Rachel

I was cleaning and vacuuming my room when my mom came in holding my ringing iPhone.

I shut off the vacuum and held out my hand. "Sorry it bothered you, Mom!"

"It's fine; It's Miles...he's called you 4 times in the past ten minutes. It must be important."

I knew exactly why he was calling. "Yes, Mom, he hates talking on the phone, so it must be...thank you for bringing it." I slid the answer call button, and she kissed me on the forehead before ducking out the door.

I waited until the door clicked shut and held the phone to my ear. "Hey, babe, are you okay? Sorry, I was vacuuming."

"Hey hon," he said distractedly. "It's okay. I need to talk to you, and it needs to be in person. Can you meet me at the beach?"

I looked down at myself; Nike running shorts, Miles' baseball t-shirt, my hair unkempt from cleaning. Oh well.

"Yes, where?"

"Our spot down by St. Andrews?" I knew what he was talking about; the place where we almost kissed on the day we skipped school.

"Be there in ten."

"Thank you...I love you."

"I love you too," I answered, clicking the end call button, shoving my feet into my sandals and running downstairs.

"Mom," I called. "Miles needs to talk to me, and he wanted to do it in person," I said, hoping that would be a good enough explanation for her.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, looking over her shoulder. She was washing dishes in the kitchen.

"I don't know. He's upset about something," I said, not wanting to go into details. Not yet.

"Okay. Be home in time for dinner, please. And you're welcome to bring him over."

My heart skipped a beat. "Um, okay. I'll ask him. Thanks, Mom," I said, kissing her on the cheek and running out the door.

When I got to the beach, Miles was already sitting on the wooden beach chair we'd shared that day. His head was in his hands, and I could tell he'd been running his fingers through his hair.

I came up behind him and sat down, snaking my arms around his waist. "Miles," I whispered.

He turned around, his blue eyes swimming with relief when he saw my face. "Rachel," he breathed, putting his hand on the back of my neck and pulling me to him, kissing me with reckless abandon.

"Mmm," I hummed in surprise, matching his passion, but feeling his sadness at the same time.

He broke the kiss reluctantly, resting his forehead against mine. "Rachel," he said again, "everything is so fucked up."

"What is it?" I asked, putting two fingers under his chin and raising his face so I could see his eyes.

"Luke came over earlier, and he had a photo with him he found in his attic."

I furrowed my brow. "Okay?"

"It was a photo of his father...his red-haired, fair-skinned father...with his arm around another red-haired, fair-skinned man...my dad," he said, the words seeming to take the air out of him.

I sat back against the chair suddenly, my back slamming into the wood harshly. "What? Wait, are your dad and his dad...brothers?" I asked, the whole idea seeming absurd.

"It looks like it. They're around the same height, same ginger features, and they looked semi-happy standing together. But the other weird part is that my dad got home when he was there...and when he saw Luke, he freaked the fuck out," he said, picking at the skin around his thumbnail, a nervous habit of his I'd noticed.

"Freaked out, how? What did he say?"

"He told me I was to have nothing to do with Luke and that he had told me that a long time ago."

"What?"

"Yeah, and at first, I didn't remember. But then, it came back to me: on the first day of kindergarten, he told me not to talk to Lucas Salazar."

"He did what?" I knew Miles was probably tired of my questions, but I was so confused.

"And I didn't question him because even at five years old, I knew not to question my dad. Something isn't right, Rachel. This all means something, and Luke and I have to figure it out. Will you help us?" he asked, taking my hand.

"Of course I will," I said, pulling him to me and holding his head against my chest.

"Thank you," he murmured.

We sat that way for a long time until it was time for me to go home.

"Miles, do you want to come have dinner at my house?" I asked, knowing this may not be the right time. But I knew he wouldn't want to be alone, and there's no way he wanted to be with his dad.

He looked up and smiled. "Yeah, I'd like that."

"Come on," I said, nuzzling him and standing up, my hand extended to him.

He took it, and we trudged through the sand together.

Miles

I followed Rachel to her house on Seahorse Lane, parking my Jeep on the street.

Her beauty once again struck me and seeing her in my t-shirt made me want to grab her and repeat the events of last night.

I leaned down and whispered in her ear, "You might want to change your shirt before dinner."

She looked down. "Why?"

I looked at her hungrily. "Because I don't want to be thinking the thoughts I'm thinking right now in front of your father," I growled.

She giggled. "Okay, horndog," she said, blowing me a kiss and dragging me up the sidewalk.

"Wait, wait, wait. Is there anything in particular I need to know about your parents?" I asked.

She laughed. "They're disgustingly adorable together, my dad makes a lot of dad jokes, and my mom is an excellent cook. That's all you need to know for now," she said.

"I can handle that," I said, taking a deep breath. "Okay, let's do this," I said, straightening my Polo and standing up straight.

She grinned at me and opened the door. "Mom, Dad, I'm home!" she called, kicking off her shoes at the door. I did the same.

"Hey honey, dinner is about to be on the table," her mom responded.

"I brought someone home with me," Rachel said, leading me into the kitchen.

"Oh, yeah?" Her mom turned around, and I immediately saw where Rachel got her beauty from.

She was petite, with wide crystal blue eyes, shoulder length dark blonde hair, and a smile that made her whole face light up.

"Hi Mrs. Cross, I'm Miles Jefferson," I said, extending my hand.

"Please," she said, shaking my hand, "call me Susan."

"Okay. Thank you for having me for dinner," I said.

"You are welcome anytime," she said, turning back to the oven and pulling out a lasagna.

My mouth watered, and I realized I hadn't eaten all day. 

"Do you like lasagna?" Rachel asked.

"It's only my favorite," I said truthfully.

I heard the door open and close again, and a male voice called out, "Darlings, I'm home!"

My stomach twisted. Meeting Rachel's father was something I had been nervous about since we started dating.

"Daddy," Rachel said, meeting him at the kitchen doorway. "I brought Miles for dinner." 

Her dad smiled brilliantly, and damnit if he wasn't good-looking too. He was about my dad's height, with blue eyes darker than his wife's, with a hint of gray. Rachel's eyes.

"Nice to meet you, Miles. I'm Bradley, but you can call me Brad," her dad said kindly as he dropped his briefcase in the floor next to the island.

"Very nice to meet you, Brad," I said, immediately wishing that my dad was this friendly.

I heard Rachel exhale softly next to me, and I knew she had relaxed.

"I'm going to go change before dinner," she said, looking pointedly at me. "I'll be right back. Miles, are you good?"

I grinned. "I'm fine."

She smiled and disappeared up the stairs.

"Can I help you with anything, Susan?" I asked.

"Don't be silly, Miles, you're a guest," she said, putting plates on the table.

"Yeah, Miles, she won't have you doing chores until your third or fourth visit," her dad piped up, pouring us both a glass of sweet tea and sitting on a stool at the island.

I laughed. "I could handle that," I said, pulling out a seat and sitting next to her dad.

"So Miles," he said, taking a swig of his tea, "Rachel tells us you play baseball."

"I do...I've been playing since I was four. I love the game," I said.

"I played soccer, so I understand the love of the game. Do you want to play in college?"

"I'm not sure. Scouts have been watching me, but I don't know; I want to be a civil engineer, so I know college won't be a breeze," I said truthfully.

"Civil engineer. That's an excellent career choice," Brad said, nodding in approval.

"Thanks. My dad isn't thrilled about it, though," I said.

"Oh really? Why not?"

"He wants me to follow in his footsteps," I said, remembering the blowup that followed me telling him my career interest.

"Oh? And what's that?"

"He's in real estate." 

"Wait, wait, is your dad the owner of Jefferson Properties?" Brad asked, sitting his glass down.

"That's him," I admitted. I hated telling people who my dad was; everyone knew he was a jerk.

"Wow. He really has made something of himself," Brad said. Then a look of recognition passed his face. "Hey, Suse, didn't we graduate with the owner of Jefferson Properties?"

"Yes," she said, not turning around. My heart stopped for a moment.

"I thought so...didn't he play baseball too?"

"Yeah, he did," I said, trying to play it cool, and Rachel reentered the kitchen right then, wearing a sleeveless blue dress that barely brushed her knees.

"What did I miss?" she asked, leaning on the counter next to her dad.

"Your mom and I graduated high school with Miles' dad," Brad said, and I saw Rachel's face pale slightly.

"Oh—oh really?" she asked.

"Yeah, except," Brad looked at the ceiling as if he were trying to work something out in his head. "His last name wasn't Jefferson."

I nearly choked on the tea I had just drunk. Rachel grabbed my bicep, her nails digging in.

I glanced down at her and back at her dad. "Pardon?" I asked politely.

Rachel's mom had turned around and joined us at the island, her blue eyes icily glaring at her husband.

"Brad-ley," she said through gritted teeth. "That probably isn't something you should discuss with Miles."

Brad's face reddened. "Oh jeez, you're right. I'm sor—"

I cut him off. "No, no, please. What do you mean, his last name wasn't Jefferson?" Rachel still had my arm in her death grip.

Susan glared at Brad, but the pleading look in my eyes must've propelled him forward.

"William's last name when we were in high school was different...it started with an S, I think. Slater? Shafer? Shaver?" he said, drumming his fingers on the countertop.

"Salazar?" Rachel asked in a small voice.

"Yes!" Brad said, snapping his fingers. "William Salazar. I never really understood why he changed his name. Maybe something to do with his business," he said thoughtfully.

I froze. 

This was it. This was proof: my father and Luke's father are brothers.

My dad changed his last name.

But why?