sand, and his head buzzed lightly from the cheap beer Mason had handed him earlier. He felt warm—almost content. For the first time since arriving back in Salt Bay, he wasn't looking over his shoulder.
"I forgot how nice this town is at night," Eli said, sliding into the passenger seat.
Mason grinned, starting the truck. "Still the best place in the world if you know how to look at it."
They drove in easy silence, the windows down, the scent of saltwater heavy in the air. Mason tapped the steering wheel to the rhythm of the radio while Eli leaned his head against the seat, eyes half-lidded.
"You okay?" Mason asked.
Eli nodded slowly. "Yeah. For the first time in a long time."
But peace is a fragile thing. And sometimes it doesn't last past the morning.
---
Eli woke up to his phone buzzing relentlessly. He blinked at the screen—four missed calls from Talia, two from an unknown number.
His stomach dropped.
He barely had time to brush his teeth before she called again.
"Pick up," she hissed when he answered. "Are you seeing this?"
"Seeing what?"
"Check your inbox. Right now."
Eli opened his email.
The subject line read: NAVARRO ESTATE—URGENT CLAIM OF OWNERSHIP.
He frowned, opened the email, and began reading.
Then froze.
"No," he whispered.
The message came from a law office in Portland. It wasn't just a claim. It was a bomb.
Someone named Jasper Marin had come forward, claiming to be Eli's half-brother—the illegitimate son of Eli's father, born from an affair that no one in Salt Bay seemed to know about. And now, this stranger was contesting the will, claiming half the estate.
"Are you still there?" Talia's voice came through the phone, taut.
"Yeah. I'm here. Just…" Eli sat down hard on the couch. "What the hell is going on?"
"I don't know," she said. "But this Jasper guy? He's real. Lives in Portland. Works as a musician or something. And he's already contacted the probate judge."
Eli put his head in his hands.
This couldn't be real. His dad had been a lot of things—distant, stubborn, often cold—but secret children? Affairs?
He remembered how quiet his father became after Eli's mom left. Not angry. Just… buried. Like someone who'd learned how to grieve by disappearing from his own life.
Talia's voice broke through again. "You need to get a lawyer. A good one."
"Yeah," Eli said hoarsely. "I will."
And just like that, everything he thought he knew about his family cracked open.
---
Mason found him later that day sitting on the beach alone, camera in his lap, phone forgotten beside him.
"I heard," Mason said, taking a seat beside him. "Talia told me."
Eli didn't look at him. "Why does it always feel like I'm about to lose everything the second I start to breathe again?"
"Because life's an asshole sometimes," Mason replied, offering him a granola bar.
Eli took it reluctantly. "Thanks."
"You okay?"
"No."
"Want to talk about it?"
"No."
They sat in silence, waves curling and breaking like a metronome for their thoughts.
After a long pause, Eli asked, "What if it's true?"
"What?"
"What if I do have a brother? What if my dad really had this whole other life? What does that make me?"
Mason didn't hesitate. "Still you. Still the guy who kissed me under the lighthouse and ran halfway across the world taking pictures of everything but his own reflection."
Eli huffed a bitter laugh. "That's poetic. Thanks."
"Don't mention it."
Eli looked out at the horizon. "I don't know if I can fight this."
"Yes, you can. And you won't be alone."
Eli turned. "Why do you even care?"
Mason looked at him with something unreadable in his eyes. "Because I never stopped."
---
Later that night, Eli sat at the dining room table with a bottle of wine and the dusty box of letters he'd ignored since arriving. His father's old things—photos, receipts, hospital bills—and tucked in the bottom: a sealed envelope.
It was addressed to Jasper Marin.
Eli stared at it for a long time before opening it.
The letter was handwritten, dated just over a year ago. In it, his father confessed to a brief relationship with a woman in Portland after Eli's mother left. He hadn't known about Jasper until years later. By then, the boy was grown. They'd met once, awkwardly. His father had sent him money, stayed in loose contact. Guilt lived between the lines of every word.
"I know I've failed both of my sons in different ways. But this house, this legacy—Eli deserves that. He's the one who knew me best, even when I didn't want him to."
Eli's chest ached.
So it was true. He did have a brother. And their father had chosen him, not because he was more deserving, but because he'd been present—even in absence.
Still, that didn't mean Jasper wouldn't fight.
And Eli wasn't sure he had anything left to give.
---
The next day, he met Talia at The Current. She was already at her desk, stacks of newspapers and coffee cups cluttering the space.
"Jasper agreed to meet," she said, looking up. "He's driving down tomorrow."
Eli blinked. "Here? To Salt Bay?"
"Apparently he wants to see what he's fighting for."
Eli sank into the chair across from her. "This just keeps getting better."
"You should talk to him," she said gently. "Hear him out before it gets ugly."
"You think this can not get ugly?"
"I think you need to try. For your own peace."
Eli leaned back and stared at the ceiling.
One brother by blood.
Another by choice.
And both were waiting to see what kind of man Eli would choose to be.
---
The following afternoon, Jasper Marin arrived.
He was taller than Eli expected—slender, with wild black curls, a silver ring in his nose, and a quiet, skeptical expression. He wore a leather jacket despite the spring warmth, and when he extended his hand, Eli took it reluctantly.
They stood in the living room where their father once read books and drank bourbon in silence.
"I didn't come to fight," Jasper said, breaking the ice. "But I didn't come to walk away, either."
Eli nodded. "Fair."
They sat.
"I read the letter," Eli said. "So I know this… isn't your fault."
Jasper raised an eyebrow. "But you still hate me?"
"I don't know you well enough to hate you."
Jasper gave a tight smile. "That's mutual."
There was silence.
Then Eli asked, "Why now?"
"I didn't know he died until a friend sent me the obituary," Jasper said. "I thought I had more time. I always thought... we'd talk. He'd tell me something real."
Eli swallowed. "He wasn't great at real."
"Yeah," Jasper said, voice quiet. "But I still wanted it."
They looked at each other then—two strangers bound by blood and loss.
Eli exhaled. "So what do you want?"
"I don't know," Jasper admitted. "Not the house, really. But something. Some recognition that I existed to him. That I wasn't just a mistake he paid off."
Eli hesitated. Then got up and walked to the mantle. He picked up the photo of himself and his dad. Then turned it over.
He pulled out the backing and added something else to the frame: the letter. Folded, but visible.
Then he set it back down.
"Stay the night," he said. "We'll talk more in the morning."
Jasper blinked. "Seriously?"
"We're family," Eli said. "Might as well try acting like it."
---
That night, Mason came by. He found Eli sitting on the porch steps, watching the moon rise.
"New roommate?" he asked, nodding toward the house.
"For now."
Mason sat beside him. "You look lighter."
"I feel heavier."
"Good kind or bad kind?"
"Both."
They sat in silence.
Then Mason leaned in, so close Eli could feel the warmth of him.
"I meant what I said," Mason whispered. "I never stopped."
Eli turned toward him.
This time, he closed the distance.