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I couldn’t tell him what I was checking my phone for, so I had to take the reproof. “I do,” I said. I liked softball; most of the time I even loved it. I knew I’d never give it up like Selena had, but what I really wanted was Dad nodding at me again, smiling. I wanted him to be proud of me.
“Then start acting like it.”
My hand came up reflexively as he released the ball. It sank right into the pocket of my glove. “There,” he said. “You ready?”
Our easy game of catch was over. In hindsight, I was surprised it had lasted this long. I sucked in a breath and nodded, knowing he was going to start relentlessly hitting screamers and grounders at me. Dad grabbed the bucket of balls and a bat while I set up the net we used to mark first base, then moved back to the far end of our dirt yard—not the most aesthetic on our block, but that was by design. We didn’t host barbecues or have a swing set in one corner; we ran drills. Endless drills.
The bucket of balls Dad set beside him was close to overflowing. “We’re going through it three times.”
I avoided looking at my legs. Their fate had just been sealed, and sure enough, my shin ate the first grounder Dad hit my way. He’d drilled me enough over the years that I didn’t even think to olé out of the way. As third baseman, I was used to taking hits to the chest and shins, and more than one to the face. But I wouldn’t trade the hot corner for any other position. I scooped up the ball and fired it at the net designating first base.
It was nine by the time Dad started refilling the bucket, and I still had homework to do. When I mentioned that fact to Dad, he gave a little shake of his head and hit a hard shot to my left so that I had to half dive to catch it, barely snowconing the ball in the tip of my glove.
“You do some tonight and get up early to finish the rest in the morning. Selena was out here with me every night.” He picked up another ball from the bucket. “Nothing else took priority, not boys or needing to be on her phone constantly, just this.” The ball stung a little when it hit my glove, reminding me how close Dad had come to playing professionally before a torn rotator cuff in college ended that dream for him. He’d had hopes for Selena, but now all those hopes rested heavily on me. I wasn’t as good as my sister, and no amount of drills in our backyard was going to change that, but I was willing to work that much harder because of it.
I put more heat on the ball I threw toward the net, hitting the target dead center and earning a little nod from Dad.
“Again.”
Chapter 5
My shoulder was still aching when I woke up the next morning. It was dark out, and my textbooks were waiting for me exactly where I’d left them the night before. I missed breakfast, but in between checking my phone for Brandon’s reply, I got my homework done in time to grab a few pieces of cold bacon from the kitchen and a kiss from Mom before racing to school.
I half slept through my first hour, rousing every few minutes to check my phone under my desk. Still no response. My disappointment was palpable. I had to keep reminding myself that it hadn’t even been a full day since I’d written to my grandfather, but I really needed this to work out. I rubbed a freshly formed bruise on my shin while I waited for the bell to ring.
I repeated that process until sixth hour—practice. Superstition Springs had recently approved a new policy that not only allowed participation in extracurricular sports to count as PE credits but let us practice during school hours. I couldn’t wait to be outside. The weather was perfect, not a surprise for Arizona in the spring, but the clear, baby blue sky and the hint of a breeze to temper the warm sun were the distraction I needed while I waited for Brandon’s reply. I met Jessalyn in the locker room and plunked down on the bench beside her to change my shoes.
“Don’t you look pretty?” She started lacing up her cleats. “Not everyone can pull off bloodshot eyes, but you?” She nodded, grooving a little and causing her braids to swish against her back.
I dropped my head on her shoulder. “My dad had me taking grounders until eleven last night, and then I had three hours of homework after that. Every night I feel like it gets later. In a month I won’t be sleeping at all.”
“So that’s why you were late.” She raised the shoulder I was using as a pillow. “You know Nick waited for you before first period.”
I lifted my head. “He never said anything.” Though now that she mentioned it, Nick had been waiting by my locker most mornings for a while now.
“He wouldn’t, would he?”
Probably not. Nick would never risk saying something that he thought might make me feel bad. Jessalyn did that for him. She was taller than most of the guys in school, and even without the conditioning that she got from playing softball, she sported totally natural lean muscle definition. I would have swapped arms with her in a second, but there had been more than one idiot boy who was less than impressed with her by-all-rights-impressive physique. Nick had always been a notable exception, which in turn made Jessalyn fiercely protective of him, even with me.
“He stayed until the last second and then had to sprint so he wouldn’t be late.”
My stomach gave a little lurch. “I never asked him to wait for me. I would have texted him that I was running late if I had.”
“The guy follows you around like a puppy dog waiting for any scrap of affection you throw his way.”
I pulled on my T-shirt over my sports bra. “Come on, that’s not fair or true. You’ve been friends with him almost as long as I have. You know how he is.”
“I know what he was like before you became the sun in his solar system. He can barely talk when you’re around now. So I can hang out with either him or you, but not together. It kind of sucks.”
It did suck. A lot. “Then help me. I haven’t changed—why did he have to?”
“Ask your boobs.”
I tried not to laugh, but I failed. “I’m seriously asking you for help right now. You know he’s been helping me with the DNA thing for my dad, but even when we’re talking about that, he’s Nick, so he’s super sweet, but he’s still...I don’t know...uncomfortable around me.” That admission wriggled in my stomach. I hated that I was inadvertently doing that to him.
“Anything back yet from Secret Grandpa?”
My phone was faceup on the bench beside me so I could glance at it constantly. “No, and I’m failing miserably in my attempt not to obsess over it.” I pulled my gaze away to look at Jessalyn. “So what do I do with Nick?”
“He’s got that job interview at my parents’ café after school today. He told you, right?”
I nodded. Nick was trying to save up for a new car. According to Jessalyn, his current rusted jalopy was made of Lifetime movies and people who take their cousin to prom and therefore too sad to drive except under the direst of circumstances. I had to agree it was pretty rough, and it died more often than it ran. Our friend Jill worked as a mechanic at her dad’s garage and had been keeping it alive for him, but she’d recently started begging him to let her put it down.
“I promised to give him a ride and help him with his totally unnecessary nerves,” Jessalyn went on. “I could talk to him a little and maybe subtly hint that his solo silent game around all of us might not be the best way to get a girl to like him.”
I hugged her tight. “Thanks, Jess.”
She gave me a long, considering look when I released her. “Just don’t be that girl, okay? Nick is a sweet guy who really likes you. If you know he’ll never be more to you than he is right now, then save him from worse heartache and cut him loose.”
I appreciated Jessalyn’s concern for Nick, but I did like him, a lot. I just needed to give my heart enough time to catch up to my head. Then there wouldn’t be any heartache at all.
“I’m not going to hurt him,” I said. “But Coach will put the hurt on us if we’re late to practice, so...” I nodded at the cleat she still needed to tie. I checked my phone one last time before putting it in my locker. Most of the girls were already outside, but a few were still here.
“Dana,” Ainsley said, drawing my attention to the far end of the bench. “Will you please tell Sadie that your sister pitched two no-hitters in a row her senior year?”
Technically, it had been her junior year, but I kept that clarification to myself and just nodded my answer.
“Wow,” Sadie said, leaning back and looking sort of dazed. Sadie was our starting pitcher and had, to my knowledge, never pitched a single no-hitter in her life. Ainsley knew that too. She could be petty like that. It was almost as exhausting as fielding grounders for four hours after dinner.
“Don’t sweat it, Sadie,” I said, gathering my hair into a ponytail. “Selena was awesome, but your curveball is nasty.” I looked at Jessalyn. “You’re hitting .400 right now.” Then, to Ivy, “And you’re a vacuum cleaner at first base.” I turned to each girl in the room, naming a unique strength she brought to the team. Even Ainsley, hoping she’d remember we were a team and needed to be strong together. “And your speed.”
Sadie brightened; so did everyone else.
“Nice,” Jessalyn said to me in a low voice as we followed the rest of the girls—all smiling—to the field. “Your dad needs to see you like this. What you do for our team off the field is just as important as what you do for us on.”
With one last thought about the phone inside my locker, I said, “Hopefully, he will soon.”
* * *
Practice was grueling, and my shoulder was screaming by the time I got back to the locker room. It was like my coach had no idea how hard my dad had made me work the night before. I was dreading what Dad would have in store for me after dinner. It was all I could think about as I opened my locker and pulled out my clothes.
My phone was on top of my shirt, and the screen was lit up. I grabbed it...and it was like taking a bat to the gut when I read Brandon’s reply.
Sorry, I live in Arizona too but I think you’ve got the wrong guy. I only just turned 18.
Chapter 6
“Hello? Earth to Dana.” Ivy waved a hand in my face, breaking my stare at my phone screen.
“What?”
“A bunch of us are going for ice cream. Are you in?”
Half a dozen pairs of eyes were on me, including Jessalyn’s.
“Something wrong?” she asked, and then started to smile. “Wait, is it...” Her gaze flicked to my phone, and her grin grew. She lowered her voice so that only I could hear. I hadn’t told anyone else on the team what I was doing, because I hadn’t wanted word to get to my dad/our coach. “Is it something from your grandfather?”
I fought to keep my hand steady as I shoved my phone and cleats in my bag, not bothering with anything else. “No, I just need to go. Sorry.” Then I was pushing open the heavy locker room door and bursting into the now-empty quad.
He can’t be eighteen.
He’s my 65-year-old grandfather.
No.
It was a tiny word, so I said it out loud. “No.” A million times no.
No, no, no.
There was no way that Dad had an affair.
There was no way that he fathered a son.
There was no way that I had a brother less than a year older than me.
Dad would never cheat on Mom.
Dad would never do this to us.
It had to be a mistake.
My steps picked up speed as I headed for the parking lot. I broke into a jog as I reached the blacktop, then sprinted to my car. As soon as I was inside, my phone was in my hand and I was typing.
Brandon,
I must have read the results wrong. I do think we’re related somehow. Maybe you’re a cousin? Would you be willing to meet me? I have so many questions and I think you’re the only one who can answer them. Name the place, name the time.
Dana
I dropped the phone in my lap the second I hit Send. My message sounded hella creepy, but I couldn’t take the time for anything more composed. His message had been sent only twenty minutes ago, so there was a good chance he was still online and would—
He wrote back.
Dana,
You should try to get your money back. I’m the third Brandon McCormick, and before that there were five Davids. We are from Arizona though, going back at least four generations. I’d have to check with my dad to confirm that. I’m not really sure how the family side of all this DNA testing works—I was interested in my geographic heritage, not finding relatives—but my family tree is full up, no unaccounted for branches. But, hey, I work at the Jungle Juice in Mesa. Feel free to stop by if you have any more questions.
Sorry I can’t be more help,
Brandon
My breath came out in a rush. The third Brandon McCormick. As in his dad was also Brandon McCormick. As in his dad was not Dennis Fields. Brandon seemed very confident in his family tree. Could it be a mistake? Had the DNA company messed up the samples? People were fallible; it could happen. I did a quick search for DNA-testing failure rates, and pages of results came back. Something loosened in my chest. A mistake would make more sense than Dad having an affair, which made no sense at all. And mistakes had happened before—not often, but more than once. I needed only once. There was an option to send in another sample for a retest, but I couldn’t swing that without Selena’s help, and there was no way I was waiting another month and a half for the results. I wasn’t waiting a day.
I looked up the address for the Jungle Juice in Mesa. It was only a thirty-minute drive.
I started my car.
Chapter 7
Jungle Juice was decorated like a jungle, complete with massive plaster trees sprouting from each table and along the walls, and fake wild animals prowling through the immense branches that stretched overhead and covered the entire ceiling. There were birdcalls and cat growls playing in the background, and every time the door opened, a monkey scream spiked. I definitely would have lost my mind working there. But it smelled great, fruity and sweet, like sugared mangoes.
There were a number of small round tables scattered about, along with padded bench nooks in the corners. And people—more than I was expecting. Close to a dozen chatting and sipping from tall foam cups or eating sandwiches. I was glad for the people. They gave me cover to slip in relatively unnoticed.
Ignoring the noise and the people milling around me, I zoned in on the three employees behind the counter.
Two I dismissed right off: a girl with gorgeous ombré teal hair and a guy with coal-black skin whom I heard her call Zere. The last guy wasn’t as easy to exclude. Instant nausea was my involuntary reaction at seeing him. He was cute. But he didn’t look anything like my dad, which helped settle my stomach. Not a single feature was familiar to me, and his olive coloring was the antithesis of Dad’s light skin and hair. He was also big, I’d guess a full foot taller than me, and he looked strong enough to crack a coconut with his bare hand. I drew closer to the counter only to discover that he wasn’t wearing a name tag. But the next second, it didn’t matter.
“McCormick!” the girl called, holding up a blender and bringing it down a little too hard on the back counter. “This thing is sticking again. I’m gonna chuck it.”
“No, you’re not. Let me see it.” He walked to his coworker and pried the blender from her reluctant hands. He rinsed it out with a handheld sprayer and fiddled with something on the bottom. “Here, look.”
The girl moved to his side, sweeping her teal fishtail braid over her shoulder.
“Someone’s been jamming it on the base and bent—”
“And of course you mean me, ’cause it couldn’t be Zere or your cousin or anyone else with half a brain. Fine.” She started to walk away with an expression on her face that made the next customer in line back away from the counter, but he stopped her with a hand on her back.
“I didn’t say you.”
She snorted.
His voice was calm, patient, completely at odds with his I-could-squish-you-like-a-bug physique. “Ariel, I’m not saying you. I’m saying someone, probably a few people. It’s an easy fix.” And he straightened whatever had been bent. With his hands. I was impressed from ten feet away; Ariel was right there and looked at him with disbelief. “See? No problem.”
I watched him show her how to twist the blender onto the base a few times. Her pinched expression smoothed as it clicked easily into place, and dissolved completely when the blender whirled to life. Still, all she said by way of gratitude was, “Huh.”
The conversation was too quiet, or the screaming monkeys were too loud—either way I couldn’t hear what they said after that, but I watched him. Brandon. Every fiber of my being said no, said there was no way this guy was related to me. He couldn’t be. I felt that confidence more keenly as he drew closer to me.
“Sorry about that. What can I get you?”
For the first time in my life, I had no words, nothing. I just stared at him until reality and the slight raising of his eyebrows at the extended silence reminded me that I couldn’t let myself stay silent. It was now or never. Somehow, I didn’t think I could come back here if I left without talking to him. And I definitely couldn’t go home and face Dad with this sword of doubt still dangling over me.
“I’m Dana.”
His brows didn’t smooth back, but they didn’t draw tighter either. “Hey, Dana. Ready to order?”
There wasn’t a single spark of recognition at my name. Now my brows furrowed. He’d typed it, told me where he worked and that I could drop by barely thirty minutes ago. There should have been some kind of recognition.
Behind him, Ariel walked past.
I extended a finger in the direction she’d gone. “I’m sorry, I thought I heard her call you McCormick earlier.”
The guy that I was suddenly convinced wasn’t Brandon nodded. “Yeah, she calls me and my cousin by our last name.”
My stomach twisted in two different directions. “What’s your first name?”
He wasn’t frowning at me anymore; he looked concerned. “Are you okay?”
“Low blood sugar.” I gave him the first excuse for my sudden pallor that I could think of. “I think I thought you were someone else.”
“I’m Chase,” he said.
I nodded and tried to smile. “My mistake.” I turned and left in a cacophony of monkey screams. The door didn’t shut all the way behind me. From inside, Ariel caught it and stuck her head out to talk to a guy sitting at the table outside.
“Break is up in ten. Also, your cousin just bent metal in front of me with one hand—one freaking hand. If that’s how he flirts, tell him it’s scary and that I get off at nine.” She paused, eyeing his hands. “Do you think you could...?” When he didn’t respond, she shook herself. “Forget it.”
I didn’t watch her leave, but the guy did with the kind of smile that said he’d be trying to bend metal with his hands in the very near future. The hairs on my arms stood on end as I watched him return his attention to his phone.
It wasn’t just the cleft chin or the sprinkling of red in his otherwise brown hair. It wasn’t the way his brow lifted higher on the left than the right in response to whatever he was reading on his phone, or the height he couldn’t conceal even sitting down. It was all of that and nothing. I knew him. Forty-seven percent shared DNA slammed into me, and I couldn’t find a breath to say even that tiny word of denial. I was twenty feet from my brother. My brother. He was my brother. I couldn’t doubt it for a single second more. Dad had had an affair. He’d cheated on Mom and had a kid—this kid—guy—the one who looked so much like Dad that I couldn’t blink, much less turn my head away from him.
I stopped beside his table, waiting for him to look up. “Brandon?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m Dana.”
Chapter 8
Brandon recovered from his initial confusion quickly, returning my bleak stare with a smile. “Oh, hey.” He stood up right away, considered extending his hand but moved his drink to his side of the table instead. “I didn’t realize you were going to come right away.” He indicated the chair across from him, but I couldn’t sit or even move. My skin prickled, waiting for him to see me and know, to make the connection the way I instantly had. But he didn’t. He sat there, still smiling Dad’s smile. “Like I said in the email, I don’t think I’ll be able to help your dad, but whatever you want to know.” He spread his hands. His smile started to slip the longer I stared at him. “Wow, I’m sorry. I guess this was kind of a big letdown.”
“Dennis Fields,” I said, my eyes unblinking. “We don’t know who his birth parents were, but that’s the name his first foster family gave him.”
Brandon slowly shook his head. “Doesn’t sound familiar.” He paused. “Are you okay? You look a little...”
I was shaking. I could feel the blood draining from my face, and there was a buzzing growing in my ears. I’d never fainted before in my life, but I knew I was seconds from blacking out. I gripped the back of the chair, locking my elbows to keep me upright.
“You wanna sit? I really think you should sit.” He moved to pull the chair out for me, and I lowered myself into it as he returned to his. Both our arms rose in tandem to rest on the metal bistro table. The movement was identical, and for a heartbeat, he froze too. Then he looked at my face, really looked at it. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
“Do you?” My blinking was now sporadic, and apart from my lips, my eyelids seemed to be the only part of me still capable of moving. I watched a pink flush creep up his neck, but then it stopped and started to recede.
“No, I guess not. I mean, how could I? Eighteen is a little young to be a grandfather.” He tried to laugh but saw how incapable I was of joining him and sobered. “I’m really sorry I’m not him.”
“It’s a mistake,” I said, my voice echoing in my head.
“Don’t worry about it,” Brandon said. “I’m sure those DNA places mess up all the time, right?”
Right. A screwup. A mistake, that’s all. Earlier I’d been confident I’d reach the same conclusion as soon as I saw Brandon—it was why I’d rushed over. But I knew—I knew—even if he didn’t, that there was no mistaking who he was.
Sitting, I was still shaking, but the dizzy light-headedness was dissipating. “I needed you to be someone else,” I whispered. “I don’t know what to do.” It felt like a huge confession to be making, especially to him.
“Well, hey, you’re welcome to take a look at my family tree, but honestly, I know you won’t find anything. The McCormick line is extremely well documented.”
But you’re not a McCormick, I thought. You’re a Fields, just like me. My hands covered my mouth, but they couldn’t contain the sudden full-body sob that choked free. Brandon drew back in his chair, as far as it would let him, but I couldn’t stop, and when Brandon came around to pat me on the back in an awkward gesture, I cried harder.
“I’m sorry,” I said, leaning away from his touch. I needed to leave, to get away from him and everything that reminded me of Dad. I pushed back my chair and stood.
“Don’t give up, okay? Just ’cause I’m a dead end, doesn’t mean the next one will be. I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for.”
“I don’t want to find anything else.” The words tore out of me, my throat trying to choke them back along with the sobs I was holding in. Brandon was right in front of me, and something made him move back, frowning just a little. His gaze moved slowly across my face. Taking in the slightly squared jaw and full bottom lip, the dark hair that sparked copper in the fading sunlight, just like his. And it stopped. In that moment, I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to see the connection or not. If he saw it, I wouldn’t be alone—and I had never felt more alone in my life—but then he’d feel like me too, stripped and cored and irrevocably severed from the thing that made me me: my family. It was gone—worse, it had never been.