Chapter 33
Three hours later, Brett and Julian stepped out of the police station with no more answers than they’d had that morning.
The clinic visit had ruled out anything life-threatening, at least. The doctor had checked Julian over, ordered blood work and X-rays, then declared him remarkably healthy for someone who’d nearly drowned during a hurricane.
Aside from bruising, exhaustion, and memory loss, nothing appeared seriously wrong.
The advice had been straightforward—rest, fluids, some over-the-counter pain medicine, and time.
If the amnesia didn’t improve within a few days, the doctor wanted Julian sent to the regional hospital for a CT scan.
A stop at the police station hadn’t helped much either.
No missing persons reports matched Julian’s name or description in Massachusetts—or anywhere else in the country.
His fingerprints were absent from any database, suggesting he had no prior arrests or employment that would have required federal or state background checks.
The police chief promised to keep digging for answers, but at the moment, they’d hit a dead end.
While Julian was being examined, interviewed, and fingerprinted, Brett had spent every spare minute searching social media for anyone named Julian Price. Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, LinkedIn—anything he could think of. He’d found dozens of profiles, but none belonged to the man beside him.
Julian lingered near the curb outside the station, looking increasingly frustrated, both hands shoved into the pockets of Brett’s hoodie while late-morning winds moved through town.
“I don’t understand how nobody’s looking for me,” he muttered.
Brett understood the frustration. Hell, he felt it himself. Every instinct in him said Julian mattered to someone. The tide had practically screamed it at him the night before.
“Maybe they don’t know you’re missing yet.”
“I guess.”
“Do you wanna head back to the cottage?” he asked. “You’re welcome to stay there with me until we figure this out.”
Julian looked over at him, exhaustion breaking through the stubbornness in his expression. “You sure? I don’t want to impose.”
“Yeah, I’m sure. I mean, you have no ID or money, so where else could you stay?” He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “Besides, Orion likes you, so I doubt you’re an axe murderer.”
That earned a genuine laugh from Julian, and something in Brett’s chest eased at the sound.
“I don’t remember anything, but I swear there are no urges to chop someone’s head off. I think you’re safe.”
“Good to know.”
The walk back was quieter than before. The market and surrounding businesses had become more active, and Brett caught several inquisitive glances aimed their way again.
Normally, he wouldn’t have cared, but today, every emotion brushing against him through the tide felt amplified—curiosity, unease, and recognition that shouldn’t exist.
By the time they reached the lighthouse cottage, the pressure beneath Brett’s skin had become impossible to ignore.
Julian’s exhaustion appeared to amplify the second they stepped inside. The aftermath of last night’s ordeal, the clinic visit, and the police station—it had all caught up with him.
“You look like you’re ready to pass out,” Brett said. “Why don’t I get you some Tylenol and then you can go lay down for a while?”
Julian rubbed a hand over his face before nodding. “Honestly, that sounds fantastic right now.”
After giving him the medicine and a glass of water, Brett pointed toward the hallway. “You can sleep in my bed—it has to be more comfortable than the couch with all those bruises covering your body. I’ll check on you later.”
“Thanks, but you don’t have to keep taking care of me.”
Brett held his gaze a second too long. Maybe he didn’t understand what this connection was yet, but every instinct in him rejected the idea of Julian belonging anywhere else but here—with him.
“Yeah,” he said. “I kinda do.”
Julian studied him for a moment like he wanted to ask something more, before turning and disappearing down the hallway. Seconds later, the bedroom door clicked shut.
The cottage fell silent except for distant gulls and waves rolling against the rocky shoreline.
Brett tried keeping himself busy—rinsing the breakfast dishes, wiping down the counters, and folding the clothes in the dryer. But none of it quieted the restless pressure building beneath his skin before the pull became too strong to ignore.
He crossed the living room, opened an old wooden door, and stepped through the narrow stone corridor connecting the cottage to the lighthouse.
Cool air lingered inside the passage, carrying the faint mineral scent of damp mortar and aged rock.
He started up the spiral staircase, one hand sliding along the worn railing polished smooth by generations of keepers.
With every step, the sensation strengthened until it became impossible to dismiss.
It dragged him upward with the relentless force of a rip current.
When he stepped into the lantern room and looked out the window, gray-blue water stretched endlessly beneath the clearing afternoon sky. Sunlight flashed across swells still unsettled from the storm while the waves rolled against the shoreline in a steady rhythm.
An emotional tsunami hit him. For as long as he could remember, the ocean had spoken to him—not in words anyone else could hear, but in feelings woven through the endless movement of the sea.
He closed his eyes and accepted it.
Most people thought tides were predictable. They weren’t. The ocean carried everything—fear, grief, anger, and hope. Sometimes entire pieces of people.
The remnants of Hurricane Ruth still churned through the currents, leaving agitation scraping through the water like emotional static. But underneath that, something else moved through the tide now.
Awareness. Certainty. Julian.
Brett’s eyes blinked open.
For years, he’d sensed something during storms. Not danger, exactly. More like an absence. Like some hidden part of him had been searching the ocean’s depths for something it had lost. Or someone.
Then Ruth had rolled in last night and delivered Julian onto the shore below the lighthouse.
He moved closer to the glass, staring out toward the horizon while the water churned below. The connection between him and Julian no longer seemed accidental. It was ancient.
Stirrings flowed through his veins—longing, grief, and a love so powerful it nearly brought him to his knees. Not coming from the ocean this time, but from his heart and soul.
A sharp ache spread through his chest as another realization took shape.
He knew Julian. Not logically. Not in any way he could explain out loud.
But somewhere deeper than memory or thought, recognition pulsed between them with undeniable certainty.
Somehow, he felt an unparalleled connection to Julian.
Like they belonged to each other. Like at some point, they’d loved each other fiercely enough to leave marks behind that even time hadn’t erased.
So why the hell did they feel like strangers now?
He needed answers and knew one place where he might find them.