Salt Bay smelled like sea salt and new beginnings.
Eli stood in the middle of his studio, staring at the half-finished canvas he'd abandoned two weeks ago. It was a storm of muted blues and violent strokes of red—restless, like his thoughts. The Vancouver residency deadline loomed. A decision had to be made.
And still, he couldn't move the brush.
Mason kept his distance.
Not coldly. Not resentfully. But deliberately—like he was giving Eli the space he thought he needed. They still texted. Still kissed. Still held each other at night.
But something had shifted.
And neither of them said it out loud.
It was Talia who cornered Eli at the café, hands on her hips, voice low enough to not start a scene.
"You're breaking his heart," she said simply.
Eli stiffened. "I haven't even decided anything yet."
"You don't have to. He sees the writing."
"I'm trying to make the right choice."
Talia softened, sitting across from him. "You're allowed to want both, you know. The dream and the person."
Eli's mouth twisted. "What if I can't have both?"
"Then you need to decide which one makes your soul quieter."
He stared into his untouched coffee.
---
Meanwhile, Mason found himself walking the edge of the pier at dusk. Jasper appeared beside him like a shadow.
"You ever gonna talk to him?" Jasper asked.
"I am. We are. Just… not about that."
"Right," Jasper muttered. "So instead you're watching him drift and pretending it doesn't tear you apart."
Mason didn't respond.
Jasper exhaled. "You're doing that thing again. Acting like you're poison and the best way to love someone is to let them leave."
Mason's voice was low. "Maybe it is."
"No," Jasper said. "The best way to love someone is to fight for them, even if it scares the hell out of you."
Mason looked out at the horizon, silent.
The turning point came unexpectedly.
A letter—no return address. Delivered to Mason's place.
Inside: a photo.
Mason at seventeen. His father's hand on his shoulder. A football game in the background. And on the back, scrawled in faded ink:
You were always more than your worst moment. Come home.
Mason didn't recognize the handwriting.
But he knew who it was from.
His brother.
He hadn't seen or spoken to him in nearly a decade.
That night, Eli came over unannounced.
Mason looked up from the photo, startled.
"You okay?" Eli asked.
Mason nodded, then shook his head. "No. Maybe. I don't know."
Eli sat beside him. "Talk to me."
Mason handed him the photo.
Eli studied it, then met his gaze. "You're thinking of going back."
"Just for a visit," Mason said. "I don't even know why he reached out. He's hated me since the trial."
"Maybe he doesn't anymore."
Mason exhaled. "I'm scared to find out."
Eli placed a hand over his. "Then let me come with you."
Mason blinked. "What?"
"If you go… let me come."
A beat.
Mason's voice cracked. "I thought you were leaving."
Eli's eyes softened. "I'm trying to choose. But I can't if I don't know all of you. Where you came from. What you left behind. Maybe that's part of the answer."
And just like that, the course shifted.
They booked tickets.
They packed bags.
They stood on the edge of something not entirely broken—but not yet healed.
As they waited at the bus depot the next morning, Mason reached for Eli's hand.
"Thank you," he said.
"For what?"
"For not running away yet."
Eli smiled, small but real. "I never wanted to run. I just wanted to find the courage to stay."
And with that, the bus pulled in.
Their past waited on the other side.
So did the future.
They just didn't know which one would win.