“I don’t care. This is ourson, I’m going to ask him if he’s okay as much as I damn well please.”
Nate’s dad steps back again and crosses his arms, matching the posture of his older son, who still hasn’t said anything. When his dadlooks at me, it’s not with love, but more curiosity. It’s a look that stops just short of saying,I know you’re not my son. Nate’s mom is the only one in this room who believes I’m really Nate. How long before they convince her of the truth? I don’t know what to do or say, so I keep on doing what I’ve been doing.
Lie.
“I’m okay,” I say. “A little confused.” My eyes drift back to Nate’s maybe-brother, who stares at me, stone-faced.
Beside him, Nate’s dad scoffs. “I think that’s going around today.”
Valencia nods and grabs my hand. “We’re going to sort everything out. Then we’ll take you home.”
“That’s not him, Mom,” the young man across the room says.
Mom.Obviously my intuition about him being Nate’s brother was right. Like his intuition is about me. Nate’s brother gestures toward me as though I’m a piece of trash he passed on the street—which, okay, valid. But my stomach clenches. He’s right, and I need to tell them.
But before I can, Valencia turns to him and says his name in a scolding tone: “Easton!”
Easton Beaumont.
Something in his look motivates me, and before I even know what my brain is doing, I stare directly into his eyes and reply, “It’s okay. He was always jealous of me.”
Easton’s eyebrows go up in surprise, then he tilts his head and the corner of his mouth slips into an almost-grin. His dad looks between the two of us, not sure what to say. But Valencia laughs and wipes a tear from her eye.
I don’t know why I said that. Maybe because I was so sure they’dknow I wasn’t really Nate—and to be fair, his dad still doesn’t seem convinced—that it felt like a challenge. And maybe now, after meeting this family, I’m jealous, too. Jealous for the life Nate had before he disappeared.
For the first time, I think of Nate and wonder whatdidhappen to him.
The mood in the room lifts, and even Easton allows his grin to expand.
“So where the hell have you been?” Easton asks. It’s almost as if he’s reading my mind, and I get a chill.
Easton’s dad holds up his hands. “No, we need to have the doctor and police in here if we’re going to talk about this.”
Easton snorts. “Youwantthe cops in here?” His eyes drift over to me, and he grins in a conspiratorial way. “I’d hire a new lawyer if I were you.”
Lawyer?
“I’m not his lawyer. I... ,” Mr. Beaumont starts, but his voice drifts off. Was he about to say “I’m his father”? Or “I don’t give a rat’s ass what happens to this kid”? Instead, he shakes his head and says, “You don’t need a lawyer anyway. Shoplifting is a misdemeanor at best, and since you were kidnapped, they aren’t even pressing charges.”
“Great, so I’m free to go?” I pretend to stand up—only half joking, honestly, because it would be wonderful if they let me leave.
Valencia puts a gentle hand against my upper arm. “Not yet. They’re going to keep you overnight for observation. You’re dehydrated and malnourished. But tomorrow you’ll come home with us.”
She says it like it’s supposed to be a good thing, and maybe forNate Beaumont it would be. But I have to fight not to shake my head. I can’t go home with these people. The DNA test is going to come back eventually. The Beaumonts probably gave a sample when they got to the hospital. Maybe it takes a few days to get the results back. It’ll be even worse if they get a call that I’m not their son while I’mlivingwith them. They’re going to find out I’m not Nate eventually; it’s better if it happens before I go home with them.
I have to run tonight.
Nate’s father sighs and leans against the wall. “Easton comes home for summer break and we suddenly have two teen boys to feed. We’re never getting that boat I want.”
“Marcus,” Valencia scolds him, but she does it with a smile. And thankfully now I know his name.
“Kidding,” he says. Then he stares into the distance as if he’s doing math in his head. “I can probably still get the boat.”
“You don’t need a boat,” she says, her joking demeanor slowly dropping.
“I mean, no oneneedsa boat,” I say, trying to defuse the thickening tension in the room. “They’re just nice to have.” I don’t know anything about owning a boat, but it sounds nice.
Valencia laughs, clamping her hand over her mouth. Marcus grins and maybe even looks proud of me?
