The First To Know

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 (#u6a963fff-0fd4-5720-87cf-eb6ead14ac17)

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.”