Chapter 8 - The Second Son Breaks the Record
Ethan’s debate victory should have been the biggest story of the evening.
It wasn’t.
Because ninety minutes later, Eli did something no student had done in twenty-seven years of championship history.
The Advanced Logic Marathon consisted of fifty problems.
Three hours.
No partial credit.
Most champions scored between forty and forty-four.
The standing record was forty-seven.
Eli solved all fifty.
Every single one.
The verification panel checked twice.
Then a third time.
At 7:18 p.m., the scoreboard changed.
ELI ELLIS — 50/50
NEW STATE RECORD
The auditorium exploded.
I covered my mouth.
Ethan lifted both arms.
Preston shouted louder than anyone.
Even competitors from rival schools rushed toward Eli.
He looked overwhelmed.
Eli hated being the center of attention.
A reporter tried to interview him.
He glanced at me helplessly.
I mouthed, Breathe.
The reporter asked, “What were you thinking during the final ten questions?”
Eli considered it.
“That I was hungry.”
The room laughed.
“What about the record?”
“I didn’t know.”
“You weren’t aiming for it?”
“No.”
“What were you aiming for?”
“To get the questions right.”
That answer went viral before he finished the interview.
Nathan watched from the edge of the crowd.
I could see something changing in him.
At first, this had been about Preston losing attention.
Now it was becoming something worse.
Regret.
Because Nathan understood talent.
He had built his identity around cultivating Preston’s.
And now two sons he had abandoned were dominating the most prestigious academic event in the state.
Without his tutoring.
Without his money.
Without his connections.
Without him.
Nathan finally approached Eli after the cameras moved away.
“That was impressive.”
Eli turned.
“Thank you.”
An awkward pause.
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
Nathan shoved his hands into his pockets.
“You get mathematics from my side.”
I almost laughed.
Eli didn’t.
“How do you know?”
Nathan blinked.
“My father was an engineer.”
“Okay.”
“Your grandfather.”
Eli’s expression changed slightly.
He had never met Nathan’s father.
Nathan noticed.
“He would have been proud.”
“He’s alive?”
That hit me too.
Nathan nodded.
“He lives in Oregon.”
Eli looked at me.
I had known.
I hadn’t known whether contacting Nathan’s family would create more pain than comfort.
Nathan continued.
“He asks about you sometimes.”
My heart jumped.
Eli looked stunned.
“He knows about us?”
“Of course.”
“Does he have my number?”
Nathan hesitated.
“No.”
“Why?”
No answer.
Eli’s face hardened.
“You said he asks.”
“He does.”
“And you never gave him our number.”
“It was complicated.”
“There’s that word.”
Nathan frowned.
“What word?”
“Complicated.”
Eli stepped closer.
“You abandoned us because life was complicated. You didn’t call because things were complicated. You didn’t tell Preston because it was complicated.”
His voice never rose.
“That seems like a useful word when you don’t want to say selfish.”
Nathan flinched.
“Eli.”
It was the first time he said his son’s name with something resembling tenderness.
Eli heard it too.
For one second, the anger disappeared.
Then he asked, “When is my birthday?”
Nathan froze.
I closed my eyes.
Eli waited.
Nathan tried.
“March…”
Wrong already.
The twins were born in November.
Eli nodded slowly.
“Goodnight.”
He walked away.
Nathan stood alone.
I wanted to feel satisfaction.
I didn’t.
There was nothing satisfying about watching your child discover exactly how little his father knew about him.
I found Eli outside on a quiet balcony.
He was holding the old photograph from our hotel room.
I stood beside him.
“He looked happy here.”
“Yes.”
“Was I not enough?”
My heart broke.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
“I know the answer is supposed to be yes.”
“It’s not supposed to be anything.”
He looked at me.
“You were enough the day you were born.”
His eyes filled.
“So was Ethan. His leaving says something about his character, not your value.”
“I know that logically.”
“Logic isn’t always useful.”
He laughed softly.
“That hurts coming from you.”
“I contain multitudes.”
He leaned his head against my shoulder.
He hadn’t done that since he was twelve.
We stood silently.
Then footsteps approached.
Preston.
He stopped.
“Sorry.”
Eli straightened.
“It’s okay.”
Preston held something.
A small notebook.
“I found this in Dad’s things.”
He offered it to Eli.
The cover was faded.
Inside were handwritten notes.
Baby weights.
Feeding schedules.
Doctor visits.
Eli.
Ethan.
Nathan’s handwriting.
My throat closed.
I had forgotten that notebook existed.
Nathan used it during the twins’ first six months.
Before the affair.
Before everything.
Preston pointed toward one page.
NOVEMBER 18
2:14 A.M.
ELI FINALLY ASLEEP.
ETHAN REFUSES.
MARA EXHAUSTED.
BEST NIGHT OF MY LIFE.
Eli stared.
“He wrote this?”
“Yes.”
Preston swallowed.
“I thought you should have it.”
“Why?”
“Because maybe…”
He struggled.
“Maybe you deserve proof that he didn’t always forget.”
Eli looked at him for a long moment.
Then accepted the notebook.
“Thank you.”
Preston nodded.
As he turned away, Eli spoke.
“Preston.”
“Yeah?”
“You don’t need to apologize every time you’re around us.”
Preston looked down.
“I kind of feel like I do.”
“You didn’t abandon us.”
“No.”
“You didn’t leak questions.”
“I used them.”
“You didn’t know.”
Preston’s eyes filled.
Eli smiled faintly.
“We’re all dealing with the same father now.”
Preston laughed.
“Lucky us.”
And somewhere behind the balcony doors, Nathan stood unseen.
Listening.
May you like
For the first time, he heard his three sons laughing together.
And he wasn’t part of the joke.
